#bill's look is largely based on will's outfit from the second movie but with a tricorn hat and a different color scheme

[carewyncromwell]

The POTC AU is continuing, and with it, the reveal of the Brethren Court at Shipwreck Cove! Above we have six out of our seven Pirate Lords -- you’ll be meeting all of them in this section one by one, but to list them off, we have Merula Snyde; Arjun Singh (pictured with Aishwarya Mehra) @hogwarts9; Ellie Hopper @that-ravenpuff-witch; Jacob “Black Jack” Cromwell Roberts; Orion Amari; and Jae Kim.

Merula’s outfit is modeled slightly off of Angelica Teech’s from the fourth Pirates film, though with an oversized 18th century-style men’s undershirt rather than the “Renaissance Fair”-style shirt we get in the movie, while Jae’s most closely resembles Elizabeth Swann’s Pirate King ensemble from the third movie. Ellie’s is most closely modeled on Carina Smyth’s from the fifth Pirates film, though I did make some more period-worthy adjustments like the sleeve length and the light-weight scarf underneath the neckline, which were often worn by women of the time to obscure any deep cleavage and/or for warmth. Arjun and Jae, like the rest of the male pirates, I also gave facial hair because it was considered bad luck to shave while on board a ship, and so most pirates would invariably have beards of some variety, since they would be at sea much more than on land. In the 18th century in particular, beards were kind of “out of fashion” for men on dry land -- were you to have one, you were generally presumed to be eccentric, wild, uncouth, or just flat-out insane. (Which honestly kind of fits the traditional image of a pirate. XD)

The song “Hoist the Colours,” in the original Pirates films, actually refers to Davy Jones and the Brethren Court “binding Calypso in her bones” -- but since in this version of events, Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws had no part in the Court binding Calypso (because seriously, OG!Jones?? Dick move), the “King” in the song is the original Pirate King, not Jones. It’s actually a rare case where one can take a lyric more literally than metaphorically. XD

A kumiho is a nine-tailed fox spirit from Korean mythology, rather like the Japanese kitsune. One of my personal headcanons for Jae Kim is that his Patronus is a fox. *grins at @kyril-hphm* 83

Previous part is here; whole tag is here; and also featured in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier (happy belated birthday, mon couer!) and Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts!

x~x~x~x

Shipwreck Cove was a settlement made out of hundreds of wrecked ships, all stacked on top of each other inside of a dead volcano. It was an imposing fortress, lit by thousands of lanterns in the night. Even its location at the end of the treacherous Devil’s Throat gave it a sense of impregnability -- it needed no tall walls to keep its enemies out.

As soon as Charlie arrived on the island, his new First Mate Barnaby Lee cheerfully showed him and the rest of the Phoenix’s crew around before he guided them to the Hall of the Codex, the room where members of the Brethren Court gathered, whenever they convened. Barnaby advised Charlie to make sure he stuck his sword in the globe before approaching the table -- it not only signaled his status as Pirate Lord to the other gathered Lords, but it also was a sign of respect to the others, indicating that he would not incite violence at the meeting.

“You can bring other weapons to the table, though, so you could still start a fight if you really wanted to,” Barnaby added rather brightly.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” laughed Charlie.

“CHARLIE!”

The new captain of the Phoenix looked up, and his face lit up at the sight of a familiar freckled face racing towards him.

“Bill!”

The two Weasley brothers latched onto each other, squeezing each other in a giant hug.

“Thank God, Charlie!” Bill mumbled as he clutched at the back of his brother’s coat.

Jules ran over too so she could also bring an arm around Charlie, resting a hand on the back of his head as she and Bill both hugged him tight.

“We were so worried about you,” said Jules, her voice a bit more level than Bill’s but no less relieved.

She glanced curiously at the new hat and coat his new crew had lent him.

“...Is there a story behind the new clothes?”

Charlie grinned a bit sheepishly. “Uh...aye! Actually...”

“Can we send Weasley and her crew out so we can call this meeting to order already?” came a rather impatient female voice from the table.

“Captain Farrier-Weasley and the crew of the Revolution are my guests,” said the level, patient voice of Orion.

“This meeting is for Pirate Lords, Amari,” said the impatient voice irritably. “You can’t just invite non-Lords to it -- ”

"Jules’s father is the Governor of Port Royal,” said the logical voice of McNully. “Since Port Royal’s the current base of operations for Cutler Beckett and the Navy, there’s a 65% chance she’ll have some good insight about how to approach this whole thing.”

“And considering we’ll likely be missing a member of our Court, I thought it might be helpful to have another captain present who could fill in for our seventh Lord,” Orion added calmly.

"You can’t decide that all on your own, Amari!”

“He’s not trying to!” snapped Skye’s voice. “At least Orion’s trying to bring something to the table besides tantrums -- !”

“Skye, please,” Orion soothed quietly. “Samantha, is it against the Code for Pirate Lords to invite other captains to meetings?”

Charlie’s ears perked up. Samantha O’Connell was there too?

Jules beckoned Bill and Charlie with a jerk of her head to follow her into the Hall of the Codex properly.

There was a large, stained, circular table set up in the middle of the room, around which two women and two men --  presumably four out of the seven Pirate Lords -- were already seated with Orion. One of the Lords -- a young man with tanned skin, bright blue eyes, and a black ponytail -- had a dark-haired woman who closely resembled him standing behind his chair with her arms resting on top of the back. Charlie guessed they must be related.

“...The Code does state meetings of the Brethren Court are to be attended by the Pirate Lords and their crews,” said Samantha. She was sitting with her legs slouched over the right arm of a high-backed chair in the corner of the room, a gigantic, dusty, leather-bound book open in her lap. “But it doesn’t say that it can only be attended by those people...so any dispute to the rule could be settled by popular vote. If any other Lord wished to co-sponsor your guests, Orion, they could stay.”

Samantha then flashed a beady look at the brown-haired female pirate -- likely the one who’d been arguing with Orion -- across the table.

“What is stated, though, is that all active Pirate Lords must be present before a meeting starts.”

The blond female captain sitting closest to the door nodded in agreement. “And we’re still missing one Pirate Lord.”

“Technically we’re missing two Lords,” the tanned young man pointed out in a rather charming, amused voice.

“I doubt the Lord of the Pacific Ocean will show up, Arjun,” said the woman leaning against the back of his chair. “I mean, there hasn’t been one since the first Brethren Court...”

“You’ll have one for this meeting.”

Everyone turned around in surprise as Charlie strode forward toward the globe, stabbing his dragon-hilted blade into it just as Barnaby instructed.

“Charlie?” said Bill, perfectly stunned.

Charlie walked up to the table, the crew of the Phoenix following along behind, and stopped in front of the empty chair beside Orion’s. He shot Samantha a smile and a little wave, before he glanced around at the other Lords more more seriously.

“I’ll second Captain Amari’s sponsorship of Captain Farrier-Weasley and her crew,” he said firmly. He tapped his hat to indicate the S-and-anchor-trimmed “Piece of Eight” button he’d sewn onto it, before removing it and setting it down on the table as he took a seat. “The crew of the Revolution is welcome to attend this meeting.”

He shot a cheeky grin over his shoulder at his brother and sister-in-law. Bill’s mouth had dropped open in shock and disbelief. Jules looked rather stunned too, but she recovered more quickly and soon smiled broadly herself, coming up to stand between Charlie and Orion the way the woman with Arjun stood behind him.

Orion gave Charlie a muted, but still very pleased smile.

“Captain Charlie Weasley...allow me to introduce Captain Merula Snyde of the Blackbird, Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea -- ”

He indicated the impatient pink-eyed brunette, who was now slouching in her seat and crossing her arms irritably.

“ -- Captain Ellie Hopper of the Treasure, Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea -- ”

The blonde pirate wearing the thigh-length teal dress and brown tricorn hat nodded politely to Charlie and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“ -- Captain Arjun Singh of the Naga, Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean, and his cousin and co-captain, Aishwarya Mehra -- ”

The man called Arjun and the woman behind him both smiled and inclined their heads respectfully to Charlie.

“ -- Captain Jae Kim of the Kumiho, Pirate Lord of the South China Sea -- ”

A pirate with a long black braid dressed in a beautifully patterned gold silk tunic, who was slouching casually in his seat, raised his hand in an off-hand wave. “Hey.”

“ -- and last but certainly not least, Samantha O’Connell, Keeper of the Code.”

“We’ve met,” said Charlie with a cheeky grin.

Samantha’s lips were tugged up into a broad smile too as she closed the large book in her lap and got to her feet.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And of course you already know Orion -- Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea.”

“So the last Lord is for the Atlantic Ocean?” said Jules after a moment, once she’d mentally listed off all the seas she’d heard.

“Aye -- that I am.”

Everyone looked up as a man with a long mane of dark curls and hollowed-out, almond-shaped blue eyes strode up to the round table.

“Black Jack!” said Barnaby in relief.

The rest of the Phoenix chattered happily at the sight of the Tower Raven’s captain. Charlie was relieved too, seeing that Carewyn’s brother was all right after all. Unlike the rest of the captains present, Jacob only had Ashe accompanying him instead of a full crew, and both men were also missing their hats and dressed in sopping wet clothes.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” muttered Jacob as he sidled into the seat next to Merula’s. “Ashe and I had to swim most of the way here, as that twat Rakepick decided to blow up my ship -- ”

“Swim?” repeated Merula, sounding both perfectly scandalized and disbelieving. “How could you have swam all the way here from...wherever the Hell you were?”

“Very strong lungs and muscles,” Ashe said in such a cool voice that it put an end to the train of conversation. He stood over Jacob much the way Aishwarya stood over Arjun, draping his arms around the back of the chair so as to hug Jacob from behind, and shot beady looks at the remaining Pirate Lords. “Seems they’re all in attendance, Jack.”

“Aye,” said Jacob. “Shall we begin, then?”

“Aye,” agreed Samantha. “Now, as per the Code, we can call this meeting of the Fourth Brethren Court to order.”

“Finally,” growled Merula.

She immediately shot to her feet and addressed the others.

“All right -- for those of you who aren’t aware...the Flying Dutchman, cursed ship of the damned, has been impressed into service by the British Navy. Then, under that arse Cutler Beckett’s orders, it attacked Tortuga.”

Jacob looked stricken. “Tortuga?”

Merula nodded. “Two hundred people have now been hanged in Port Royal, all for supposedly aiding and abetting pirates -- men, women, and children.”

Ellie looked back at her crewmates, visibly disturbed by the news. Arjun and Aishwarya exchanged a grim look.

“Both of the Captains Weasley and I were on Tortuga at the time of the attack,” said Orion, indicating Charlie, Jules, and himself. “I’m afraid the Flying Dutchman has burned the settlement to the ground. It’s no longer safe to return to.”

“It’s worse than that,” Charlie said lowly. He glanced from Jacob to Orion. “...Commodore Carey Weasley...warned me that Beckett is on his way here, to Shipwreck Cove.”

Orion’s dark eyes widened. Jacob stiffened sharply.

“You saw Carey?” said Bill, his voice strained with desperation.

Charlie glanced at his brother uneasily. “Yeah. ...He’s aboard the Flying Dutchman.”

The pronouncement made Jacob lunge to his feet so violently he knocked his chair over with a clatter.

“What?!”

His face was as white as a sheet as the rest of the Pirate Lords and their crews muttered amongst themselves. Ashe squeezed his lover’s shoulders that bit more tightly, his own brown eyes narrowing in concern. Bill had also blanched, his freckles sticking out sharply on his face. Orion’s gaze dropped onto his hands as he clasped them together on the table in front of him.

“Sh -- he can’t be on that ship!” Jacob shouted. “I explicitly told him to stay in Port Royal, away from the sea -- !”

“Carey had to have been ordered to go,” Jules cut Jacob off as gently as she could, even if she looked just as anxious as Bill and Charlie were. “If he got the order, he wouldn’t have been able to disobey it...not if he wanted to keep his position as Commodore -- to protect all of us.”

She glanced at Bill and reached out and took his hand, squeezing it empathetically.

Arjun exchanged a confused look with Aishwarya.

“I’m sorry -- but I think we’re missing something here,” said the Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean with a bit of a sheepish smile. “Is the Commodore of the British Navy our ally now?”

“Of course not!” scoffed Merula. “Beckett’s been puffing his chest out for weeks, crowing about how he’s roped ‘the great Carey Weasley’ into his anti-piracy campaign. Rumor has it that the Commodore himself was the one who suggested sacking Tortuga in the first place!”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Jae.

Everyone turned to look at him, startled.

“Amari here captured Carey Weasley to send a message to the British Navy and the East India Trading Company, didn’t he?” said the Lord of the South China Sea. “Yet Weasley escaped him. Then, only a short while later, Amari got arrested in Weasley’s hometown of Port Royal, only to be ‘liberated’ by Weasley’s own brothers and the Governor’s daughter, who has now become his sister-in-law.” He nodded curtly at Jules, Bill, and Charlie. “...It seems clear to me that all of it must’ve been planned. There’s no reason I can see for Charlie, Bill, and Jules Weasley to break Amari out of prison unless he and the Commodore were allies.”

The Pirate Lords’ crews excluding Orion’s starting muttering again. Charlie glanced at Orion, but the Captain of the Artemis’s gaze was still solidly on his clasped hands on the tale.

“...That’s true,” the second eldest Weasley said at last. “Captain Amari and my twin staged the escape. That was the reason Jules, Bill, and I helped Captain Amari escape prison, so he could help us rescue Carey from Charles Cromwell. Carey may be with Beckett...but he’s only agreed to it so that he’ll be in a position to protect us, now that we’ve been branded pirates.”

“Your twin’s smart,” said Jae with a nod. His black eyes then flitted over to Jacob. “What I want to know, though, is how you know the Commodore, Black Jack?”

Jacob’s skull-like blue eyes narrowed very coldly upon Jae’s face. “My history with the Commodore is none of your business. Nor is it relevant.”

He turned his focus back to the rest of the Brethren Court, his eyes blazing. “If that bilge rat Beckett does know where Shipwreck Cove is, then we’ll need to make preparations.”

“What preparations?” said Jae. He looked oddly unconcerned as he slouched back in his chair. “Shipwreck Cove is a fortress. It would take ages for anyone to penetrate our defenses.”

“The British Navy has broken out their Man O’ Wars from the War against the Spanish,” said Jacob grimly. “No pirate I know of has a ship that large and heavily armed.”

“Even so,” said Arjun bracingly, “it would take at least a month for them to reach us here, even if they found Shipwreck Cove. Would Beckett really want to waste that much time?”

“And money too,” Ellie pointed out. “That’s always what men like him worry about most.”

“Not to mention all the lives of the men he’d lose,” said Aishwarya.

“I’m afraid those things mean little.”

Everyone looked at Orion. He slowly raised his gaze from his clasped hands at last to look at them all.

“Cutler Beckett may be a man of business,” the Pirate Lord of the Caribbean murmured, “but he’s also a vengeful, close-minded, and ambitious person. He seeks status and wealth, and he has no compassion for those who might stand in his way of achieving them. And right now, in his eyes, what stands in his way -- in the way of the East India Trading Company’s profits and his own personal ambitions -- is every person who sails under a pirate flag or who shows any sympathy for our plight. Beckett may be crafty enough to manipulate others rather than just using his own physical strength...but he only acts like a gentleman when he doesn’t have absolute power over another person’s life. When he does have that level of control over someone...he can be as ruthless as the Kraken itself.”

Despite the calm, serious expression on his face, there was an odd flash of cold emotion that crackled through his dark eyes. No one doubted Orion’s testimony.

“If the fleet Beckett’s assembled does contain Man O’ Wars,” said McNully, as he rolled his wheeled chair up beside Orion, “then there’s a 73.2% chance this could turn into a siege.”

Jules’s dark eyes became a little smaller and she set her jaw tightly.

“...Then we’ll just have to assemble our own Navy and fight back,” she said firmly after a moment.

The other Pirate Lords’ crews started to laugh.

“‘Navy?’” repeated Arjun. He wasn’t laughing, but he did look a little incredulous. “Captain Weasley...we pirates may have a Court and Lords, but we’re not a country. Even those of us who have fleets -- or had fleets,” he gave a nod toward Jacob, “don’t answer to anyone else.”

“Even Shipwreck Cove isn’t a military fort or town,” said Aishwarya. “People stay here, and it’s very well-protected...but it’s no one’s home.”

“No pirate has a home,” said Samantha solemnly from the sidelines. Her emerald green eyes had drifted off toward the wall absently. “Just a ship, if we’re lucky.”

Charlie’s eyes lingered on Samantha’s face, clearly struck by how grim and oddly sad she seemed, saying this.

Jules, however, didn’t falter in her conviction even slightly. If anything, her dark eyes grew sharper as she put a hand down on the table and leaned over it.

“Cutler Beckett is an ally of my father’s, so Beckett hates pirates just as much as he does -- likely more, if we take Orion’s word -- and we’re all pirates. There’s no way any of us could defeat Beckett on our own, and if he reaches Shipwreck Cove, it’s likely he’ll treat it the same way he did Tortuga. If that happens, where else will anyone branded as pirates be able to go? Where else will we be able to go, if we decide to run instead of standing our ground? Even if you don’t have a home, we all need a safe place to rest and resupply...”

Bill nodded in agreement. “We all need a sanctuary to escape to, now and again.”

Jacob rested his head in his hands on the table, interlacing the fingers over his lips thoughtfully. Ellie Hopper placed both of her hands on the table so as to hoist herself up and out of her chair to her feet.

“You bring up a good point, Captain Weasley,” she said to Jules, “but it’s as Captain Roberts said -- none of our ships are comparable to a Man O’ War. And although there are pirates who were once soldiers...” she inclined her head respectfully to Bill and Charlie, “...there are quite a few of us who never were. Most pirates who were once in the Navy were privateers -- sailors who only ever attacked merchant vessels, not war ships -- and others, including both you and me, have no military experience at all. We don’t have the strength needed to defeat an entire fleet of Man O’ Wars.”

“We don’t,” said Orion very softly. “But there is someone who does.”

He glanced at Charlie. “Charlie Weasley...is Chia Dalma still with you?”

Charlie blinked. “Aye...she didn’t seem to like the thought of meeting the rest of the Court, so she stayed behind on the Phoenix.”

Orion nodded, but seemed unconcerned -- likely he’d presumed as much.

“You all recall, I hope,” he said, “that the Brethren Court was first formed when the original Pirate Lords decided to steal control from the goddess Calypso?”

Most of the people in the room nodded and murmured in assent. Charlie, Bill, and Jules did not.

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that story,” said Jules.

“I’ve heard of Calypso,” said Bill slowly. “She’s supposed to be a goddess of the sea, isn’t she?”

“She was, once,” said Orion. 

“There’s a song that tells the tale,” Skye added.

They both glanced at Merula, who straightened up in her seat and sang in a rather lovely voice,

“The King and his men stole the Queen from her bed

And bound her in her bones --

The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

The tune immediately sounded familiar to Charlie, Bill, and Jules -- it was the same one Carewyn had sung for Pearl, just before she died.

“You see, the original Pirate King, Henry Morgan, and his allies were buccaneers who were scared of how dangerous the sea was,” said McNully. “Because their livelihoods depended on their ability to sail, they all decided to tame the sea enough that it’d be safe to travel on, without them needing to appeal to the whims of a ‘heathen goddess.’”

Jules’s eyebrows came together tightly.

“And how did they ‘tame’ her, exactly?” she asked, her low voice betraying some cold disapproval.

“They ‘bound her in her bones,’” said Jae, “or, more simply, trapped her in human form. The transformation restricted the use of her powers significantly, making the seas less turbulent to sail on and therefore making it safer for the Lords and other pirates to evade the Navy and ‘ply their trade.’”

Jules looked furious. “So they cursed a goddess, just to help themselves?”

“To protect themselves,” Merula shot back a bit defensively.

Skye nodded in passionate agreement. “Calypso was terrifying at full power. She could create maelstroms out of fat air, send wild sea creatures to attack ships. She was the one who created the Kraken and the Flying Dutchman in the first place. Davy Jones was her lover, so they say...”

“The decision is more complicated than you think, Captain Weasley,” said Jacob, and his skull-like blue eyes drifted absently off toward the ceiling as his voice grew more thoughtful. “The Pirate Lords, much like us, could only support themselves and their families through their buccaneering. They did not come from wealth as you have. There was no other good way for them to make a living or a better life for themselves and their loved ones, as they weren’t land-owners and didn’t have any financial collateral. Not to mention many of them were God-fearing Christians who were intimidated by what they thought must be a servant of Satan, since there can be no other God before Him. What they did was cruel, of course -- no question...but it was made out of self-preservation and fear, not just greed.”

Jules crossed her arms, clearly unmoved. “It seems to me that people who so clearly value freedom shouldn’t try to justify why someone else should be denied theirs.”

“I agree,” said Orion, and although his voice was much softer and more level than Jules’ was, his eyes twinkled with something like approval in response to her words. “And that is why I propose that we reverse the First Brethren Court’s decision, from all those years ago...and release Calypso from her bonds.”

There was a silence. Then, very abruptly, all of the other pirates started shouting and arguing.

“Are you insane?!”

“That’d just make everything worse!”

“Cut out his tongue!”

“Calypso has no reason to help us -- she’d no doubt hate pirates, for what we did to her -- ”

“Give him a good shot to the head!”

“We’d be fighting both a sea goddess and the entire British Navy, if we did that -- !”

Even Skye and McNully looked at Orion with notable trepidation.

“Orion, I’d say you might want to pull back on that idea a bit,” McNully muttered to him.

Even if the volume and anger in the room did take him aback slightly, Orion kept his cool. He rose to his feet, holding up a hand for calm, but many ignored him and instead shouted louder. Seeing this, Charlie got to his feet too and, pulling his pistol of his belt, pointed it at the air and shot at the ceiling. The loud BANG scared everyone enough that they fell silent and the Lords who were standing all returned to their seats.

Orion nodded to Charlie in mute gratitude and addressed the rest of the pirates again, his hands clasped in front of him.

“We currently don’t have the force needed to overcome Cutler Beckett and his Company. We do not have the force needed to defend Shipwreck Cove, or even to ensure that we all escape this storm alive. We could hole up here for a month or so and hope that the Navy tires themselves out -- but as McNully stated, that could easily become a siege, at which point this place would become our tomb. We could all evacuate the island before the Navy arrives -- but as Captain Farrier-Weasley said, we’d lose the last sanctuary we have remaining in the world, as well as the last place from which we could plan a counterattack. We would all be out for ourselves at that point...leaving us to be picked off one by one by Beckett’s greater forces.”

His dark eyes grew a little smaller and more solemn.

“Therefore...the only path remaining to us is to stand our ground. And if we don’t wish to die on that path, we’ll need to gather whatever strength is available to us. Uranus and Saturn are set to collide in the Heavens...hinting to a climatic battle between order and chaos. We cannot know what the outcome will be unless we decide not to fight at all...but if we did that, then we’d only know the outcome because it would indisputably be failure.”

The other Pirate Lords exchanged wary looks among themselves. Jacob then gave a loud sigh and gave a reluctant nod.

“Amari’s right,” he said lowly. “Regardless of what your positions on releasing Calypso are...we don’t have a choice in whether to fight or fly. We will have to fight...and it’d be stupid and pointless to try doing it on our own.”

He glanced at Ellie, who nodded in agreement, and Merula, whose pink eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

“We can’t declare war,” the Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea pointed out in a rather arrogant sort of voice. “Only the Pirate King can do that.”

Orion actually blinked in surprise. “Really?”

He turned to Samantha. “Is that true, Samantha?”

The Pirate Dragon’s emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she reopened the large leather-bound Codex in her lap, flipping through the pages and scanning each line to find the proper section.

“...As per the Code,” she said lowly, “‘the Pirate Lords shall select a captain by popular vote to serve as Pirate King, who shall represent the entire Court when all cannot be present. The Pirate King alone can declare a state of emergency; declare war; take custody of the eight Pieces of Eight; take governorship of Shipwreck Cove; and give commands to ships that he himself does not sail.’ Looks like Merula’s right.”

Charlie frowned and turned to glance back at Barnaby, who’d been standing on the opposite side of him as Jules.

“The Pirate King is the leader of the Brethren Court, right?” he muttered to him.

“Aye,” Barnaby whispered in his ear. “Only, there hasn’t been one since the first Brethren Court.”

“Why?”

“Everyone from the other Courts just voted for themselves...so there was always a six-way tie and no one could decide on a winner.”

“I call for a vote,” said Orion serenely.

A lot of the other pirates in the room sighed in frustration or covered their faces and shook their heads. Jae himself plopped his chin down on his hand and rolled his eyes.

“Amari, are you serious?” he said tiredly.

Orion looked perfectly nonplussed. “Captain Roberts, would you start us off, please?”

Jacob raised an eyebrow at Orion and exchanged a suspicious look with Ashe, before he shrugged and nodded.

“I vote for Black Jack Roberts,” he said coolly.

He glanced at Merula sitting next to him.

“Captain Merula Snyde of the Blackbird -- most powerful ship on the seven seas,” she said, her lips curled up in a dry smirk.

“Ellie Hopper,” said Ellie uncomfortably, exchanging looks with some of her crew members.

“Captain Jae Kim,” sighed Jae.

“...Arjun Singh, of the Naga,” Arjun said after he’d exchanged a bemused shrug with Aishwarya.

When it was Orion’s turn, the Pirate Lord gave a quick sweep around the table with his eyes, before they shifted to his left, twinkling with something almost like mischief.

“Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley.”

“What?” said Jules.

“What?” said Charlie and Bill, just as taken aback.

Orion’s lips actually spread into a full, broad grin seeing how much his choice had blindsided everyone.

“The Pirate Code said that the Pirate Lords must select ‘a captain’ to be the Pirate King,” he said airily. “It never said that captain had to be a Pirate Lord. So I vote for Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley of the Revolution to be our Pirate King.”

He then nodded to Charlie. “Captain Weasley -- your vote?”

Charlie grinned broadly from ear to ear and he shot a glance over his shoulder at his sister-in-law, who had flushed a dark shade of red and looked very stunned.

“Captain Juliette Farrier-Weasley,” said the Lord of the Pacific Ocean.

The other Pirate Lords and their crews all started chattering at once.

“What?”

“If I’d known you could pick any captain, I would’ve voted for Aishwarya -- ”

“Choosing your own sister-in-law -- ”

“I call for a recount -- ”

“How long has she even been a pirate?”

“Pure nepotism, that’s what it is -- ”

Orion raised his eyebrows very coolly. “Am I to take this to mean you all will not be keeping to the Code?”

Everyone almost as a unit turned to look at Samantha, who was glaring very pointedly at them as she rotated a pair of grenades in one hand.

Ellie, the Pirate Lord who had reacted with the least hostility to the decision, turned to Jules with a solemn look.

“The votes have it,” she said. “So Pirate King Weasley -- what say you? What shall we do?”

Jules, her face still very red, glanced hesitantly at her husband. Bill looked at her with pride, his eyes sparkling fondly as he squeezed her hand. Her lips spreading into a comforted smile, Jules raised her head and faced the Court with new confidence.

“Gather together and arm every vessel that floats,” she said firmly. “At dawn, we’ll prepare for war.”

With the meeting having come to a close, the Pirate Lords departed one by one to begin their preparations for the battle to come. Jules (knowing that, even though she was now Pirate King, she lacked military experience) immediately asked Bill, McNully, and Charlie to help her with figuring out what strategy would work best to defend the Cove. Orion himself seemed very pleased with the final outcome -- Charlie had asked him why he didn’t vote for himself, but Orion merely smiled and didn’t reply. Bill, however, thought he could guess.

“I don’t reckon Orion’s the sort to want to rule over anyone,” he said with a knowing smile. “Guide them, yes -- lead them, maybe -- but not rule.”

Orion looked at Bill, his eyes as calm and unreadable as ever.

“Interesting conclusion. What made you draw it, Bill Weasley?”

Bill’s smile faded, but his brown eyes lost none of their warmth. “Because Carey’s the exact same way.”

There was a strange spark in the back of Orion’s eyes -- something almost like surprise, which then morphed into something warmer and softer...fonder.

“...True,” he murmured. “Although she may have the heart of a queen, and all of the grace...Carewyn Cromwell would never choose a crown for herself.”

Bill’s gaze softened. Before he could say anything, however, there was a very loud WHAM.

Jacob, who was still in his seat and had been talking to Ashe, had abruptly slammed the large table across the floor with all of his strength, nearly knocking it over as he barreled over.

“YOU!”

Out of nowhere, the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic seized Orion by the collar with both hands.

“Jacob?” said Bill, completely taken aback.

“Jack!” said Ashe, his eyes narrowing in concern.

But Jacob didn’t seem to hear either of them. His blue pupils were dark, irrational slits of rage.

“IT WAS YOUR VOICE! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO CALLED MY WYN BY HER NAME! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SPOKE OF HER IN THAT SOFT VOICE, YOU MAGGOT-INFESTED BASTARD -- !”

“Jacob, let him go!” said Jules. 

Orion amazingly didn’t look the least bit scared -- instead his expression was rather tense as well as a bit confused.

“Captain Roberts,” he spoke quietly in an attempt to soothe the other man’s anger, “I understand what Carewyn means to you -- what you mean to her. I would never harm your sister. I could never hurt Carewyn, nor could I ever wish to -- ”

Bill was reminded of when Orion was trying hard not to fight him, back in Port Royal. Jacob, however, was just as unmoved as Bill had been.

“STOP CALLING HER BY HER NAME!” he roared.

Jacob yanked Orion around by the collar, slamming him roughly into the wall.

“IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT JONES IS AFTER WYN! SHE WOULD BE SAFE NOW IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU -- I’LL KILL YOU, YOU SCABBY, BILGE-SUCKING SON OF A -- !”

“Jacob, stop!” Charlie bellowed.

“Get off Orion NOW!” yelled Skye.

Samantha, Barnaby, Skye, Jules, and Charlie had all grabbed onto the back of Jacob’s coat and onto his arms, trying in vain to pull him off of Orion. Jacob, however, was ridiculously strong, and his grip tightened around Orion’s collar and throat, making the taller man wince.

Bill, his expression darkening more than anyone had ever seen before, very sharply skipped grabbing onto Jacob and instead stepped right between Orion and Jacob, taking his pistol out of his belt and pointing it right at Jacob’s temple. The move prompted Ashe to make an angry move toward Bill, but the eldest Weasley put out his other hand to hold him at arm’s length.

“Jacob, Carey’s not here, so I’ll say this for her,” Bill said very icily. “‘I’ll never forgive you if you hurt him.’”

Jacob gave a sharp flinch. His mad, hollow, slitted pupils never left Orion’s face, but they seemed to lose some of their focus -- almost as if he was looking right through Orion.

Ashe, furious at Bill having held him back, grabbed the red-haired man’s wrist and twisted it painfully out of the way so he could run over to Jacob himself. He brought both of his arms tightly around his lover’s neck, his face resting in the dark curls over Jacob’s brow as he hummed something under his breath. The sound seemed to calm Jacob little by little, making his shoulders loosen and his grip slacken. Light gradually returned to his eyes as he slowly removed his trembling hands from Orion’s throat, breathing shakily.

Jules immediately moved to Bill, bringing up a hand to his wrist to make sure it wasn’t too badly hurt. Once she’d confirmed he was okay, she turned to Jacob with a fierce look.

“Jacob, what do you mean Jones is after Carey?” she demanded. “Why is she in danger?”

Jacob’s gaze had fallen to the ground, throwing his eyes into shadow as he continued to take heavy, labored breaths. Ashe, still holding Jacob tightly, turned around, a very hard, grim look on his face as his eyes flickered from Orion to Jules.

“Jones aims to force someone into servitude on his ship,” he said lowly, “and he’s decided that person is Jack’s sister.”

[my-emotional-self]

The Soulmates Chapter 3

Moodboard by the wonderful @princess-evans-addict

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: swearing, exotic dancing

Summary: Being born with the words of two soulmates was rare, and you were one of them.  You had no idea that when you started a new job as Pepper Potts’ personal assistant you would end up finding both of your soulmates.  Things start off great, but what happens when Steve and Bucky find out about your double life and your side job?

A/N: Based off the music video ‘Gods and Monsters’ by Lana Del Rey

In the land of gods and monsters

I was an angel

Living in the garden of evil

You slowly walked around the pole, getting the feel of the song that you were so used to by now.

Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed

Shining like a fiery beacon

You got that medicine I need

Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly

Put your hands on my waist, do it softly

You stood tall in front of the pole, slowly raking your hands down your nearly naked body; loving the hollers and whistles from the crowd in front of you.  

Me and God we don’t get along, so now I sing

No one’s gonna take my soul away

Living like Jim Morrison

Gripping the pole tightly, you spun around quickly, going in circle after circle; your body twisting easily around the pole.  

Headed towards a fucked up holiday

Motel, sprees, sprees, and I’m singing

Fuck yeah give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want

It’s innocence lost

Innocence lost

Making your way towards the crowd of men sitting in front of you on your hands and knees, you turned your back to them so they could see your round ass.  You began to gyrate your hips, as if you were riding on a cock. For a moment, thoughts of Bucky and Steve below you crashed into your mind and you groaned at the thought of them filling you up with their large cocks.  

In the land of gods and monsters

I was an angel, lookin’ to get fucked hard

Like a groupie incognito posing as a real singer

Life imitates art

You began to feel hands on the back of your legs and you turned your head, winking at the man who’s hands were on you as you saw a few twenty dollar bills on the stage.  

You got that medicine I need

Dope, shoot it up straight to the heart please

I don’t really wanna know what’s good for me

God’s dead, I said ‘baby that’s alright with me’

No one’s gonna take my soul away

Living like Jim Morrison

Headed towards a fucked up holiday

Motel, sprees, sprees, and I’m singing

Fuck yeah give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want

It’s innocence lost

Innocence lost

When you talk it’s like a movie and you’re making me crazy

‘Cause life imitates art

If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?

You tell me if life isn’t that hard

No one’s gonna take my soul away

Living like Jim Morrison

Headed towards a fucked up holiday

Motel, sprees, sprees, and I’m singing

Fuck yeah give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want

It’s innocence lost

Innocence lost

As the song ended, you were sweaty and out of breath.  It was a true workout and you loved the way the men fawned over you.  Going around, you gathered up the money on the stage, winking at the men and blowing them kisses.  

“How’d you make out that round?” Trixie asked as you walked into the back room, counting your cash with a smile on your face.  

“I think this has been the best night I’ve ever had,” you replied, fanning your face with your money making the girls in the room laugh.  

Out of all the girls, you had been there the longest, since you were 18 years old and you took many of the new girls under your wing; helping them as much as you could.  

You cooled off in the back for nearly an hour before your next round came up.  Tommy came back in, giving you another bump of cocaine right before it was your turn.  Tommy was a good man for taking you in when you lost your family; keeping you out of foster care and probably juvie as well.  He got you a small apartment, smaller than what you had now, and that is where you lived until you turned 18; when you were able to lease an apartment on your own.  

When you went back out on stage, you made sure to pay attention to the man in front who was roaming his hands up and down your legs earlier as he was obviously the biggest spender tonight.  He was rather handsome with slicked back black hair and he was wearing a very expensive looking black suite.  

You were dancing to Fall Out Boy’s ‘Light ‘Em Up’ and when the chorus sounded, the lights on the stage turned off and on at a rapid pace as your body spun easily around the pole at such a fast pace, you were surprised you never got dizzy from it.  

By the end of the night, you were shocked to count the money you had.  All in all, you had enough to pay rent alone for the month; just from tonight alone.  Since you’ve been dancing here for the last six years, you had never gotten that much money and you believed it to be mostly from the one blonde man in the black suite.  Hell, you didn’t mind.  Now that you had a full time job, you finally could use this money as spending money on yourself; something you had never been able to do.  

That night, you went to bed with a smile on your face.  Things were finally starting to look up.  

~~~

The following morning you could barely open your eyes as your alarm began to blare.  Granted it was only the second day of your job with Pepper, it was the first time you also had to work the night before at the club with Tommy.  

“Fuck my life,” you moaned, throwing the covers over your body and stumbling into your bathroom, taking a cold shower to wake up and to wipe the remnants of the cocaine from your nose.

Looking at your clothes, you nearly forgot that Steve and Bucky wanted to take you out tonight so you made sure to pick something a little cuter.  You put on a black dress with colorful flowers on it and a black cardigan to go over it.  Putting on a pair of black boots, you headed outside and saw Daniel waiting there.  With a smile, you big him a good morning and hopped in the backseat; taking a cat nap on your way to work.  

~~~

The work day, much to your dislike, went by way too fast.  It wasn’t that you weren’t looking forward to your date with Steve and Bucky. It was that you were nervous and scared. Tommy was the only one who truly know the kind of shit you went through when you were younger.  And you definitely didn’t want to mention your night job to your soulmates; you knew for a fact they would go ballistic and wouldn’t let you back there.  

But you couldn’t just not work at the club.  You had a contract with Tommy; a ten year contract.  He kept you out of foster care, took you in when your family died, only if you were to work for him for ten years.  And you weren’t about to back out of that contract.  A promise is a promise and you saw a contract the same way. You weren’t about to back out of anything; you signed it and you were going to fulfill it, no matter what. Tommy was good to you for the most part, as long as you didn’t call in sick and you weren’t about to fuck him over. Plus, you loved the confidence you had when you were on stage.  There was a darkness inside of you from the years of neglect built up from your parents that you were able to unleash on that stage.  Never in your life had men fawned over you.  You felt wanted and desired and while you were sure Bucky and Steve were going to feel that way about you one day, you didn’t want to give that up just yet.  It’s not like you were cheating; you were just selling your body without any of the physical aspects to it.  

There was a soft knock on your office door and you looked up to see Bucky and Steve; déjà vu from yesterday hitting you.  

“Are you ready doll?” Bucky asked with a grin.  

With shaky hands, you logged out of your computer and grabbed your phone and purse.  “I’m ready,” you said with a soft smile as you got up from your chair and walked towards them.  “Lead the way.”

~~~

“You’re awfully quiet back there sweetheart,” Steve said from the driver’s seat of the car as he drove into the city.  

“I’m sorry.  I’m just…a little nervous I guess,” you replied softly; your hands fidgeting together in your lap.  

Bucky turned to face you from the passenger seat; his metal hand gently resting on your hands, making you gasp.  

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, turning back to face the front; his head bowed down.  

“No!” you replied hastily, placing your hand on his shoulder.  “Your hand was cold that’s all Bucky.  I wasn’t-I’m not scared of your metal arm.  I promise.  I just wasn’t expecting how cold it was is all.”

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, not wanting to make Bucky feel bad about himself.  He turned back around to face you and you gave him a smile.  He reached his arm back out to you and you took his hand in yours, squeezing it reassuringly.  

“We’re here,” Steve said as he parked the car.  You looked out to see a rather nice looking restaurant and a valet person opening the door for Steve.  Steve opened your door for your and you felt yourself blush.  Not only were you not used to being around such gentlemen, you weren’t used to going on dates or even being with men.  The last time you went on a date had been nearly two years ago; and it had been close to three years since you had slept with a man.  It just wasn’t something you were interested in as you didn’t find anyone compatible with you.  

“I think I’m a little underdressed,” you mumbled as you looked down at your outfit.  

Steve squeezed your hand, making you look up at him.  “You look beautiful sweetheart.”  Your heart leaped in your chest as you nodded at him.  

Walking into the restaurant, Bucky gave them the name of the reservation and you were escorted to a quiet booth in the back corner; Bucky and Steve on one side so they could face you. After order a bottle of wine, you took a hefty sip, hoping your nerves would go away.  

“So, when did you two realize you were soulmates?” you asked, placing your glass of wine down on the table; your eyes were scanning between the two men in front of you.  

Steve turned to Bucky, giving him a wink and an earth shattering smile, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  “I met this jerk at the park when we were only six years old,” Steve said, leaning over to give Bucky a chaste kiss to his lips.  

It had been known ever since Steve found Bucky a few years ago, that they were soulmates.  They didn’t want to hide that from the public and they had an overwhelming response of positivity.  

“Wow.  Did you tell your parents?  I mean, I just can’t imagine how things would have been in that time finding out your soulmate was another man I mean.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head.  “Oh you have no idea doll.  We figured out rather quickly to keep it a secret from everyone.”

You watched them in front of you, your heart longing to be looked at the way the both of them looked at each other.  Yet you never knew if you would get that.  They had history; years together.  And you had just met them.  Would they ever feel that much love for you?

“What about you Rosalie? How did your parents react when they figured you had two soulmates?”

Your heart rate picked up and you quickly took a sip of your wine.  “Umm, yeah I guess they weren’t really too happy about that.” Immediately, your walls were up, guarding yourself.  

“Tell us about your family,” Steve asked with a smile.  

This was exactly what you were hoping to avoid.  You knew without a doubt they wanted to get to know you as that would be expected, but you weren’t ready; you weren’t ready to tell them about your past and you never wanted to tell them about your night job.  

“Umm, well,” you stuttered out, not knowing how to begin.  “I…I…I don’t really know what to say.  My family-they uhh, they died in a car accident when I was 17.”

The men picked up on how uncomfortable you looked and you felt a two hands squeezing both of yours as they were placed on the table.  Slowly, you looked up and met the concerned gazes of your soulmates.  

“Hey, you don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.  We won’t push you Rosalie.  We don’t want to make you uncomfortable at all, that’s not our intention,” Steve spoke surely and you let out a deep breath, nodding your head.  

The rest of dinner went by much more comfortably with conversations around favorite movies, books and sports.  By the end of dinner, Steve paid for the bill and the three of you were heading back to your apartment so they could drop you off.  

The sleek car pulled up in front of your apartment building and you could feel the uncertainty coming from Steve and Bucky.  It didn’t take a genius to see that you lived in a pretty bad part of town, but it has been all you could afford; you were just happy to be living with a roof over your head; something you could at least afford on your own.  

They walked you to your door and you had to internally cringe at the garbage that littered the hallway of the apartment building.  

“Thank you for taking me out tonight,” you said quietly, still unsure of yourself in the presence of these two men who were utterly in love with each other.  

They both smiled at you as they bent down and placed gentle kisses to your cheeks, making you blush.

“It was our honor doll,” Bucky replied, giving you a wink.  

“We’ll see you tomorrow at the compound sweetheart,” came Steve’s remark.  

“Goodnight,” you said before unlocking your door.  

“Goodnight,” they said at the same time.  

Once inside your apartment and with the door locked, you let out a deep breath.  You were unaware of everything at the moment. While the date tonight went great with the three of you getting to know one another better, you had a feeling things could change in the blink of an eye if they found out where you spent three nights a week at.  But you weren’t giving dancing up.  You made a promise to Tommy that you wouldn’t back out of and if you were being honest, you loved the way dancing on that stage made you feel.  

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[chiseler]

Glad Rags: Fashion and the Great Depression

Some years ago, in a breathtaking lapse of taste, The New Yorker published a fashion spread that aped iconic photographs of Dust Bowl migrants. I was as appalled as the next right-thinking person by the pouting models in $400 distressed cardigans pretending to thumb rides along desert highways. But if the charge is infatuation with the aesthetics of the Great Depression, I am guilty, guilty, guilty. Throw me in the clink—just so long as it resembles the hoosegow that Barbara Stanwyck saunters around in Ladies They Talk About (1932).

Why was everything, from automats to automobiles, from nightclubs to radios, from skyscrapers to bus stations, from cocktail shakers to the battered hats on homeless men, so elegant in the thirties? Why did bums back then look better than bankers today? Why are the movies and music, the clothes and every aspect of design from typefaces to elevator panels, so intoxicatingly stylish?

The easy answer is that art deco glamour was a form of escapism, a consolation to the down-and-out, and an expression of irrational optimism. Cruise ships, trains, office towers, mechanized restaurants: art deco was all about speed and modernity, the thrill of zooming into the future. (Then why does deco still look modern and alluring, while the space-age design of the sixties just looks dated and silly?) If cynicism was society’s ballast during the Depression, style was the kite-string tugging upward, the flag that kept flying.

It’s not the swells in their glad rags that I admire most, or even the bootleggers in silk shirts, but the wardrobes of working girls. Take the plain, slinky black dress that Stanwyck, as an ambitious office worker in Baby Face, accessorizes with a series of different detachable white collars and cuffs. Those starched cuffs and collars—chic, yet as humble as table-napkins—are perfect, almost poignant symbols of Stanwyck’s determination to better herself with the small means at her disposal. In Golddiggers of 1933, out-of-work chorus girls draw lots for the privilege of wearing a gorgeous, borrowed outfit to an audition. The little hats that hug one side of the head, the soft dresses molded to the hips, the scarf collars and pleated hems, create a look that collapses the two meanings of “smart.”  Neither frivolous nor utilitarian, it’s a neat, streamlined look that is still seductive; it signals quiet confidence and also wit, the sort of wisecracking verbal self-defense these girls mastered.

Movies like Baby Face tell their stories largely through their heroines’ clothes and belongings: they climb from cotton frocks to furs, from paper matchbooks to jeweled cigarette cases. (Clothing is no less crucial to the gangster’s rise; tailored shirts and luxurious overcoats are almost the point of his law-breaking.) Like Stanwyck in Baby Face, Joan Blondell in Blondie Johnson starts out in the drab, shapeless clothes of the down-trodden. Alight with anger after her mother dies, denied aid by a sanctimonious government official, she vows to get hold of dough, “and plenty of it.” Next we see her, she’s wearing a snazzy velvet suit that fits like a glove and conning suckers out of ten dollar bills by pretending to be a damsel in distress. She’s willing to bat her eyelashes and exploit her curves, but it’s really her brain she uses to get ahead, rising to become the head of a criminal “corporation,” and fiercely defending her virtue, even while clad in diaphanous pajamas. In Hold Your Man, Clark Gable calls attention to the warmth of the room, trying to talk Jean Harlow into doffing her coat. She complies, but when he suggests she remove her hat as well, she quips, “I’m pretty cool about the head.”

It’s this sense of wit and sass that’s often missing from latter-day reconstructions of the thirties, making people in period pieces appear overly formal. Current actors, looking embalmed in handsome clothes and make-up, fail to capture the way Cagney in his pin-striped suits was always poised on the balls of his feet, ready to crack into a tap dance; or the stunning bodily freedom with which women wore their thin, fluid, backless gowns, somehow never looking unduly exposed. Carole Lombard in shiny satin wide-legged lounging-pajamas and high heels furiously riding an exercise bicycle: there is the deco spirit in a nutshell. I sometimes wonder if it was the sheer delight of wearing such flattering clothes that gave women in thirties movies their unequaled zing.

Their sleek clothes don’t hide the female form the way dresses of the 1920’s did with their dropped waists and bosom-flattening bands. Neither do they exaggerate it with structured undergarments like those abandoned after the first world war and re-introduced after the second. It takes little insight to observe that the times when fashion has been most extreme in its devotion to the hourglass figure have been repressive eras for women, and periods when their clothes were more androgynous have been times when women made strides toward equality. In the early thirties, however, fashions were feminine without being cartoonishly so; they simply revealed the way women really look. The ideal of beauty was slender but not boyishly skinny, effortlessly athletic without gym-workout muscles.

Thirties dames look sexy on their own terms, not trussed up for male consumption like women of the fifties in their waist-cinching girdles, teetering stilettos and torpedo bras (often filled out with falsies on actresses of the fifties.) Many women in the early thirties wore very little under their clothes, as pre-Code movies prove with their obligatory lingerie shots. One almost feels sorry for pre-Code men faced with gals like Blondell, who in Blonde Crazy allows Cagney to inspect her flimsy underwear but repels his every advance with a slap that sends his head snapping back against his spine.

It is surely no coincidence that the interwar period was perhaps the only time when fashion was dominated, or at least heavily influenced, by women designers. Chanel borrowed from men’s tailoring to make women’s clothes simple, comfortable and sporty, without making them mannish. Madeleine Vionnet pioneered the bias cut, constructing garments so the grain of the fabric ran diagonally across the body, creating that smooth, clinging drape that defines feminine style of the thirties. Stanwyck’s lithe, bold stride wouldn’t be the same without the skirts that show off her beautiful hips and just enough of her killer gams. The jazzy, diagonally-striped ensemble that Claudette Colbert wears in It Happened One Night—something she has apparently purchased with the proceeds from pawning her wrist-watch—is the sartorial equivalent of her cocked eyebrow and throaty, sarcastic delivery.

These are Hollywood movies, of course, in which actresses often wore dresses so tight they couldn’t sit down between shots. But there’s plenty of documentary evidence that ordinary women, while they made have had less perfect figures, had just as much stylistic sass. Inept, small-time criminals Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow might never have become folk heroes if police hadn’t found a roll of undeveloped film in their hideout in Joplin, Missouri in 1932, and if the pictures hadn’t shown Bonnie wearing a snug beret, a skirt and sweater as jazzy as Colbert’s, and standing with her high-heeled foot hiked saucily on the bumper of a Ford V-8.

Or consider the stout matron in Walker Evans’s 1935 photograph of a New Orleans barbershop, sporting a blouse with sizzling concentric stripes, a jaunty black tie and a black hat with a rakish white feather. Men were no slouches either. Evans’s 1936 pictures of street scenes in the “negro quarter” of Vicksburg, Mississippi feature men lounging idly in shirtsleeves, unbuttoned vests and felt hats, each one a fashion plate. Lined up in a row in the wood-frame buildings behind them are hand-painted signs for the Savoy Barber Shop, the New Deal Barber Shop, and the Brother In Law Barber Shop. These men may not have jobs, but at least they have well-trimmed hair.

One can always ask, was there really such an epidemic of elegance in the thirties, or did photographers just seek out images of dignity? In the same way, one can look at the photographs of Robert Frank or the documentary footage of Los Angeles in The Savage Eye (1960) and wonder if there was really an epidemic of ugliness and vulgarity in the late fifties and early sixties, or whether artists just emphasized it. But the question is moot: either way, the images reveal how Americans—or at least their professional observers—saw themselves. Struggling against deprivation and anxiety, they were proud, stoic and stripped to their lean, essential spirit. Prosperous and secure, they were hapless victims of an aesthetic crash. A movie like Murder by Contract (1958), about a hit man killing time in L.A., staying in suffocatingly tacky motel rooms, seems to be the portrait of a man sleepwalking through a society where taste has flatlined.

Fifties style was artlessly boastful; its ideals were plastic mannequins of happiness, innocence and surfeit. This is why when it failed it failed so hideously: the old, the poor, the ugly, the lonely look caught in a pitiless glare, all their shortcomings exposed. The beehive hair, bouffant skirts, school-girl necklines and cat’s-eye glasses made young women look stodgy and matronly, and older women look grotesquely girlish.  In the thirties, haute couture expressed sublime hauteur, but it was based on aesthetic principles so sound that even when they trickled down to the cheapest knock-offs and most threadbare hand-me-downs, they still looked good. And so we come to the paradox of men in breadlines, women in migrant camps, whose je-ne-sais-quoi can inspire fashion spreads.

I am haunted by a bit of archival footage from the superb documentary Riding the Rails (1997), which shows a group of teenage hobos gathered on an open flat-car. Their elegance is unforgettable. It’s partly that their ragged clothes are so well-cut—in those days before baggy, one-size-fits-nobody garments—and partly that they’re worn with such an air. One boy wears an overcoat that’s too big for him and a handkerchief knotted on his head; he looks like a Napoleonic soldier retreating from Moscow. Men today who affect newsboy caps tend to wear them as though they were balancing a plate on their heads, but these boys wear their soft caps pulled down low over one eye, making them look at once tough and shy. They also seem, like everyone Dorothea Lange photographed, to stand and move with uncommon, easy grace: idle, but charged with contained energy. Their faces are wary, reticent and disillusioned. In another archival clip, boys sitting around a fire in a hobo jungle respond to a reporter who asks them why they are on the road. “Out here for my health,” one deadpans. “Just riding,” another tersely shrugs.

These are the real-life versions of the characters played by Frankie Darro and the Warners juveniles in Wild Boys of the Road (1933). Several things about that film are startling. One is how the kids dress and act like grown-ups (at a school dance, they wear evening clothes and circle the floor to “The Shadow Waltz”), as opposed to today, when grown-ups dress and act like kids. Another is how quickly and completely two middle-class boys turn into outcasts, panhandlers, embittered scavengers living in a garbage dump. But most startling of all is the way stoicism and dignity are taken for granted, the universal determination not be a burden or feel sorry for oneself. The elderly interviewees in Riding the Rails are candid, matter-of-fact, wry and compassionate. There is more to elegance than dressing well, than being tasteful or—that overused and inelegant word—“classy.” There is an intangible quality, a kind of mental and moral grace. Elegance has spine, but it’s not rigid; it bends but doesn’t break. It is understated; it is reserved. It knows the virtue of holding something back—some strength, some anger, some sense of irony—because there is more than one rainy day.

by Imogen Sara Smith

[ego-driven-one-wing-angel]

Send a number | Answers

Thanks again for 250 followers!!!

What’s one animal you wish you could have as a pet but can’t?

A penguin. I love them so much.

Favorite thing to wear to sleep?

Sometimes I wear one of those “drug rugs” or baja hoodies. With shorts. And sometimes knee high socks. I HATE pajama pants. So if I’m cold I find alternatives. 

What song really gets you going?

Right now, Drinking Alone by Carrie Underwood. But usually Tranz by Gorillaz.

Where do you usually eat your meals?

At my dining table or in the family/living room with my mom.

Favorite meal: breakfast, lunch, or dinner?

BRUNCH

Most embarrassing habit?

Sometimes I’ll pick my nose at the most inconvenient times like a child.

Chocolate or fruity candy?

Chocolate

Soft or hard tacos?

When I ate meat regularly, soft, with carne asada. 

Worst way to break up a fight?

Throwing a pan at them? Dude I don’t know. Wrestle them to the ground? I feel like either of those are terrible.

Best thing to say in an elevator of strangers?

“You’re all probably wondering why I gathered you all here today.”

What color/design are your bedsheets?

Teal. And my comforter is a black/white diamond pattern.

Any hidden talents?

I was a dancer for roughly nine years. So I’m pretty good at that.

Favorite thing to drink out of (mug, glass, etc.)?

My Star Wars Luke Skywalker lightsaber water bottle. 

Socks or bare feet around the house?

Bare feet man. Those who wear shoes in the house are weak and will not survive the winter.

 Favorite board game?

Clue!

Do you sleep with the fan on or off?

I don’t even own a fan.

Heat on or keep it cold with lots of layers?

Heat at 67.5 and a sweater. Perfection.

Do you sing in the shower?

Who doesn’t?

Favorite song to belt out at the top of your lungs when you’re alone?

Tranz by Gorillaz. All time favorite song EVER.

Last thing you cried about?

Watching Zack die YET AGAIN in Crisis Core. I don’t think I’ve ever watched that scene WITHOUT crying.

At what age did you first have alcohol?

15ish. Wine.

Relationship status?

Single

What’s the most amount of money you’ve spent on a single item of clothing?

249$ A Guess coat that I absolutely adore.

What do you typically wear to formal events?

A modest dress. Heels. And a Louis Vuitton bag to match.

Favorite memory?

Probably almost getting arrested with my friends back when I was 17. We were at a closed park, after hours, past curfew, and it was like 3 am. We bought 64 tacos from Jack in the Box and pigged out in the venue. Super rad.

Gum or breath mints?

Gum

Favorite shoes?

Probably my Guess sneakers. I don’t wear them often, but I love the design.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My chubbiness. I’m not fat per say. But I’m not skinny either, but I want to look more like a classic, 1950′s pinup model more than anything.

What is the natural state of your hair?

My hair has very soft curls. Naturally, there more like “beach waves”

Have you ever had braces?

YES. WORST YEARS OF MY LIFE

Most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?

Ghost hunting. I was illegally trespassing, and the building was real sketchy. 

Most embarrassing thing your parents have caught you doing?

I’m just an embarrassment through and through. What haven’t they caught me doing. But I guess writing porn is a close first.

Last time you had an orgasm?

I’m a virgin who has never experienced anything remotely sexual. 

Celebrity crush(es)?

Sebastian Stan, Bill Skarsgard, Sam Claflin, Karl Urban, Sebastian Stan

Windows or Mac?

I’ve never owned a Mac, so I’m biased when I say Windows.

How old were you when you learned to ride a bike?

Six, seven? I was still quite young.

Makeup or natural?

MAKEUP

What color do you wear the most?

I wear a lot of neutral colors like gray.

Favorite season?

Winter.

Umbrella or rain coat?

Umbrella.

Have you ever fallen out of a tree?

No

First car you ever owned?

A 2002 Toyota. Super old, and the chip was painting off. My trunk also broke. Oil leak. Y’know, a traditional first car.

What time do you usually go to bed?

Anytime between 11-1 am.

Are you a competitive person?

Yes.

Least favorite color?

Orange.

First pet you’ve ever owned?

A cat :)

Sweet or salty?

Sweet

Favorite pasta dish?

Ravioli 

Favorite kind of chips?

Cheetos

Talk about something you’re passionate about.

Writing. I love being able to put my ideas on paper, let my thoughts and emotions run free in a world where I have to act a certain way. I can be anyone while writing!

What are some of your hobbies?

Writing

Drawing

Watching too much television

puzzles

Caffeine? If so, what kind?

I’m a tea gal. But I LOVE coffee. Especially mochas and caramel. With extra pumps of espresso. Hell yeah.

Favorite kind of pizza?

Ranch and Chicken or just plain cheese.

Fast food or sit-down restaurant?

Sit-down

Lots of acquaintances or a handful of close friends?

I love having a large circle, but I choose my best friends wisely. I only have about two or three of those and they’re the one’s I keep close to my heart.

Something that ruins your appetite?

This is a bit more dark, but my dad and I don’t bond outside video games. And he’s the type that believes it’s his way or no way no matter what. So if you get him angry he acts like a two-year-old who just got a toy taken away, and will try to push your buttons until you’re the same way. I saw the signs years ago, but whenever his anger is targeted at me I just don’t want to eat. I write instead. 

Favorite labels about you?

As in names? It’s near 1 am while writing this so I might have just gone stupid. But I love it when my friends call me cutie. Or my good friend Charlie calls me Smarties. And he’ll pull out a smartie from his pocket when he does it. I also get called Reid, as in Spencer Reid, a lot.

Are you a religious person?

Yes. I try to be at least. I’m Christian.

Night out with a bunch of friends in public or night in with one friend having deep conversations?

Night out. I spend too much time indoors with one friend as is.

What size shoe do you wear?

9

Favorite thing about yourself?

My confidence, or my keen fashion sense. 

Have you ever told someone you loved them first?

No.

Have you ever had sex on the first date?

No.

Heroes or villains?

Villains. (Sephiroth, Bucky Barnes, Loki, etc.)

Favorite fruit?

Pomegranates. 

Least favorite fruit?

Bananas. I’ll eat them, but there are a lot better choices honestly. 

Favorite vegetable?

Broccoli

Least favorite vegetable?

Brussels sprouts

How many plates can you eat at a buffet?

About a good three. First is salad. Second is fruit. Third is desert. 

Favorite dessert?

Ice cream. Bubble gum flavor is my favorite!

Do you play any sports?

Nope.

Age you learned how to swim?

Seven or eight.

Tell a funny story.

Maybe this is just funny to me, but earlier today my cat was trying to lick her coat but she set her front paw on a piece of paper and anytime she bent over to lick herself she slid and she would have to readjust herself. She did this like four times before she decided to move.

What’s one interesting thing about your culture?

As someone who is a part of the Navajo tribe, something neat is the more fat you have on your bones the more people respect you because they believe you have money.

What’s one annoying thing about your culture?

We can’t touch cold-blooded animals. It’s said if you touch the scales of a snake, or even breath in the same air, you’ll get the same skin as them.

What job would you be terrible at?

Accounting. I can’t do math to save my freaking life.

Would you rather watch a TV show or a movie?

TV shows.

What’s your favorite compliment to give?

“Cute Outfit!” or “Love the Hair!” You have no idea how many people light up on either of these, male/female/nonbinary. Looking good is a happiness found across all the spectrums. 

What’s your favorite compliment to receive?

“Cute hair.” Or “Love your makeup/nails.” 

Has your opinion changed on something recently?

I can’t remember. Like I said, it’s close to bedtime where I’m at and boi, it’s hard to concentrate right now.

Do you always order the same thing at a restaurant or order something different each time?

I order the same. 

What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t yet?

This sounds awful, but I’ve always wanted to try ecstasy. I have buddies who’ve taken it and say, if you do it right, the first time is pretty bomb. 

If you could learn to do anything right now, what would it be?

Singing. I can’t carry a tune.

Favorite physical feature about yourself?

My eyes.

Least favorite physical feature about yourself?

My wide hip/waist ratio. If my waist was thinner I wouldn’t mind as much.

What’s one amazing thing you did that nobody was around to see?

OKAY. I scored a strike on Wii bowling while i was on the toilet one time. Two rooms away and not even looking at a screen. Just using my heart and determination and it was SUPER COOL AND I WISH PEOPLE COULD HAVE SEEN THOSE SKILLS.

If you could change your height, would you?

Yes. Everyone is a good foot taller than me. So I would most definitely want a few more inches.

What’s something you would rate 10/10?

Final Fantasy 7 Remake’s Character concept for Sephiroth. The eyes, the height, the hair. WOW. In love.

Heels or flats?

Heels

What’s something you wish you had more knowledge about?

Politics. I want to get more involved but every time I do I get so confused.

Would you want to be famous?

I wouldn’t mind. But I value my private life.

What’s something you would get arrested for?

Well I already almost got arrested for eating tacos in a closed park at 3 am. So maybe that.

What’s your spirit animal?

A cat. 

What’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to you?

The fact that I graduated high school. I was developing anxiety and literally had no idea what the frick was happening with me and no one told me what it was. So I ended up skipping loads of school for that reason. 

Are you the type to have an organized mess, or no mess at all?

Organized mess. Or just a mess. 

Do you tend to make decisions based on the past, present, or future?

The future.

Are you a planner or a more spontaneous person?

Planner. I hate when things are sprung on me last minute. I have to emotionally prep up before a social event so 5-10 business days are needed.

Thoughts on the oxford comma?

I was taught to use it, but it’s literally so useless? I found myself either not using it or just doing it on instinct. So in one story you could probably find multiple instances where I use it and where I don’t use it, maybe in the same paragraph. I just do whatever fits that moment I guess.

What do you hope never changes?

My squad. I love them to pieces and it would break my heart if at some point they’d want to split.

How would you celebrate your 100th birthday?

Something extremely dangerous like skydiving or zip lining across a canyon. 

[veridium]

that’s what you get

Oh boy. Oh dear. Well, we have made it to Part 14 of this wild ride, and I have realized that I am in deep, boys. I figure, what’s some more suffering to temper the sweetness with? So, here, a fresh serving of angst and emotions with a side of...sushi?

Thanks to @bitchesofostwick and her Ellinor for providing 99% of the fluff content in this episode because, poor Cass and Liv, it’s not in the cards this time...as you can tell by my selection of titles being a very particular Paramour song. 

Enjoy the somber pining, dears!

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9 // part 10 // part 11 // part 12 // part 13

-- -- -- -- -- 

Fridays are pains. Three classes, work, among other things -- they always feel like the final, difficult hurdle before the weekend rolls around. It helps to run into Ellinor in the dorm bathroom to brush teeth and dance around in pajamas until they feel some semblance of happiness. Alas, when Olivia stumbles in her black satin pajamas and finds no one there standing like George Michael from Arrested Development with a toothbrush in her mouth, it’s rather odd.

She looks at her phone. No messages -- no “got back safe” specifically. Oh no, is this when she has to turn into the woman from Kill Bill because someone snatched her best friend in the dark of the night?

-- Hey!! You make it back??? Why aren’t you up?

Ellinor: I’m good! Don’t go bananas.  

-- What?? What’s going on?

✓ Read 8:03am

She tosses the phone on the shelf below the row of mirrors and slips some Crest paste on her toothbrush. While she gets busy, Ellinor finally responds:

Ellinor: I got caught up at Cullen’s. Stayed the night instead of walked back. It was a long movie.

Bitch. Olivia nearly chokes on her spit and toothpaste build-up in her throat. No fucking way did she just get ‘caught up’ in a late movie. Ellinor was not a lingering sort of girl. She got in, got out, clean hands and all. Deliberate was her middle name.

-- OMG. YOU FOUND OUT HOW MANY LICKS IT TOOK TO GET TO THE CENTER OF HIS TOOTSIE POP DIDN’T YOU?!

Ellinor: I hate you

-- YOU DIIDDDDDD OH MY GOD

Ellinor: I DID NOT OKAY HE LET ME STAY OVER THAT IS ALL

Ellinor: goodbye, blocked

She does a little happy dance on her toes, her brush sticking out of her cheek. Finally! Now everything is getting good. Cullen will start coming around, and he won’t sulk so much. Ellinor will get some action -- some good, honest, emotionally fulfilled action -- and all will be well.

She finishes up with her preliminary morning hygiene and walks back into the hall. Her stomach tenses still as she remembers the flyer on her door, but to her pleasant surprise there’s nothing waiting for her – just her RA-crafted door decorations and a small collage of music lyrics made during a Hall social.

The day continues without a hitch, well, except for a rather hilarious texting conversation with the woman who said she would block her but hours earlier. Leaving class, she finds this hilarious string of texts for her to read:

Ellinor: omg he brought me coffee, but I already bought my own!! shit fuck what do I do

Ellinor: GOD IM SUCH A DUMBASS

Ellinor: it’s all good I did a lap around the first floor and chugged it. I’m good. This is fine.

Olivia smirks to herself walking down the stairs in her boot heels, and types back a kind response:

-- Man, you’re going to have a great time in the bathroom today aren’t you?

Ellinor: I plead the fifth.

She gets through all three classes and her work shift at the University Rec building teaching her midday barre classes. Amidst the many talents her parents groomed her for, dance was one of the very select few that stuck -- and fortunately for her, landed a good job once she got to college. The staff are all cool, with the exception of a few quirky, type A ballet divas.

A couple classes to teach, a shower in the locker rooms, and she’s out the door and back to her dorm. She doesn’t plan on seeing Ellinor when she stops in to get ready for her TA work session with Cassandra. She gets through flat ironing her hair to at least look semi-presentable, a fresh light face of makeup. For her outfit, she selects black yoga tights and a black bando with a see-through chiffon collared sleeveless shirt of the same color. No jewelry, no pomp. The last touch is slip-on sneakers.

By the time she’s putting her hair up in a ponytail, it’s 5:15pm. She’s been a bit eager to prepare for this. A thought occurs to her: it’s Friday evening. Dinner time. Why not do something kind of...nice? She jumps up and grabs her car keys, her backpack of work to do, phone, and wallet, throwing it all into her shoulder bag and heading out.

She drives to the nearest Safeway and picks up a couple plates of their pre-made deli sushi. When she’s at the checkout line she does that Mom thing and sets her bag on the counter to find her debit card. As she scrambles, though, she finds that there’s something missing from its contents that she had taken for granted was there. The flyer. No sign of it, as if it grew legs and escaped. Fuck.

The checkout staffer is looking at her like she’s gone rich girl bonkers, so she pulls out her plastic money and gets it over with. Where could it have gone? She gets in her car, and before she leaves the store parking lot, makes sure to cover her bases.

-- Hey, did you keep the flyer?

-- Ellinor: Nope. Gave it back.

She checks her time, and it’s 5:45. To her credit, Safeway is only a couple stoplights from campus. She might be a bit late, but not offensively so.

Henderson Hall is in fact to the left of quad. Trust issues blocked on that one. As she walks up the steps through the archway entrance, she can’t help but wonder if Cassandra is going to be there. She had not texted her all day, which, in their short time as friends was a custom. Cassandra was attentive to plans.

10E is on the ground floor, so it’s a matter of picking the right direction and following the wall signs down into a bundle of offices. Dimly lit in some spots (Friday night of course) but, one room bright as can be through the doorway facing her as she rounds the corner. She peaks in, leaning against the wall a bit where a sign says “TA Work Room.” It’s a somewhat large room, with two windows on the opposite wall and a small, brown love-seat down between them. On the right wall, shelves of books and small succulent plants.

Then, a desk with a desktop computer and a dark red vase on the corner full of...flowers? Cassandra, though. She’s there. And when it’s realized she is there, Olivia only has eyes for her.

“Hey…” she says, as if she has a secret to tell.

Cassandra looks up, having reclined back in her seat with her legs crossed, a paper in her lap that she had been reading. “Hey!” her eyes go bright and she straightens up. “I thought you got lost, or something. I was about to text you.”

“Nah,” Olivia giggles nervously. She steps into full view of the open doorway, bags in both hands. “I was just weighed down by precious cargo.”

Cassandra’s eyes bounce between both arms of stuff, but she lingers on the white Safeway bag. “Oh?”

“Yeah! I thought...well, I was just in town and I picked up some rations to sustain us as we survive the trenches.” She comes forward and sets her stuff down on a neighboring desk that is smaller and without a computer. She efficiently pulls out the four sushi plates and sets them in a line.

“I didn’t know if you liked sushi. If you don’t, I’ll happily eat it all.” She glances over at her with a cheerful smile, trying her best. But Cassandra looks uneasy for some reason. Going for broke on the charm, Olivia pivots on her dancer toes and tosses her some chopsticks -- another sudden throw that Cassandra catches successfully.

“So, take your pick. Spicy tuna, California roll, or Dragon roll…”

Cassandra grins politely, breaking the nervous facade. “Uh, Dragon, please.”

“Hm!” Olivia lifts a teasing brow, “Noted for future reference.” She grabs and hands her the plastic carton, the soy sauce bags sliding in the box as Cassandra takes it from her. Nothing. Just...manners.

“Thank you,” Cassandra says lastly, setting off the stack of midterms to the side. “You can use that desk, if you want. I can get you a chair from the lounge--”

“Oh, no, don’t worry, I got it,” Olivia shrugs. She’s busy arranging her stuff around, pulling out the folders of bibliographies she’ll have to sort through and pick apart like a demon. “You’re all settled in, anyways.”

“No, it’s fine, I insist.” Cassandra gets up, as if commanded like a SIMS character, and rushes out into the hall. Olivia freezes and watches her go, the light breeze she generates carrying through the fly-away strands of her hair. Geez, okay, fine. Revive chivalry single-handedly then. When she returns, it’s not with a folding chair or one of the generic sitting ones on campus, it’s a whole computer chair, complete with rolling wheels and comfortable arm rests. It looks almost better than the one she has, and as she sets it down without breaking a sweat, it makes Olivia’s temporary desk look puny almost.

“...Thanks,” Olivia mutters with a second smile. “I feel like I should have a seat belt come with it.”

Cassandra chuckles -- but it isn’t her chuckle. It’s an anxious one, the kind Olivia gives at everything. She can spot it in another person a mile away. But, as they both sit down, she doesn’t bother to ask why.

Eating the first bites of sushi, her eyes go from her paper stacks to Cassandra’s quiet eating face so much it almost makes her dizzy.  “You tired?” she broaches, ripping open another soy sauce packet for her California roll.

Cassandra shakes her shoulder as she’s mid-bite. “Yeah, a bit. I had class, and my volunteer hours at the YMCA. You?” Shit, that’s right. She volunteers teaching sports and tutoring. Stop being perfect.

“Yeah. I taught dance today...classes...nothing out of the ordinary, though.”

Cassandra looks up, and her response is immediate. “Nothing? You sure?”

Olivia almost flinches from the sudden shift in focus, and she sits up. “...Yeah…”

“You are absolutely certain?”

Olivia’s brow goes low, and she sets her chopstick hand down on the table. “Is this where you tell me I’m in that movie 50 First Dates and you’ve been having me bring you sushi every day for years?”

Cassandra purses her lips and looks down, a hint of blush in her cheeks. She then keeps eating, like the conversation suddenly doesn’t matter. Olivia wants to damn-near pick a fight, if it means getting responses and energy out of her. Exam grading or not, she’s acting funny. There’s no subtle confidence, no consideration and insightful look in her.

A couple hours pass, and the sushi has long-been eaten and tossed back in the bag it all came in. Olivia has gotten her elbows in deep with grading, about 1/2 of the way done with bibliographies. They are understandably messy and riddled with errors, of which she outlines every single one with blue pen -- a more relaxing color than the quintessential red. Cassandra is hard at work too, as is her style. She’s returned to sitting back in her chair with her legs crossed, paper in one hand and pen in the other, which she is clicking with her thumb every minute or two. At times, Olivia feels eyes on her, but she keeps focused. If Cassandra wants to say something, she says it.

At almost 8:30pm Olivia’s phone dings, and she glances over. She sees Ellinor’s name, but before she can read the message, Cassandra speaks.

“Olivia, I…”

She perks up. “Yeah?”

Cassandra is locked on her, end of her pen held close to her mouth. It almost takes what little breath she has away, the smartness of her. Her dark blue, long-sleeve sweater french-tucked into her black jeans with a slim belt on. Her somewhat narrow but toned shoulders hunched up a bit against the chair. Her tucked chin, emphasizing her keen but slightly-softened stare.

“...W-What’s up?” she looks from side-to-side, like a trap door is about to go off.

“I…” Cassandra pulls the staples pages back in order on the paper she’s on and tosses it onto the table. “I was wondering if...you were planning on telling me anything. Anything important.”

“Uh...no.”

“See…” Cassandra clicks her pen a couple times, her hands going to her lap, “I disagree.”

“You disagree?” Olivia sits back in her chair, elbows going to her armrests. “What does that mean?”

“It means I think you do have something to tell me. Or rather, should.”

“You’re right.”

Cassandra blinks, her face one of ‘oh, it was that easy?’ but things are never that easy with Olivia. She should know better than most anyone.

“Yeah. I lied when I said I preferred twizzlers. Red vines are better. I just didn’t want to partake in the discourse.”

Cassandra lays her head back, her eyes going up to the ceiling as she huffs out her nose. “Ugh, good God, I mean the flyer. The Church flyer with the writing on it!”

Olivia drops her pen and rolls back from the desk. Her vision blurs for a minute as she looks to the ground. It’s her worst nightmare realized: now it’s going to be a thing, a thing she can’t just control all by herself.

“Oh. That flyer,” she mutters, pulling her knees into her lap as she rolls her chair around to face her.  “H-how did you find out?”

Cassandra sighs, rubbing the side of her head. Giving into the talk, she sets her own pen down, and stands up to go to the door. She shuts it quietly, as if anyone would be lurking around the office at 8:30pm hoping to pick up on this sweet gossip. She comes back to her seat and leans forward onto her desk with her forearms.  

“Cullen. Apparently, you had dropped it in the library when you ran into him. He found it on the floor after you had left. He thought you’d be planning on saying something anyways.”

Cullen. That Golden Retriever-looking, best-intentions-having, Sulky-dude-bro-when-he’s-hammered, nice-guy-who-tries, shagging-her-best-friend son of a--

“Right.” She chews down on the inside of her cheek and rubs the rim of her mouth with her hands.

“I waited...for you to tell me on your own. I didn’t want it to be like this, but you seem to have had no plan to tell me even though it clearly has something to do wi--”

“With what, Cassandra?” she bites back, looking up and locking an acidic stare with her compassionate one. Silence. Awkward silence.

“...With me. I was going to say with me.” She goes sort of breathless at the end, but it’s too soft and fleeting for Olivia to care.

“That’s bold of you to assume. You clearly don’t know anything about what I’ve been through when it comes to bullying on account of my explicit behaviors.” She squirms a bit in her chair and holds her knees tighter against her chest.

“Whose fault is that? Agh,” Cassandra says bluntly while watching her, “you really should file a report. There are conduct rules for a reason, and this is at the very least sexual harassment. I looked it--”

“You looked it up?!” Olivia’s eyes go wide. “Jesus, why don’t you just file it for me then, since you seem to have it all figured out! Waiting for me to tell you, what the fuck, am I twelve or something?” She jumps up from her chair, no longer satisfied with being her equal. She goes for the couch, taking her phone with her as she lands on the corner cushion, tucking one leg under her.

“I was just--” Cassandra tries to respond before Olivia makes her move but is cut off. When Olivia sits, she resumes. “I was just trying to help. You shouldn’t have to fear going to your dorm at the end of the day or walking to classes.”

“Who says I fear any of those things?”

“So, you’re saying you are completely unmoved by this? That you see no problem with people calling you something so horrible?”

Olivia’s sharp mind goes into full debate mode. “There’s nothing wrong with being a slut, Cassandra, if it is someone’s choice to identify as such. The people who do shit like this prefer it to not be that way, so they can use it against people as an exertion of power.”

Cassandra’s eyes go a bit cold, but she remains partial to Olivia’s struggle. Clumsy, but partial. “Is...is that how you want to be treated, by a complete stranger just…invading your privacy? Olivia…” she then stands up and comes over to the couch, sitting a foot away from her. Her knees are parted broadly, but straight. Straight, straight, straight.

“What?” Olivia mumbles back, rubbing her face with her hands. “I’m not going to make this a big deal. Nothing’s happened since. It was probably just someone having a wild thought to do something horrible. That happens every day, right?”

Cassandra’s brows push together. “I’d really prefer if you told someone. For your safety.”

Olivia shakes her head. “My safety? You know what gets me about this? That you likely know who did this...or rub elbows with them. That you probably see them and talk to them in passing on Sunday and yet you think I should alert the authorities because I’m unsafe. What is that supposed to tell me of the company you keep?” She talks a big talk, but she doesn’t look at her. She keeps her gaze on her own lap, and lets the silence take hold. Then, out of nowhere, the confidence she is so tempted by returns in a cool, flat voice:

“Do you honestly think if I had any inkling as to who, I would just sit by and let you fend for yourself like I have no responsibility at all in this?” She’s outraged and foreboding in her temper. God only knows what she looked like when Cullen handed her the paper. Olivia only has the bravery to stare back at her and is humbled by the intensity. “I only hope that...that despite this...”

“What?” Olivia replies softly, but in vain. Cassandra merely sucks on her teeth. 

“Do you...” she says after a pause, “regret coming to the Church to see me?” It is a subtly heartbreaking question coming from her.

Olivia rolls around and sits with her knees bunched up again like they were in her chair, with her lower back against the side of the love seat arm rest. “I don’t. Do you regret inviting me?

Cassandra doesn’t waste a moment, before she peers at her, chin raised. “Absolutely not.”

“I do have a regret about how I acted there, though.” Up against a proverbial wall.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow a bit uneven, her head tilted. “What? How so?”

“I...” Suddenly, an impulse bares down on her, and she scoots up onto her folded knees. In a push of inertia she resolves distance between them but stops, sitting at her side, knees against the side of her thigh. 

Cassandra’s eyes go wide, but not too wide. Not surprised, but on notice. When Olivia gets that far with no objection she isn’t quite sure what to do. That’s the thing about impulses -- they didn’t come with a manual. But she wings it some more, and starts slowly leaning her face into hers. She reaches a hand and presses her palm gently against Cassandra’s cheek, guiding her to look at her head on as she closes in. She gets so close that when Cassandra’s lips part she can feel the edges of her warm breath. The brightness of the fluorescent office lighting goes dim and fades away, and Olivia’s heart is beating out of her chest. She wants that sign so bad, she wants something -- anything to give her vindication for wanting to hold onto her so closely despite all the writing on the wall telling her they’re mismatched. Cassandra’s lids flutter down, and she is frozen in place like a statue. 

Then, a hand. A hand on Olivia’s shoulder, stopping her advance with care. Olivia opens her eyes fully, and looks into hers. Seeing the shade of them, she falls back onto her folded legs.

“Olivia, I...”

“You...you don’t...”

Cassandra’s mouth opens, and she frowns, taking her hand away. “It’s not... It’s...complicated. I can ex--”

“Complicated.”

“...Yes. But...look, I’m not that good with words. But I can explain. I just...I want...”  She exhales with tension breaking her tone, her posture stiffening.

It’s no longer just Olivia’s worst nightmare realized. It’s her worst nightmare, having a worst nightmare. 

“I...I gotta go.” If she doesn’t get out of that room in a minute she’s going to crawl out of her skin. She slides herself off the couch and walks back to her work, getting to it fast with the clean-up. She tries her best not to care what Cassandra does in the meantime. If she can get out fast, it won’t sink in under her skin, like everything else Her looks, her grin, the smell of Old Spice Wolfthorn she swears is there but can’t ever bring herself to decide.

“Wait.” She glances, and sees that Cassandra stood up, but hasn’t moved from her spot otherwise.

“No. I said I couldn’t stay long. I really...I should have left a bit earlier. I have a thing…”

“You...are you--”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she shoves folders into her bag, zipping everything up with rigor. She slings the backpack on her shoulder and takes her other into her hand, grabbing for the Safeway plastic to dump out on the way. She turns around and stops, her mouth open, but no words. Cassandra has drawn closer, standing only a couple feet away now.

“Liv, I’m sorry.” Liv. She hardly ever uses her nickname. It’s always a polite, slightly formal ‘Olivia,’ even though she has made it clear time and time again ‘Liv’ is perfectly alright. Only now does she use it, and it hurts a bit. She really cares.

Olivia grins crookedly, and it pains her to do so. “No, it’s...it’s fine. I’m not mad.”

Cassandra’s expression says stop lying to me, please, but her mouth says the opposite. It gnaws at her heart. “Do...do you want me to walk you back?”

“I’ll be alright. It’s only a few minutes’ walk. Look, maybe we should, you know, take a breather. From hanging out, I mean. Just for a while. I feel like...like it’s just...” like I don’t know what you want from me.

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, in that sad kind of creasing way, and she frowns. That frown. “No, I understand. It is a busy time of the semester for me, anyway. I won’t be available much, and I don’t think you’ll be, either. Maybe, given what’s happened, it would be best for you.”

“...Yeah.” Olivia could have a whole ledger of things that people had said were ‘best for her’ over the course of her short life. But when Cassandra says it, all she can think is that being distanced from her felt like the antithesis of ‘best.’

There could be more words, but there aren’t. Cassandra nods, her hands together in front of her waist. She’s pressing on the skin above her thumb, on the side of her palm. She does that other times, and Olivia’s seen it. But only now does she see it’s a thing she does when things aren’t going well. She smiles and says thanks and heads out. The whole way her feet feel like bricks are tethered Even when she gets into her dorm, messes with keys and gets herself into her room. Turn back, go back, do it.

After dumping everything on the floor, she takes off her shirt and wipes off her makeup, before jumping on her bed to lay flat on her back. A few minutes of anxious staring up at the popcorn ceiling, and the demand to go back calms down.

Like an old, thoughtless habit already built in her psyche, she checks her phone for a ‘hope you got back safe, have a good night’ kind of message, but there’s nothing. Ironically, she wishes there is. The last messages on their thread are about the song recommendation. Fine, fuck, what could it hurt? What’s it gonna be, something about life lessons?

She pulls up her Spotify and finds her headphones -- a habit that’s foolish since she’s in her room all alone, but after the argument she instinctively clings to privacy. The song starts out with a slight upbeat rhythm, completely benign-sounding. But, then...she really listens, and the chorus hits --

If you're gonna let me down, let me down gently

Don't pretend that you don't want me

Our love ain't water under the bridge...

Nearing the end of the song she had preemptively mocked in her thoughts, her emotions she had done such a great job of suppressing are bursting at the seams. She goes from sprawled to curled in the fetal position in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t a clean escape.

But they are friends. It’s cut and dry. She should have seen this all coming. Girls like Cassandra and girls like her don’t do well together. Nothing about them says “promising,” just…just…

Knock, knock, knock.

“Olivia! You in? How was it?!”

It’s Ellinor. For some reason it only breaks Olivia’s heart more. She drags herself up off her blankets and to the door. Opening it and seeing her friend, in jeans and an old t-shirt, beautifully hardcore as ever, she sees that for all that Ellinor has to glow about, she, herself cannot relate.

“There you are! I want details, woman! And--”

Olivia can’t hold it back any longer. She bursts into tears, holding her phone to her mouth. Her headphones are still in, but the music has stopped playing.

“Shit, what happened?!” Ellinor’s face drops, and she holds her arms out. Olivia only shakes her head and steps into her embrace, pressing her head into her shoulder. Ellinor grabs her phone from her and checks the screen.

“I’m gonna kill her if she--Oh dear God, Adele?! Olivia, what have we discussed about listening to Adele so close to our cycles?!” she says as she holds her.

Olivia cries harder, her voice shrill but muffled into her shirt.”I-I fucked u-up...”

“Okay! Okay,” Ellinor responds quickly, “uh, okay, let’s...let’s finish that ice cream you have, alright?”

[mortior]

In which Dirk is a porn star and Jake is a broke college kid who needs the $$$ (Chapter 2)

@jaboody wanted “Dirk teaching Jake how to dom him” for her birthday, so I wrote a continuation of her previous gift! It was a fun challenge, and came out twice as long as the first part. Includes contrived plot devices and an experienced sub teaching a fledgling dom, which imo should be more of a thing because *justright.jpg* and also half of it is smut. [AO3 link]

Dirk’s business card sits on your nightstand for three days.

You forget about it most of the time, only remembering when it catches your eye while setting the alarm clock or retrieving your glasses in the morning. It’s not that you don’t want to contact him, but there’s a chance he might be upset that you dragged your feet about it, not to mention it would be awfully embarrassing if he’s forgotten about you entirely. Especially since you’ve been thinking about him so often. Sometimes you dream about that day at the studio, with all the irrational additions and embellishments of dreams. Even your waking fantasies are affected, where before you pictured nameless, faceless women who acted out whatever racy scenario your imagination conjured for those lonely moments in bed or in the shower, but now you’ve got a face and a name, and a pattern of freckles you can’t forget.

You can’t stop yourself from typing the name of the studio on his business card into your web browser’s search engine. The link appears at the top of the results, and you click past the welcome page and scroll down, then nearly slam your laptop shut at the first row of video thumbnails. A few hours later, after you’ve had something to eat and done a bit of cleaning around your dorm room to work the nervous jitter out of your hands, you sit down and open the laptop again, just long enough to close the web browser (and with it, the oversized video preview on the front page with you on your back, pants off, and Dirk’s head between your legs).

The money you got from that shady (though not entirely unpleasant) tryst is more than enough to pay the grocery bills, and you spend the rest of the week catching up on the movies and TV shows you missed during the semester, while paying half-attention to the homework for your online classes - mostly dry textbook readings and short quizzes, although your intro to physics course is a different beast, and you ultimately concede defeat and put it off until later. Now there’s a half-finished text idling in your phone under Dirk’s contact number. You’ve been picking at it like a scab, adding words here and deleting some there, never satisfied with it.

On Thursday, you revisit the website on Dirk’s business card. There’s a row of links at the top, allowing you to navigate the site without subjecting yourself to the “featured video” thumbnails on the home page. Most of the content seems to be video-based and restricted to paying customers, but there’s also a photo album with preview images and video stills, and you’re given the option to sort by tags. Some of these tags include names. The image thumbnails are small and confusingly obscene, but a familiar figure eventually catches your eye. Clicking on his tag brings up a new page, and a sudden twinge of guilt.

You’re not particularly well-versed in things like kinks and fetishes. It was hard enough making the transition from homeschooling to a new country and an overwhelming number of people, and it wasn’t long before you identified with the words “introvert” and “social anxiety.” You’ve adjusted over time, but sex and romantic relationships always felt like an unrealistic fantasy - something that happens to other people or characters in books and movies. There are a few things you’re...curious about, but only in theory, much like you’re curious about ancient Mayan ruins or the rings of Saturn.

Now, after clicking Dirk’s name, you’re presented with hundreds of pictures that seem to rouse that repressed interest. You’re not bold enough to click any of them, as you gradually scroll down in speechless fascination. Some of the set-ups look like borderline torture, or at least supremely uncomfortable. He seems to be the primary recipient of the studio’s BDSM subject matter, particularly regarding the first letter of the acronym. You’re especially drawn to the pictures that focus on Dirk’s face, along with various methods of restraint that you’d be fascinated to learn more about, if this didn’t already feel like a paradoxical invasion of privacy. You bookmark the webpage, then delete it, then bookmark it again, but name it something innocuous and school-related.

It’s Friday morning, and you’re lounging in bed with some daytime soap opera-turned-infomercial at low volume on the TV. You’ve worked the overdue text message into a casual but friendly greeting, a quick apology for waiting so long, and a tentative offer for Dirk to meet you at the cafe this afternoon if he’s free and still interested, but the send button proves to be a formidable foe. The phone rests by your pillow while you distract yourself, flipping through various channels until ultimately settling on a nature documentary. Finally, you bite the proverbial bullet and tap the send button, then focus with all your might on the natural beauty and grace of Asia’s carnivorous wildlife.

The reciprocal “ding” occurs about fifteen minutes later with a jolt to your gut, and your phone stays face-down for another minute or two, before you can’t stand it any longer. The TV is temporarily forgotten as you read Dirk’s reply. He’s accepted the offer for this afternoon, and you allow yourself a silent, victorious fist pump.

You send him the cafe’s address, then agonize for the next hour over what you’re going to wear. Everything in your dresser seems far too casual for a first date, but you keep telling yourself it’s only an outing to the local coffee shop. After a long shower and a quick shave, you finally settle on an outfit that would make a good second impression, but won’t sacrifice comfort in the process (namely, your other favorite T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts). For the first time ever, you linger in the bathroom and fuss with your hair in the mirror.

The remaining hours pass, and soon you’re walking down the street on a beautiful sunny afternoon with the occasional fellow student out for a stroll, though it’s still significantly less populated than it is during the school year. The cafe is on the southwest corner of campustown, no more than a quick taxi ride away from your dormitory, but you’re anxious and grateful for the excuse to walk off some energy before meeting your date (who happens to be an exceptionally attractive gent...and with whom you’ve already had a rather intimate encounter).

You arrive at the cafe with its little row of outdoor tables and flower boxes on the patio, and elect to wait inside where the lounging chairs are a measure more comfortable. Despite getting here on foot, you’re still ahead of the agreed-upon time, so you ask the barista for a cup of water and claim a spot that faces the glass door and windows of the shopfront. You twiddle your thumbs and check your phone, and try not to look as nervous as you feel.

Dirk arrives right on time. You catch sight of him before he enters the cafe, wearing a tasteful pair of black slacks and a white shirt that betrays his muscled physique, and...a rather unusual pair of sunglasses. He pushes them up onto his head, and when his eyes find yours, you momentarily forget how to breathe as memories of your previous encounter run through your mind like a tactile slideshow. At the last moment you remember to smile, and quickly stand to greet him. You trade hellos before leading him to the countertop to order your beverages, and it’s only a titch awkward (he hasn’t said much yet, and it’s hard to take your eyes off of him, even while he’s scanning the menu and talking to the barista).

When you’ve got your drink in hand (a pumpkin spice chai latte - they were nice enough to retrieve the flavor from the back room, even though it’s not technically in season yet), you return to your chair. Dirk takes the seat next to you and ventures a tentative sip of his chosen beverage (caramel mocha with an extra shot of espresso). The cafe is virtually empty, so you’ve got a nice spot to sit and chat.

“Sorry again, about waiting so long to get in touch,” you offer, hoping he doesn’t think ill of you for it, but he shrugs it off.

“Three days ain’t bad. I’m impressed you went through with it.” You’re relieved at the touch of humor in his voice, as he takes another sip of his coffee. His gentle demeanor is a balm on your frazzled nerves, and you’re momentarily distracted by his lips on the rim of his cup.

“Hah,” you let out an awkward laugh, “well, I meant what I said, and I am...glad to see you again.” You fumble for a moment. “How, uh...how’s your week been?”

During the following hour, you learn quite a lot about Dirk. It turns out he’s also a student at the university, though he’s dual majoring in computer science and mechanical engineering. He rents a house near the edge of campus with his younger brother, who just started as a freshman last year and is majoring in film studies. He asks about your major, and you confess an interest in anthropology, though at the moment you’re undeclared and just trying to get the core requirements out of the way.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and you sheepishly ask about work, hoping you didn’t create any undue problems from that rather odd misunderstanding, but he puts your fears at rest. In the process, you learn about Dirk’s history with Cal, the large, brutish fellow from the studio. He’s not too much older than you, but he was never a student at the university. He and Dirk first met and started dating when Dirk moved to the area for college, and that apparently didn’t last very long (and Dirk doesn’t go into detail), but they had a few similar interests, including adult entertainment and business entrepreneurship. Dirk runs the website in his spare time and participates in some of the videos and photoshoots, while Cal handles the miscellaneous duties and logistics that come with running a small business.

“He’s terrible at it,” Dirk explains, “but he made the initial investment, so we’re all kinda stuck with him.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you muse, taking another sip from your beverage, now lukewarm and nearly empty. You’re keenly aware of the fact that Dirk already finished his drink. “Does he make a habit of, ah...misleading you? In regards to certain things?”

Dirk lets out a frustrated breath, and you detect a touch of embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry about that. He doesn’t do it much anymore, but like I said, he’s an asshole.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but...” You fiddle with the lid on your cup, trying to sound concerned and inquisitive rather than judgemental. “That doesn’t sound like a very good work environment.”

Dirk shrugs. “Cal’s bark is worse than his bite. He throws his weight around and micromanages to a stupid degree, but everyone just ignores him and does their job. You get used to it.”

You hum at his explanation, marginally convinced, but willing to take his word for it. You’re both nursing empty cups at this point, and the conversation inevitably peters out when you can’t think of anything more to say that isn’t school or work-related. It’s been a pleasure talking to him, but you’re not sure how to tell him that without making it sound like you’re trying to excuse yourself, even as he stands and offers to take your cups to the garbage.

Outside on the sidewalk, you pause to lean on the ornate faux-iron rail in front of the cafe, reluctant to bid him farewell so soon. You weren’t necessarily expecting more, or maybe you hadn’t allowed yourself to hope for intimacies beyond a pleasant conversation over coffee, but the thought of parting ways with him now leaves you feeling disappointed, and guilty for it.

“I had fun,” he says, soft and genuine. He’s already put his sunglasses back on, and it’s quite possible he’s the only person in the world who could pull off that unusual ensemble. His face is naturally (and achingly) handsome, and he somehow still manages to look fetching with his eyes covered by sharp glass. “I don’t get out much, so this was cool.”

“You certainly are a busy fellow,” you smile, trying your hardest not to sound anxious at the coming farewell. “Thank you again for meeting me on such short notice. I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.”

“Nah, I’ve got weekends off.” He shrugs. “Bet those online classes are keeping you busy, though. Isn’t it almost summer midterms?”

You exhale an awkward laugh. “Yes, indeed. I don’t mind the electives, but these core science classes are really putting me through the wringer.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” He asks with sudden interest.

“Uhm...just physics, actually. The introductory course. It’s so much math, and I understood it better when it was just gravity and friction, but now we’re doing circuits and resistors, and all manner of confusing little diagrams with wires, and I swear it’s all a bunch of blasted logic puzzles,” you trail off with a huff.

“Do you need help? I don’t have any plans tonight,” he offers, then quickly backpedals. “I mean, if you want. It’s cool if you’d rather call it a day, or text me some other time, or whatever.”

“Oh! Well, yes, of course, I-I’d be grateful for the help,” you stumble, grasping at the chance to spend more time with him, and caring little for the homework you’ll presumably get done in the process.

The walk back to your dormitory is pleasant, compared to the awkward trek you were expecting. Dirk seems to know his way around campus, and you don’t need to direct him beyond the name of your dormitory building. He opts for the stairs instead of the elevator, and it occurs to you halfway up that you haven’t been very mindful about keeping the place clean since your roommate left for the summer, so you mutter apologies while pushing past Dirk once your door is open, grabbing an armful of dirty clothes after making a frantic detour to toss last night’s frozen dinner into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company,” you apologize, while throwing your clothes into the hamper. Dirk says nothing at first, but when you turn around, he’s got a small, amused smile.

“No worries, man. You should see my place.” He clips his sunglasses to his shirt and wanders around a bit as you finish racing to tidy up, as much as one can wander about within fifteen square feet of space. He lingers in thoughtful consideration of the posters that adorn every square inch of the wall over your desk, then seems to notice the far less decorated living space on the opposite side of the room. “You got a roommate?”

“I do, but he’s staying with family for summer break.” You straighten out the covers on your bed, then offer Dirk a soda from the mini fridge, which he politely declines. Your tiny dormitory-furnished desk isn’t really big enough for two, especially with only one chair in the room (those tuition dollars at work), so you apologise again and ask Dirk if he’s alright with sitting on the floor, and he’s already making himself comfortable before you can finish the question, so you fetch your laptop and join him.

Dirk, it turns out, is a natural at explaining difficult concepts. He borrows a notebook from your desk and writes out a series of basic formulas, along with a small flowchart showing you where to replace certain variables depending on the situation. You go over the practice questions together as he explains how to translate each question into mathematical equations and plug the numbers in, and it’s the first time this stuff has made any sense. Next, you tackle the online quiz that had given you such a headache earlier. He lets you complete each question on your own, and once you have an answer, tells you if it’s correct or points out the step at which you made a mistake and has you redo it more carefully. It’s a relief to finally understand the material and not spend several hours ripping your hair out only to get a marginally passing score. It's a strange end to your date, but you're not complaining in the slightest.

“I used to be a TA before I got busy with the studio,” he explains when you compliment him on his teaching skills. “Can’t say it was my favorite gig, but it gave me something to do.”

“Well, you are very good at it.” You submit the quiz and open the next homework assignment, although it’s not due for a few more days. “I bet it didn’t pay too well, though.”

Dirk snorts, and it’s somehow the most charming thing you’ve ever seen. “Peanuts. But I wasn’t in it to pay the bills.”

“Well, I think you might have just saved my behind...again,” you give a small, nervous laugh. “I really can’t thank you enough. For this, and for…earlier this week, too.”

He shrugs a little, and his pale complexion betrays the pinkish tint to his face, as he focuses with sudden intensity on the laptop’s screen. “You started this one yet?”

“Ah, yes-” you stumble out of the awkward pause, “or tried, rather. It’s actually from the next chapter.”

“Do you have the textbook? It’ll make way more sense with the diagrams.”

You nod and direct him to a small closet packed with winter clothing and a few boxes that belong to you and your absent roommate, telling him to check the one on top. Later, you’ll blame what happened on how distracted you’ve been lately, and berate yourself for refusing to label things properly, although you’ll come to be grateful for it. Dirk gets up and makes his way to the closet to follow your instructions, and you’re busy focusing on the first homework question when the sound of ripping tape and cardboard triggers the horror of a forgotten memory.

Last year during the winter semester, your roommate was enrolled in a history class that assigned homework and essays and required them to be submitted online. Your roommate John is a nice enough fellow, though he’s far more outgoing than you and comes from a well-off family, so he spends most of his time hanging out with friends and whatnot. One weekend at the end of November, there was an assignment due in his class. He complained about going to the campus library’s computer lab, and for reasons unbeknownst to you, he never bothered to purchase his own laptop, so he asked to borrow yours. You consented, and he sat at your desk while you watched a televised marathon, paying little attention to any impending shenanigans such as him taking the underhanded opportunity to browse your internet history. You’ve explored all manner of websites at one time or another, and one of those websites happened to sell things related to those kinks and fetishes that you’re only curious about in theory. You had “bookmarked” a laundry list of fascinating but confusing implements by adding them to the site’s online shopping cart for the purpose of later research, but had forgotten about it since then. It was on that fateful day your roommate got it into his daft head to snoop around in your browser history and, with your birthday coming up, decided to order every item on that list, pay for it himself, and have it shipped to the dormitory. He even wrapped it for you, and laughed hysterically at the expression on your face when you opened the box before shoving it into your closet, where it would stay hidden in exile. Needless you say, you’d forgotten it was sitting on top of your box of textbooks, and now your date, who is an absolute gent of a fellow you’ve only met twice, is staring down at its contents with a blank expression.

“Ah! Not that one, that’s-...” you trail off, biting your knuckle as he lifts a tangled mess of black leather and metal. You place your laptop on the floor and stand up, practically wringing your hands together. “It’s not….well okay, maybe it is mine, but-”

Dirk finally seems to notice the state you’re in, and quickly drops the obscene items back in the box. “Hey, woah, it’s okay dude. I’m the last person who’s gonna judge you for this stuff.”

You laugh weakly, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your voice. “A-hah...well, my roommate actually purchased all that, you see. For my birthday, as a sort of...joke, I think.”

He frowns at that, turning back to the box and rummaging around inside. “Seriously? This is like...several hundred dollars worth of gear.”

“It is?” You pale a bit, then wonder vaguely why you didn’t try to sell it sooner, before the thought of selling such objects to complete strangers quickly puts that idea out of your head. “Well, it’s just a mess of things I don’t know what to do with. I haven't a clue how any of it works.”

“Really? ‘Cause I could, uh…” Dirk trails off suddenly, then seems to regain his train of thought. “I mean, we’re kinda doing a lesson already, and if you want to learn about this too, I can at least show you how the gear works.”

You don’t really know what to say to that. Dirk shrugs at your wide-eyed expression like he’s suggesting a casual review of some academic subject.

“Uhm...sure, ok.” You surprise yourself with the answer. He picks up the cardboard box and carries it to the foot of your bed, while you sit down on the edge of the mattress and try very hard to relax.

“Alright...we’ll start with…” he rummages around in the box and produces some manner of sinister leather collar from its depths. “This. It’s called a spider gag.”

“A what?” You make a face at the device, as he unbuckles the strap and sits next to you. “You're saying that contraption is supposed to go in your mouth? It looks...terribly uncomfortable.”

Dirk seems amused at that, as he holds it out for you to observe. “Yeah, well, that’s kinda the point. Depends on what you’re into. This is actually one of the nicer ones I've seen.” He taps his finger against the metal ring in the center. “Gotta be careful not to chip a tooth, but it’s better than a ring gag. The hooks keep it from flipping over. Want a demonstration?” he asks while already unbuckling the leather straps, and you nod vacantly as he starts fitting the thing into his mouth like he’s done this a hundred times.

You watch in quiet fascination as he adjusts the straps and pulls it tight, and you're left at a loss for words when he’s finished. Whoever invented this bizarre contraption was a genius of the highest caliber. The ring does a marvelous job of parting his lips and holding his mouth open, and all while leaving enough room between his teeth that you can already imagine the raunchy sequiturs to such a situation. There’s no denying the sudden heat on your face, as he pauses so you can take it all in.

“That is…” you struggle to find words, “...really...something. I-I think...I might have seen it before? But didn’t quite know what it was. I mean, from what little searching around I’ve done on your website- that is-” Dirk blinks, as you stammer in panic at the slip-up. “I saw the website on your card, and I...I swear didn’t watch the videos, but the photographs...and they were free, and you had a tag, so I...I should have asked permission first, I’m so sorry-” Dirk makes an incoherent noise in his throat, the gag preventing him from responding to your shameful confessions as he quickly starts fumbling with the buckle behind his head. “It was wrong of me to invade your privacy like that. I knew it was wrong, but I went and snooped around like a thoughtless cad when you trusted me with that card, and-”

“Jake, it’s okay,” he interrupts, after finally freeing himself. “If I didn’t want people to see that stuff, it wouldn’t be on the website. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you sure? I feel so awful,” you confide, hoping the sting in your eyes isn’t noticeable.

“I’m sure, don’t worry about it.” He drops the gag back into the box and focuses those stunning eyes on yours, his expression sincere. “I’m just…happy you still wanted to do this.”

“Really?” you ask, allowing yourself a deep breath of relief when he nods. “Thank goodness. I thought I’d really gone and mucked this all up.”

“You didn’t muck up anything. This is the best date I’ve been on in years.” He smiles, and it somehow reaches your face too. “I’m into this stuff because I like it, and I’m...glad you like it too.”

You laugh at that, though it’s more out of embarrassment. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’d ever wear those things myself, but on you, it’s...I-I mean, you’ve clearly had lots of experience.” You bite your lip at the almost-admission of how obscenely good he looked in that gag, and then, after a moment to think it over, you admit it in a small, quiet voice. “It looked...very fetching on you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles, matching your soft tone. The air feels heavier, and the tone of his voice stirs a familiar flock of butterflies in your gut. “We can keep going, if you want. Here, pick whatever looks interesting.” He slides the box closer to you across the floor.

You take a moment to bend down and rummage through the box’s unfamiliar contents, trying to hide the betraying flush to your cheeks. The only item that doesn’t appear partway tangled up in everything else is a metal bar with a suspicious leather cuff on either end.

“This looks a bit like handcuffs,” you venture, hoping you’ve picked something fairly innocuous. Dirk accepts it when you hold it out to him.

“Close,” he smiles. “It’s called a spreader bar.”

“Huh,” you murmur, watching him fiddle with it. He loosens something, and slides the bar away from itself in the middle.

“Collapsable, nice,” he says. “The cuffs go around your legs to hold them apart. Sometimes they attach to handcuffs or collars, depending on how much restraint you want. They can get pretty extreme when you mix and match.”

“Oh. But this is...one of the simpler ones?” you wonder aloud, and Dirk nods.

“Yep. This one comes with thigh cuffs, but ankles are more typical.” He unbuckles the cuffs and scoots back on the bed to give himself room, before placing the bar halfway up his thighs and securing the cuffs around his pants. He leans back when he’s done, and you consider the result thoughtfully.

“So it keeps your legs apart,” you conclude, and he nods, “and it can pull you all sorts of ways too, if you’ve got handcuffs and collars and all that?”

“Pretty much. It’s easy to get creative.” He grins, and you don’t bother trying to hide the flush on your face this time. “Pick something else.”

“Oh, ok,” you fumble, keenly aware that he’s making no effort to remove the spreader bar. You return to the box at your feet, searching for something you can identify this time. “I assume these are the handcuffs?” You lift the pair of leather cuffs connected by a short, sturdy metal chain.

“Nope. Ankle cuffs.”

“Dagnabbit,” you mutter, and Dirk practically chokes on his laughter.

“It was a good guess.” He takes them from you and undoes the buckle on each cuff. “They can be identical to handcuffs, but these are bigger and don’t have any padding.” He bends down with some difficulty and has to cross his feet to make them fit, but manages to buckle the cuffs just above each ankle. When he’s finished, the combination of the cuffs with the spreader bar keeps his legs bent apart at the knees.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” you ask, concerned for his posture.

“Not really. These are kinda loose. You can shorten the chain if you want to. See the clip?” He leans over and taps one of the ankle cuffs where the chain connects to it, and you notice that one of the links is actually a sort of metal clip.

“That’s nifty,” you remark, pleased by the discovery. When you look up, he’s already watching you with a fond smile, and you return it bashfully.

“Got anything else for me?” He tilts his head at the box. You return to the trove of unfamiliar objects only a little flustered, as he waits patiently for your next selection. You eventually settle on a relatively large implement that appears to be some sort of leather corset, if you had to guess.

“I don’t suppose this is meant to go over your clothes…” you venture, hopefully getting the implication across that you’re not asking him to undress (although you won’t protest if he suggests it himself). He takes the item from you with a lopsided grin.

“It’s an armbinder. Way more effective than handcuffs if you want to restrain someone.”

“Ah, that’s...helpful, I suppose,” you add, unsure of what to say to that. Dirk spends a moment tugging at the laces, before handing it back to you.

“I’ll need your help with this one,” he says, turning his back to you and holding his arms out behind him. You stutter briefly, then wrestle with your embarrassment and figure to hell with it, before guiding his arms into the thing and adjusting it into what seems like the most natural position. There doesn’t appear to be an opening at the bottom for his hands.

“Now tighten the laces, then the straps go over my shoulders,” he instructs casually. You do as he says, hoping you aren’t pulling them too tight, but it’s not entirely unfamiliar - a bit like lacing a shoe. When you’re finished, he turns back around so you can fasten the large straps at the top. They remind you of suspenders from the chest up.

“Nice,” he says, testing his range of motion when you’re done, and managing only to shift his arms a little. “You’re a natural.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, feeling giddy at the compliment. “You’re just a very good teacher.”

He gives you a wink, before wiggling a bit and shifting even further back on the bed. “Now I’ll show you the best part about combining multiple pieces of gear.” He manages to turn himself towards you, before leaning backwards and falling down on his back with his arms trapped beneath him. You stand to give him more room, and he looks up at you with an air of mischief. “I’m pretty much stuck like this now, although I could roll off the bed if I really wanted to. Won’t do me much good, though.”

You nod slowly, distracted by the sight of him as that pesky swarm of butterflies migrates lower, until you’re grateful for the baggy cargo shorts. Something about the sight of his legs held apart, and the way his arms keep his shoulders back, accentuating the rise and fall of his chest…the moment comes to a grinding halt, as he watches you and the silence stretches on, conspicuous and heavy.

“Like it?” he asks quietly, his smile turned soft and almost shy. You nod, and your face feels hot.

“You are...just...absolutely beautiful,” you whisper, forgetting to filter your thoughts before speaking. Dirk seems caught off-guard by the compliment.

“Thanks,” he eventually murmurs, as your traitorous eyes move to the strip of exposed skin where his shirt is riding up. “You know you can touch, if you want to.”

Your eyes dart up like you’ve been caught stealing cookies from the jar. “Oh! Ah...w-well, I, uh…” you stammer at his gentle amusement. A polite refusal would be the proper thing to do, but you’re suddenly distracted by his hair, remembering how soft and delicate it felt between your fingers, and how last time you didn’t really get a chance to touch him otherwise. He seems to be inviting you now, in no uncertain terms. You wet your lips nervously. “Are you sure?”

His smile widens. “Yeah. You don’t have to, but...it kinda looks like you want to.”

You don’t have a good response to that, so you nod at the astute observation, not trusting your voice at the moment.

“Go ahead,” he offers, and you decide in a moment of philosophical clarity not to overthink it. Your hand lifts, then hesitates, not sure where to start. Eventually, your fingers are drawn to the delicate strands of hair framing his brow, and Dirk seems oddly surprised by your choice.

You gently trace across his forehead, careful and unsure at first, then sit down next to him on the bed and run your fingers through his hair in earnest. He’s watching you too, as you admire that spattering of freckles across his nose and take note of a faint scar on his upper lip. Your heart is working its way up to a flutter, as you gather enough courage to smooth your thumb across his cheek and down the handsome curve of his chin, then your fingers drift to his neck, feeling the faint pulse under his jaw. Your eyes are drawn to his throat when he swallows, and you’re struck by a sudden knowledge of what you want.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dirk nods at your whispered question, his half-lidded eyes never leaving yours. You lean down, aware again of his immobility, and something about that fact makes you slide your fingers into his hair and grip two handfuls of it as your lips meet. You press harder than you’d intended, and he responds by sliding his mouth against yours and scraping his teeth against your lower lip in approval, and it stokes an undeniable heat below your waist.

You pull back, keeping a centimeter of distance between your lips, just enough to meet his bottle-brown eyes and echo his heavy breathing.

“Damn,” he whispers, his mouth quirking up on one side.

“Was that...good?” you ask. “Did I do it right?”

“I ain’t complainin’,” he says, sounding almost tipsy. There’s a hint of an accent under his voice that you’ve been subconsciously trying to place since you met him, and it’s definitely got a southern lilt to it now that he’s unguarded. You lean in again, this time rubbing circles where you’d pulled his hair before, apologetic, but still addicted to the feeling. He chuckles into the kiss and does that thing with his teeth again, but this time his tongue gets involved, and your head almost spins at the feeling.

“God,” you breathe, pulling away for a moment to catch your breath. There’s a heated look in his eyes, and you can’t stop running your fingers through his hair.

“Too much?” he whispers, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s...I’ve never...well, besides earlier, I’ve never done this before. You were my first kiss, you know.”

“I wish I’d known,” he mutters. “Wish I’d made it better. Gotten you started off right, not...coerced into it for money.”

“But you did make it right, and I am so, so very glad I met you,” you reassure him, kissing the bridge of his nose, then along the freckles beneath his eyes, before leaning back to look at him, “And I did need the money. But I’ve learned my lesson, and will be keeping a tight budget this year, you mark my words.”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling handsomely. “Shoulda majored in accounting.”

“Nonsense. You know better than anyone by now that I’m rubbish at math.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“I doubt that very much.” You can’t help leaning in to kiss him again, and he hums into it, before sucking gently on your lower lip, and you almost gasp at the feeling - hot and wet, with just a teasing hint of tongue.

“Just takes practice,” he mutters against your lips. “Everything does.”

“Are we still talking about math?” you mumble back, smiling at the thought.

“Anything you want,” he whispers, taking in a quick breath through his teeth when you experimentally tighten your grip in his hair, and you decide it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. There’s a definite tent to the front of his pants now, all the more obvious with his legs held apart and the fabric pulled tight. “Do whatever you want. Or nothing. We can stop, but...I’m down with whatever, if you wanna keep going.” He swallows and licks his lips, his voice rough and maybe a bit nervous, and if you hadn’t fallen for him already, you certainly would have now.

“Anything I want?” you hum mischievously, amazed at your own confidence. It helps that he’s bound and trussed up like a Christmas goose.

“Yeah,” he breathes as you kiss him again, this time taking the lead with your newfound confidence and moving to kneel over him on the bed. There’s just enough room to plant your knees on either side of his waist, and you wind up tucking your calves beneath his knees, since he can’t quite lay them flat with the ankle cuffs keeping his feet together, and the result is surprisingly comfortable.

“What, um...what do you want me to do?” you ask, briefly second-guessing yourself now that you’re on top of him.

“The surprise is the best part,” he drawls softly. “Anything else in the box you wanna try?”

You think it over, then lean down to make a quick final pass through the box’s contents, and finally manage to find something you can positively identify. Dirk grins at the blindfold, looking very pleased with your selection.

“A classic.”

It’s the sort that could double as a sleep mask, you think, and fortunately there’s nothing to fasten or tie in the back. You carefully lift Dirk’s head and slip the blindfold over his face, then take a moment to remove the sunglasses still clipped to his shirt and relocate them to the bedside table. When you lean back to take it in, you spend an extra moment just admiring the sight before you. Dirk’s lips are parted slightly as he takes slow, deep breaths, aware of your attention. You reach out and run your fingertips down the enticing curve of his neck, tracing a path from beneath his ear to the center of his clavicle, then along one collarbone until you’re pushing the neck of his shirt aside to reach his chest and shoulders. Your hand slips under the fabric, and you marvel again at how impressively fit he is.

“You’re the most handsome bloke I’ve ever seen,” you tell him, meaning every word of it and feeling relaxed now that his eyes are covered, like it’s taken the pressure off. “I bet you get plenty of exercise.”

“I work out when I can,” Dirk’s voice is soft and amused as you push up his shirt from the bottom, wanting to see more of him and unsatisfied with the little taste you’ve had so far. You sit back on his lap to give yourself more room, and lose your train of thought for a moment at the feeling of something firm beneath you. Dirk is breathing faster now, and he holds his breath when you lean forward, shifting your weight. His muscles tense under your fingers, now exploring the smooth skin of his stomach and the sparse curls of hair below his navel. You push his shirt up as far as it will go, then run your greedy hands over his pectorals and down his sides. He shifts beneath you with his limited range of motion, making you aware of the reciprocal tent in your own pants. If you just moved down a bit more...

But you’re not quite ready for that yet, you think, even if...rubbing against him like that is the stuff of private nighttime fantasies. Instead, you decide to satisfy your curiosity, and reposition yourself to sit between his knees just below the spreader bar, with your feet resting on either side of his chest. It’s a bit awkward, but you’re able to lean forward and undo the button on his pants. He makes an odd sound in his throat.

“Jake…” he murmurs like he’s out of breath, “you don’t have to-”

“I know,” you reassure him, pleased that your fingers are only shaking a little as you pull his zipper down, “but I do remember you saying I could do whatever I wanted.”

He gives a breathy laugh at that. You’re limited in how far you can pull his pants down with the cuffs around his thighs, but not so much that you can’t expose the most important part. He’s wearing a pair of briefs with an elastic band at the top. You leave those in place for now, reaching out and pressing your hand against the conspicuous bulge in the center, and feeling it twitch under your palm as Dirk lets out a stuttered breath.

You’re grateful for the blindfold, as you’re still trying to decide how to feel about touching an erection that isn’t your own. Come to think of it, it’s...actually for you. He got like this because you kissed him. You can even feel it getting bigger, just because you’re touching him through his underwear. If you had any doubt that he was genuinely into you, there’s no question of it now. Flattered isn’t the word for it - you’re flustered and excited. Using both hands, you pull down his briefs and expose the blunt head of his dick.

After taking a moment to fold his briefs down as far as they’ll go, you manage to expose him all the way to the crinkled blond hair around the base of his shaft. He’s a bit smaller than you, surprisingly, but not by much, and his skin down here is strikingly pale. You rub his hips with both hands, remembering how good it felt when he did something similar for you. Once you’ve gathered enough courage and reminded yourself that he can’t see what you’re doing, you press your thumb against his shaft and begin rubbing up and down, just getting a feel for it, and when you finally wrap your hand around it, he pushes up into your grip with a breathy gasp.

“Oh wow,” you murmur, realizing how far along he is already.

“Hhah…” he sighs, gritting his teeth. “Sorry. Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, smoothing your other hand over his stomach and admiring the sight of his chest heaving. The thought briefly crosses your mind that he might be hamming it up, but that hardly seems like something he’d do. “You’re...really into this.”

He hums wordlessly, then grits his teeth and curses when you push both thumbs against the spot just beneath his glans, rubbing in firm little circles. His legs shift restlessly against the bindings.

“Jake, uh...I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that,” he breathes out in a rush.

“That so?” you wonder aloud, feeling giddy and mischievous. Watching him and listening to him is giving you a light feeling in your head, almost like a pleasant buzz. You’re breathing faster, too. That might be it. You can feel him twitching in your hands, and when you push one thumb up to smear the little bit of precum at the tip, he sounds like he’s running a marathon.

“Is that a good spot?” you ask, knowing he can probably hear your cheeky grin. He answers you with a string of quick curses when you decide to keep rolling your thumb over and around the blunt head of his glans, using the other hand to squeeze his shaft and hold it still. An idea occurs to you, and you stop for a moment to wet your thumb in your mouth, figuring it’ll feel better that way, but he misunderstands the interruption.

“Please,” he whispers, and the shaken tone of his voice sends a flood of heat through your body. “Please, fuck...Jake…” he chokes on your name, his legs starting to shake when your grip returns to his dick, now remarkably flushed. You press your thumb against the tip where it was before, now wet with your own spit. This time you keep it light, rubbing in circles and falling absolutely in love with the sounds he’s making - high-pitched and honest, like he’s trying to keep quiet, but can’t help himself. He’s arching up into your hand a moment later, twitching and spilling onto his stomach before you can react, and it makes a truly stunning picture with him all trussed up and straining like he can’t control himself. His head falls back against the bed as he catches his breath.

“Fuck it’s so much better when it’s real,” he exhales under his breath.

“What’s that?” you ask, but he shakes his head blindly from side to side.

“Nothin’.” He lets out a quiet, exhausted laugh, and you quickly decide to get up and find a tissue, wanting to do for him what he did for you when the roles were reversed. The tent in your own pants is an afterthought at this point. You clean him up, but not before running a finger through the mess, just for the scandalous novelty of touching another man’s spunk, and when you’re finished, you toss the tissue and sit next to him on the bed, taking a moment to pet his sweat-dampened hair before pushing the blindfold up. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hello there,” you smile, surprised at the sudden return of your own bashfulness. He’s still catching his breath, and it’s hard to meet his eyes with the look he’s giving you, because that smouldering fire in your gut hasn’t exactly gone out yet. His gaze flicks down and up while you’re distracted, then something in his expression changes, and he twists away from you onto his shoulder.

“Help me out?” he asks, with a hint of strain. You catch on quickly, and he holds that position while you undo the armbinder’s laces, then remove the implement and drop it back into the box. The moment his hands are free, Dirk sits up and pulls you into a kiss. It starts out with a simple caress of lips, and progresses into his tongue slowly pressing and rolling against yours after coaxing your lips apart. He’s not all worked up like before, but you find yourself making a few small, embarrassing sounds in your throat. Your own breathing has gone ragged by the time he pulls back enough to speak, and his soft words light your face on fire. “Can I get you off?”

You stammer at the question, and he gives you more time to think about it by leaning in and sliding his lips across yours a few more times, which isn’t entirely fair. You’re unsure of yourself again, now that he isn’t all trussed up and blindfolded, but then his mouth is at the side of your neck, leaving a slow trail of warm, gentle kisses. He has always been so very careful with you.

“Alright,” you whisper, not sure what he’s got in mind, but willing to take the leap. He doesn’t move right away, and when he does, it’s only to lie down on the bed like before. He retrieves your pillow and uses it to prop his head up, then reaches out to tug at your waist by the belt loops on your shorts.

“C’mere,” he drawls with a suspicious smile. He coaxes you onto the bed, then directs you to place your knees on either side of the pillow, until you’re practically sitting on his chest. He pulls your zipper down, and you bite your lip as he frees you from the confines of your undergarments, but instead of touching you outright the way you’d expected, he hooks his arms beneath your legs and pulls you closer. You obligingly scoot a few inches forward, but he isn’t satisfied with that and keeps on pulling, until you’ve got both hands on the headboard of your bed and can’t see much else besides the top of his head between your legs. Then something warm and wet - his mouth, that obscenely talented mouth of his - finds the tip of your cock, which has been sorely neglected up until now.

You immediately stuff a knuckle between your teeth, gripping the headboard with your other hand and trying your damndest not to thrust into his mouth like a feral animal. You’re gloriously, breathtakingly sensitive after ignoring your own needs for so long, and his tongue and lips pay special attention to that spot at the tip, like he knows it’ll drive you mad right out of the gate, and you are infinitely glad that you’re the only student currently residing on this floor. You’re close to drawing your own blood before you give up on keeping quiet, and instead grip the headboard with both hands like your life depends on it.

When your self-control slips, which doesn’t take long, he encourages your jerking half-thrusts by pulling at you with his arms around your legs, the message clear. The depth doesn’t bother him, and you know that, but it’s the principal of the thing. You try to pull out enough so that you’re at least not bumping the back of his throat, but that only gives his wicked tongue more room to work, and your eyes roll back at the feeling. It’s extremely unfair how good he is at this. You’re not even sure what he’s doing anymore, the sensations all coming together in a dizzying, heavenly combination of heat and tight, wet friction.

You’re fighting an unnecessary (and losing) battle, trying to keep your hips still and making shallow thrusts into his greedy, welcoming mouth when you can’t. You abandon the headboard to bury your fingers in his hair again, finally giving in to the coaxing pull of his arms and letting out a relieved moan when you push in deep. You were a downright fool to resist this. It feels even more incredible when you start to thrust in and out, giving in to that instinctual urge. He clearly wanted you to fuck his mouth, so you oblige him and do it.

Compared to last time at the studio, this position makes a lot more sense, given what you’ve learned about him. He’s beneath you with his legs still bound, and you’ve got his head trapped between your legs and your hands buried in his hair, giving you the lion’s share of control and making him, temporarily, into something for you to get off on. You’re not cruel, and you’ve never thought of other people as possessions or objects, but the moment your mind touches on that concept, it goes straight to the fire under your skin like kindling.

For the first time, you’re not shy about gripping his hair and pulling his head against you, holding him while you thrust into that irresistible vice. You lean forward and change the angle, pushing his head into the pillow and practically riding his face for a few glorious moments, before throwing your head back with a startled gasp as your orgasm blindsides you, shaking and spilling into his mouth as he eagerly swallows. You try to rise up on your knees so he doesn’t choke, but his head follows, keeping you trapped in the constricting heat of his throat as you moan and pant while he drains you with long, slow sucks, not letting go until you’ve ridden out every last little wave of your orgasm. You’re a complete mess by the time he’s finished.

After you’ve caught your breath and made doubly sure you didn’t choke him, you free Dirk from the remainder of his bindings and return the box of unconventional implements to the closet. He sits with his back against the headboard, and you wind up sideways with your legs over his lap because there isn’t quite enough room to fit next to him comfortably on the bed.

“I swear, on my grandfather’s grave, god rest his soul, that I had no ulterior motives when I asked for help with my homework,” you tell him, sharing your amusement at the cliche implications. He’s taking small sips of the soda he passed up earlier, his shirt wrinkled on one side and his hair still mussed on top. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot for some racy, sex-charged advertisement, and you think he’d probably have a lucrative career as a professional model, if he ever cared to. He gives you that charming, lopsided smile.

“Technically speaking, I’m the one who offered.”

“I hope…” you start after a long pause, “I hope I didn’t...get too carried away, or hurt you, or anything like that.”

“Nah, you’re good. I mean...it was really good,” he says, making you blush at the honest affection in his verdict. Then he leans his head back and gives you a long, searching look. “This is gonna sound shitty, but I’m so fuckin’ glad you went broke.”

You give an indignant laugh, then smack him playfully across the leg. “Cheeky!”

“I’m serious. It sucks that you ran outta dough, but I don’t think we would’ve met if you hadn’t.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose it was an outright godsend,” you tell him, meaning every word of it. He grins at you over the rim of his soda, and you distract yourself by searching for the TV remote in your disheveled bed. “I think there’s a science fiction marathon tonight, if you’ve got an extra hour or two.”

“I’ve got all the time you want,” he says. It won’t strike you as an odd thing to say until later, but by then you’ll have wedged yourself next to him and dozed off halfway through the third movie with your head on his chest. Later, you’ll wake up to find that he stole your glasses and placed them next to his on the bedside table, before switching the TV off and falling asleep himself. He’ll accept your offer of an early breakfast at the cafeteria, though you’ll suspect he’s not a morning person judging from his bleary eyes and reluctance to leave your bed despite the sunlight creeping through your window, but you’ll have breakfast with him and make plans for next weekend, and even though it started out as one of the worst experiences of your life, in your new boyfriend’s own aptly put words, you really are glad you went broke.

[carewyncromwell]

Welcome to the next part of the POTC AU, and with it the start of a new Act!

If Act One was largely based on The Curse of the Black Pearl, Act Two starting now is largely based around Dead Man’s Chest and At World’s End, perhaps with a smattering of other things from the other films too like I did in the first half. Now that our chess pieces have nearly all been placed on the board in their proper places, it’s time for things to get serious. Will Carewyn and Orion ever be able to be together? Will Bill, Jules @cursebreakerfarrier, and Charlie be considered criminals and thus separated from Carewyn and Percy forever? Will Jacob find a way to protect Carewyn from Davy Jones/Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws? And what role will our newest arrival -- Cutler Beckett -- and his business associate, privateer-turned-pirate-turned-pirate-hunter Patricia Rakepick (pictured above) play in this unfolding drama?

A few notes about Rakepick’s design super quick before we start -- her outfit is largely based on an 18th century woman’s riding habit, which was a kind of uniform exclusively used when women went horseback riding, one of the very few “physical” activities European ladies were allowed to participate in back then. Considering that breeches were banned in lot of Europe during that period, this is the closest thing most upper-class women got to wearing something comfortable in public. The pendant on Rakepick’s collar is an Eye of Horus, like the pin she wears on her cloak in the game. As for the thing in her left hand at her side...I’m sure a lot of you fans of the original Pirates films can guess what it is, but one fun aspect is that the design is not entirely like the one from the movies. Instead there are some salutes to Finn’s character in there, including the moon’s phases around the heart-shaped keyhole and stylized flames on the sides. (There are even two “Pisces” signs etched into two of the tentacles on top.)

Previous part of the AU is here -- whole tag is here -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

While Carewyn was getting settled back into life on Port Royal, at the same time, very far away, the Tower Raven came up on a deserted island that likely hadn’t seen a man in years.

According to the calculations Jacob had done based on the intelligence he’d gleaned from old court records from Ireland and a witch from Tortuga, this was the spot that Finn McGarry -- now known as Davy Jones -- said goodbye to the goddess Calypso so many years ago. And if the legends were to be believed, this location therefore was where the infamous Dead Man’s Chest -- the chest containing Jones’s still beating heart -- was hidden.

Jacob truthfully wasn’t thrilled about this plan. He’d done plenty of research on Jones so as to make sure he knew as much as he could before trying to double-cross him, but blackmailing someone like Davy Jones was something no one should want to do for very long. As Ashe had pointed out, the second Jones had the upper hand over Jacob, he would likely retaliate ten-fold.

But now...now Jacob had no choice. He had to have and keep the upper-hand with Jones, if he had any chance of keeping Carewyn off the Flying Dutchman. It was his fault that she was now in this position, and he couldn’t live with himself if he lost her again due to his own foolishness.

As they approached the island, Ashe abruptly seized Jacob’s arm.

“Jack -- look.”

There was a large dark shape positioned in the water on the far side of the beach. Jacob immediately brought up his telescope to get a closer look -- when he did, his jaw clenched.

“Looks like we got ourselves a Naval Man o’ War,” he snarled. “The HMS Lion.”

The rest of the crew exchanged nervous looks. The Navy hadn’t sent out Man o’ Wars since the war against the Spanish -- they were the powerhouse of the British crown, capable of sinking even the best-armed galleons.

“How many guns?” Ashe asked under his breath, as he rested his chin on Jacob’s shoulder and looked out at the horizon himself.

“...Looks to be 60 altogether.”

There was muttering among the crew now.

“What should we do, Captain?” one of the pirates couldn’t help but ask anxiously.

“Not get blown up, to start with,” said Jacob rather bluntly.

He lowered his telescope. His eyes drifted away, off toward the sky as he considered the matter.

“The Navy must have figured out this place’s significance,” he murmured. “I don’t know how, but no matter how they found out, I have no intention of letting them get to the Chest first.”

“Stealth might be our best option,” said Ashe lowly.

Jacob nodded. “I agree.”

He turned to the rest of the crew with a fierce expression.

“I need three volunteers to go ashore with me to fetch the Chest. The rest of you will remain here with Ashe, to prepare for a quick escape. Ashe,” he said, looking at his First Mate seriously, “best to be keeping out of sight on the Northern tip of the island, facing due west. The current is stronger there, which could give you a head’s start, should you need to retreat -- ”

“I won’t be retreating without you, Jack,” Ashe cut him off harshly. “don’t be thinking I will.”

“You will if you’re ordered to do so,” Jacob said sharply.

“Like Hell.”

“Ashe, I need my First Mate to look after the ship and the crew.”

“And I’ll do so, but I am not going to have you die a martyr, Jack.”

Ashe moved in a bit, taking hold of Jacob’s collar and pulling his face up closer to his so that their lips were mere inches apart.

“Don’t forget that it’s not just me you’d be hurting, if you didn’t return,” he said softly. “You promised your sister that you would see her again, when this thing was through. If you don’t keep your promise to her, after how long I had to listen to you go on all these years about how much you love and miss her, I will never forgive you.”

Something pained flickered in the back of Jacob’s skull-like blue eyes. He considered Ashe for a moment, his expression faintly wounded despite the grimness of his face -- then he pulled Ashe in for a short, rough kiss before releasing him.

“I will return,” he said very quietly. “I promise.”

Jacob and his three crew members stowed onto the island in a jollyboat a good mile or so away from where the Man o’ War was positioned, so as to stay out of sight. When they approached the beach, they found an entire battalion of Naval soldiers digging. Clearly they’d been told to search the entire island for the Chest, but were starting with the area closest to the water, since Jones was not much one to walk on dry land. It was a logical choice, thought Jacob -- and once he’d visually combed the island’s surroundings, it didn’t take long for him to come up with a plan.

Given how outnumbered they were, Jacob knew the best way to handle the situation was to wait for one of the Navy recruits to find the Chest first. Sure enough, within a half-hour, someone started shouting for their superior officers to come quick.

The rest of the battalion swarmed around like interested seagulls around the Dead Man’s Chest as the soldier pulled it up and out of the sand. They were so focused on trying to get a peek that none of them saw the detached watermill wheel coming toward them until it was almost on top of them. With help from his crewmates, Jacob had dislodged the wheel from an abandoned mill just up the hill and rolled it right down the beach into the horde of soldiers. In the melee, Jacob was then able to dispatch the soldier who’d found the Chest and snatch it away from him, before he and the rest of his crew members abandoned the wheel and hightailed it back into the brush. The soldiers all fired indiscriminately as the wheel hightailed away, but somehow miraculously the pirates just barely avoided any fatal wounds -- Jacob guessed that a lot of those soldiers were new recruits, and so likely had had their eyes shut while firing.

Trying to get back to the Tower Raven was much harder. Their only hope to get there was the jollyboat -- and, of course, that they could get back fast enough that the Raven could set sail before the HMS Lion came around. Unfortunately whatever luck had been on Jacob’s side up until that point seemed to be drying up. The pirates had a bit more cover in the trees than they’d had on the beach, but not much, and although a lot of the soldiers were clearly inexperienced, there were still a lot of them -- far more than even Jacob had predicted. Soon there were a good hundred soldiers surrounding the four pirates, trying to cut them off from the shoreline. Jacob lost his first crewmate in the first five minutes -- then his second, not long after. Jacob and the last pirate just barely managed to get back to the jollyboat and cast off, but within moments, the HMS Lion had come around the edge of the island, heading straight for the jollyboat.

Thinking quickly, Jacob pushed the jollyboat as far out into the open water as he could. The Navy wanted the Chest too, so the deeper the water they were in, the less likely they’d fire their cannons at them, for fear they’d lose the Chest in the process. He then set about pulling off the mad-genius maneuver of making himself look incompetent.

After securing the Chest securely to the bottom of the boat, he then instigated a fight with his crew member. The two rocked the jollyboat so badly that within minutes, the entire boat had flipped over. Jacob then used the opportunity to -- with his crewmate’s help -- swim with the boat into the strongest North-leaning current and let it coast them closer to the Tower Raven. The Navy ship did, in fact, hesitate just long enough out of confusion that it lost some of its closeness to the jollyboat before catching sight of the Tower Raven in the distance and putting together that it had been a trick.

Jacob peeked out from under the jollyboat briefly, delighted at the sight of his ship and of Ashe standing at the railing. He was already fetching a rope ladder for them to climb up when all of a sudden --

BAM.

Out of nowhere, another ship -- a much smaller sloop called the Sickle -- had started attacking the Tower Raven. The Raven’s crew all immediately tried to bring the ship about to counterattack, but the distraction had completely thrown the Raven off their guard and given the Lion the time necessary to come within firing distance. Within moments, Jacob was forced to dive under the water as his beloved ship -- the Tower Raven -- was blasted apart from both sides.

When he and his fellow pirate reemerged from the water, Jacob’s face was as white as a sheet as he stared at the flaming wreckage.

“ASHE!” Jacob bellowed. “ASHE!”

He cast his eyes around frantically. Where was he?! He had to be there -- he --

“ASHE!” he screamed louder, but once again, there was no answer.

His entire body was shaking. The light had left his eyes as he paddled through the water, ignoring the anxious cries from his crewmate as he shoved fragments of wood and sail aside.

“AAAAASHE!”

Within moments, the sloop called the Sickle had descended upon the overturned jollyboat. The jollyboat was quickly seized and yanked up onto the deck with grappling hooks, even as Jacob and the other pirate did their best to fight them off. Unfortunately flintlock pistols like the ones they carried were not conducive to fighting in the water -- they needed a proper spark in order to fire properly, and the gunpowder was just too wet to ignite. And so Jacob and his crewmate were stuck crawling over and balancing on top of the overturned jollyboat as it was hoisted up onto the deck, fighting a losing battle against the large number of soldiers with their cutlasses.

When the jollyboat finally was pulled up onto the deck, Jacob and his last crewmate were completely surrounded in seconds. But Jacob had long since stopped fighting to win -- his eyes were so hollow and mad with pain and rage they were more like a raging animal than a man’s, and so even as his crewmate fearfully started to slow as he realized all hope was lost, Jacob never stopped hacking away at every soldier that approached him. He only stopped when a gunshot whizzed right past his ear, swiping through his curly hair before lodging into the head of his crewmate, who immediately collapsed in a heap on the deck.

Out of the fold came a red-haired woman dressed in a black tricorn hat, a black jacket over a high-necked white shirt and a long red skirt, and a pair of black boots. Her collar was fastened with a pin shaped like the eye of Horus, and the pistol in her hand was still smoking as she smirked at Jacob.

“Well, well,” she said coolly, “if it isn’t ‘Black Jack Roberts.’”

Jacob’s teeth bared in a snarl. “Rakepick.”

“I’m surprised you managed to survive this long,” said Patricia Rakepick idly. “Then again, you did somehow survive being shot and thrown overboard -- I guess I shouldn’t be surprised a sea rat like you was able to claw your way up on deck somehow...”

With a furious roar, Jacob charged at Rakepick. She fired again with her pistol, but Jacob somehow managed to deflect the shot with the broad side of his cutlass and lashed out at her with ferocity, forcing her to dodge and retreat somewhat.

“Seize him,” she said sharply.

In an instant, the soldiers all rushed at Jacob. He managed to cut down a good five of them before their comrades were able to surround and contain him. It took a good ten men, but they managed to pin him down to the deck and disarm him.

Rakepick watched Jacob rage like a mad animal against her soldiers’ hold for a moment, her gaze oddly grim.

“You know...I wondered a few times if I should’ve been more lenient on you, back then,” she said. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t have stolen my ship, and I wouldn’t have had to blow it up, just to keep you from escaping. But it seems you truly are too dangerous to be left alive. Cutler Beckett knows it just as well as I.”

The pupils in Jacob’s skull-like eyes were insane blue slits as Rakepick kicked the jollyboat over, to reveal the Dead Man’s Chest still securely tied to the bottom. In a moment, she’d cut it loose with a knife and picked it up by one of the handles on its side.

“You -- !”

Jacob pushed and shoved against the sailors holding him with all of his might, but he couldn’t break free. Rakepick pointed her pistol right at him as she carried the Chest at her side.

“I must thank you for busting into that court of records, though,” she said with a small smirk. “I wouldn’t have even thought to try to look up Finn McGarry’s old shipping routes if you hadn’t made the connection between him and Jones...”

She handed the Chest off to another officer, who carted it away below deck and out of sight. Jacob angrily tried to get up again, only for one of the soldiers to roughly push his head into the deck with his foot.

“Shame you won’t be able to use the Chest as a bargaining chip for whatever deal you had with Jones,” said Rakepick. “I wonder -- is that how you survived, last time? You made a deal that brought you back from the grave? I must wonder what on Earth you must have promised him, to make you seek out his heart now rather than give it up...”

Her taunting only served to make Jacob lash out more violently. Eventually it got to the point where Rakepick rolled her eyes impatiently.

“Like talking to a mangy street dog,” she muttered to herself. “To think this is the boy who became Captain of my ship...”

Her dark blue eyes hardening, she clicked her pistol and aimed it right at Jacob’s head. Just as she was about to fire, however, out of nowhere, a voice echoed on the wind up onto the deck.

“Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay

Conversing with a young lass, who seemed to be in pain,

Saying, ‘William, when you go, I fear you will ne’er return again.’”

The resonant bass tone was hypnotizing and eerie, making all of the soldiers freeze up. They all looked at each other, clearly moved by how hauntingly beautiful it was, but also confused -- was it a mermaid? It sounded like a man...and yet, it was just as enticing and wonderful. Even Jacob had frozen up from his spot on the deck, though not for the same reason.

Some light returned to his eyes. He knew that voice...

“My heart is pierced by Cupid -- I disdain all glittering gold --

There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold...”

Rakepick was likewise taken aback, but she kept her head more than her compatriots. In a moment, she’d peered over the side with her pistol at the ready, looking for the source of the voice.

She saw nothing but bubbles at first -- then, all of a sudden, something launched itself out of the water at her with an inhuman screech, its sharp fangs bared.

“AUGH!”

Rakepick was thrown backwards onto the deck. The thing in question sort of resembled a man at first glance, but due to the ocean water still clinging to his body, his skin was rippled with shimmering scales, his eyes were completely brown with no trace of white, his fingers were long, narrow, clawed, and webbed, and everything from the waist down resembled a large, slender fish tail.

Jacob’s blue eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

“...Ashe?” he whispered.

Rakepick recovered rather quickly -- she fired at Ashe, forcing the merman to lunge out of the way. Knowing he didn’t have much time before the other soldiers recovered too, Ashe threw himself across the deck toward Jacob. Quite a few of the soldiers withdrew subconsciously seeing the bizarre, hissing, fish-tailed and fanged man coming at them and it was just enough for Jacob to, in one more inhuman show of strength, throw the rest of the soldiers off of him.

Ashe quickly seized onto Jacob’s coat in his clawed, webbed hands, hoisting himself up into a quasi-kneeling position on the deck.

“Jump into the water with me,” Ashe said quickly.

“No -- ” said Jacob frantically, “not without the Chest -- !”

“Open fire!” bellowed Rakepick.

The soldiers, still stunned by the monster that had flopped up on deck, all hurried to try to load their weapons.

“We can’t get the Chest back if we’re dead!” Ashe reminded Jacob harshly, his sclera-less brown eyes narrowing.

He could feel his legs slowly returning as his scales dried out. Hoisting himself to his returning feet as best as he was able, he pulled Jacob along behind him back toward the ship’s railing, and -- just as the firing squad set loose a hail of bullets -- yanked Jacob overboard after him. As they fell, Ashe covered Jacob’s mouth fully with his own, before they landed in the water below with a loud SPLASH.

Black Jack Roberts and his First Mate Duncan Ashe just barely managed to escape Patricia Rakepick and the British Navy that day -- but that was a small victory, in the face of what their enemies had won.

[uhhhemilyrose]

A Dangerous Game

So this is my first real time writing a fan fic so I want honest feedback. The story was not requested by anyone and if this happens to resemble another writer’s story, that was not my intention as I’ve not read a story about Reggie Kray similar to this. This Reggie Kray is based off of the 2015 movie ‘Legend’ with Tom Hardy. So if his character in this seems a little bit ooc, again, please give me honest feedback. Thank you so much! Please, enjoy!

Chapter 1

This night was her night.

She was indeed tired of being cooped up in her shared apartment with her grandmother and was ready to just let loose with her girl friends at Esmeralda’s Barn, a club owned by the notorious Kray twins. Kathleen Smith hadn’t been to many parties or clubs within the past few years because she was taking care of her sick grandmother full time. She hardly had the chance to spend time with her two close friends. Her grandmother had suffered a stroke years ago that left her right side paralyzed, which, unfortunately, was her dominant side. Kathleen had just graduated university when this tragedy happened so she spent most of her time with her grandmother and working part time as a bartender at nights to make extra money, initially. As time went by, she could see her grandmother looking sad every time she went to work and seemingly became more dependant. Kathleen wanted nothing more than to become a full time caretaker and spend as much time as she could with her grandmother, in fear of coming home one night and finding her… Kathleen couldn’t finish that thought before quitting right away.

Tonight was different, however. Her grandmother wanted Kathleen to go out to a pub or somewhere; somewhere away from this little apartment. She could feel Kathleen becoming too lonesome and possibly depressed from being at home all day, rarely getting the chance to even see daylight, unless she was out paying grandmother’s bills or buying groceries. Kathleen couldn’t stop asking her grandmother if she was sure, but her grandmother was plenty sure she should not be home that night. Her grandmother wanted her to live a little bit before she became too old to party. She felt bad for somewhat holding her granddaughter back, preventing her from spending her youth carelessly as some women had. Kathleen wore a red dress with white polka dots accompanied with black heels. She also wore a thin shiny black belt around her waist, fitting her just perfectly. She wasn’t the skinniest girl of her group, nor was she large by any means. She had just the right amount of curves of which she wasn’t too fond. Any boy she had dated in the past in some way inherently commented on her thickness which made her a bit self conscious about her weight. She usually quickly got over those bad thoughts and began loving her curves again. She, like many other English people, had pale skin, rarely ever seeing sunlight in the constant cloudy weather. Her hair was dark brown and her eyes were blue-green, both of which complimented her complexion very well. She had her hair in big curls, flowing down past her feminine shoulders. For her makeup, she had worn a seductive cat-eye eyeliner with a short wing at the ends. She filled in her brows, just covering any naturally sparse spots. In addition to some natural rosy blush, Kathleen finished her stunning look for the night with a bright red lipstick on her full lips.

She felt almost sick to her stomach thinking of leaving her grandmother at home while she’s out partying. She felt selfish even though this wasn’t her idea in the first place, although she did enjoy the thought of going to the club with her friends. A honk sounded through her open window, letting her know her night was about to begin. She stood up from her vanity, grabbed her purse and coat, kissed her grandmother a goodnight kiss and was out the door.

Kathleen hugged her friends Mary and Christine before entering Christine’s husband’s vehicle. Off they went for a much needed night at the club. Christine’s husband dropped them off at the front door. He warned them all to behave and to not start any fights. They all knew he was being playful. Kathleen and Christine had been friends the longest out of their little group. They had been friends since they both entered in secondary school. She was there when Christine met John at a social gathering back in school. She was secretly there for their first date at a nice restaurant, making sure the date went fine and smooth. She was there for the engagement, the marriage and their first child. They knew everything about each other. They would talk daily through the telephone, not minding the extra charge. If they had gone a week without talking, the minute they met again, it was as if no time had passed. Though the two partners in crime hadn’t had a full conversation within a month, they still appeared to be closer than anyone could be.

Mary, on the other hand, seemed like the polar opposite of Kathleen. She was quite introverted, thanks to her sheltered life growing up Kathleen later found. Mary and Kathleen became close friends while working as bartenders. While working during slow nights, Mary and Kathleen often talked of their lives as children. Kathleen gave her stories of being abandoned a lot with her mother picking her often changing boyfriends over taking care of her very young child. Kathleen had to often make her own food, find money on the streets to pay for school supplies and clothes, and find her own way to and from places. She had to make many friends to avoid staying at her poor and sad home with her abusive mother and her also abusive boyfriends. Kathleen could easily make a friend. She was never shy around anyone and was quite outgoing. Mary couldn’t have had a more contradicting childhood. Mary’s parents loved her a lot and protected her at all costs, and just a bit too much for her liking. They would frequently buy her a brand new set of clothes in fear of other kids making fun of her for wearing the same outfits for more than a month. They would quickly pick her up off of the ground if she fell and worried too much if she had a small scratch with little to no blood. They hardly would let her go outside unattended out of fear she would be kidnapped even though she claimed they lived in the most peaceful and secure part of town in the safest neighborhood. She could only imagine how they would act if she broke a bone, God forbid. She wasn’t able to have many friends since the kids at her school often thought she was weird anyway and it didn’t help when they had glimpses of how protective her parents were with her at the parks and in other public places. With their differences, Kathleen and Mary grew a quite quick, strong and trustful bond.

Finishing the last kiss goodbye to her husband, Christine, Mary and Kathleen made their way into the club. As they entered, jazz music was blaring with a nicely dressed man singing the usual love lyrics standing at center stage. The stage itself seemed quite large but the amount of jazz musicians and singers seemed to swallow the stage whole. The dance floor was full of swinging dancers, all happy, with looks on their faces like there were no problems at all in their worlds. No thoughts of paying those dreadful bills, no weight of the current war in Vietnam, no thoughts of how their children were behaving with the babysitters. Nothing but happiness and desire to have a good time.

The girls found their way to an abandoned table. A waiter shortly stopped by and got their orders for alcoholic drinks. They got comfortable and began talking and catching up. Kathleen talked about her grandmother and how much she’s improving post-stroke. Christine talked about her husband, his job, her stay-at-home life, their boy, and the primary school he’ll be attending soon. Mary talked about all the shopping she’d done for clothes, jewelry and all the gossip she had heard at her hair appointments, but never participated in. Their fun conversation was soon interrupted by none other than Reginald Kray himself.

“Good evening, ladies. Are you enjoying your night tonight? How’s the entertainment?” inquired Reggie. He stood near Mary but his body was facing Kathleen’s. The girls assumed since he was the owner, he did his rounds at the tables, gathering the people’s opinions of their experiences at the club.

“It’s great, Mr. Kray!” exclaimed Kathleen. Even she was surprised how excited she sounded. I really need to go out more, she thought.

Reggie waved his hand, dismissing the title she had given him. “No, its Reggie to you, miss..” He stopped, ushering to Kathleen’s direction.

She responded, “Kathleen. Uhm, my name’s Kathleen.”

Reggie wanted to remember that name so he repeated it a couple times to himself. “Right, love, no need to call me Mr. Kray. You may use Reggie, alright, Kathleen?” He reached out his hand towards her.

She shook his hand gently. “Okay, Reggie,” she smiled. “These are my friends Christine and Mary,” steering her hand towards each woman.

He shook each of their hands and quickly put his attention back onto Kathleen. He only had but a few seconds to keep her in his vision before a man called for him. He looked over his shoulder and looked back at Kathleen and her company. He seemed irritated by this interruption and kindly excused himself with a smile and a wink at Kathleen. Reggie Kray, along with his twin brother, always dressed so dapper. They had a reputation to live up to, so finely threaded suits were the typical attire.Tonight was no different for him.

As he left, Mary and Christine could not wipe their big grins off of their faces. Christine, sitting on Kathleen’s left side, playfully nudged her in shock.

“He was definitely into you, Kathleen!” Christine said, lively.

“Okay, hold on! That’s Reggie Kray! There’s no way he would be interested in a woman like me,” exclaimed Kathleen, but only loud enough the girls would hear.

“Kathleen, I haven’t had a boyfriend in almost two years,” Mary emphasized, “even I know when a guy is interested and that, my dear friend, was interested.” They all giggled. “If you don’t get after him, I will try my damnedest for you, you just watch. ”

“How?’ Kathleen questioned. “You never even talk to men, you’re so scared of denial!” Though she was right, Mary still continued.

“I know and I know he could have his men kill me for looking at him wrong but he’s worth a try, isn’t he? So what, he’s a gangster? You always tried to get me to live life to the fullest potential, why can’t you take that same advice this time?” Mary cried out.

Kathleen pondered the thought of her dating the big gangster. It was such a wild thought to her, she immediately was drawn out of it. Mary watched, then stated in a convincing tone, “He’s so handsome, Kathleen.”

“Look, I’m going to go grab a round of shots or something for us so by the time I come back, you two will have moved onto a different topic,” said Kathleen, standing up and out of her chair. She moved to the nearby bar and ordered some drinks for her and her friends. The bartender kindly told her the drinks were on the house from here on out for her and her girl friends. She questioned the bartender. “How? Why?” He quickly glanced to a person just a few seats away from your current position. Kathleen didn’t get the hint so he glanced and nodded his head towards the same direction. Kathleen slowly moved her attention to a familiar face: Reggie.

Reggie met her eyes and slowly walked towards Kathleen. He leaned in close to her face when he met her and turned his head so he can easily whisper into her ear. “I hope to see you here more often,” he said, quietly. She got chills hearing his low voice vibrating through her. “And I hope to get to know you better, Kathleen.” He locked eyes with her.

Don’t count it, she thought. This will probably be my only night out in a few months.

“What brings you out, tonight, Kathleen?” Reggie asked. Kathleen couldn’t help but notice that he said her name a lot. Did he like her or did he really just like her name?

“Well,” she stopped, remembering to use Reggie rather than Mr. Kray like she was going to, “Reggie, I’m here tonight because I haven’t had much time in recent months to go out like this with my friends.”

Eager to find out more, Reggie carried on, “Why haven’t you had the time, love?” WHERE are those drinks??? Kathleen thought.

“My grandmother had a stroke years ago which rendered her right arm and leg paralyzed.” She had told this story many times, each time didn’t seem to get easier as she’s always had so much love for her grandmother, the memory of the phone call at work still frightens her. However, in front of a complete stranger, she kept her cool and the tears back. “She means a lot to me. I used to have a job bartending,” she ushered to the glass bar she leaned on. “However, I felt too bad leaving her alone while I worked for countless hours during the night. I quit that job and I’ve been taking care of her ever since.”

True to current fashion, he continued asking questions. “That’s very sweet of you, darling. How long ago had you quit your job?”

How long ago did I ask for those THREE drinks? “Thank you, Reggie.” He smiled hearing her say his name. “I think that was almost a year ago…” She slowly nodded, thinking of the math. “Yep.” She silently begged for this conversation to be cut off by the bartender, handing her their drinks. It's not that she wasn’t interested, no. She was very much adoring his very existence, his curiosity and his looks. She was just wondering how such a man was able to make her incredibly shy. She had never felt this way before in front of a person, let alone a famous entity. She felt her stomach doing flips any time she met his gaze or heard him talk. What was it about Reggie Kray that was making her not normal?

“I believe those drinks are yours, Kathleen,” he said, dragging her out of her thoughts.

Thank the good Lord, she thought. She grabbed the tray containing those, apparently, difficult to make drinks. “I gotta get back to my friends. Thanks for the company, Reggie. And thanks for the drinks.” She thanked the bartender and started walking to her no doubt cold seat. He gladly watched her.

The night danced on and the girls drank like the world was ending. If the drinks were free, probably just for the night, then they’ll take Reggie up on that offer. Minute by minute, hour by hour, slowly, the happy-go-lucky drunkards, the spent couples, and all the other club goers left for the night. One by one, the club became bare. All were gone except the three well intoxicated girls and the club’s crew, cleaning and surely wishing these girls would leave so they can close. One of the girls must have realized there was no more music than the music they made up drunkenly because they finally grabbed their purses and coats and headed outside. Christine hailed for a car a couple times to take them all home. She managed to get one taker. Before she got in, Christine checked her pocket, then her purse. She realized she forgot her cigarette case inside the club. She asked if Kathleen could run in and grab it. Kathleen hurriedly ran inside. She looked everywhere, left and right, up and down and all around her table.

Amidst her search, she heard a man clear his throat. She stood and turned around and of course… Reggie. He was holding her good friend’s silver floral embossed case. She happily sighed and walked his direction. She thanked him and kindly took the case from his hands.

“It was very nice to meet you tonight, Kathleen,” he said, gently.

She responded, “It was nice to meet you, too, Reggie.”

“Have a good night, love.” He winked and flashed a smile to her.

“Good night, Reggie.” Now, it was her turn to enjoy saying the other’s name.

She turned on her heels and left. “See you soon,” he told himself. He, soon after, went to close and lock the doors for the night.

Mary was the first to be dropped off at home. They bid their goodbyes. Then, Christine was dropped off. She paid for their ride. She bid her goodbye to Kathleen and they hugged. They promised to call each other more often. Kathleen was the last to be taken home. She thanked the driver and told him to have a goodnight. He drove off for his next customer. 

Kathleen stood outside her door step, thinking back on the events that occurred that night. She could hardly believe she had a conversation with the Reggie Kray. She smiled at the thought. Maybe she would make this a biweekly occurrence with her girls. Was she doing it for her girls, or for some selfish reasons revolving around the gangster, she pondered. She grabbed her keys from her purse, unlocked the front door, stepped inside and locked it. She knew she had nothing in her jacket pockets but she always had to check them anyway. She had a present unbeknownst to her: a business card. She couldn’t read the text in the dimly lit living room so she walked over to a nearby lamp and turned it on. She struggled to read it what with all the alcohol preventing her skill. The card listed his full name, location of his club, and a telephone number. She didn’t worry about calling him as she was certain she would be seeing him very soon. With that new information and from the events of that night, Kathleen Smith would go to sleep with a grin plastered over her face.

_______________________________________

Thank you so much for reading. Once more, if there’s any kind of feedback you could give me, it would 100% be very much appreciated! 

[droneseco]

Cleer Enduro ANC Wireless Headphones Review: Top-Quality Budget-Busting ANC Headphones

Cleer Enduro ANC

8.50 / 10

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Cleer is launching the Enduro ANC as a competitive wireless headphone option on multiple levels: great sound, excellent battery life, tidy ANC, and some style flourishes to boot.

Specifications

Brand: Cleer

Battery Life: 60-hours

Bluetooth: 5.0

Noise Cancellation: Yes

Pros

Substantial 60-hour battery life

Good overall sound

Customizable EQ settings

Comfortable for prolonged periods

Decent ANC

Cons

Ambient sound levels can act strangely

Slightly bass-heavy

Buy This Product

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You want your wireless headphones to do two things. First, sound great—that's a given. Second, you hope that the headphones come with decent battery life, too.

Is combining those two essential features into a single package too much to ask?

The good news for you is that Cleer hears your anguished cry and has brought forth the Cleer Enduro ANC wireless headphones, rated for up to 60-hours of audio playback.

So, the battery is good, but how does the Cleer Enduro ANC sound? Read on to find out in our hands-on review.

Cleer Enduro ANC Box Contents

First up, what can you expect to find in the Cleer Enduro ANC box?

Cleer Enduro ANC headset

USB Type-A to Type-C charging cable

USB Type-C to 3.5mm jack

Airplane adapter

Travel case

Surprisingly, these are not the first set of headphones to have hit the test bench in 2021 that include an airplane seat adapter. The adapter allows you to plug your Cleer Enduro ANC headphones into the audio output of your airline seat so you can use your headphones to watch the in-flight movie.

At the time of review, most international travel is still curtailed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Still, headphones last for a long time, and Cleer is definitely reckoning on you being able to hit the skies at some point soon.

Adding to that, the travel bag is a nice touch and will help to keep your headphones from the inevitable scuffs and scratches that come with everyday use, not least when you're traveling about.

Cleer Enduro ANC Specifications

You know what's in the box. What's powering the Cleer Enduro ANC wireless headphones?

Style: Over-ear, closed-back

Colors: Light grey, navy

Driver: 40mm Ironless Driver

Frequency response: 20-20,000Hz (Bluetooth), 20-40,000Hz (wired)

Connectivity: Bluetooth 5.0, wired optional, NFC fast connect

Codecs: SBC, AAC, aptX Adaptive

Microphone: Two integrated microphones

ANC: Yes, with Ambient Mode

Battery: Up to 60 hours playback with ANC enabled

Fast charge: 2 hours playback on 10 minutes charge

Full charge: Roughly 3 hours

Weight: 280g (9.87oz)

Cleer has a clear goal in mind with the Enduro ANC wireless headphones: battery life. The trend for wireless headphone battery life is trending higher, and consumers are demanding audio hardware that lasts longer than a day. The Enduro ANC has a battery life in spades, putting up alongside other recent releases such as the Anker Life Q35 and Urbanista Miami, both of which tout up 60 hours of battery life.

Another thing to note is that the Cleer Enduro ANC does come with a companion app, Cleer+, which is available for both Android and iOS. From the app, you can change or create a custom EQ or adjust the ANC and ambient sound level—but more on this in a moment.

Cleer Enduro ANC Are Quite Stylish

On removing the Cleer Enduro ANC wireless headphones from the box, you immediately note the smooth, sleek exterior of the earcups. They're really nicely rounded and look great in their presentation box, with the golden bronze style trim set off nicely against the navy of the headset.

The earcups are covered with a soft leatherette style material and, in combination with the presumably memory foam cushioning, make for a comfortable wear. The headband, also imbued with the same golden bronze trim, looks tidy. You'll find the same cushioning on the underside, which, while it is comfortable, doesn't stretch across the entire headband.

It wasn't much of a concern for me, as I don't have a particularly large head, but those with a larger frame might find the cushioning doesn't extend quite far enough to cover the entire skull. Overall, though, the Cleer Enduro ANC delivers in the comfort area.

At the bottom of the left earcup, you'll find the standard array of wireless headphone controls, including an active noise cancellation button, volume controls, and a USB-C charging port. The buttons are easy to use, very responsive, and make the Enduro ANC easy to use on the go.

I'd also add that the overall build quality of the Enduro ANC appears good. There are moving parts, and these are foldable wireless headphones. But the important areas, such as the joint between the headband and the earpads, appear strong and well made, unlikely to fall apart at the drop of a hat.

The Cleer Enduro ANC Has Excellent Battery Life

One of the biggest selling points for the Cleer Enduro ANC is the battery life. Touted as delivering up to 60-hours of playback with ANC switched on, the Enduro talks a big game.

I found that the Enduro ANC very much lived up to the billing, always delivering at least 55-hours of playback and often more. Cranking the volume up knocks a bit of time off, as you might expect, and battery life always varies between charges for myriad factors. Still, overall, Cleer has delivered on the promise of substantial battery life.

Fast-charging also delivers on the specified time frame, picking up between two to four hours of audio playback on a rapid 10-minute charge.

How Does the Cleer Enduro ANC Sound?

Cleer is a long-standing and well-respected name in audio hardware manufacturing. The San Diego-based outfit has been in the audio hardware design and manufacturing game a long old time. Long enough that they've developed their patented Ironless Driver Technology, delivering better mids, clearer highs, and less overall distortion.

It translates into a well-rounded sound profile for the Cleer Enduro ANC, if a little heavy on the bass side of things.

You suddenly notice that low tone inclination when switching from anything making use of the Ironless Driver's excellent mids and highs. The bass comes thudding in, pumping hard, and bringing some extra oomph to your musical experience.

Is it bad? Absolutely not—the overall soundstage of the Enduro ANC is well rounded enough that despite the bass-heavy tone, the rest of the package compensates well and makes listening to music, podcasts, and audiobooks a pleasant experience.

There's also the companion app, Cleer+, which you can use to adjust the EQ settings of the Cleer Enduro ANC, too. The app is extremely easy to use, and while the EQ only has five frequencies, you can easily chop and change to find your perfect balance.

Handily, the EQ moves in notches, noting each change you make and allowing you to return each slider to the previous position with an undo button. It's only a small thing but is useful for making slight adjustments in the quest for a perfect EQ. In future editions of the Cleer+ app, some pre-programmed EQ settings would be a welcome addition for those who don't want to fiddle.

The Enduro ANC wireless headphones hold up well in games, too. When you have headphones with a good soundstage, as the Enduro ANC does, it translates nicely into games with equally well-crafted audio. Without delving too far, go to games such as Doom 2016 and Dirt 5 sound brilliant, and you won't be disappointed for the price.

The Enduro ANC uses Bluetooth 5.0 for connectivity, which works well. Furthermore, Cleer has integrated Qualcomm's aptX Adaptive codec, a nice touch for anyone that wants to stream high-quality audio and has supporting hardware (such as an aptX compatible adapter) and lossless audio to boot.

Is the Cleer Enduro's Active Noise Cancelation Any Good?

I found the ANC function of the Cleer Enduro decent enough, although it does come with some quirks.

In the companion app, you can control the ANC using a slider, adjusting the level of ANC and the volume of external ambient noise. So far, so good.

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However, when you begin sliding the ambient sound up, at times, the microphones appear to go into over-drive, magnifying external noises rather than simply allowing a passthrough. Sitting at my desk with ambient mode switched on, and a passing seagull outside the window sounded like an incoming threat.

The noise-blocking aspect of the Cleer Enduro works well, though, and for the price point the Enduro's retail at, it's a competitive proposition.

Should You Buy the Cleer Enduro ANC Wireless Headphones?

The final verdict: are the Cleer Enduro ANC worth your hard-earned pennies?

Let's look at the facts. The Enduro ANC delivers up to 60-hours of playback with ANC-enabled, which is alone an impressive feat. The headphones are comfortable, fit nicely, and won't cause you undue ear fatigue, weighing a bang-on average 280g (9.87oz).

The sound quality is a little bass-heavy, but overall, the Enduro ANC makes music sound good, and every listening experience is a tidy, well-crafted delve into your favorite tracks. While the ambient noise passthrough can be a little iffy, you can overlook that with the actual ANC itself, which performs well under almost all circumstances.

The Cleer Enduro ANC wireless headphones retail for $150, and for my money, that's a really good deal. The Cleer Enduro ANC enter the wireless headphone marketplace at a very competitive price point, standing up against some well-known competitors. The Ironless Driver Technology helps the Cleer Enduro ANC soundstage deliver, and you won't be disappointed if you pick these headphones up.

Cleer Enduro ANC Wireless Headphones Review: Top-Quality Budget-Busting ANC Headphones published first on http://droneseco.tumblr.com/

[denbroughbill]

and i look just like buddy holly

summary: eddie’s dragged to a halloween party a/n: they are 17 in this story! this is a short story so i hope u all like it! the song richie sings is called “you’re so square” by buddy holly! based off of finn’s lip sync battle :’)

the group of friends parked a couple of houses down from their destination, due to limited spaces. this was the first of many parties eddie felt he would be dragged along to this month, and it was only the second week of october. it seemed like everyone in town was a halloween fanatic, besides eddie kaspbrak. sure, he liked sweets, but he could get those any other day of the year. he wasn't fond of the gorey slasher films his friend, richie, picked out on fridays when all the losers met up at the rental store, because they lacked an actual story line. he liked carving pumpkins, but that's because he normally did that with friends. over all, eddie couldn't exactly figure out what the hype was.

but he could appreciate the cool, autumn air that swirled around him as he walked. it wasn't long to the party, and he liked crunching the leafs under his feet with each step he took.

eddie was walking behind his friends, stan and bill, on the leaf strewn sidewalk. they were not wearing matching costumes like other couples who have walked around them, on their way to the same party, but they were holding hands like them. the party invitation was from richie, and it was last minute, like a lot of his bright ideas. bill pulled what he could find from his closet: a long sleeved striped shirt and a pair of overalls for an improved chucky from child's play (the move series eddie didn't care for), but he sadly did not have time to apply the fake costume store gashes and bloody make up they bought earlier in the day. stan wore his baseball uniform, cleets included, and bought along a bat for a realistic prop.

his friends stepped on the red plastic cups scattering the lawn, but eddie tried his best to walk around them. the boys could hear the loud duran, duran playing from outside the house, but it penetrated eddie's ears when they first opened the door. the bodies of hazey, drunk teens propped against future, conversation almost louder than the music. there were streamers, silly, simple decorations on the wall, illuminated by black lights and a dark cloud of smoke hung over the room.

the house wasn't very big but it seemed to have enough space to fill all the guests. the boys shuffled through glass bottles that clanked together and made it to the corner of the room, where there was a large arm chair and a group of girls. the girls didn't have the best costumes, eddie thought. just different face paint and animal ears, and they sat around the arm chair, criss cross apple sauce, like it was story time. their friend, mike hanlon - or tonight - officer hanlon, was sitting in the chair, beer bottle in hand has he spoke to his audience. and.. buddy holly was sitting on the arm.

"stan, bill! oh, eddie! what took you guys so long?" buddy holly look-a-like stood up from the chair, throwing his arm around eddie's shoulder. eddie had his shirt over his mouth, protecting his air supply from whatever was lingering around.

it was richie tozier; his curls slicked back, but still noticeable, in a mustard yellow cardigan and tie. and last but definitely not least, those thick rimmed glasses, completing the look perfectly.

"where's your costume?" richie grinned, leaning into the boy, almost toppling him over. richie had at least a foot on eddie, the shorter friend in the group.

stan laughed, elbowing bill. "he borrowed it from bill, you like it?"

eddie gestured to his chest, where in black, bold letters, it said "this is my halloween costume" on his orange shirt.

the three boys settled down, mingling with the group of girls that were there too. eddie was pleasantly surprised with how nice they were, and how they could manage to hold a conversation. they sat around for hours while other guests danced, watching their feet to not step on the group. a pizza box had passed over head to them, and they finished the slices that were left.

mike was busy gloating, but who could blame him? everyone thought mike was a great guy, with a great smile, too.

"wow," one of the girls began. she leaned towards mike, hands underneath her chin, and voice dripping with sweetness, "it must be such hard work living on a farm."

mike grinned, like he's being waiting to use the line all night, and said: "not when you're packing these guns!"

girls hooted and hollered while he flexed, bill and stan grinned at each other. mike was a riot.

"hey, buddy," another girl said, "you should sing for us." eddie glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, and her smile melted into his brain. he didn't know why, but he was jealous. it didn't help that she was twirling her hair around her finger.

eddie looked towards richie, thinking there was no possible way he would actually belt out peggy sue or rave on. richie's dark eyes sparkled in delight as the girl spoke, a crooked smirk plying in the corner of his mouth.

"no, i can't, i can't fucking sing," richie said, laughing.

"oh, come on!" bill egged him on, tipping a bottle in richie's direction. the girls all chattered in agreement, even mike elbowed him.

richie starched the back of his neck, laughing a bit. eddie knew he couldn't sing, but he knew he would embarrass himself for any pretty girl. when his alarm beeped on his watch, he had the perfect idea.

"actually," eddie rose from where he was sitting, grabbing richie's wrist. "he needs to come with me real quick, isn't that right, buddy?" he didn't wait for a response before pulling him from the arm chair.

while dragging him through the crowd of dancing people, all sorts of thoughts raced around in eddie's mind. did richie really invite eddie to this party for him to flirt girls flirt with him the whole time? no, the two boys were not in an established relationship. not in a relationship at all, in fact. but eddie felt threatened, or was is possessive? whatever it was, he hoped he wasn't gripping richie's wrist too hard.

when they made it to the kitchen, he unzipped his fanny pack and popped his medication into his mouth.

it was much quieter in the kitchen. "you know you can take your medication by yourself, right, eds?" the amusement in richie's voice, along with the cool glass of water he downed, calmed eddie down.

he put in the cup in the overloaded sink, and leaned back against the counter, his arms propping him up. eddie wanted to speak his mind, but all he could say was: "i like your costume," and that was the truth.

richie smiled a genuine smile. eddie was sure richie heard the compliment all day, but for some reason, coming from him made it special.

"you like it, really?" richie asked, stepping back to give him a better look at the outfit.

eddie couldn't help but giggle. "are those your church shoes?"

"yeah," richie smiled, adjusting his glasses, "don't tell my mom, alright?"

richie's smile made eddie's heart throw itself against the walls of his chest, shaking his world apart. if he was going to make a more, he knew this was the time to do so.

"so, buddy," eddie didn't glance up at richie, his face hot as he looked to the tiled floor, "you gonna sing me a song?"

richie grinned one of his shit eating grins, approaching eddie closer. "that's what you bought me in here for?" he asked, placing his hands on either side of eddie, their two faces closer now. "mary tyler moore, what could you possibly be jealous of?"

"i was not jealous-" he didn't have to pretend to deny for much longer, because richie started to sing to him. there foreheads were touching, richie leaning down just a tad. his eyes closed as he sang, but eddie's were open, scanning richie's face, but especially his lips, where the words were pouring out.

"you don't like crazy music," richie bellowed. eddie wasn't too sure if he was giggling at how bad it was, or richie's hand grazing his waist.

"you don't like rockin' bands," he continued, both hands now pulling eddie closer as he kept singing.

"you just wanna go to the movie show, and sit there holdin' hands. you're so square," richie's eyes were opening now, peering into eddie's. the two boys were smiling, and richie paused the song just long enough to move his mouth to eddie's ear and whisper the rest of the verse in his best gravelly voice, low and rough, "baby, i don't care."

eddie snickered when richie began swaying them side to side as he continued to sing. richie could tell eddie was enjoying being serenaded, this music recital between the two of them.  eddie's eyes closed  in his fit of laughter, and richie couldn't finish singing to him. he just looked too good right now, all happy and smiley under these dim lights. richie leaned in, taking a chance, going in for a kiss. and eddie's mouth is saying he made the right choice.

richie leaned into the smaller boy, and the two giggled as eddie caught himself, gripping on to the counter. richie's hands gripped on eddie's waist, exploring deeper into their kiss. eddie's mouth was a new world richie wanted to get lost in. the noises of wet lips smacking together and teeth nervously, anxiously clanking were only audible to them, in this corner of the party they were only invited. eddie stood up as tall as he could now, with his limp jaw and broken knees for the other boy. he cupped the back of richie's neck with one hand, his other in between the boys, placed on richie's chest. the only song richie was singing was breathy chorus of "more, more, more,"

eddie pulled away, pushing the other boy away slightly. "you taste like candy corn," he whispered loud enough for the two of them to hear, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"so, this is what was taking so long?" major league professional stan uris stole their attention. neither boy was too embarrassed, richie nuzzling his nose into eddie's hair as he pulled him closer by the waist.

"i was just showing mary tyler moore here how to swing. now ain't that right, eds?" he winked.

[wozman23]

Ode to Ghostbusters

In celebration of Halloween, I watched Ghostbusters for the first time in a while, and it just further backs up my theory that it is one of the greatest pieces of cinema in history. I can’t exactly recall when the first time I saw it was, probably sometime in my early childhood. At that point I was probably just beginning to understand what movies are, and what they could be. But from then, Ghostbusters has always stuck with me. First off, I think it’s important to pinpoint what exactly Ghostbusters is, or isn’t. Springing from the mind of Dan Aykroyd - who I’ve always thought was superior to Chevy, Belushi, and the other early SNL players - it’s easy for most people to label it a comedy. However, I think there’s far more complexity to it than that. First and foremost, it’s got ever-present horror element thanks to the paranormal, and the overall presentation of an action movie. Sure, a few members of the cast, namely Bill Murray and Rick Moranis, provide some comedy. The scene with Moranis fumbling around and uttering “Maybe I’ve got a milk bones” blew my still-forming mind. It’s probably one of my earliest memories of an actor being funny. Outside of John Lithgow slapping a Sasquatch, or Drop Dead Fred wiping dog poo on furniture, I can’t think of another scene that has stuck with me from those days. Bill plays his typical sarcastic, non-nonchalant role, and Moranis plays the nerd brilliantly. Yet Ghostbusters is never truly set up as a comedy movie. The heroes don’t really follow the path of traditional comedic heroes. They’re action heroes, who overcome external foes. Both writers, Aykroyd and Ramis, known for years and years of great comedy, pay relatively straight parts. Hudson follows suit later when he’s introduced. Really only one of the four Ghostbusters is cracking jokes and providing comic relief. So, as much of a nerd I am about comedy, I take umbrage with it being called a comedy.  Ninety-nine percent of the movies I enjoy are comedies, but I wouldn’t lump Ghostbusters in with The Jerk, Billy Madison, or Elf. Ghostbusters is far more hybridized than just a single genre, and deserves more credit for that approach. I chose to watch it on Halloween because to me its an action-horror movie, that just happens to have a good bit of comedy sprinkled in. In anticipation of rewatching it, last night I watched the mini-documentary about it on Netflix’s The Movies That Made Us, which provides some terrific insight from Aykroyd, and some cool tidbits surrounding the picture’s filming and release, like the outlandish idea of the original script Aykroyd concocted, involving a more sci-fi approach and space aliens, and the legal hurdles of securing the name “Ghostbusters.” If it were based in space and called Ghostbreakers, who’s to say how it would have turned out. But one thing is clear: the final product succeeded because it evolved into exactly what it wanted and needed to be. It was grounded in a very real New York, with elements of fantasy. A gelatinous green slob of a ghost, creepy dog gargoyles, and a giant marshmallow man in a sailor outfit - no one ever questions the authenticity of those elements. Everyone just threw caution to the wind and were all-in with every detail. It’s just understood that, even if people are skeptical about the existence of the supernatural itself, all of that is rational in the world of Ghostbusters. With a cast well versed in comedy, they could have easily poked fun at the entire premise, yet they never do. Ray and Egon are as serious as it gets, and even Peter straightens up when there are real problems at hand.

I don’t remember much about the sequel. I think I’ve only seen it once, and I know it’s not as universally praised. (I might watch it again tomorrow.) I’d always held on to hope that we’d get a proper third entry, but those hopes were pretty much dashed when Ramis passed away. Having watched the female reboot, which I was optimistic about considering I love Kristen Wiig and Kate McKinnon, its reliance as more of a traditional comedy, with punched up with silly jokes and physical gags, really shows you that the original’s success clearly wasn’t solely due to its comedy elements. (And while were on the subject of the other uses of the property, the 2009 video game was another instance where the IP was treated right, thanks largely in part due to direct involvement from Aykroyd and Ramis.) One of the other great things about the original is just how well many of the special effects hold up. Yeah, the stop motion dogs look a little rough, but the proton streams and ghosts still look pretty cool over 35 years later. There’s a lot of great insight in the Netflix episode about how this all (barely) came together as well. Lastly, the music is phenomenal. It’s as 80s as the 80s can be. Ray Parker Jr’s theme is infectious. About it’s only blemish is that weird “I hear it likes the girls” line. What is that about?... All the other music is great as well, whether it be unsettling ambient background noise, the orchestral accompaniment, or the licensed tracks like Mick Smiley’s “Magic” or Alessi Brothers’ “Savin’ the Day.” I remember rewatching The Real Ghostbusters, the cartoon, some years ago with friends (shout out to fellow Ghostbusters nerd, Muggz) probably around the time of middle or high school, and I’d always joke when the theme song kicked in. It was used gratuitously. The first dozen seconds are ominous, so I’d always kid around that it was the “bad music” kicking in. You knew something weird was afoot. But then the song would immediately transition into the classic Ghostbusters theme, the “good music,” and you knew they guys were going to be pull through. And that’s exactly what Ghostbusters is: this unsettling thing made by comedians that doesn’t make a lot of sense at first, but quickly blossoms into something great.  Everything about the film is simply iconic: the suits, the proton packs and traps, the firehouse they occupy, Slimer, Ecto-1, the music, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man (which for most of my childhood I assumed was just a real marshmallow brand). I remember Disney movies from my early years, as well as a few Robin Williams movies, but nothing really goes toe-to-toe with just how hard Ghostbusters committed to its fantastical idea. It’s sense of self is unrivaled. And I’ll cross streams with anyone who tries to write it off as a silly comedy. P.S. Why did Danny and Billy eventually start going by Dan and Bill? Seems stupid to me.

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/lifestyle/an-artist-who-makes-irreverent-and-pocket-size-sculptures/

An Artist Who Makes Irreverent, and Pocket-Size, Sculptures

Like the confectioners that craft Japanese wagashi, traditional tea-ceremony treats, the artist Ron Nagle, 80, creates miniature, meticulously rendered objects that are ripe with dual meaning. In his otherworldly ceramic sculptures, which are small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, pastel stucco planes converge with glossy half-moon shapes, suggesting animal tails, chewed-up wads of gum, bare tree limbs, erect genitalia or excrement — sometimes all at once.

Next month, some 30 of Nagle’s provocative sculptures and drawings will go on view at Matthew Marks Gallery in New York in the exhibition “Getting to No,” a significant showcase of his recent work. While Nagle is an established artist — in 2013, his sculptures were featured in the 55th Venice Biennale, and he has works in the permanent collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art — and though he played an important role in forming the California Clay Movement, which helped elevate the status of ceramic art, he is still something of a cult figure within a few relatively contained communities. Outside of the visual art world, though, he is also known as a prolific songwriter and composer; he’s credited for writing iconic songs on albums by Jefferson Airplane, Sammy Hagar and Barbra Streisand, as well as for creating many of the sound effects in “The Exorcist.”

[Coming later this spring: the T List newsletter, a weekly roundup of what T Magazine editors are noticing and coveting. Sign up here.]

Born and raised in San Francisco, Nagle apprenticed with the Berkeley-based ceramist Peter Voulkos in the ’60s and helped carve out a niche for ceramics to be understood as rigorous and conceptual sculptures, rather than simply decorative objects. He went on to teach ceramics at Mills College in Oakland for over three decades before retiring in 2010 and returning full-time to his practice. Throughout his life, Nagle has tried to make three-dimensional forms appear flat, while still evoking rich, microcosmic landscapes, taking cues from the Italian artists Giorgio Morandi and Lucio Fontana, who challenged the dimensional constraints of painting on canvas in the ’50s. Often installed in peep-hole-style wall recesses or gleaming glass vitrines, like specimens dropped down from another planet, his works mix elements of allure and repulsion to enigmatic effect. Named with tongue-in-cheek puns like “Pastafarian,” “Urinetrouble” and “Karma Gouda,” they are also extensions of his irreverent sense of humor.

On a recent visit to the artist’s sunlit Bernal Heights home in San Francisco, which gleamed white like a freshly painted spaceship, there was a speckling of lilacs and golden poppies that lead through the garden to his next-door studio, which Nagle affectionately calls his “cocoon.” Seated there, sporting an all-white outfit, with a book on Korean ceramics in hand, Nagle answered T’s Artist’s Questionnaire.

What is your day like? How much do you sleep, and what’s your work schedule like?

I get up, have breakfast, take the dog for a walk. In the old days, it was close to a 9-to-5 in the studio. Now, with increased success — I hate these words — I’m busier. My main part of the day, my peace of mind, my “this is what I do because I gotta do it” is being in the studio as much as I can.

I usually order dinner out because my wife and I don’t like cooking. And then around 6 o’clock we watch MSNBC — to see if Trump’s still in office. Scary times, man. I hope you’re not a Republican. She’ll want to watch Rachel Maddow for the second time and I’ll move into the bedroom and watch “The Voice” or “True Detective” or “Ray Donovan.” If nothing’s on, I’ve been known to watch “MacGyver” or “Hawaii Five-O.” They’re reviving all these old shows. I’m a big nostalgia and trivia freak.

How many hours of creative work do you think you do in a day?

Other things take up space in my head, but the work never leaves my mind. I’m always looking, thinking, taking pictures with my phone — of a splat on the street or a ship bow down at Mission Bay. I pretty much remember everything — or I’ll bark it into my recorder. But if we’re talking hands-on-the-material, drawing or whatever the case, I’d say six hours.

What’s the first piece of art you ever made?

I made a bust in high school. I put it in the kiln and it blew the side of its head off. I was going to throw it away and a friend of mine said, “Oh no man, that’s really cool.” I’ve been making stuff since I was a kid. My mother told me I had no talent, she was like, “What do you want to do that for?”

What’s the worst studio you ever had?

Probably the basement of the building next door, where my daughter lives now. Dirt floor. Funky.

What’s the first work you ever sold? For how much?

There’s a sculpture from 1958 that Scripps College owns, “Perfume Bottle.” It’s a big jar with a kind of tombstone stopper. Peter Voulkos brought over a collector who was a math teacher at Scripps and he bought it for $100.

When you start a new piece, where do you begin? What’s the first step?

I draw a lot, that’s really the beginning of it all. I draw in bed, usually watching a Charlie Chan movie. The drawings are very small. I’ll put them on a copier and blow them up to get a general picture of what they’ll look like at a certain scale. And then I start building the models at full scale, at six inches max. I can envision things, to a degree, three-dimensionally. I’m not saying I have visions, but some little idea will come popping into my head. It might be based on something I’ve seen, and subconsciously it finds its way onto paper.

How do you know when you’re done?

When it feels right. I’m a big advocate for letting the works sit. I look at them, leave them around for a while.

How many assistants do you have?

My assistant, Whitney, is the only person that gets in here. And she does all the stuff business-wise and is also great in the studio.

What music do you play when you’re making art?

R&B, Motown, music of Philadelphia from the ’70s, like Gamble and Huff. I try to keep current with pop music, most of which I hate. But I’m into electronic dance music and people like James Blake, Frank Ocean, Kendrick Lamar. I like sad music. I don’t like to feel sad — I hate it, in fact, it’s awful — but I’m drawn to melancholy music.

When did you first feel comfortable saying you’re a professional artist?

I’ve never used the word “professional,” although that’s what I am. To a large degree, it’s too much. I know there’s a certain amount of allure or pretense — depending on where you’re coming from — when you say that. When you say “professional artist,” people automatically assume it’s painting. Then I say, “I make small sculptures.” I’m very reluctant to use the word “ceramics” because ceramics for years had such a bad reputation. The best people working in clay do not declare themselves clay artists.

What’s the weirdest object in your studio?

A picture of Bill Cullen, who was a ’50s, ’60s and ’70s radio and TV host. There’s also a picture of a woman surrounded by cheese.

What do you do when you’re procrastinating?

I don’t think I know how to procrastinate. It’s not a matter of principle. I would love to, love to, but I can’t do it. I always feel like I gotta make something.

What’s the last thing that made you cry?

I just had major surgery, about four weeks ago. I won’t offer to show you my scar. The worst part of the experience was something I hadn’t heard of before: postoperative delirium. I was so scared. It was like a dream, everything going in and out of focus. I was in two different worlds. I was on the phone bawling my eyes out. My wife and I were declaring our love.

What do you usually wear when you work?

I’ve got overalls like Willem de Kooning used to wear in the ’50s. I saw a picture and thought, I gotta wear that, it’d make me a better artist.

Which artists have influenced your work?

Later Morandi. A simpler Philip Guston. Cy Twombly’s sculpture. Kenny Price. Peter Voulkos. Lucio Fontana.

What are you reading right now?

I just finished reading David Sedaris’s last book.

What embarrasses you?

I could do a whole thing on losing my hair — you got 15 minutes?

What do your studio windows look out on?

I have skylights all over the place, so I could say the sky. The new studio looks out over my garden. I have a piece of quasi-Japanese garden sculpture I made with topiary and a slab of rock.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

“Ron Nagle: Getting to No” is on view from May 2 through June 15, 2019, at Matthew Marks Gallery, 522 West 22nd Street, New York.

[candideangel]

ALL OF THE LOVE AND ROMANCE MEME Q'S PLEASE!!! :)

A-All of them?! Ooh boy...well since this is a full list, I’ll have to keep some answers short and sweet. -cracks knuckles- Here we go!

WARNING: LONG POST!

💔 = Has your muse ever been heartbroken? If so, explain what happened. Angelique has never been heartbroken before. Two reasons; in her AoT story it was always dangerous to fall in love due to circumstances and the environment. The second in the modern version, she never really experimented, so any AUs with possible romances for threads are usually on the table for her.

🌹 = How would your muse react to romantic gestures, expected or not? Romantic gestures are usually a surprise to her. Because she doesn’t expect it to happen to her. She’ll love it all the same, but boy will her face be red.

🌷 = Is your muse likely to be the one to make the first move, or would they wait for the other to make a move first? This situation depends on who her partner is in the threads. If her partner is more the shy introverted type, she’ll probably make the first move. If it’s the opposite, she’ll wait for them to do it, because she can recognize their feelings.

🎁 = Does your muse become flattered to receive gifts? Extremely. She doesn’t think she deserves them, but she is really flattered for the gestures.

😍 = Does your muse have any crushes? If so, who are they?Because everything varies from verse to verse I’ll make a short list for eachAoT= Jean, Marco, Eren, Levi, and ArminModern (Any AUs from other partners)= William T. Spears, Otabek Altin, and Yuri Plisetsky, maybe Yuuri Katsuki (but that’s always partner dependent)

😘 = Does your muse like to flirt? Do they like to be flirted with?I think she’d be more of the person to try to flirt. She’s not very good at it and tends to be more straight forward, and being flirted with sometimes goes over her head.

❤️ = Does your muse focus on one person, or do they like to go and date as many people as possible?Angelique’s original focus was on Levi in many cases, but since she grew here as a character, she’s kind of expanded her horizons. Put simply, she multi-ships with chemistry. But as a character herself? She’s loyal to a fault. If she’s dating that person she will stick with them until it’s over.

💛 = In what ways does your muse express their love to their partner? She expresses herself in many ways, depending on what her partner needs she’ll give them kisses, cuddle them, wrap them in blankets, get them anything they need if they’re sick or depressed. She’ll cook things for them without being asked, and if the money is good she’ll get them gifts that she knows they’ll like. It’s kind of a cliche, but it’s true.

💚 = Does your muse get jealous easy?Depends on the situation really. All I can say.

💙 = Does your muse prefer a night out or a night in?She’s more of a night in girl. Order some takeout, watch a movie, cuddle, kiss, it’s her favorite.

💜 = Does your muse date others based on their appearance or personality, or both?Both. Personality weighs more on her though because that’s what she falls in love with. The appearance is always a plus. (looking at you @miizik)

♡ = Is there any kind of person that your muse will never date?One kind; straight up assholes. Yes I know some start out as being dicks, but if they show they can have more emotions than the constant beratement of a person’s character, then you’re fine. If it continues to be an asshole, she won’t like it at all, it’ll make her leave.

💞 = Does your muse believe in soulmates?Yes, she does believe in soulmates. That’s why she’s so loyal, because she knows they belong together and were brought together by some kind of wavelength they shared.

💘 = Does your muse believe in astrology signs? If so, what sign are they most compatible with? And is this important when considering a date? No, she doesn’t believe in astrology signs. She believes that if they were meant to come together, then they were.

💗 = Would your muse prefer a large, public proposal, or do they prefer a small, private one? This is situation dependent. How far did the partner go to make the proposal happen? (Though I am a softie for public proposals)

💵 = Is money an important factor to consider when dating? Does your muse prefer rich partners?Money is never a fact. It can be a plus sure, but sharing burdens is what matters to her in a relationship like splitting costs of rent and other bills if they live together.

💎 = What kind of gemstone would your muse prefer on their engagement or wedding ring?Angelique would love a blue topaz or an emerald, actually any kind of colored stone really. Diamonds are pretty, but to her, they are really standard. She likes to be unique.

💍 = Big or small wedding?Medium; Close family of the bride and groom, their friends (and their relatives), in a garden or by the sea.

🏻 = Does your muse always try to look their best around their partner, or are they comfortable wearing anything around them?Angelique is the kind of girl who prefers to wear what she does; she knows she’s comfortable in it. Sure she will try to look her best, but she knows that her best is when she’s cleaned up, hair done in a simple style, and the right outfit for the occasion. She isn’t a movie star girlfriend. She’ll have days where she will spend it in a hoodie, but look damn pretty while doing it for their partner.

[isareed]

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two beauties in skin tight dresses go down on each other Totally naked: Miss Hensley takes the time to make a little girl squeal for attention in a very revealing outfit Gentle man: The sexy brunette is so happy to let the young girl enjoy a taste of her pussy that she bends over She takes the time to give to the girl her attention in a very daring outfit, her big tits bouncing as she lies back at the end of the sofa Not so cute: Miss Hensley is giving it up for this young girl to get off on her body and her face Taking advantage of her moment of pleasure the naked girl puts that ass above her head as she bends over and begins to gently suck Miss Hensley. The brunette pulls the naked young girl into a fierce kiss that goes on and on until both her boyfriends get involved. In this scene the girls end up lying side by side, the naked brunette is still licking her boyfriend's puckered snatch, the naked brunette is now pulling her puckered puckered lips

Carter cruise and aidra fox breaking point The UK Foreign Office has made it clear that any attack against Syria will be met with "the full force of the international community." But Britain's foreign secretary is under pressure from some in his own party to make clear that he has no intention of doing so. Jeremy Corbyn's right-wing faction has called on him to call a vote on military action, if the Tories refuse the opportunity to vote it into law immediately following a "no" vote. Meanwhile, his Labour's opponents on the frontbench have called for an end to the bombing campaign, warning that "there is no legal or moral legal basis" for attacking Syria. The argument is based on the assumption that the Assad regime is responsible for the chemical attacks. However, evidence from the UK government, the European Union and rebel groups suggests otherwise, and that those responsible have links to the Assad regime. Read next What is 5G and when is it coming to the UK? What is 5G and when is it coming to the UK? In particular, the British government

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[tiozambia]

Is Lusaka headed for a mall apocalypse?

By Changwe Kabwe It’s another quarter and so another shopping mall is expected to open in Lusaka. In the second quarter of 2019, the elegant Novarre Pinnacle opened in Woodlands area at the corner of Chindo and Mutende roads. This is a 10,000-square metre Mall that should accommodate 40 commercial retail outlets from supermarket, food court, entertainment zone, fashion shops to banking services and an expansive 400-bay car park. In the third quarter of 2019, Woodlands Stadium Mall is expected to open with Shoprite as the anchor store, the US$72 million Longacres Mall, a project initiated by the Public Service Pensions Fund is also due to open before year end. These openings follow another one along the Great North Road called Novarre Great North Road. In the last quarter of 2018, the new look Arcades was relaunched. And before that, there was Centro Mall and WaterFalls opening, joining existing centres such as Manda Hill, Levy Junction and EastPark. In the South of Lusaka, Kafue road also has strong formal retaail presence with Makeni Mall, Cosmopolitan and Embassy Mall all situated within 150m of each other, separated only by the road. According to KnightFrank, approximately 85% of Zambia’s modern shopping mall space is in Lusaka, with the remainder dotted around the Copperbelt and Solwezi. Evidently, Zambia has seen an increase in the number of Malls over the last 20 years, largely driven by South African supermarkets. The likes of Game stores, Spar and Pick n Pay all followed on the back of Shoprite entering Zambia’s retail space between 2001 and 2010. More recently, Choppies from Botswana has also entered the market. By March, 2019, Choppies had over 20 stores in Zambia. The oversupply of Grade ‘A’ retail spaces is not only unique to Zambia or indeed Lusaka. There are over 1900 malls in South Africa that is almost 100 per province. In Cape Town alone, they have Canal Walk, V&A Waterfront, Blue Route, Tygervalley, Cavendish and more. In an area equivalent to just over twenty football stadiums in Pretoria East, there are no less 30 shopping malls. In fact, there are more shops than clinics, schools and recreational parks in the area and to make it more clearly, there are only two police station stations in the area. Of nearly 47,000 shopping centers in the United States, about 1,100 are categorized as enclosed malls. But like with everything else, there is always a tipping point and it now appears that the phenomenal growth of Shopping Malls may be coming to a halt in several countries and that may include Zambia. Malls are closing all over the US. A report by Credit Suisse estimates that 20% to 25% of malls would shutter over the next five years, largely because of store closures. In 2017, 6,400 stores closed in the US and a further 3,600 were expected to close in 2018. This is what is often referred to as Mall Armageddon or Mall Apocalypse. The recent closures I have observed taking place at Levy Mall and Manda Hill in Lusaka point to the fact that Zambian retail space is closely following global trends. So will Zambia be spared from this phenomenon? I do not think so and here is why. High rental charges Rent averages US$22.00-30.00 per m2 in prime Malls such as Cosmopolitan, Centro and EastPark. Manda Hill which is considered to be the best asset in the market averages US$35.00 per m2. In Kwacha terms it means for an average size store at these premium retail locations, tenants have to pay in the region of K53, 000 per month for rentals. With reduced foot traffic, almost all the Malls in Lusaka are struggling to reach 100% occupancy. The birth of e-tail stores Over the last few years, there has been growth in e-commerce globally which is rapidly coming to Zambia. Most young entrepreneurs do not have the money to spend on rentals per month or the budget to pay staff to run their stores. So they go to the internet and establish a connection with a customer cutting off the middleman (the Mall). Since some customers still need a sense of personal experience, some e-commerce stores will have a small location or a pop up store. It is interesting to note that iStore, Apple’s Premium Reseller is the most profitable retailer in the world - yet their stores are the most simplified. On the other hand, Amazon is getting rid of the human interaction altogether, if you have an Amazon account, you can now walk into selected Amazon stores and when you walk in, the store will register that you have arrived. It will register when you pick up an item, replace the item and walk out with the item. Amazon will then bill you later. Amazon isn’t worried about theft because they have all of your details in their system. In Zambia, we have seen the growth of online retailers such as Tigmo and delivery outfits such as AfriDelivery who are ultimately cutting out the middleman (the Mall) in the value chain. Research has also shown that consumers are increasingly becoming more trustworthy of web-based payment systems. Technologies such as showrooming apps remove advantages of having a physical shop. So it is unsurprising to see many stores at these malls closing. However, there are still plenty of people that just still love entering the old age brick-and-mortar store. The idea of shopping with a good friend, followed by a meal or a movie which is impossible to deliver online is still very intriguing to many people. To follow this trend, some malls are now branding themselves as “experiential retail centers” rather than transactional. Remember the strap line, “The Entertaining Way to Shop?” Yes, its Arcades Shopping Centre. A less material world? Conspicuous consumption is the term used to describe the spending of money on and the acquiring of luxury goods and services to publicly display economic power, this has been going for a very long time. However, in today’s contemporary retail market, a new phenomenon called conspicuous production is emerging. This is when consumers are more concerned with the process by which an item is made and where it is from than they are with how the item looks. With the availability of product information, most consumers are becoming conscious of reckless materialism and how it affects the planet. What we have seen now is a demand for a more meaningful retail experience and most consumers we are now demanding that their purchases must symbolize more than just acquisition of material things. Slowing economy For close to a decade before 2015, the Zambian economy grew at impressive records of above 7%. What we saw was a commensurate growth of the middle class which helped boost consumer spending. Today, according to the World Bank, growth in Zambia is projected at 4.2% in 2019 and 4.3% in 2020. The IMF in its July update of its World Economic Outlook, revised downward its projection for global growth to 3.2 percent in 2019 and 3.5 percent in 2020.The new Finance Minister Dr Bwalya Ng’andu has even cut the 2019 projection to 2.5%, the lowest in over 10 years. With tightening liquidity conditions and uncertainties in the macroeconomic environment, there maybe not too plenty of cash to spend in these malls dotted around Lusaka which may lead to a lot more closures. Family time is quality time Last year, Poland imposed a law banning all trading on Sundays, the influential Catholic church, to which more than 90% of Poles belong welcomed the change. The move by Poland follows eight other EU countries that have some kind of regulatory legislations pertaining to Sunday shopping. Due to increased demographic and work-related pressures, many Europeans, and Poles in particular have welcomed Sunday trade bans as a way to improve quality of life. Hungary, Germany, France, Spain, Italy and several other European countries implement some form of Sunday trade ban. Some people argue that Sunday ban helps generate more free time for families, which in conjunction may contribute to a greater emphasis on family. Further, from a Christian point of view, Sunday is as a day of rest, and in a country like Zambia where the population is majority Christian, this fails in line with the move towards attaining work-life balance. Conclusion I believe that the phenomenon happening to the shopping Malls is what Economists call ‘market correction’ and I also believe that in its current state, Zambia is “over-retailed.” But with the advancement of technology and online shopping and a slowing economy, the future of malls really looks gloomy. According to Harvard Business Professor Leonard Schlesinger, Malls “were built for patterns of social interaction that increasingly don’t exist.” Changing social patterns and lifestyle are negatively impacting on Malls. Interestingly, not all is gloomy, local retailers need to look to the future and plan ahead, as Zambia become part of a digital world, both e-tail and retail can survive even it means doing so with a number of abandoned Malls. The writer is Communications and Media Executive based in Lusaka, Zambia. Read the full article