#THIS ISN'T WHAT HE WANTED evan realizes that day in the woods.

[and-stir-the-stars]

Going back to my "killer Evan au where Will and Ev both get caught after William manipulates and brainwashes Evan into being like him, and William goes to jail and Mike gets custody of 16-year-old Ev" au (which i shall now be calling the saffron pawn au)

Thanks to William, Evan’s first instinct when he's feeling upset is to hurt. William encouraged him to hurt people, kids, for a long time; now obviously Evan can't resort to that anymore. With no other way to satisfy that instinct, Evan turns to self-harm until his therapist and Mike firmly stop him. So, Evan starts killing animals instead, and after a while, Mike finds out.

Except, one day, Evan corners an animal out in the woods-- a squirrel or a fox or a raccoon, maybe a stray cat. And he goes in for the kill, but... he stops at the last second. He doesn't know why. He WANTS to make the animal hurt, he WANTS to kill it... doesn't he?

Michael is surprised, to say the least, when he comes home and finds Evan has brought a living animal into his home. When Mike asks what he is doing, Evan just shrugs as he gives whatever animal he brought back some treats. Mike directly asks why Evan brought the animal here, fully expecting and dreading that the creature is going to be dead by the night's end. Ev slowly explains how he cornered the thing in the woods, then how he went to kill it, and...

Evan goes quiet.

Michael encourages Evan to name the creature, and takes Evan to the pet store to get some supplies and toys.

Days pass. Then weeks. Then months. Mike is still half-expecting the animal to wind up dead, but it doesn't. And Evan stops coming home covered in animal blood.

[jamespottersmixtape]

september 12: iced 1,742 words @rosekiller-microfic

Barty really needs caffeine. Evan works at a small coffee shop.

It's an incredibly average Tuesday when Barty manages to make a fool out of himself and fall in love on the same day.

Well, the whole thing isn't as dramatic as he makes it out to be, but he isn't known for being subtle with his retellings.

Barty had thought he'd be fine—running on two hours of sleep was perfectly reasonable for sitting through a 3 hour business lecture, right?

Did he mention that he was a fool?

Whether by luck or fate or the incessant blaring of Barty's alarm clock, he had managed to crawl out of bed early enough for his 9am class—calculations and formulas and useless information on the status of the economy still swirling through his brain from the night before.

However, what his sleep deprived brain had failed to remember was that Barty lived off caffeine. Nothing would get done in a day if he hadn't downed at least 2 cups of coffee or the strongest black tea he could find. Dorcas always told him it was an addiction; he never listened.

So at 8:50 he trudged across campus and sat down heavily in the back of the lecture hall, mentally preparing himself for 3 torturous hours of his professor's monotonous voice, with absolutely no caffeine in his system. A mistake on his part.

It wasn't until he awoke at 11:55, the feeling of someone nudging his shoulder enough to rouse him from a dreamless sleep, that he finally realized this mistake. He had slept through the entire fucking lecture.

And it wasn't him dozing off halfway through, fighting diligently not to nod off. No, as soon as his professor began speaking Barty's head was on the desk, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he slept soundly on the uncomfortable wood. Frankly, he was mortified.

That brings him to now, briskly walking through the sea of students milling about between classes, his finger scrolling quickly through the selection of local coffee shops.

He still has two more classes, there's no way he'll survive without something helping him stay awake.

His eyes scan his phone screen, looking at distances and reviews until he settles on a place not too far from the North corner of campus—Twin Flame Coffee & Co.

He supposes it'll do.

Barty arrives in record time, his long legs carrying him faster than average. The building is quaint but lively, cream walls with colorful chairs out front—Barty's surprised he hadn't found it sooner.

When he pushes open the door a small bell rings overhead. There's not too many people, a few students with their laptops and an old couple sharing a pastry, but there's someone ordering and he can't see the register.

He scans the menu just long enough to make sure they serve the drink he wants, and only looks down when it's his turn.

He means to step forward but the movement gets halted as soon as his eyes lock on the person working. In front of him is a boy about his age, wispy blonde curls and bright eyes, a winning smile directed right at Barty as he waits patiently for him to approach. He has freckles scattered loosely across his face and neck, disappearing beneath the tank-top he's wearing. Is that even work appropriate? he thinks.

There are at least a dozen tattoos littering his arms—nowhere near the amount Barty has, but enough—and his skin looks soft enough that biting it would leave a mark. Suddenly Barty's throat feels impossibly dry.

"How can I help you?" the boy says, and oh Jesus fucking Christ he sounds like heaven too. Barty is a goner.

Suddenly his brain is on high alert, catching up with the fact that he's been staring at this guy for at least 5 seconds. He shakes his head and approaches the register, his legs shakier than before.

The boy's smile is unwavering, yet he seems amused at Barty's slow uptake. Barty swears his eyes flick up and down Barty's figure, but quickly pushes that thought aside.

"Hi," Barty says flatly. He's lucky his voice doesn't crack but god, could he sound any more unapproachable?

"Hi," the boy says, levity clear on his face now. "What can I get started for you?"

"Uh, can I just have a large latte?"

"Large latte," the boy repeats, punching something onto a screen. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it," Barty replies. "Thank you," he adds, trying his hardest to remain calm.

He tries to smile but it definitely looks strange. Their eyes meet briefly and he has to physically restrain himself from doing something very fucking stupid. Like telling him he's pretty. Or begging for his number.

Yeah, he's fucked.

"Okay, can I have a name for that?"

"Um..." can he even remember his own name? Probably not. He wants to learn his name but can't see a name tag. Damn. "Barty," he finally gets out. "My name is Barty."

The boy laughs, his face becoming even lovelier in the process. Clearly, Barty's repeated blundering is funny to him. "Alright Barty, that'll be ready on the side for you," the boy flashes him another smile. Barty pulls out his wallet to pay, disappointed at the short interaction, but as he's inserting his card he notices the boy grabbing a cup for hot drinks.

"Shit, sorry," Barty starts, unprepared for any further conversation. "Did I say hot? I meant iced. Large iced latte."

The boy's hand stills from where it was prepared to write Barty's order. "Oh! That's fine, it's the same price."

He grabs a clear plastic cup instead, scribbling on it before passing it to a girl with similar colored hair. They look related, Barty thinks.

Barty pulls his card out, payment finished. This is where he's supposed to walk away and wait for his drink like any other customer. But, well, there's no one behind him, and he really wants to find out this guy's name.

"Sorry about that," Barty scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. His stomach swoops every time he looks at the boy's face. He really is gorgeous. "It's been a weird day."

"Hard classes?" the boy asks, placing his hands on the counter, drumming his fingers.

Barty's eyes widen, taken aback that he was asked a question. He clears his throat. "Nah, not really. I slept through my entire first lecture."

"Wow." the boy deadpans.

"Yeah," Barty huffs out a small laugh. "3 whole hours of sleep. At least it was a good nap," he shrugs.

The boy laughs again, louder this time. Barty really wouldn't mind making it happen again. "3 hours? I guess you really need this latte."

Barty groans, rubbing his hand over his face. "Tell me about it. I forgot to make coffee this morning."

The boy purses his lips, "Glad we could help then."

Barty stands there awkwardly for a moment. He wants to stay and talk, he wants to know everything there is to know about this boy—his name, for starters. Ten minutes ago he was blissfully oblivious to his existence, but he's enlightened now, and there's no way he's forgetting him.

Maybe he's a fool, it's been said before.

"I've uh– it's my first time here. It's nice, I can't believe I've never seen this place before."

The boy hums, nodding. "Well, my sister and I," he gestures to the girl making drinks, "We only opened this place a few weeks ago. It's gotten a fair bit of traction, so that's been nice. But it's new, so don't worry, you haven't been missing out for too long," he shoots Barty a wink and he swears his heart nearly stops.

"Oh," Barty chuckles, his voice higher than normal. "Well maybe I'll come back then." He's testing the waters, trying to read if this guy even cares about his existence outside of an obligation to his job.

"I hope so, would be a shame if this was the last time I saw you," the boy says, leaning forward on the counter. And what? That had to be flirting, right? Right? The boy's eyes rake over his torso in a much more obvious manner, taking time to fully appreciate his appearance.

Barty wants to say something but he finds he's too incoherent to string words together. "Yes," he says lamely. "Yeah, yes. I'll definitely be back."

"I'm looking forward to it," the boy replies, flashing him another grin.

"Here," the girl—his sister—says, passing her brother Barty's drink. The pair seem to have an entire conversation with their eyes, never saying a word out loud. At the end of the exchange, the boy lets out a frustrated sigh. She offers Barty a quick smile before turning swiftly on her heel and disappearing behind a curtain.

The boy holds his drink out. "Here's your iced latte."

Barty's cheeks flush at the reminder of his mistake, taking the coffee and straw from his grasp. If their fingers brush and Barty's face glows pink, nobody has to know.

Barty sticks the straw in the cup, taking a quick sip and practically moaning right in front of the poor man. "Fuck, that's good coffee. You'll be lucky if you don't see me here everyday."

"The coffee's the only reason, huh? It's that good?" the boy asks, raising an eyebrow.

Barty smirks, shrugging as he takes another sip. "Among other things," he says, noticing a faint blush creep up the boy's neck and cheeks. The color reminds him of a rose.

The bell above the door rings faintly, signaling a new customer. Barty spares a quick glance at his phone, the time signaling he only has half an hour before his next class. He reluctantly takes a step back towards the door. "I should probably head out."

"It was nice meeting you Barty," the boy tells him, offering another dazzling smile. Barty has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling back like an idiot.

"You too. I'll see you around, uh..." he hesitates, praying to all that is holy that this infuriatingly attractive boy will finally give him his name.

He rolls his eyes, but Barty can tell it's amiable. "Evan," he fills in. "My name is Evan."

Barty can't help it, a painfully lovestruck grin splits across his face. Evan.

Evan, Evan, Evan.

He likes the way it sounds in his head. Likes it even more when he tells him, "I'll see you around Evan," and walks out the door.

[hellomynameisbisexual]

When I first met my husband, Neal, I thought he was gay. Maybe that's because he told me he was gay. So while I was attracted to him, I figured he would just be my gay best friend. Then, one night, we wound up in bed together, and let's just say that he did not act like a gay best friend usually acts. In fact, he seemed more comfortable with my body than plenty of straight men I'd dated had been. And after a hot-and-heavy weekend, I knew a lot more about Neal than "gay" had hinted at: He'd been married before (to a woman), and he was (still is) attracted to both sexes. Since his divorce he'd mostly dated men, so he'd gone with "gay" over "bi" when we met, but deep down that's what he is: bisexual. I was not entirely surprised, and I was definitely not disappointed.

However, I did have some concerns. Early in our relationship, which got super serious, super fast, I was anxious: I worried Neal would change his mind, say that he was actually truly 100 percent gay after all, and leave me for a man. (Maybe you've heard the joke? A man who says he's bisexual is gay, straight, or lying.) Another part of me worried whether a bisexual guy could ever really be monogamous. Also, didn't being with a man who was interested in men and women mean that I was competing against everyone in the world for his attention?

I just wasn't that familiar with bi guys. Bi women are practically mainstream: Megan Fox, Lady Gaga, Anna Paquin, Jessie J, and Evan Rachel Wood, to name only a few, have all spoken openly about being bisexual. When a woman says she's bi, it makes her more desirable to men. But few celeb men are out as bi—and you never see two guys making out in a bar to get women to pay attention.

Plus, I must admit I wondered whether all the stuff people say about bisexuals might actually turn out to be true—that they're untrustworthy, just going through a phase, or slutty; that they'll break your heart or give you STDs and probably cooties too.

Dating a bi guy, even one as great and as honest as Neal, was daunting to think about.

The sliding scale of sexuality explained

Understanding the basic science of bisexuality helped me a lot. Ritch Savin-Williams, professor of developmental psychology at Cornell University, who has done extensive research into arousal patterns of gay and bisexual individuals, puts it simply: "Bisexual men are attracted to both sexes. They have variations in how much they lean toward women or men." It's important to note that Savin-Williams, like most social scientists, differentiates between sexual orientation and sexual behavior. "So a guy could be attracted to 70 percent men and 30 percent women," he says, "but still meet a woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with and be monogamous. His orientation is bi, but his sexual behavior is straight." Conversely, if someone is having sex with both women and men, then he is behaviorally bisexual, regardless of what he says his orientation is.

What many women struggle with is not the fear that a guy is bi but the fear that he's temporarily bi and will eventually identify as gay. It's not a weird thing to worry about (I worried about it!), since many men have done exactly that. "Before homosexuality was as accepted as it is now," says Allen Rosenthal, a researcher at Northwestern University, "homosexual men often identified as bi in the process of coming out, like getting their feet wet. But it was a disservice to genuinely bisexual men because it left a lot of people with the impression that bi is a transitional orientation." The good news is that the reasons the bi-to-gay move used to be so prevalent—societal and family pressures, fears of being openly gay—are lessening. These days, it's more OK to be gay, and that's making it more OK to be bi. Progress!

So Could You, Should You? We asked glamour.com readers if they'd date a bi guy. The results:

__I'd have a lot of questions,

but maybe.……………………………16%

No way.………………………………..36%

Totally, why not?…………………….48%

In other words, two out of three of you would consider it. Explained one commenter: "If he's into me, he's into me. If he happens to be into guys too, well…we only have more in common!"__

Our little nonsecret

Neal assuaged my anxieties by being so enthusiastic about me that I had no reason to doubt his attraction. I was impressed by his self-awareness too. He realized he was bisexual when he was 20, and he still considers himself attracted to both sexes, at a ratio of about 80:20, women to men. My friends said he was an improvement over more macho guys I'd brought home in the past, and no one really made a big deal about the bi thing. They'd already seen him with men and with women, and we run with a pretty arty crowd. Bottom line: I was in love. As the years passed, I saw that Neal had more integrity and self-knowledge than anyone I'd ever known. And so, reader, I married him. We've been together and monogamous for 12 years, married for eight.

Neal is comfortable with his sexuality. He's "straightish," in the terminology of a gay friend of ours. But he is kind of "gayish" too. He is a performance artist, eccentric, and has—true to stereotype—better style than I do. And if I'm like, "Wow, Mike is superhot," he doesn't stare blankly but says, "Totally. Because of the way he plays guitar, right?"

Generally, we don't tell the world about Neal's orientation (well, until now!). Not everyone is as supportive as our circle, and to be honest, I have zero interest in talking with someone who thinks I'm in a sham marriage just because my guy doesn't go, "Ewww!" when Channing Tatum takes off his shirt.

There have been a few bumps along the road. Early on, Neal confessed that he had a crush on someone else. In the moment before he told me who it was, as my heart sank, I thought: Oh God, it's a man. He's gay. He's going to leave me for a man. I am a fool. How did I not see it coming? How stupid could I be?

Then he told me who it was: a woman. And we worked through it. In retrospect, I think we would have been OK even if it had been a man. In the years since, we've weathered crushes I've developed too, and a million other surprising and not-so-surprising things. I don't think we're any more open-minded than most couples—but the amount of honesty required at the beginning of our relationship has served us well.

Talk, then talk some more

So how do you make it work with a bi guy? "If I were a woman involved with a bisexual man," says Savin-Williams, "I would have very honest communication with him about what he means when he uses the term." Trust me, I asked Neal a lot of questions about what he was into and what to expect as our relationship deepened. Would he commit to monogamy? What kind of boundaries did we need to set up? Be clear about what you're asking, warns Lisa Diamond, professor of developmental psychology at the University of Utah. "The question Are you attracted to men?' is different from Would you want to have a sexual relationship with a man?'" she points out. "Many men might say, It's a hot fantasy, but not one I would act on.'" At that point the question becomes whether or not you're OK with the fantasy. On the other hand, if he says he wants more than a fantasy when it comes to men…then he might not be the guy for you.

No matter whom you're dating, part of love is taking that leap into the unknown. "The only way to be truly sure," says Barbara Hernandez, a family and marriage therapist, "is over time. It depends on the values of the person, and the strength of commitment, and whether both partners work hard at it." Good advice for any couple, even a straight-as-an-arrow one.

At some point, if you're still freaking out about whether your bi guy is really bi, you might need to acknowledge that what you're worried about is whether he's really yours. "We all need to be honest with ourselves," says Diamond. "I wonder if the underlying concern isn't the same one we always have: Does he really want me? Is he going to leave me? That's a concern as old as the hills." With Neal, I came to look at it this way: If he was choosing to be with me, then he was choosing me over all men and women everywhere. And that felt kind of awesome.

Believe it or not, Neal's sexuality doesn't come up that often in our daily lives. My failure to close drawers, his inability to throw anything away, and an ongoing disagreement on who is the more lenient parent are all topics that cause more strife than his sometimes thinking men are hot. Really, who can blame him? Men are hot, especially ones who are honest and confident. Especially ones who, even though they may be attracted to lots of people, pick you.

[lancetuckershairgel]

Lost Boy

Starring: Chris Evans as Captain Hook, Sebastian Stan as TJ Hammond, and Tom Holland as Peter Pan (and Anthony Mackie as Mr Smee but he isnt in the story. He was...swabbing the deck or something)

Warnings: drug use, feelings

Word Count: 1,545

A/N: Ahhhhhh!!! This is my new favorite thing ever and it took a turn from TJ being Pan but still. Me likey.

Tag List: @southernbell91 @book-dragon-13 @marvelgirl7 @anxiousamandapanda @randomfandompenguin @louisianaspell @jobean12-blog @leisurelypanda @buckysforeverprincess @tranquil--heart @abovethesmokestacks @brat-in-a-teacup @marvelandotherfandomimagines @collinsstanharbour @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Another bullshit party where TJ Hammond fell under the scrutiny of his parents, their colleagues, and the press left him itching for a fix. He couldn't get out of that place fast enough and relief washed over him the second he stepped foot inside the sanctuary that was his apartment. He tossed  his leather jacket on the couch before he grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap off on the counter, and made his way into the bedroom. 

He lost count of how many lines of white powder he had snorted. He didn't care. Anything to numb him and wash away the feelings. He laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding in his chest and eyes glazed over. His fingers tingled and he felt the euphoric sensation of being high overcome him. Just as he was drifting away he heard a scratching at his window, loud enough to draw his attention back to the present. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at the frame. He didn't think his heart could beat any faster but when the window began to slide open he thought the organ would pound right through his chest. 

"Wh-who's there?" TJ whispered 

A shadowy figure crawled through the open space and heavy boots clunked on the hardwood floor with a thud. TJ couldn't move, the effects of the drugs causing his reactions to be hindered and response time to be much slower than normal. His eyes were wide as the man began to walk toward him and he shook with fear. 

"Don't be afraid." The man spoke "I won't hurt you, my dear boy."

"Wh-who are you?"

The man reached out his arm and TJ jumped but couldn't bring himself to move away from the man's reach. A shiver ran down his spine when something cold slid down his cheek and under his chin, tilting his head up. Blue eyes shown bright with fear and wonder as he looked up at the man. In the dark TJ couldn't make out much but he could see vague features. Long dark hair, a beard. The man was dressed in all black. Slowly, TJ lifted his hand to the object under his chin, his fingers curling around the man's wrist and sliding to his hand. There wasn't a hand. Instead there was a hook. 

"You..you have a hook for a hand!"

"Clever boy." The man chuckled "And now you have answered your own question. I am Captain Hook."

"Yeah right." TJ laughed 

"Don't believe do ya? Come, let me show you."

"Show me what? Your ship? A treasure?"

"Yes." 

"Sure, why the hell not." 

TJ shrugged and followed the man to the window, assuming this was a fever dream from his high. The wind on his face sure felt real, as did the man's towering presence next to him. 

"I suppose were gonna fly?" 

"We sure are. Go on, take my hand."

TJ curled his fingers around the hook and off the men flew, out the window and up to the sky. As they began to pass through the clouds the silhouette of a ship appeared in the distance. 

"This is one hell of a trip." TJ thought to himself as he looked over the shining lights if D.C. below him. 

Once the pirate's ship had set sail through the sky, TJ leaned against the front, wind blowing gently against his face. The man, Captain Hook, appeared next to him, leaning against the wooden edge and looking out across the stars. 

"Where are you taking me?" 

"Aye, my boy. See the bright star there?" Hook gestured with his makeshift hand and TJ nodded "That's the first star. We go straight from there and on til morning, then we'll be in Neverland."

"Neverland? You mean with Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and the lost boys?"

"My child, you are a lost boy." Hook sighed, not looking at TJ

TJ raised his eyebrows but didn't respond. Instead he stood alongside Hook and watched as they carried on with their journey. 

Upon arriving in Neverland, TJ followed the pirate off the ship and into the forest. Pixies, fairies, TJ didnt know what they were, flew overhead and he brushed their falling dust off his shoulder with a scowl. 

"They like you." Hook chuckled, drawing his sword to cut through vines 

"I don't like glitter."  

"It isn't glitter." Hook corrected "Pixie dust. It's special."

"Can I snort it?"

Hook paused his step and gave a sideways glance to TJ before carrying on.

"I wouldn't recommend it."

Soon the pair arrived at a campsite. Teepees and a fire, a pot of stew and wooden platter of bread, headdresses, everything one would expect at a Lost Boy camp, everything except the Lost Boys. 

"Where is everyone? Do I get to meet Peter Pan?" 

Hook laughed as he began to pour stew into a bowl. He handed it to TJ who sat on a wooden stump and began to eat. 

"The boys are off on an adventure."

TJ shoveled the food into his mouth, not realizing how hungry he actually was. 

"I want to go on an adventure."

"Oh but my boy aren't you already having one?" 

"Yeah, sure, but I want to wrestle a crocodile and pillage a village" TJ laughed "That rhymed. I want to find treasure"

"Well then, my lad, we can do all those things. Except maybe wrestle a crock."

While TJ ate, Hook told him tales of Neverland and how he became to be a resident. He debunked a few myths, such as he and Pan being enemies and a crocodile taking his hand. 

"So how'd you lose it?" 

"Aye, an unfortunate accident with the sword." Hook nodded solemnly "No matter. Are you done, Lad?"

TJ had finished his stew and felt pretty full. He thanked Hook before the pirate lead him away from camp. Through the woods and to Skull Island, dark cave with the rocks forming a skull. 

"Let's find treasure shall we?" 

TJ didn't know how long they had been in the cave. Hours. Days. He didn't care about the time, he was enjoying being a make believe pirate. He jumped from rock to boulder, climbing and exploring the cave. Eventually he found the treasure cove and his eyes lit up. Hook watched, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest, as TJ dove in. He tried on jewelry and pretended to drink wine from a gold goblet, he shoved diamonds and rubies into his pockets with Hooks permission. Last he picked up a crown adorned with jewels and placed it on his head. 

"How do I look, Captain?" 

"Like a proper young prince" Hook flashed him a smile 

On the way back from the island TJ began to get tired, his legs aching from all of the walking. Hook obliged in giving him a backride back to the camp where Peter and the Lost Boys were waiting for them. TJ took in Peter Pan, a young boy as expected, who had brown hair and big brown doe eyes. He had a complete innocence about him that TJ admired and envied. 

"Captain Hook! Who have you got there? Not another lost boy!"

Peter introduced himself to TJ and encouraged him to play with the lost boys. Seeing how young Peter and the boys were made TJ suddenly feel feel conscious and like he didn't belong. Hook noticed the long expression and put his arm around the boy. 

"What's wrong, my boy?" 

"I don't belong here. I'm thirty years old.Not a kid."

"Everyone is a kid at heart, some more than others.  Being a Lost Boy doesn't mean that you're a child, it means you need some guidance, love, and a little pixie dust."

"Yeah? I guess you're right."

TJ spent the rest of the night carefree. He played with the lost boys and had a sword fight with Peter. He ate more stew and met Tinkerbell who was exactly as he expected. When the sun began to peak over the horizon the lost boys retreated into their teepees and Peter climbed up to his treehouse for a long sleep. TJ yawned as Hook lead him back to the ship. 

"Do I have to go home?" 

"Aye."

"I don't want to." 

Hook scooped the sleepy TJ into his arms and carried him onto the ship, laying him in his bed. 

"You can come back any time. All you have to do is believe." 

TJ closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep as Hook covered him with a quilt and stroked his cheek with the smooth edge of his hook. 

TJ awoke to light shining. He sat up and looked around, no longer on the pirate ship but instead back in his apartment. He looked over at the window and saw that it was not only closed, but locked as well. He frowned, unable to not feel disappointed by the fact that he hadn't really gone to Neverland with a handsome pirate and instead had experienced a wild, cocaine induced trip. He sighed and got up, making his way to the shower, by passing the window. If only he had seen the gold pixie dust print left on the windowsill.  

[96thdayofrage]

Project much, Abigail? A sledgehammer though?! Lord, talk about petty!

One more time for the willfully obtuse, Kobe was a whoremonger, not a rapist. The sex he had with that admitted lying chambermaid was as consensual as the sex she had enjoyed that same night with those other johns, er, uh, visitors who had plastered her with their DNA. There is a difference. The woman's past is not magically elevated back to beatified virginity because the richest john she fecklessly failed to roll in life is now dead. She'll forever be known as the trick who played herself trying to rape a baller's wallet. If the #MeTooWitchHunters will stop bringing this trash up, Black women like me who actually followed this case, won't have to constantly hurt your feelings, telling you the ugly butt-naked truth about what really happened.

That greedy, gold digging, home wrecking, lying 19 year old hotel chambermaid wasn't a victim then, and still isn't one today. She knew that Kobe was a married father of a daughter when she willingly entered his hotel suite for the purpose of sex. She should have discreetly collected her $100 and cab fare home, and quietly called it a productive night. Instead, her cronies told her she had struck gold and foolishly encouraged her to keep digging. After all, she was white, and he is the evil, rapacious, wanton Naker who coveted the white man's pedestal propped prize. That was a fortune just waiting for her just for playing the white female fragility game. And, for a while, the media made sure that gimmick worked until the rape kit was tested. Suddenly there was media silence. Worst, the skank's lawyer wisely encouraged her to accept his legal team's first offer, just so he could get paid and get on with his own life before his career died. Face it, with all the sticking and moving the chambermaid had enjoyed with so many partners that magical evening, all the damage she was blaming on Kobe could have come from any of the johns who had banged her around that night. Worse, Kobe's lawyer was prepared to take the case to court and subpoena all the providers of the DNA found in her panties from that rape kit. So, she took her settlement for services rendered and disappeared. Kobe paid all the legal fees, court costs, and the best jeweler on the face of the wretched earth to provide the lovely wife on whom he cheated with enough incentive to take him back, giving birth to the ritual known today as the apology ring.

So, Abigail can have several seats and some overdue quiet time. That she felt the need to weigh in on the sexual habits of a Black man whose career and fame she obviously did not follow is a mystery that will label her a racist when she finally dies. She didn't know Kobe or the chambermaid, for that matter. She wasn't concerned about any pursuit of justice or defense of the victim. So her unsolicited opinion was not only unwarranted but slanderous and defamatory. Abigail needs to realize that eight other people died with Kobe, including his own 13 year old daughter and two of her young frieds. These people and their loved ones don't deserve to have their grieving tainted with Abigail Disney's unjustifiable, unconscionable bigotry and animosity for one Black man she did not know, yet inexplicably held in nothing but vindictive contempt and scorn. And for what!!? Did Kobe ever touch her inappropriately or say something off color about her? Who asked her to bring her sledgehammer? Why did she need to say anything? She should have kept her mouth shut.

I know the #YouTooWitchHunters want everyone to hate and scorn even the falsely accused, exonerated Black man while demanding we support and, over a butt-load of incontrovertible evidence and witness testimonies, blindly believe the "victims." After all, most of these butt-hurt and marginalized marauders on their mission from the goddess Gia are themselves legitimate victims of real fiends who never saw the light of day in court. While I empathize with their legitimate rage, and earnestly support them in their pursuit of real overdue justice, I am never going to accept the accusations of every plaintiff as the Gospel truth without any scrutiny of their claim. After all, it's not as if America hasn't buried millions of dead Black men on little more than the lies of some white woman caught with her dress up and her panties falling off her left ankle.

Sometimes, folks, we've just got to admit game when we see women playing way too much, call that bogus crap out for exactly what it is, and hard check each other out of nothing but love and concern for potential victims about to be hurt and damaged, and the men we are compromising. The truth is that many of these believed "victims" are only victims of their own pride, arrogance, covetousness, avarice, stupidity, and these trifling ill-advised, fecklessly executed, abysmally failed schemes to get over and grab a bag. These 'victims' stay mad at some man, always wallowing in that cesspool of humiliation where they played themselves so outrageously in public with everyone watching. Regretting the consequences of your own foolery in NO WISE changes the truth or the circumstances of the idiocy that preceded your clumsy tumble into ignoble disgrace. Face it, the only residuals of indiscriminate sex with just any and every trick with an ulterior motive are still a shameful trifling reputation, venereal disease, and/or unwanted pregnancies, replete with debilitating heartache and acute emotional distress. Eventually, life comes for us all, making our judgment the consequences of our decisions. But, tell Abigail that this too, in time and with grace, mercy and professional help, shall pass. It's a life lesson that should never be allowed to become a life sentence.