#Best Skin Care Products For Black Skin 14 Year Olds

[love-skincareroutine]

Best Skin Care Products For Black Skin

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Best Skin Care Products For Black Skin

A. These Are Best Skincare Products for Women of Color

The melanin in our skin, which is reflected in a warm, natural golden glow, ensures that our skin blooms all year round. Skin tones that cover the spectrum of brown, from sandy caramel to deep chocolate, deserve products made specifically for your complexion. These products did not exist for a while. Normally, skin care is advertised for specific skin types, such as oily, dry and combination skin, completely ignoring the under-represented group of people with dark skin. People with darker skin are more prone to things like hyperpigmentation, melasma, dark spots, and more.1 Many of these concerns are inherited and are part of our genetics.

Fortunately, more brands have created skin products that are specifically designed for dark skin tones. Our concerns with skin care have been in the background for a long time, and it is refreshing to highlight the brands that have made waves in the industry with colorful products for women. Many of them are independent niche brands born in the kitchen by women who could not find products suitable for their skin tone in the conventional market. Some of them found their way into the aisles of department stores and drugstores, but far enough away.

Black women, I blame them for endorsing and promoting those brands that need to be part of a bigger conversation. Inclusion is important, as well as healthy ingredients, free of aggressive chemicals and suitable for all skin tones. Knowing what to put on your skin will give you the shiny complexion you deserve. Below are just a few of the brands that deserve a reputation, but there are more.

1. Marla Rene

Marla Rene created this line of natural care for women of color after taking care of her mother who had cancer. This soothing facial tonic mixed with cucumber extract acts as an astringent, cleanser and make-up remover suitable for all skin types.

2. Specific Beauty

Specific Beauty is a line of products specially developed for the care of the skin of multicultural women. These pillows are full of herbal ingredients and antioxidants that are supposed to fade dark spots and even out the skin with an intense lightening effect.

3. Jacq’s Organics

Jacq’s is a black-owned natural beauty brand that believes in obtaining healthy ingredients that enhance its natural beauty. This gentle facial moisturizer provides your skin with deep hydration with its powerful combination of fatty acids, peptides and herbal extracts.

4. Black Girl Sunscreen

The Black Girl Sunscreen was born from the depletion of the lack of sunscreen for dark skin tones. This formula protected by melanin is filled with SPF 30, totally transparent and at the same time moisturizing. It’s all natural too.

5. Base Butter

Base Butter is a line of skin products manufactured by a WOC for WOC. These ethical ingredients were created to challenge the traditional standards of beauty that taught black women to cover up their natural beauty. They should get the best of you. Like this moisturizing facial gel that gives a refreshing touch to the skin due to its tea tree, lavender and primrose. Your skin looks supple, plump and radiant.

6. Bolden

Bolden is a brand developed by black women to create excellent products that really work for women with color. This lightweight sunscreen does not leave a ghostly white layer on dark skin tones and protects melanin with a sun protection factor from harmful ultraviolet rays.

7. Dr. Barbara Sturm

Dr. Barbara Sturm has scientifically and specifically developed this product line to meet the skin care needs of darker skin tones. Loved by timeless celebrities like Jada Pinkett Smith and Angela Basset, this enzymatic cleanser is supposed to remove exfoliants, remove dead skin cells and lighten the appearance of dark spots.

8. The Afro Hair & Skin Co.

Dark skin tones are more prone to dark spots and hyperpigmentation.1 This balancing facial oil from the black beauty brand The Afro Hair & Skin Co. is made from curative English currant seed oil and organic ylang-ylang flowers to help control oil build-up and repair inflammation.

9. Kaike

This herbal beauty brand was founded by Keli Smith in 2015. Following the brand’s strong belief in clean, vegan ingredients, these products are handcrafted in small quantities in the suburbs of Chicago. This cleansing oil contains nourishing antioxidants, designed to clean and moisturize your skin.

10. Unsun

Jojoba oil is a natural oil made from the seeds of the chinensis plant, a drought-resistant shrub native to southern Arizona, California and Mexico. It mimics natural sebum and nourishes and seals skin moisture without clogging pores or worsening acne

This FPS-focused line was created by the mother of musical genius Frank Ocean, Katonya Breaux. After examining sun damage around the age of 30, she was inspired to create a line of sunscreens for women whose color is free of harmful ingredients that can be even more damaging to dark skin tones. The Unsun shade was developed especially for women with skin color and is composed of fruit extracts, jojoba and coconut oil.

11. Urban Skin Rx

Developed by Rachel Roff, licensed medical beautician and certified laser technician, Urban Skin Rx is a range of clinical products designed to help solve skin problems for all skin tones. This award-winning dark spot treatment dramatically improves the appearance of dark spots, melasma, hyperpigmentation and more.

12. Shea Moisture

Shea Moisture has always developed products with dark skin tones. African black soap is an ancient ingredient known to have destroyed the appearance of dark spots for a long time.3 This mud mask deeply cleanses the pores while exfoliating and restoring the skin.

13. SDot Beauty

SDot Beauty is a black-owned beauty brand dedicated to making products with pure, natural ingredients that are made in small quantities to ensure an effective blend. This powerful serum penetrates the skin and adds an effective layer of hydration to protect against environmental stressors.

14. Kwan Dermatology

How often do you see products in the medical field that treat dark skin tones? Ethnic skin care specialist and dermatologist William Kwan, MD wanted to change that and created Day Dream. This day and night serum was developed to standardize skin tones, while supporting hyperpigmentation and irregular skin tones.

15. Limegreen

With simple ingredients passed down from their grandmothers in mind, founders Talima and Allison created Limegreen, a line of formulated products naturally accessible to everyone. They are all made for multipurpose use, like this facial oil that also works as a moisturizer and make-up remover for the body. This packaging with affirmations is also a differentiator.

16. Re: Fresh

Brooklyn-based skin care pharmacy Re: Fresh boasts natural ingredients specially formulated for people with more sensitive skin. This organic facial mist is instantly refreshing and soothing to the skin.

17. Avya

Avya’s new skin care line is making an impact in the industry, with a specific focus on melanin, which the brand describes as “one of the least valued determinants of skin health”. Kiss your skin with a good morning kiss with this moisturizing day cream with the right amount of herbal ingredients and sun protection factor that guarantee a smooth and fleshy skin.

18. Three Notes

Activated charcoal is made of carbon-rich materials that are burned at high temperatures, such as charcoal, coconut shells and wood. There are claims in skin care that it binds and removes impurities, but more research is needed. Developed by the Tanzania Crew in Columbus, Mississippi, Three Notes uses natural ingredients of the highest quality to nourish the skin. This charcoal and tea tree cleanser clarifies and exfoliates. Removes excess oil and completely softens the skin texture.

  B. The 11 Best Black-Owned Skincare Products for the Winter Season and Beyond

As black women, we grew up with the idea that “black doesn’t crack”. Although we are beautiful and old like wine, this does not mean that we should be careless with skin care and ignore the work that helps maintain the natural glow of melanin. It’s no secret that winter is a time for black women to invest in protective styles like braids, fabrics and wigs, but choosing the right skin care products is just as important.

Although black skin is diverse – and needs vary from person to person – there are essential ingredients that can benefit black women a lot in treating skin problems like dryness, eczema, acne and hyperpigmentation, says Elyse Love, MD, dermatologist at GlamDerm in New York City. “Hyaluronic acid and glycerin are excellent hydration ingredients. Zinc and niacinamide have anti-inflammatory effects and soothe the skin. Vitamin C, retinol, azelaic acid and kojic acid help pigmentation ”, emphasizes Dr. AME.

During the dry winter months, switch to thicker creams, ointments and body lotions and use products containing hyaluronic acid for the face to help keep moisture in the skin barrier, advises dermatologist Karen Kagha, a Boston physician. And just because the days are grayer and shorter doesn’t mean you can do without the sun protection factor – 80% of the sun’s ultraviolet rays can pass through clouds. So always use sunscreen, says Dr. Kagha.

With so many beauty products to choose from, it can be difficult to find the right ones. Fortunately, we’re here to bring you the best Black skin care products designed for BIPOC to keep you glowing throughout the winter and beyond.

1. Best Cleaner: ROSEN Skincare Super Smoothie Cleanser

Fruits are a great trick for glowing skin – and that means putting them all over your body and face! With a smoothie consistency, this facial soap offers active powder of lemon, strawberry and raspberry to clean and firm the melanized skin. Not to mention that it also works as an exfoliator, helping to lighten the skin and get rid of irritating marks of hyperpigmentation. The black-owned product has an almost perfect rating for Urban Outfitters for a reason!

2. Best Body Bar: Redoux Turmeric Botanical Bar

This bestseller from Redoux has sold out more than 10 times, so you know it has to be good. The detoxifying cleansing bar contains natural ingredients such as olive oil and palm oil, turmeric and pink clay to gently illuminate and exfoliate opaque skin. Reviewers swear that it is also safe for sensitive types. The scent of sandalwood and ginger will leave you and your bathroom with a super fresh smell.

“This was my second purchase and I will definitely be a repeat customer,” said one buyer. “I love the smell and feel of my skin through the bar. Soft, smooth and refreshed. I have sensitive skin and most things irritate my skin, but not this soap!”

3. Best serum for hyperpigmentation: serum with vitamin C, bleach and bleach for hyper skin

Former lawyer Desiree Verdejo founded Hyper Skin in 2018 after serving as one of the leading visionaries at Harlem’s Vivrant Beauty boutique, which housed black-owned beauty brands. In an incredibly light and odorless formula, this serum contains everything you need to combat hyperpigmentation and uneven skin tone – including vitamin C, vitamin E, plus bearberry, turmeric and kojic acid. It is free of parabens, sulfates and phthalates, so it is also gentle on sensitive skin.

4. The best serum for enlarged pores: Fenty Skin-Water Pore-Refining Toner Serum

Queen Rih Rih has undoubtedly reached the beauty industry with Fenty Beauty since the official launch of the brand in 2017. Rihanna has created products that adapt to the versatility and diversity of black women, and her skin care line has not disappointed this department. This combination of toner-serum reaches the pores, lightens and softens the skin and removes unwanted shine. As for the main ingredients, Rihanna includes a slice of the house with the Barbados cherry that adds vitamin C to brighten the properties, a cactus flower for hydration and the Japanese grape to detoxify the skin.

5. Best moisturizer: Buttah facial shea butter

Founded by Dorion Renaud, Buttah has earned its name in the black skin care community. This face cream made from 100% pure organic shea butter from Africa nourishes, protects and soothes your skin with each use. All you need is a small amount to exchange dry, scaly skin for a shiny, glowing complexion. (Professional tip: although you can use it during the day, critics say it is thicker than other moisturizers, which makes it an ideal night cream too.)

“I gave this to my mom for Christmas and she loves it!” Shared a customer. “She said the smell is very mild and her skin feels hydrated without the strong oily feeling that other moisturizers leave. Now I’m making a wish for myself!”

6. Best Gel Moisturizer: Radiate Facial Gel Butter Base

For women of color, for women of color, this moisturizing gel is soothing, refreshing, balancing, moisturizing and cleansing – everything you should look for in skin care products for winter and dry climates. For those who prefer light gel moisturizers to heavy creams or thick balms, this product is for you. Dermatologists tested facial jelly combines tea tree, evening primrose, lavender gel and aloe vera to restore, protect, disinfect and increase skin elasticity. This is especially good for oily or combination skin, as your face will not look oily or excessively shiny.

One reviewer said, “I have been using this moisturizer for a few months and it is amazing! I have difficulties with mixed skin and it balances my skin wonderfully! I have an active job, so I sweat a lot at work, but not that.” it just provides the perfect balance to prevent acne, but it still nourishes my skin. In addition to GLOW! Moist skin without fat! It is now a staple in my skin care routine. ”

7. Best toner: Temple Zen facial cleanser + toner

Developed by professional dancer and choreographer with classical training Jashiro Dean, this 2 in 1 product cleanses and tones to fight acne and keep blemishes away. It is made from witch hazel, aloe vera, shea butter and essential oils of eucalyptus and rosemary, which together help to disinfect skin from pollution, environmental toxins and makeup, and balance oil production.

“I love this facial cleanser,” said a customer. “I use it as the first step in my skin care routine and, honestly, I can’t imagine my life without it.”

8. Best mask: Golde Clean Greens face mask

Golde has the perfect mask to guide you through your winter skin problems. The powder to gel formula requires only a few drops of water to activate, which makes it more convenient than your favorite DIY mask. Full of spirulina, mango juice, chlorella (read: a seaweed) and naturally activated chlorophyll, it detoxifies the skin and gives it a real shine.

“I only used it twice, but my skin is so nourished after it helps to dry active pimples! (I have dry / dehydrated skin, very sensitive and prone to acne). It has a natural, earthy smell. Super easy to use and wash too “wrote a buyer with sensitive skin.

9. Best natural sunscreen: Black Girl Sunscreen

Black Girl sunscreen is more than just a product – it’s a movement. As a founder, Shontay Lundy used her own story to inspire others to take risks in the beauty industry and beyond, especially as black women. This sunscreen contains natural ingredients such as cocoa, sunflower oil, avocado juice and carrots to help hydrate, hydrate and prevent skin irritation and hyperpigmentation. Perhaps the best news, the pure formula ensures that the infamous whiteness does not last once applied, proving that Lundy thought of everything when creating this product for darker skin tones.

Also called “magic in a bottle”, a fan raved, “Buying sunscreen is usually a hit or miss for me, but this was certainly a HIT! I was so impressed with how moisturizing this product was that I almost forgot. I was using sunscreen. It doesn’t dry my skin and doesn’t leave a white shade. It’s also ideal for winter! ”

10. Best tinted sunscreen: UnSun mineral sunscreen with mineral tint

Another great FPS option, this baby, was created by Frank Ocean’s mother, Katonya Breaux, who has a personal experience with sun damage. Katonya used her platform to create a line of sunscreens specifically for colored women, without the harmful ingredients normally found in other sunscreens and daily skin care products. This dyed pimple gives you a moist shine and also serves as a 100% natural mineral sunscreen and color correction primer. Available in “light / medium” and “medium / dark”, it contains ingredients suitable for the skin, such as lactic acid, aloe vera, fruit extracts, vitamin C and vitamin E.

“I love this sunscreen! It looks good on my skin and loves the cover. A wonderful product that offers sunscreen without the white glow of the face – because ALL skin needs sunscreen, ”said a customer.

11. Best care for the scalp: Briogeo Charcoal Shampoo + Micro Peeling Coconut Oil

ICYDK, skin care, actually extends to the scalp. It is important that you pay attention not only to the skin on your face, but also to the skin under the growing curls – which can be neglected. From the black skin care brand Briogeo, this shampoo contains charcoal to remove impurities from the scalp and hair follicles, micro-peels to remove dead skin and product build-up, tea tree oil to reduce irritation and coconut oil for moisturize and eliminate dandruff. Bonus: any type of hair – whether straight, wavy, curly or curly – can take advantage of this shampoo.

A five-star reviewer wrote, “I love this shampoo! It should be used once a week, maybe twice at most, especially if you have sensitive skin,” she wrote. “Exfoliates the scalp and refreshes hair follicles from top to bottom. It smells like mint and is fresh and tingling.”

[collisiondiscourse]

battle scars || a deku & class 1-A drabble

(A quick drabble talking about members of class 1-A, the scars they share, and the love that heals them. TW for descriptions of violence and both external and internal injuries.)

There isn't a single hero that Deku knows of who doesn't have scars.

They aren't stigmatized, no not at all. No one who's ever seen a hero in action before thinks that scars are ugly. In hero society, scars are celebrated. Admired, adored, worshipped--whatever connotates the wearer to something positive. In a world where suffering and self-sacrifice are glorified, scars are a mark of beauty.

Even then though, Izuku Midoriya can't help but think that his scars are better off hidden.

He knows, god does he know, that everyone has their own wounds and injuries. Little divots here, the occasional prosthetic there--everyone he knows is marked in some way that reminds the world that they are still human where it matters. They aren't gods or faces off a product--just average traumatized people who unfortunately love humanity more than they love themselves.

Class 1-A being no exception.

Mina, for example, has burns. Big burns, small burns, burns of all shapes and sizes that litter her body like the pattern of the hero costume she wears. A few too many evil scientists with interests in chemistry like to think that their knowledge gives them the upper hand, but the Alien Queen always proves them wrong.

One of her horns is chipped, and when she gets drunk she admits that her sense of sight might be going. Sometimes, the scars sting, but the sweet ache of her body as she nails another dance routine reminds her that there's more to the world than how people look. When she begins to forget that, Kirishima claps loudly as she lands another pirouette.

Kaminari is dotted from head to toe in Lichtenberg scars. It's something that surprises no one, and something the blond feels no shame in showing off at any given moment. The lightning patterned marks are most prevalent along his forearms and palms, every hug from him feeling rough but safe nonetheless.

Occasionally, due to one too many brain fries, he'll have days where his mind doesn't seem like it's all there and memories fade like footprints in the sand. On those days, Denki lays down and Jirou runs her hands through electric blond hair while humming a soft and sweet tune.

Kirishima's scars run like cracks. They splinter and have ridges that look very much like his own quirk. Most of them are very faint and shallow, getting more focused and deep around his chest and forearms as he held firm against countless unrelenting attacks.

After one too many nosebleeds, the red-head finds out that he's way more prone to internal wounds from the way his organs deal with shock absorption less adaptively than his skin and bones do. Eijirou's tense muscles eventually learn to relax under the gentle caring massages from an exasperated Mina.

Iida, on the other hand, has a prosthetic. An unfortunate and horrible incident left him missing half a leg after pissing off a Stain-inspired villain who was a little too much like her idol. He's much less scarred (a benefit of his full-bodied armor), but Deku still sometimes sees the way he struggles to breathe.

Internal scars from internal wounds similar to Kirishima's make his body sometimes forget that he's stopped running. Tenya wears these scars with responsibility and blushes whenever he greets an enthusiastic Hatsume Mei for his monthly prosthetic maintenance check.

Uraraka has scars all over her fingers. Nicks and slices from where people tried to render her quirk useless by taking off a finger. She has a star-shaped mark on the right side of her forehead from where a building caved in and shattered her helmet.

Neat little slashes run up and down her ankles and soles of her feet from lucky shots people had before she floated away. Ochako wears these scars with ferocity and pride, adorning them in pink band-aids that Toga sometimes scratches at when the brunette comes to visit her in jail.

Todoroki is... a little different. The scar over his right eye is a lot more faded, yet still there. It grew up with him, healed and faded at the edges like the wounds in his heart, but not forgotten because of how it made him who he is. He has burns of all types adorned around his body--caused either by his own quirk or others.

He also often gets sick when he overexerts himself like the hopeless workaholic Big Three member he is. Yaoyorozu and Inasa visit him on those sick days, bringing light and chicken soup into his big empty home.

Bakugou's a lot similar to Deku. Their families and friends have noticed that if you put a diagram of their bodies side by side with markings of their injuries, it wouldn't exactly be a mirror image, but seemingly two parts of a puzzle clicking together. The blond had all sorts of scars around his body, a hazard that came with the title of Japan's Symbol of Victory.

There were deep lashes on his back, marks of muzzles and handcuffs from attempt after attempt of kidnappings and ransom hostages. On his forearms were twin bracelet scars, from an especially ruthless villain that attempted to cut his hands off in an effort to eliminate his quirk. Over his torso were two faint pink marks shaped like explosions, both from the first time he sacrificed himself for Deku.

Bakugou had similar aches on his shoulders and neck from overuse and recoil whenever he'd pushed himself too quick and too soon. Kacchan would scoff at the notion of hiding his scars and treat the pain with a quick home-cooked meal, fingers twitching when Deku would plop himself on the counter and ask about his latest shift.

But Deku?

Deku hid well. He hid because it was his habit to deceive and alter his appearance--covering things up with a simple black arm band because in the grand scheme of things there were some secrets best left unseen. Deku wore long sleeves and concealer over his skin like it was a suit of armor, hiding the rawest parts of him because even as he grew and climbed his way to the top, a part of him always remembered that the burden he carries is too heavy to let be seen.

So he hides.

He hides the way burns litter his skin from trying to contain the inferno that is OfA and walking through fire to bring civillians home. He hides the Lichtenberg scars and the way green lightning sometimes crackles hard enough to make him flinch as he fights his way through unbeatable hoards of enemis. He hides the prosthetics, the way his arms gave out on him quite a while ago, forcing them to be replaced and improved. He hides the way people have tried to tear him apart and steal his burden for themselves.

One for All was his greatest gift and most painful curse.

Some nights he trembles and shakes, muscles spasming in effort to just simply keep going. Shivers run up and down his spine because with every injury his blood circulation worsens and worsens until cold and pain is all that he feels. Izuku will sometimes walk around, scars hurting and throbbing hot white under his skin, and look for medication that dulls the ache and makes him go a little less crazy.

Hands mindlessly running over bumps and edges, scars from villains and friends and debris and growth spurts. He would stand in front of a mirror like a house of cards and pull himself apart, reflection making him detest himself from how gnarled and ugly and imperfect he was.

"--No, my boy. Not imperfect." The tall and gaunt figure of his old mentor would tut. Thin and skeletal fingers would grasp the bottom of a white shirt and lift it up, gently revealing a scar so deep it almost looks like a crater. "Not imperfect at all. For people like us, your scars make you far more than just a hero."

Deku, of course, would hum in resignation. He looks at All Might--no, Toshinori Yagi with a skeptical look and the retired hero would smile.

"You are... a miracle."

And just like that, Deku would be brought back to being 14 years old, quirkless and desperate. He's on his knees, looking at the Symbol of Peace in his true form--thin and pale but still oh so powerful. A voice tells him that there is a destiny he has far greater than he'll ever realize, an adventure that awaits him through the old skinny man with unruly blond hair.

Izuku didn't see weakness that day, no.

He saw hope.

So now, even as Pro-Hero Deku hides away the parts of himself that are broken and raw from the world he protects, he finds his cure all the same. In the arms of those who are warm and familiar, Deku sheds his armor, his foundation, his long sleeves--

and he is simply Izuku.

He is Izuku who gets spa days and yoga sessions with Ashido, Denki, and Eijirou that stops his muscles from spasming on days where it gets unbearable. He is Izuku who gets tender massages and hearty midnight snack runs with Ochako and Tenya when nightmares and visions just won't let him sleep. He is Izuku who gets soup and warm borrowed hoodies from Shouto and Kacchan when stress makes him keel over and shudder at the thought of working. He is Izuku who gets big warm hugs and a fierce movie marathon with his loving mother and mentor who is his father in all but name.

He is Izuku, riddled with scars that still heal.

[fiftyyearfilms]

50 Years Later: The Still Sweet Legacy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Image source: https://people.com/food/gene-wilder-death-willy-wonka-pure-imagination/

I first watched Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory during the summer of 2001, when I was four years old. Sometime after the end credits rolled, I waddled into our little English garden and decided to have a nibble of one of the buttercups poking through in the grass. You will be unsurprised to discover that it tasted acrid and bitter and that I promptly screwed up my face and spat it out again. ‘But— but- -’ little four-year-old me thought, ‘—but in Willy Wonka’s garden the yellow butter-tea-cups are edible and filled with a breakfast brew! The toadstools and mushrooms ooze sweet white cream! And the trees don’t sprout boring old fruit, but giant jellified gummy bears!' According to my four-year old logic, in Wonka’s edible garden these synaesthetic saccharine delights could exist and so in our garden they could too. So was the bittersweet belief that ‘Anything is possible’ the film inspired - bittersweet because, of course, it's not true. Today marks the 50-year anniversary of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, which premiered in the United States on this day in 1971. Time reveals a legacy that is more sweet than sour.

The 1971 adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1964 book ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ has an origins story that reads like a saccharine fairytale, complete with the requisite obstacles. Once upon a time, the story of Charlie Bucket and his lucky visit to a chocolate factory found its way into the hands of a 12-year-old girl called Madeline Stuart, the daughter of a Hollywood filmmaker, Mel Stuart. Madeline approached her father and asked him to make a film out of the story. In Stuart’s memory, his daughter’s innocent plea went something like this: ’Daddy... I want you to make this into a movie!’ A self-confessed chocoholic, Stuart said yes. And the rest was history? Not just yet...

The early 1970’s wasn’t Hollywood’s happiest hour. Low attendance and a struggling national economy meant that the U.S film industry was in a state of near-collapse and financing the movie was no easy feat; studios were cash-strapped. It was a stroke of sweet luck that the producer of the film, Mel Stuart’s friend David Wrober, had a connection to the Quaker Oats Company who, by happy chance, were looking for a way to break into the chocolate industry. In an unprecedented move in Hollywood, Quaker Oats agreed to finance the film on account of the fact that it would allow them to launch a ‘Wonka’ bar. A convenient if imperfect marriage was formed between the food company and the producers. A Happily Ever After? Still not yet...

There were active forces that didn’t want the candy man to make the leap from page to silver screen. Having long been vocal about Hollywood and its poor representation of black people, the NAACP objected to the adaptation because of the colonial overtones of the Ooompa Loompas in Dahl’s story (described as “a tribe of miniature pygmies” who were imported from Africa); they didn’t want additional attention being brought to the novel. The NAACP eventually suggested that “The solution is to make the Oompa-Loompas white and to make the film under a different title.” Mel Stuart agreed. The title was changed to ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, a change that would also benefit the marketing of the Quaker Oat Company’s ‘Wonka’ bar. After Stuart consulted with some black actor friends, it also was decided that the elf-like characters would be carrot orange with grass-green hair. Whether this amounted to ‘whitewashing’ or not is a matter for the individual to decide but changing the skin colour was the only way to adapt the book without making more significant changes to Dahl’s story. After all, it was the man himself penning the screenplay.

Image source: https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/search-perfect-willy-wonka

Dahl’s screenplay - bloated and too close an adaption of the book, was eventually revised by newbie screenwriter David Seltzer, but the fantastical elements of the author’s story remained largely intact: chocolate rooms with chocolate waterfalls and rivers, fizzy-lifting stations that send Charlie Bucket and his grandfather floating to the ceiling, and elevators that fly straight into the sky. Harper Goff, famed for his work on the 1945 Disney film ‘20,000 Leagues under the Sea’, was tasked with bringing Dahl’s demanding vision to life in the art department. Then there were difficulties in casting too, and a cross-country search took place for the Oompa Loompas and the lucky ticket-winning children (lamentably, only white actors were cast). With scouting and sketching underway, producers had the formidable challenge of finding somewhere to shoot the movie. After considering the Guinness Factory in Ireland and – wait for it - a national monument in Spain, producers settled on the Munich Gas works and Bavarian Film Studios in Germany as the central filming locations. It was cheaper than America and the location’s foreignness to British and American audiences would work in the favour of creating a ‘Neverland’ story.

Tinged with sweetness and sourness, pre-production on Wonka came to a close in late August 1970 and principal photography began. For the adults on set, budgetary problems were an ongoing source of stress and the unusual marriage between Hollywood and the food industry was one of the main causes. Unlike Paramount or Universal, who might have expected the film to go over budget, Quaker Oats viewed the film as one long advertisement for their new bar and were unsurprisingly less sympathetic when the weather was bad and shooting had to be delayed or when something went wrong on set and more money had to be poured in (or, in the case of the chocolate waterfall, a specially sourced anti-foaming solution). The kids also had their tribulations (and were only renumerated £60 per week for their hard labour). Stuart was a tough director. So tough, in fact, that the child actors used to joke that they deserved Oscars for their roles (or for putting up with Stuart). He treated the young actors as adults and perhaps that’s one reason why the performances are so strong. But Stuart reflected that overall, it was like ‘one big slumber party’ for the child actors. Stories from the set include Paris Themmen, who played Mike Teevee, releasing bees from underneath a bell jar in Wonka’s chewing gum machine. Denise Nickerson (playing Violet Beauregarde) and Julie Dawn Cole (Veruca Salt) fought over Peter Ostroff, who played Charlie Bucket, and took turns being his ‘girlfriend’ day-by-day. After lunch breaks, Ostroff and Gene Wilder, who played Wonka himself, would walk back to set together sharing a chocolate bar. There was an excitable atmosphere on set and, filmed without storyboards or pre-production rehearsals, it translated into authenticity in the final film.

Image source: https://www.thedelite.com/willy-wonka-and-chocolate-factory-movie-facts-you-never-knew/

Filming came to a bittersweet end in November 1970, cast members said their teary goodbyes, and then seven months later, Willy Wonka premiered in the United States. While time has judged differently, the contemporary reception to the film was, at best, lukewarm. From a $2.9 million dollar budget, the film only made $4 million in theatres and ranked as #53 in the box office. There were a number of reasons for this. Several reviewers panned the movie; a critic from the New York Times called it ‘tedious and stagy with little sparkle and precious little humor’. The fun and spectacle of Willy Wonka didn’t sit well with an anxious and cynical audience. In the Vietnam era, The French Connection, The Omega Man, and A Clockwork Orange were in, and optimism and fun were out. The film also had to contend with the declining weekly movie attendance across the U.S, which reached an all-time low of 14 million in 1971 (from 44 million in 1963). On top of this, Dahl didn’t exactly enthuse about the final product. Finally - and this is what the director attributed primary responsibility to: a lacklustre marketing effort on behalf of Paramount Pictures.

But box-office results aren’t everything. Like sherbet - sour at first and then Oh so sweet, Willy Wonka has gone on to gain a mass following of fans and gained the all-desirable ‘cult’ film status. The phenomenon happened over time. Six years after the film appeared on cinema screens, it was sold to Warner Brothers and became one of their best-selling video cassettes. Then, periodic screenings on cable and network television over the following decades meant that it gained an even wider following and stayed within Western cultural consciousness. The never-ending references to Willy Wonka in popular culture - from The Simpsons to Austin Powers to Marilyn Manson’s music videos, is testament to this. The same could be said about the upcoming Willy Wonka origins story, whether it turns out to be a good film or not. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory currently stands as the second most watched film of 1971 on Letterboxd (the Goodreads of film).

Re-watching the film in 2021, it seems almost inevitable that the film has found new and wide- ranging audiences and there’s one main reason for it: a stellar and totally captivating performance from Gene Wilder. The director attributed the film’s longevity to the fact that ‘it was made for adults; it was not made for children’ and it was Wilder himself that brought the grown-up fun. Wilder’s Wonka is sarcastic and witty, ensuring that the final film ended up as a ‘story for children’ only as much as After Eights are for post-dinner treats and Yorkie bars are just for boys. Wilder created a more nuanced and entrancing character out of Wonka than what is portrayed in the book - a Wonka who is dishonest but trustworthy, sarcastic but still empathetic, indifferent but deeply caring, and aloof but charming. Sure, the sets seem slightly dated (the chocolate room in particular) but watching Gene Wilder sing ‘Pure Imagination’ is so wholly captivating that one almost doesn’t notice the set’s limitations. Creating, let alone portraying, such an enigmatic version of Wonka is a tall order, but Wilder made it looks effortless. As evidence of his skill as an actor, Willy Wonka shows Charlie little interest until the very end of the film and then within minutes conveys a parental love to the boy that seems entirely believable. Wilder’s tantalising hot then cold, sugary then sour, sweet then salty performance sustains the whole film.

From the outset, it seemed like the Wilder-Wonka synergy was made to be. Wilder was a relative newcomer to Hollywood in 1970, making his feature film debut in the 1967 film Bonnie & Clyde, but when he walked into the casting room at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Mel Stuart knew he was the man straight away – ‘That’s Willy Wonka!’ he said. Wilder himself immediately seemed to have an intuitive understanding of how to bring the character to life, agreeing to take on the role on one condition: he said to Stuart, “I would like to come out [of the factory] with a cane and be crippled because no one will know from that time on whether I’m lying or telling the truth.’’ Like a magician, Wilder’s Wonka was going to draw you in and keep you in the palm of his hand. To the child actors on set, the Wilder-Wonka symbiosis was very much real. Julia Winter recalled that between takes the kids would crawl all over Wilder yelling, ‘It’s my turn to sit on his lap!’. In turn, Wilder would tell them jokes and stories; he ‘never got cross’. I remember feeling the same captivation as a child watching the film: I wanted to spend time with Wonka. It was only some adults who missed the magic trick. Dahl criticised Wilder’s performance as ‘pretentious’ and insufficiently ‘gay’. Wilder himself recalled hearing talk of mothers saying that the film was ‘cruel to the children’, but he understood that ‘maybe some mothers felt that way, but the children didn’t feel that way...there are limits and they want to know the limits’. The continuing classic status of the film is evidence that the kids (and Wilder) were right. The Wilder-Wonka magic has survived 50 years without souring. The only bittersweetness in watching the actor sing and twirl across the screen is knowing he is no longer with us.

Image source: https://cometoverhollywood.com/2016/08/29/musical-monday-willy-wonka-the-chocolate-factory-1971/

If Gene Wilder carried the film, then what about the story itself? The plot is simple, heart- warming, and doesn’t deserve close scrutiny. Willy Wonka really is a ‘show’, the story is secondary to the individual charisma of Wilder and the spectacle of the image and music. We don’t know if Charlie will be happy or sad once he’s inherited Wonka’s factory. We also don’t know what happens to the rest of the children after they’ve been punished. But who cares? The audience is taken to a joyful fun park where you want to eat everything on screen and play with all the gizmos and gadgets, and where the music is so catchy that you can’t get it out of your head for days and weeks after.

Select ideologues have (and will) taken issue with the story, discarding it as gauche capitalist propaganda. One Marxist criticism of the story even gained enough traction that the director took notice in later years. The parts seem to be there: a businessman running a competition by hiding five golden tickets in his candy bars, competition from other candy makers, the Wonka-Oompa Loompa relationship, and a ‘Rags to riches’ story for Charlie. But one might ask if this is an unnecessary and selective reading. The parts for an alternative vision are equally apparent: from the wild and uncontrolled creativity and experimentation inside the factory to the joy found within the chocolate work itself, and from the relentless drive forward ‘You have to go forward if you want to go back’ to the end picture of the elevator shooting through a glass ceiling and into the skies. If a critic really wanted to make the comparison, such images would sit more easily in Soviet Russia than capitalist America. Wonka might have a capitalist wrapper but take a bite and look closely inside and its ideological filling is incoherent (it is, after all, entertainment). One could imagine how the film might be set in a collectivist community rather than a ‘capitalist’ factory, but it would have made for a worse film. It is the sense of unease that runs throughout the film that has made it timeless, whether its Wonka’s frustration with August Gloop for polluting his pure chocolate river, his fear over someone leaking the secret recipe for the ever-lasting gobstopper, his nightmares in the tunnel sequence, or his anxiety over finding a worthy heir for the factory, which finally manifests as a misjudged outburst at Charlie. It’s the fraught relationship between abundance and greed that makes for such compelling watching. Anyway, as the screenwriter stated in an interview, the film is ‘...not the function of sitting down and intellectualising... it’s the function of scotch tape, cardboard, let’s put on a show!’ Why spoil the fun and examine the parts individually when the sum of the parts is a universal message people need to hear now as much as they did in 1971? Reward honesty and integrity, not greed.

A moral message delivered in an almost subversive tone is another reason for why the film feels timeless. Instead of adults dragging tired and bored children around, the adults in this film are at the mercy of their kids and Wonka. Young viewers can marvel at the gluttony of August Gloop, the smart-mouthed Violet Beauregarde, the wanton bad behaviour of Veruca Salt, and Mike Teevee’s devotion to cable. It’s escapism at its best to watch other kids do what you can’t do: speak back to parents and yell and scream. It’s equally as tantalising when the naughty children are punished in fantastical ways. Augustus, drinking from the chocolate river, falls in and then gets sucked up a chocolate chute. Violet chews forbidden gum and then blows up into a blueberry the size of a small horse. Veruca falls down a garbage chute. And Mike finds himself sucked into a television. Best of all, the parents are equally guilty of bad-behaviour as the kids - and, boy, do they pay for it. Wonka might be a film for children and adults, but you can guess who’s going to really have the best time. It is little Charlie, after all, who wins Wonka’s factory at the end of the day.

In the scene where Willy Wonka drinks from a yellow flower-shaped cup and then eats the cup, the cup itself was made of wax. Gene Wilder had to chew the wax pieces until the end of the take, at which point he spat them out. Adults that once watched the film as children now know that flowers in the garden aren’t edible. Our eyes can pick up the small imperfections in the film - the sweets that look plastic and chocolate river that looks like exactly what it was - ‘dirty, stinky water’. But through a child’s eyes - even coming to the film half a century after its release, the film really can be a ‘world of pure imagination’. In another fifty years, will children still wander into the garden, pick up a buttercup, and bite into it with all the belief in the word that it’ll taste like sweet, white chocolate? As long as parents continue to show children the film, they will - and what a marvellous legacy for a film to have. Fifty years on, it’s safe to say that Willy Wonka has had a sweet and indelible impact on our sadly mostly inedible world.

Sources for post: 

Mel Stuart, Josh Young, ‘Pure Imagination: The Making of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2001. 

Julia Dawn Cole, ‘I Want It Now! a Memoir of Life on the Set of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2011. 

Pure Imagination: The Story (Making) of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yyev_3S_Y4

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© Fifty Year Films, 2021. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of material from this blog without express and written permission from this site’s author is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fifty Year Films with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

[kisafavi-17]

Jack:

- football star

- quarterback

- friends with newsies in middle school

- HELLA TALL

- openly bisexual

- he/him

- seems scary but is really nice

- had a small fling with sarah

- RED BULLLL

- average student

- creator of blog

- junior in high school

- just turned 17 in february

- teachers love him

- massive flirt

- loves horror movies and will put them on to have background noise

- HIS REAL NAME IS JACKSON BUT CALL HIM THAT AND HE WILL END YOU

- lives with medda

David:

- straight A+

- honor roll gate kid

- taking 5 AP classes

- gay and on the ace spectrum

- major social anxiety

- new kid

- met jack first

- closeted/didn’t know

- tutor to most newsies

- has a older sister sarah (by 1 year) and younger brother les (10 years old)

- he/they?

- editor of the blog (once joined)

- mentally ill

- scared of spot

- sophomore taking junior classes

- 15 years

- reads romantic novels to understand women

- has feminine products on him at all times

- FEMINIST

- has sensory issues

Race:

- pothead

- always has nic of some kind

- TRAUMAAAAAA

- always horny

- flirts with all

- attracted to few

- very openly gay

- gets bullied a lot

- on-scene reporter for the school news blog

- barely passing

- he/they/she (doesn’t care really)

- swears A LOT

- met spot in 4th grade

- sophomore (got held back a year) 16 years old

- is down for anything

- lives with jack at medda’s

- is the meme lord

- does. not. sleep. (or sleeps all the time no in between)

- has dyslexia and reads wattpad or redit

Spot:

- either really rich or really poor

* Rich:

- daddy’s money

- old family friends with jack

- arranges interviews with people for the blog

- on baseball team

- picks on boys

- REFUSES TO MAKE FUN OF GIRLS

- lowkey feminist

- internalized homophobia

- drives a porsche… a BRIGHT RED porsche

- he/him (says nor/mal like a douche tho)

- HELLA DEPRESSED

- takes “performance enhancing” pills

- secretly hangs out with the newsies

- junior but really young

- david is his tutor

- lowkey really dumb

- refuses to read anything. ever

- IS NOT FUCKING SHORT!!!

- he’s like 5’10 (says hes 6’0 tho)

- real name is thomas

* Poor:

- TRAUMATIZED AFFFFF

- wears zip-up hoodies with black skinny jeans

- beat up black vans

- emo

- also a really young junior

- hot topic is his ✨home✨

- everyone is scared of him

- the “quiet kid”

- he/him

- closeted bi pref men

- race is his only friend

- occasionally smokes weed

- oldest sibling of 3 (twins one of each. 5th grade)

- has a job no one knows about

- works as a waiter at a dinner an hour from school

- IS. NOT. SHORT.

- HE. IS. LIKE. 5’11.

- gets into fights and never looses

- secretly simping for race

- protects the newsies

- writes anonymous articles for blog

- ✨black eyeliner✨

- always has painted fingernails

- B+ average

- real name is sean

Sarah:

- book worm

- LESBIAN

- she/they

- loves the book worms

- reads anything and everything

- does photography for school blog

- definitely does theater/choir

- owns wattpad

- writes on wattpad

- definitely simping for fictional characters

- has tried a vape once

- lightweight

- tall

- like 5’8.5

- mamma mia fangirl

- loves DC movies

- has every girl/boy crushing over her

- therapist friend

- always has everything you need somehow

- met jack at a party

- doesn’t allow ANYONE to pick on david along with jack

- cottage gore ascetic

- loves disney

- drives a blue subaru

- is on the high school dance team

- hates the term “UwU”

- is a 16 year old junior

Blink:

- on football team

- still has eyepatch but no one cares

- gayyyy

- dating mush

- PDA

- funny af

- is a really old sophomore

- 16 years old (a january baby)

- camera man for race for blog

- besties are bumlets, mush, and jack

- only one without family trauma

- has twin sister

- has the funniest laugh ever

- volunteers at homeless shelters

- cinnamon roll🥺

- real name is dylan

- hornyyyyy

- has smexy pics on snap

- harry potter fan

- griffindor

- TWITTER WARS

- starts beef for no reason

- watches horror to freak mush out

- it works

Mush:

- hates horror movies

- is dating blink

- is on the wrestling and dance team

- people tease him for being on the dance team

- 15 year olds sophomore

- wants to be a veterinarian

- owns a chicken for some reason

- no one knows how he got a chicken

- chickens name is Kentucky (hehe)

- is a cinnamon roll 🥺

- body dysmorphia

- has eating disorder

- nicknamed sunshine (brought to you by blink)

- has braces

- has mainly girl friends and everyone thinks he’s dating them

- he/him

- pansexual

- civil rights activist

- hates when blink gets hurt

- is a crackhead some times

- is a vegetarian

- works lighting for blog interviews and reports

- PDA is not his thing but he doesn’t mind it

- BOTTOM WHO LOOKS LIKE A TOP

- people think he’s a crybaby when in reality, he rarely cries

- loves disneyland and disney in general

- friends with everyone

- is the matchmaker

- cuddle bug with blink

- mostly C’s and B’s on his report card

- real name is aaron (hehe)

- is a romantic so… mush

Bumlets:

- emo vibes

- on dance team

- is secretly good at soccer

- gamer boi

- has only been in one long term relationship

- is broken hearted

- keeps to himself

- they/he

- pansexual

- had a crush on blink for a bit

- has crushed on every newsie at least once

- is pretty chill

- 15 year old sophomore

- currently single

- taking AP classes with david

- is like really smart

- reads AO3

- doesn’t like wattpad

- plays CoD and halo

- rages when he games

- LOVES GRILLED CHEESE

- scary dog privilege (owns a pit bull)

- pit bulls name is kiara

- knows how to ballroom dance

- romantic boi

- doesn’t open up easily

- knows how mush got his chicken

- friends with poor spot

- is a writer for blog because he can actually spell

- real name is lucas

- has depression hence “bumlets”

- surprisingly really strong

- ✨flexible✨

Skittery:

- one of the oldest newsies (terms of joining)

- only talks to bumlets and jack

- doesn’t like david to much

- has a RBF

- is 16 (turns 17 in august)

- is a junior

- smokes cigarettes

- doesn’t have social media

- is on the varsity water polo team

- ✨rings galore✨

- tries to be cool

- has 2 cats

- cats are cheesy and monica

- has an older brother in college

- works at 7 11

- is not looking for a relationship

- he/him

- straight ally

- tried being gay but didn’t work out

- drinks white wine

- always stressed

- decent student

- A- average

- friends with all the coaches

- headphones are his lifesaver

- is a very numb human

- always has cold skin for some reason

- even in like 100 degree weather he is still cold to the touch

- had facebook then deleted it because hack found his account and spammed it

- historical fiction type of dude

- is the one who finds all of the info to give to writers/reporters for blog

- loves bumlets dog

- drives a toyota prius

- real name is jefferson

- no one but jack knows how he got the name skittery

Crutchie:

- was in a car accident

- real name is charles

- has social anxiety and dyslexia

- should get picked on but jack doesn’t let that happen

- soft boi

- technically isn’t a newsie but shows up to the meetings

- is a emotional support teddy bear

- is the assistant director for the school plays

- best friends are jack, sarah, and mush

- only has instagram

- terrified of heights

- occasionally sleeps over at meddas

- adults love this child

- they/them

- gay

- loves disney

- knows the entire hunchback of notre dame movie by heart

- is 14 years old

- freshman. the only freshman newsie

- child of the group

- goes to all of his friends game or competitions to cheer them on

- is really short

- like REALLY SHORT

- says “rawr” a lot

Medda:

- jack and races mother

- (A SINGLE MOM WHO WORKS TWO JOBS WHO LOVES HER KIDS AND NEVER STOPS WITH GENTLE HANDS AND THE HEART OF A FIGHTERRRR IMMA SURVIVOR)

- is a voice actress

- has been in disney films

- “if you’re going to drink id rather you do it in the house” mentality

- hates the idea of nicotine

- on the PTA

- has annual passes to disneyland

- loves all the newsies

- wants to adopt poor spot

- is in her late 30s to early 40s

- she/her

- straight… kind of

- she says she’s straight but by definition she’s pan

- civil rights activist

- has an ACAB sticker on her car

- PRIDE FLAGS EVERYWHERE

- if the sexuality/gender exists in the lgbtq+ community, she has their flag

- likes gardening

- will never use the wrong pronouns

- doesn’t really eat at chain restaurants

- not afraid to kill someone who hurts one of the newsies

- i’m serious

- she’s tried

- ….

Les:

- in 5th grade; 10

- friends with poor spots siblings

- is friends with the newsies

- loves medda

- is like another crutchie without the trauma/depression/anxiety/etc.

- asks david if him and jack are dating

- he knew david was 💅 before david did

- loves it when one or all of the newsies picks him up from school

- everyone loves him

- got picked on for having a “looser brother”

- spot (both poor and rich) picked him up one time with david. said “if you have a problem with les, you got a problem with me!”

- les was never bothered again

- gets lifted onto the guy’s shoulders all the fricking time

- loves feeling tall

- wants to play football like jack

- is very smart

- is ridiculously fast

- he has the fastest mile time in the whole grade

- teachers pet

- doesn’t have many friends his age

- brags about the newsies to his classmates

[currentfandomkick]

Marinette did not sign up for this part 4

hey, so OG chapter 4 will now be chapter 5 as the gremlins hijacked this chapter.

part one here   previous part here   ao3 here

--

            Damian stared in quiet horror as he looked over Ladybug’s exploits after hacking into Paris’ servers. His sister—the one he took down with little effort—had been defending the city for a month before he appeared. From the video of “Stoneheart” he could tell she was given no training. And her partner was flirting with her! When he should be focusing on the mission!

             What gathered from further research was the following: his sister and her ‘partner’ were untrained. Their teammates were also untrained. A team of ten untrained teenagers—perhaps younger—were tasked with keeping a villainous coward from stealing their magic artifacts, and with stealing his in turn. A team lead by his sister. A very alone, scared girl from his one interaction with her. Smart (he saw now she knew how to save her own skin. Redirecting his attention was a good move at the time). She is smart and creative because if she isn’t, then her city and her will lose. Be under the control of some madman.

             He had to get there, and he doubted he could convince Jon to help him at the moment—why are kyptonians always fighting one another when you need the assistance of one?

             Father would stop him.

             The League was keeping Father in Gotham and he didn’t have individual access yet…

             He was stuck for the moment, and did not like it. Perhaps Grayson could prove useful? He’d ask once the man was done resting from patrol.

---------

             Cass was enjoying Paris. She spotted the possible sister at the bakery with her adoptive mother. They were happy. Cass likes that.

             Cass moved quickly through the crowd, managing to make it to the bakery.

             Marinette ran into her.

             “Ah! Sorry!” the girl managed to catch her things before they hit the ground.

             Cass waved her hands, indicating there was no harm or foul. The girl was no clumsy—Shifu Cheng was ill-informed. Those reflexes and her expression before indicated nothing but an intense focus on something else. On what, Cass wasn’t sure.

             Yet.

             For now, Cass took a seat in the bakery, smiling at the kind woman working the front. Sabine Cheng, the woman who raised the maybe-Bat.

             Cass began doing her own research, messaging Babs that she saw Soup Girl for a moment, and would be assessing her parents. She knew of cases in Gotham where things weren’t always right, and she wanted to be certain that this girl was safe, regardless of if she’s a Bat or not.

--------

             Tim decided to ignore Babs offer in the end. The possibility of owing Jason was low given both him and Cass are on the Case. Jason is good, don’t get him wrong, but the chances of Jason actually talking to the girl in a real conversation before the rest of them? As Red Hood?

             This is a calculated risk and the odd are in Tim’s favor. (Well, not in Jason's.)

--------

             Steph hummed as she went over the designer pool she was looking over. Shockingly low given its Paris—granted 200 girls is a lot to investigate… she didn’t give the others all the information she had though.

             According to Damian, she “posts a disgusting amount” which means she’s posting or tagged often. When she used some of Babs old filtering program with social media involved, it brought the candidates down to 30. She could go through thirty teenage designers social media and comb over who at least has some genes that are dominant from the Wayne side. Her natural hair had to be medium brunette at the lightest, so the natural blondes took out seven candidates right off the bat. While blue or green eyes would give them more priority on the list, eye color genes are weird. Weirdly, five of her candidates had attached earlobes, so she only had 18 left after that filter was put on… Bruce’s hair isn’t curly, so two girls with intensely curly natural hair were taken off the list. Bruce’s thin lips only knocked out two more candidates.

             That left Stephanie Brown with 14 designers in Paris to find and investigate in the right age range, because she doesn’t think Bruce started having sex at 15, unlike Tim who is allowing college kids into his ‘could be Bruce’s daughter’ mix.

             Stephanie is also going to need a plane ticket to meet these girls, and that means getting help from one of Wayne kids… Or stowing away on the private jet that she knows Tim can and will be using sometime today to do ground work himself.

             She’s cool stowing away—Babs is covering for her on principle since Tim wouldn’t take the deal. Steph was smart enough to relinquish one piece of blackmail in total in exchange for use of Babs filtering tech—she has more than that thanks to one Supergirl spilling a number of things Babs has done over the years. Has Stephanie mentioned she’s the only one of the Bats to listen to Oracle, Queen of Technology, in this bet? She is, and she is better for it.

-----------

             Marinette managed to make it to the Agrests Mansion with little issue this time. Today she was going to one of the production lines with Gabriel to learn how to reset the machines and program them to follow any simple stitch pattern she wanted. It was good.

             She also noticed that during none of her times with Gabriel, was there a single akuma sighting. Not an attack—those never happened anywhere near their time together. It was an… interesting pattern. She was beginning to suspect that if Hawkmoth wasn’t Gabriel (he was akumatized, it can’t be him. Get that theory out of your head Marinette), then it had to be someone who worked for him, and high on the food chain.

             She made sure to memorize each of his ‘supervising managers’ and partners’ names. One of them had to be Hawkmoth. And Gabriel had to be someone that this Hawkmoth either really respected or really didn’t want handle re-scheduling with. Which would be all of them…

             She really wished she had more time to dig into their lives herself. For now, she had to trust Max and Markov to do the research… which reminded her, her name had been pinged on multiple searches in Gotham last night. From numerous devices. If the Bats were planning anything…

             Marinette gripped her purse a bit tighter. Her team has her back. She just doesn’t want them caught up in this mess too. She wishes that Aquaman never showed up. If he hadn’t, then the Bats wouldn’t be looking into her civilian life, the one they already knew about but only now deemed worthy of their attention.

             She wished they would just stop—she won’t look into the Great Detectives. She knows she’s not one of them. That she wouldn’t hack it in Gotham. But Damnit, in Paris? Her Territory—she does more than hack it. Sure, she may have blown herself up that one time, and yes, there is the timeline where as Princess Justice she may have sort of broke the world by forcing it to conform to that akumatized version of hers’ idea of Absolute Justice (apparently she was ruthless, made no exceptions and took out a third of the Justice League using Multimouse at the time on top of it all). Yes, she is not a perfect leader. Or hero. But Damnit, her (admittedly two) supervillians have been almost caught twice. Her re-akumatazation rate is much lower than any of the Justice League’s heroes’ normal villain or general crime recidivism rate by more than a little. By a lot. She’s not some Detective but she’s a damn good strategist, a champion at improvising and she and her team do work with the public and victims and reworked so much of Paris’ social culture to lower akuma-creating circumstances and keep the public emotionally healthy.

             She’s no detective.

             She’s a Guardian. That means caring about the details that shift the bigger pieces. That means adaption with what is there and creating what she needs. That means knowing her limits and getting help—to set an example and prove that not even her or Chat are an island. That even superheroes need help, need others and need to work together.

            She’s no detective. Detectives work alone.

            Her? She’s forged a team that (she hopes) could become the new Order of Gaurdians with her… some day. For now, they’re heroes with the same mission and different roles to play.

            Marinette just wishes that she could shut up this hunch since its been disproven. Her instincts on guilt and possible baddies aren’t the best—Adrien’s job is to sense what’s wrong and take them out. Hers is to make whatever is needed to help fix things, to push someone forward and help them grow. Her job to craft a better tomorrow today… and to do that, she lost the parts of her that picked up Danger. She can still find Caution signs (and her anxiety will always invent danger) but real Danger detection went to Adrien when she agreed to become Ladybug in the first place… And until both her and Adrien renounce their roles as the pair wielding the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses, she’ll always be missing it.

            The same way Adrien is missing his ability to think outside the box—seeing things as what they could become to help them went to her. He can only see potential threat and act on them. She can only see potential aide and act on that.

---------

            Jason grinned when he managed to make it into Paris. The second there was some damn akuma attack, he was grabbing the baby Bat and hunting Hawkmoth his way—she need the jewelry? Fine. She can have it. The guy brainwashing kids? The one that slaughtered the city? He’s Jason’s. ---------

            Bruce didn’t like being benched. He doesn’t like not knowing he had another child. He especially doesn’t like that this one is constantly preventing an apocalypse and his allies can’t be bothered to even send him anything about it. Not even a basic ‘she’s not living on the streets’ like Jason did. Or ‘she’s got parents here, calm down’ so he could get this stupid instinct to storm Paris and take on the bastard threatening his family that he didn’t know he had.

            Apparently Barbra has a hunch, but isn’t sharing until she has “conclusive evidence” of his daughter’s identity. Damian just isn’t speaking of it. As if being someone’s father biologically gives him a built-in alarm system for when he’s had a child and the ability to track them down at birth. Damian being raised in the League of Assassins should be enough proof to the contrary there.

            The others were… he wasn’t absolutely certain, but fairly certain his self-proclaimed ‘middle kid club’ were tracking his missing daughter down themselves. Possibly to claim her as part of their group, specifically.

            God, she was so young, It was before he even heard of the League that she was born. In that lifetime before becoming Batman. Would she like him? He was absent her whole life—did she want to meet him, meet the family? They’re a mess, he knows it. But they’re his—he chose them and they chose him. Would she chose him too?

            He watched another video of Ladybug in her early days, before she and her partner (dear god he’s cat-themed. Is it genetic? Should he test her and himself for some ‘drawn to dresses-as-a-cat’ gene?) were given any kind of training.

            She blew herself up to stop her city from being taken over by ‘Animan’ and his creatures.

            His daughter.

            Exploded.

            (She died. She died and he didn’t know. God he’s a horrible parent, and he hasn’t even parented her yet.)

            She died.

            To keep her city safe.

            She somehow reconstituted. But her face, in that video, she was shocked.

            His daughter should be dead but she’s not.

            Magic, he’s so glad his daughter uses magic.

            He. He’s going to need to consult someone. Raven? Raven should work. He can’t talk to the Justice League—nothing wrong with talking to the half-demon all of his Robins that lead the Titans has worked with.

            Loopholes.

            The Justice League is horrible at closing them.

---------

            Dick wanted to be mad when Damian came clean to him about the needles. He wanted to freak out over almost losing a sister he hasn’t met.

            He did.

            But.

            But this is Damian.

            Damian who still has trouble connecting. Who still flinches at certain tones of voice and phrasing. Damian who desperately wants to do Good but… struggles.

             Damian who has all of Bruce’s communication problems and then some.

             So no, Dick did not scream when he found out Damian only sparred “the blood daughter” because she looked too frail and weak for her to be considered anything resembling a threat to him. He did not sigh when he found out that Bruce didn’t know when Damian assumed he did. He did not hit himself when Damian discussed the various weapons he’d gifted her as a apology with the bouquets over the years and their meanings.

             He did take a deep breath, and begin explaining from this baby bat’s stance what had happened.

             “Imagine for a moment that it was me before I became Robin, and I was almost killed by someone who only let me live if I never contacted a shared parent or that parent’s known family. How do you think Pre-Robin me would have responded?”

             “You would have feared for your life and done whatever you could to prevent contact.”

             “Now, imagine I wasn’t told who to be avoiding, only aliases.”

             “You would avoid everyone with an alias that you did not help them create, and keep them from unknown aliases.”

             Dick snapped his fingers. “Exactly. That’s what this sister, what are we calling her?”

             “Her alias is Ladybug.”

             “Yes, that is what Ladybug was going through before Aquaman made contact.”

             Damian was quiet for a moment. “She must be on edge.”

             Dick nodded at that. “She probably is.”

             Damian furrowed his brow. “Do you think the League would allow me to contact her and end our agreement?”

             Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, but we can try.”

             “… And if they refuse?”

             “Then we find another way. We’re Bats,” Dick reassured Damian. He just hoped the missing members weren’t doing anything too rash…    

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

             Marinette made a (painful) decision. Adrien and her would swap miraculouses—at least until there were less pings on her sites from Gotham. For added protection, she kept the Mouse miraculous on. Chatte Noire was less known, and she doubted Wonder Woman or Aquaman informed Batman about the miraculous of Creation and Destruction’s particular… refusal to let anyone but a pair chosen together to wield them at any point.

             Chatte Noire would only be on call for a day or so… what’s the worst that can happen?

--------

the characters are jinxing themselves, and procrastinating the (vague) plot of Shenanigans. i swear. 

if anyone can message me on how to add in a read more, that’d be great since i know these can get long to scroll past for mobile users.

@heldtogetherbysafetypins @laurcad123 @raisuke06 @chaosace @jeminiikrystal @toodaloo-kangaroo @kris-pines04 @laurcad123

[megamikethomson]

Health Cares Tips

Apple Cider Vinager To cure athlete's foot a simple remedy of apple cider vingager will do the trick. Soak a cotten ball in the vinager and apply it to the foot twice a day, not forgetting between the toes. Let the vinager dry throughly before putting on your socks and shoes.  health life cares

Apple cider vinager is a potent antibacterial solution that also possesses antifungal properties. Make sure to wash your hands throughly to avoid spreading the infection. Grapes in oil Cooking food with olive oil is not the only way to lower cholesterol levels; grape seed oil is a flavorsome alternative with added health benefits. Grape seed oil is high in antioxidants, vitamin E, and has the ability to raise HDL (good) cholesterol levels and lower LDL (bad) cholesterol levels like that of olive oil. The effect is due to the oil’s poly- and monounsaturated fat content. Also, the slight nutty flavor of this oil complements other foods such as salads, breads, and vegetables.

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Incorporate flax into your diet Adding a few servings of flaxseed into your daily diet is healthful for your heart and digestive system.

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Be sure the flaxseeds are grounded so that the your body can digest it properly to ensure maximium absorption.

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We need sleep ...you could be sleep deprived and putting yourself at risk for an early death. That stunning conclusion was reached by researchers at Penn State College of Medicine, who determined that when we get just six hours of sleep a night, we are actually sleep deprived. And sleep deprivation not only makes us sleepy during the day and decreases our productivity and performance levels, but also promotes the potentially dangerous process of inflammation. Inflammation of this sort can lead to a variety of problems, including heart disease and hardening of the arteries, reports WebMD.

Previous studies have examined the effects of severe sleep deprivation, which is five hours or less of sleep.The levels of inflammatory factors skyrocketed in the 25 study volunteers--who spent 12 consecutive nights in a sleep laboratory--when they had just six hours of sleep, compared with eight hours. So when you pass up sleep to watch more television, talk to your spouse, or clean the house, you are putting yourself at risk for cardiovascular disease and osteoporosis. Mosquitoes Repellent Rubbing a handful of fresh basil leaves on your skin should protect you from mosquitoes for a few hours. The herb does not contain hazardous chemicals and is less likely to cause skin irritations than the synthetic bug sprays.

Benefits of Garlic To get the most health benefits out of your fresh garlic, don’t cook it. Studies show that cooking garlic may destroy the anti-carcinogenic compounds found in the cloves. However, let stand freshly minced garlic for about 10 minutes before cooking them. Microwave cooking also helps preserve the cancer fighting agents.      health cares

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Reducing Near-Point Stress on the Eyes Headaches, burning and watery eyes, squinting and eyes that tire easily are common symptoms of near-point stress caused by such continuous close-up visual activities as reading and writing. The problem lies in the fact that human beings were not designed for near vision as a continuous activity. We have “hunter-soldier” eyes for survival. Only in the last 50 years or so have so many people been forced to deal with sustained, near visual tasks. Many visual difficulties can be reduced by following a few of the following simple guidelines:

Look up and away from your close-up task regularly. Make it a habit to change your focus from near to distant objects as frequently as possible.  health life cares

When watching television, try to sit eight to ten feet away from the set. The ideal distance for close up visual tasks is 14 to 16 inches from the eyes

Good lighting is important. A good rule of thumb is to make your working or reading light three times brighter than the lighting in the rest of the room..

Women Need to Know that Urinary Incontinence is not Inevitable At a recent nurse practitioner's conference, a nurse showed a study that it takes women an average of 9 years to report incontinence symptoms to their doctors. Incontinence is not an inevitable part of aging, and can be prevented naturally without drugs or surgery. It's important to destigmatize this condition and educate women about their alternatives.

Ocean Benefits The ocean is chalk full of seaweed which is a cancer-fighting agent. Some studies show that seaweed, or kelp, contains powerful antioxidants that inhibit the growth of certain cancer cells, mostly breast cancer. Seaweed contains high concentrations of the compound tryptophan, which has anti-carcinogens. Crumble seaweed over vegetables, soups, rice, and salads.   health life

Minor burns If you have a minor burn peel a potatoe take the skins of the potatoe and rub the peeled side to your skin.

Eating right Anumber of foods are loaded with vitamin B-complex, folic acid, vitamins A and E, zinc, magnesium, iron, chromium, selenium, and essential fatty acids that add to your brainpower. To incorporate these elements into your diet is easy; all you have to do is eat. The best choices in food that include these elements are: sardines, herrings, shellfish, dried and sprouted beans, nuts, seeds, apples, apricots, black currents, carrots, bananas, liver, beets, celery, barley, brown rice, oats, kidney, lean beef, Brewer’s yeast, black strap molasses, wheat germ, basil, rosemary, ginger, and licorice. It is best to avoid foods high in sugar like baked goods and sodas, because they result in great fluctuations in blood-sugar levels, which causes breaks in your concentration and energy levels.    health cares

Protein diets Protein may be causing you to pack on the pounds. One of the latest reports states that this might be true. A high intake of protein may lead to a high body mass index. For optimum health, limit your amount of protein intake to about 15% of your daily calories and use complex carbohydrates (fruits and vegetables) as your menu mainstay.

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Prologue

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Prologue

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: So, this is my first fanfiction on tumblr, and I'd thought I'd try it since I have very little time for DeviantArt's chaos. It's much different from my Legolas x Reader on there. I added a small loving family to make the emotions relatable-- even if you don't have siblings, or have more than what I added, it's just fanfiction! Also, I tried to make my pronouns for said reader gender-nuetral so that everybody can enjoy it! The reason your character is so wild is for the sake of not fitting in to this world, yet you're used to it, so that later points in the plot can become more... Well, you'll see. And yes, I made Elves pansexual because I don't think they'd care much about gender or age at that point. LARPing plays a big role in the prologue, because your character is really into it for personal reasons. If this isn't your cup of tea, don't drink it. I hope you like it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

You'd never been considered normal by anyone. You enjoyed LARP instead of reality. Your "job" was just staying at home and captioning videos all day every day you weren't LARPing instead of interacting with society at a normal job. Your home? A tiny studio apartment that only cost $450 a month without bills, and you did without cell phone, car, and electric for the sake of being your weird self. You hadn't been to college yet, despite the fact that everyone told you to go once your gap year was over, and it almost was. What would you even study? Acting was all that got you close to who you were, so, ok, guess that's fine, but nobody else thought of that as a career. Maybe you could write fiction-- you were good at that much.

You weren't always like this. There was a time when you were just a normal kid, living a normal life. But somewhere around ten, you started to change, and by sixteen you'd become who you were today. If the Old You could see the New You, you weren't sure if they'd think you were weird too, or if they'd stare up at you in awe.

Hopefully it was the latter, which made you feel good.

I mean, come on, were you born in the wrong timeframe or what?! That's what you thought, anyway. There's no way that this world was for you. The fact that nearly all people were heartless jackasses that enjoyed destroying the planet, the fact that everybody had to be the same or were considered freaks, prejudice and injustice were key factors of life and the rich got handed everything on a silver platter while the poor had to scavenge... Just, everything of this reality made you hate it. If only you'd been born five hundred years earlier, or, y'know, in Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings...

You'd really liked to have been born in Middle-Earth. You had so many books about it, you knew practically everything there was to know, even the confusing shit about Faramir being in the Fall of Gondolin. You'd practically memorized Elvish, and dwarvish, and you knew the whole six movies by heart, every line. And of course, like most Lord of the Rings fans, you had a massive crush on a certain Elvish princeling who was too pretty for his own good. In fact, Legolas was who inspired you to learn archery; maybe one day you'd be as good as he was.

Despite your wishes, you were stuck in reality, however much you hated it

. Even amongst your LARP groups, you were considered outlandish.

Everybody else had normal lives outside of their games, whereas you pretended this was your life. You didn't have any job aside from the small caption jobs you did when you weren't LARPing, no social life, nothing. The only people you had was your mother, brother, sister, and your only friend, [F/N]. They accepted you and your strange fantasies, even if they thought you'd one day regret acting in a way when you could've been beginning a normal life and being productive.

So excuse you if you decided to invite them to a LARP event and let them borrow some of your costumes. It wasn't the end of the world. But your LARP group apparently didn't get that memo.

"You invited your mom?!" A royal asshole sneered, yet you took satisfaction in the fact that his knight costume looked like it was made of cardboard painted silver, whereas your sci-fi Elf getup was actual leather and cloth. His name was Jacob Brent; you'd never really liked him. He'd always had it out for you because your costumes were so much more fabulous than his. Plus you may or may not have actually known swordplay and archery and dagger throwing and martial arts... Kinda. You were still in the process of learning kickboxing.

You cocked a sky blue-- yes, sky blue-- eyebrow to your equally bright blue hairline, spiked up in a short faux hawk. This was your first sci-fi Elf, and you'd wanted to go all out. A cocky grin split its way across your face. "Yeah, so? It doesn't effect you on any level, Tin Can."

He sniggered with his cronies. "I can't believe you don't have anyone else to come with you." He mimicked rubbing his eyes like he was four. "'Oh Mommy, I need somebody to come with me!'" His whole group burst into laughter.

You surprised them by joining in, actually appluading. "Oh, wow! Wonderful, just wonderful! Hey, should I tell Mindy that I seen you feeling up Roxie behind your fort last week?" He paled, and almost everybody in his group of crappy cosplay got 'o' faces. You put your hands on your hips. "Guess what, asshole, just 'cause I'm close with my family and you're not with yours doesn't make it a crime to hang out with them. It's my life, my decision, and I enjoy spending time with them." You hefted up a disappointingly fake spear, turning to walk away. "Oh, and by the way, your paint's chippin' off."

Reason for Hating Reality Number 6, 965: Immaturity levels are almost incomprehensibly high.

Your mom glared daggers at Jacob's Immaturity Harem. She'd always been a tough gal, always sticking up for you when you got bullied when you were younger, but now that you were an adult, she had to let you kick ass yourself; you were pretty good at it. "I don't like him." She stated casually, and you chuckled.

"'Course you don't. He looks like a cheesy robot costume you'd get from Wal-Mart with a too-big crotch protector that's not impressing anyone but himself, and he has the face of a roasting pig. Too tanned, too grubby, and always with something in his mouth."

She smiled slightly. "Has he always been giving you trouble?"

You swung your gear pack off of your shoulder, letting it yank itself down to earth. "Since the day he tried kissing my ass 'cause he didn't know me." [F/N] must've overheard that last sentence, because he burst into laughter when he approached with your brother, [B/N], and your sister, [S/N]. "You talking about Jacob?"

"Sure as hell."

You'd first met [F/N] a year ago, when you'd joined extra-curricular activites for your last year of high school. He thought your personality was incredibly brave, especially in this modern world, but even still... He was just a friend, not a best friend. You'd never had that luxury outside of your tiny family. You just didn't trust him after the life you'd had.

Unfortunately, it seems they didn't like the getups. "Do I have to wear this?" [B/N] asked dramatically, slumping over. He didn't look right in the pauldrons and leather breastplate.

"It's too heavy!" [S/N] complained.

You sighed theatrically. "My piteous children, deal with thy armor, for it must be worn despite thou complaints."

[B/N] pressed his palms together and bowed down. "Screweth thou, false companion."

You mimicked his bow. "Off to hell with thee."

"Hey! You guys! It's starting!" [F/N] cried, and ran off, his pack of weapons and magic bags trembling dangerously on his back. The rest of you followed more slowly, as you explained to your family how exactly LARPing worked. Battles weren't actually bloody, magic was just colored powder, you get points for a hit, and so on and so forth. [B/N] and [S/N] got it immediately, but your poor mom, who hadn't even ever played Skyrim, had no idea how the point system and leveling up worked. You had to explain it six times over before you'd reached the massive gathering of LARPing cosplayers. [F/N] returned to you as you reached it, carrying a map. "We were in Larsgyushter Prairie last, right?"

"Duh," You shrugged, at the same time [S/N] asked with a grimace, "Luckyestire Prairie?"

[F/N] inclined his head. "Well, I made some arrangements because your family joined us. We made for Glewnburg, where we picked up their characters, and then headed into the Elder Woods."

You took the map. "Sounds fair enough."

[S/N] frowned. "What exactly were you guys doing last time?"

[F/N] blushed; he must've liked her, which made you feel proud and like pummeling him all at once. "A quest to defeat a horde of wildebors in order to get a good amount of gold."

"How much?"

"Four hundred."

Your mom seemed confused. "Is that a lot?"

"For the land of Sisgremor," You retorted, "Not much. But it's enough for us. We hunt for food, and sleep in the woods. It's summertime, so we don't have much need for shelter unless it storms, and we know where to find caves. The coin is for some new bits of armor, and some weapon upgrades and a couple of magic books for [F/N]."

"Oh," Your mom said, and you took the lead, getting into your Elven character with a huge grin on your face.

"Come, my children! We must meet the bors by midday!" You ran off, but you didn't miss the looks over half of the LARP community gave you.

~le time skip~

The one thing you didn't like about LARPing was the enemies. They weren't believable and were crappily dressed, at least in your community. They were crappy actors and their dying acts were unrealistic. Unless they were orcs that had good makeup skills and good cosplay, they weren't worth fighting, but you had an imagination to kick them up a notch.

As always, the wildebors were just some guys in black outfits decorated with needles, and wearing pig masks with an underbite bearing tusks. Your imagination knocked them to eight-feet long beasts with bloodstained tusks, wild red eyes, and porcupine-like needles that shot out of their near-impenetrable hides if provoked.

You'd only fought these beasts once. They had three separate healthbars, each a different strength: eight hundred, four hundred, and one hundred. Your spear-- the only weapon you could afford after your bow snapped (Poor prop craftsmanship.), had a damage rate of ten health per hit, thirty if you could make a three-combo move (The highest combo move allowed.).  [F/N]'s magic bombs, bolts of energy, and other magic stuff only varied from ten to fifty health damage per hit, except for his Fyrering, which was a once-a-day power that was ninety health damage, plus a three minute window of burning which took ten damage every thirty seconds.

The boars were also viscious; one hit from them took around fifty health, and at level nine, you and [F/N]'s health bars were only at two hundred and fifty, plus your armor rating of fifty and his of twenty. Your family, however, were only at level one, with a one hundred strength health bar each and armor ratings varying between ten and fifteen.

In short: that meant a hell of a lot of hits, very little openings, and there were always numbers to consider. There were six of them, and five of you. If you had your bow, this would be easy. You'd climb a tree, avoid their needles, and fire your twenty-five damage arrows relentlessly (With the thirty plus bonus from your actual bow.) while [F/N] pelted them with magic. You could take down two, maybe three that way before retreating, waiting for your strength to regenerate and your undamaged arrows to "respawn" before coming back for more battling (The arrows don't actually exist, for safety reasons. You had to wait for ten minutes before an approximated number of arrows, determined previously by the quest-giver, "reappeared" in your "inventory.").

But you had to think of a new plan. A brand new plan. You had three level one novices, two level nine intermediates, and six angry-as-hell wildebors that were level twenty. This was an impossible quest. You should never have accepted it knowing your family was coming.

You were hiding behind a huge oak, and glanced around it; for a split moment, you saw the crappy actors, but your mind quickly fixed that. Above and to your immediate right, [F/N] hid behind a mound of boulders up on a hill, and you'd positioned your family similarly. You just couldn't see them. [F/N]'s hand waving caught your attention. Frantically, he pointed above you. You whipped your head up, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. You gave him a look like WTF dude, and he rolled his eyes. He picked up a rock as an example and pointed back up into the branches, but still, you didn't see anything. He gestured again, almost forcefully, and this time, you seen it: brightnuts, a specialized kind of walnut bred specifically to explode into a bright white light on impact, with dangerous shrapnel and poisonous fumes that had one hundred and fifty health damage.

Of course, in reality, they were just blue and white beanbags hanging in nets rigged all over the branches, but you pretended they weren't.

But still, perfect.

You'd start calling out orders as soon as you started throwing them. [F/N] knew how to improvise to a plan already, but your family didn't. You propped your spear up on the tree, and started climbing, wincing when the bark scraped your palms; you were wearing what'd used to be white bridal gloves, but you'd tinkered with them to match your costume, sewing sky blue patterns into the gloves.

You personally didn't make a sound, but a couple of leaf-covered branches fell; luckily, wildebors were mostly deaf and blind, so you should make it to the top of the tree without any consequences.

You flashed [F/N] a triumphant smile when you reached the topmost branches, snatching a bag of brightnuts and holding them high above your head. He shot you a double thumbs-up, then made a wheel-like gesture to get you to move on. You stuck your tongue out at him, then readjusted yourself on the branch to get a good aim.

A few seconds of struggling against the knot, and you'd gotten the net open. With barely a minute of hesitation, you drew your arm back, and fired. Your aim was almost perfect. You hit one of the wildebors in the side, and you seen the actor as he started the most over-acted reaction you'd seen yet: a violent jump, then what sounded like a deranged "Guuuugh!" You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

Either way, [F/N] whooped behind you. "Hit! A hit!"

Before you could give any orders whatsoever, [B/N] charged down the hill with his realistic-looking wooden battleaxe bellowing a war cry. You slumped over. "Aw, shit."

In the blink of an eye, [B/N] was officially dead but still pummeling the poor actors, your mom didn't know what to do, [F/N] didn't realize what was happening from behind his rock, and [S/N] was dodging air like a boss. You waited on the branch until the coach of the actors stood, took off his mask, and blew his whistle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You with the axe! You died already! Come on everybody, regroup, come on..." Your mom and [S/N] were laughing it off with a couple of the actors, but [B/N] was having a heated argument with the rest of them, and they were starting to shove each other around; he'd always been a sore loser. The coach separated them, and [F/N] called to you from below. "Guess we failed this quest, huh?"

You shrugged. "It's all good. There are other, less dangerous quests."

He perked up. "Yeah, so hurry up and get down here! We've gotta get back to Glewnburg!"

You tossed the beanbag you'd had in your hand back into the net. "Comin'." Unfortunately for you, you were a bit of a show-off. You stood, stretching your arms out for balance, walking quickly and carefully across the bough. A loud snap that echoed through the forest silenced everyone: your sudden movements had weakened the branch down the middle, where a split was slowly cracking open.

"Oh shit." Did I have to choose the top branch?

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as you fell. Your ribs exploded with pain as you slammed into a slightly lower branch full-force. Your ankle snapped. Your arms were whipped and bruised. Your head cracked painfully across the thick, unmoveable base of one branch, and white and yellow dots burst in your vision. Your sight started to fade, as did the pain, until you met the ground with a dull thud.

I should've went to college.

~time skip~

When you woke up, the first thing you realized was, Hey, I woke up! I'm alive! which was immediately followed by, Holy fucking shit what the fucking hell did I break, then a much more painful thought of Why the fuck am I still in the goddamn forest? 

And you were. You were laying on your side, in a couple of very small but still immensely terrifying pools of drying blood, one of which came from the corner of your mouth. Your entire body throbbed painfully. Every breath you took caused sharp, white-hot pains to spiderweb across your entire torso. Your ankle was burning up, and you couldn't move it or your left arm. Your head felt like you'd been hit by a truck. A truck made of solid wood...

Why were you still in the forest? You knew your mother well enough to know that she've panicked. She'd've screamed your name and ran to you and called 911 immediately. [F/N] would've done the same. In fact, there was no reason why they wouldn't have called for a medic. You fell from the equivalent of a three-story building with poles sticking out of it.

By all accounts, you should be near death.

So why were you still in the forest, exactly where you'd fell?

With immense effort, you rolled onto your back, panting heavily and wincing against the pain. Your vision swam, and things were blurry. The trees were different; the tree where you'd fallen from was tall and branchless for most of the way up, and definitely not an oak. To boot, there weren't any nets full of beanbags, and your spear was gone. Behind you was  a cliff with an outcropping of rock that looked similar-- but not the same-- to the one [F/N] had been behind. There were roots and underbrush and bushes and walls of thorny branches surrounding you, and in between the ground was filled of orange and gold fallen leaves; up in the canopy, which hadn't been as thick before, the leaves were all dressed for Fall. You stared at it in confusion. "What the hell?" Shit. Even that hurt.

Where were you? Why weren't you in an ambulance with the sirens blaring? You were pretty positive you'd broken quite a few bones, and from that fall, you couldn't not have internal bleeding. So where were you?

You waited, but no one came. When the sky started to darken and the pain began to worsen, you were forced to move, slowly getting up, inch by inch, until you'd managed to be in a sitting position. It felt like all the blood rushed from your head and torso, making you cold in the evening chill. You hugged your right arm to your chest, really wishing you'd've worn arm cuffs or something; your short, high-collared, sleeveless, sky-blue leather jacket over a thin white crop top and a black corset-style belt really weren't meant for chilly weather.

"Hello?" You called out. Your voice carried on, but you got no return call. Blood trickled down your chin from where your lips had rebusted; you were lucky you hadn't bit your tongue off or shattered teeth. "Hey! Help!" Still, nothing. "Hey!"

After a twenty-minute bout of screaming for help, you gave up. You were confused-- so, so, confused. Where were you and why were you here? Where was your family? Where was [F/N]? Where was the coach, and those shitty actors? Hell, where was the rest of the LARP group? You'd even be relieved if Jacob appeared out of nowhere.

The moon had risen by the time you’d made it to your feet. Your ankle wasn't as bad as it was earlier; you could put some weight on it now, even if it wasn't a lot. You must've only sprained it. You tried calling for help a few more times, but only the crickets replied.

Then, they went silent.

You frowned. In books and movies, that was usually a bad sign. What'd caused them to shut up so abruptly? Not aliens, you hoped, like in Signs.

A low growl from behind you-- behind you, dammit-- made your skin crawl. A chill ran down your spine. You turned, slowly, hoping you wouldn't aggravate the wolf or coywolf or whatever it was; it wasn't either of those.

It stood on top of the small cliff, and it was at least the size of a horse. A boar-like coat, dull brown, covered its entire body, spotted in places. Its head was broad and massive, bearing an underbite of fangs and small beady eyes. Drool fell from its jaws as it snarled at you. You were half tempted to try the "Nice doggie" before you seen the rider.

Damn, it was ugly as hell. Small, malformed, with dark green skin and a crooked nose. Greasy, thin hair hung from its wrinkled scalp. Nasty claws protruded from its wart-covered fingers and dug into the horn of some kind of saddle. It sneered with an evil grin, and a mouthful of sharp teeth.

You didn't know what else to do; you took off running at full speed, ignoring the pains shooting up your leg from your sprained ankle. Branches and weeds whipped your skin, trailing blood. You glanced back once. The monster-- which you knew was an orc-- and the giant dog that you couldn't place the name of watched you for a couple of moments more before the orc gave a sharp order in a language you didn't understand, but it felt familiar. Two more of the giant dogs burst from the bushes on either side of the first, and they did give chase. Shit, were they what'd happened to your family? Some whackjob dressed as an orc riding a pitbull on steroids mauled everybody?!

You pushed yourself to run faster. Your heart pounded in your ears. Adrenaline rushed through your veins. Each step jarred your aching body, but you couldn't stop. The dogs were enjoying the chase, keeping their strides slow enough to still be on your heels, but not close enough to get you yet. A new sound-- a river, maybe-- gave you hope, and you tried to move even faster, your lungs burning from the strain.

It was a river you'd heard, but it was down a steep hill filled of arching roots and thorny bushes. You didn't have time to stop; you barreled forward, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way, hurting your body even further. By the time you reached the pebbly shore (With all of the sharp edges of the rocks jabbing into you unnecessarily.), the dogs were halfway down, the orcs riding them laughing like hyenas.

You couldn't swim, but you'd rather take your chances with the river than with the giant pitbulls. You waded in, and were immediately swept off your feet by the strong current. It dragged you under, and you were bashed into some boulders, getting cut up badly. One slammed into your hip, nearly causing you to suck in. Another rammed into your already-broken ribs, and this time, you did scream, getting a huge gulp of water. A crimson cloud engulfed you as something long and sharp burst through your calf. You were pushed up against another boulder, and you grabbed on, hauling yourself out of the water and hanging on for dear life, hacking and coughing out the water that'd filled your lungs.

The dogs had chased you up the shoreline, and the orcs carried shortbows with arrows of dark wood. A glance down and, sure as fuck, they'd hit you with one in the calf, dammit. You looked ahead of you: rapids, a slow and drawn-out death. Ahead of you, probably a very painful death, but hopefully it'd go faster than drowning while being battered to a lifeless corpse.

I should've gone to college.

You squeezed your eyes shut tight and braced yourself for the next arrow, but you were pretty much forced to open them again when you heard the sound of dogs yelping and orcs wailing. One of the dogs was dead, neck slashed open and pouring blood onto the rocks. It had landed on its rider, who struggled beneath its weight. The other dog had taken off, but its rider had an arrow jutting out of its face.

A troop of warriors, clad in forest-colored tunics of dark browns, greens, and grays had appeared in the second you'd closed your eyes. Every one of them had long, straight hair, braided away from their faces. Most had a quiver of arrows and a longbow, but some, like the one who'd killed the dog, had a curved longsword. Others still had long knives. Compared to the dark orcs, these people seemed to almost be made of light...

Oh shit.

Elves. These were Elves.You could see it clearly now, in the way they carried themselves: regal, majestic, every move perfectly balanced and smooth. Their ears were pointed, but not drastically like the ones from Zelda, and they were taller than most average men. You were in awe.

These were some damn good actors.

No, they couldn't be actors. That clicked, finally. Especially when you were able to see the one that'd killed the dog slice off the struggling orc's head cleanly and deftly before kicking it into the river. Thankfully, it didn't come near you.

Shit. These were real orcs, real giant bloodthirsty dogs, real Elves... This was all real. But how...?

You heard the sound of a bowstring being pulled taut, much closer to you. You couldn't exactly whip around in your current state, but you still moved as fast as you could. Another Elf, standing on the flat rocks halfway across the river, no less than thirty feet away. How the hell did he get there?!

After the initial shock passed, you realized there was an arrow nocked in the bow. You'd already felt one once in the last ten minutes, you didn't need to feel it again, so you stayed still. He watched you with eyes so blue you could see them from where you were. He was illuminated from the side by the moon, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. His hair was somewhere between platinum and very light blonde, and a quiver of orange-feathered arrows hung over two identical sheaths for ivory-handled long knives. His bow was almost as gorgeous as he was: dark wood engraved with golden leaf designs. His tunic was dark green, and you admired his fancy Elven belts and buckles and bracers for a second before your eyes were drawn back to his face, the profile of which was almost... Dished, in a way, like an Arabian horse's. Your eyes locked, and you felt as if you'd seen him somewhere before...

An Elf on the shoreline spoke, breaking the trance. You couldn't understand what exactly he said; you could've swore you knew some Elvish...

The Elf staring you down watched you for a minute longer, then jerked his bow toward you in gesture, shouting an order to one of his comrades. His voice sounded so familiar... It was on the tip of your brain... It was deep and soft and gentle and commanding all at once. You couldn't explain it. Two Elves followed his order, nimbly leaping from tiny rock to tiny rock to get to where he was, then past him, coming to you. Their weapons were sheathed, so you hoped they were going to help you instead of kicking you into the water or something.

Carefully, noticing how banged up you were, they grabbed you underneath of the arms and lifted you onto the flat rocks the blue-eyed Elf stood on, still ready to fire, and stepped back as you coughed up some water in a delayed reaction to nearly drowning.

When you finished, your eyes felt like they wanted to close on their own. You felt too tired, too weak, too pained... Despite that, you sat up, shivering in the chilly evening air. "Th-thank you..." With a start, you realized they might not even understand English.

"Who are you?" The blue-eyed Elf demanded. "Answer me quickly; do not think we cannot throw you back to the river."

Shit. Pressure. Suddenly you forgot your name for a split second. "I-I'm [Y/N]."

"What are you doing in these lands?"

"I was chased," You looked pointedly at the dog and orc.

The Elf watched you for a minute, judging you... He signaled. "Throw them back into the river." Suddenly, you were being dragged.

Aw, fuck. You struggled against the Elf's strong grips. "W-wait! I don't even know where I am! The last thing I knew I was playing a game with my family and I fell out of a tree! All of a sudden I'm being chased by giant dogs and being manhandled by a couple of Elvish pri--!" You were cut off by a bought of coughing that wracked your body so hard that you doubled in on yourself, pulling the Elves down with you. Your eyes widened when blood trickled out of your mouth, leaving crimson droplets on the rocks. Shit.

The blue-eyed Elf ordered something in their tongue, and the two dragging you halted on a dime. He finally decided to lower his bow a little, inspecting you. "Are there more of you?"

You shook your head; you were getting dizzy, and your vision was blacking out. "I-I don't know... I was alone when I woke up."

The Elves conversed in their own language for a few minutes, and the blue-eyed Elf finally came to the conclusion that you weren't much of a threat in your current state. He looked to the Elves on the shoreline, and gestured at one of the ones holding you, who then scooped you up bridal style, but like you were the ugliest bride he'd ever seen. "Und win'doheim!" Shouted the blue-eyed Elf, obviously the one in charge, and lead the progression back to the forest.

I should never have gotten out of bed today...

Despite the crazy situation, you managed to doze off a few times on the Elf that carried you, until a coughing fit or pain would wake you up. A fever spiked up as you crossed a bridge, and you were half out of it as you entered some kind of woody building surrounded by trees and rivers that you couldn't comprehend very well in your feverish state. You were panting and wheezing, and couldn't see straight. It all seemed so surreal, like you were viewing this from somebody else's perspective. This had to be a dream... A very vivid, very painful dream...

The last thing you remembered was Elvish chanting, golden and white lights surrounding you, and the silhouettes of the Elves. Your pain faded, and you fell into a forced sleep.

When you woke up, a breath of relief whooshed out of your lungs. It was a dream! It was all a dream! It was night, and your nighlight had gone out, but your hall light was still on. You turned over to see what time it was, but your nightstand was gone. So was your window, and shelves and desk and computer and all of your things. Your bed was different. Your relief dissipated to terror.

Fuck. It wasn't a dream.

You were in a small room. An orange-hued light came through the low doorway, and the dark walls were ridged, as if carved from the earth itself. You felt the remains of your injuries from earlier-- or days ago, you couldn't tell how much time had passed-- as throbbing remains. Your clothes were still ripped and bloodstained, and as you stood up, it felt like you were just coming off of the flu.

Wobbly, you staggered over to the doorway, hoping to find somebody that definitely wasn't an orc or Elf.

You slammed face-first into elaborately crafted iron bars.

Outside of them, fully-armored Elves patrolled on small ledges beside the spiraling rows upon rows of cells like yours. This was a dungeon.

...Well shit.

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​ @taurlel @hauntedsiriel

[xo-lynnea]

My Clearest skin tips

I often get compliments about my skin. I try to take care of my skin as best I can with using simple affordable products. Growing up my mother never wore makeup but she always took extra care of her skin, my mother truly believed that a skin care routine should be nourishing but simple and I have found that to be true.

Keep your hair up!

Keep your hair off and out of your face. Especially if you have curly hair , Us curly haired girls typically have more oils and product in our hair and that can cause irritation while rubbing against your face. Braids are a fun way to switch up your style and messy buns are always cute. You can even opt for a half up and half down style. Anything as long as your hair is off your face.

Clean your phone!

Make sure you clean your phone. We take our phones everywhere which means they are exposed to pollutants and bacteria just as we are. Think about it, phones collect a lot of dirt and germs throughout the day between our dirty hands and fingers, the makeup on our face and the various places we are setting our phones (countertops,table, purses etc.) its easy for germs to collect on the surface of your phone. Make sure to give a quick wipe down every night

Gentle cleansers!

I personally like to use African black soap its something that women in my family have been using for generation’s. My grandmother, Aunts and mothers have all used this product for as long as I can remember and I know why it has. never failed to keep my complexion crystal clear.I found that is gentle to use everyday, twice a day. African Black soap is generally made from locally harvested African plants such as plantain, cocoa pods, palm tree leaves and shea tree bark. The ingredients are sun-dried and roasted, and then Water and oils such as coconut oil, palm oil and/or shea butter. You can get raw organic African Black Soap from amazon. Be aware of fake African black soap, Authentic black soap has a marbled brownish/ black color. It doesn’t have a flat black color. Also the soap might cause tingling or burning sensation but no worries its most likely caused by the soap drawing out impurities and excess oils, and the pH levels of the skin will eventually balance out after a few days. I also recommend The Classic Clean by Noxzema it is gentle and really deep cleaning without over drying , this has also been a staple of mine since I was 14 years old.

Moisturize with shea butter

I Love incorporating Shea Butter in my beauty routine because it is multi-functional. You can use it for your Hair, Nails, body and face. High concentrations of fatty acids and vitamins (A,D,E) make shea butter perfect for softening skin. Shea butter also has anti-inflammatory, Anti-Aging and healing properties. It also acts as a natural sunscreen. Using shea butter can condition, tone, and soothe your skin. You only need a little bit so it last a very long time. I recommend getting raw unrefined organic shea butter off of amazon. It should be yellow in color and have a nutty scent. (The scent fades fairly quickly)

Pure Aloe vera and Tea Tree oil.

I use pure 100% Aloe vera gel every night. Aloe has bee used for thousands of years as a topical ointment. It contains antioxidants, enzymes, Vitamins A and C, and it is highly anti-inflammatory. It can help treat burns, hyperpigmentation, acne and dry skin. It helps with producing collagen which helps cell turn over thus helping maintain the skins structure. Sometimes I can even feel my skin tightening after using aloe vera gel. When I experience break outs I like to use Tea Tree oil. I dilute it with my aloe vera gel and put it on before I go to bed. I never recommend using tea tree oil without diluting it. Especially if you have sensitive skin. Tea tree oil is best for treating acne because of its anti-inflammatory and antimicrobial properties. It calms redness, swelling, and inflammation.

Oatmeal face masks!

I do this once a week. Colloidal Oatmeal is really good for sensitive skin. I use Aveeno’s colloidal oatmeal soothing bath treatment. The oatmeal comes in packages I just a table spoon and a little bit of water and make a paste then I put it on my face and leave it on for 10 minutes. Sometimes - typically during the winter ill put the tiniest amount of coconut oil in the paste. I usually wake up with glowing clear skin.

Less makeup

I know we live in an age where a full face of makeup everyday and everywhere is the new trend and that can really take a toll on your skin. People are surprised when I tell them I never wear foundation - ever even if im dealing with a break out. Letting your skin breath is extremely vital. Our skin is more delicate and sensitive than I think most of us realize , I recommend using thinner layers of CC or BB cream if you feel like you need some sort of foundation. But its not just foundation be aware of excessive contour,blush, highlight and setting powders. Not saying you cant wear it just be mindful of how much you are putting on your face is all. Less is usually more.

Drink water

Hydrate. It doesn’t matter if you think it will clear your skin or not. Keeping your body hydrated will keep your body balanced and remove toxins from your body which will majorly contribute to clearing your skin. The healthier and more balanced you are on the inside the more likely your skin is going to appear more healthy and balanced. It truly starts on the inside. I like to drink a gallon a day but the recommend daily intake is 64 ounces. PS. I Never Drink Soda!

Acceptance.

Everyone has breakouts. Majority of people have acne. Alot more people have textured skin than you think. People deal with eczema. Most people deal with hyper pigmentation. I have to deal with clogged hair follicles from time to time. everyone has something on their face that bothers them! Its okay to have “flaws” sometimes the best skin care tip is to accept your face because its your face and it tells your story and there is nothing - nothing more special in this world than you! Our body’s are constantly changing , adapting and growing and our face is no exception to that. Learning to accept and embrace that you will go through break outs, dark spots, weird bumps and rashes and some times might be worst then other times is the healthiest thing you can do.

[somecunttookmyurl]

The skincare post, or “I’m 29 and 18 year olds keep flirting with me because they think I’m 20″

DISCLAIMER: I am not a dermatologist. This is not a recommendation for specific products so much as an explanation of the routine I use. My skin is... well it’s normal. Not oily, not dry (not after I got into a routine and it balanced itself out, anyway). I don’t have acne, or dermatitis. My skin isn’t even sensitive. People with particular skin needs should use products suited to them.

The other reason this isn’t a product recommendation is that, for the most part, I just get whatever is on sale whenever something is coming to an end. Since I don’t have any particular skin conditions to cater for, it doesn’t really matter what particular stuff I buy. But I do get most of my stuff from maskhouse.co.uk who almost perpetually run offers and have a good loyalty point system. I’ve never paid full price for anything. Ever.

It’s long. The children are eternally disappointed when they ask me how this works and actually find out. Also: stay hydrated and go the fuck to sleep. Seriously.

PART 1(a): The morning

Step 1: Cleansing. Use a gentle foam cleanser (or even just plain water!) to wake up and refresh your skin. Pat (for the love of god do not rub) your face dry with a clean towel. Pictured: Hyggee Care Cleansing Foam, RRP £24.

Step 2: Toner. Toning sets your face up to properly absorb the rest of your skincare routine, and different toners can provide additional benefits. I have The World’s Largest Pores on my nose so I have an astringent toner aimed at minimising them. Gently wipe over face and neck never forget your neck with a cotton ball or pad. Leave to air dry. Brush your teeth or make the bed or something in the meantime. Pictured: SecretKey Black Out Pore Clean Toner RRP £16

Step 3: Essence. Essence is a very lightweight moisturiser designed to be used over your whole face. This light hydrating layer is designed to prime your skin for the more intense hydration, and you can buy them catered to all manner of skin types. Pat gently into the skin of your face and neck. You’re probably noticing a pattern here. Pat, never rub, and be as gentle as you can through the whole routine. Leave to absorb whilst doing some other part of your normal morning routine. Pictured: SecretKey Starting Treatment Essence RRP £35 Step 4 (a+b): Serums and eye cream. Serums are thicker hydrating layers that target specific problems and areas and are only applied where they are needed. As mentioned, I have Crater Pore Syndrome so my serum is meant for that. If you have red skin on your cheeks, you might use one for that. At the same time, apply an eye cream. The skin around the eyes is particularly delicate and needs extra care. Again, leave to absorb fully. Pictured: Its Skin Power 10 Effector Serum (PO) RRP £12 / SecretKey Snail Repairing Eye Cream RRP £30 Step 5: A light all-over moisturiser. Finish off the hydration with a lighweight all-over cream applied to the face and neck. Pictured: Simple Kind To Skin Hydrating Light Moisturiser RRP £4.29

Step 6: Refreshing under-eye roll. Especially useful for those of us with perpetual tired eyes. A cooling under-eye roll on with refresh and rejuvinate the under-eye area. Like wearing a cucumber mask for half an hour, except instant. Pictured: Polaar Icymagic Instant Eye Contour Multi Energiser RRP £24

Step 7: SPF. I don’t care if it’s deepest darkest December. UVA and UVB rays cause damage to the skin even when the sun is at its weakest. If you’re going to be leaving the house, apply a high SPF cream at least 15 minutes before leaving. Suncreams specifically designed for the face are more lightweight. Pictured: Berrisom Essence Sun SPF 50+ RRP £14

Part 1(b): The morning (alt.) or: GOOD GOD I LOVE SHEET MASKS

On alternate days (Monday, Wednesday, and Friday) I replace the entirety of steps 3, 4, and 5 with a sheet mask whilst I go about my business. Sheet masks are soaked in essence and are left on for 15-20 minutes whilst your skin absorbs it all. After removal, pat in the remaining essence (and dig out what was left in the package for your hands)

I get all of mine from MaskHouse.co.uk who frequently run kickass mask sales. I use 4 a week, in total, so I have a stash of like... 80 various masks under my bath right now.

Pictured: Berrisom Water Bomb Jelly Mask RRP £2.25 / Holika Holika Juicy Mask Sheet RRP £2 / Holika Holika Pure Essence Mask Sheet RRP £1.50

Part 2: The Evening

Step 1: Oil cleanser. Washing your face with oil might sound dumb as heck, but like clings to like and oil-based cleansing is an excellent way to remove makeup and daily greasemonkey buildup. Massage 1-2 pumps gently into the skin and rinse off. Pictured: SecretKey Lemon Sparkling Cleansing Oil RRP £24 Step 2: Foam cleanser. Remove additional debris and fully cleanse the face with a gentle foam cleanser. There’s no reason to use a different one to the morning I just got this one free and my Hyggee is running low. Pictured: G9Skin Milk In White Foam RRP £3.99

Step 3: Exfoliating. A gentle chemical exfoliator can be used every day to renew the skin. Gently wipe over face and neck with a cotton ball or pad in place of toner. Pictured: The Ordinary Glycolic Acid 7% Toning Solution RRP £6.75

Step 4 & 5 (a+b): Essence, serum, and eye cream. As with the morning, apply essence to face and neck, and once absorbed proceed with seums and eye cream.

Step 6: Night cream. Heavier than the moisturiser applied in the morning, designed to absorb overnight. Pictured: Berrisom The Prestige Balancing Cream RRP £55

Step 7: Sleeping Pack. Even more intense than the night cream. Sleeping packs are mightily thick solutions that are almost mask-like, to keep your face fully hydrated overnight. Pictured: Missha Nearskin Egg White Pack RRP £11.99

Step 8: Balancing gel. This is the only time I’m going to make a specific product recommendation, if only because I know of nothing else like it. This balancing gel product forms a barrier over your skin, effectively “locking in” all the moisture you’ve already provided and allowing for better absorption. To apply, squeeze on to fingertips, press fingertips together, and press on to skin. Rubbing this product at all will not work. Especially recommended for winter, or dry climates. Pictured: Pyunkang Yul Balancing Gel RRP £27

Part 3: The full facial (Sundays)

Every Sunday I throw the normal morning routine out the window and perform a full thorough facial. This takes a long-ass time, but most of it is sitting around waiting so it’s a good excuse to lounge around watching cartoons in your PJs. If you have a problem with sebaceous filaments (that’s the shit on your nose that looks for all the world like blackheads but actually isn’t) this is good for reducing that. Also: do not do this for the first time right before a major event. Trust me on this one.

I forgot to include it in the picture, but cleanse before starting.

Step 1: Exfoliating Peel. A stronger chemical exfoliator than the one used daily. Always do a patch test when using a new product like this. Apply as directed and leave for 10 minutes before rinsing off and patting face dry. Pictured: The Ordinary AHA 30% + BHA 2% Peeling Solution RRP £6.25 Step 2: Clay mask. After your skin has been peeeeeeeeeeeeeeled, it’s fully primed for a clay mask to bring out all the impurities in your skin. You know how I said “don’t do this right before a major event?” yeah. You’re probably going to have pimples tomorrow if this is your first time. Better out than in, eh? Apply an even layer to face and neck, avoiding the eye area, and leave for 15-20 mins. Rinse thoroughly and pat face dry. Pictured: Sun Privé Sun + Shine Skin Pink Clay Mask RRP £24.99

Step 3: Pore strip. With your pores thoroughly exfoliated and deep-cleaned, this is the best time to do a nose pore strip to remove blackheads. Pictured: Holika Holika Pig Nose Clear Blackhead 3-step Kit RRP £3.50

Step 4 (a+b): Sheet mask + hydrogel eye patch. Sheet masks you know about, but hydrogel eye patches are specifically shaped and designed to be applied to the under-eye area and provide some deep moisture to your delicate skin. Apply eye patches, and pop the sheet mask on top. Pictured: Petitfee Gold & Snail Hydrogel Eye Patch RRP £10.78 / Missha Pure Source Cell Sheet Mask RRP £1.50

[chocolate-milk-fanfics]

I ain’t sorry

Warnings: miscarriage, gun violence, kidnapping, cheating, period typical sexism, Implied black reader, and OOCness of characters

Word count: 6095

"You don't love me Tom! So stop acting like you care about me!" 

"That's not true and you know it!" 

"Then say it Thomas! Prove me wrong! Because you putting your dick in the barmaid while your wife takes care of this shit show you made ain't exactly helping your case!"

"Its not th- Y/n just listen!-"

"Mommy!  'ungry!" 

Opening your eyes you met the heterochromic eyes of your twin toddler boys. They stood in front of you with wide smiles and bouncing as the stood at either side of you. Sitting up straight you gave them a wide smile, shoving the memory of the night you left to the back of your mind as ruffled their curly locks. "Oh are you now? Well let's get mommy's two babies food alright?"

"Not 'aby!"

"Yeah! Not 'aby!"

Both of them whined as they followed close behind you. Charles held onto your skirt while Kenji held your hand as you led them to the kitchen. A giggle escaped you as their brown and blue eyes roamed the room for snacks before lunch. They were fraternal twins but alike in every way possible, as expected of twins. Charles was older by 1 hour and had more shaggy hair than Kenji, his left eye was blue and the other brown. While Kenji's hair was more curly, yet easier to manage than Charles, his right eye blue and other brown. Both of them had the same light brown skin, freckles, dark brows, and smile that lit up your world. Not to mention the same scowl and protective fearless nature of their father. And oh, their laugh. Just like his when you were growing up. There was no doubt they were your husband's sons and you never denied it, you could never forget him after all. Even with all the pain he caused, there was so much happiness and your sons were the product of that. "What!? Not baby? But you're my babies!" you teased softly as you began to spread the peanut butter and jelly onto the bread.

The twins looked at each other, an unspoken conversation being shared between them as you made them lunch. Kenji shook his head and pouted as he looked at his brother, the conversation came to an end as Kenji pulled on your skirt. "Not 'aby! We's 'ig 'oy!" 

"Kenny stop pulling on Mommy's skirt like that." You said simply as you cut the first sandwich into 4 little triangles like the boys preferred. Charles didn't say anything, seemingly in deep thought as he looked up at you staring at your bare stomach. Since you normally only wore undershirts and a simple loose pair of pants it was no surprise that your stomach was exposed. "And don't be silly Kenny, you and Charlie will always be my babies even when we're all really really old."

"Mommy?" 

"Yes Charlie?" 

"What's tat 'oo-boo on you tum?" 

Glancing down a frown spread across your face as you remember the way you got the wound in the first place. Taking a bullet for Tommy while pregnant wasn't your best choice but when you woke up and found out he was at the Garrison with Grace it made you realize something. That you didn't need no fucking man to make it in the world, not when that man was cheating on you. So that same night, after the showdown with Billy Kimber you bought a ticket out of town and settled down. The countryside was nice after all. No smoke, no cars, no Thomas Shelbys and no stress. It was hard, being a pregnant woman of color starting a new life but you did it and made good honest money as a nurse. Your herb and tea mixtures were known all through London and you were proud to support your boys while helping so many people. 

"Mommy?" 

Shaking your head you glanced down at. Charlie and smiled apologetically. "Sorry Charlie Mommy spaced out for a bit. What did you say?" 

Your sons looked at each other once again and then Charles shook his head. "Never 'ind! Is lunch done?" 

Nodding your head you smiled and handed both boys their own plates of food. They giggled and ran off to the living room to eat while they drew pictures. The smile that spread across your face was short lived as you watched as a familiar car pulled up in front of your home. "Boys. Bunker now." You said calmly, soft enough for them not panic but clear enough for them to know you're serious.

The two of them took their plates and papers down the hall with them. Kenji pulled on the secret handle of the fireplace and it open ever so slightly, but wide enough for them to squeeze into before it closed. Once it was securely shut you grabbed a robe and tightly wrapped it around you as a knock sounded at the door. Taking a deep breath you opened the door to look at the familiar blue eyes you fell in love with. "Thomas Shelby, John Shelby, Arthur Shelby, and Pollyanna Shelby what brings you all to my front door step? And how did you find me? Was it Alfie?" 

Tommy started into your eyes, and it took everything within you not to crumble and fall into his arms. He was bruised and battered with a red eye and you wanted nothing more than to give him a better treatment than the shit hospital he went to. There were so many things you wanted to do to the Shelby family, most of them pleasant, but right now you just kept your door slightly open and your face indifferent. "I told 'im Y/n about the baby. Why didn't you tell 'im? Where are they?" 

"It doesn't matter now, Pol. That's why I left. I couldn't stay there knowing my took a bullet for my ex-husband and in return he slept with the barmaid as I lost my child." you said smoothly as you looked into her brown eyes. Shock spread across her face as she scanned you for any signs for lying, unable to find one she let out a choked sob as Tommy looked at you in pure horror. 

"Y-"

"Save it Thomas. I don't want your pity. I don't want your apology. I just want you-" 

"Stop it." came his harsh voice as he looked down at the ground. 

"Stop what Thoma-"

"Don't! Don't call me that!" he growled. Silence surrounded the lot of you as Tommy breathe became ragged and his eyes became wet. "I thought you were dead, we all did. And after 3 years of being apart, of missing you, the last thing I want to hear you call me is Thomas. I don't care who else calls me it. I just can't handle it from you." 

You didn't say anything as you stared into the blue eyes he passed onto your sons, instead you bit your lip as your own eyes got wet. "Tommy you broke my heart. I gave everything. I did everything for you, only to find out from Lizzie fucking Stark you were taking the barmaid to the races. The same thing you promised me when I was 14 and you were 17. You promised me so many things and you broke each and everyone one. Even our wedding vows. I loved you Tommy. No one else! And what did you do!?" You couldn't stop the tears streaming down your face as you began to yell. Shoving Tommy into Arthur you let them keep falling, knowing none of the Shelbys could stand it. "You slept with the fucking barmaid and took her to the places you promised me! How did it feel huh!? How did it feel to find out I was right? Did you feel stupid?"

"Y/n th-thats enough." Polly stuttered softly as she tried to embrace you. You easily shook off her grip and stared into the eyes of the man that broke your heart. The man who was still in shock in his brother's grasp.

"Is it Pol!? Is it!? I told y'all she was a fucking spy from day one and none of you believed me! What changed your mind!? The bullet I lost a baby to!? Or was it the bullet Danny took!?  It's funny how for you Shelbys to listen someone has to die. Well did it work? Did you get what you want-"

"Y/n.."

"Do you feel like a man now Tommy? Are you happy with the outcome? You work alone right!? Well look where it got you! Down a kid! Down a wife! Down a loyal servant! Well don't worry. Thomas Shelby! I bet you've gotten plenty of new ones to repeat the process with!" You spat harshly. You knew your boys might be able to hear you, that's why you did your best not to curse as you looked at the people you once called a family. Letting out a soft sob you put your face in your hands and brushed it back to pull the twist you had in your hair out of your face. They snapped straight back into place but you didn't care. You wanted all of them to know you were hurt. "I buried my baby girl. She had toes and fingers and I was about 4 months along according to the doctor. I- I named her Ruby and she could have been beautiful. She could of been happy but instead she's dead, and I hope you all got what you wanted." 

With a shaky voice you moved to close the door but before you could a foot was placed in the door. "Y/n wait. Hear us out. Please. Can you let us in? I 'ave some letters from the boys and Finn. They miss their Auntie N/n." John begged weakly, but he knew the effect it had on you. Sniffles left you as slowly opened the door and looked at said letters in John's hand. Snatching them from him and turning around to walking into your home, you missed the weak reassuring smile John gave his family as they stepped in. 

The first letter belonged to Finn and as you sat down on your couch you smiled at the mess handwriting of the teenage boy, before you left you were teaching him how to read and write after all. As you opened the letter you could feel the seat next to you sink as Tommy sat, while putting a cigarette in his mouth. "No Tommy." 

A sigh escaped him and Pol as they put their cigarettes away and watched you read the first letter with a wet laugh. Finn was your favorite of the Shelby brothers, that much they all knew. He was kind after all and as the Sunflower of Small Heath everyone knew you valued that in a person. When you finished the letter from Finn you moved onto letters from John's kids. They were all short, written by Pol, and asking if you'll come back and reading each one made your heart ache. "I miss all of them so much as well. Not a day goes by without me thinking of them." 

"Then come back. We need you." Arthur said softly. There was an edge to his voice you didn't like though, staring into his eyes a frown traveled across your face as realization struck and the sight of faint scars on his neck 

"Oh Arthur.." You said softly as you placed the letters down. Standing up you moved to kneel in front of him as you cupped his face gently. Even though you were all adults now you could always read the Shelbys emotions easily. Under your fingers you could feel his pulse hammering against you. "You're hurting. Aren't you?" 

A whimper escaped him and just like that you were in his arms as he spoke softly, "It's me 'ead Y/n. I-I" 

"Shh.. Fine. You win. I'll be back one day. But for now, let me make you tea. Its with my herbs. The shit doctors give you won't work like my stuff does." You said softly, running your fingers through Arthur's greasy hair. Arthur let you go as he wiped his tears and you stood leaving for the kitchen

"Ain't that right.." Tommy mumbled under his breath as he took out cigarettes again. Hitting the match against the box he lit his cig to life and took a long drag of it. Polly glance at him as he offered a cigarette to her and with hesitation she took a drag from it as well. "Y/n? Did you mean it when you said you'll come back?" 

"Yes. Unlike you Tommy I'm not heartless. And I miss the little ones. Finn should be about 15 right now and Ada's little one should be 4 or 5. And Johns kids should be around 6 to 10." You listed as you started the water. "Would anyone else like some tea?" 

"Whiskey for me and Tommy please." Aunt Polly said as she took another drag from the cig before handing it back to Tommy, who moved to stand by your fireplace.

"Sorry, I don't keep whiskey or liquor of any kind in my house. Nor do I allow smoking Tommy." You said smoothly as you glanced over your shoulder. "Put it out." 

Tommy groaned and knocked on the fireplace a few times before taking one last drag a rubbing the cig against the bricks. Unknown to him, he alerted the twins that it was time to come out. Everything happened in slow motion and the fireplace moved causing Tommy to stumble and the boys to squeeze out with their empty plates. All eyes were on them and the sitting family members all stood as the looked at the two boys that stared straight into their father's eyes. With your back turned to them all in the kitchen you gathered the herbs you needed for Arthur's tea without a clue of what was going on behind you. "Arthur? Do you want any sugar in your tea?" 

"M-mommy.." came Charles soft voice. You turned around quickly and looked at your two boys as they stared at their father in fear. Kenji stood in front of his brother protectively despite being horrified of the tall man in front of him. "Mama!" 

Tears pooled in both of their eyes but Charles is the one that started bawling. Rushing over to them you gathered them both in your arms as they cried and kissed both of their heads as you lifted them up. "Its OK. Mommy's here. Now let's put you down for a nap. You two did so well in the bunker." 

"Y/n. Who are they?" came Tommy's shaky voice and the thought of you moving on from him and being the mother of someone else's kids. 

"The two that survived the bullet I took for you."  You said without hesitation. Aunt Polly covered her mouth in shock while Arthur and John looked at each other and then Tommy, and you. 

"Jesus Tom! 3!? At once!?" 

You didn't dare turn around, you didn't want to see their faces. They haven't even been here an hour and yet everything you worked so hard to hide is unraveling. “You never answered my question, how did you find me?”

“Soloman. How do you know ‘im?” Tommy said as his steps got closer. Knowing you wont get out of this you glanced at Polly with pleading eyes, causing her to let out a sigh and place her hand on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Tommy, let's wait and  give her a few minutes to get those two up stairs before you start a fight.” Aunt Pol said softly as she led Tommy back to the couches to sit down. But Tommy nudged her hand off of his shoulder and took a step closer to you, his patience running thin as you kept your hold on them.

“No. I'm tired of waiting. Y/n answer my question, now.” Tommy hissed out in annoyance. Charles sniffled and buried his face in your neck his eyes full of tears as Kenji glared at Tommy, eyes just as full of tears.

“‘nside ‘oice!” Kenji called back with a shaky voice, his dislike for Tommy at the moment was clear as day. Arthur chuckled and patted Tommy on his shoulder as you walked toward the stairs.

“‘e’s definitely your son Tommy. Looked ‘bout ready tah fight ya too, all for ‘is mum. What are their names?” Arthur teased. Biting your lip you didn't answer, instead you shifted them in your arms and made your way up the stairs carefully, whispering sweet nothings to them as you did so. You didn't need to ask your boys how they felt. That much was obvious to you as their heads moved on your shoulders to stare at Tommy as you walked, they didn't like the way he talked to you. Once you made it to their shared room next to yours you placed them in their beds and kissed their heads after wiping their tears.

“Nap time boys. If you need Mommy I’ll be down stairs. Don't hesitate to call me if you need something ok?” you said softly as you brushed their curls from their face and kissed them again. “Mommy loves you.”

Giving the boys one last look you closed the door behind you as the got under their comforters. Once you were back down the sound of the kettle going off lead you to the kitchen. “Would anyone else like some tea?”

Polly’s voice came immediately as she smiled at the thought, “The sleepy-time mixture that you used to make every morning for me! I have yet to taste anything as good as yours.” She loved your tea after all. Even though they couldn't see, you nodded anyway as you prepared two separate tea pot, one with Arthur’s mixture and one with Polly’s. When you opened the cupboard you grabbed one of your matching set of 5 and placed it on the tray with the pots of tea, carrying everything into, including some cookies. Placing the tray down on the coffee table, you poured some Arthur his cup first and handed it to him, careful not to spill the hot liquid. Silence was all that could be heard through the home you owned after serving tea to those who wanted it. “You didn't have to take them upstairs you know.”

“Knowing Arthur, Tommy and their… colorful vocabulary I felt like that was the best choice.” You teased softly as you lent back into your seat and crossed your legs, taking a careful sip from your tea. “But never mind that, why did you come searching for me? Why are you all here and what do you want?” 

“We need you to comeback.” Tommy said shamelessly. “We’ve grown our business in the past 3 years and now were the third largest bookkeepers. We plan on expanding to London with the help of the Soloman as well.” 

 “It sounds like you’ve got everything all planned out and know what to do. So what do you need me and herbs-” you rebuked only to get cut off by John as he decided to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Cut the bullshit Y/n, You’re one of the focking best -no, THE focking best- weapon maker we know. Even though Tommy wont admit it, everyone else will when I say you're irreplaceable. We need you back.” John explained clearly. 

“I stopped doing that after the boys were born. The only inventions I have left and haven't sold are in the basement.” 

“Wait you sold your weapons!? The same ones you made just for the Peaky Blinders?”

“Of course I did. You think making this house with all these secret entrances and paths was free? I sold my old invention from back when I was teen and some newer ones. I do miss weapon making but at the same time I don't. Coming up with new ideas and actually testing them out cost a lot money. And that money I rather use on my baby boys.” you scoffed. Tommy stood up, rubbing his hand down his face as he groaned in frustration. Your inventions were top of the charts, never before seen, easy to hide the use of, conceal and use. And knowing that other people all around London had it in their possession made this process a lot harder. “If it makes you feel any better Tommy the only gang I’ve sold huge loads to was Alfie. He helped me a lot when I was pregnant, even got me workers to build this very house since no one I went to wanted to work for me. So if any of the expansion shit hurts his business in any way I hope you know what you're getting into.”

“Fine. Fine… Fuck. We can work this out. We just need to go back home, have a family meeting and make a plan.” Tommy grumbled as he began to pace back and forth.

“We? No. No. No Tommy. There is no WE in this, not any more. This is your problem. Not mine or my sons.”

“Our sons, Y/n.”

“I said what I said, and I meant it. They're my sons.” 

Tommy rolled his eyes and turned to look at you with cold blue eyes of annoyance. He must of thought this would all be easy, but hell hath no fury like a protective mother. “Y/n, now's not the time to argue. We need you back at Small Heath. I need you back.”

“I thought Thomas Shelby needed no one but himself. What changed that? What changed you?” you mocked, causing Polly to take a large gulp of her tea, holding back her laughter as she watched the two of you interact. You were the only person she knew that would step to Tommy, win, and repeat the cycle over and over again. It was amusing to her no matter how old the two of you were. You were a spitfire and a beautiful girl, looks and smarts perfectly dangerous together and you knew it. Polly was the only one watching and listening though as she drank her tea, John and Arthur were too busy stuffing their faces with your cookies at an alarming rate. It was a wonder how they haven't choked yet. Both men stared at each other as a grabbed more cookies and shoved them into their mouths, causing you to roll your eyes. “If I were you I’d slow down. You might choke.”

“Things change Y/n, I changed ok? Now are you coming back or not.” he huffed out, towering over you as he stood at your feet. Your head tilted to the side and you switched the position of your crossed legs as you took a sip from your cup.

“If I come back with you, if I get back with you, you have everything to gain. My home, my inventions, my herbs, my sales, my intellect, my money, and most importantly my sons and I. There's nothing for me with you, Tommy. Nothing but more heartbreak.”

Tommy opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing you were right. A growl escaped him as he threw the only thing in his hand into the fire place, which was the tea cup. The sound of it breaking caused you to jump slightly but you didn't bat an eye. Tension began to rise as you stared into each other's eyes, neither of you backing down. Polly- seeing the way you gripped your tea cup- decided to cut in to calm things down.

“Your sons Y/n, their beautiful. So unique as well, as expected of you, so beautifully different.” she praised with a wide smile as she placed her empty cup down to pour more. At the mention of your sons, you smiled widely and broke eye contact with Tommy who was still fuming.

“They are.” you gushed immediately, a wide yet soft smile traveling across your face as you thought of them. “They love chocolate milk and yoga and they're so protective of each other it's absolutely adorable! They talk in sync sometimes and their laugh! Oh god their laugh, it's just Tommy’s back when we were kids! You should see all the pictures I have of them as babies!” tension began to dwindle as you continued to gush about your sons. But the elephant in the room only seemed to grow bigger.

“What are their names? I ask yah before but yous never answered.” 

“Oh! Sorry.” you giggled softly as you drank from your cup finishing the last of your tea, placing it down on the coaster only for Tommy to take it and fill it up with tea from Arthur’s pot. “It’s Charles and Kenji. But I call them Charlie and Kenny. They don't like loud sound that much either.”

“Y-You kept the names.” Tommy said barely above a whisper, almost as a question as he looked at you incredulously. “You kept the names.” his voice was stronger that time but the smell of his cologne was stronger as he embraced you, placing a sudden kiss your lips causing you to melt into his arms. You weren't nearly as over him as you thought, it seemed. “You’re coming home.”

“No Tommy. Not yet at least. If I come back it's on my terms, not yours. I already agreed to come back. Now you just have to wait.”

“My wife and kids aren't going to be away from me Y/n. You're coming home and that's fina-”

“When are you going to understand that this is my home. I built it from scratch and I’m not leaving.”

“I'm not leaving you here.”

“This isn't Small Heath Tommy. I can make my own decisions and I don't need you hovering. I don't need you dictating my life. This is my house, my home, and it was made with my money. You have no authority here.”

No one said a word, Tommy still had you in his arms you still didn’t pull away. Tommy clenched and unclenched his jaw as he stared into your blazing eye. He nodded his head a few times and for once you thought the fighting was over. “Fine. Arthur, you're driving. Aunt Pol, John can you get the boys?”

“Get the boys? Tommy you are not taking my kids from me!” you hissed, squirming in his arms ad you tried to get free of his grasp. His arms moved down to hold your waist and in one swift movement Tommy was standing and you were thrown over his shoulder. “TOMMY! PUT ME DOWN!” 

“You're right, I’m not taking our kids from you, Y/n. I'm taking all of you with me. But since I’m feeling nice and you said there were weapons in the basement this will be our holiday home for next month.” Tommy said, completely unfazed by your yelling and kicking as Polly and John hesitated to get the sleeping boys upstairs. You were still in your robe as you thrashed around in Tommy’s arms and knowing that it was getting you nowhere you sighed and resorted to kicking. But before you could get good kick in Tommy’s free arm held your legs in place. When John and Polly came back down the boys were still asleep as they carried them.

“What about the tea and biscuits?” 

“Forget the fucking tea and biscuits John. She can make some more when we get home. Aunt Pol’s been taking care of her plants for the longest now.”

“Tommy! Put me down! This is kidnapping!” you hissed lowly, not wanting to wake your boys up, but your words fell on deaf ears. Tommy’s hand was perched on your ass as you continued to squirm around furiously, but a slap on your ass caused you to gasp and still. “Tommy!” John was behind everyone and the last one to leave the house. Since the key to the house was in the foyer he locked the door behind everyone, careful not to wake Kenji. “You can't seriously be kidnapping me and my kids right! Aunt Pol! Are you really ok with this!? I thought you were the voice of reason of the Shelbys! Y’all can't be serious right now! I’M NOT DRESSED! I'M INDECENT!” you pleaded, but Tommy’s grip on you tighten and Arthur opened the car door. 

“As long as you sit still you wont get exposed. And if someone does look at you that isn't family, as your husband I have the right to kill them.” Tommy said smoothly as he sat you in the back with him. Polly gently held Charles up for Tommy to pick up, and then he passed Charles to you. You held the sleeping Charles close to you and kissed his forehead as you glared at the male next to you.

“You kill anyone and my boys see it and I’m cutting off your dick Thomas Shelby. You're on thin ice.” a chuckle escaped the man as he took Kenji from John. With his son in his arms Tommy was able to observe the similarities between him and the toddler. His eyebrows were dark and similarly shaped, and even with his eyes closed Tommy could remember the deep blue that Kenji had in his right eye. The boy on his lap was 33% of the proof that you loved him. The other 66% being Charles and Ruby.  He was the lucky one. Not the other way around like he always thought. You were smart, loyal, funny, and an amazing inventor as well. He didn't want to think about how wrong he did you, because then he’d end up hating himself even more than he already does. With Charles in your lap, your arms held him protectively as he began to stir. Glaring at the Shelbys around you the thing that calmed you down was when Charles snuggled closer into you. And at the same time Kenji did the same to Tommy, causing his heart to clench and Tommy to hold him tighter, afraid that this was all a figment of his imagination and the worst nightmare he could ever have. The one where his brain shows him everything he’s thought about, everything he’s wanted to have with you. Only for the shoves to start again, just like they did when you left.

But instead, Tommy kissed Kenji’s freckled cheek when he thought no one was looking, being a lot more gentle with the boys than you expected him to be, almost making you happy to be near him again, almost.

“Mama?” came a soft voice from below you. Your dark eyes met the heterochromatic brown and blue of Charles eyes and you smiled.

“Yes Charlie?”

“Are ‘e living wif Daddy nows?”

You knew Tommy heard him and Tommy knew you knew as well. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him watching you, waiting for your response, but you didn't directly look at him. You both knew what your answer was going to be without you even having to say it, Tommy’s smug smile only proved so. 

“For now? Yes baby. But just for now. We wouldn't want the chickens to feel lonely now would we?” you whispered back causing a chuckle to escape Tommy. Having enough of his shit you kicked him in the shin, careful not to disturb your sons. Now it was your turn to chuckle as Tommy bit his lip to hold in the sound of pain. Polly laughed softly at the face Tommy was making, and to save himself from further embarrassment he shifted the attention away from him. 

“You ‘ear that Johnny boy? She has chickens!  Maybe you should take her home instead.” Tommy teased with a smile. John  rolled his eyes but the smile on his face was apparent as Tommy laughed, tilting his head back in the process. The same laugh he passed onto your sons came out of him, and if anyone asked you would deny the fact that it was calming to hear. “Now we have to come back, wouldn't want the chickens to starve either.”

Charles fell back asleep in your arms without another word as Kenji’s thumb rested in his mouth. The way their eyes fluttered was a tell told tale to you that they were in a deep sleep. Allowing you the chance to finally speak your mind. “You know. You all have a lot of fucking nerve to come searching for me and then take me from, excuse my language but, my  goddamned home. And you have even more nerve that if you think for a second that I’ll just turn over and do what ever the fuck you say. Tommy for one, you look like shit and that tells me just how much control you have over all the shit you've caused. Who the fuck did you double cross this time you bloody idiot.-”

“Ahh, and there she is. It was weird not hearing you curse.” Polly cut you off with a soft chuckle as she lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out away from you and the boys. 

“You're all inconsiderate jackasses sometimes, you know that? I have two toddlers to take care of and yet you still want to drag me into this. Tell when the people that hurt you Tommy, did they go after anyone else? Who died? Who got hurt?” you asked calmly, your voice betraying how you actually felt. But even as you ranted, your eyes never left the figures of your sons. “It’s been three years but it seems like the only one who has changed is me. And now you wanna drag me into all of this to solve the mess you made. Well guess what, if you think I’m going to forgive you and come crawling back you have another thing coming Thomas Shelby. I loved you with all my heart and the only thing I got in return was a bullet and a broken heart. So how about for once in your goddamn life you take responsibility for the mess you've made and clean it up yourself, cause I’m not making you shit other than tea.”

“Y/n-”

“Save it Tommy. I dont need to hear any more of your fucking empty promises.” you hissed as you throat tightened and your eyes became glossy. 

“Y/n please don't cry..”

“How can I not Polly? He cheated on me. He broke my heart. I watched him fall out of love with me and in love with someone else. I know I’m not pale, blonde, not extra skinny or dripping with femininity like she was. But I didn't think it would matter, because I loved you Tommy and I thought you loved me. I gave you everything I had to fucking offer and even that wasn't enough for you. Because you're never fucking satisfied Thomas Shelby.”

‘Y/n please..” Tommy mumbled as he shifted Kenji on his lap. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, scared that if he moved you’ll cry even more. Pol watched with sad eyes, but didn't say anything, it wasn't her place after all.

“I gave you everything I had and it wasn't enough… No, because instead you fell for the barmaid spy. The same one that ratted you out. And even after finding out what she did. Even after I took that bullet for you, the same bullet that killed my baby and almost killed me, you spent the night with her. I-I- I can't forgive you for that and I never will Tommy. And if it wasn't for these two sleeping angel that I gave birth to alone, none of this would be happening. My boys deserve the chance to know you, and to love you. The same way I loved you. And if they choose to hate you instead that will be no one’s fault but your own.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tommy finally said after a minute of tense silence.

“It means you have a week. That’s how long you have before I take my sons back home. Because at the end of the day the barmaid may have tempted you but she’s not the one that said ‘I do’ at the altar. Nope, that was you Thomas Shelby and now because of that I love you just as much as I hate you.”

[shortstoriesmk]

Who Called The Uber?

Who Called The Uber?

by Massi Kabir

 Of course, I could tell you now, that my natural curiosity for everything outside the walls of everyday dullness brought me here. That I love flirting with one of my many fears, seducing her, just to slit her throat during one of our first dates.

I could tell you that I think of my comfort zone as a purple ugly pajama, which, whenever my courage lets me, I happily trade for nudity.

There is certainly truth to these points, and yet, they all would undermine the immense irrational power of a man's lust in his early 30's.

So, if you are really wondering who called that Uber last night, let me tell you:

 My dick did.

  So this is how it went:

 One last check in front of the mirror. I like what I see and tell myself silently, "You look fresh, brother".

It's probably mostly my nerves talking, but yes, I did somehow find that sweet spot between under- and overdressed. I can tell that my white button-up shirt and black leather shoes are happy to know that funerals are not their only reason to exist. I promise them something special for tonight. The casual green jeans and a black blazer add to my contentment and make me put my shoulders back. I do that because I recently read that we, humans, derive from the lobsters. Apparently, their postures tell a lot about their ranking within their dominance hierarchy. Low posture, low rank. A balanced upright posture is supposed to increase serotonin levels, which ultimately results, along with other benefits, in better mating opportunities. I believe that, and hence, push my chest out, eager to kiss the world with my nipples.

Lastly, I grab my deo roller. I tell it that I need some more tonight and that armpits ain't enough. It knows I quit perfume a long time ago and hence, complies loyally doing the extra shift while I take it on an extended trip over my body's skin.

 Finally, in the Uber, I count my breaths like a Zen Buddhist despite knowing I'll never be one. I admit to myself that I'm a nervous bloke under the leadership of his lust and throw the driver a grin through his stained rear-view mirror. With every inhale, there is a hail of bravery echoing inside of me. ‘14 minutes till arrival’, says the app that managed to erase my interest in public transport forever. Enough time for me to consider changing the number of open shirt buttons from two to three.

It's a gamble, I know. But, it could pay off. I mean, they will see that my chest has not given birth to much hair yet, but, on the other hand, 3 open buttons demonstrate a sense of willingness and availability. And, in a place like the one I am about to enter, these two attributes are dominating currencies.

So, three it is.

The Uber drops me in front of number 73.

I ring the bell. 80 seconds later, a shrill tone cuts off my stream of doubts, whether this is the right address or not, and lets me open the gate. My balls are hoping it's the gate to heaven. Everything is possible right now. I feel it. I head towards the house.

 A plum, too dry to open doors like that, welcomes me while I gaze at her face. The sperms I brought, that a minute ago were still arguing about who would be the first in line, suddenly start to sympathize with the idea of retreat. Within seconds, the old lady's hands swallow my €80 while her noisy décolleté goes fishing for my eyeballs. My deep Zen breathing turns all the sudden shallow and, my pulse climbs a little mountain, while my face tries its best to not give it away. Then, I stare through the second entrance door, which is out of glass. I already get the feeling that it probably does a better job of serving as an exit.

Whatever. It's too late to get my bucks back and too early to decide to remain clothed, so vamos.

 I'm somewhere in the outskirts of Lisbon inside a villa that will probably never live up to that title.

The smoke in the air forms a maze for my vision. But, it's ok. It doesn't take much vision anyway to understand that pants are outnumbering skirts in this cave that smells like filth. During its amateur application process for this event, I raised the question on WhatsApp of how many people would attend.

‘100’ was the answer. Now, finding myself looking at an empty dance floor, I feel this strong urge to sue the former math teacher of whoever typed that ridiculously inaccurate reply.

The plum, sensing the swelling of my disappointment, urges me to come with her for a little house viewing before I start mingling. If her whole outfit wouldn't scream so loud, "Please, fuck me!" I might have understood her real name when she mentioned it earlier on my arrival. The syllables of her name, however, got swallowed instantly by the kanon that her different overexposed body parts sing tonight. Off-key, sadly.

I follow her walking up the stairs. Her moment to wave her ass cheeks right in my face. She knows what she is doing and does so in pride, reminding me of a patriot waving his country's flag. It has to be a patriot from somewhere within the European Union, though, ‘cause, something is telling me that the borders of her ass must be equally open. The upper floor is dark and arranged with cold walls that shape rooms that are meant to host strangers engaging in the warmest act that God has ever invented for us.

In the aisle, we pass a closed wooden door. "We can't go in here, right now," she informs me, "there are people inside, fucking!" She says that in a fashion more causal than a 'Fruit of the Loom' shirt. In particular, the word "fucking" and the way it sounds trespassing her slightly chapped lips has me irritated immensely. I mean sure, there is not much romance to the word by default anyway, never was. But her tonality and the way she lets the word roll over her tongue makes me somehow want to commit to vanilla sex for the rest of a monogamous life.

The tour through the upper floor continues. She calls it her 'dream villa'. I get introduced to Dark room, glory whole wall, various single rooms, two open fucking spaces, and a little cage. Except for the one room that was closed, it is all still empty here; no sweat yet, no moans, no ripped condom packages. She goes on about how she built it all on her own, how this is all a product of her imagination, and how it took her 6 years to bring this place to where it is right now.

I pretend caring while she keeps massaging her ego. I am too caught up to be real with her. I am still disturbed. I mean, why would she treat the word "fucking" like that? It was this cold aggression in her voice that bugged me. As if she had stored it inside the bottom freezer box of her vocabulary's fridge and made it a habit to bend for it whenever she felt like rebelling onto the world. The hobby psychologist inside me senses that trauma made her a rebel – a rebel that fights with the weapons of vulgarity, just to cover up scars of a past encounter with a cheap replica of love. We all have been there, some way or another, so I try my best not to judge her. And still, I hate her.

The f word always was something holy for me, especially out of a woman's mouth. A real lady chooses to use it scarcely, and that's where the magic lingers. Only when a man has already done the necessary, to own the right to hear her language go south, will she choose to dip her words in dirt. Nothing is sweeter for a man than having a well-spoken lady using the f word for the first time while whispering in his ear the request to penetrate her so she can lose her brain. Needless to say, this plum seems to have lost its sweetness a very long time ago.

 We go downstairs again, and I drop my blazer at the cloakroom. Her "see you later" is featured by a gaze of her eyes that tells me that she has plans to liberate me from more than just my blazer at a later point this night.

With her leaving my side, I have finally arrived at my first swinging party. Officially. I welcome myself with a beer that I order from the bar. I speak from my balls while I do so, oiling my vocal cords with some fabricated confidence. The truth, however, is I am nervous.

I came alone tonight in order to not to be alone tonight. I came to let my lust off its leash. Yes. Nobody can see it, but I wear a mask at this moment, one of my favorite ones; it's called anonymity. I am leaning at the bar facing the dance floor and nervously swim in this sensation this mask provides me with, all while sipping on this lukewarm beer. Being anonymous means being a nobody to everybody. It's a chance to flip your skin and dance life with a different set of steps for a little while. You can be a dervish under the disco ball of life, at least temporarily.

But here is the downside: anonymity is a very fragile phenomenon, it cracks the longer you stick around. People get to know you, open their boxes and throw you inside one of them, without caring if you break or not. This makes life easier for them and harder for you.

Right now, however, leaning on this bar, sipping on this bottle, I can feel that I am box-free. I can be whoever I want to be, or better, whoever I am.

This sense of freedom, mixed with the alcohol that starts curving through my veins, calms me down, and I decide to make my way to the other end of the room. My chest stays out, of course, it's mingling time.

 I scanned the room already for all its potential and could only find one young lady that I really desire to undress instantly. I am heading towards her, and position myself next to her, and her male companion, who could be her husband, it's hard to tell. Sure is, they are close to each other and seem to have found a nice way of throwing and catching each other’s smiles. I can tell by the way they treat each other. It looks like love that already ripened for some years. 'Their sex must be good', I am thinking. At the same time, I wonder, 'Why are they here then? Why are they not at home with some candles and a record player spinning a Marvin Gay vinyl?’ They are in their early 40's, I am guessing, which makes me wonder if they have children. If so, what did they tell them where they are going tonight? Theater? Cinema? Dinner with friends? And did they hire a babysitter? The nerd in me wants to know now how many millions have been spent in the history of the world on babysitters so parents can go and exchange body fluids with strangers in a place where glory holes adorn walls. 'The world is sick,' I am thinking, 'in a sweet way. And so am I.'

I heard once that one should always stick to the '3-second rule' when planning to approach his object of desire. That means it should be avoided at all cost to spend more than three-seconds contemplating on the execution of the approach. Now all this thinking got me already to second 42 and I am feeling how hesitation gets the better of me. What if they reject me? What if they don't speak English? What if I am not their type? What will the others think of me when they see how I am getting rejected? All these amateur questions start to vomit over my mind and leave me crippled in the corner, three meters away from the couple my dick would like to have a threesome with.

I tell myself, 'there will be another, better chance later' and shift my focus back to the poorest dance floor I have seen in years.

There is some movement happening. The light is getting dimmed and the plum tells people to make some space for what is about to come. Then she starts speaking with a man whose size reminds me of a vintage wardrobe. His arms are filled with ink and his veins tell an ugly story about steroids. All of a sudden, mid through the conversation, she starts pointing at me and explains to him eagerly something which clearly involves me and my presence. After her briefing, he promptly makes his way towards me. While he does so, he reminds me of a big dog who is going for his bone, which Mama just threw for him. His eyes are getting bigger and there is a rising amount of saliva flowing in his mouth. I dislike the fact that she chose me to be the bone in this scenario, but I guess our brief sighting-seeing tour made her believe that we have a special connection or something. My fault, I should stop being nice to people I hate.   

 I'll never know his name, but there is a 99% chance that his name is Joao, Pedro, or Miguel. The Portuguese are special people, very sensitive and creative. I love them. But when it comes to naming their children, it seems like creativity and originality are two players they constantly put on the bench.

The walking wardrobe, who looks like a 'Pedro' to me, reaches me and screams in my ear:

"Come! She wants you to come."

Maybe he even said:

"Come! She wants you to cum."

Not sure about it, but honestly, in this place, these two sentences point in the very same direction. His right palm eats my left arm as he tries to pull me closer towards his plum, who is waiting on the edge of her small yet still under-crowded dance floor. I brush his hand off my limb and tell him to chill, asking what he wants from me. Pedro repeats his sentence in his broken English and lets eventually go off me. There is some tension between us, I can tell, and so can the few people around us. I'm not a short bloke, but Pedro's height exceeds mine by minimum seven centimetres and he is certainly physically stronger than me. Now that he is so close, I can witness the distinctive features in his face and start reading a bit of the story that is written inside his mime. It's a story of pain, I can tell by the tension of the muscular tissue in his face and the corners of his mouth, which seem to travel more often south rather than north.

I always thought of pain as a huge house, something like a villa. And if sadness is the main hall inside that villa, then aggression is something like the entrance hall or lobby. Behind aggression always lives sadness. Behind every fist always hides a tear. Looking at Pedro now makes me believe that he somehow got stuck in that lobby of pain and that for every tear he swallowed, one of his enemies had to swallow one of his jewelry-adorned fists. I don't want to swallow his fist. Not now, not here, not in this filthy cave that he calls his kingdom.

So, I walk up to the plum with him and ask her, “What's the matter?” She tells me: "You are way too sexy to be standing there all on your own, honey. Sit down here next to my friend". She points at the small sofa next to her, right on the dance floor. Her friend is a lady in her late 30's, a couple of years older than me, who refuses to hide her crooked, brownish teeth, while she grins at me. A small wave of disgust breaks inside me. I usually feel great sympathy for people who carry their imperfections with dignity and some sort of pride because it can show confidence, and confidence has always been a sexy thing to me. But like with everything, there is a line. And unfortunately, her set of teeth is crossing that line by miles.

Despite the lack of resonance I'm feeling, I decide to sit down next to her. I guess Pedro and the plum left some sort of intimidating impression on me, otherwise, I can't tell why I would ever sit on this couch. On her right sits another man, roughly my age, who seems, besides me, to be the only man that picked a white button-up shirt as his attire for this night, which was supposed to be a glorious one. He looks happier and way more at ease compared to me. 'Why am I sitting here? What the fuck am I doing here?' I'm asking myself, while I feel this pressure inside my body. In my mind, I'm comparing this pressure, with how a woman must feel when she is pregnant. I came here, being impregnated by lust, trying to give birth to one of my shadows that lingers in a room inside of me, where society and all its conventions have no access to. But now, sitting on this damn couch, getting my thigh stroked by a woman that never believed in dentistry, I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that tonight, this pregnancy is about to end in a miscarriage. ‘What the fuck am I doing here?’

My pulse climbs again this mountain as I'm starting to understand what is about to happen here. The light is being dimmed, even more, a new song, even worse than the one before, is being played and the plum approaches the pole, which is decorating the center of the dance floor. Her time has come. The plum strip show is about to happen. Finally or, sadly. Depending on whom you ask in here. I stay with my opinion that she is way too old for these type of things. There should be a universal pole dance law in place, forbidding women with a certain amount of wrinkles in her face to ever touch a pole and charge money for it, I'm thinking. I reminisce about my €80 entry fee and what else I could have done with it. There was a commercial by a charity, which I spotted the other day, claiming it would cost only €40 to save a life in Africa. And here I am now, watching these two old white breasts stroking a pole in an unpopular swinging club, somewhere in Portugal, all while I could have saved two beautiful black twins, somewhere in Africa. Bravo!

The strip show continues, and I'm carefully watching her movement and the way she carries herself, sliding around this pole with her 10 cm high heels on. I need to give her some credit even though I struggle somehow finding the right words for it. Maybe for the effort. Or maybe, for the past potential that used to be there. I can imagine how, at a time, when her body didn't show any plum resemblance yet, this pole and these heels used to be her key into a world full of decadence and successful businessmen, who liked to spoil her with material things, after they got their naked part of the deal. Time took this key from her one day like it does to all pretty ladies. Time threw that key overboard into the inevitable ocean of evanescence, and she jumped right after it trying to catch it again and again, without notable success to this day. No anti-aging cream, no surgeon, and no dance pole can prevent that key from hitting the ocean bed. Thinking about this, I almost feel sorry for her. Maybe, it was not her fault. Maybe, we are to blame; we men, by tricking pretty ladies into betting all their chips on their beauty, and making them believe this winning streak will last forever. Sadly, it doesn't.

Physical beauty serves the eyes. And the eyes of humans are little hungry monsters. Monsters that like to eat only one thing and one thing only: Symmetry. Like a dog loves to chew on a bone, our eyes enjoy chewing on symmetry; the more, the better. We simply can't get enough of it. Take the face of Kate Moss, for instance. It's like a five-star dish for these two monsters inside our face, especially for the heterosexual men among us. Scientists discovered that the length and width of a face, as well as the distance between and women's mouth and her eyes, determines how attractive she is to men. Ms. Moss apparently got extremely lucky the day that God handed out facial length and width measures because the distance between the middle of her eyes and her mouth is about 46% of the width of her face, which is supposed to be the "golden ratio". The face of this pole dancing plum in front of me, however, has, apart from those oval over-sized earrings hanging from her lobes, literally nothing golden to offer any more. Time has eaten her symmetry.

As she continues to chase her younger self on this pole, with movements that were not invented for a body aged like hers, she starts looking in our direction. We, the three people on this purple couch, are having the courtside seats in this arena of filth. No one is closer to the action. I'm feeling a bit like Jack Nicholson in the Staples Center or Spike Lee in the Madison Square Garden. Probably more like Mr. Lee, to be honest, since the Knicks seem to have performed equally bad in recent years, just like the plum is now. She starts walking up to us. I'm surprised how stable her walk is, considering her age in combination with those stupidly long heels she is wearing. Personally, I never had a thing for heels; it never did much to me, seeing a girl walking around all stiff and unnatural like that. Marilyn Monroe supposedly said once, "We owe the man who invented high heels so much." I never had a clue what she was talking about until I read again about some scientists that claimed high heels make women's feet look more petite and therefore overall, more attractive to men. Well, I'm a man, and one of the coolest girls I ever dated, came in flip flops to our first date, and instantly gave birth to a butterfly in my belly. But that's maybe for another story. Sure is, I would have made Marilyn wear some Birkenstock's before starting to penetrate her.

So, as the plum arrives at the sofa, she grabs the hand of the other guy and pulls him towards a chair that Pedro, in the meantime, has put right next to the pole. A new song is being played, and she starts lap dancing on the guy who might share with me the affinity for white button-up shirts but certainly not the taste in women. Some people start whistling and yelling little sounds of excitement while her ass takes a hike up his lap, planting a little lump between his legs. I stare at the grin he parked in his face and discover, to my surprise, that it's really a genuine one. The muscles in our face have always fascinated me; they are like a lie detector. I can always tell by someone's facial expressions how close they live to authenticity in a given moment. A fake smile relaxes fast, too fast. On a genuine smile, the corners of the mouth go back calmly and smoothly, to its neutral position, it relaxes slowly. As I keep witnessing this, for me, rather tragic performance, I can clearly see that the guy is genuinely happy and pleased. Pleased by a woman that I named plum the first minute I caught sight of her; a dry plum to be exact.

I feel like an alien that is stranded on a planet that is illiterate to the language of sex and erotic. Where lust is a hyper-inflated currency, making anyone a millionaire, whipping his ass with bills whenever his hormones hand him a dose of horniness. An alien always feels lonely. A feeling of loneliness can only flourish when there is, for whatever reason, no ground or space for sharing. We share by communicating, mostly through language, which is mostly transmitted spoken or through our bodies. My genitals clearly speaks Suaheli compared to the others in here, so how on earth would I ever be able to communicate and share anything in this cave?

Next to me, still sits the lady with the crooked smile, still rubbing my thigh, still refusing to see a dentist. Just like the interior design of her mouth lacks order and alignment, I am starting to lack some patience. Nothing of what my five senses have been absorbing in the last 70 minutes has been really to my liking, and something is telling me that the worst is yet to come if I don't take immediate action. The little mathematician inside my currently confused brain starts doing his job and calculates the probability of me being next in line for a lap dance, like the one I am forced to watch right now. Considering the fact that I'm the only remaining male on this couch, which feels like a substitute bench, the chance of me being the next player on the lap dance field seems alarmingly high. So high that my heartbeat starts mimicking some dub step rhythm and I actually start feeling a bit scared. "I need to get the fuck out of here" is what my inner voice starts shouting. The thought of me sitting in the middle of this dance floor, being watched by all these horny eyeballs while a dry plum slides down my crotch, lets my heartbeat go even higher, approaching more and more the tempo territory of some ‘drum n bass’ track. This cocktail of emotions my spirit is sipping on right now doesn't taste well- I feel scared, disgusted, and ashamed all at the same time. Not good. I need to leave. Now!

 I stand up, fast and assertive. In doing so, I brush off the lady's hand of my thigh, who then tries to stop me by reaching for my wrist, while mumbling some, for me, indigestible syllable salad. She is obviously trying to convince me that I should be staying. That I should be patiently waiting for this present they got prepared for me. I quickly look back at her and can tell by her surprised look that she has no clue of how I'm feeling. She must really be thinking that I'm letting go of some sort of once in a lifetime chance here.

I rush to the cloakroom, just to find out that it's locked. Fuck. I just want my blazer and escape this place. I look around, trying to find someone who could help me with my dilemma, and see Pedro approaching me. He must have seen how I rushed off the couch and also seems surprised about my sudden change of plans. "What's wrong, my friend?" he asks. For a split second, I'm considering to tell him, that we are further away from being friends than the pope from ever using a pack of condoms in his life, but then, discard that idea quickly and just reply: "I need to leave. Can you open the door? I need my blazer." He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and opens the door, visibly disturbed by my ambition to leave his cave. He almost seems to take it personally and wants to know, "Why do you want to leave? You don't like it here? What's your problem, my friend?" As I take my blazer off the hanger, I tell him that he doesn't have to worry about my problem and that all he needs to know right now is that I need to leave. He senses that I'm serious and decides not to continue his Q&A session with me. He assists me to the exit, where I decide to turn around for one last time and give this place a final look. One last observation that shall be burned into my memory forever, reminding me what I don't want in my still young, erotic life.

I look at the men in here, who are all still excitingly following the narrative of the plum's strip show. She seems to have found another victim that she is now arousing with her clumsy movements. It's a man in green shorts and a blue tank top, who reminds me again of the fact that I'm embarrassingly overdressed tonight. He also seems to have the time of his life, receiving what is, in my view, still Portugal's poorest pole dance performance. I stare at his happy face one last time, observing this sincere, lustful joy that is being displayed in there.

A line from my favorite rapper comes to mind and I whisper it to myself while I finally walked out of my

first swinging party:

 "One man's pain is another man's pleasure.

One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Outside, I button my shirt all the way up to the collar button, grab my phone, and open the Uber app.

This time, it's me who orders the Uber,

 not my dick.

[3aris]

“nothing will work unless you do” - Maya Angelou

BLACK LIVES MATTER

WE KNOW ALL LIVES MATTER

BUT RIGHT NOW BLACK LIVES ARE THE ONES IN DANGER!

RACISM:

a complex system of beliefs and institutions that elevates whites at the expense of non-whites.

we all exist in and benefit from this system, whether we notice it or not.

WHITE PEOPLE CANNOT EXPERIENCE RACISM!

- discrimination is not racism

- our society prioritizes and caters to the experiences and benefits of white people. 

- white people hold the power in society. the ones in power cannot be the victims

* IT’S A PRIVILEGE TO EDUCATE YOURSELF ON RACISM INSTEAD OF EXPERIENCING IT *

HOW THE F*CK DOES RACISM STILL EXIST? [@cicelyblaincolsulting]

1. Racism Is Upheld By:

- Systems (media, education, law, healthcare...)

- History (our society is informed by centuries-old habit, biases, & disparities)

- Privilege (difficult to notice, address, and sacrifice. as long as one group benefits from the oppression of another, racism will still exist)

- Micro-Aggressions (everyday slights, comments, & actions uphold racist power structures)

2.The Formation Of Anti-Blackness

- Capitalism (Black bodies have been used as the means of production (worker labor, tools, machinery) to create wealth for Europeans.)

- Slavery (Black people were stripped of autonomy, citizenship, rights, and treated as objects for over 300 years)

- Colonialism (the land we occupy was stolen from indigineous peoples and continues to be pillaged for raw material, natural resources, and human capital for white gain first and foremost.

3. EVEN THE SMALLEST ACTS OF RACISM UPHOLD DOMINANT POWER STRUCTURES

4. Racism Is An Iceberg

- Tip / Visible Part (KKK, neo-nazis, police brutality, racial slurs, hate crimes)

- Majority / Hidden Part (all lives matter, your English is so good, you’re so pretty for a Black girl, what about Black on Black crime, can I touch your hair, where are you really from?)

ANTI-RACISM:

the active process of identifying and eliminating racism by changing systems, policies, practices, and attitudes in order to redistribute and share power. [NAC International Perspectives: Women and Global Solidarity]

WHITE PRIVILEGE:

white privilege doesn’t mean your life hasn’t been hard, it means that the color of your skin isn’t one of the things making it harder

WHAT’S WRONG WITH POLICE [@leftnortheast]

1. Origins of Police in America

- slave patrols of armed white men to enforce slavery & chase down runaway slaves

- after slavery, these same patrols continued to enforce segregation & reinforce violence against Black ppl perpetrated by the KKK

- during the 19th century, the ultra-rich business owners relied on police to stop workers and immigrants from organizing labor unions

- LA’s “thin blue line” enforced segregation in the 1950s. look up “Black Wall Street”

- HISTORICALLY THE MAIN FUNCTION OF THE POLICE IS TO PROTECT WEALTH & ASSETS BY PRESERVING INSTITUTIONAL RACISM

2. Police Today

- when police commit crimes, the investigations are performed by the police themselves (union officials & internal affairs departments)

- only 33% of investigations end in police being convicted, compared to 68% in general pop.

- at least 40% of police families have experienced domestic violence, compared to 10% in the general population

3. ACAB: What It Means

- all cops are bastards

- it does NOT mean that individual cops are incapable of doing good things, but that the institution of policing is harmful and beyond saving

- the laws that “good” cops enforce work to uphold a harmful status quo that keeps working class and POC socially disadvantaged. therefore, there are no “good” cops

- EX: the three other officers who stood and watched Derek Chauvin kill George Floyd. they may be “good” because they didn’t kill Floyd, but they did nothing to prevent Chauvin from doing so.

THINGS TO DO INSTEAD OF CALLING THE COPS [@freedomtothrive]

1. Don’t Feel Obligated To Defend Property

- is someone being actively hurt or endangered by property “theft” or damage?

- if “no,” let it be

2. If Something Of Yours Is Stolen...

- consider going to the police station instead of bringing cops into your community, you may be inadvertently putting someone art risk by calling the cops

3. If You See Someone Exhibiting “Odd” Behavior...

- don’t assume they are intoxicated

- ask if they are ok, if they have a medical condition, and if they need help

4. If You See Someone Pulled Over With Car Trouble...

- stop & ask if they need help or if you can call a tow truck for them

- calling police may result in unnecessary ticketing, target undocumented ppl, etc.

5. Keep A Contact List Of Community Resources

- EX: suicide hotlines, mental health assistance, etc.

- ppl with mental illnesses are 16x more likely to be killed by police

6. Check Your Impulse To Call The Police On “Suspicious” People

- is their race, gender, ethnicity, class, or housing situation influencing your action?

- calling the cops on such people can be death sentences (EX: Trayvon Martin)

HOW WILL WE STAY SAFE WITHOUT POLICE? [@mpd_150] [@wretched_flowers_]

1. Community Members

- mental health service providers, social workers, victim/survivor advocates, religious leaders, neighbors & friends need to look out for one another

- not armed strangers with guns who likely don’t live in the communities they patrol (police)

- society expects police to do too much: violent crimes, traffic stops, chasing loose dogs, etc.

2. What About Violence?

- crime isn’t random, it happens because ppl are unable to meet their needs  EX: money, food, rent, etc.

- this problem can be solved with an emphasis on jobs, education, community centers, mental health resources.

- cops don’t prevent violence, they invite it through constant violent disruption of our communities

3. It’s Not Impossible

- look at the abolition of slavery, the 40hr work week, etc. those were accomplished through gradual progress

- redirect funds away from the police department toward those community-based alternatives listed above. LOOK UP HOW MUCH YOUR CITY / STATE SPENDS ON POLICING.

14 WAYS WHITE PPL CAN MAKE LIFE LESS FRUSTRATING FOR p.o.c. [@privtoprog]

1. trust / listen to POC assessment of a situation

2. don’t assume all POC have same views

3. don’t guess / assume ppl’s race

4. read & share articles relating to daily POC experiences

5. just because you have a POC friend / relative / partner doesn’t mean you can’t be racist. if anything, it means you should be more critical of your actions / words & how they affect those around you

6. don’t play devil’s advocate on race conversations. JUST. LISTEN.

7. understand that America has what it has because it stole land from indigenous people and stole people from Africa to build America

8. care about race on the other 364 days that aren’t MLK Day

9. don’t assume you know what it’s like to experience racism. you don’t & can’t. that’s the point.

10. nothing in your life has been untouched by your whiteness. everything you have would have been harder to come by if you had not been born white.

11. don’t get defensive when someone calls you out on racism, be grateful. it’s a learning moment.

12. move past white guilt. guilt it’s unproductive. just BE BETTER.

13. fighting racism isn’t about you. it’s about liberating POC from a racist world / system.

14. being an ALLY is a verb, not a noun. you can’t be an ally just because you say you are. actions are louder than words.

WHAT WHITE PPL CAN DO OVER TIME [@prettydecent]

1. Research & Learn In Public

- identify, name, & challenge the norms, patterns, traditions, structures,and institutions that keep racism & white supremacy in place

- TALK TO & EDUCATE OTHER WHITE PEOPLE. it’s YOUR job, not POC, to teach white ppl how to fight racism

- let people you care about know this is something you care about

2. Open Your Eyes To Anti-Blackness

- there are no race-neutral spaces, “colorblindness” does not exist.

- Anti-Blackness is the way in which Black ppl have been targeted & stripped of their humanity

- pay attention to CODED LANGUAGE. what do we mean by “good” neighborhoods & “good” schools?

- who starts trends? who gets credit for them? EX: rock & roll

3. Pay Attention To Your White Experience

- we will never full understand Black ppl’s experiences

- look at how your whiteness has impacted your life: encounters with police, airport security? job interviews?

- what are you “good at” and how might your race have affected that?

- white experiences are the social “default,” EX: “Is The Country Ready For Its First White President?”

4. Speak Up & Argue With White People

- silence is a privilege & acts in directly upholding the system of white supremacy

- look at how movies, TV, and other media treats Black and POC, and call it out when you see it.

- hold other white ppl accountable, THERE IS NO GROWTH WITHOUT DISCOMFORT. we make mistakes but that does not mean we can’t learn & grow from them.

HOW TO TALK TO YOUR FAMILY ABOUT RACISM [@jenerous]

1. Intent & Impact

- white ppl say that we don’t INTEND to be racist.

- intent doesn’t matter if the IMPACT of our actions harms someone and/or upholds a racist system

2. Watch Your Tone

- we don’t get to tell Black ppl how to talk about their own oppression (“tone policing”)

- when we talk to other white ppl about race, we need to speak in a way that best conveys the information, feelings aside

3. Tell Stories Of Your Own Privilege

- tell your family members a specific way your white privilege has protected you

- this is also a great opportunity for you to reflect on & better understand your own privilege

- WE LEARN BY TEACHING

4. Share Some Of Your Own F*ck Ups

- admitting you’ve been wrong before helps normalize personal growth

- makes it easier for your family to reflect on their own failures & move on

- vulnerability is strength

5. Make It Okay To Ask Questions

- ask your family if they have questions about racism

- this may bring up stuff you don’t know either, a great opportunity to learn together!

6. Keep Asking “Why Do You Think That Is?”

- find a race-related statistic that you both agree on (EX: “Black ppl are jailed for weed more than white ppl are”)

- ask your family member why they think that statistic is true until there’s no answer that makes sense besides “racism”

7. Plant A Seed Of Doubt

- unlearning a racist system means flipping everything we know on its head.

- that requires small steps, such as getting your family members to question their existing logic around ONE topic (Black hair, cultural appropriation, affirmative action, etc.)

- when they say “hmm... i never thought about that,” you’re making progress!

8. Commit To The Idea That It Is Possible To Change Someone’s Mind

- your own anti-racism journey is proof!

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOURSELF [@is_siigii]

1. Who taught you about race & culture?

2. What can you do to support POC in your community?

3. What are you committed to doing outside of social media to fight racism?

4. How do you behave when you are confronted with racist behavior?

5. What do you want to learn more about?

6. What information could you teach people?

7. In what ways have you ignored this behavior in the past?

8. Why is it important for everyone to work toward ending this injustice?

9. How can you use anti-racist knowledge to change & progress?

10. Do you owe anyone an apology?

11. How do you handle conflicts?

[tetrakys]

Trois Allumettes - Chapter 14

Rewrite of MCL UL episode 16 with Lysander.

Big thank you to the people who sent me their suggestions, let me know if you think I got it right.

FYI the song I mention at some point is Tsar B - Escalate

Chapters 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-13

“She’s here!”

I looked up startled by the sudden commotion around me. I’d been walking slowly, my eyes on the ground, lost in my thoughts. I couldn’t stop picturing Nath covered in blood on the gym floor.

What had supposed to be one of the most pleasant evenings out of these holidays, had turned out to be one of the worst, spending hours at the hospital hoping for Nath conditions to be not as bad as they seemed.

I was finally back to campus and the whole little group with whom I’d gone to the carnival what felt like ages ago, was there, relieved looks on their faces as soon as they spotted me.

“I…” when I saw Lys my eyes got all misty, and the pressure suddenly subsided. I threw myself into his arms sobbing.

“Candy… I’m here…” he hugged me against his chest, and I got the feeling that the hold of his embrace calmed my heartbeat.

I cried in his arms for a minute, probably drenching his elegant coat with my tears. When I calmed down, he kissed me gently on the head.

They all wanted to know about Nath. I wasn’t looking forward to their questions, but apparently they already knew most of it from Amber. At least they knew that he’d been taken to the hospital after a beating. I filled them in with what I could. I had to stick to the mug story, I couldn’t tell them the truth, it wasn’t my place to.

“What a jerk!” we all turned around surprised to see Castiel fuming. “He supposedly wants to handle the situation on his own and then calls Candy? I doubt she’s the most appropriate person to call when you get mugged. What was the point? For her to see his condition without actually being able to help him? Imagine if the group of muggers had still been on the premises?! They would’ve gone after you too!”

“That’s enough, Castiel.” Lysander said in a firm tone, laying his arm around my shoulders. “We appreciate your concern, but this is not the right time. As you can clearly see Candy is upset enough.”

“Sorry,” Castiel nodded, “I shouldn’t have talked about it now, but it seemed important to make the point. We were all worried about you… My concern is what was talking.” He added, looking at Lysander earnestly.

We all said goodbye and Lys walked me to my dorm room.

“Are you ok?” he asked me as soon as we were alone in front of my door. Concern in his eyes, he sweetly stroked my cheek and I leaned into his touch.

“I didn’t know what to do, Lys… I felt so helpless.”

“You did the right thing, calling an ambulance. Despite his harsh tone and bad timing, I agree with Castiel. Nathaniel shouldn’t have put you in this situation, he should’ve called the emergency number from the start instead of putting you in unnecessary danger. I wish… I wished you’d asked me to go with you.” He added taking me in his arms.

“Lys… I didn’t think about it… I just ran.”

“I know. And this is one of the things I admire the most about you. You’re just so good and kind, you’d literally do anything for your friends. I just hope that one day you’re going to trust me enough to see me as the person to lean on when things get rough.”

“I trust you, Lys.” I hugged him tighter but didn’t add anything else, and he didn’t either. We both knew that we didn’t have nearly enough time together to become each other’s crutch.

“When I couldn’t find you I got so scared Candy. I pictured you alone, in that crowd and the worst scenarios ran through my mind.”

I kissed him apologetically, “I’m sorry for disappearing on you like that. And just when we’d finally managed to find some time to be together.”

“About that… I’m going to be busy tomorrow, and the day after I’m leaving for the farm where I’m going to spend the rest of the week.”

I felt my heart sink. We were on vacation, I was hoping to spend at least a bit of time with him and he was leaving.

“Would you… I mean…” I looked up at him, surprised by his stuttering and sudden embarrassment. “If you’ve nothing else to do… you could come with me.”

With him? To the farm? A whole week together?

I knew my answer already.

---

 “A whole week together starting with a road trip?” I said looking at Lys’ beautiful profile focused on the road ahead. “I feel quite lucky.”

“I would hardly call this a road trip,” he laughed, “it’s just a few hours stuck in a car with me, and I know I’m not the most talkative person. I’m afraid it’s going to be quite boring.”

Mph… he had no idea… how non-bored I was feeling at the moment. I’d always found men at the wheel quite sexy, but this particular man… the way he hold the wheel, his firm grip, his focused stare… he had a certain authoritative and slightly aggressive way of driving that seemed a little out of character for him and, at the same time, suited him a lot. It made me wonder if there where other aspects where he could act bossy and rough.

The simple thought made me blush.

To be honest, I hadn’t been able to think about much else these past 24 hours. Since knowing that I was going to spend the week at the place he’d grown up, I’d been ecstatic, I couldn’t wait to learn more about him and his past.

But when the thought of spending the night together had finally sunk in, I started to hyperventilate.

Not because I didn’t want to. I wanted to, oh… I really wanted to. I literally couldn’t wait. I’d even bought new underwear. A black and red corset with laces at the back but that could easily be removed thanks to convenient zip at the front, it also came with matching panties.

No, I wasn’t hesitant at all. I was fully prepared to take things to the next level.

What I wasn’t sure of, was if he wanted to.

The one time we’d come close to it, or at least were heading towards it, he’d backed off. He’d said he didn’t want to take advantage of me, knowing he was going to leave in a few months. The mere thought was absurd to me, no one was taking advantage of anyone here, I was very willing, more than willing. Also, we hadn’t been officially together at the time, so maybe his feelings had changed meanwhile.

Still, I was afraid of how he might react if we got close to it again, I wasn’t sure my self-esteem could take another rejection.

“Anyway, thanks for coming with me. Your presence alone is going to brighten what would’ve otherwise been a very tedious week.”

He explained that he didn’t have much heavy work to do, since the people he and Leigh had hired to work at the farm for this year where taking care of it. But he was supposed to meet with some clients, mostly local business owners, restaurants and such, who made use of their products.

This meant we were also going to have lots of free time to spend together. I literally couldn’t wait.

We spent the whole afternoon quietly listening to music on the radio, I made him laugh when I tried (and failed) to sing along. Let’s just say I’d never been gifted with a perfect pitch.

Sometimes he absentmindedly rested his hand on my knee, and my head went completely into overdrive. Particularly when his fingers lightly caressed my skin, sometimes rising a little up on my thigh.

I could tell that he wasn’t completely conscious of these gestures, because as soon as he realised what he was doing, he quickly removed his hand placing it back on the wheel. His grip so tight his knuckles became white.

We only stopped once to grab a quick bite, and when we arrived at the farm, it was already dark.

“I’m going to show you around tomorrow morning,” Lys said while we walked up a few steps to reach the front door. “It’s too late now and you need daylight to move around the property if you’re not used to it.”

He was right, I could tell the house was a big, old villa, but it was too dark to make up anything else. Inside though… as soon as he opened the door and turned on the light I was left speechless. It was old, yes, and rustic, definitely nothing I would’ve associated with Lysander, but it was also homely and comfy. We passed through a living room hosting a couple of soft-looking sofas that I was dying to throw myself on. A fireplace on the wall completed the picture of the perfect, dreamy, country house.

He showed me quickly the kitchen and the bathroom and stopped in front of a door.

“Here we are, this is your room.”

My… excuse me?!

“You’ll find clean sheets on the bed and extra pillows in the wardrobe if you need them. Goodnight.”

He leaned to leave a quick kiss on my cheek and disappeared in the room next door.

I remained there for a few seconds, petrified on the spot.

What had just happened?

Okay, I suspected he might still be worried about “taking advantage of me”, hurting my feelings, or whatever crazy idea he had created in his mind that stopped him from getting physical with me. But… even sleeping together, hugging each other, would have been amazing. I just wanted to feel closer to him. And now, with just a wall between us, he seemed so far away.

I pushed the door and stepped into my room. I didn’t even look around, I just headed directly to the bed like a zombie and sat on it.

He must’ve been tired for sure, having driven the whole day, still… it didn’t explain his odd behaviour.

Was it… me? Was he tired of me after spending the day together in close quarters? But it seemed he was having fun the whole time, I was positive about that. No, something else was going on.

I spent at least an hour sitting on that bed, trying to figure out what to do with no success. I might as well call it a night, it was very late, probably around 3am. It was best to try to get some sleep and talk to him the following day.

I removed my dress and remembered what I was wearing underneath. That corset had brought nothing but the worst of luck. I was now left in it and a long underskirt with a side cut that I made myself so that I could use it underneath a couple of dresses in that particular style.

I was about to start removing everything else so that I could slip into my nightwear, when I realised I was parched and it was probably a good idea to grab a glass of water from the kitchen before going to bed.

I just removed my shoes and headed towards the kitchen barefooted as to not make too much noise waking up Lys.

Trying to find my way to the kitchen in the dark wasn’t easy. I took the wrong turn a couple of times, when I finally found myself in the right room, I felt I was dying of thirst. Filling a glass from the tap, I took a huge sip and that’s when I heard the music.

Yes, there was music coming from somewhere. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but it sounded soft and almost sad.

Leaving the glass on the kitchen counter, I followed the sound, step after step bringing me closer to the source of the music, until I found myself in a room where something incredible was going on.

A huge grand piano was in the middle of the room, which was mostly dark, lighted by candles in different corners. Lysander was playing, following a music coming from a sound system. He looked so focused, so immersed in the music, I’d only ever seen him like this that one time he was reciting his poem at the open mic.

I had no idea he could play, and he definitely could. He’d rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up over his elbows and I stayed there, charmed. looking at the expert movements of his hands on the keys, listening to the amazing sounds he was creating. I could feel it reverberating in my chest, as if I was under a spell.

“Did I wake you up?”

Lys voice took me back to reality. The piano’s final note had just died but the song was still playing, probably on loop. It sounded so different without the piano, less melancholic and more sensual.

Or, at least, those were my feelings when I saw Lys raising his head to look at me, and I remembered that I was half undressed, only wearing my lingerie.

He took in my whole body, from head to toe. Starting from my flushed face and my long hair that I’d left loose around my shoulders, reaching mid-waist. He took in my corset and the way it squeezed my chest, creating a generous cleavage and a tiny waist. Then my hips, hugged my the underskirt, and the deep cut, that showed my thigh and leg, down to my bare feet.

He was speechless and couldn’t take his eyes off me.

“You didn’t,” I replied, “I was on my way back from the kitchen when I heard the music. I’m sorry if I interrupted your practice. I had no idea you could play the piano.”

I stepped into the room and walked towards him, stopping in front of him next to the piano.

I pressed on a key out of curiosity, the sound reverberating into the room. “You’re incredibly good.”

He smiled sadly. “Thank you, but I’m far from it. My mother was the pianist of the family, I’m but a mere amateur. I play from time to time to calm myself, when I’m too pensive or restless.”

“And what are you now? Pensive or restless?”

“Both.” He replied earnestly, resting his hands on my hips. “I feel restless because I can’t stop thinking about you and at how much I want you.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words.

“I feel the same. I want you and I can’t sleep thinking about how you pushed me away the moment we stepped into this house.”

He didn’t try to deny it, he knew exactly what I was talking about. I was standing in front of him while he was still sitting on the bench, from my higher vantage point I felt I could act bolder, so I laid my hand in his hair, caressing the soft tendrils between my fingers.

He closed his eyes, lost in the sensations of my caresses. “I was trying to do the right thing, but I don’t think I can anymore.”

“Good.” I simply replied. “If being together is wrong, then I’m ready to make the biggest mistake of my life. Over and over again.”

His hands tightened their hold on my hips and when he opened his eyes again I could read so much longing and lust that I knew he was done pretending now.

Before I could realise what he was doing, he pushed me against the piano and made me seat on the keyboard. The cacophony of sounds completely ignored as he attacked my mouth with his. One hand grabbed my chin, as his lips took possess of mine, repeatedly. His other hand grabbed my thigh through the slit and moved it so that I could hook my legs around his waist.

Without interrupting our kiss, he lifted me and, walking around the instrument with complete ease, as if I weighted nothing, he dropped me on the closed lid.

Only then we finally came up for air. I knew I must be flushed and completely dishevelled, but he looked at me as if I was the most fascinating piece of art he’d ever laid eyes on.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said almost pained. “I never knew what desire was until the day I met you. I thought I did, but it turns out I was just an ignorant fool. You haunt my thoughts and dreams Candy, day or night, I’m inevitably, completely yours.”

I wasn’t as good with words as him, so I simply took his hand and put it on my chest, right above my heart. “So am I. Yours.”

This seemed to be enough for him to put aside any final reservation and doubt. The hand on my chest got bolder and he grabbed my breast above the fabric of my corset. When he realised the garment was nothing but an hindrance to his explorations, he grabbed the zip and slowly opened it, savouring the exquisite torture of anticipation.

At the same time his other hand went beck to my thigh, caressing higher and higher.

The moment my chest was completely exposed to his eyes, he looked spellbound and lowered his lips to my soft skin. His hand now had finally reached the spot it was looking for, and the combined sensations of his lips and his fingers above the fabric of my underwear, was enough to make me lose my mind.

But before I could even start to let go, he left my body and I almost cried at the loss. Grabbing both skirt and slip, he pushed them down my legs, so that now I was completely naked in front of him.

He looked so handsome and impressive as he took in my now completely naked body, that I almost felt like a sacrificial offering to a god, and I was ready lo let him do whatever he wanted to me.

He slowly, without breaking his eyes away from any part of my body he felt like looking at, removed his shirt, so that now I had a perfect view of his chiselled chest that I was dying to feel under my fingers. But he didn’t give me the chance to raise to touch him.

Grabbing my knees, he opened me to his stare, and I saw his eyes turn incredibly dark and lose any trace of self-control.

His mouth was on me before I could even say a word, not that I wanted to. Pushing me down, he made me lie with my back on the piano, and helped me slide so that now my bottom was at the edge. His hands on my breasts, grabbing with a rough strength that was almost deliciously painful, and his tongue on my bundle of nerves, tasting me hungrily.

When one of his hands rose up to my face and his index finger rested on my lips, I knew exactly what he wanted me to do, so I looked at him in the eye as I took it in my mouth and sucked, wetting it with my saliva.

A few seconds later I felt that finger entering me.

I dropped my head on the piano and lost myself in the sensation. He was playing my body with the same focus and passion as he’d done with the piano, and I hoped that the sounds I was making were as pleasing to his ears as his music had been to mine. I was panting, moaning, and crying his name over and over again and, when I felt I was just about to fall off the edge of pleasure, he stopped and stepped back.

I groaned in frustration. I’d been so damn close.

But before I could find the strength to protest or beg, I felt something much bigger than a finger entering me and he took my breath away.

Yes!

We were finally one, and I could feel him everywhere, inside of me and over me.

If I thought making love with him was going to be sweet and tender, I was wrong. Completely wrong. He was rough, and strong, and he took me as if he wanted to possess me completely, body and soul. There was still something loving in the way he delicately moved a tendril of hair from my face and caressed my lips, as if he wanted to kiss me, but the position made it impossible. So he kept pistoning inside me like a man possessed. The moment his thumb came to my clit I came while crying his name.

And as I came down from my high, and my eyes found his again, he followed me, moaning something that I wasn’t able to understand. The force of his orgasm so strong that he crushed over me, his head resting on my chest. My hands came immediately to his hair, caressing his locks as we both found our breaths again.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered.

“I believe you are the perfect one here. Seriously, poetry, music and… this… is there anything you cannot do?”

I felt him lightly laugh against my skin.

“I’m not sure, I guess we have to practice thoroughly and make several tests to find out.”

“Well, I guess there’s no other choice then,” I replied faking a resigned tone. “I guess I shall help you out.”

“Please,” he laughed. “I have so many ideas on my mind, this week won’t be enough to test them all.”

His lips found mine, and we kissed again.

Again and again, all the way through the night.

---

Back to Chapter 13

[cxhnow]

R&B duo (and real-life sisters) Chloe and Halle Bailey have unparalleled talent and an unbreakable bond. With a “sexy, darker” new sound and exciting solo projects on the way, the multihyphenates are all grown up and ready for their second act — both together and on their own. "You. Look. Stunning!" Halle Bailey watches as her older sister Chloe poses in a faux-leather Nanushka trench coat against a vibrant background of red and pink, Kelis's album Tasty blaring through the studio. Halle's eyes dart between the shots popping up on the monitor and the real-life vision that is 21-year-old Chloe, who smirks at her sister's instructions to "slay" and "work" as they echo in the cavernous studio. Chloe returns the favor when it's 19-year-old Halle's moment in front of the lens; being photographed separately is a rare occurrence for the pair. Chloe cheers Halle on as the latter poses in a houndstooth Area dress, nipped at the waist with a patent leather belt, and matching knee-high boots: "That's gorgeous! You're beautiful." When Chloe and Halle arrive at Milk Studios in Hollywood for our cover shoot on Oct. 29, the energy is celebratory; they are fresh from the set of the Freeform series Grown-ish. Chloe and Halle graduated from recurring roles on the Black-ish spinoff to series regulars for season two, playing college students and track star twins Jazz and Sky Forster. They — along with cast members Yara Shahidi, Trevor Jackson, Francia Raisa, and Luka Sabbat — just wrapped filming on the third season, which premieres Jan. 16. The next installment of the show promises an unplanned pregnancy, an acting debut from Kylie Jenner's former BFF Jordyn Woods, and a much-appreciated homage to Beyoncé's 2018 Homecoming performance. It's also a busy time for Chloe x Halle's music: in 2019 they dropped two singles, "Who Knew" and "Thinkin Bout Me," and are putting the finishing touches on their highly anticipated second studio album, Ungodly Hour, which drops this year. They are buzzing while talking about their new, more mature sound. "It's more grown; it's sexy, it's darker," Halle tells me. She and her sister showed up in laid-back looks before undergoing superhero-style transformations in a curtained-off section of the studio, where they snacked on chips and guacamole and drank green juice while trying on dozens of potential designer outfits. They are sweet and petite, and during a break from the photo shoot, they sit side by side on a velvet ottoman across from me. Both are wearing curve-hugging dresses by Dion Lee and have traded their matching Alevì Milano heels for slippers and slides. Chloe and Halle are defining themselves individually even more than before, and their style is part of that. Throughout the day, Halle will rock playfully sexy ensembles (my personal favorite is a Carrie Bradshaw-esque Maison Margiela button-down shirt cinched with a Zana Bayne belt). Chloe's outfits are equally grown-up and sexy, but with an edgy sophistication — she will channel Olivia Pope, smizing in a camel-colored Fendi trench coat and graphic Sophia Webster heels. Their looks will always complement each other but still reflect the woman wearing them. Their eyes are wide, their mocha skin glistening, braids cascading down their backs. The mood feels highly melanated and highly favored. Chloe and Halle's connection goes beyond the typical sibling bond — they are collaborators, costars, and best friends. It's what makes the stakes of this next stage of their career, as they explore a more adult sound and divergent career opportunities of their own, so high. To see them posing together is like watching a delicately choreographed dance. It's as if they each instinctively know which way the other is about to lean her arm or turn her head and will shift congruously. Between shots, Chloe and Halle smooth each other's braids, bump shoulders to the bass of "Milkshake," or talk in hushed tones. Chloe is the textbook older sister and ultimate hype girl ("The angel that's always in my ear," Halle tells me). "We'll always squeeze each other's hands or look in each other's eyes and crack a joke," Chloe says, admitting that they both sometimes feel anxious while posing on the red carpet or for photo shoots like this one. I recognize their subtle movements, exchanged glances, and seemingly secret language; it reminds me of the way that my sister and I — and sisters everywhere, really — exist in our own universe. Chloe and Halle spent their childhood in Atlanta before moving to LA, where they reside today with their parents Courtney and Doug and their 14-year-old brother, Branson ("We're the Three Musketeers," Chloe says). In 2011, they launched their YouTube channel with an impressive cover of Beyoncé's "Best Thing I Never Had." Wearing matching red tank tops and bouncy braided bobs, they showed off melodies reminiscent of vocalists well beyond their years (Chloe was 13, Halle just 11). They would go on to cover hits from John Legend, Alicia Keys, Lorde, and Rihanna. In 2015, their rendition of Beyoncé's "Pretty Hurts" got the attention of Bey herself, and she signed the duo to her Parkwood Entertainment management company. And, as they tell me, being the protégés of a megastar like Beyoncé is a masterclass in ambition. "She's a boss and she takes care of her own," Chloe says. "She's independent and knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to articulate that." They employ their mentor's take-charge attitude by trusting their instincts when making tough career choices. "That's what we truly admire about Beyoncé . . . she's allowed us to grow in our own right, and as much as she is vocal, she lets us fly on our own." Up until now, Chloe x Halle's sound has been bright, ethereal R&B soul; they released their debut EP Sugar Symphony in 2016, followed by a critically praised mixtape, The Two of Us. Their 2018 album The Kids Are Alright — with jazz-inflected trap-pop songs like "Happy Without Me," "Everywhere," and the Grown-ish theme song "Grown" — showcased their angelic harmonies, earning them Grammy nominations for best new artist and best urban contemporary album. They solidified their place in history with a chill-inducing performance of "America the Beautiful" at the 2019 Super Bowl. But with age comes experience and, yes, growth. The new Chloe x Halle era will reflect their sisterhood and the kind of women they aspire to be: powerful, strong, and effortlessly sexy. "We're not little kids anymore," Chloe tells me. Their sound has evolved from light and airy soul-pop into "edgier, grittier" R&B, like something you'd want to hear during an episode of Euphoria. They teased new music during an "electric, intense, and fun" performance at The Forum in LA late last year. "We played two new songs; 'Do It' — that's one of our favorites — and 'Rest of Your Life,'" Halle tells me during a phone conversation after the shoot. She describes both tracks as being high energy with party vibes. While Ungodly Hour will be a clear departure, the sisters seem to be more musically aligned than ever. Chloe and Halle say there's no formula to their music-making process. "We feel like that takes away any creativity," Chloe explains. They went delightfully old school for brainstorming sessions, filling two or three poster boards with magazine cutouts representing what the new project should feel like. Before creating music, they keep things breezy by having "tea time and girl chat" and narrowing down the themes they want to write about. "I'll make a beat and Halle will hear some really sick melodies and go on the mic and record them," Chloe says. "I'll lay some melodies down and splice [them] together, and then we do lyrics, but we never force it." Halle nods. "It's much like throwing paint on a wall and seeing what happens, and that's the beauty of it." When I ask how they landed on the album title Ungodly Hour, Halle tells me that it came from a single studio session with English electro artists Disclosure. "They are two brothers, and they're literally like mirrors of us," Halle says of duo Howard and Guy Lawrence, who they worked with on the up-tempo title track. "[Ungodly hour] was a phrase for that riff. We kind of spoke it into existence, you could say," Chloe continues. She reveals that one of their early mood boards included the phrase "The Trouble With Angels" (possibly a nod to the 1966 religious comedy starring Hayley Mills?), and notes how exciting it's been to tie those themes together. I spent hours holed up in my childhood bedroom plastering editorial images on any available surface, so it's nice to hear that some methods will never go out of style. But let's not get it twisted: Chloe and Halle aren't two girls making cute collages — they're artists with a precise vision and the talent to execute it. Their technique is free-flowing, but there's a keen attention to detail that influences those working with them. Singer-songwriter Victoria Monét, who helped pen chart-toppers for Fifth Harmony and Ariana Grande, collaborated with Chloe and Halle on Ungodly Hour. She confirmed my theory that they are Black girl magic personified. "I really admire their spirit," Monét said over email. "They feel amazing to be around, and their voices represent that." "They're so hands-on with everything, from melodies to lyrics and production," Nija Charles said over email. The 22-year-old songwriting phenom produced hits for Cardi B and Summer Walker and worked on the sisters' sensual kiss-off "Forgive Me." "Watching them work always makes me go back home and want to perfect my craft." Hands-on is certainly one way to describe the sisters, who play a role in writing, arranging, producing, and playing instruments on nearly all of their own music. What does it mean to two young, gifted, and Black businesswomen to have so much creative control of their work? "Since we were young, our parents instilled in us the power to do things on our own, and not rely on people if [we're] just as capable," Halle says. This encouragement is what motivated them to learn instruments and produce their own music as preteens. Although extraordinary on their own, Chloe and Halle are quick to praise those who have inspired them along the way. I can tell they harbor a deep sense of sisterhood within their own circle, a tight-knit group of family and close friends with the occasional superstar thrown in. It's galvanizing for them to see other young stars doing equally amazing things. "I stan over Zendaya. I love her, and Normani," Chloe says, beaming. "There are so many amazing women right now, and I'm just happy to be a part of this generation with them." Halle agrees, shouting out Grown-ish castmates Yara Shahidi, Francia Raisa, and Emily Arlook as women who uplift them when they're low. The feeling is mutual for 19-year-old Shahidi, who told me being part of Chloe and Halle's atmosphere is "truly a gift." "We share successes, challenges, frustrations, everything!" Shahidi said in an email. "I define sisterhood as an eternal bond with your best friend," Halle tells me. "I'm so fortunate that I get to do this with my sister every day." She looks up to Chloe more than anyone else; after all, as an older sibling, there's a responsibility (and sometimes pressure) to protect, guide, and set a good example. But Chloe is just as heart-eyed about Halle and lights up when talking about her. "Forget all the business stuff and the music and acting; this is my best friend," she says. "Whenever we're apart for 15 minutes, we're like, 'I miss you!' We're texting each other, FaceTiming. I love this one." I make a mental note to respond to unread texts from my sister. "You'll need each other one day" is something I heard a lot growing up, especially when being reprimanded for terrorizing my younger sister. And it occurs to me that Halle and Chloe might need each other even more this year. In 2020, they are each embarking on big solo projects: Chloe in the supernatural thriller The Georgetown Project, her first major movie role as an adult, and Halle as Ariel in the upcoming live-action adaptation of The Little Mermaid. For Chloe, a self-professed scaredy cat, working on the "sophisticated horror film" with the likes of Russell Crowe, Ryan Simpkins, Samantha Mathis, and David Hyde Pierce has been a real game changer. "When I got the script, I fell in love with it. I was like, 'I have to do this,'" Chloe tells me. The movie follows a troubled actor (Crowe) who unravels while filming a thriller, and Chloe plays an actress cast alongside him in the project. She learned a lot about herself during the production process, but more importantly, she conquered her fear of scary movies. "I know how it works behind the scenes, so now when a scary movie trailer comes on, I don't close my eyes." When the topic turns to The Little Mermaid, Halle's enthusiasm is palpable. "It's so overwhelming, and beautiful, and breathtaking. I'm like, 'Wow, am I really doing this?'" she tells me. When I ask what she hopes to bring to such an iconic character, Halle takes a beat. "Freshness," she says. "Just being authentically me. It's amazing that the directors have been so forward in asking me to show my true self . . . that's been a really fun growing experience." Halle also tells me that she's most looking forward to the music ("Of course!"), and reveals that the movie will feature classics like "Part of Your World" and new songs written by composer Alan Menken, who scored the 1989 animated film. "I've been a fan of The Little Mermaid since I was 5, so those new songs are very exciting to me, as well as the old," Halle says. "That's probably like, ding, ding, ding! My number one." Halle's history-making casting news was announced in July 2019 and marked a major win for diversified representation, but drew criticism from those who don't think a Black woman should play a fictional sea creature. The defense came swiftly: Little Mermaid director Rob Marshall and Jodi Benson, the original voice of Ariel, showed support, as did Beyhive members worldwide. After spending a day in her presence, I can corroborate that Halle — with her doe eyes, dulcet-tone voice, and winsome charm — was born to play the role. I ask how she approaches the downsides that can come with celebrity. "It's beautiful that people are tuning in to our lives and that they love what we're doing, and I just think of them as friends," she says, unfazed. Chloe's older-sister senses are tingling. She sits up a little straighter. "You know when certain apps crash?" I do; a Twitter blackout is secretly one of my favorite things. "Who are you without these things, without your followers? You realize that you can't rely on outside validation for who you are as a human being. If I think I'm amazing, then I'm amazing." The sisters have flourished in the industry as Chloe x Halle the duo, two halves of a preternaturally talented whole. They appear at events together, maintain joint social media accounts, and don’t have separate Wikipedia pages (though that’s certainly going to change). They’re a dream team, navigating fame by leaning on each other. Working separately allows them to stretch as individuals, but as their careers evolve, it’s inevitable that their relationship will, too. Chloe seems genuinely joyful watching Halle grow into her own. “I see it happening right before my eyes and it makes me really happy,” she says. But those feelings of pride haven't come without a bit of loneliness, too — especially as Chloe films her first solo project. "In the beginning I was really, really sad," she tells me. There have been plenty of tears and, according to Chloe, plenty of text messages, too. "[Halle] texts all the time; daytime, all the time," Chloe laughs. "To have someone who's always in your corner encouraging you, and making you feel better when you're down . . . it's just such a good feeling. I'm just happy to have her as my partner in crime in life." Naturally, it’s also been “a little scary” for Halle, who admits that she’s been clinging to her sister over the years. Just as Chloe is the consummate firstborn, Halle fits snugly into her role as little sis, always looking to her “safety blanket.” She tells me that visiting Chloe on the set of The Georgetown Project gave her a new perspective. "I was just so proud of her, because you always want to see your beautiful sister succeed," Halle says. "We always do those monumental things together, so when I was able to be on the outside and look in, it was really cool." Ultimately Halle realized that — like gluing magazine cutouts to poster boards — some things don’t have to change: “Regardless of if I'm branching out, she's always going to be there. That bond and our sisterhood will never go away.” Though some things may be mapped out — production schedules, release dates, fishtail fittings — so much more lies ahead for Chloe and Halle. I ask where they see each other in five years. Halle springs up; she sees Chloe with every award in the book. “She’s going to flourish. What do you call it? EGOTs?” Chloe’s five-year vision includes even more plastered photos, but this time they’re of Halle, and they’re on giant billboards across the world. “I’ll be hearing her voice [singing] while walking down the street like, ‘Who is that? Oh yeah, that's my sister. I know her. You don't,’” she says. The three of us laugh, but their predictions aren’t out of the realm of possibility. Their Grown-ish costars agree: actor Trevor Jackson tells me he hopes to see them collecting armfuls of trophies and “truly dominating the world.” Shahidi insists Chloe and Halle’s hard work knows no bounds and remembers them simultaneously filming season one of Grown-ish and mixing their debut album, The Kids Are Alright. “The sky is not even the limit,” she cosigned. Chloe and Halle have more to shoot before the sun sets in smoky LA. It's been a long day, but their energy is still straight-up sparkly. We wrap up our conversation, exchanging thank yous before they disappear to the wardrobe area. They'll model more effortlessly sexy pieces from Nina Ricci and Fendi, cheerleading each other during lighting changes and eye shadow touch-ups, before the day gives way to night. As the sky changes, so does the vibe. Chloe is jetting off to North Carolina to film tomorrow morning without her sister, and they seem to be soaking up this moment in time. Things are coming to a close both on set and in their lives, chapters ending and new ones beginning. But no matter what comes next — together or separately, making music or making moves — Chloe and Halle will keep throwing paint at the wall and seeing what beautiful things come out of it. There's no magic formula. It's just what we sisters do. ★

More Photos

[rosemaidenvixen]

You are my Sunshine

Chapter 14: Fourteen

Ao3

Content warning for implications of child death and dissection.

Barbara swirled orange and pink together, creating the perfect rosy hue.

The balcony outside her hotel room gave her the perfect vantage point for painting the sunset against the Roman skyline. It was so gorgeous that it almost hurt to look at it. And now she was creating a perfect reproduction of this heartbreakingly beautiful scene on her own canvas. She swirled one final bit of color in with the rest, completing her painting.

Barbara gazed admiringly at the canvas, proud to have painted something so incredible.

Jim.

He should see this

Lifting her painting from its frame, Barbara went back into the hotel room. 

James was here, lying stretched out on the large bed. 

But their son was nowhere to be seen.

“Honey, where’s Jim?”

James gave her a blank look from his prone position “Don’t you remember? He’s at the playground,”

The playground, that’s right.

Barbara went up to the window and looked out. Sure enough there was Jim, navy blue skin a stark contrast to the sandbox he was sitting in. Laughing and playing without a care in the world.

She smiled.

Such a sweet little boy.

Barbara was so caught up in watching Jim that she didn’t notice.

Not until the woman came out of nowhere and snatched up Jim. His giggles stretched out into shrieks of terror as the stranger carried him off.

Barbara’s heart stopped.

No. 

This couldn’t be happening.

Not Jim, not her baby.

They’d always been so careful, and now--

She frantically turned towards James “They’re trying to take Jim, we need to stop them!”

James just shrugged his shoulders, not moving from his spot on the bed “You wanted him, you go get him,”

Jim’s screams echoed from down the hall.

Wasting no more time, Barbara rushed out the door and dashed down the corridor, desperate to catch up to Jim’s abductor. 

Despite running as fast as she could, the woman was steadily getting further away from her, Jim’s wails of distress growing faint. 

Barbara ran with all her might, heart pounding, legs pumping; but she never seemed to get any closer.

Then the worst happened.

The woman ahead of her stepped through a door and vanished.

Jim’s cries abruptly cut off. 

Blood rushing in her ears, Barbara sprinted down the hall as fast as she could, bursting through the door.

It was the anatomy lab, from school.

Fluorescent lights, black countertops, and all. 

A group of lab coat clad figures were standing around one of the work tables, blocking the contents of the table from her view.

What was happening here? Why were they all just standing around? Didn’t they know what had happened?

“Where is he!” she shrieked “Where’s my son!?”

That got a reaction at least. The figures all looked up from whatever they were studying and turned toward her. But they didn’t look panicked or alarmed at all….

They looked like they were pitying her.

“Oh honey,” one of them spoke up “You really should have said something sooner,”

Barbara felt the bottom drop out of her world.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Not Jim, not her little boy.

But the truth was there and she couldn’t deny it.

Jim was dead. 

Barbara dropped to her knees and let out a primal howl of anguish.

He was dead. 

Her baby was dead.

She tore at her hair and screamed until her throat burned.

It was her fault. She should have protected him, but she didn’t, and now Jim was gone, gone forever.

Had he screamed, cried out for her. Had Jim spent the last moments of his short life begging for his mother.

A strangled sob forced its way out past her grief stricken wails as hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

She failed him. She had promised Jim that she would always be there and protect him.

And she failed.

And now he was dead.

Dead and gone

Jim, her baby boy, was gone and never coming back.

Barbara jerked awake, eyes snapping open to reveal a dark, unfamiliar room.

Where was she? This wasn’t her bedroom? What had happened to  Jim?

She scrambled upright, wildly glancing at her surroundings.

As the shadowy room came into focus, it all started coming back to her.

This was a rental cabin right outside Sequoia. 

She and Jim were spending spring break here. 

Her trip to Rome was over a decade ago and well before Jim’s time.

Barbara’s breath caught in her throat.

Jim.

He wasn’t gone. He was just fine

Her baby wasn’t a baby anymore. Fourteen years old, a teenager. Big and strong; doubly so when he was blue. 

Not some defenseless toddler that could be carried off by anyone that was so inclined. 

Hands only shaking ever so slightly now, Barbara picked up her glasses from the side table and pulled back the sheets.

Jim was alive and safe. 

Logically she knew that. The idea that he wasn't had just been a product of the stirrings of her unconscious mind.

But she still wanted to make sure. 

Just to shake off the last vestiges of the dream, that was all.

Barbara donned the flannel robe hanging off the of the bedpost and headed downstairs.

While doing multiple camping trips in a year was definitely doable within their budget; Barbara couldn't afford to put a significant amount of cash toward their lodgings. As such, the rental cabin was quite modest; it had four walls, running water, a generator, and not much else. 

There was a main level with a bathroom, small kitchenette, and pull-out couch. And while the cabin lacked a proper second storey, there was an upper loft with a small bedroom area.

Jim had claimed the couch as his sleeping area, but while it had been extended and was set up with sheets and pillows, the couch was vacant of Jim.

Barbara’s heart gave a small flutter. 

This wasn’t any cause for concern. Judging by the fact it was still dark out, Jim was probably still out frolicking in the woods somewhere. He was old enough by now that she trusted him to roam freely and come back at a reasonable time. These trips were the only time he wasn’t locked up at night, she couldn’t take away from that by trying to impose some kind of curfew.

Jim would return before sunrise, just like he always did on their camping trips, she had nothing to worry about. 

A quick glance out the window revealed that while the sky was still pitch black, the eastern edge had started to lighten just a little bit. 

Sunrise was still a ways off, so Jim might be gone for a good while longer it might be a while before Jim got back. 

And there was no way Barbara was going to get any more sleep.

Not after that nightmare. 

She found herself wandering into the kitchen. If sleep was off the table, maybe she could be productive instead.

Barbara nervously approached the small fridge. She’d be the first to admit that cooking was not her strong suit. In fact she was so monumentally bad at it that when Jim got old enough to use the stove without supervision he outright banned her from the kitchen.

Swallowing her doubts, Barbara grabbed an armful of containers from the fridge and set them on the counter.

She was an M.D. She had finished medical school with a baby and completed her residency and raised Jim with no help from her deadbeat ex-husband.

Barbara Lake could figure out how to make breakfast.

First things first, simpler was better. The fewer steps there were, the fewer ways something could go horribly wrong. That ruled out anything with a stove or oven, not with the memories of some of her more disastrous cooking attempts hanging over her head.

Barbara planted her elbows on the table and cupped her chin with both hands, staring dejectedly and the stack of supplies from the fridge and pantry.

How could she combine this mish-mosh of random foods into a meal without rendering them inedible in the process?

It took a solid ten minutes of brainstorming before she came up with a good idea. A personal favorite of hers for the rare occasions when Jim didn’t pack her lunch.

A parfait.

Just fruit, yogurt, and granola. Something so simple even she wouldn’t be able to mess it up.

Confidence surging, Barbara pulled out the cutting board and got to work.

She had a surgeon’s hands, slicing a banana and dicing an apple was nothing compared to fishing gallstones out of a bloated torso. So her chopping motions soon became more or less automatic, allowing her mind to wander.

Jim was growing up, no doubt about it. In fact just last month she saw him making eyes at Councilwoman Nuñez’s daughter at the hospital fundraiser.

 Puberty had hit him like a freight train. He had shot up in height almost overnight, making him as gangly as a scarecrow. Although based on the fact that every time she saw him he was snacking on something, he would bulk up soon enough. 

As with every teenager, Jim rode the hormonal highs and lows as best he could. Mercifully, his voice had finally stopped cracking, although his daily checks for facial hair had yet to reveal any results. 

And at night when he was blue, Jim was easily big and strong enough that he could defend himself against a large sized adult man. 

God forbid he ever have to. 

Fruit all sliced and diced, Barbara got a mason jar out of the cabinet, that was hip, right? And began layering the fruit with yogurt and granola. The finished product was far from the picturesque parfaits found in cafe’s and grocery stores. But Barbara was proud to say it didn’t look half bad.

Barbara slid her finished product into the fridge. The parfait was all well and good, but she couldn’t help but feel Jim needed more protein. He was a growing boy after all.

One that needed whole rabbits and chickens from the farmers market to keep up with his growing.

Dark thoughts surged to the forefront of her mind, stirred up by the earlier nightmare.

Barbara swallowed deeply. Ham and eggs, those were breakfast things. She’d cut up the hard boiled eggs and ham they brought and mix them together. That sounded like a sort of breakfast dish.

Eager for the distraction, Barbara got to work.

When Jim was little, his blue form was more or less the same as his daytime self. Aside from being bigger, stony, and-- well, blue. The stubby horns and and abnormal eating habits were easy enough to overlook.

But everything changed once he started puberty. 

Most days it was easier to not think about what exactly Jim’s blue form was. They never got any closer to concrete answers so there was no point in speculating. But no matter how much Barbara might prefer to, she couldn’t ignore a hard truth about Jim’s transformation that, if she was honest with herself, she had known for quite a while. 

What he turned into at night wasn’t even remotely human.

The oozing sensation between her fingers told her that she had diced the egg into paste. 

Barbara wasn’t afraid of Jim, she had meant it when she said that nothing about his metamorphosis could never make her think differently of him. Sure some features of his blue form took her by surprise on occasion, but he was her son, regardless of what he….was. She could never fear him.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid for him.

Ever since his nightly transformation started, Barbara’s nightmares had been full faceless boogeymen and uniformed thugs stealing Jim away to be taken god knows where and have who knows what done to him.

Those fears hadn’t gone away, probably never would, but Jim's increasingly inhuman physique, what some might call intimidating, added a new edge to her fear.

Oh, Barbara still had nightmares of Jim being kidnapped and taken away, but now they were mixed in with nightmares of him being killed on sight. 

Jim wasn’t a monster, never had been never would be. But as much as she wanted to believe different, some people would see him that way.

A few months ago she had walked in on one of the overnight patients watching Beauty and the Beast, in particular the scene when Gaton rallied the townspeople to kill the beast.

It took every ounce of her self control to keep from breaking down right then and there.

Barbara was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of the cabin door opening and shutting. 

Quickly, she dumped the sliced ham and eggs into a bowl and went to see who came in.

Jim.

Of course, it wasn’t like it could be anyone else, their nearest neighbors were a mile away.

He was back, wiping his bare feet on the mat and shaking leaves out of his hair, carefree as always.

Barbara beamed and stepped forward, arms open in preparation for a hug “Welcome back sweetie,”

Jim looked surprised to see her, no doubt alarmed that she was awake at this hour, but nevertheless returned the hug.

She squeezed him as tight as she could. 

Jim had come back, safe and sound.

Not that she had ever really doubted that he would, but it felt so so good to have her arms around him again.

“What are you doing up so early mom?” he said while glancing out at the brightening sky. Sunrise was only half an hour away, but it was still ridiculously early

“Oh, I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep,”

Taking a seat on the edge of the pull out couch, Barbara patted the area next to her and indicated for Jim to do the same. 

“Now tell me all about your night,”

Jim shrugged and sat next to her “Not much to say; ran around, climbed in trees, saw some big horn sheep, regular stuff,”

Gingerly, Barbara reached up and plucked a clump of mud out of his hair while eyeing the rest of the mud caked in various patches around his body 

Regular stuff indeed.

“Well it looks like you did quite a bit more than that,”

That got a sheepish grin out of him “I may or may not have fallen in the river...while trying to follow the sheep,”

Barbara tamped down the urge to check him over for signs of hypothermia. Jim’s blue form was resistant to temperature changes to the point where he would be perfectly comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt in forty degree weather.

As Jim kept babbled on about the bighorn sheep and his misadventures in following them, Barbara half listened while taking a good look at his blue form.

His nocturnal shape had grown almost exponentially; at this point it wasn’t a matter of if but when he would be taller than her. 

More than bigger, he was furrier. While during the day Jim still couldn’t grow anything more than peach fuzz, at night his hair had started creeping around his jaw and down his neck. This lead into the new furry patch on his back that almost exactly outlined his trapezius muscle.

But by and large the most prominent change was his horns. After just a few years of rapid growth, they were now as thick around as fifty cent pieces and had grown sweeping back until they were right above his ears. 

Barbara felt a tender smile spread across her face as she ignored Jim’s fussing and wiped another chunk of mud off his cheek.

No matter how big he got, Jim would always be her baby.

The first rays of sun peeking through the windows as Jim simultaneously melted down to his normal self. He shivered, now feeling to chill in the mountain air. 

She let out a brief chuckle at Jim’s plight, earning a pout from him.

“How about you come into the kitchen, I made you some breakfast,”

Jim’s petulant face went blank. 

“You what?”

“I made breakfast,” and did a fine job of it if she did say so herself.

Although judging by the growing apprehension on Jim’s face that he was desperately trying to mask, he wasn’t quite convinced of that.

Barbara swatted him good-naturedly on the shoulder “Oh just try it, I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised,”

“Ok….”

Jim pulled on a hoodie and walked over to sit at the table, nervously eyeing Barbara while she rooted through the fridge.

She set the mason jar and dish of diced eggs and ham down in front of him “Bon appetit,”

Jim was somewhat less enthusiastic.

Slowly, he dipped his spoon into the mason jar and raised it to his mouth.

Barbara held her breath, it would be fine, she’d done everything right, hadn’t she?

Jim put the spoon in his mouth and chewed, the look of apprehension on his face melted into one of shock and delight. 

“Mom this is really good,”

"Really?"

"Yep," he replied before popping another spoonful in his mouth "It's delicious,"

Barbara practically glowed at his praise while Jim finished his meal. 

A good review, from her son the budding chef, maybe she wasn’t such a bad cook after all.

Pausing, Jim glanced over to her side of the table "Where's your breakfast mom?"

Oh.

That's right, in her worry about getting Jim's breakfast right she had forgotten to make something for herself.

"Guess I forgot to make one for me, I'll just have a protein bar, "

"No you won't, " Jim stood up "I'm going to whip you up an omelet, "

"You don't have to do that honey, "

"I know,” he flashed her a grin “But I want to, "

Barbara smiled contentedly as Jim began cracking eggs into a skillet. 

Their lives were hard, harder than most, and it didn’t look like things were going to get any easier.

But she wouldn’t trade having Jim in her life for anything.

Jim let out a shaky breath as he turned away from his mom to work on the eggs.

He had been caught off guard by seeing his mom up this early. So much so that he was barely able to force himself to act casual. The breakfast had been a pleasant surprise though, not the flavor combinations he would have gone with, but it was the thought that counted.

For a while he didn’t think she’d buy his story about falling in the river while looking at the sheep, but it looked like she believed him.

He really had seen sheep last night.

But he’d seen something else to.

Jim had just happened upon an unfamiliar scent during his nightly romp through the woods and followed it deeper into the forest on a whim. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting at the end of the scent trail, but what he’d found had shaken him to the core.

It was about the size of a cat, perched on a high tree branch. 

Smooth green skin that reminded him of a frog, even though the creature he was looking at was nothing so benign. Long, spindly limbs way out of proportion with its round, fat body. Large, pointed ears and wide mouth with an underbite, too similar to his for comfort, and glowing red eyes.

Curiosity had won out over common sense and Jim had crept closer to get a good look at the creature, despite its agitated hissing. He was close enough that he could have reached out and touched it when he noticed. 

Another pair of shining red eyes, staring down at him from up above.

And another. 

And another.

Too many to count, extending up into the trees and deep into the dark forest. 

All glinting with malice.

The one closest to him made a jumping, rasping sound.

It took him a few seconds to realize it was laughter.

Jim had turned and ran, not even slowing down when he fell in the river, not until the rental cabin was in sight.

His badly shaking hands made him almost drop the omelette before he quickly corrected himself. A quick glance at mom revealed she hadn’t noticed his slip up.

Jim didn’t know exactly what he had found in the woods, and quite frankly he was happier not knowing.

He plated the omelette and moved to place it in front of his mom, willing himself to calm down.

One thing was for sure, his days of wandering far and deep into the wilderness were over.

[ngfics]

Flower Watch

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Flower Watching and Bird Picking

(SIOC as Lily Evans x Augustus Rookwood)

.

Story Title: Flower Watching and Bird Picking

Fandom: Harry Potter

Characters:  SIOC as Lily Evans, Petunia Evans, Severus Snape, Mr. Evans, Mrs.Evans, Eileen Snape, Tobias Snape, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Mary Mcdonald, Marlene McKinnon, Xenophillius Lovegood, Barty Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, Augustus Rookwood,  Vrious Ocs, Hogwarts Professors, Hogwarts students

Relationships:  Lily Evans x Augustus Rookwood, Severus Sname x Christine McDougal, Evan Rosier x Elizaveta Flavius  

Tags: Rawenclaw Lily Evans, SIOC as Lily Evans, a colder take on Lily Evans, does not like James Potter, avoids Marauders, works on maintaining a good relationship with Snape and Petunia, Xenophillius Lovegood and Barty Coruch Jr. as best friends, a Ravenclaw trio, Wizarding Culture, Pureblood culture, delving into depths of this, and using it for her own ends, piano playing, magical music, Wizarding Music, Unspeakables, Wizard inventions, War against Voldemort, Neville Longbottom is the Chosen One, Lily plays both sides for benefits, the Great Muggleborn Mystery, Time Turners, Time Sand, Werevolves, When in the Wizarding World do as the Wizards do

Summary: She was born Lily Evans. Red haired and green eyed. If that didn't tell her just how much crap would be coming her way, nothing would.

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Slightly ordered notes and Ideas

SIOC is somewhat depressed to be reincarnated as Lily Evans, she doesn't believe she can be as kind and forgiving as the original. Resolves to do things her own way instead

Works hard on maintaining a good relationship with Petunia, resolves sisterly problems to the best of her ability and due to her mental age she succeeds.

Makes friends with Snape before he knows that she’s a witch and always insist on being his ‘best friend’, lets him know that she doesn’t think of him in a romantic sense, also that she won’t be dating in Hogwarts at all. (she has bigger things to worry about)

Severus eventually gets over it, after a bit of pouting and teenage angst, she helps him, by being understanding as only an adult can

Lily Is actually sorted into Rawenclaw at her own insistence. Wanting a more inconspicuous house.

Makes friends in Hogwarts with Xenophillius Lovegood, Batrimus Crouch Jr., Alice Jones(later Longbottom), Severus Snape,Jonathan Abbott, Sarah Abbott. Later friends with Elizaveta Rosier (nee Flavius) a French dress robe designer.

Meets Barty and Xeno on Hogwarts Express after she and Severus have their tiff with James and Sirius. Barty and Xeno help both her and Severus integrate better into the Wizarding society, after she mentions that she only had three months to prepare for the Wizarding world and apeeals to their sense of pride and superiority.

Barty warms up to her even more once she saves him from a possible detention.

Delving into things like Wizarding wear, dress robes, color choice, design - what is appropriate for her age and station. She gets tonnes of book recommendations that she looks up in the Hogwarts Library and once she remembers in the Room of Requirement.

Doesn't like James Potter at all, not even when he supposedly changes - though she does give him one chance (which he blows) - she doesn't trust him not to revert.

She knows, or rather she is told, that he will become a 'good man', but she does not trust this. Lily is wary of his fickleness, sees the malice in him when he fights with Slytherins. She has no interest in keeping a leash on a childish man when she has so much to deal with, it's not her job to make him a responsible adult

Doesn't run off when Snape calls her a mudblood and keeps defending him unlit marauders leave. Forgives Snape for his words, but tells him that its a problem for her as she can no longer tell when he's lying, compares him to James - which snaps him out of it pretty quickly.

Lily invests in warding her parents home as soon as she feasibly can, but it's for naught as they die in a completely muggle car accident, driving back from visiting Petunia and her Fiance Vernon Dursley

Augustus Rookwood is three years older than Lily, Evan Rosier is two years older than her. Lily has a minor crush on Evan in her fifth year, but doesn’t do anything about it.

Augustus had only heard of Lily while in Hogwarts, but the first time he hears about her and pays attention is from Evan, when they meet during summer after the debacle with Snape, Marauders and Lily, when Rosier tells him of an interesting mudblood

Lily never flinches when addressed as Mudblood, her response, when heckled by snakes as to why she doesn't flinch, why she isn't insulted, is usually 'I care that little for your opinion'

Lily helps Snape get a date with Christine McDougal, they hit it off well.

As a part of Dumbledore's meddling Lily is Head Girl together with James Potter, suffice to say they don't get along well at all. This Lily is much colder than the original. Cold and pragmatic, but warm and caring to her close friends and family.

She ends up getting a job as an Unspeakable where her colleague is Augustus Rookwood. They get into debates over Muggleborns and give eachother something to think about

Her 'day job', as no one can actually say that they work as an Unspeakable (and it's best to have a job away from the ministry if you do work as an Unspeakable, to serve as a cover), is as either a pianist or a cellist

She is very sought after and present at many galas because she's a prodigal musician - was a musician in previous life, not as a job, but recreation

Lily Evans is credited as the maker of what is called 'The Evans Method' in wizarding medicine and 'The flutter' in casual use (this can only be used at MOMs discression, one cannot buy this sand in stores for their own use, but one can petition if their work is too intensive and they find themselves 'needing more time')

As she studied Time in the Department of Mysteries she experimented with time-turner sand and found out how to use it on people (without a container) to slow down their time, thus prolonging their life (this is more used in medicine to slow down diseases so that a cure can be found), or sometimes speeding themselves up and managing to do more in less time.

This is before she and Augustus marry, but while they're in a relationship of sorts, once her discovery is public, Voldemort begins to approve of their relationship, which is a relief to both of them.

At some point Death Eaters start getting caught and Lily, who had been already working on this, trying to make it a beauty product, covers Barty's and Augustus's death eater tattoos with a paste that makes their skin look like it looked in the past and if applied enough can take away years.

Their marks become invisible, she tells no one else of her project and is very happy when explaining that they are lucky she was working on something like this and had not told anybody.

Voldemort is suitably impressed and interested in aquiring such an asset.

After a Death Eater accuses Barty of being a Death Eater, she nearly faints in relief for her thinking ahead and protests that claim saying that at the time Barty was with her helping plan her wedding, she says that Xenophillius Lovegood can confirm because he was there at the time, they call him to confirm and share a pensieve memory

In her third year Lily discovers that Xeno can create extremely believable false memories and mentions how useful that can be so their little trio (Xeno, Barty and Lily) form a pact that Xeno will provide them with alibis.

They are almost caught once because a teacher nearly asks for their memories too - afterwards they find a way around it so that Xeno can share false memories with them as though they are their own (only slightly modified as not everyone remembers everything the same - they hear different things if they walk past a place at a different time for example)

This is later used for Barty's alibi

It was very lucky that Lily was sitting in on that court case cause his father might have tossed him to Azkaban without trial or Barty might have done something rash...as he tended to when faced with his father.

The paste cannot be removed by charms or cancelers, or pretty much any spell, but has to be removed by a special oil that Lily herself made (ironically it is an oil made from lily flowers), it cannot be removed, traced or seen as there is, technically, nothing wrong with the person's arm, it is their still their skin...only from the past.

Lily and Augustus have three children together.

Emanuel Rookwood who is Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood's age and twin daughters Iris and Amaryllis Rookwood who are Metamorforgi.

This leads to a revolutionary research by Lily Rookwood as this ability is not hereditary in Rookwood line and, according to some wizarding beliefs, should not be present in a Muggleborn line.

Leading to research conclusion that Muggleborn are there to dilute the blood on purpose, because while pure blood that is rich with magical talent is good of itself it is also limiting.

Because families become specialized in their branch, like herbology and when people with different specialties marry into families there is more likeliness for their abilities to be lost as they fight for dominance and rarely merge together. They even might destroy one another - producing a squib.

It also concludes that metamorphose ability is something likely in pureblood families with some history of dark magic and/or transfiguration specialty when mixed with Muggleborn blood.

Thus presence of Muggleborn is considered to be good and a way to bring back old magical talents that are dying out.

It also concludes that Muggleborn are in fact first generation witches and wizards (as the first witch and wizard would have had to have muggle parents or all muggles are in fact squibs and wizards came first, but had to experiment with whom to breed as some mixing killed magic and magical talents altogether)

With enough generations, a child of a Muggleborn will become a pureblood

Actually...Let’s make the birth of magic a global phenomena, where at some point there were only muggleborns, people born with extraordinary powers that their parent could never hope to have

Some of them married with one another (to preserve the powers) while others married outside to spread them (and children of muggleborns are always magical.)

Intermarrying worked until concentration of magic became too much and lineages started killing each-other off, which would be why the offspring only inherited one talent, because one Parent's gift was overpowering.

While those who married outside, spread their gifts (and their children             are always half-bloods).

Muggleborns, who are either descendants of squibs whose magic had to take generations to harmonize due to conflict, or are first generation witches and wizards because magical population seemed to be falling or needed diluting usually have clean unrestricted magic that allows them to specialize in what they want, rather than just what they're good at.

This also lets their children, should they have them with those of more potent magic, have greater power behind their intent and less inner magical conflict, thus less stabilization through mediation and rituals needed

Lily does this research through the first 6 years ( till she's about 32, Augustus being 35) after her daughters are born and becomes quite famous, gaining her own Chocolate Frog Card.

Her work being published in a book series called 'The Muggleborn' by Lily Rookwood (Published when Lily is 36)

This book becomes famous in all circles of wizarding society , pureblood because they want to hear what a Rookwood says on the topic, muggleborn because they want to hear what a muggleborn says and half-bloods to see where Lily stands.

As a part of Voldemorts orders Lily approaches six werewolf females who had formed their own pack and they join on her behest. This is also meant as a warning to Lily and her family, so they would not think to toe the line.

This backfires on Voldemort as Lily is fast to make friends and allies among the intended targets. Later during the Battle of Hogwarts they defect the moments after LIly does, reminding the surprised at whose behest they joined in the first place.

One of these werewolves is Mary Mcdonald a Muggleborn Mulciber attacked while they were at Hogwarts. Lily rekindles that firendship, offering help and later protection from Voldermort by being under his rule.

She and Mary discuss and laugh about many pureblood traditions and ettiqquette, their motto and inside joke becomes 'When in Rome'

Later in life, maybe after the Battle of Hogwarts even, Lily makes 'The Evans Scholarship' which allows Muggleborns to get apprenticeships for which they are usually overlooked for pureblood candidates.

As Lily managed a Mastery in Potions, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Aritmancy than she is elligable to be a Master and thus she is giving away apprenticeships for all four subjects.

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snippets and drabbles incoming, no beta! you’ve been warned!

POV meanders in some parts, don’t give yourself a headache trying to figure it out. Also! Hints of melodrama, because I sometimes I want to write that hahahaha

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Posts . 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20 . 21 . 22 . 23 . 24 . 25 . 26 . 27

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