#but then we had a fun french class where we had to debate about gay rights and literally everyone except one girl

[liebelesbe]

*reads a book about gay teens in a relationship in highschool and gets so sad & jealous I want to punch a wall*

this is fine, healthy and normal of me :)

[thebooki3h]

Lukadamianette Au Part 2

First Here Next

We begin where we left off, with Luka and Marinette on one of the dates Luka Planned. Just because it makes sense in this, Luka and Mari arrive a week early

Because Mari is emancipated and excused herself for the first week of school before the trip during which the class is still in France bc they just ended summer and all that jazz. also I have decided that the trip has turned into a half semester exchange program even though this doesn’t make the most sense, but the French school thought the class could use a reward and tbh they just wanted to get the Akuma class out for awhile. Also this way they aren’t in Gotham for a whole semester of senior year. The trip is planned for the first half of the first semester of senior year. I know that this doesn't make a whole lot of sense but just stick with me.

They go sight seeing and basically on a week long date bc the following week begins the Wayne sponsored exchange program and when Luka has to work for Jagged. One day they go to museums, the next the go to famous parks around Gotham (which are thriving thanks to Poison Ivy), the next they see all of the famous villain spots (which are surprisingly popular tourist destinations bc for the most part they don’t get hit twice in short periods of time) which is a good cover for studying past bat battles. They take days in between to rest and use the inspiration they gained to make new songs or clothing designs. 

They share hotel room bc Mari’s parents stopped being her parents a long time ago and lost their say and bc Jagged says they are grown up enough to be responsible for their actions (which brings a blush to their cheeks every time bc “daaaaaddddd” “uncle jaggeeedddd”)

Mari also makes it her mission to visit all of the non chain coffee shops at least once while they are there bc coffee became her best friend when she was active as ladybug. She meets Tim in almost everyone because Tim also drinks coffee obsessively. Luka is more of a tea drinker because coffee interrupts his musical thought process and tea is less harsh. Marinette drinks tea when she wants to relax but coffee is the fuel of the gods. She expresses this to Tim and that's how they become acquainted bc finally someone understands his love for coffee. They exchange numbers after they run into each other for a fourth time. (Luka silently thinks that he might have to talk to Mari about her obsession of coffee again and if there is a rehab center for coffee drinkers) Tim learns that Mari is from the exchange class very quickly based off of Luka’s French accent as well as her light French accent that is mixed with a couple things he can’t quite place.

The class arrives, Lila ofc tried to pull something to leave Mari behind and she thought she was successful so she was gloating. She ofc took credit for the whole trip claiming that she was super close to the Waynes and that she helped Damian acclimate to his new school (she actually knows that Damian didn’t start living with his father until 10 bc why not). Mrs Bustier tries to check in under both her name and Lila’s name, both of which don’t work because they are A) an hour and a half early and B) all of the reservations are under the contest winners name (they have to ok their chaperones to use their name) C)Mrs Bustier told Mari to make all of the reservations under Mari’s name anyway and she totally forgot that. 

So the sit in the lobby for an hour, Lila has the whole class riled up bc Marinette isn't there and it is al her fault that they can’t get in to their rooms. Marinette shows up with Luka 15 mins before the class was supposed to show up (they had just gotten lunch at a cafe that jagged had recommended) and she is laughing and happy, which causes the class to BLOW UP in her face. She ignores them and checks everyone into their rooms. Kagami and Chloe share a suite bc they are rich in their own right and upgraded their shared room bc they are dating and signed up to be roommates. They got this okayed by Buister in writing JIC. Marinette as the contest winner also got a suite (the room she had been staying in with Luka that she just extended the booking for)

Lila and Alya obviously make a big fuss about them getting special treatment but bustier can’t do anything because Mari won’t let her. She secretly thinks Mari is a lost cause now but she tries her best to get her to see that she has to be a role model. Mari actually planned the whole trip and she did a fucking fantastic job bc its Mari and planning something is what she is great at. She has all of the bases covered including iternerary, bookings for food, emergency contact info, health info, info on Gotham, safety procedures and the whole shebang. All of which had to be approved by  Bustier and that Bustier has copies of but totally ignored.

The next day they try to pull the let’s leave an hour early to leave behind Marinette stunt. Not only does that fail because the tour can’t start until the contest winner is there, but they arrived before Wayne tower was even open to the public. Because jagged is extra he shipped Luka and Marinette motorcycles to Gotham bc they were going to be there for a couple months, they also got special permission from Wayne enterprises to park their bikes in the employee parking structures from Tim once he heard that they rode bikes as expensive as Jason’s. So she left early from the hotel with Luka(bc she knew that Bustier would leave her behind somehow) to go meet up with Tim at a new coffee place (one of his favorites). They end up riding on their respective bikes to WE together so they can hang out before the tour. Luka goes to a recording studio to meet up with Jagged, but not before a very passionate kiss goodbye, which makes Tim blush. (Tim may not seem like the biker type but he is a bat and he lives with Jason so he not only knows how to ride a motorcycle well has one, so it may not be his favorite mode of transportation but he’ll live)

So he and Marinette walk to WE about a half an hour before the class is supposed to be there in the middle of a debate on how best to brew coffee (Mari insists its French press) and low and behold they are there yelling at the receptionist. Mari gives Tim a look that says I’m so sorry you have to see this and yes I was not exaggerating walks up to the receptionist and apologizes for what she is about to do (not for the classes actions bc fuck them they can apologize for themselves she has learned to not take responsibility for others actions and she won’t let all that work go to waste). She then proceeds to yell, much louder than someone of her stature presumably should “SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I STG I WILL BREAK JOKER OUT OF ARKHAM AND LOCK HIM IN A ROOM WITH ALL OF YOU WITHOUT FLINCHING” this is shocking to everyone, especially mrs bustier who is  scandalized  that her role model student would do something like this.

Tim had a feeling that something video worthy would happen so as soon as she walked away he started recording, and he was NOT disappointed. The video gos straight to the batfam gc and Luka immediately. He powered off his phone then he proceeds to start laughing and applauding. Upon seeing the CEO’s reaction the rest of the employees start applauding as well bc damn those kids were rude. Tim then walks up to Mari talking at a speed no one but Mari, Chloe and Kagami could understand (bc the class is not fluent in English no matter what they would tell you). Mari proceeds to blush once he informs her that he sent a video to Luka (he does not tell her about the batfam gc)

Chloe and Kagami are immediate intrigued bc this is NOT what they picture when Mari said she met someone who loves coffee as much as she does. they may be hella gay for each other but damn that man is ripped. They join the convo while the class remains befuddled bc who knew Mari even swore. in the back of his mind Nino is reminded of a young blue-eyed girl who lost playground privileges for a week bc someone made fun of his glasses and proceed to punch said someone in the nose. But he shakes it of because Mari hasn’t been like that in years. 

Bustier eventually collects herself and gently, so as not to cause an Akuma (apparently she didn't get the memo), reminds Mari that they are here for a tour and she needs to get the class their passes.  So Mari leaves her friends to get acquainted and goes up to the receptionist, to whom she apologizes for her actions again, and the receptionist replies with a laugh and a “honey, you just made my week, there's no need to apologize I should be thanking you” (she does thank Mari). Mari gets a special pass bc she’s the contest winner to which Lila and Alya (then the rest of the class for the most part) proceed to throw a hissy fit over. The receptionist is so over them though and doesn’t even blink. 

Then their tour guide shows up. (its Dick and his assistant Damian). Damian proceeds to scold the class for a solid ten mins (which coincidentally leads up to their scheduled time to start the tour). Dick slides off to talk to the receptionist and his brother who isn't working and is talking to real people for once. Just for that they are his favorite out of the class. Tim unfortunately has to go to work so they talk to Dick to get acquainted until the tour has to officially start. 

Los tres amigos are the only ones who pay attention to Dick at all (he leads the tour bc he’s been there the longest but Damian throws in a comment here or there mostly related to shenanigans his family has gotten into but overall useful facts. for example these windows are reinforced because our CEO (Tim) leaned up against one, fell asleep and fell through the window to the office below.)

The rest of the class is focused on Lila who is talking a whole bunch of nonsense about the Wayne family and how she has helped them with their business. Some things actually sound kinda legit, but Mari and Co. know that it is BS. Dick tries to bet bustier involved but she makes an excuse for Lila and goes on her phone and doesn’t really pay attention. 

Eventually the class tour turns into Dick talking to Mari, Chloe and Kagami while the class vaguely follows them. Damian doesn’t really say anything because he generally doesn’t do well talking to strangers and these girls seem ok and he is still insecure (not that he would ever admit it to anyone ) about social interaction now that he has figured out how people who weren’t raised as assassins act. That is until Dick starts talking about shenanigans that his brothers get into, and Damian jumps in correcting him because ��I did not try to tackle Todd, Grayson I did tackle Todd quite successful and also Alfred won’t let you into the kitchen anymore because you almost burned down the east wing of the manor not  because he is territorial over the kitchen. And Mari hadn’t really paid attention to Damian until now but OH MY KAWAMI he is hot, and how did she talk so long to notice that. 

She ends up taking a pic of Damian without him noticing (he really doesn’t notice which is a feat in itself but Dick does and he will  be teasing Damian about it later bc obviously) and she texts it to Luka bc if she is going to freak out over his hotness she wants Luka to do so too. ( he sees the pic in the middle of recording and he ends up needing a water break bc gay panic and he really is extremely handsome. Recording gets delayed even longer bc jagged cannot pass up the opportunity to tease him son and he does so mercilessly and Mari totally knew what she was doing when she sent that picture) Luka ends up demanding that she gets Damians number or he will because that man is fine.  

Mari now knows that the stuttering idolization that she had with Adrien wasn’t really healthy and Luka likes to remind her all the time that she can be smooth when she wants to be (sometimes unintentionally but she practices on Luka because she loves to see him blush). Mari then makes it her mission to compliment Damian as much as possible so that it is crystal clear and very obvious that she is flirting with him. If he even shows a little discomfort in a negative I don’t like this kind of way she will stop because she will not make someone go through what she went through with Chat Noir and unwanted advances.

Chloe, Kagami and Dick immediately notice that she is flirting with Damian. Chloe takes a video for Luka bc she knows that he would want to see this and Dick takes a video for the Batfam gc. 

Just to be clear Mari and Luka have talked about seeing other people and maybe adding a third person to their relationship as long as they talk about it. that line of communication was opened when Mari sent a pic of Damian to Luka and when Luka asked for his number that was his “go ahead” for her to flirt with Damian. Lila doesn’t understand how that works and neither do the rest of the class so that is a point of contention between the class and Mari. She would NEVER cheat on Luka, she loves him and he is the most important person to her in the world. Something that Juleka understands (she just doesn’t like Mari bc of Lila she knows how polyamory works this is why her and Luka aren't as close as they used to be)

Moving on... the batfam gc blows up for a second time that day and so when the class goes to the cafeteria Tim just has to see this for himself. Mari tries not to be obnoxious in her flirting so she compliments Damians intelligence by asking him questions that weren't included in the tour, and she asks him about his interests and is like that must have taken a lot of time to perfect you must be very dedicated. Damian isn’t used to genuine compliments especially from strangers so he is very flustered by it but he makes no indication for her to stop. 

The day winds down and the class has some free time before they have to go to dinner but the do have to leave the tower. Mari does actually get Damians number (he thinks she must be very well trained to get his number that quick bc he refuses to accept that he gave it to her because he likes her) Mari promises to ft him later bc he promised to let her meet his dog and she doesn’t want to wait until the class has dinner at the manor to see Titus.

First Here Next

Taglist

@dood-space

@toodaloo-kangaroo

Also I’m not very sure about how to go back and edit posts to link new parts so if anyone knows how to do that please comment or message me because I would love to learn!

[gravelyhumerus]

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 6

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

The team takes on trivia. Emily strips in front of JJ. It's quite an evening for all.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr:  One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

“Come on, Jayje,” Penelope whined. “It’ll be good for you to go out.” 

“I’m sick,” JJ said, fake coughing. “And I need to get a head start on my project for my new media course. It’s worth forty percent.”

“Bullshit.” Penelope said, “I know for a fact that that isn’t due for two weeks. Tonight is NOT the make or break point in that assignment for you.” 

JJ sighed. 

“You need to get out. See the world. Do more than just play soccer, work out and do homework. You’ve been hiding since your break up. It’s not healthy.”

She had told herself she would stop avoiding Emily after she had figured out what her feelings were. Despite JJ’s realization that it was a genuine crush, that JJ truly liked Emily, JJ needed to also be sure that she wasn’t simply rebounding onto someone nearby. 

Someone pretty and smart and kind and who lived right across the hall.

“It’s trivia night JJ,” Penelope said, “and we have Spencer on our team it’ll be fun.” 

JJ sighed, looked up from where she lay on her bed. 

“Fine.”

“Make yourself pretty, you know who will be there,” Penelope replied, turning back to her make-up mirror to finish applying her purple lipstick. 

“Yeah thanks for that,” JJ said sarcastically, “I saw what you did there.”

“Who, me?” she feigned innocence. 

JJ changed from a plain t-shirt to a tighter, low cut long sleeved blue shirt. She then took her hair out of a ponytail, brushing it out before tucking it carefully behind her ears. On principle, she huffed the entire time, so that Penelope would know that she wasn’t happy about the situation, despite the butterflies in her stomach at the idea of seeing Emily again. 

She took care to apply some eyeshadow, some blush and a pink lip gloss that tastes like strawberries. There was something intimidating about Emily. She looked so… put together. With Will, he never really noticed, or cared, if she wore makeup, but Emily definitely would. 

God. This was stressful. Is this what liking girls was like? If it was, JJ was not sure she was cut out for it. 

At least she was going to be on home territory, as trivia was their thing, something that Penelope and JJ had been doing since their floor was forced into going back in first year.  

JJ was working hard at learning to relax a bit. Between maintaining her grades, soccer, and her new job editing press releases for the student government, she was already being pulled in multiple directions. A night out would be fun, she reminded herself. 

She tried to quell her nerves at going out with Emily. It wasn’t a date or anything. Just friends hanging out. JJ’s friends and Emily’s friends. Penelope’s meddling was further tying her to the girl across the hall by blending their friend groups. 

While half of her mind wanted this to happen, wanted to see Emily all the time and have an excuse to see her, smell her, hear her laugh…. JJ frowned as she realized that her crush complicated everything. Emily was already across the hall, and if she admitted her feelings, and they weren’t reciprocated, she would run into her all the time. Now, with Derek Morgan befriending Penelope and Spencer, and all of them going out together, JJ’s silly crush could send ripples across more than just her own life. 

JJ ran her hands through her hair, worrying about the possible ways she could fuck this up. She did not entertain the possibility that Emily could possibly like her back. First of all, she had no idea if she was straight or not. JJ didn’t even know how to tell. 

JJ glanced over to Penelope, who was finishing up her makeup sitting at her desk, looking into a small mirror on the desk. JJ knew Penelope was queer, as her roommate was not shy about it whatsoever. In her mug full of pens was a pride flag from last year’s pride parade. It was in June, so JJ had been back in Pennsylvania then, but she remembered seeing the joy on Penelope’s face in the photos she posted on Instagram. Penelope wasn’t the person she knew that identified as queer. In fact, Spence had recently told them that he was bi. It wasn’t like JJ was not aware of the community, she thought she was just supporting LGBT+ issues on principal, and for her friends. 

She hadn’t considered that when, in her politics class in high school, she was viciously debating on gay marriage for someone like herself. The topics always felt distant. Like something that affected someone else. She was so certain in her heterosexuality that she had joked about it to Penelope earlier in their friendship. 

The token straight friend, she had said. So much for that. 

“Pen,” JJ said, trying to force a neutral tone to her voice, and failing. “How did you know you weren’t straight?”

Penelope turned and simply stared at her for a long moment before giggling and saying: “Are you finally realizing you have a crush on Emily Prentiss?” 

JJ sat up in her chair. 

“What?” 

“Aw darlin’,” Penelope said to her, tilting her head, ”You barely talked about your break up. You were too busy literally running from your feelings for her ever since you ran into her at the library. I had to finally ask her out for you.”

“I–” JJ stuttered. “I talked about my break up.”

“So to answer your question,” Penelope said, matter-of-factly, “I realized when I had my first crush on a girl, just like you’re doing now. Don’t worry about it too much, you’ll drive yourself crazy.”

JJ’s jaw had dropped. 

“Babe, you came home one night babbling about how she taught you French,” Penelope giggled, “You might as well have held up a sign.”

JJ buried her face in her hands. 

“Oh god,” JJ said. “Am I gay? What am I?”

Penelope walked over and tossed her arm around JJ’s shoulders, pulling her into a hug. 

“Aww baby’s first girl crush,” she cooed, “So happy to witness it first hand. You might be gay! Or bi, or something else. Don’t worry too much about the terminology right now.”

Unfortunately, JJ was worrying too much. About not just the terminology. 

Even if Emily was gay, or bi or whatever, she wouldn’t like someone like JJ. She was always a bit of a tomboy, barely knowing how to do make up and dressing like she was going to practise most days. JJ always felt a bit awkward when she dressed up, feeling most at home in joggers and a hoodie. 

Emily, on the other hand, was all elegant with her pretty black hair, her perfect eyeliner and the way she always looked out together when she went out. Moreover, Emily was cool. She listened to music on vinyl and her bookshelf was filled with classic novels and smoked cigarettes. She lived in multiple countries, spoke more languages than JJ hoped to ever learn.

Emily’s mom was an ambassador. She had a nanny growing up. She had a single room and was paying out-of-state tuition. Well, her mom was probably paying her tuition. 

JJ could only afford to be here because she was on a soccer scholarship, and barely had enough money to cover her caffeine addiction. The surprise small stipend from her new student government job was probably the thing keeping JJ from applying for a job off campus. 

Emily would never like someone like JJ, she thought. 

After checking herself in the mirror one final time, she looked at the time. 6:54. Emily and her friends would be there soon, and if JJ knew Spencer well, he would be showing up in just under a minute. 

There was a knock at the door. She was right. 

“Hi guys!” He said, entering their dorm room and taking his customary seat on the very edge of JJ’s bed. “Am I dressed properly? I wasn’t sure what to wear to a bar.”

He was wearing a button up, with a beige sweater vest over top, with slacks and converse to complete the outfit. 

“Aw Spence,” JJ said. “You look great, I promise.”

“Remind me to take you to the mall to get some party clothes,” Penelope quipped. 

“Those were two contradicting statements,” he complained. 

Once Penelope had finished adding rhinestones to her makeup look, they opened the door to find Emily flanked by two boys, waiting in the hall. 

Derek Morgan, JJ recognized, but the other one JJ hadn’t met before. 

“Hello all!” Penelope called out from inside their room. 

“Hi Derek, Emily,” JJ said politely, “I’m not sure we’ve met–“

She reached her hand out to shake the new boy’s hand. He was tall, with a shock of black hair and a serious expression on his face. 

“I’m Jennifer, but my friends call me JJ.”

“Nice to meet you,” the boy said with a small—almost non-existent—smile, shaking her hand with a firm, confident grip. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

“His friends call him Hotch,” Derek piped up punching his shoulder in a friendly way. 

“He’s pre-law,” Emily informed her, “we have a bunch of classes together.”

“I do not have that much experience with trivia,” Aaron admits, rubbing his shoulder and feigning injury. 

“No need!” Penelope says, rounding up on the group, “Spencer here is basically a genius. You’re just a warm body.”

“I just have an eidetic memory!” He said, piping up from in the room. 

With introductions complete, they headed to the small pub just off campus. It was a squat brick building tucked between a restaurant and an old book store. It had a nice back patio in the warmer months, and each Monday was trivia night. 

Just inside, the bouncer drew big xs on their hands to indicate that they were underage, which were all promptly wiped off once they were inside and found a table. The atmosphere inside was relaxed, the staff not really caring if people were drinking underage on a Monday night if they didn’t cause trouble.

JJ loved this bar. It was old, with exposed brick walls and large wooden rafters over their heads. The ceilings were low and the bar was packed and loud, making the place feel cozy, yet not quite claustrophobic. On weekdays, it was mostly locals or upper year students, as their peers were more likely to try to drink underage on the weekends. The crowd was quite a few younger adults, with the occasional older couple or group of middle aged women having a girls night. 

They found a table big enough for their group by just to the right of the bar, tucked out of sight, far from the bouncers. The six of them squeezing tight onto the rustic booth and shrugging off their coats.  

Trivia started at 7:30 pm, so they still had time to get settled and acquire some drinks. JJ was squished between Penelope and Emily’s friend Aaron, who was explaining that he played forward on the men’s hockey team. JJ knew he seemed familiar, realizing that she and he had probably crossed paths at athletics functions. 

“Did you guys rub the marker off your hand?” Spencer asked, too loudly, receiving a chorus of shushing in response.

“Dude,” Derek laughed, “Not so loud you’re gonna get us kicked out!”

“What do you mean?” He asked, the classic Reid obliviousness shining through. 

Emily tossed a casual arm around his shoulders. 

“You see,” she said, “we would like to drink this thing called alcohol tonight. If we have an x on our hands, we don’t get served.”

She pointed to the x on his hand. 

“Speaking of which,” Aaron said, standing up, “I’m grabbing a beer, who’s with me?” 

“Me!” Emily jumped up, with Derek on her heels, “What are you guys drinking? This rounds on me!”

JJ balked, drinks here were expensive. Did Emily actually want to buy them drinks? Or was she simply being nice. JJ should say no. 

“Vodka cran, por favour!” Penelope responded before JJ could politely decline. “JJ drinks beer, and Reid will take a soda.”

“What kind of beer?”

“Whatever’s on tap,” JJ said sheepishly, feeling guilty about someone spending money on her. At the same time, with JJ’s baby face, there was little chance the bartender would buy that she was already 21.

“Root beer please!” Spencer called out after her, though Emily had already turned around, following the boys over to lean against the bar. 

The bartender, a gorgeous young woman with shoulder length brown hair was serving Emily, leaning over the bar. Her eyes were rapt with attention as Emily ordered, even giving her a once over before she left to make their drinks. 

Emily seemed to flirt back, but JJ could not hear what she said, the two women going back and forth for a few moments, their attention hardly broken by the other patrons. 

JJ felt jealousy flare in her stomach. 

As Emily’s fingers grasped the glass, the other girl’s hands lingered, and JJ watched the bartender wink at Emily before turning towards the other patrons. Emily had a cropped tank top, with a plaid shirt on top. Her tight jeans gripped her long legs, and her heeled boots gave an extra inch or so to her already impressive height. She looked hot. The bartender clearly saw it too.

She tried to push back that jealousy. She had no right to be possessive, Emily and she weren’t dating, or anything, they were friends. New friends.   

“Your girlfriend is so good to us!” Penelope cooed, breaking JJ out of her thoughts. 

JJ felt a blush spread across her face. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” she sputtered. 

“Have you told her you like her yet?” Spencer asked. 

“Guys,” JJ exclaimed, “this is not the time. She’s right there.”

“She has not,” Penelope replied. “Even though it’s so obvious that Emily likes her back.”

“Pen!” JJ said as she buried her face in her hands. 

“Spencer you wouldn’t believe it!” she continued, unheeded, “Emily brought her cookies to the game!”

“She was just being nice!” JJ said, peeking out from between her fingers. 

“She didn’t give me any cookies,” Spencer pointed out. “And we spent almost three hours in class together.”

As he said that, Derek, Aaron and Emily returned with not only alcohol, but also nachos and fries for the table. JJ, too polite to protest when being offered food, and who had the appetite of an athlete, dug in. She took a guilty sip of her beer, and felt Emily’s eyes on her. 

Did Emily like her back? That couldn’t be true. JJ was just… Jennifer. JJ. No one special. Not like Emily. JJ decided not to linger on that thought, it wasn’t like JJ would risk their friendship by admitting she had feelings anyways. 

“You know,” Spencer said between mouthfuls, “I’ve never done trivia before, but I’ve been told I’d be good at it.

“No shit, kid,” Derek replied, talking through a mouthful of nachos, “You talk like a textbook.”

Spencer looked like he was unsure whether or not to take that as a compliment. 

“What are the topics?” Emily asked. 

“They don’t tell you until you get here,” Penelope replied, “Someone should be by with papers and pencils. 

As if summoned, a tall girl with short black hair came by, dropping off a pencil and a paper, split into four quadrants with ten blanks on each page. 

“Who wants to write?” JJ asked, looking around the table. 

Hotch was busy scanning the page for the topics: science, television, sports and music, and he didn’t realize the activity going on around him. Everyone, including Reid somehow, (Derek helped him) had stuck their finger to the tip of their nose, the official sign for ‘not it.’

He looked up, seeing the fingers and without comment he grabed the pencil.

“It’s for the best,” Emily said, “My handwriting is illegible.”

“Can vouch for that,” Derek laughed, “It’s like half cursive half something inhuman.”

Emily punched his shoulder and took another drink. 

“So how does this normally work?” Hotch asked, gesturing towards her paper with the pencil.

“Question, two minutes to write down your answer, no phones,” Penelope replied, “Then we swap with a nearby team to mark it! And so on for four rounds.”

“There’s prizes,” JJ added. “Whoever gets the most right in the end wins, we hand in the sheets to the MC to enter.”

“Sweet,” Derek said. 

“We need a name,” JJ said, looking up. 

“The twinkies,” Emily blurted. 

“The… twinkies?” Hotch repeated, incredulously. 

“I don’t know,” Emily muttered, “I panicked.”

The group burst into laughter, which Emily laughed along with. She was a good sport. 

“Let’s get Quizzical,” Penelope offered. 

“I don’t get it,” Spencer said. 

“Quiz me, daddy,” Penelope tried again, winking at Derek. 

“Settle down now, little lady,” Derek said, laughing. 

“We’re not doing that,” JJ laughed. 

She wasn’t sure who looked more horrified at the idea, Spencer or Hotch. 

“Counter intelligence,” Derek proposed instead, it has a nice ring to it and works with the trivia premise. 

“That’s funny,” Penelope said. “And seems ok for the prudish ones amongst us.”

Hotch wrote that down on their page. 

“Hello everyone,” the MC said through a microphone as the music quieted, a hush fell over the bar, with everyone listening to the women speak. “My name is Tara and I’ll be your MC tonight.”

Tara was beautiful, with curled hair tucked behind her ears and a friendly smile, she was tall, wearing high heels making her stand tall over the seated audience. JJ thought she might be a student, as she looked a bit familiar. 

“Hi Tara!” Someone yelled out from the other side of the bar. 

Tara chucked, “Hello Dave. Welcome all to Trivia Night at O’Keefe’s, we have brand-new questions and prizes for you. Are you excited?”

The audience whooped, Hotch pulled the paper close to him and readied his writing hand, taking a quick swig of his beer to prepare himself. 

“We’re going to start off with some science questions,” the MC said.

The group looked expectantly at Spencer, who looked slightly nervous. 

“First question,” Tara announced, “We’ll start by looking outside of our planet, at the others in our solar system. Scientists have long been able to calculate the masses of most planets, including Earth. It has taken longer to measure the masses of Venus and Mercury, primarily because these two planets lack what?”

“Moons, obviously,” Spencer said, too loudly. Other groups clearly overheard, writing the answer down on their cards.

“Reid,” Penelope scolded, “You’re on our team. Whisper please.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, taking a sip of his soda through a small straw. 

“Question two: of what material is a rhinoceros horn made?”

“Bone?” Derek whispered to them, “They look boney.”

“That’s actually a common misconception,” Reid replied, “They’re actually composed of keratin, which is essentially hair.”

“Huh,” Derek tilted his beer in acknowledgement. Hotch wrote that down. 

“How many hearts do octopuses have?”

“Three!” Emily hisses, before Spencer has the chance.

“Nice one,” Hotch murmured back to her.

“I like cephalopods,” Emily said, as explanation. 

JJ desperately wanted to comment on that, but the game moved too quickly. 

The next few questions were rapid fire, covering everything from the speed of a sneeze, to the surface area of the lungs, to the oxygen in the atmosphere, to which letters from the alphabet were missing from the periodic table (the answer was J and Q.)

JJ perked up when she heard the last question: “What are people who study or collect butterflies called?”

“Lepidopterists!” She said, triumphantly before the MC even listed the options.

Everyone looked at her, surprised about her beating even Reid to the punch.

“I- uh,” JJ stammered, “I collected butterflies as a kid.”

JJ caught Emily smiling at that. She looked away, embarrassed. 

Next was music, which, between Hotch and his impressive understanding of dad rock and Penelope’s encyclopedic knowledge of current pop music, and Derek’s well-rounded passion for all genres, they did fine. Reid pouted, as his eidetic memory doesn’t quite work for things he hasn’t read. 

JJ, unfortunately, was not any help. JJ liked music, but she did not bother memorizing facts about writers or sampling or anything like that. She just liked listening to it. 

After that was sports, and that topic went by quickly with JJ, Derek and Hotch answering the questions with a high degree of confidence. 

Hotch, who was already writing aggressively and getting into it, wrote more and more excitedly, and on the second to last sports question—about the composition of a baseball—he snapped the lead off the pencil right off. 

This caused sheer chaos. 

With no writing utensil, one more answer to write down, they scrambled. JJ shrugged helplessly, typically known as the mom friend in her group, she felt bad that she had nothing to offer. After a moment, Penelope discovered a fluffy pink gel pen she found at the bottom of her purse. 

“Is the ink pink, too?” Hotch asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He tried writing. The ink was pink and sparkly. 

“Yes, sir,” Penelope replied. 

“Did you just call me ‘sir’?”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

During the brief intermission between Sports and Television, somehow the Salem witch trials came up in conversation. (It was actually because Penelope had mentioned the Blair Witch Project and Spencer misheard, but that’s neither here nor there). 

“She was four?” JJ demanded, “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Oh I read about this,” Penelope said, “Dorothy something, she was accused of witchcraft alongside her mother.”

“Dorothy Good, also referred to as Dorcas Good, was only four years old when she was arrested in 1692. According to her accusers, she had allegedly bitten them on their arms. She was actually placed in jail and interrogated by Salem officials where they took the fact that she had a pet snake as proof that she was a witch, as the snake would serve the role of her animal familiar.”

“She was a child,” JJ said, horrified.

“Yup,” Spencer replied, unfazed. JJ frowned but continued writing. 

The last one was television, which was very clearly Penelope’s favourite. 

“Friends ended in May 2004 after how many seasons?”

“Oh I know that one,” Hotch said, “Seven.”

Hotch wrote that down in pink ink, the fuzzy pom-pom danced as he wrote.  

“Amy Poehler, Rob Lowe and Chris Pratt worked together on which US comedy series?”

“Parks and Rec,” Penelope said, “Parks and Recreation, God, I should rewatch that. Such amazing girl-power vibes in that one.”

“What were the names of the two government agents played by David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson in the 1993-2002 series X-Files?”

“Special Agent Fox Mulder and Dr. Dana Scully,” Emily said with a smile. 

“Wait, you too Prentiss?” Derek said. “Nerding out with Reid tonight.”

“Guilty as charged,” Emily said, “What can I say, I’m a sucker for Gillian Anderson.”

JJ’s mind stuck on that comment. Was she simply a fan of the acting? Or was she implying some sort of attraction to the actress. JJ did not ask. Her mind was wandering for too long, all while looking at Emily, that she missed the next question. 

Whatever it was, Hotch was informing her that the answer was ‘72 survivors’. 

Questions about Saturday Night Live, The Office, Scooby-Doo and a few old-timey shows that they didn’t recognize followed. 

“The last question for the night!” Tara announced, “It’s been lovely being your MC for tonight. I hope you all had as much fun as I did. You ready?”

The crowd cheered.

“Ok this one’s for all the nerds out there: what sci-fi series premiered in 1966?”

“Star Trek: The Original Series,” Reid hissed, struggling to keep his voice down. “Which was the beginning of a franchise that has now lasted over fifty years, spanning nine television series, thirteen films and assorted shorts, video games and novels.”

“Ok Mr. Spock,” Emily laughed, “Thank you for your brain.”

“Spock’s Brain is actually one of the best episodes in the Original Series,” he replied, JJ couldn’t tell if he had made a joke or was simply spouting another fact. 

As trivia wrapped up, and the scores were being tallied, the bar roared back to life, with music booming and the attendees milling about near the bar, back at the darts and grouping around the tables.

She found herself chatting with Hotch and Penelope, about some question they were unsure about, but her eyes were fixed on Emily and Derek. Derek had a hand in the small of Emily’s back, guiding her past the crowd near the bar. 

JJ wondered if there was really something more there, despite Penelope’s encouragement of her crush on Emily. Maybe she was already into Derek? He was very affectionate with all of his friends, especially Penelope, so maybe it was nothing. But still, Emily seemed to be reciprocating. 

But the hand didn’t leave, it held her close, almost protectively, something a boyfriend would do. 

JJ turned away, pushing the thoughts away and slamming the last of her third beer, scanning for where Spencer had run off to after the game wrapped up. He was seated with two other people at a table near the back, talking excitedly at them while they looked at him with rapt attention. Out of curiosity, she wandered over.

Maybe she can hang out with Spence as she banished the strange feelings of jealousy burning in her chest.  

“Return to tomorrow?” the girl asked Spencer, leaning over the table in excitement.  

“Return to tomorrow, season two, production number fifty-one,” Reid replied, “An alien named Sargon takes over Kirk’s body while two others take over Spock and Dr. Mulhall.”

JJ frowned, she had no idea what he was talking about, but recognized that it seemed like the plot of an episode of Star Trek.

“Alien races appearing?”

“Trick question, a race is never identified. Sargon is a disembodied mind?”

“Dr. McCoy quote?”

He looked stumped for a moment. 

“Five, four, three, two-”

“I will not peddle flesh, I’m a physician!” He concludes enthusiastically. 

This all appeared to be an extension of his trivia game. JJ was happy that he was making friends, despite him worrying that he wouldn’t fit in at a bar, he seemed to have found his people. 

JJ gave him an affectionate pat on his shoulder before passing, on her way to the dart board. With Reid occupied, Derek and Emily flirting at the bar and Hotch and Penelope hitting it off, JJ decided to show some random boys up.

It would make her feel better.

There was a pair already at the board, tossing the darts fairly inaccurately. JJ asked if she could join, batting her eyelashes in a way she knew would grab their attention quickly. 

They immediately welcomed her in, handing her some darts. She hit the nineteen, twenty and dead centre in quick succession. The rush of the game kept away her earlier feelings of jealousy, centering her in the moment and her goal.

The boys were floored. JJ was good at darts. 

She played three rounds, slamming them each time easily. Amateurs. They were drunk, aggressive with their throwing, all force no finesse. Typical men.

After the third round, they left for the bar, offering to grab her a drink to celebrate her win, she followed close by, knowing better than to leave a drink unattended, but also not passing up the opportunity to drink for free when it was a silly boy paying. 

Maybe she should rebound after her break up and sleep with a random man. She looked at the man in front of her, he was tall, with dark hair and hazel eyes, wearing a tight fitting white shirt. His companion had sandy brown hair and dark eyes, but neither of them were stirring anything in JJ’s heart. Both were objectively attractive, but neither were the beautiful brunette that lived across the hall. 

JJ accepted her drink graciously, knowing she had to fill another few minutes of small talk before it was appropriate for her to rejoin her friends. 

The one boy was telling her about darts, in detail, despite the fact that she had informed him that she did know how to play, and had just beat him at the game. 

“Can I steal JJ from you guys for a sec?” She felt a hand on her bicep and Emily’s sweet voice in her ear.

JJ turned and the taller girl was next to her, her hand resting lightly on her bare arm, feeling electricity where their skin touched. 

“Uh, yeah,” the brown haired boy said, JJ didn’t remember his name, “Of course.”

JJ smiled apologetically before allowing herself to be led away.

“Thought you could use an out,” Emily whispered in her ear, “You looked bored.”

“Thank you,” JJ replied. “I was.”

They stopped further down the bar, standing close, with Emily looking down at her, their hips brushing each other. JJ could smell her perfume over the ambient smell of alcohol, bar food and the old building. 

“Men,” Emily laughed, “Am I right?”

They laughed. JJ wasn’t sure exactly what she meant but she thought she got the gist. JJ gulped down a sip of her drink, a vodka soda that the boy had chosen for her. 

“Speaking of, are you and Derek, uh,” JJ asked, nervously, “A thing?”

Emily’s eyes widened, and her lips tugged into a smile, she began to laugh. 

“Derek Morgan?” She guffawed, “Absolutely not, that boy is like my brother. Oh my god, JJ you thought we were together?”

JJ felt herself sigh a breath of relief, hoping that it was not visible on her face.

“I just saw how he was at the bar,” JJ explained, “I just assumed.”

“Oh that,” Emily smiled, “I asked him to basically pretend to be my boyfriend, a beard if you will. Keeps guys hands from wandering.”

JJ frowned, that she could empathize with. 

“But no, we’re very much just friends.”

JJ looked over to their table: Derek, Hotch and Penelope were currently playing a game that seemed to consist of tossing coins into Reid’s empty soda can. 

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, both girls listened to the music, standing closely, closer than they needed to. 

Emily ordered them another round, and by that point JJ had given up protesting, realizing that this is just what Emily did. 

Grabbing their drinks, Emily handed JJ’s to her. They smiled and raised their glasses in cheers. 

“To new and old friends,” Emily said, “and to us winning at trivia!”

“I can drink to that!” 

Both accidentally raised their arms too enthusiastically, their glasses crashed together. Emily’s grip slipped and the glass went tumbling out of her hand, right onto JJ. She was suddenly damp and sticky, the liquid soaking through JJ’s thin shirt. 

“Oh my god,” Emily gasped, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Shit,” JJ gasped, putting her own drink down onto the bar and stepping back. “It’s ok, it was both of our faults.” 

“Let’s get you to the bathroom,” Emily said, with a hand pressed to the small of her back, leading her away from the bar. As an afterthought, Emily grabbed JJ’s drink and carried it with them.

A few people gave her concerned glances, one patron offering her a small napkin that did basically nothing. JJ wasn’t mad, it was fully an accident, but now she was just desperate to dry off. 

Now, JJ was acutely aware of Emily’s hand on her lower back. Warm and firm, it guided her into the bathroom. 

As soon as the door shut, the silence made JJ’s ears ring. Emily had turned to the paper towel dispenser, yanking probably four feet of it off and bunching it up before handing it to JJ.

It was a small bathroom basically just the room, one sink and no hand dryer, much to JJ’s sadness.

JJ hoisted herself up onto the counter, taking the paper towel from Emily, patting her shirt hopelessly. The alcohol soaking into the cotton and leaving the shirt a noticeably darker blue. JJ sighed. 

“I’m such a klutz,” Emily said apologetically. “My mom always was on my case for it.”

“It’s not your fault, Em,” JJ said, “it was an accident.”

Emily grabbed more paper towels, moving closer and helping her, patting on the shirt, over her stomach. 

JJ held her breath, realizing that Emily was so close. JJ could look up, see Emily’s face, looking concentrated, with her perfect red lips right there. Her strong hands were carefully dabbing at her shirt, fussing over JJ in a way that made her heart skip a beat. Emily’s collarbones led down to her chest, visible with her low cut chest. JJ felt herself blush, looking up to the ceiling, feeling embarrassed at these thoughts. 

JJ’s top hadn’t changed much, besides it feeling a bit less damp, it still showed the liquid clear as day. 

“This is doing just about nothing,” JJ sighed, clearing her throat. “Maybe I should just go home. It’s getting late anyways.”

“Nonsense,” Emily said. “You can wear this.”

JJ’s jaw dropped as Emily shrugged her plaid shirt off her shoulders, revealing her tank top underneath and handed it to her. JJ took it, dumbly, closing her mouth but saying nothing. 

Emily turned around, clicking the lock on the door, and leaning her shoulder against it, just in case. She took a sip out of JJ’s glass, casually, as if JJ was not about to take her shirt off behind her. 

Emily’s back was to her, but JJ sat, frozen, holding this new shirt in her hand. JJ pulled her wet shirt off, very aware of being naked in front of Emily. Well, shirtless, with her white bra visible, but still feeling incredibly naked. 

She quickly buttoned up the plaid shirt, it was oversized and a warm grey with hints of green and navy, feeling very incredibly soft. 

Warm and dry, JJ felt the shirt envelop her in what felt like a hug. A hug from Emily. 

JJ hopped off the counter and smoothed out her new shirt, Emily’s shirt. JJ folded up her wet shirt and held it in her left hand. The other girl turned and looked JJ up and down, with an unreadable expression on her face. 

“You look good,” Emily commented. 

“Thank you,” JJ managed. 

They stared at each other, for a moment, the room filling with a tension that made her shiver. The music thumped from the other room, but JJ’s heartbeat was deafening. She had accidentally stripped a layer off of Emily, and desperately wanted to take more off of her. Emily’s black tank was riding up, revealing a small strip of her stomach above her high waisted jeans. Emily’s face was flushed from the alcohol, her pale skin becoming pink on her cheeks and nose. JJ thought back to that morning when she had caught Emily in her PJs, of what she knew was under her shirt. This too hugged her curves, revealing hints about what lay beneath. 

“We better get back,” JJ found herself whispering. 

The bathroom was small, so the two of them were packed together in the tiny space. Emily suddenly leaned forward, closing the distance between them, reaching her hands out towards JJ. 

JJ’s heart raced, unsure what to expect. Was Emily going to kiss her? No. Why would she? Oh my god what if she was? 

Emily’s hand carefully fixed her collar, tugging on it slightly. 

“There,” Emily whispered, “you’re perfect.”  

JJ closed her eyes at the feeling of Emily’s hands on her. Sighing slightly. 

She chastised herself for being silly. Emily was just fixing her collar. Being a good friend. 

“Let’s get back,” JJ said. 

“If we have to,” Emily replied. JJ tried not to read into that too much.  

They returned to their table, squeezing back in tightly with their overcrowded group of friends. They were in a heated debate about the Zodiac killer. Neither girl knew how the conversation got there, but Emily immediately joined the conversation. 

After a few minutes, and after quite a few sly looks from Penelope, the MC tapped on the mic, gaining the audience's attention. 

“We officially have a winner!” Tara announced, “With 36 points, it’s Counter Intelligence!”

Their table erupted in cheers. They had won! There were a flurry of high fives, hugs and fist bumps in their celebration. 

Tara, the MC came over to their table to congratulate them. She told them that they had beat out the second place by one point. 

“Impressive work everyone,” Tara said, “that’s close to a high score, and these were hard questions.”

“We have a great team,” Penelope said with a grin. 

“I can tell,” Tara replied. “Are you all going to come back next week? It’s Halloween themed!”

They looked at each other, then nodded at her. It was a plan. 

“See you then!” Tara said. 

She gave them their prizes, which were mugs with the bars logo printed in white on the green mugs. She would treasure it. 

JJ finds herself yawning, catching the eye of Emily, who said: “we better get JJ to bed, looks like she’s fading.”

Please, JJ thought sleepily, resting her drunk head on her hand, take me to bed.

Sitting down, JJ’s five or so drinks had hit her hard, and she dreaded standing up and risking stumbling. She was drunk. JJ wasn’t a light weight, but over their time at the bar, she had gotten quite a bit of alcohol into her system. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” JJ could feel Penelope grab her arm and hoist her up. JJ leaned on her, feeling a warm affection for her friend in the moment. 

Together, they walked home in the cold night air. Laughing, chatting and walking together amicably, all holding their prizes in hand. JJ leaned into Penelope’s side, feeling warm despite the chill of the air. Something felt incredibly right about that moment, those people. 

She didn’t want it to end. 

They went their separate ways from Hotch once they got to campus, bidding him farewell, not before Penelope added him to a group chat titled “The Team 🕺” in reference to their trivia playing. Hotch promised he’d join them all again next week. 

Once they climbed the stairs to their floor, Reid continued up to his room and the four of them found themselves trying to quietly return to their rooms without getting caught by the RA. 

Despite being served for the entire night, if they got caught drinking underage they would get in a lot of shit, especially Derek and JJ on their athletic scholarships. 

Muffled whispers and giggling filled the air as they walked through the common room.

Derek hugged them all goodbye—he seemed to be a hugger JJ surmised—and went to his room down the hall. 

“Oh!” JJ said, spinning to face Emily in the hall. Penelope had already entered their dorm, with the door closing behind her. “I can give your shirt back tomorrow! I can… er… wash it for you. It probably smells like beer now.”

Emily gazed at her, from over her shoulder as she unlocked her door, looking JJ up and down.

“Keep it,” she said. “It looks good on you.”

JJ would swear she saw Emily wink at her, but couldn’t be sure. 

Emily disappeared into her dorm room, and JJ went into hers. 

She slept with the shirt folded neatly next to her pillow, the smell of Emily’s perfume filling her senses as she dreamt. 

[sincerelyreidburke]

Taddy drabble!!!!!

Okay, remember this post from yesterday about how @hockeysometimes and I accidentally created 3 OC tadpoles for the frogs’ senior year? I accidentally ficced. And it got sort of long.

May I present, tadpole number one: Sebastián “Nando” Hernandez!!!! This started because I said, you know what, there should be a baby gay tadpole when Nursey and Dex are seniors and then they love and cherish him like their adopted child. Thus Nando was born. As promised, I’ll make a post telling you more about Nando and his fellow two tadpoles soon. For now, have this sickeningly soft random fluff, in which Nando comes across some gay shit going down at Annie’s between his captain and said captain’s assistant-captain-slash-best-friend.

Nando loves his classes.

He picked his schedule last spring, at the Samwell admitted students day, and, like, okay, he was a little nervous about it, because how are you supposed to pick classes for a major that determines your job for the rest of your life when you haven’t even graduated high school yet?— But. He did a good job. Because his freshman fall semester schedule is the shit.

Tuesdays are the best, and today is Tuesday, so his spirits are high. He gets out of Soc 101 at 10:30, and he has an entire, like, six hours before he even needs to start thinking about hockey practice. Hockey practice is one of the best parts of any day, by the way, because he gets to see his friends.

He can’t believe it. It’s the middle of October, and he still can’t believe it. Walking across Samwell’s main quad after class, he takes it all in. He’s really here. He’s really in college. He’s almost two thousand miles away from home, and he misses Mama and his sisters a whole boatload, but he’s here. He’s in college, and he’s studying sociology, and he’s playing D1 hockey, and he’s not sure he’s ever been happier.

He’s in such a good mood today, actually, that he thinks it necessitates Annie’s. He’s only been at Samwell for two months, but already he’s perfected his order. They make a mocha frappe with cinnamon that’s honestly the drink of the gods.

Okay, he reasons with himself. Annie’s it is. And then homework. Later. But first, Annie’s. He deserves this.

He’s going to gain his freshman fifteen solely because of Annie’s.

And then Dex will kick his ass. Nando isn’t scared of his captain, exactly; he’s been in enough settings with him to know that Dex is a really nice guy, and he’s been instrumental in welcoming Nando to Samwell. But he’s also seen him on the ice, fiercely debating linesmen on bad calls and getting in scuffles and doling out checks to the members of opposing teams with particularly hateful chirps. He’s a great leader. Nando just isn’t so sure he’d want to get on his bad side.

He just. He really wants to impress the seniors, okay? They’re, like, the coolest guys ever.

Nando reaches into his pocket for his phone, but there are no new messages. He checks his thread with his boyfriend, but Nate left him on read at 9:21 this morning and hasn’t gotten back to him yet— which he never used to do, really, not before Nando left for Samwell. He’s trying not to read into it too much. Nate is busy, after all. He’s at U of Arizona, much closer to home, doing big things. He doesn’t have as much time to text, and that’s okay.

Or— at least that’s what he’s been telling himself.

It’s okay. He tucks his phone away. Nate will get back to him eventually. Even though the gaps between his replies have been getting larger… and larger… and larger.

He knew coming to college with a long-distance boyfriend would be hard, but. Jeez.

His team doesn’t know about Nate. Not really. He would be lying if he said that his decision to come play for Samwell wasn’t influenced at least a little by Eric Bittle and the 2016-17 team, being in the news so much for the first openly gay NCAA captaincy. He was reading the stories before he even got his acceptance letter. He’s not sure he’s ever felt more inspired by another hockey player.

And besides, this is Samwell. It’s one of the queerest colleges in the country, on top of the hockey team’s reputation for acceptance. So really, he shouldn’t be afraid to tell his new teammates he’s gay.

It’s just. Hockey is hockey. And Eric Bittle graduated.

He has some surviving memories from, well, an entire childhood of being a queer, Latino hockey player, and it wasn’t a fun time.

He’ll get there. Eventually.

And besides, he tells himself, he isn’t worrying about that today. Today he’s going to Annie’s, and getting a frappe. The sun shines on his face, and the trees are turning every color.

It’s a good day.

*

Nursey loves his boyfriend.

For a number of reasons, but especially right now. He’s about three sweet-talking sentences away from getting Dex to share a bite of his French toast. They’re tucked into the corner booth at Annie’s— their booth, really; they’ve staked a claim to it every time they come here ever since they got back to campus for senior fall. It’s tiny, and barely spacious enough for two 6’2 hockey players to squeeze themselves into, but Nursey sits across from him and their knees press together under the table, and all is right in the world.

“Look, babe,” Nursey says, spreading his hands out on the table. “All I’m saying is, that little crust right there with the powdered sugar—” He points to the bite of toast in question on Dex’s plate. “I’ve got my eye on it.”

Dex rolls his eyes at him. There’s a smile on his freckly face, and in the warm light of the dining room, he’s every autumn color imaginable, fiery red hair to plaid, maroon button-down to amber eyes like pools of sunlight. For the past three years, Nursey spent his entire friendship with Dex trying to train himself not to stare, to rid himself of the wants for a boy he never thought he could have. This summer, that changed. Now he can have him, does have him— so he can look. Why not look?

Dex is a fucking catch.

He’s pointing with his fork toward Nursey’s own plate. All that remains of what once was there are a few whole-grain breadcrumbs. “I don’t know if you’d noticed,” Dex says, “but you had your own food.”

“Will,” Nursey groans. “I’m still hungry. I just want to taste it.”

Dex cuts into his last stack of toasts, and Nursey glues his eyes to them. Annie’s does French toast right— brioche bread with just the right amount of egg wash, pan-fried and then dusted with powdered sugar and drizzled with syrup. Nursey is pretty sure his mouth is watering.

And Dex is right. He did have his own food. But—

“It’s not my fault,” Dex continues, between bites of toast, “that you insist on getting hipster toast every time we come in here.”

Nursey puts a hand on his heart, like he’s been shot. “Dexy, avocado toast is part of my aesthetic.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dex sighs. “Why am I dating you?”

Nursey grins, rubbing his foot against Dex’s sneaker under the table. “Because you love me.”

Dex rests his cheek in one hand, and Nursey is suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to lean across the table and kiss each of his freckles, one by one. He watches Dex pass judgement over him, eyes lingering on him bemusedly, mouth curving up to the dimple on the left side of his face. For a few seconds, he’s quiet, and Nursey doesn’t break eye contact. He’s in love with that look in Dex’s eyes.

Then, finally, Dex stabs the crust Nursey has been eyeing with his fork, holds it across the table, and announces, “I hate you.”

“I know.” Nursey beams. Through the power of his charm, he’s getting exactly what he wanted. He knew it’d come to this, all along.

Dex feeds him the little nugged of powdered, syrupy crust, and it tastes just as overly sweet as the gesture is, and Nursey has never loved anything more. “Mmmm,” he groans as he swallows. “That shit is delightful. Thanks, baby.”

“You’re a sweet-talker,” Dex mutters, still grinning, as he returns to his plate to finish it off.

“But you fall for it,” Nursey points out. “Every time. So who’s whipped in this arrangement?”

“Both of us,” Dex replies. His cheeks are flushed pink, but his smile remains.

“I tend to agree,” Nursey says, then reaches for his free hand and takes it in his own. He pulls it across the table, then plants a kiss on each knuckle, plus one, two, three of his favorite freckles. Dex’s hand, like the rest of him, is covered in them. Nursey has written enough poems about them to fill a book.

In fact, he maybe feels one coming on right now. He tucks the idea into storage in his brain for later, when he’ll inevitably wind up scribbling all over a notebook in a pile of leaves outside the Haus for two hours before practice.

God, he fucking loves this place.

He presses Dex’s palm to his own face; Dex’s fingers curl into the touch and caress his cheek. “Ah, my Will,” he hums. “Where would I be without my stolen bites of your French toast.”

Dex points his fork at him menacingly. “Don’t even think about it,” he says. “That was your ration for the day. This is my breakfast.”

“Hey!” Nursey beams, still holding his hand to his stubbly cheek. There are callouses all over Dex’s fingers. Before this, before Dex, he didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with a pair of hands. “Did I say anything about asking for another piece?”

“No.” Dex mops up the last of his syrup with the very last piece of his toast. His eyes twinkle like the sunrise as he looks up at Nursey. “But I know you were thinking it.”

Nursey kisses the inside of his palm. “Rude.”

Dex laughs into his hand, smiling from ear to giant ear, and Nursey really fucking loves his boyfriend.

*

Annie’s is crowded.

It always is. Or at least that’s what Nando has inferred from his two months on campus. The line stretches almost, but not quite, to the door. He weighs the merits of long line versus mocha frappe— is it worth it?— but then watches two girls go by him holding their drinks, each with tall stacks of whipped cream atop them, and he decides, yeah. Definitely worth it.

So he waits in line. He should have texted Rhodey to ask if he wanted to come with him, but then again, Rhodey is still probably asleep. He’s pretty sure his roommate-slash-teammate is nocturnal.

The coffee shop is buzzing with students, a sea of maroon Samwell merchandise, groups of friends clustered around tables or piled into booths.

Nando grins at the scene. It’s such a postcard of college. Some are hunched over homework; others scroll through their phones or laptops, and still others are just talking, laughing, enjoying each other’s company. There are art kids, and jocks, and fierce academic types, and— oh, wait— is that Nursey?

Nando squints. Yes, it is! There’s no mistaking that green hat. It sits atop his teammate’s familiar head of undercut curls; Nursey is in the back booth, and he’s— oh! He’s sitting across from Dex.

Nando almost waves at his teammates, but a.) they’re not looking at him, and b.)... something he’s never seen before, he realizes, is happening.

Because the thing is, they’re not looking at him, but they’re not looking at anything else, either. In fact, their eyes are all each other’s, as they sit mere feet apart across the small booth. Dex is resting his cheek in one hand, looking across the table at him, and Nursey is beaming at him, eyes crinkled and face soft, like— like—

— like he’s looking at the love of his life.

Nando widens his eyes. All of a sudden, he feels like he’s seeing something he isn’t supposed to be seeing. Nursey says something to Dex, who rolls his eyes but smiles at the same time. He proceeds to fork something off of his plate and hand the fork across the table to Nursey, who eats the bite of whatever Dex is offering clean off without hesitation.

Nando blinks.

This looks gay.

Really gay.

His theories are confirmed when, a few seconds later, Nursey picks up Dex’s hand and kisses it several times. Nando looks away, lest he catch one of their eyes, but then again, it’s not like either of them seem to be planning to look anywhere but at each other anytime soon. His awkward aversion of his gaze only lasts a second, because when he sneaks a glance back at them, he has to marvel at how soft Dex looks— his cheeks are freckled and pink, and he looks so at ease with Nursey, like he has no other care in the world. It’s an extension of the dynamic Nando has already observed between them— they’re best friends, and he knows this. He just had no idea that they were more than best friends.

Nando pauses in line. Logically, he knew that Nursey was queer. He’s open about it, proud of it, and he gave Nando and the other tadpoles the no homophobic bullshit, this is Samwell, have your teammates’ backs speech on day one of preseason. It was a breath of fresh air for Nando, and he’s sort of been looking up to him ever since.

But Dex?

At the table, Dex has his hand pressed to Nursey’s face, like it’s a prized possession. Nando has never seen that soft smile on his captain before.

“Hey.” Someone nudges him, very lightly, in the backpack from behind. “Dude, you can move up.”

“Oh.” Nando snaps out of it— the line has moved on without him, and he’s left a gaping, empty space in the middle of it. “Sorry,” he says to the person behind him, and then steps forward.

He can still see Nursey and Dex from his new spot in line.

His stomach turns. He misses Nate, watching them together.

His phone still has no new messages, just Read 9:21 AM.

But here are Nursey and Dex, in plain sight at Annie’s, canoodling— there is no better word for it— with each other, being a couple, despite all the odds, all the stereotypes, everything everyone thinks hockey players are supposed to be. Here are his captains, the team leaders, seniors, sharing something that even in this brief glance Nando knows is precious beyond words.

He wonders, for a split second, if he should say something, the next time he sees them. Tell him he looks up to them. That he’s grateful to feel so safe here.

But watching them with their breakfast, he decides against it. He’s seeing this before they’ve chosen to reveal it to him, and that should happen on their own terms.

Nursey throws his head back in a laugh. Dex grins like he’s just won the Stanley Cup.

No, Nando won’t say anything. This is something too precious to intrude on.

For now, he smiles, and he waits in line for his frappe.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #223

“broken and sad, as the tarnish on your crown, nowhere to go but down.”

What’s your favorite chocolate in the valentine box? The one with fudge in the center. What color hair did your first crush have? Brown. What’s a condition you have that you haven’t been officially diagnosed with? Do not ever self-diagnose, ever. There's a quote about this that I love: Something along the lines of, "Your five-minute Google search doesn't compare to my doctoral degree." Something like that. Anyway, everything I have has been professionally diagnosed, though my therapist and psychiatrist both know I question if my bipolarity is actually borderline personality disorder. My psychiatrist doesn't see it, and my therapist says my level of self-awareness makes that highly unlikely. Idk though, a loooot of symptoms remind me of myself. What’s your favorite version of the Bible? None. Do you think pineapple belongs on pizza? Noooo. I hate sweet/savory combos. Which one of your parents do you think is smarter? My mom. My dad is smart in his own way, but if you're talking about textbook knowledge, yeah. My mom is smarter in that area. Which parent do you think you inherited your intelligence level from? I 120% got my total lack of common sense from Dad. Otherwise, Mom. Do you store your bike in a garage for the winter? I don't have a garage nor bike. What were your favorite gym class activities in elementary school? Okay, do y'all remember those rainbow tarps you'd form a big dome out of? I loved that shit. Even though all we did was talk once inside, lol. I also loved those square roller things. You know, the ones that put your fingers at great risk. Would you rather wear a tunic top and jeggings or a crop top and high-waisted jeans? Okay so I'd fucking love to wear high-waisted jeans w/ a crop top if I had the body for it. Do you think hoodies look better oversized and long, or cropped? Oversized ones are the best. Have you ever had a professional make-over? No. Have you ever had a professional photo shoot? No. Did you ever want to be a model? Noooo. What’s your anti-depressant? Vraylar + Lamictal lmaooooo. Do you stretch or do yoga? Not anymore. List all of the colors of dresses you have worn to school dances. I only ever went to prom. My first was maroon, the second black. Did you enjoy school dances? Here's the tea: they're overhyped, at least for my personality. It's loud as hell so you can't hear each other talk, and the music's shit. I only went to his senior prom and mine for the novelty of it. What is something you want to be for Halloween? I am very legitimately considering be a handmaid from The Handmaid's Tale this year. Read that fucking book, it's one of the best I've ever read, and fucking terrifying as a woman. Who is your favorite parent? I love both for who they are. Do you have chronic pain? Only in my legs due to muscle atrophy that I'm recovering from now thanks to school. What is your favorite part of going to the dentist? My teeth feeling especially clean afterwards. Have you ever not been able to see the big E at the eye doctor? Ha ha, yes. My vision is godawful. What’s on your wish list right now? Just donate to my tattoo fund, lmao. What are you behind on? Politics. What did you get rid of that you wish you had kept? I wish I'd kept Jason and mine's last prom pictures, but literally just because now, I think I looked gorgeous. Does your hometown have bad memories attached to it? The Bloods gang seriously tried to break into the house while my sister and her friend were home alone as pre-teens, guess. Does it irritate you when someone has a dream but does nothing to work toward it? I mean, yes? I feel like everyone should care about that to some degree. Certainly not to an obsessive degree, it's not your life, but you should care that people work towards their aspirations. Do you find the concept of colorblindness fascinating? Yeah, sure. Which site have you been bullied on the most? I wouldn't say I was ever really bullied, but I guess the closest was on an old RP site from one particular person. Who do you wish loved you? A few people. Not necessarily romantically. Do you know anyone who has twin babies or toddlers? Yes. I actually think she has two pairs. If so, what are their names? Idr. I only know them loosely through dance. Would you ever want to have twins? FUCK no. Who has the cutest babies on your Facebook newsfeed? My acquaintance Anastasia literally has the prettiest daughter ever. If you could have a car in any color you wanted, which color? Pink, duh. Or maroon. What is your favorite Avril Lavigne song? WHY'D YOU HAVE TO GO AND MAKE THINGS SO COMPLICATED What’s a song lyric that you like? Korn came out with a new album, and my favorite song's lyrics include "God is making fun of me," and it's my favorite thing ever. Would you ever hitchhike? Why or why not? NOOOOOOO, I don't trust people. What’s one thing you’ve done to celebrate Earth Day? As a kid, I made a bird house one year. There was this backyard decorating show on Animal Planet when I was little, and on one episode, they made one out of an empty milk jug and leaves, so I duplicated that. What color is your stapler? Black. Was your middle school crush the same as your high school crush? No. Have you ever been homeschooled? Towards the end of 8th grade, I was homebound. I was deeply depressed, and school didn't help. Have you ever completed a weight loss program? No. What was the last thing you were mad at a doctor about? I will forever and absolutely always despise my old doctor for putting and keeping me on a medication that resulted in me gaining around 150 pounds, and I wish I was fucking kidding, and blaming it on me the entire time. Where you live, is it possible to get sunburned&frostbitten in same week? HA, yeah. Do you ever turn your phone off because you don’t want to talk? No, I'll just ignore it. Do you like McDonald’s sweet tea? I hate sweet tea period. Do you like rap? Very little of it. Usually just some Eminem. Do you ever lay down and look at the stars? I haven't done that in a long time. Well, we weren't lying down, but rather sitting in chairs, but when Sara was here last summer, she, Mom, and I all sat outside one night making s'mores and having some drinks, and we looked up at the stars for quite a while. Don’t you hate when songs remind you of the person you’re trying to forget? There are a couple songs I physically can't listen to due to PTSD. Whose bed were you last in besides your own? Uhhh. I think my niece's, though I was just sitting on it. Who’s the last person you kissed? Sara. What’s your relationship with that person? We're really fucking gay for each other. Do you know how many people you’ve kissed? Three or four. I can't remember if I ever actually initiated a kiss with Girt or ever kissed him back, but I don't think so. Do you burn easily in the sun? Like toast on the whitest bread. Have you ever blacked out? I mean, I've fainted. Who do you hang out with the most? My mom lmao. Are you positive or negative? So in my FYS class (that is literally more like therapy), we very recently took an emotional intelligence test (it's like a scale that tells you your strengths and weaknesses in some major areas), and my optimism score was ABYSMALLY low. Like, as low as it could be. I've always called myself a realist, but this was a very detailed and professional test, so I'm taking my results into consideration. Do you believe life is fair? Ha ha, what a way to prove the last answer, but you couldn't possibly make me believe life is fair. It's chance and cause and effect. Have you ever bought a youtuber’s merch? LMAO YAAAAAAAAAAAAAA'LL I'm too embarrassed to ask for "unusual" things. Do you have any embarrassing health issues? One or two. I am a Walking Health Issue. What are you longing for? I want Sara to live here so badly. Distance is getting hard. Who was your first roommate? Jason, Amanda, and Jacob. Who lived across the hall from you your first year of college? I never lived in a dorm. Have you ever had a janitorial job? Omfg no. I'm a germaphobe. Have you ever worked in food service? Hell no. I can't deal with hungry people. What is your favorite flavor of frosting? I'm a chocolate bitch. What is your favorite type of donut? Depends on where it's from. Dunkin' Donuts, omlllll gimme a chocolate frosted (never with sprinkles, sprinkles are gross). Krispy Kreme, BITCH I will kill a glazed. What is the name of your favorite bakery? We don't go to any proper bakery. We just get stuff from the ones at grocery stores. What is your current favorite Starbucks drink? I don't go to Starbucks. When was the last time you wrote someone a letter? For a certain holiday for Sara. I think it was Valentine's Day? Do you write mostly in cursive or in print? It's some hybrid font of both, but mostly cursive. What do you usually get for your birthday? Meerkat-related stuff. What is a childhood dream that hasn’t stuck with you? I wanted to be a vet. Who was your first favorite cartoon character? Uhhh. Probably Ash Ketchum (I FUCKING WROTE "KETCHUP") or Pikachu. Who is your favorite Disney princess? It was Ariel as a kid, now I don't particularly care, but probably Snow White. Do you like Coca Cola? Hell yeah. Do you like McDonald’s french fries? Are you even human if you don't? Did you get your hair color from your mom, your dad, or a grandparent? My hair was dirty blonde as a kid, so I don't have a clue where that came from. It turned brown though, so I guess Mom, but hers is way darker than mine. What are some other names your parents’ considered when naming you? The only one I remember is Kathryn. Who was the last person you know who had a baby? Uhhh I think it was one of my high school friends. …And what was the baby’s name? Jaspen. If you had a boy and a girl, what would they be named? Alessandra is NOT up for debate (if I wanted kids, anyway) lol, and Damien. What color is your dresser? Brown. Have you found your first gray/white hair yet? WOW no that would be mighty depressing. Is your hair long or short? Short. …and which way do you like it best? I CANNOT believe I didn't go short earlier. Do you have a problem with needles? Nah. Have you ever had to use an epi pen? No, thankfully. Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? Also thankfully no. If applicable, what color are your glasses? Black. Do you like the name Addison? Yeah, it's cute. Have you ever made your own Halloween costume out of clothes from your closet? No. At least, not a *real* costume. I've just dressed particularly dark before. Have you ever gotten sick in the car? No. Do you enjoy editing photos? I do. Have you ever called the wrong number? Yep, oops. Do you usually pick Truth or Dare? Truth. I never pick "dare," actually. Do you like kissing? I mean yeah, if I love the person. Which Internet browser do you use? Chrome. When was the last time you read a whole book, to the last page exactly? A couple weeks ago I finished The Handmaid's Tale for school. How many times have you had sex within the past two years? Guesstimate? A big 'ole zero lmao. Has your boyfriend or girlfriend ever cheated on you? Were you mad or sad? No. Are you a superstitious person? Have you ever been superstitious before? No. When was the last time your area had a tornado warning, if ever? A few months ago. Have you ever had one of those major fights with your current bf/gf? When we were younger and unstable friends. Do you think road kill is gross? I think it's sad more than anything, but I mean yeah, it can be. But considering a personal project of mine is photographing roadkill to depict the brutality and sadness of it, it obviously doesn't gross me out all that much. Is it obvious when people hurt your feelings? I think so. How many teeth do you have? The normal amount. Have you ever lived outside of America? No. Do you get allowance? I'm 23, I obviously don't now, but I never have. Do you pop your pimples? Yeah, oops. Who did you last dance with? Sara. Have you ever wanted to kill someone? I think so. I wasn't going to like, actively pursue that, but I wanted her dead. Have you ever had braces? Yep. When you get married, do you want to keep your last name? No, please take it away. Do you shave your pubic hair? No. I'll obvious trim/shave along my upper legs in I'm going to wear a bathing suit or something, though. Have you ever seen a tornado in real life? Thank fucking god no. Do you have to plug your nose while swimming under water? Yep. I have zero clue how people stop water from going up their nose, even if they don't breathe through it. Do you like soft or hard pillows? s o f t What’s the last thing your parents bought you? Mom bought food, Dad bought me my laptopl. Do you know anyone who committed suicide? I'm 99% sure a pre-teen online friend did. I know some people loosely. When was the last time you cried out in pain? That's probably a TMI from having IBS. What do you say when you answer the phone? "Hello?" Do you ever get the feeling you don't belong? Belong where? I need specifics. Are you a timid person? Incredibly. Ever been in love with two people at the same time? No. Ever vomited because you were in shock? No. Do you think the world is a nice place or a horrible place? It's a hybrid of those. Ever had a rumor spread about you? The only one I knew of was one Jason's ex started in high school, that being that we had a baby. Despite the fact I was obviously never pregnant. If you found out you were pregnant how would you react? I'd be fucking terrified and incredibly confused because that's physically impossible. Have you ever been dumped by text? Did it hurt? More like over Facebook Messenger, and fuck yes it hurt considering I was literally madly in love with him and we'd been in a serious relationship for three and a half years. In your opinion what would be the worst possible way to dump someone? See above. (: How do you take out your anger? 99% of the time, cry. Have you ever snuck out of your house? No. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yeah. What’s the craziest thing you’ve done on a dare? Idk. I never did crazy dares. Have you ever cussed someone out? Yes. What’s the most trouble you’ve ever gotten in with your parents? Idk. My dad never really punished us, but rather Mom. I would say the time I texted her back "fuck you," but I was an adult by this point so she couldn't really do anything, but I do noooot want to imagine how she would've reacted if we were physically together. When she picked me up, she was furious, but I think she was more shocked I actually said that than anything. I don't remember that night much, surprisingly, considering I tend to remember awful days like that. Have you ever cheated on someone? No. Have you ever had a friend-with-benefits? No. Have you ever spread a nasty rumor about someone? No. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? I don't know. Have you ever been physically abused? Thank God, luck, Heaven, or whatever, no. What’s something you really regret saying to someone? I think more than anything, the time I sent something along the lines of "thanks for sending me to the hospital again" to Jason before I went to the ER for the bajillionth time. Doesn't matter if it was the first, fifth, or thousandth time, that was fucking evil and could've seriously hurt him. Is there something really bad that you’ve done, that only YOU know about? Uhhhh I don't think so, at least. Do you have a lot of secrets? It depends on who is involved. Mostly though, no. Does it take a lot to make you feel guilty? I don't know, actually. Have you ever broken a really important promise? I don't think so. Have you ever gone out with a best friend’s ex? More like mutually flirted with her boyfriend behind her back until he left her for me when I was 12. Fucking disgusting. Have you ever made out with someone who was just a friend? No. Have you ever cheated on a test? I actually don't think I ever have. Have you ever told someone’s deep, dark secret? No. I'm honestly very trustworthy with secrets. Have you ever gotten in a fist fight? No. Have you ever done something bad JUST because you knew you shouldn’t? Maybe as a kid? I don't think so? Have you ever purposely hurt yourself? Yeah. Have you ever pushed someone into a pool? I don't think so? Have you ever copied someone else’s homework? Again I don't believe so. Possibly once, idr. Have you ever kissed someone the same day you met them? No. What’s under your bed? A box of art stuff. Have you ever you shoplifted? No. What do you want more than anything else? Happiness. Have you ever tried coconut water? I have not. How many online accounts do you have? Or have you lost count? Holy fuck, there's no telling. Who was your first love? Jason. Are you the type to hold grudges? Definitely not. What was the last video game you played? I actually have World of Warcraft open right now, but that's a computer game; does that count? If not, uhhh. It's been a long while... I think maybe The Legend of Spyro: Dawn of the Dragon. What’s your favorite flavor of vitamin water? Never tried vitamin water. Are there any bands/artists that get you all emotional? Ozzy Osbourne makes me so nostalgic. His music is so important to me. Have you ever been to a convention? (comic, Youtube, etc.) No, but bitch try to stop me from going to PAX East one day to hug God and cry for two hours in joy. What brand are most of the electronics in your household? I don't think we have a consistent brand for our electronics. It depends on what the thing is. What’s your favorite aunt or uncle’s first name? I can't remember my favorite aunt's name, but the only uncle I know well is Rob. He's hilarious. Have you ever smoked a cigarette? No. Who was the last person you invited into your home? Sara. Are you of legal drinking age in the country you live in? Yes. How old were your parents when they got engaged? I have no clue. Early 30s? Are your parents still together? Hell no. What flavor was the last ice cream you ate? Chocolate. Are you health conscious? To a degree. Have you ever done a first aid course? No. If so, would you be prepared to perform CPR if necessary? N/A Are there any songs that get stuck in your head very easily? A lot. Who was the last person to text you? Sara. If you found out you couldn’t have children, would you adopt? I'd be fucking ecstatic if I found out I was infertile, especially with how terrified and paranoid I am about being raped. I don't want kids, ever. Would you go back to your most recent ex? No; I don't like him like that. Do you remember the show Bananas in Pajamas? I don't, but I know my older sister was obsessed. If you could know how, when, and where you’ll die, would you want to know? Hell no. Are you really excited for anything? I'm probably going up to Sara's for her birthday and Christmas and I CANNOT wait. Have you ever eaten any type of insect? Not intentionally? I think a gnat or something flew into my throat once, but idk. I've certainly never tried to. Who is the most famous person you’ve ever met? Nobody lmao. Do you have trust issues? Oh yes indeed.

[benjiclarington]

7 Minutes || Para

WHO: Benji Clarington ( @benjiclarington ) and Topher Hummel ( @topherxhummel )

WHERE: ‘7 Minutes in Heaven’ closet in MuSig House during the 90′s party

WHEN: 17th July 2019

NOTES: After getting chosen to spend ‘7 Minutes in Heaven’ together, Benji and Topher bite the bullet and go into the room--along with their animatronic baby doll Daffodil Daphne.

TRIGGERS: N/a

WORD COUNT: 1150

"It's official, they're never going to hear the end of this," Topher remarked as he and Benji entered the closet. The door closed and immediately darkness fell over them not unlike a blanket. "Daphne and Benji, pardon my French, but what sweet hell has been unleashed on us?" He removed his phone then turned on the flashlight in order to chase off the shadows that had appeared too quickly for his liking. ‘A real life reminder of all the secrets in the back of his mind. Ones that just loved to occupy every waking thought.’

Benji gasped, covering Daphne’s ears. “Chris, not in front of our daughter!” He scolded, giving her a kiss on the forehead as if she were a real baby before looking back up at him. “What’s wrong, Chris?” he asked, a slur evident in his voice. “It’s just 7 minutes with our little family. Don’t you wanna spend time with us? With me?” He asked, pouting and crawling into his lap.

"Sorry guys. Just-," Topher trailed off as he pressed a light kiss to Daphne's forehead in order to distract himself from the barrage of thoughts. ‘I'm pretty sure I'm gay, but it doesn't match up with the picture of the future that I've grown used to over the years’ and so many similar things echoed, yet he let the silence remain. "I'm just afraid of the dark," he lied. "But you're right. I do get to spend time with you guys and that's a silver lining right off the bat."

Benji sat down in Topher’s lap and wrapped his arms around Topher’s shoulder, cuddling into him. “What’s wrong?” He questioned, putting his head on Topher’s shoulder and turning his head to look up at him. The boys were best friends and were far from strangers to being close and affectionate with each other, but a more-sober Benji would have never gotten this close—partially because it probably crossed lines, and partially because of the temptation it brought.

“Hi,” he said softly with a smile, his eyes darting between Topher’s eyes and his lips.

Okay, this was definitely new. Topher's friends back home had definitely been affectionate with him and a sober Benji was no different. But this got his attention. Not to mention all the red alert alarms that blared so loudly, the Creative Writing major was actually surprised that no noise was audible outside of his mind. He could only hope that the panic wasn't evident on his face. "Nothing, Just tired and I'm not a major fan of the dark. Hanging on to childhood fears," Topher responded then gave a soft smile at the greeting. "Hey Benji."

Benji smiled wider, still hanging on to Topher. “Hi! My name’s Benjamin. It’s nice to meet you,” He said with a giggle. “I’ll protect you from the darkness! I know Krav Maga!”

"You're the sweetest, I swear," Topher commented in a quiet tone as he turned off the flashlight on his phone. "If my mind wasn't freaking out right now, then I'd probably have fallen asleep right here. No questions asked."

“What’s on your mind? I already said I’d protect you from the darkness!” Benji reminded, much like a little kid, before pouting slightly. “I wanna help!”

"It's just complicated. I've been thinking about a lot since I got here and since we reconnected," Topher simply answered before he took a deep breath. "Rather not tell you for the time being, if that's okay? This is a party and we're meant to be having fun. Not discussing whatever is going on up here." He pointed to his head with his free hand before he placed his phone back in the pocket of his jeans.

Benji kept his pout, but gave a disappointed, “okay...” before moving to straddle him, his arms draped around Topher’s neck. “Meow!” He said happily, giving Topher his best cat imitation. Even an untrained eye would’ve been able to tell that Benji was far too drunk to realize the romantically-charged feelings behind his actions, but that didn’t change the fact that they were happening. “I’m a cat!! Remember?”

Topher didn't mind the attention, even though he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something deeper underneath it. "Yeah, you're a cat," he lightly laughed. "You're Cat, I'm Dog. Together, we're CatDog." The Creative Writing major took a deep breath as he debated just how much he wanted to share. But he supposed it couldn't hurt to give one particular topic a try and see how the conversation would turn out. "Benji, have you ever thought that you had to live up to some random expectation and then it turned out you didn't? Like you tricked yourself into thinking that or am I making zero sense?"

Benji nodded, “Sure! My dad wanted Hunt and I to be big gruff military guys just like him. I went to boarding school my whole life, he put me in defense class after defense class, and when I was younger, I really convinced myself that I was gonna be like that one day just to make my dad happy!” He nuzzled into Topher’s neck before continuing the story, “But I’ve always been clingy and kinda tiny. No amount of strength training’s gonna change that. ...And I’m a ballerina. That’s who I am and what makes me happy.”

He nodded and hummed along as he listened, although Topher soon found himself filled with a certain protectiveness towards Benji. "Sorry to hear that happened to you though because you don't deserve that. Nobody really deserves to have that legacy held over their head, I guess?" He shrugged at the wording because the hour was late and goodness, was he tired. "But guess who's got two thumbs and is really glad to hear that you didn't change? Couldn't ask for a better best friend."

Benji smiled, “I love you, Chris,” he whispered, meaning it as much platonically as he did otherwise—even though Benji knew he could never have him as a boyfriend, that didn’t change the fact that he’d never lose him as a best friend. “D’you think we can just lay here and take a nap until someone kicks us out?” He questioned, closing his eyes.

"Love you too bud," Topher responded in an equally quiet tone before he covered his mouth while a yawn escaped. "I can get on board with that," he agreed. "Wake me up if you need me to handle Daphne slash if I haven't woken up already." The Creative Writing major would probably regret what he wanted to do later because it would just open up the can of worms filled with questions upon questions, but those could be the problems of future Topher. So, he carefully cuddled up to Benji then slowly allowed sleep to take over.

Benji nuzzled his face into Topher's neck and smiled, "Goodnight," he whispered before falling asleep as well.

[ecotone99]

[RO] A Distant Daydream

It is necessary for the sake of both narrative consistency and authorial vanity to start this recollection by explaining the exacting and tedious circumstances under which I rediscovered the muse for this little story.

One cold November night as I was wasting away amidst the gaudily floral décor of my University Reunion, surrounded by mundane faces and half-empty glasses, I saw her again. There is a long running cliché in the Romance genre where after the protagonist sees his old ingénue (or femme fatale depending on the story) after a long period of time has elapsed, he immediately drops everything to talk with her. Don Quixote was its victim when he clasped eyes on Dulcinea (del Toboso), great Achilles fell to it when he was with Patroclus again in the underworld, and that night I also fell to it. (Albeit with less literary significance)

The shadowy glitter of the tawdry lights illuminated the outline of her body against the faded backdrop of the Reunion. Nervously, I watched as we orbited the various old-acquaintances and older-ex-professors that stopped us to talk as we made our separate ways around the room, drawing closer until we were face to face. After the awkward introductions had been made, the meaningless pre-prepared platitudes voiced, and the small talk talked we got down to the serious business of remembrance. We started with the fates of friends, whose minor heartaches and tragedies fortified us to go deeper into the catacombs of memory. We compared our lives since University had finished and after a time it became clear to me that she had become an adult. We both had. Finally we arrived simply, on time and on budget, at our old relationship.

“At that time, if I am remembering things correctly, I was quite pleasantly in love with you.” I said. (The universal laws of literature dictates that Romance stories must always start with, in some shape or form, a declaration of love)

Her eyebrows rose as if in surprise before forming a perfectly indecipherable mask, “That must be I think the first time, or at least the first time I can remember, when you said you were in love with me. And it’s now when we’re both married!”

“Oh well maybe if I had said it more we’d still be together.” I said, “Good thing I didn’t!” (Slight awkward pause for comedic timing on her part then cue laughter.)

The flow of the conversation moved on to more extravagant and ostentatious reminiscences and by the end of it, it was clear to me that any dregs of past attraction that I had been savoring had long since been drained by her. Nevertheless, I want to capture in frozen prose the remnants of my past emotion, to prevent it as long as possible from dissipating like so much barren smoke amidst the fogs of time. Now, having described both my muse and my intentions there is little left to do except begin; a task that I am both excited and nervous about.

***************

In literature’s best beginnings the author (after a sufficient amount of pre-amble) starts by describing a meeting between two characters. As I was studying literature at that time I might endeavor to reproduce the same effect now, having done the pre-amble above I can get right to it. In this story, I (playing the “Noble Byronic Hero”) was sitting bored and alone amidst a sea of empty chairs and chattering people waiting for the lecturer to arrive. Instead of opening my workbook and preparing for the copious amount of notes that are required for true learning to be achieved, I was staring idly out the window at the assorted people walking between classes.

The lecturer entered the auditorium like he was about to receive an award and was greeted with a heavy silence underlined by the whispers of continued conversation. He made a small throat clearing bark while he was adjusting the lectern’s positioning and the silence became total.

He began reading from a loose collection of pre-prepared notes, speaking in a unique blend of French, Russian, and English accents, “Russian Literature as a notion, an immediate idea, this notion in the minds of non-Russians is generally limited to the awareness of Russia’s having produced half a dozen great masters of prose between the middle of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth…”

Despite the mesmerizing rhythm that the trilingual blend lent to his speech I (or the arrogant little shit I was) soon lost interest in the subject, having already become familiar with the half dozen great masters over the break. After nearly 2 hours of quite condescension on my part the lecture concluded and those students who had scheduled tutorials afterwards gathered around the lecturer while the others left. We were dissected into groups then turned outside armed with some tedious readings and pressing assignments. My group consisted of me (smug and self-satisfied), her (bored and busy), and one of her friends (forgettable and not really part of the story).

A straightforward and bland conversation was struck up as we debated the best approach to our shared homework. In protest of the tedious nature of the discussion, and since I was feeling somewhat bashful in new company, I spent most of my time trying to come up with the opposite answer to any question asked. (Sample: What is something that you are thankful for in modern society? Clean drinking water. Cue laughter.)

“Come on man, take this seriously. There’s no point if you’re just sitting there taking the piss,” her friend said.

“Fine, what’s the next question?” I asked.

“It says here to outline the role that the various cultural, social, and theological influences have played on the development of Russian literature throughout the 19’Th century,” she said.

“Alright, I trust that we are all aware of the cultural and social influence that my boy Pushkin has had?” I said. “By the way have either of you read Eugene Onegin? It’s fucking good.”

“Of course I’m aware of Pushkin and I’ve read Eugene Onegin,” exclaimed her friend.

“What self-respecting person who when studying Russian literature doesn’t read Pushkin?” she said. “My only regret is that I couldn’t read it in Russian. I’m confident that what makes his style so beautiful is lost in translations.”

As I continued to expound my “unique” theories about Pushkin and his influence on literature my reservations began to drop away and soon we started having a real conversation. I’ll spare you the details I was in my twenties my comments weren’t profound. However, after I finished talking the discussion moved away from the assigned work and we started to get to know each other as we told jokes, made fun of classmates, talked about exams etc.

Soon I discovered that I shared most of my classes with her and we began walking together on the way between them. I watched as our relationship grew in the broken time between lecture and tutorials and like any functionally hormonal teenager as soon as we started to spend any regular amount of time I became quite enamored with her. We smoked cigarettes outside in the sun, we worked on essays together in dusty library halls, and I told lots of bad jokes. I savored every moment that we were together and when we weren’t I was thinking about ways to make her laugh.

One bright evening as we were returning from a particularly trite lecture delivered by a particularly trite lecturer we stopped at a University Bar in order to do the only thing that people who go to University Bars do, forget the lecture that they just sat through. We sat down in a corner booth drinks in hand, there was some god-awful student band hammering out a cover of For Whom the Bell Tolls (a classic bar anthem), but we ignored them.

I started throwing out a bunch of half-baked observations and I noted that despite not being drunk my voice came out in a sort of slurred mutter, “Oh no, your other friend in literature is definitely at least a little bit gay. He has the accent. It’s a peculiar phenomenon I’ve noted, when you’re gay you get assigned a new accent.”

“Shut up! He is not!” she said. (Author’s Note: the friend in question came out earlier this year. A bit late but vindication! After 20 years I told you so!)

Reflectively, leaning back like an elder statesman confronted by a new scandal, in a slow voice I muttered, “If he was, I’d hit that.”

“Oh my god!” She laughed.

The conversation continued in a teasing jocular style for the rest of the evening. The band changed and instead of Metallica we were treated to Billy Joel. Time (and by proportion drinks) sped away and soon it was closing time. We ended up taking a cab back to her apartment and under a shared fantasy became lovers. I shall not describe with sensual derision or racy brags the details of our first night together that would altogether cheapen it; I shall keep it locked privately inside an ever receding tomb of memory.

***************

How is it I can describe, with so short a story, the thousand moments and reveries that make up a relationship? Should I describe our first date? How after a while we spent every waking moment in each other’s company? Perhaps I could keep using rhetorical questions as a device to further a floundering paragraph while I try and think? I could describe the general contentedness that fell over me, I could even spend the next few pages describing the time we spent laughing over nothing. But I think that, that description would ultimately be meaningless, cheapening the experience, and reducing the emotions I felt to mere words on a page to be read and forgotten. That time has become in my mind like a fine fabric and pulling at the stands to recall a few parting moments might cause the whole thing to unravel. Perhaps I’m wrong, I don’t know, but I feel any such descriptions would make her seem less real, just a nameless character in the dark who when described is never seen again. I’m going to move forward to the conclusion as I could well be rid of those memories but I’ll take with me the knowledge of what I felt.

After the initial glow of our relationship faded what remained solidified into a concrete routine, a useful habit that slowly suffocated. We would meet in class to ingest the readily forgettable inanity of the lectures, then move onto a quick lunch, and after sneaking cigarettes outside we went back to the classroom to wait for the time we could retire to an apartment somewhere and be alone. This rapidly became unbearable, that magic intimacy I had felt during our first night together was gone, and I began to fantasize about ways to escape. I spoke to some friends who had more experience in these matters than I did and they convinced me that the best course of action would be to come clean and break things off like a mature adult, which was what I did.

I was lounging on a bench thinking about the little speech I had prepared and listening to her complain about some essay that we were meant to be working on. Amber rays of light where broken between the trees, inciting warm shadows to drift across the park, and causing her eyes to look even more like gleaming gemstones. Eventually she ran out of things to say and the moment stretched out awkwardly as I worked up the courage to speak. I started talking about our relationship and from my tone it would have been clear to anyone listening what I was about to say. Nevertheless, I continued my way through my muddled thoughts until the final inevitable words fell with all the weight and severity of a Judge’s gavel. After I had finished she got up and left leaving me alone with my reflections.

We continued to see each other throughout the last few weeks of the semester but the connection that had existed between us was gone. After the course ended we agreed to schedule next year’s classes at different times so that we wouldn’t be together. Occasionally I would see her walking through the campus, sometimes with friends sometimes alone, and after a while we stopped even acknowledging each other becoming two strangers passing each other in an empty corridor.

***************

I left the reunion and sped off into the darkness. I said goodbye to her, again, for perhaps the last time and watched as she walked away with her husband. Now that I have emptied my emotions out onto these pages I am already starting to think clearly again; the tarlike memories that have been circulating inside my chest have been scooped out, properly analysed, and the findings reproduced here in print. In a way I feel like I have relived an entire chapter of my life and as a consequence my muse has lost the nostalgic charm that made this project seem so appealing in the first place. In the morning I am going to incinerate this manuscript and watch the ash dance on the wind like so much fiery decay, as these memories slip quietly away.

submitted by /u/Charles1123 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2LyK9Hw

[caddyxjellyby]

Alcott Readathon 2018: Jack and Jill (1880)

Chapter One: The Catastrophe

There are three sledding paths in Harmony Village. Joe says to Jill that she wouldn't dare take the biggest one, so she insists that her friend Jack Minot take her down it several times. The final time they crash; Jack breaks his leg and hits his head, and Jill hurts her back. Jack's sled is named Thunderbolt. Jill's real name is Janey Pecq.

Chapter Two: Two Penitents

Jack, an athletic boy, is horrified at the prospect of three weeks in bed. Jill's injury is more concerning. She blames herself for the accident and says she'll be the best girl ever if she ever gets out of her room. We learn that Mrs. Pecq is an Englishwoman and Jill's dead father was French Canadian.

Chapter Three: Ward No. 1

After four days they're getting cabin fever. Jack's older brother Frank, an academic sort, rigs up a clothesline to send things back and forth – oranges, letters, books, guava jelly, and a kitten. Gus, Ed, and Joe visit Jack and eat up the dishes the old ladies of the village sent him. They tease Jack for putting a kiss in his letter to Jill.

Chapter Four: Ward No. 2

Things were not so gay in Ward No. 2, for Mrs. Pecq was very busy, and Jill had nothing to amuse her but flying visits from the girls, and such little plays as she could invent for herself in bed. Fortunately, she had a lively fancy, and so got on pretty well, till keeping still grew unbearable, and the active child ached in every limb to be up and out.

Chapter Five: Secrets

The girls sit in a circle with their backs to each other in order to make their Christmas presents. They know a surprise is in progress at the Minot house, but they don't know what it is. These chapters are short.

Chapter Six: Surprises

Dr. Whiting and Frank move Jill to Jack's house.

The great room was entirely changed; for now it looked like a garden, or one of the fairy scenes children love, where in-doors and out-of-doors are pleasantly combined. The ceiling was pale blue, like the sky; the walls were covered with a paper like a rustic trellis, up which climbed morning-glories so naturally that the many-colored bells seemed dancing in the wind. Birds and butterflies flew among them, and here and there, through arches in the trellis, one seemed to look into a sunny summer world, contrasting curiously with the wintry landscape lying beyond the real windows, festooned with evergreen garlands, and curtained only by stands of living flowers. A green drugget covered the floor like grass, rustic chairs from the garden stood about, and in the middle of the room a handsome hemlock waited for its pretty burden. A Yule-log blazed on the wide hearth, and over the chimney-piece, framed in holly, shone the words that set all hearts to dancing, “Merry Christmas!”

The best part? Jill and Mrs. Pecq are going to stay there.

Jill gives him blue mittens she made. He gives her a turquoise ring. They all stand around the tree and sing.

Chapter Seven: Jill's Mission

The two glue Jack's stamp collection into his new album. Frank scolds him for not doing his Latin and Jack throws the album at Frank. Jill, left alone, sees a note on the floor and thinking it's Frank's to Annette, picks it up. She falls over but is able to get back up. It's from Mrs. Minot to her sister and she mentions the doctor fears Jill's injury is permanent. Mrs. Minot comes home and sees that Jill is guilty of something. She confesses and Mrs. Minot tells her about Lucinda, a bedridden woman she knew.

Chapter Eight: Merry and Molly

Merry is a farmer's daughter with three older brothers literally named Tom, Dick, and Harry, She's fifteen, which makes me wonder even more about Jill's exact age. I did grow up on a cul-de-sac where kids played together regardless of age, but I'm still curious.

Anyway, Merry enjoys dainty things and romantic dreams but seldom gets them. So she finds some old pictures in the garret and puts them on her wall.

She had worked all the afternoon, and only finished at supper time, so the candles had to be lighted that the toilette might look its best, and impress the beholders with an idea of true elegance. Unfortunately, the fire smoked a little, and a window was set ajar to clear the room; an evil-disposed gust blew in, wafting the thin drapery within reach of the light, and when Merry threw open the door proudly thinking to display her success, she was horrified to find the room in a blaze, and half her labor all in vain.

The brothers put it out quickly with only a little harm done to the carpet.

Molly's father's housekeeper, Miss Bathsheba, is old and getting “careless” so she decides to step up. Does the dishes, covers holes in the sofa, and patches some clothes. Miss Bat objects to Boo having a hot bath just after lunch. She gets her father's permission when he comes home, but going to bed with wet hair gives him croup.

Molly is Maria Louisa and he is Napoleon Bonaparte. No wonder they call him Boo.

Chapter Nine: The Debating Club

The boys' club debates whether girls should go to college with them. (I wrote for them at first.) A funny contrast to their last topic, whether summer or winter is more fun.

JOE: Girls belong at home darning stockings. Boys would do better without them.

GRIF: Girls don't have the strength for rowing races and other larks.

NARRATOR: Grif is unaware that college is for studying.

GUS: Why not? Jill is best in her class and Mabel is the best in hers.

ED: Which includes Joe.

Ralph, a 19 year old dude who occasionally indulges the boys with his presence, gives them impressions of several Dickens characters that leave them rolling with laughter.

Chapter Ten: The Dramatic Club

After falling in Chapter 7, Jill has to lie on a board for two hours each day. The club meets at the Minot house to prepare for Sleeping Beauty. They argue over the costumes and who should play the princess until Merry suggests they let Jill have the part.

Chapter Eleven: “Down Brakes”

Well-behaved Frank does an uncharacteristic thing.  He and Gus hang out by the railroad station, admiring engine No. 11. “I’d give ten dollars if I could run her up to the bend and back,” he says. And then Joe appears and lifts the switch, so they take a little joyride, first forward and then in reverse.

Needless to say, the stationmaster is pissed and they get fined $25. Jack is pleased that Frank did something worse than him. Molly teases him by leaving Boo's toy train and two headless dolls on his porch.

Chapter Twelve: The Twenty-Second of February

What's the best way to celebrate Washington's birthday? In California we had a week off school to go skiing or visit our grandparents. In an Alcott novel it's tableaux. First Boo chopping down the tree and Gus as Dad Washington. That's a myth invented by Mason Locke Weems but I don't think LMA could have known it.

Ed found enough musicians to make up an orchestra. They play songs to go with the crossing of the Delaware, the Daughters of Liberty replacing tea with coffee, Cornwallis surrendering with Jack as Lafeyette, the miserable winter at Valley Forge, ball at Trenton with the girls singing, and the family portrait.

“Now I don’t see what more they can have except the death-bed, and that would be rather out of place in this gay company,” says an old man to Gus' dad, who replies that Gus wouldn't be seen in public in a nightshirt. It's Frank as the Minute Man statue and Ralph as Daniel Chester French – the book doesn't name him, just says the sculptor. Everyone loves the piece de resistance, except Grif shouts “All aboard!”

Then Sleeping Beauty with Jill, and Ralph as Mother Goose with a real goose and various kids as Miss Muffet etc.

Chapter Thirteen: Jack has a Mystery

Jack needs money but won't say why. Jill suggests he use his printing press to make cards and they get the $2.75 that way.

Mr. Acton – unlike Teacher in Under the Lilacs he gets a name – punishes Jack for going to a saloon at recess. Joe saw him there, Jack confesses he went to pay Jerry Shannon, one of the wild boys. He won't say why.

Chapter Fourteen: And Jill Finds It Out

Jack mutters in his sleep and Jill hears something about Bob, a boy who moved to the next town over. Aha, she thinks, that's who the money was for. She writes to Bob and he responds that yes, Jack paid his debt to Shannon, and Bob had him promise not to tell. Mrs. Minot is proud that her son stuck to his word, comparing him to Casabianca. Frank, like Sybil in Moods, thinks that boy was a fool.

Chapter Fifteen: Saint Lucy

Mrs. Minot tells Jack, Jill, and Frank a story with thinly-veiled versions of themselves. The good news is that in a few months Jill will be allowed to walk again.

Chapter Sixteen: Up at Merry's

Merry does her cleaning. She's been working on the dining-room, adding flowers and a “pretty shade of pressed autumn leaves.” As much as she wants to get back to Ivanhoe, she has socks to mend. Then her mother sends her to fetch a recipe from Miss Bat.

On her way back she passes Ralph looking very happy. “David German” wants to take him to Rome in fall. He'll write to her and she says she'll write back but her letters must be boring compared to his. “I didn’t know you had any worries,” he says, “for you always seemed like one of the happiest people in the world, with so many to pet and care for you, and plenty of money, and nothing very hard or hateful to do. You’d think you were well off if you knew as much about poverty and work and never getting what you want, as I do.”

She invites him in for supper and gives him a flower to put in plaster. Can you feel the love tonight?

Chapter Seventeen: Down at Molly's

Molly feeds her nine cats and tells them the shocking news that Miss Bat is cleaning! Yet what is the cause? Molly has no idea, but Miss Bat overheard two hard-of-hearing ladies talking about Molly and Boo

Her dad is home for once and sees her making shirts for Boo. He thought Miss Bat did the sewing. Molly has been learning from Mrs. Pecq. He tells her to spend as much as she likes on summer clothes.

“How nice it will seem to have a plenty of new, neat dresses all at once, and be like other girls! Miss Bat always talks about economy, and has no more taste than a— caterpillar.” Molly meant to say “cat,” but remembering her pets, spared them the insult.

LOL, I love her.

He gives her to key to her mother's things and she tears up with joy.

So the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt than in their first; for, though still very far from being perfect girls, each was slowly learning, in her own way, one of the three lessons all are the better for knowing— that cheerfulness can change misfortune into love and friends; that in ordering one’s self aright one helps others to do the same; and that the power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.

There are 24 chapters and 4 of them have final sentences that begin with So. Okay, that's not very many, but it's enough that I noticed it.

Chapter Eighteen: May Baskets

The job now in hand was May baskets, for it was the custom of the children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before May-day; and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys would hunt for flowers, much the harder task of the two. Jill had more leisure as well as taste and skill than the other girls, so she amused herself with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all shapes, sizes, and colors, quite confident that they would be filled, though not a flower had shown its head except a few hardy dandelions, and here and there a small cluster of saxifrage.

Due to the late spring there aren't enough flowers to be picked so they have to buy some. Jill sends her basket to Mrs. Minot. Molly to Grif with a thorn “to pay for the tack he put in my rubber boot.” Ed gives several to old people and a little Irish girl. Ralph leaves Merry one with a bas-relief of the lily she gave him in her chapter.

Chapter Nineteen: Good Templars

Gus' uncle is giving a haycart ride, but Jack and Frank have to be at their Temperance Club meeting to nominate Bob for membership. Reverend Mr. Chauncey, an old friend of their grandfather, visits the town. He also belongs to a club and gives a public speech on the subject.

Jeez, 90% of this book is boring as hell.

Chapter Twenty: A Sweet Memory

Ed dies of some illness. Jack and Frank both cry, aww.

It is often said that there should be no death or grief in children’s stories. It is not wise to dwell on the dark and sad side of these things; but they have also a bright and lovely side, and since even the youngest, dearest, and most guarded child cannot escape some knowledge of the great mystery, is it not well to teach them in simple, cheerful ways that affection sweetens sorrow, and a lovely life can make death beautiful? I think so, therefore try to tell the last scene in the history of a boy who really lived and really left behind him a memory so precious that it will not be soon forgotten by those who knew and loved him.

The whole town shows up for his funereal. Jill presses the flowers to keep.

Chapter Twenty-One: Pebbly Beach

Vacation at the bay. Frank learns to ride a bicycle. Jack and his new friends fish and play tennis and baseball.

Jill enjoys herself very much. One day the boys forget to moor her boat, she falls asleep, and it floats away. After saying a prayer, she gets rescued by a lobsterman.

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Happy Day

Molly and Boo join them for a week. Frank and “the bicycle boy” win the boat race. Jack runs in the footrace. Molly and Jill watch a girls' archery contest. Then a dance and a firework show. Boo catches a lobster that makes a few people ill. Luckily one of the women boarding at the house is a physician.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Cattle Show

Mrs. Minot announces that her boys won't return to school. But college! says Frank. You'll wait until you're 18. she says. They need to spend more time working on healthy bodies.

Ralph wins a prize at the fair for his bust of Jill, and a woman hires him to make one of her son. Merry gets one for butter and Jill for her quilt.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Down the River

The girls sew while Mrs. Minot reads to them from Mrs. Strickland's Queens of England. Merry used to dream about being a queen, but she's learned to enjoy ruling the home. Molly wants to travel and see the world. Jill wants to be famous, “ambitious in spite of the newly acquired meekness, which was all the more becoming because her natural liveliness often broke out like sunshine through a veil of light clouds.”

However, we're told that Merry marries Ralph and lives in Italy, Molly, a spinster, keeps house and raises Boo, and Jill is happy with her husband Jack.

The next day they have a picnic at the river. Ralph comes late with the news that he's going to Rome.

Here we will say good-by to these girls and boys of ours as they sit together in the sunshine talking over a year that was to be for ever memorable to them, not because of any very remarkable events, but because they were just beginning to look about them as they stepped out of childhood into youth, and some of the experiences of the past months had set them to thinking, taught them to see the use and beauty of the small duties, joys, and sorrows which make up our lives, and inspired them to resolve that the coming year should be braver and brighter than the last. There are many such boys and girls, full of high hopes, lovely possibilities, and earnest plans, pausing a moment before they push their little boats from the safe shore. Let those who launch them see to it that they have good health to man the oars, good education for ballast, and good principles as pilots to guide them as they voyage down an ever-widening river to the sea.

[distantwitness]

Repost: #KillAllMen Is Feminist Liberation Through Satire

This blog is purely about my research into visual depictions of human suffering, but because I am being personally attacked on a medium I use professionally I feel it is appropriate to share here. 

Please distribute as you see fit and nolite te bastardes carborundorum. 

Originally posted at Laywers, Guns and Money.

Trolls aren't just after me, they're after your rhetorical tools in speech against oppression

Days after my twelve-hour suspension from Twitter ended, the trolls have returned under the same absurdly bad faith humanitarianism. 

The first lockout was annoying but it ended before I knew it. An evening spent on a romantic date with my very male husband made the time pass easier. 

This time I'm locked out for seven days, and when I'm a writer who depends on Twitter for contacts and research this is no minor inconvenience. My husband and I can't eat out at nice French restaurants for seven straight days, Groupons have some pretty strict limits.

On March 19th I lampooned a Federalist article, penned for the purposes of the gun control debate, proclaiming that all men are born violent. Well if that's so, then the only logical response for women, the disproportionate victims of men's violence, have no choice but to #killallmen. 

To interpret this joke of mine, which is quite clearly a joke, as an endorsement or threat of violence is stupid. Even more stupid is that the joke was banned even as it floated above an article with quotes like, "A man’s nature cannot be repressed...Men were made for the intentional use of force and power." Whatever your thoughts on Punch RockGroin's parenting advice, the response of "#killallmen" cannot be seen as a serious and to do so is either profoundly stupid or profoundly dishonest. In order for "#killallmen" to be a credible threat, it has to have some basis in reality. Spoiler alert: It does not.

An Unreal Hashtag

I'm not going to sit here and tell you that #killallmen, at least in my use, is just a joke. It is satire, and as I am currently teaching satire in world literature to British secondary students, let me tell you satire is deadly serious. To be a satirist is to identify oppression and to take power back by upending the dominant narrative. I can't claim to be the inventor of #KillAllMen, but allow me to explain the way I use it. Feminists and their male allies are constantly calling out abusive behaviours of men to stop, whether it be street harassment, unequal pay, dictating reproductive rights, etc. The response of anti-feminists is frequently to say that we are trying to end masculinity, that we are weakening men (see the Federalist article cited above), that all our desired policies will be the death of men. 

Turn of the century anti-suffragette postcard and their imagined women's violence against men. Plus ca change...

A Men's Right's Activist created meme featuring feminist video games critic Anita Sarkeesian.

It is ridiculous. So what does a satirist do when faced with an oppressive ideology that is in fact quite ridiculous? We mirror it. We say, "Yes, Kill All Men!" Because it is an absolutely ludicrous conclusion to draw and the louder you say it the stupider it sounds. We are echoing stupidity not to imitate it, but to mock it and strip it bare. 

I don't particularly care if anyone thinks I'm good at satire, all that is subjective. What I do care about are readers interpreting the function of my satire correctly. You don't have to laugh but you also don't have to phone up Interpol. Just imagine I'm a white male stand up with a beer belly on Comedy Central and change the channel when I'm not funny.

The "Threat" Against Men 

What makes "#KillAllMen" a non-serious threat where "#KillAllJews" or "#KillAllGays" are much more dangerous? The simple answer is reality. We know that there are armed groups out there with the intent, opportunity, and historical record of killing Jews and gay people. Nothing similar exists when it comes to male identity. Is there an organized armed group out there with the stated mission of eradicating all XY genes?

No.

There are however armed groups, like the military in Myanmar and the government in Chechnya, who wish to wipe men from specific ethnicities or even sexual orientation off the face of this Earth. But these threats are typically carried out by other men, and there is plenty of evidence to show the perpetrators are happy to carry on killing and assaulting the women associated with the victimized men. Women from the same group as those engaging in the violence may even show support, but they do not do as individual actors autonomous from the men running the murder show. Are men more likely to be targeted for assault simply because of their gender identity as men?

No.

Men whose physical appearance marks them as members of an out-group are absolutely uniquely targeted for violence. Black men, Latino men, Jewish men, Muslim men, gay men, men who dress in traditionally female clothing, all of them have been victims of one hate crime or another. The FBI doesn't keep statistics on the gender of the attackers in hate crimes, but individual reports of women engaging in violent physical confrontation solo against men are rare if not unheard of. Nowhere is there any evidence that men are under attack by women simply for their identity as men. 

Are men more likely to be victims of domestic violence or sexualized violence? No-ish.

Men, as well as young boys, are absolutely victims of domestic violence. No serious advocate would try and tell you otherwise. Men in both heterosexual and homosexual relationships can experience physical abuse at the hands of a partner. Male children are also vulnerable to abuse from mothers and not just fathers. However, there's a difficulty in assessing whether they are more likely because of the stigma around reporting. Women are simply more likely to report intimate physical abuse. 

It is my own personal opinion that men and boys have a much harder time coming to grips with physical and sexual abuse and might very well need more support in the short term. Women are absolutely guilty of abusing men with prejudice against race, religion, sexual orientation, or even disability. But there is no epidemic of women's violence against simply for being men. That is the paranoid fantasy of the Men's Rights Activist.

Comedian Donald Glover explaining the difference between telling "crazy ex-girlfriend" and "crazy-exboyfriend" stories to friends.

Even if we gathered all the data showing how men can be victims of violence with different motivating factors, women are always disproportionately more vulnerable and are therefore are in greater need of protection.  

Satire Is A Power Move

The Alien was female, but Ripley certainly had to mow down a lot of men standing in her way that tried to use the Queen as a bio-weapon.

If Jonathan Swift's initially anonymous pamphlet A Modest Proposal were shared on Twitter today without the historical distance, I have no doubt one of his many enemies would be arguing Swift is actually calling for us all to #EatIrishBabies. The hashtags #RoastAllBabies #YumYumYum must clearly violate Twitter's policy against hateful conduct. No one living today could argue in good conscience that Swift was actually advocating for frying up the chubby little cheeks of infants born into poverty in order to control the population of urban, and predominantly Irish, poor. So why would he argue that poor women could get themselves off the street by skinning their toddlers to make into gloves for fine and elegant ladies? Because the people Swift is ridiculing, the upper classes so concerned with these poor and lazy souls in the street, have had their humanity so far removed as to believe it. Only an idiot or a dishonest philanthropist could be so credulous of A Modest Proposal at face value.

This Isn't About Me

I watch friends and colleagues like Reza Aslan, Jillian C. York, Hend Amry, and Talib Kweli (just to name a few) get trolled all the time. I shout back at the trolls or offer public support to them when I can just so they know they're not alone. 

I am white, I am straight, I am married, and I can take nice photos because my chosen appearance is traditionally feminine.I have a lot of privilege which has protected me thus far from the sorts of abuse many of my out-group and female friends have received online. I have a body of published work out there that demonstrates my serious commitment to human rights and my ability to write compassionately about victims. I'm not terribly worried about any professional losses, simply the threat of chronic inconveniences. I'm not angry for my own sake. 

I'll get back on Twitter sooner or later and I'll be fine. We need to think about what tactics the trolls are learning to silence so many others with views similar to mine. Buzzfeed reporter, and white female, Katie Notopoulos was locked out for ten days after trolls reported her for joking "kill all white people". Granted I think my satire is a bit more sophisticated than Kate's, our tweets have the same function and we shouldn't be banning satirical speech based on a subjective judgement of its value. 

Women, of all types, are at the most risk of abuse online. Amnesty International has researched this subject pretty thoroughly and finds that women are disgusted by Twitter's response to harassment. Twitter knows it has a problem but seems unable or unwilling to fix it. Last year at The Root, Monique Judge looked at how race and gender correlated with harassment on Twitter. The list of studies and articles on the subject go on and on.   

Meninists will probably always exist, but there's no reason Twitter should take our attempts to laugh at them so seriously.  

Extra Fun: My Prezi for Year 10 and older students on Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal". Created for my job as a Tavistock Tutor.