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ncat · 3 years

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I've realised that it's a little tough to actually find anything on my page, so this post serves as a quick and easy way to get to any one bit of homebrew. Hopefully, this makes things a bit easier when it comes to looking at the stuff I've written :)

Classes

The Weave Whisperer. A Wisdom Based arcane class that acts as a servant of the forces of magic itself. They gain access to the unique Tension spellcasting system, which allows them to regain magical energy when fights turn for the worse

The Weave Whisper (Updated). The Weave Whisperer class as a link to a homebrewery page. All errata added, alongside a number of small touch ups and balance tweaks. Plus the order Astronomica is here too <:

The Conduit. A constitution based elemental class that uses a variety of talents to reshape its elemental powers, without need for spellcasting.

[3.5E DND] The Weave Whisperer. An adaptation of the weave whisperer to bring it into 3.5e dnd

Prestige Classes. A system for prestige classes to exist within 5th edition. Comes with 10 new prestige classes along with it.

Prismatic Specialist, Updated. A series of touch ups, updates and reworks to the prismatic specialist to make it more fun and functional at a games table.

Variant Classes

Variant Classes Pt. 1 Two new classes built by altering existing classes into new sets of options. Includes the Archivist, a Divine scholar, and the Eldritch Sage, a researcher of the otherworldly

Variant Classes Pt. 2 Two more new variant classes. Includes the Mentalist, a psionic spell caster, and the Mountebank, an urban duellist.

Variant Classes Pt.3 An additional Variant class, the Aleator, a card based spellcaster who draws their magical from their arcane Spell Deck

Variant Class: Inquisitor. A conversion of the Inquisitor from pathfinder to 5e as a martially focused cleric

Variant Class: The Vocator. An occultist who gains power by binding the vestiges of ancient beings within their body in order to harness their power.

● Vocator Extras. A document of bonus content for the Vocator, including Feats, Magic Items, NPC Statblocks and Bonus Rules

● Vocator Extras 2. Bonus content for the vocator, including the School of Anima for the wizard and three new vestiges.

Variant Class: Sha'ir. A spellcaster who draws magic from the elemental planes, aided by their elemental familiar.

Variant Class: The Commander. A non magical support character who takes charge on the battlefield and rallies their allies.

Variant Classes, Multiclassing and Prestige Classes. Information regarding the rules for how Variant Classes interact with the multiclassing rules for 5e, as well as the Prestige Class rules on this blog.

Subclasses

Cleric: War Domain (Revised): A revision to the war domain of cleric to bring it in line with other martial caster archetypes

Fighter: Curse Bearer. A fighter archetype that gains access to magical powers allowing them to hex and curse their opponents with ill fortune to their own advantage.

Rogue: Balladeer. A rogue archetype that utilizes bardic techniques and magic to cut through people with a sharp tongue, all whilst leading allies to greater victory

Rogue: Oathblade. A rogueish archetype that utilizes divine power, whether for healing or for smiting.

Rogue: Trapsmith. A rogue archetype that gains the ability to create a number of unique traps and gadgets to litter the battlefield with, ranging from less lethal smoke bombs to far more lethal explosives.

Sorcerer: Primeval Soul . A sorcerer archetype that draws from the power of nature, allowing plantlife near them to surge with positive energy, hindering their enemies and supporting their allies.

Warlock: Forgemaster. A warlock patron who grants their servants exceptional power over the creation of magical items, giving them unique items of their own that they can create and share.

Wizard: Ào Shù. A wizard archetype built off of a 5 element system. They gain powers to boost their magic, as well as altering their arcane powers. However, these powers come with them needing to abide by ancient traditions.

Wizard: Old Magic. A wizard subclass that makes use of ancient magical techniques, gaining features reminiscent of 3rd edition, include additional spells per day by Vancian casting rules

Spells

0th Level (Cantrips

Air Bolt. A cantrip that makes a swarm of explosive bursts of air pressure.

Electric Snap. Send a bolt of lightning at an enemy that shocks them, and deals further damage with a delay.

Leaping Spark. A spark of lightning hits your foe, before arcing to a nearby creature.

Roqo's Bullet Bounce. A ranged weapon cantrip that causes your projectile to ricochet off of surfaces to reach its target.

Thunder Bolt. A blast of thundering energy blasts a creature within range.

Venom Blast. A ranged weapon cantrip that creates a deadly cloud of acid at the spot of your attack.

1st Level

Storm Infusion. Imbue your magic with thunder or lightning, enhancing its potency.

Weapon Smith. Instantly craft weapons and ammunition, albeit temporary magical ones.

2nd Level

Calm Winds. Cause nearby heavy winds and downpour to shift into a gentler state in an area surrounding you.

Information Scan. Detect nearby sources of information, find particular books or scrolls of interest, and flip said items of interest directly to the part of the book you're looking for.

Storm Blade. Summon forth a blade of electric energy.

3rd Level

Chaos Spark. You mark a creature with electric energy, which continues to harm them over time, whilst also spreading to afflict additional creatures.

4th Level

Detonate. Set an explosive rune onto an object with a special activation condition. Once that condition is triggered, boom.

Mystical Armaments. Summon floating cannons and weapons to fire at your enemies.

Whirlwind Blast. A swirling blast of thunderous twists out from you, launching creatures back.

5th Level

Last Breath. A spell that lets you spend your dying moments taking a last stand.

Lightning Strike. Embody a bolt of lightning as you strike at creatures with your weapon, arcing from target to target in a flash.

Thunderbird Flight. Embody the force of elemental birds of storms, summoning forth their wings, granting you rapid flight and charging you with electric energy.

6th Level.

Borrowed Time. Momentarily exist within two places at once by summoning yourself from the immediate future into the present. Once the spell ends, you momentarily disappear, as you go into the past yourself to do the other half of your previous turn.

Investiture of Storms. Imbue yourself with the power of a storm, gaining flight and control over lightning.

7th Level

Charged Shock. Charge a powerful bolt of lightning that when released, creates a powerful bolt of electric energy. Be warned, the bolt has intense recoil.

Relentless Hunter. Create a powerful undead with a single goal: Hunt down and kill its target.

8th Level

Lightning Storm. Summon a barrage of lightning bolts that descend from the sky.

9th Level.

Cosmic Beam. A powerful beam of cosmic energy that erases everything in its path.

Cyclone. Create a dangerous tornado which brings havoc to the battlefield, which drags everything towards it with its destructive winds.

Dream of the Lotus Eater. Trap someone with a dream of your design which they cannot wake from.

Pillar of Light. A massive beam of energy descends from the heavens and onto the world, causing great destruction.

Feats

Countershot. Shoot or slice enemy projectiles out of the air before they can reach you

Ki Empowered Mount. Apply your monk movement bonuses to anything your riding, so your horse can move at a rapid pace, or across waters or even up walls.

Thunder Born. Imbue your magic with storm magic and expand your metamagic knowledge.

Binding Initiate, Vestige Dedication and Witch Hunter. Feats associated with the Vocator class, part of the Vocator Extras document

Items

Blade Mark. A small tattoo that assassins wear to allow them to hide weapons in an extradimensional storage space.

Coil Whip + Musicians Axe. A whip that can be used to pull yourself around the battlefield / A lute that can be transformed into a battleaxe.

Elven Axe of Execution. When the usually peaceful and forgiving elven people find themselves in times where such a mindset does not work, they bring forth the Axe of Execution to ensure a swift death.

Eye of the Beholder. A magical item that transmutes the user's eye into one that enhances the users magical power, as well as gaining magical abilities similar to that of a beholder.

Freehand Weapon. A hovering blade allowing you to attack whilst keeping your hand free.

Hover Rune. A more magical way of stowing weapons, by having them hover by your side or behind your back.

Peace Edge. Swords designed for pacifists and others who would rather their blades not take the lives of those they fight.

Psi Crystal. A magical item that enhances the capabilities of a Soul Knife.

Wind Striker. A sword and sheathe enchanted for lightning fast quickdraws.

Reworks.

Cleric: War Domain (Revised): A revision to the war domain of cleric to bring it in line with other martial caster archetypes

Fighter. With battlemaster becoming a core part of the class, you can truelly be the master of fighting, instead of just some person who can swing their sword a bit more times per turn at higher levels. (Plus subclass fixes)

Mystic. Quick fixes to the mystic class by reducing it's over versatility, removing or touching up unecessary features, as well as smoothing out progression across all levels

Sorcerer. With spell points, subclass spells and other quick fixes and updates, the sorcerer goes back to its roots of being the top choice for an at will caster.

Warlock. Changes to the rate at which you gain spell slots so as to keep up statistically with other spell casters, as well as fixes to mystic arcanum, and a more entertaining capstone.

Races

Asyne. A planetouched raced empowered by the chaotic forces of Limbo

Elf (Chángshòu). An elf subrace that draws from the Wuxing, as an elf subrace that revolves around a 5 elemental system.

Half-Blood. Dhampirs, Victims of cursed rituals, experimenters with dark magics. This race puts you in a twilight zone between the horrors of a vampire, whilst still retaining a humanoids humanity.

Half-Elf (Chángshòu). A half-elf subrace for the Chángshòu elf.

Insanguis. A plane touched race warped by the corruption of the far realms, allowing you to mix and match your character using several eldritch mutations

Archetypes.

Dark Divinity Cleric. An alternate for the default Turn and Destroy undead that clerics get, instead gaining the power to overpower and command undead.

Defilers and Tyrant Paladins. Two alternate feature kits for the paladin, with the negative energy fueled Defiler, and the infernally bound Tyrant

Imbuer Artificer: Trade off spontaneous invention for the ability to imbue your magic into items and share your powers.

Advance Spellcasting: Alternate spellcasting rules for the Paladin, Cleric, Wizard and Druid to trade off spontaneous spell slot usage for prepared spell slot usage.

Misc.

Artificer Armorer, Arcane Armor Model: Colossus. A model of Arcane Armor which allows its wearer to fight on a larger scale

Artificer Infusion: Living Helm An infusion which grants sentience into a helmet, as well as allowing it to animate armor its attached to

Fighter, Echo Knight: Persistent Echos. A variant echo knight that exchanges expendable echos for more durable echos that transfer part of their damage to their summoner

Masters Imbuement. An optional warlock feature that allows them to alter their more recognizable warlock powers by changing their damage types to one associated with their patron

Psionic Blades. A possible fix for the Soul Knife rogue archetype, fixing minor issues with the classes core feature

Shields, Enhanced. A rework for shields to create more engaging gameplay, allowing shield users to properly use their shields as cover, as well as splitting shields into 3 different size classes, from as small as a buckler to as large as a tower shield.

Storm Sorcerer Collection. A collection of spells with a storm theme. Includes a metamagic feat and subclass spells for the storm sorcerer.

Warlock: Pact boon of the Symbiote. A warlock pact boon that grants you a sentient life form that shares your body, allowing you access to all sorts of strange powers and invocations, from gaining additional knowledge to sprouting grasping tendrils

Weapon Tricks and Martial Progression. A martial equivalent to spellcasters universal spellcasting progression, with new features centering around Weapon Tricks based off of Baldurs Gates 3, as well as granting new powers to legendary martials.

Negative and Positive Energy Rules for using healing spells to harm undead, as well as Anti-Healing spells to heal undead and harm the living

Cleric of the Cloth Alternate class feature to allow clerics to forego armor.

This list will continue to see updates as I write more stuff

#ncat homebrew

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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1. December 26th, 2016

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.4k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

A/N: welcome to chapter one of THE ONLY EXCEPTION! i’m so flipping excited i could scream!!!!!! this fic is going to be a long boi so buckle up. also thank you to @meetmeinfleetwood for supporting this fic from the start ilysm!!!! xoxo, willa

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N’s dad had been having these Christmas parties for the past five years or so, each time on the 26th of December, each time packed with music industry people and lots of bottles of tequila and red wine. Her first time had been two years ago, and she had found it surprisingly enjoyable—she had expected it to be boring and to want to leave after the first hour. Instead, it was full of people she had known since she was a kid, musicians and producers and her dad’s old A&R guys who she had grown up hanging out with in recording studios and backstage at her dad’s shows. They had come to family dinners before and after her parents’ divorce, and so when she ran into them at the parties it was easy to catch them up on her life and suddenly it was after midnight and the party was emptying out.

This year she had volunteered to help set up. Her dad had rented a massive house out in the hills and it came already decorated, but it was on Y/N to make sure there were chairs set up for the music circle, a massive bar laid out and plenty of glasses ready. Her dad’s friend was making the food, eager to use the opportunity to promote the new restaurant he was opening, so when Y/N opened the door it already smelled like garlic and olive oil, her favorite scents on earth.

“Karl!” She called through the house, shutting the heavy oak door behind her. Her arms were laden with boxes of plastic glasses—her dad was too scared of the guests breaking glass ones—and she wandered into the kitchen. The tall ceilings of the entryway where a massive Christmas tree sat adorned with ornaments gave way to a modern, sleek kitchen. Karl twirled around to greet her, a grin on his face. “Smells delicious in here.”

He set down his spatula and came over, grabbing a box and giving her a kiss on each cheek. “Hello, darling. Are there more in the car?”

She shook her head, unwinding her scarf from her neck and placing it on the counter. Karl had been her father’s college roommate and somehow they’d stayed close over the years, every one of Y/N’s birthdays spent at one of Karl’s restaurants with all of her favorite dishes made special, a birthday cannoli with a candle in it for her to blow out. “This is all of the glasses. Dad told me to get the bar ready—he’s bringing the booze in a bit.”

“Hope there’s a glass of wine in there for the chef,” Karl said and Y/N chuckled—there always was a bottle of Karl’s favorite expensive wine set aside when he did one of these things and he knew it. It was part of the pay, her father always said. “Want to taste test?”

“Always.” Y/N joined Karl at the stove, eagerly tasting the sauce he was cooking. It was a simple sage butter sauce, but Karl always excelled at the most simple dishes. “Delicious, as usual,” she said.

Karl jabbered her ear off about the updates on the restaurant—they’d run into problems finding a good sous chef and he was about to do the job himself if he didn’t find someone soon—while Y/N decided where to set up the bar. Finally, she settled on a high table against the glass wall in the wide hallway between the kitchen and the sprawling dining room, which opened up onto the patio. She tugged open the accordion glass doors and breathed in the cool Los Angeles air, thankful for a relatively cold evening, since she always got overheated at parties like this, where people were crammed into every corner. Her dad seemed to know more people every year. Satisfied with the position of the table, she set out the glasses and paper napkins, before asking Karl if he had an extra cooler he’d brought with. She’d forgotten to ask her dad for one before she had left. She filled it with ice and set it next to the table with a scoop, and grabbed the special shot glasses her father had told her to bring, placing them on the table next to a bouquet of flowers.

Her job done, she wandered through the rest of the house. It was gorgeous—she wondered how her father had found it. If she remembered correctly, he had said something about it being an official venue for music and parties, he’d done a private gig here a few years back and the owners had loved him enough to offer it for this party. It’s not like anyone really had gigs on December 26th anyway. She closed all the doors to the back bedrooms, remembering her father’s request, and set up a coat closet of sorts out of the bedroom closest to the front, before heading to change into her outfit for the evening.

“Y/N!” She was securing her favorite pair of earrings in her ears when she heard her father’s voice through the halls of the house. “Where ya at, sweetheart?”

“One sec, Dad!” She grabbed the hanger she had kept her top on and shoved it into her massive purse, settling it into the back corner of the room for safety. Her father was waiting for her in the kitchen with Karl, also getting a sample of the sauce she had tried earlier.

“Hi you,” her father said when she came in. His salt and pepper hair was balding a bit, but his bright smile was what drew people in, olive skin that tanned easily in the California sun. Y/N had selected his suit for the evening, a maroon red and a black tie, something a bit out of the ordinary for him, but Y/N loved it. “Look gorgeous.”

She hugged her father tightly. She had spent Christmas with her mother, as usual, so this was the first time she’d seen her dad during the holidays. “Not too bad yourself, captain.”

“Ha!” Her father pinched her cheek softly, just as he had when she was a child. “I’ve got your present in the car, come grab it with me?”

“Sure.” They had decided to exchange gifts at the party and Y/N had hers tucked in the back pocket of her jeans—dinner on her at Karl’s new restaurant, something she’d discussed with the owner a few weeks ago. Her father’s car sat in the driveway, trunk open where boxes of alcohol laid waiting to be carried inside. “That my gift?”

“You wish,” her dad answered, and Y/N gave him a pouty look that he just shook his head at. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an envelope. Y/N couldn’t help but hope it was cash—she needed a new computer and was running a bit short. She knew her dad would help if she asked, but she hated asking him for money.

She took the envelope and opened it, a sheet of paper and something thicker hiding between its folds. She opened the letter and found a homemade coupon of sorts, just as she had done for him.

TWO TICKETS TO ANY SHOW IN LA - NON-REFUNDABLE, FUN REQUIRED!

“Papa,” she said, giving him a beaming smile. “My favorite!” She threw her arms around his neck and he chuckled, hugging her right back.

“Just give me a few weeks heads up, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and looked back down at the letter, eyes running over her dad’s sweet words of love and pride. It was their thing—homemade cards always, never store bought, despite that neither of them could draw. “Thank you.”

“Welcome, sweetheart.”

“Now yours!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out his envelope, aptly addressed, Dad, and handed it over. Her father read her card as well, and chuckled at her drawing of them at dinner together.

He kissed her forehead gently. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, squeezing his side. “Now let’s get all this booze out of your car before I drive away with it!” Her dad laughed and followed her to the back of the car, them each grabbing a carton of wine. There had to be enough for over a hundred people, Y/N thought to herself. Who would be new this year?

The party was in full swing, her dad’s favorite music playing softly through the speaker system, people littered all over the house with the alcohol flowing. Karl was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, his food a massive hit, and Y/N couldn’t have been happier for him. She’d caught up with her dad’s friends and people who were essentially her godparents, sharing how her job was going (fine) and her relationship prospects (non-existent), sipping tequila and red wine on rotation.

Y/N leaned against the patio railing overlooking the hills, a glass of tequila on the rocks settled in between her palms. She could hear her father’s voice in the distance calling people to come and start the music, the scrape of chairs and strumming of guitars. It was about time for her to go in, but she lingered, relishing the quiet of the night and the biting air wrapping around her. Since she didn’t play an instrument, despite her father’s attempts, this part of the evening was the part where she just sat back and observed. And also usually got quite drunk since all she had to do was drink and sing along.

“Y/N, right?” She turned around, eyes focusing on the person standing a few feet away. “I’m Harry.”

Harry Styles. How had he ended up here, and how had she not seen him yet? “Nice to meet you,” she answered, standing up straight and taking a sip of her drink. “Not going in to play?”

He shook his head. “Bit nervous, if I’m honest. Lot of talent in that room.”

She cocked her head to the side as he joined her at the railing. “You’re plenty talented,” she told him. It was true. She was a huge fan of his, had been for a while, following his work in One Direction since its inception, and now in the solo career her dad had mentioned. He was recording with some guys out at The Village a few months ago and called her at the end of the day, saying he ran into Harry Styles in the middle of a session doing some solo stuff. Said it sounded good, which she wasn’t surprised by in the slightest.

But Harry just chuckled. “Nah, those people are legends,” he said. She knew who he was talking about, too. One of the Dixie Chicks was there, some guys who had written with John Mayer and Kanye West, a dozen other Grammy-nominated musicians, some record label execs who had practically formed the industry as they knew it today, the A&R people who had found them. It was intimidating, definitely, but for Harry she didn’t think it would be.

“Just people.” She sipped on her drink, studying him. He was in a long black coat, a loose black v-neck silk shirt and red and white plaid pants that tapered at the leg, his cropped curls falling into his face slightly. He also had a tequila on the rocks gripped in his hand, rings adorning every one of his fingers. A skull, a red stone, a silver band, amongst them. “Having fun?”

He smiles at her, thankful for the change of topic. “Loads. Haven’t been at a party like this in a while.”

“What do you mean?”

The breeze passed between them, ruffling his hair a bit. “I don’t know. Just, people who didn’t really give a shit about me, if you know what I mean? Holidays can be a bit much sometimes.”

She nodded as if she understood what it felt like to be a popstar of his fame, which she didn’t, but she could imagine. “Didn’t go home?”

“My mum and sister came here, actually,” he said. “They were craving a respite from the cold English winters.”

“Well, this is definitely a respite,” Y/N said, and Harry chuckled.

Silence stretched between them and Y/N tapped her fingernails against her cup. Maybe it was time to go inside, she thought. “So, Y/N, what do you do?”

His question pulled her out of her head easily. “Brand strategy,” she answered, thankful for a comfortable topic. “I work mostly with fashion and product companies, preferably sustainable ones.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.” She did. She loved her work—she’d gone to school for it and thrown herself into it after school, loving pitching projects for clients and helping them understand their core purpose and how they could grow and evolve most authentically. “It was that or books, but I decided this was a bit more profitable. Also wasn’t too keen on living in New York.”

Harry nodded, twirling his glass in his hands. She took the opportunity to run her eyes across his face—he was gorgeous in this way that you weren’t sure was real. It was interesting to see how much he’d grown up. At 22, his cheekbones were cut and his jaw defined, his former long locks he had recently cut and Y/N liked these more, she decided. “What are your favorite writers?” He asked, pulling Y/N back into the conversation.

“That’s like asking which one of your children is your favorite,” she joked, and he chuckled, the sound music to Y/N’s ears. “Dunno, really. I read so much it’s hard to choose, you know? Reading a Louise Erdrich book right now that’s absolutely stellar. The Round House—you should give it a go if you’ve got the time.”

He pulled out his phone and she watched him type in the name to his Notes app, the action making her smile. “Been looking for a new book,” he said. “Just been reading The New Yorker and my mum about took my head off for not reading enough.” They both laughed, the sound filling the night air.

“Harry!” A man was standing in the doorway to the patio, a guitar in hand. “Come sing, mate.”

Harry glanced back at Y/N. “Coming?”

Y/N nodded and followed him inside, refilling her glass on the way. Harry handed her his, and she did the same, giving them both another glass of tequila to sip on while they listened to the circle of musicians. Someone had decided to do some Christmas tunes she Y/N smiled when she heard her father’s voice—he’d made it a bit country, just like he loved to do with popular songs. He’d grown up on a steady diet of folk music and country, just as Y/N had, and he always joked it was in his blood. Harry took a seat next to his friend who Y/N didn’t recognize—probably some producer her dad had met recently, maybe one of the guys from The Village if that was how they’d connected, and Y/N grabbed the seat her dad had saved for her next to him.

She joined in immediately, knowing this rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy” by heart, since it was the same one he had made up when Y/N was eight or nine. Karl was in the circle too, a plate of food in his hands and his bottle of red wine on the ground, and he gave her a warm smile. This was her favorite part of the night—feeling a part of something her father loved so dearly. When he gave her a kiss to her temple and introduced her to the group, she couldn’t help but find Harry’s eyes, his irises twinkling back at her under the lights.

At one o’clock, people finally began filtering out of the party, and Harry decided it was probably time for him to head. Jeff, who had invited him to come with, had already left, exhausted from the holidays with family, but Harry had stayed, hoping to talk to Y/N for a little while longer. He had unfortunately failed to catch her, though, the music running long and after it had wrapped up people had tugged her in for hugs and conversation. Despite knowing who she was through her father, he was still in awe of how intimately she knew all of these people. He overheard snippets of her conversations, asking about children and partners, parents who had cancer and career-defining moments she’d missed out on because of work. Harry was in this world too, but many of the people at this party were a bit older than his usual set—they belonged to the group of his heroes, rather than necessarily people he felt were his peers. He was still getting his solo career together, still only a boyband member in their eyes. He tried not to feel less than, but sometimes it was hard when you were sat next to Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks with utterly nothing to say but awe-inspired ramblings.

Finally, Y/N was alone, the older couple she was talking to having left for the door, and Harry seized the opportunity. “Y/N,” he said, and her head popped up from her phone to look at him. Her dark brown hair was soft against her skin, and he eagerly wondered what it felt like against his skin, brown eyes that searched his soul. “I loved talking to you earlier.”

She smiled and Harry loved it when she did. Lit up the whole room, just about. “Me too. Glad you came—with Jeff, yeah?”

He nodded. “He introduced me to your dad when we were at The Village.” Y/N nodded as well, obviously having figured out the story. “I—I was wondering, would you want to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to chat more, get to know you.” He restrained the urge to bounce on his heels, nervous in front of her. He felt like a kid asking out his crush, but that’s what this was, a crush. Even if it came to nothing, she was kind, interesting, and fit into the world he revolved in. It wasn’t the most important thing, but he appreciated it all the same.

“Oh,” she said, tone somber. “Sorry, Harry, but I don’t date musicians. Get home safe, yeah?” She turned away from him, feet carrying her back into the living room, presumably finding her father.

What? She didn’t date musicians? “I’m sorry—what?”

Y/N turned back to look at him. “I just don’t. Bit of a rule.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t feel the need to explain it. Bye, Harry.” Then, she walked away and Harry was left in shock. The abrupt change in tone was like whiplash—she had seemed so interested, involved in their conversation, only to tell him she didn’t date musicians? What the fuck kind of rule was that?

He huffed and tugged out his phone to tell his driver he was ready, and went outside, leaving behind Y/N and her confusing rule. But this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, he decided. He wanted to know why she had this rule, this stupid rule that was stopping her from getting to know him. It wasn’t like he even asked her to date him, just to get coffee for Pete’s sake. Harry sat down in the car and pulled out his phone, composing a text to Jeff.

Could I write with Peter? Seemed like a great guy, really talented. Maybe if she got to Y/N’s dad, he could earn some brownie points. Maybe then she’d bend her rules for him, because despite their short conversation, Harry was intrigued.

Definitely, Jeff replied. I’ll text him tomorrow.

Harry closed his phone and smiled. Hopefully this worked, because Harry was dying to know more about this rule of hers.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed when she pulled into her dad’s driveway. There was another car sat in the drive, a black 4-door SUV she’d never seen before, the windows tinted so she couldn’t see in. It reminded her of those cars the FBI drives in crime dramas, which obviously led her to a part of her brain that was not necessarily a hopeful place. She scrambled to grab her bag from work and her keys, launching herself from her car and towards her dad’s door.

“Dad!” She called into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. “Whose car is in the drive? Didn’t tell me we’d be having company!” Gripping the wall for balance she toed off her shoes and set her bag on the floor next to the door, shrugging off her coat and setting it on a hook. “Dad?”

“He’s in the toilet.”

Her head whipped around and found Harry Styles standing in her hallway, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. As much as she had planned to forget about him after the party, never really expecting to see him again, she hadn’t been able to. And now he was in her house, hair pushed back from his face, a grin painted on his lips. It was irritating how gorgeous he was. “The fuck are you doing here?”

A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck and for a second Y/N regretted being quite so aggressive. “‘M writing with your dad,” he explained. “Guess he didn’t tell you.”

“No,” she answered. She brushed past him into the living room where, as Harry had said, it was obvious they had been writing. Her dad’s treasured old Gibson guitar leaning against his favorite armchair where he’d set it, computers out with GarageBand up for recording demos, papers with scribbles strewn across the coffee table. “Good session?” She decided that there was no way he was here just to pursue her—he was there for professional reasons, after all. Her dad and Harry must’ve hit it off at the party last week. There was also the fact that her dad was a really fucking good songwriter, so of course Harry would want to work with him. Ever since he’d stopped touring, her dad had started doing mainly writing, his songs appearing on records from everyone from up-and-coming artists the label found him to John Legend.

Harry just nodded. Her eyes drifted to his own guitar, a soft brown wood that had obviously seen some heavy use and travel. She recognized it from her dad’s own guitars that he used to take on the road with him, the nicks and faded wood at the base of the bridge.

“Y/N!” Her dad’s voice fell through the silence of the room as he re-entered. He was wearing his favorite old UCLA shirt, where she’d just graduated from not too long ago. “Home earlier than usual. Was going to give you a heads up about this one,” he pointed to Harry then, “but I see you’ve already found out.”

Her eyes drifted to Harry, who stood awkwardly next to the couch, unsure if he should sit or stand. “Finished my projects early and didn’t have any meetings, so thought I’d get out early and surprise you.”

“Well,” her father said, giving her a quick hug, “glad you did. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” She nodded, she was always ravenous after work. “Harry, would you want to stay for dinner?”

No, she thought. The last thing she wanted was to sit at a table with a guy she’d rejected and her father and eat an awkward dinner on a Friday night. She just wanted a massive glass of red wine, her delicious romance novel from her bedside table, and maybe lighting a fire in the pit in the backyard.

Instead, Harry said, “Sure. Don’t want to impose though.”

“Nonsense! Y/N why don’t you go change and Harry and I can tidy up from working. We were about done anyway.” Her dad kissed the top of her head sweetly and she just did as he said, Harry a forgotten thought behind her as she went to her room upstairs.

It was her childhood bedroom which she had been residing in for a month now. How her landlord could put her out for this long was beyond her, but she hadn’t had the energy to fight it—plus, it was an opportunity to spend some quality time with her workaholic father. So she was spending her evenings in her light blue colored room, sleeping between her soft pink sheets, and picking her work clothes that butted up against remnants from high school she’d left behind as memories. Y/N pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt that probably belonged to an ex-fling from college—Daniel maybe? Y/N couldn’t remember. Slipping on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm from the tile floors of the kitchen, she left her room, tugging her door shut so if Harry went exploring he wouldn’t stumble into her room.

Downstairs, Harry was sat at the kitchen island with a glass of wine and a smile on his face, deep in conversation with her dad about Fleetwood Mac’s chord progressions. A glass of red was waiting for her on the counter and she picked it up, wandering over to where her dad was cooking

“Whatcha making?” She asked, peeking into the pot.

“Pasta,” he replied. “Now stop being a nosy Nelly and talk to our guest while I try to focus on not burning the pasta.”

“Dad you haven’t even put it in yet.”

Her dad shooed her from the stove and she chuckled, backing away. “Get out of here, ya pest.”

She turned to Harry, realizing her dad was actively trying to get them to hang out. He was so annoying sometimes. “How do you feel about a fire?”

“Positively,” he answered and she led him outside into her backyard.

It was chilly out, but nothing too bad. She set her glass on the table and went over to the stack of wood her dad kept against the fence, picking up some logs and carrying them over to the fire pit they’d had for years. At first it was so Y/N could roast marshmallows at home, her father trying to do anything to get her to come over to his house more after the divorce, and as time had gone on it had become her favorite place in the whole house. When her dad was out of town and she came over to check up on the house in high school, she’d bring her weed and smoke out here under the stars.

Harry sidled up next to her and picked up a few logs, following her to the fire pit. “This is cool,” he said, words breaking their silence.

Y/N dropped the logs into the fire and looked up at him. “Favorite part of the whole house.” A box of matches sat next to the door and she grabbed them, as well as some kindling, and brought it over to the logs, setting the kindling under the logs before lighting them. The fire leaped up, the wood nice and dry from the lack of rain recently. “So, who got in touch with who?”

Harry looked at her in confusion. “Huh?”

She settled into one of the chairs set by the fire, wine tucked between her fingers. “The writing. You or my dad?”

“Oh,” he answered, joining her in the chair next to her. “Me, actually. Through Jeff.”

As expected. “And?”

“He’s really good,” Harry said, to which Y/N chuckled.

“That he is.”

“What was it like growing up with him as your dad?” He asked, breaking the silence between them.

Y/N shifted in her chair. She’d been asked this question so many times over the years, but it still was hard to answer. “Hard, if I’m being honest,” she told him, truth surprising her. But she had a feeling Harry would get it to a certain extent. He was a hugely popular star, after all. She’d heard rumors that he was a part of a movie coming out this year, something historical. “Like, my parents are divorced, which I assume you know.” He nodded, probably having figured it out by now. “And with my dad’s tour schedule when I was in school, I didn’t see him all that much, especially in elementary and middle school. He was gone all the time, even missed my birthday a couple times because of tour dates, so I just didn’t really know him that well, I guess. Fuck, sorry, this is a lot,” she breathed out, realizing she was rambling. Harry was just surprisingly easy to talk to, his eyes steady on her, intently listening to her every word. Boys didn’t usually listen to her like this.

“S’fine,” he replied. “When did it change, if you don’t mind me asking? Seem so close now.”

The fire, having grown by now, crackled in front of them. “Late high school, but mainly when I was in college. My mom moved to San Francisco for a job and I went to UCLA, so my dad was closest. Came over to do my laundry sometimes, have a home cooked meal, he’d take me to dinner, that stuff. Came to football games with me, sometimes, which he always tried to be interested in but never succeeded.” Harry chuckled at that and Y/N smiled at the sound. Harry was obnoxiously pretty. Like, impossibly pretty in this way where you couldn’t help but look at him again to make sure that yes, he was a real person. And it was really fucking distracting. “His touring kind of stopped when I went into college too,” she added, trying to refocus on the conversation. “Started writing mainly, putting out music only when it suited him. He’s a lot happier now, I think.”

“That’s good,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I’m glad you guys were able to have that kind of relationship, even if it was later.”

Y/N blinked at him, his words so kind and honest. “Me too.”

“Always been one of my fears, if I’m being honest,” he said, words soft in the cool night air. Sun was starting to set and it was getting dark around them, the light of the fire putting an orange ember to his face. “About having kids with my career, you know? I want to be a dad, but it’s like…how do I do that while being gone all the time?” His honesty shocked her, but then again Harry Styles seemed to be excelling at that in every regard. “Sorry, that’s a lot to unload on you.”

“No it isn’t,” she reassured him. “Just told you about all my daddy issues, yeah?” He chuckled, and it lightened the mood just enough. “You’ll figure it out.”

Harry nodded, taking another sip of his wine and she did the same. It was her favorite, the one her dad bought multiple of whenever she came to stay. Even though they’d gotten closer over the years, his desire to make his house perfect for her never seemed to fade. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“The rule—I—why is that?”

Well, fuck. This was the exact conversation she didn’t want to have, the one she was hoping he wouldn’t bring up. “It’s actually related to what you were just saying,” she said slowly. He’d get it after everything she’d explained and the fears he shared, right? “I don’t date musicians because they’re always gone.”

Harry was quiet, absorbing her answer. It was true, they always were gone—she had every right to her rule, she told herself. She didn’t want a repeat of what her parents had experienced, what she’d experienced. Her dad’s job had ruined everything in their family, ripping her parents apart, keeping him away from her for more of the year than he was home. She didn’t want the same thing for her kids. “That’s a pretty broad stroke, isn’t it?” Harry said though, pushing back against her. “Like all musicians. Kinda a generalization ‘bout us.”

“You said it yourself,” she said, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her thighs. “You’re gone all the time. How do you build a life with someone who isn’t there half the time?”

“Devil’s advocate,” Harry said, setting his wine on the arm of his chair, “but hypothetically you’re dating someone who tours all the time. But they make you a priority, coming home and seeing you, putting your relationship first. That wouldn’t matter? You wouldn’t even take the chance that it could work out okay?”

This time it was Y/N who was quiet. “I mean, musicians only have so much control over their schedules,” she said, remembering the excuses her dad used to tell her. “Plus, it’s not the relationship that’s the problem. It’s the part when you get to marriage and kids.”

“…So it’s better to just avoid the whole thing entirely?”

Y/N nodded, her logic laid out in front of her. She’d never had to do this before—most times, guys just took her at her word and dropped it all together. Harry pushed though, wanting to understand in a way the others didn’t care enough to do. “It’s safer.”

“But then you miss out on the opportunity to fall in love with someone,” Harry says, his words like rocks in her stomach. “And what if that person was a musician?”

Y/N had a feeling they were no longer talking in hypotheticals. “We can fall in love with tons of different people.”

“No soulmates and shit for you, then?” She shook her head. She didn’t believe in all that crap, never had. Relationships were about work, effort, time. The person was important, but the life that person led mattered more to her. How much they’d prioritize the relationship, the kind of life they wanted to build. “That’s kind of depressing,” Harry said.

The fire crackled and popped. “I don’t think so. It’s…practical.”

“Love isn’t supposed to be practical, Y/N.”

Y/N found herself speechless. She didn’t have an answer for him. She’d never been in love before, that was for sure. Hadn’t found that kind of love that people like Harry write songs about and she’d often found herself wondering when it was going to happen for her. There just hadn’t been any guys that were right for her yet.

“Y/N! Harry!” She turned and her dad was in the doorway, pasta sauce splattered on his shirt. He’d always been a messy cook. “Dinner’s ready.”

Y/N took one last look at Harry before grabbing her wine and heading inside, Harry following at her heels.

After dinner, Harry decided this was his last chance at Y/N. He couldn’t exactly use the same excuse twice and after understanding her rule, he was determined to be the exception. He helped Y/N clear the plates while her dad settled in at the TV in the other room, telling them it was his time to watch the nightly news and they could clean up since he had cooked. Harry had missed being in a home like this, the kind where he got told to clean up from dinner and there was calm and normal conversation at the table, Y/N talking about her day at work and Harry sharing about his activities from his mum’s visit. It brought him a kind of peace he didn’t know he needed.

The plate clattered on the counter as he set it down, Y/N turning, her hands soapy with the water from the dishes. “Gonna break our dishes,” she said with a snort. “Be careful, please.”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. He’d cleared the table, so he grabbed a dish rag from the peg and joined Y/N at the sink, taking the clean dishes from the rack and drying them, stacking them on the counter since he didn’t know where they belonged in the cabinets.

They worked in silence, the only sound her dad’s TV from the other room. He could hear Rachel Maddow’s show on NBC, the same one he liked to watch, learning from her commentary on American politics that he was still trying to wrap his brain around.

“Y/N,” he said when they’d finished the dishes. “I promise I heard everything you said earlier.” She looked at him with curiosity in her eyes, trying to figure out where he was going with this. Harry tried to pick his words delicately, wanting to make sure she knew he did hear her, he was just entranced by her and couldn’t give her up. “But what is the likelihood you would be willing to give it a shot? With me?”

She took the dish towel from his hands and dried her own, considering his words. The waiting was killing him, but he didn’t want to rush her. He knew what her worries were and he was asking her to put them aside.

“We’ll take it slow,” he told her, stumbling over the words. “Promise. You set the pace, you decide about commitments. I just…” Can’t stop thinking about you.

But then Y/N surprised him by saying, “I know. I feel that way too.” His eyes widened, not believing the words from her mouth. “I’ll give it a shot,” she said slowly. “Better make the date good.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask again unless you’d like me to change my mind.”

“Can I get your number then?” She nodded and read it off, Harry typing the numbers into his phone next to her name. Then Harry shut up and just smiled at her, following her like a puppy dog into the other room where her dad sat watching TV. She curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket her dad had so it would cover part of her and his heart softened at how sweet she looked. He loved seeing her like this, at home, comfortable in her space. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “Thank you so much for dinner, Peter.”

Y/N’s dad turned from the TV and gave him a wide smile. “Of course, Harry. You’re welcome anytime—wouldn’t want you to get lonely out here!”

His eyes drifted to Y/N and he knew that with her around, there was never anyway he could be lonely.

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fatehbaz · 4 years

Note

if you haven’t heard, decolonial beekeeping is the new cool thing all the kids are doing

thank you. “decolonial” as a descriptor of beekeeping could mean many things, right? not to put you on the spot. :)

would “decolonial/anticolonial” necessarily entail promoting only native bee or other native pollinator species? does “beekeeping” necessarily require that honey specifically be harvested? what if there is no harvest? does it count as “beekeeping” if i have no artificially constructed hives, and instead i simply plant native wildflowers across remnant prairies, providing home or refuge for native bees? by caretaking for the prairie or the woodland clearings, allowing leaf litter and decaying logs and tall grasses to continue existing uninhibited, even if i never even see the bees with my own eyes, does it still count as beekeeping, or bee-caretaking, to simply do what you can to give them a space to thrive?

or would decolonial beekeeping also refer to how an Indigenous community might cultivate an autonomous foodshed, garden, or a community horticulture plot? so that, even if using European honeybees, the local production of honey, by supporting local wildflowers/pollination and by providing a reliable source of food and income, can be “anticolonial” maybe? i’ve seen more than one story in the past few weeks, referencing Native-owned honey and beeswax products (i think from the Great Lakes region?).

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or maybe decolonial beekeeping could refer to something like this article i found, after your message inspired me to look around: Jose Javier G. Quezada-Euan. “The Past, Present, and Future of Meliponiculture in Mexico: The Biology, Management and Conservation of an Ancient Heritage.” August 2018.

i don’t know anything about pre-Columbian human-bee relationships, but this abstract sounds intriguing:

“Accounts on ancient meliponiculture are not abundant from the Americas. Most pre-Columbian evidence comes from Mexico, in particular from the Yucatan Peninsula. Early accounts from Spaniards indicate that outstanding levels of husbandry and large concentrations of colonies of Melipona beecheii (’Xunan kab’ in Mayan) were present in the region. [...] Rich manifestations of the intricate bond between the Maya and Xunan kab are still found in the complex cosmogony and mythology associated with the cultivation of these bees (Jax et al. Ecol Econ 93 2013). The cultivation of M. beecheii still played a crucial role in the Yucatan Peninsula and southern Mexico by the end of the nineteenth century, being important in folk medicine, economy, and cosmology (Velednitsky. “Transforming the colony: Decolonial processes and outcomes in Melipona bee restoration.” University of California, 2011). However, recent changes in the economic system accelerated loss of Indigenous knowledge and practices, including stingless beekeeping. [...]

that article (”Transforming the colony ...”), referenced in Quezada-Euan’s abstract, was written by Stephanie Velednitsky as a BA thesis (in Environmental Justice) from 2011, discussing beekeeping in Chiapas. and it looks like Quezada-Euan has written a lot more about Mayan bees. for anyone interested, might be a good idea to (with care and respect) check out the bibliographies on his articles for further reading?

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once had a roommate who did whimsical “hobby” apiary stuff and she roped me into taking care of a couple of small hives of (European) honeybees over the course of two years, which i only did because no one else was taking care of the hives and so i pitied them (maybe not pity; compassion?), which eventually turned to respect and comraderie. i had serious conscious reservations because the bees were non-native and yet were situated close to a remnant woodland that may have been better cared for if left to the native insects. even the honey itself seemed to have been mostly produced from the bees’ use of non-native knapweed. and also, i did not have immediate need of wax, or honey for food, so i felt that it was an unfair dynamic between the bees and myself, because i don’t like “employing” animals (even/especially arthropods) for entertainment (the way that my roommate got involved with bees because it was simply a quirky resume-building exercise, without much regard for the creatures’ lives). did not feel honorable.

i do continue to defend the decaying logs, the pine needles and leaf litter in the larch and lodgepole clearings. i step over patches of delicate moss and don’t disrupt the rockpiles with wildflowers at their base (even if i’d love to take a look at the alligator lizard that i know must be hiding just beneath those stones). it doesn’t grant me any honey, and sometimes the only glimpse of the bees is the blurry after-image of the movement. a pile of moist soil, resisting the asphalt, finds refuge in the corner of an empty lot, in the shade. i don’t disturb the grasses and lichen. i hope no one steps on this oasis amidst the concrete. maybe toss a seed-bomb of native flowers into this space. will bees find it, one day?

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dredshirtroberts · 4 years

Text

Hooooo boy we are feelin some EMOTIONS today, folks.

this is not a happy post, if you’d like to skip I entirely understand, and in fact encourage doing so.

I’ve been needing to do a one of these for a lil bit because I’ve got Thoughts and Feelings and they are complicated and I can’t accurately parse them in my head so we’re gonna air it out on Tumblr like a sheet on the line during laundry day.

here’s the thing.

I got some complicated family feelings in my chest places and it fucking *sucks*.

I was kept from spending time with my family by various means over the past several years to the point where I wasn’t attending holidays - which, in my family, is just not done. You can skip a holiday but you have to make it up on another occasion and I...wasn’t doing that anymore. Two separate people had me convinced I was not loved by my family, that they did not care for or appreciate me like *they* could and that I was better off not being around my family.

And maybe they had some valid points. Which I hate admitting because they used a lot of “valid points” to get me to be completely isolated in life without anyone but them and any time I branched out I was, for lack of a better term, “punished” for having denied them my attention or time or whatever. (this is of course not as nuanced a take on it as I would prefer but this is already going to be long without me going through the whole...everything, again. You can search the captain rambles and life post tags on my blog for more on this topic).

Anyway...so I’m no longer with people who are actively trying to keep me from talking to other people/being around people who are supportive of my own efforts and goals, etc. And I was welcomed back into my family with open arms and that was...honestly unexpected. After everything I’d had told to me about how they were and how they should be and what I should feel about them...I wasn’t expecting them to love me.

I rode that rose-colored wave for a *while*. But as the world descends into chaos and I learn more things about myself that make me feel more like *me* than I have...possibly ever now that I try and think about it, I am seeing things that I had hoped had been exaggerated or made up by those in my life who had hurt me.

My parents raised me in a very right-wing conservative household. The evangelical style of christianity didn’t come until I was already an adult but the building blocks must have been there or it wouldn’t have happened so...extremely when it finally did. There were a lot of...really shitty attitudes towards other people that I didn’t recognize growing up in it - I didn’t recognize it until a lot later, in fact.

They’re...They don’t see anything wrong with the way they are. Which, you know, *sucks*.

There’s going to be a lot of dismissive phrases littered throughout this because I’m trying to be...i don’t know. I do it as a thing to lighten the mental load on myself - dismissiveness and joking around, exaggerating for effect, etc. - which i know might come off weird but like...this is really fucking bothering me guys and I...I’m doing my best.

Cause here’s the thing. I was raised believing the world was one way and that we were *right* about things. We had the answers and anyone (liberals) who didn’t agree with us were wrong and would either see the light and come to our side or were too stupid to know how wrong they were so we wouldn’t have associated with them anyway. (reasons why i’m currently frustrated with the political opposition to Republicans/Conservatives/The Right #1 actually)

And then I grew up and I saw the world was not that way. And I expected that my family would be able to see the world with the insight I had gained, and..they just...don’t.

I’ve excused a lot of their shit beliefs recently. not like, trying to defend them to anyone or anything but I don’t confront them. Mostly because I know while they won’t say it to my face, I know how they think about people who think like me (because I was there for those conversations, I was there and I thought like them and now i don’t and that makes me one of those idiots they talked about, a stupid person who can’t see the truth they believe so fully that they think is backed up by facts and figures but their facts and figures are *flawed* - mine aren’t better but I can acknowledge that and extrapolating data from all the things and coming to a conclusion is what I was taught to do but now that I do it for the wrong side what must they think of me? What must they say behind my back?)

I have...a lot of kinda fucked up shit about my family. Nothing overt, nothing that immediately screams to me “Hey fuck-o, this shit isn’t a universal experience and something is wrong here!” but it’ll be small things that I’m like “Ah, okay. Not everyone had this experience and those that did are currently working through the *trauma* of it by going to *therapy*. Hm.”

I’ve done some work in that respect and that’s good. Doesn’t make my issues go away but makes it so I can handle them a little better. Most of the time anyway.

I’m trying to make several things that are true but contradictory work together in my brain and it’s not going well.

1) my family cares about me and wants me to do well.

2) my family has hurt me in the past and is currently hurting me (though not intentionally and not maliciously - please dear god let it be unintentional and non-malicious).

3) My family does not “agree” with LGBTetc people.

4) My family do not believe that there are systemic issues inherent in the government we live in/under and the society we must participate in (Because it benefits them, and they have not had to challenge their thoughts on this before).

5) My family are kind of racist.

6) My family was my only support system when I was leaving an abusive situation.

7) ...My family might have abused me a little.

I go back and forth on point seven a *lot*. See point 2 about the intentionality/maliciousness factors. If they didn’t mean to do it, does it still count?

Does it matter if it still hurts?

My sister outright told me that she doesn’t agree with trans people (meaning she doesn’t believe you can be trans, really). But I’m okay because it’s me, and now I can be her gay best friend when we’re drinking at family stuff.

She didn’t understand why I was hurt by that. I attempted to explain it and she got defensive and angry so I just...didn’t fight about it. Just played the part. I’m her brother when it benefits her but otherwise I’m still her sister. I’m still mom and dad’s daughter. Even though I told them I’m not a girl. I told them I’m a guy.

Dad’s response was the most favorable initially and I think...he might eventually come around to it (he’s always wanted a son. he has a boy dog and has also imprinted really hard on his lawn roomba about it). He also might...not.

I’d like to transition further. Eventually. If it’s feasible. But also, right now it’s not. Right now it’s me cutting my hair short and not wearing dresses or skirts (even though they’re super comfy) because I want to avoid being misgendered as often as possible. It’s binding for uncomfortable and unsafe lengths of time because I am a MAN dammit, and I will be a man at this family function in whatever way I can. And when I go to the length that I do to be seen the way I want to be seen and I am *ignored*....

fuckin’ hurts you guys. I just fuckin’ hurts.

And I want to correct them. I want to stand up and say STOP YOU’RE HURTING ME. PLEASE. I AM NOT A GIRL. I HAVEN’T BEEN THIS WHOLE TIME I JUST DIDN’T KNOW WHY I DIDN’T FEEL RIGHT AS A GIRL. PLEASE JUST CALL ME A BOY, USE MY PRONOUNS, USE A NEW NAME OR AT LEAST THE NICKNAME THAT ISN’T MY FULL NAME.

but i don’t.

because I’m scared of losing them again.

And it’s fucked up because they’re *already* lost. They’re Fox-watchers and Trump-supporters and they don’t want to listen to science or facts or *anything* outside of what’s presented to them by pundits and talk show hosts, and the fucking EIB network with their political propaganda for anything that isn’t what the liberals want.

And I don’t know that I can get them back because they’re *real* far down that particular rabbit hole. And I’m...I’m just trying to figure out what I want in life. What makes me happy. And part of what I want is what I always wanted and never had.

I want my mom and dad to look at me, see me, see what I do see how I try and what I love and care about and tell me that I’m enough. That they love me because this is who I am and I am enough for them. Even if I wasn’t accomplished and didn’t try they would still love me because I’m *me*. and I’m their *child* and they *love me*.

And GOD it is so FUCKING painful to know that’s not a realistic thing to hope for. Because I’ve been trying for 28 GODDAMN years doing ANYTHING and EVERYTHING I can to be enough for them. I played good, christian, conservative little girl for SO goddamn long, even when I wasn’t Christian or conservative anymore, even when I saw the cracks, I wanted to be what they wanted.

And even now that I *am* what my dad wanted (a son) I’m not enough because to him i’m still a girl, to my mom I’m the failed daughter the one she didn’t do enough for so now it’s about how she fucked up and not about NO. This is ME. Stop. Stop LOOKING at me like that WHEN YOU DON’T SEE ME. YOU SEE SOME IDEALIZED VERSION OF ME WHO WAS NEVER GOING TO EXIST BECAUSE SHE WASN’T ENOUGH EITHER.

...

This is a lot more than I thought it would be, pain wise tonight, guys. My bad.

I’m still struggling with my eating habits, I’m still struggling with my self-worth, and finding what makes me feel fulfilled. I’m getting better at some of it though.

I’ve smiled and laughed more in the past week or so than I have since I came out to my family. I wouldn’t have done that without my very very good friends who are very very kind to me and god I wish I could do more than draw stupid pictures and write stupid stories for them but it makes them happy too? so i’ll just do what I can and maybe it’ll be alright.

Gonna try not to fall too deep down the abandonment issues pit tonight folks. I’m already upset enough.

Good talk.

#I was fine and then all of the sudden I was no longer fine #whoops #lol #processing trauma'll do that to a guy i guess #the captain rambles #LIFE POST #haven't tagged that in a while heh #not feelin so great tonight babes but i'll be alright eventually #i love all of you very much and if you ever feel lost or alone or are hurting (esp because of family) please know i am here for you #i don't want any of you to feel that way about it #come to my DMs send me an ask whatever you need #i love you be safe be healthy and most of all be kind

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butch-bakugo · 5 years

Text

I wanna talk abit about veganism.

I saw a post and i want to share my opin onion.

Now i want to be clear, i dont care if your vegan or cant eat certain meats/animal products due to either religion or allergies but can we please stop with the bullshit that the whole world could and should be vegan? So much of these idiotic sediments come from abled upper middle class whites in america.

No diet is cruelty free in america unless litterally all of your food is grown by you, almost all imports from other countries were under slave and/or poverty stricken labor. Humans have a host of food allergens and when mixed with medications, many would starve as they are allergic to meat substitutes or certain plants and too much soy, wheat, citrics and so on could kill them due to other medical issues. Veganism is not a disabled or low-income friendly product, not to mentiom that fruits and vegetation dont last long enough and vary severely in price depending on where you live.

Certain countries would also starve due to having large plats of infertile land and/or extreme/unpredictable weather conditions. Not everywhere is sunny L.A and many indigenous communities in places even like alaska, canada, iceland and the poles would not survive without hunting and fishing.

I also want to add that it is completely normal and natural for humans to consume local animal life and product. We have teeth in the back of our mouths meant for meat consumption and a sac of poisons in our intestines to help digest it. Humans are meant to consume animals and wear their fur for warmth. Its more disruptive to the natural eco-system to only eat the trees than it is to eat some plants and meats.

We are omnivores and get stronger, more natural and necessary vitamins, sugars, irons and so on by eating both plants and animals. Humans will die if we only ate meat and humans will die if we only ate plants. There are reasons why we eat other animals and their products and its natural order. Other omnivoric creatures dont go to strictly herbovoric diets cause they care about other animals. They hunt and eat. Period. Its basic science.

There isnt enough usable land on this planet to support the world or even just america on a strictly plant based diet and many people will die either of starvation or pre-existing medical complications. Humans need certain things from animals in order to survive and if you need supplements for normal eating then your diet is inherently unhealthy.

Veganism is a nice step towards a greener earth but its unlikely to be a world wide thing ever and it shouldn't be.

Vegans and vegitarians can reblog but dont say shit cause honestly y'alls rhetoric is gonna get tons of indigious, brown and black people in non-first world countries killed.

#vegan #vegancommunity #vegetables #veganpower #veganeats #veganlife #veganblogger #veganism #vegitarian #vegitarianism #anti vegan #anti-vegitarion #levi speaks

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vino-and-doggos · 5 years

Text

Cheers to the New Year

Read on AO3 | Written for @lilbreadbun

Rated: G

Words: 2201

Summary: Just returned from active duty, Roy Mustang is bartending his Aunt Chris's karaoke holiday party at the bar. A beautiful blonde takes the stage and her voice puts Roy under a spell. If only it weren't too good to be true.

Happy holidays, @lilbreadbun, from your Secret Santa!! This is something that I’ve wanted to write for a very long time, so thank you for giving me the opportunity to write it! I hope you enjoy <3

Bah humbug, Roy thought to himself. Half his mind was joking, but the other half was dead serious.

It wasn’t that he hated Christmas — he used to love the holiday, in fact. It was more that he couldn’t enjoy the holiday anymore. Fake trees and pre-packaged holiday sweets reminded him too much of Maes, a man for whom even Ebenezer Scrooge would have emptied his coffers in pursuit of the perfect Christmas present. He sighed and put down another dry glass on the rubber mat behind the bar.

Roy looked at the dark wooden interior surrounding him and had to stop himself just short of rolling his eyes at the tacky — yet festive, his sisters assured him — decorations that littered the bar. Tinsel trees shoved into corners and ornaments hung from the ceiling left remnants of glitter on every flat surface. Lights were strung everywhere, casting the bar in an odd, multicolored glow.

Because of course, a bar called Christmas Cheers had to go out for the holiday of its namesake, right?

The biggest problem was, in Roy’s opinion, that it attracted the now-college age people that he went to high school with who were home on winter break. It was cute and kitschy and Instagrammable or Snapchattable. Life was not designed to be lived through the screen of a smartphone or viewed through filters. And those that desired to do so did nothing but grate on Roy’s last nerve.

There was a reason Roy lost contact with his friends from high school when he joined the military, and frankly, he had no interest in trying to reconnect. He would take the group chat with the friends he made while deployed over the flesh and blood frenemies who dropped him for enlisting any day.

Glancing at the clock, he let out a groan. Only half an hour until they opened.

“I don’t wanna hear that, Roy-Boy,” he heard a gravelly voice say from around the corner.

Roy really did roll his eyes this time, but now it was a gesture in quasi prayer to Someone-he-wasn’t-even-sure-existed to grant him patience. Because if he was given strength, he surely was going to hurt someone before the night was over.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Chris. I’m just really not looking forward to this. I can usually handle normal nights, but karaoke? It’s going to bring in every screeching college girl in the tri-county area. You’re lucky that you’re friends with the DA and that the cops don’t police this place for underage drinking, because this stunt is going to -”

“Cut it out, Roy,” Chris said exasperatedly. “Your melodrama isn’t going to help you get through the night. Yes, there will most likely be underage college kids here trying to drink tonight. Luckily, though, I have a really good bartender,” she emphasized while motioning to him, “who knows how to properly check IDs.”

He grumbled, “That doesn’t stop their of-age friends from buying drinks for them.”

“Seriously. If you’re going to be like this all night, go and wallow in your room, Roy. I understand you’re grieving, and you’re working through your tour overseas. I want to support you the best I can, but this is also my business. If you’re not going to be full of Christmas Cheer tonight -” Roy rolled his eyes again - “then I’ll ask one of your sisters to bartend.”

“No,” he replied, a tone of longing edging into his voice, almost as though he wanted her to do just that. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He turned back to the bar and began prepping lemons, limes, and oranges, but he couldn’t help but smile when he heard his aunt mumble, “Who knows. Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight.”

Roy had to admire her optimism, if nothing else.

“Hey man, can I get two beers?” a kid with jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail shouted over the music. Behind him stood a short blond with long hair who had a smug grin on his face.

“Just need to see some ID first,” Roy said back over the dulcet tones of a curvy brunette with pouty red lips murdering “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

Who the hell sings this at karaoke? Roy pondered.

“Aww, come on, we’re legal,” the blond said, his voice lilting with the cadence of someone trying to convince another of what they’re saying. And failing, miserably.

“I’m sure you are,” smiled Roy, “but I’m sorry, I have to see some ID for anyone who looks younger than 40.” He hesitated for a moment. “For both of you.”

“Oh, well, Ed. We tried!” the first kid laughed.

“Ling! You just busted us!” the one apparently named Ed yelled, smacking his friend on the shoulder.

“Listen,” Roy started, “I’m feeling especially festive tonight, so I’ll let you stay and drink any non-alcoholic drink you want for free.”

The boys weighed their options by silently exchanging looks before Ling turned back to Roy.

“We’ll take two cokes — but can you put them in lowball glasses with drink stirrers?” Ling asked with an air of conspiracy.

“Sure thing, kid,” he chuckled, pulling out the soda gun.

Right before he handed the drinks over, he stuck a lime on the rim of the glass. As he handed them over, the boys nodded in solidarity and thanks. Roy just smiled in return.

He turned to the far end of the bar, the end closest to the stage, to check on the patrons seated there. A few indicated refills, so Roy pulled out new glasses and started pouring. As he was pouring the perfect mug of beer, he heard the tell-tale clicks of a song with an a capella opening.

“Shot through the heart, and you’re to blame, darlin’ you give love a bad name!”

Huh. This chick wasn’t bad.

Roy walked the beer to the end of the bar, taking a moment to catch a glimpse of the small stage through the crowd. What he saw caused his jaw to drop.

A stunning blonde in a deliciously tight, yet simple, black t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked as though they were painted on danced about the stage. Her loose hair fell just past her shoulders and swung around her rhythmically as she whirled around. She danced in a way that made it obvious that alcohol flowed through her system, but Roy didn’t remember serving her. The impressive part is that she actually was on-key and hitting the marks without staring at the screen. Bon Jovi’s melody blasted through the speakers, and the audience was eating it up.

“Ohhh, you’re a loaded gun…”

Damn. Roy shook his head and went back to refilling drinks. She was a siren, and he was not immune to her call. Over everything else, he continued hearing her voice singing the upbeat rock tune. He had to ask another patron what their order was three times before he finally understood what they were asking for.

The song ended with raucous applause and cheering. Mostly male, Roy noted, but many females sounding out their appreciation, as well. The DJ had to shout the name of the next singer repeatedly through the system before they approached the booth to grab the microphone. It was the wildest the bar had gotten all night.

However, the excitement was short-lived. The next singer (Roy thinks he heard the DJ call him Alex?) decided to sing Eric Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven.” Why can’t this crowd — with the exception of one — pick karaoke songs that are worth a damn?

Despite the current song filling the bar, Roy couldn’t get her out of his head. Her song rattled around in his brain, her voice continuing to envelop him in strains of familiar melody. Just then, he heard a female voice from behind him.

“Hey!” it exclaimed brightly.

He knew that voice.

Roy turned on his heel to meet the amber eyes of the best Bon Jovi impersonator he’d ever seen or heard waving at him with a sweet smile on her face. Her beautiful blonde hair was now tied back in a low ponytail, bangs still draped across her forehead; it was darker than he originally thought it was, more of a honeyed blonde. He decided to play it cool and nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, trying to make sure he was heard over the music, but also making sure his voice sounded smooth and rich.

“Just a water, please,” she responded, eyes shining in the incandescent holiday lights.

Roy chuckled deeply as he reached for a glass. “Singing take it out of you?”

“It always does,” she nodded, laughing in return.

“Always?” Roy questioned, barely registering that he had even spoken it aloud. “I’m sorry,” he started, waving his left hand and placing her water glass down with his right. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Nah, thanks though,” she winked.

He followed the head of blonde hair through the sea of people and sighed.

She was so out of his league.

Hours later, the crowd was winding down. Only a few were left, and hardly anyone left was singing. The DJ announced last call for songs and the bar, wishing all a happy holiday season.

Roy had already started to clean as best he could behind the bar — bottles in their proper place, the beginnings of labels for the cooler — when he heard that voice again.

“Hey!” that same exclamation; that same intonation. He smiled as he faced her.

“I’m surprised I didn’t see you again,” he said, smirking.

“I had someone grab me water when they came up for their drinks,” she explained.

Huh. So that’s why he didn’t see her for the rest of the night. Wait a minute.

“You got up there and sang and danced like that completely sober?” he questioned.

His tone was light and teasing but with an underlying tone of awe and surprise.She laughed in response. Roy could have sworn that she made the room brighter.

“Yup. My mother used to say that I’m a natural-born performer.”

“She was right,” he affirmed. “I’m Roy, by the way.”

“Riza,” she offered, extending her hand across the bar.

He took her hand, so soft and warm in his cold, calloused palm, and shook.

“I just wanted to say thanks for the fantastic service tonight. Many lesser bartenders would have lost their cool with the number of people in here, but we never waited long for drinks.” Riza smirked as she pulled a $20 bill out of her back pocket and slid it into the fishbowl that was acting as a tip jar.

“That’s way too generous; I can’t accept that,” Roy protested weakly. “You said just had water all night -”

“Don’t worry about it,” Riza interrupted, waving him off.

“Listen…” Roy started. “We have an event here on New Year’s Eve, too… Same kind of stuff as tonight, karaoke and drinks, but there’s also going to be a buffet with food… If you’re interested?” he trailed off hopefully.

“Oh, that sounds fun! I think I’ll still be in town then, but I’ll have to double-check. Will you be working?”

This was it. Take the chance, Roy.

“I was scheduled to, but I’m thinking about taking the evening off to enjoy the party.” Do it, Roy. Shoot your shot. “Would you be interested in coming with me?”

“Oh!” Riza said, a blush dusting across the bridge of her nose. “I - well, I’m - not really - um -”

The shot missed the target completely.

It was Roy’s turn to turn red.

“Forget I said anything, I was just thinking that maybe we could... Oh my god, please, I’m sorry, just -”

“Roy, stop, it’s fine,” Riza cut off his rambling. “I just didn’t quite know how to say…” She paused and inhaled. “I’m in a relationship.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and this much was true, in more ways than one. “I didn’t know.” Roy hoped that the earth would open up and swallow him. Right then.

“How could you?” she chuckled. “We just met.”

“Babe? Are you ready to go?” a voice sounded to Roy’s right. A decidedly feminine voice.

He whipped around to see another blonde with waist-length hair the color of cornsilk. She stood by the door with a group of four or five others.

“Riza?” she prompted.

“Sorry, Liv, I’ll be right there,” Riza smiled before turning back to Roy. She extended her hand to him once more. “Friends?”

Smiling, he agreed. “Friends.”

Riza walked to the door and grabbed her coat from Liv. As she was walking out the door, she shouted over her shoulder, “See you on New Year’s Eve, Roy!”

Friends. He could do friends.

He smiled and started humming. He was almost to the chorus before he realized the tune was “Auld Lang Syne.”

He might have been shot down, but at least he wasn’t shot through the heart as Riza’s song might have suggested. There was an odd sense of hopefulness about him, though; a new year was coming. Sparing the whole “new year, new me” nonsense, Roy truly felt like the next year would bring about healing, hope, and friendship.

Bring it on.

#fma secret santa 2019 #fma secret santa #vino writes fanfiction #for lilbreadbun

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allthethingswecoulddo · 5 years

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The Guardian needs to pick a side, and so do the women that transphobes are trying to rally.

You can silently allow these purported ‘feminists’ to speak for you, as they vilify trans people, or stand with your trans siblings to do the real work of bringing down the patriarchy and all the gendered violence that comes with it.

Content warning: transphobia, sexual and domestic violence, TERFs, homophobia & biphobia, racism, far right & mention of Nazis

On 2nd March the Guardian published an article called ‘Women must have the right to organise. We will not be silenced’, by self-identifying Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist (TERF), Suzanne Moore. The article, however badly written and absurd, has a platform. And with a distinct lack of meaningful trans representation or awareness in the media at large, it’s likely that some people will be lured into believing that Moore has credible points to make. The Guardian has rubber stamped this hateful rhetoric and rallying cry for transphobia, and it’s not the first time.

So it’s time for the Guardian, as well as the cisgender, white middle class women amongst it’s readership, who are clearly being summoned to fight in an imaginary war, to pick a side. And those ‘sides’ are not trans rights vs. cisgender women’s rights. Because trans rights do not infringe cisgender women’s rights. You have to pick two sides of history: you can silently allow these purported ‘feminists’ to speak for you, as they vilify trans people and claim that misogyny and sexism is only experienced by those with the ‘ability to reproduce’ (which, by the way, doesn’t cover all cisgender women) or stand with your trans siblings to do the real work of bringing down the patriarchy and all the gendered violence that comes with it.

What follows is an attempt to unpick the slew of shit arguments that Moore strung together in her Guardian article for the purposes of exposing her thinly veiled hate speech, and equipping allies with the arguments to shut down transphobia in their day to day lives.

1. Moore uses the tactics of the far right, by suggesting that trans people and those fighting for trans rights are a threat to free speech.

Far right poster boys in the UK, like Tommy Robinson AKA Stephen Christopher Yaxley-Lennon (LOL), have been rallying supporters by claiming that free speech is under threat. He likes to weaponise this argument against Muslim communities and people of colour for the most part, but won’t say no to a touch of sexism, misogyny and transphobia. It’s become a familiar trope, the idea of a snowflake generation, so sensitive to harm that they won’t even expose themselves to a touch of hate speech.

TERFs are not above allying with the likes of the far right to stoke fear and anger in those who’ve felt the burn of sexism, misogyny, homophobia biphobia and who feel a bit baffled by University discourse around safe spaces and no platforming. They conveniently point the finger at trans people, mostly trans women, and say ‘they are the problem, you can’t say anything anymore, they are silencing us!’

In fact, in the States, TERFs have been proven to have organised links with far right Christian groups, and many of the UK groups who (according to Moore, are definitely not hate groups) are funded by the same organisations. So when Moore says ‘Now, I feel a huge sadness when I look at the fragmentation of the landscape, where endless fighting, cancellations and no platformings have obscured our understanding of who the real enemies are,’ I can’t stifle my maniacal laughter.

How brainwashed do you have to be to think that trans people and their allies are the enemy, when you will cooperate with far right racists? Sure, there might be a debate to be had about the effectiveness of tactics like no platforming, but when trans rights are conflated with the concept of free speech denial, the TERFs are knowingly playing into the hands of the far right.

2. She harks back to Section 28 protests as the good ol’ days, when LGBT people knew what to fight for and our collective oppression trumped our differences. The irony is lost on her.

In 2019 we saw a momentous win in the 30 year battle for LGBT inclusion in schools, with the introduction of inclusive relationships and sex education. That wouldn’t have been possible without solidarity across the LGBT movement.

But TERFs have taken this victory as an opportunity to make the exact same arguments about teaching on gender identity as were made by Section 28. The idea that any mention of LGBT people was ‘the promotion of homosexuality’ (a line taken directly from the clause) is echoed in their claims that children and young people are being brainwashed and tricked into being trans. They even organised to try and prevent funds reaching Mermaids, a charity for trans children and young people last year, by mobilising misinformed and hateful women on Mumsnet via the lightning rod of Graham Linehan - who, by the way, compares people fighting for trans rights to those active in Nazi Germany.

We know that almost half of young trans people have attempted suicide. And scumbags like Moore have the audacity to claim they are being silenced? All whilst being published in the likes of the Guardian.

3. TERFs want you to believe that they are voiceless and marginalized. But the fact is, they get a seat at the table, to make decisions about other people’s lives. How feminist of them.

TERFs want you to believe that they are at the vanguard of feminism, being punished for speaking out like the great feminists before us. But as we’ve established, they are supported by well-resourced dark forces, given public platforms, and unfortunately our government is bending to their will in the name of ‘balance.’

During a consultation on gender recognition in the UK last year, Government Equalities Office officials had meetings with activists from Transgender Trend, Fair Play for Women and A Woman’s Place UK. All these groups are transphobic hate groups; one has wished cancer on trans people on their public social media accounts, and that’s not the worst of it. Now the Guardian has shown its true colors, platforming the voices of established TERFS. Does that seem like silencing to you?

In the meantime, trans people get next to no meaningful representation, we see vitriolic trash in the media every day and transphobic hate crime has rocketed.

4. Concepts of sex and gender as binary are weaponised to invalidate trans people. And it harms cisgender women too.

Moore believes that the most radical insight of feminism is that gender is binary but you are allowed to play with femininity and masculinity. Wow, she has missed the point. You don’t have to be a feminist scholar to know that feminism has helped us understand, unpick and fight back against, a patriarchal system of oppression, of which ideas around femininity and masculinity are symptoms. If the goal of your feminism stops at the destruction of stereotypes, you’re probably pretty privileged - because whilst it’s no doubt, essential to women’s liberation, it will not end gendered violence and oppression.

Gender and sex are both a spectrum - trans, non-binary and gender non-conforming people have always existed. This is not, as TERFs would have you believe, a recent fad or phase. The conflation of gender and sex, and the aggressive enforcement of the binary from the very moment of conception is a fundamental pillar of patriarchy. And you are punished, socially and politically if you are considered to deviate from these norms. Moore tokenistically mentions intersex people but fails to acknowledge that right now in the UK, intersex babies are having non-consensual operations at birth so that they will conform more neatly to binary concepts of sex.

It’s in TERF’s interest to protect the binary because they want, more than anything, for cisgender women to believe their rights are threatened by trans people and that trans rights and cis women’s rights are incompatible. TERFs will have you believe that you should be more concerned with someone’s genitals than their humanity. They seem less concerned by internal sex organs, hormones and all the other facets that make up the narrow binaries of sex; but that would complicate their nice, neat excuse for transmisogyny.

5. TERF’s priority is not the prevention of rape or domestic abuse. It is the vilification of trans people, who are disproportionately affected by sexual and domestic violence.

TERFs seem to get endless inspiration from the oppressors of LGBT people; Moore’s article is littered with a transphobic trope, that paints trans people as predatory. It’s nothing new, that’s exactly what they said about lesbians, gay and bi people during the Section 28 era that Moore seems so nostalgic for. And if there’s one stand out reason you should visibly and proudly reject the rhetoric of TERFs and stand side by side with your trans siblings, it’s this: TERFs promote violence against trans people when they paint trans people as predatory. They are a hate group, they promote violence against trans people.

Tarana Burke, the founder of the #MeToo movement (pictured above) said ‘I founded the 'me too' movement in 2006 because I wanted to find a way to connect with the black and brown girls in the program I ran.’ Burke is still fighting to center the voices of marginalised survivors as the movement has blown up and focused on cis, white celebrities. In a 2017 article she said, ‘there’s no conversation in this whole thing [#MeToo] about transgender folks and sexual violence. There’s no conversation in this about people with disabilities and sexual violence. We need to talk about Native Americans, who have the highest rate of sexual violence in this country. So no, I can’t take my focus on marginalized people.’

It shouldn’t need spelling out, but we know that:

Two in five trans people (41 per cent) and three in ten non-binary people (31 per cent) have experienced a hate crime or incident because of their gender identity in the last 12 months. (Stonewall, LGBT in Britain -Trans Report)

The 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey found that 47% of transgender people are sexually assaulted at some point in their lifetime.

More than a quarter of trans people (28 per cent) in a relationship in the last year have faced domestic abuse from a partner. (Stonewall, LGBT in Britain -Trans Report)

Seven per cent of trans people said they have been refused care because they are LGBT, while trying to access healthcare services in the last year. (Stonewall, LGBT in Britain -Trans Report)

Cisgender women must be visible and active trans allies and stand side by side with their trans siblings if we’re going to win. So that instead of wasting our energy having to defend ourselves and fight for the very fact of trans people’s existence, we can get on with protecting and winning rights.

So, cisgender women of Guardian readership and beyond, pick a side. These vile transphobes will exploit their exposure to feed hatred and violence against trans women the whole trans community. Your voice is important, and necessary, to reject their rhetoric, and build a feminist movement of meaningful solidarity. We have so much more to fight for.

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thevividgreenmoss · 6 years

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Let’s remember what the left critique of Obama’s administration is. Leftists argue, roughly, that while Obama came in with lofty promises of “hope” and “change,” the change was largely symbolic rather than substantive, and he failed to stand up for progressive values or fight for serious shifts in U.S. policy. He deported staggering numbers of immigrants, let Wall Street criminals off the hook, failed to take on (and now proudly boasts of his support for) the fossil fuel industry, sold over $100 billion in arms to the brutal Saudi government, killed American citizens with drones (and then made sickening jokes about it), killed lots more non-American citizens with drones (including Yemenis going to a wedding) and then misled the public about it, promised “the most transparent administration ever” and then was “worse than Nixon” in his paranoia about leakers, pushed a market-friendly healthcare plan based on conservative premises instead of aiming for single-payer, and showered Israel with both public support and military aid even as it systematically violated the human rights of Palestinians (Here, for example, is Haaretz: “Unlike [George W.] Bush, who gave Israel’s Iron Dome system a frosty response, Obama has led the way in funding and supporting the research, development and production of the Iron Dome”). Obama’s defenders responded to every single criticism by insisting that Obama had his hands tied by a Republican congress, but many of the things Obama did were freely chosen. In education policy, he hired charterization advocate Arne Duncan and pushed a horrible “dog-eat-dog” funding system called “Race To The Top.” Nobody forced him to hire Friedmanite economists like Larry Summers, or actual Republicans like Robert Gates, or to select middle-of-the-road judicial appointees like Elena Kagan and Merrick Garland. Who on Earth picks Rahm Emanuel, out of every person in the world, to be their chief of staff?

Centrism and compromise were central to Obama’s personal philosophy from the start. The speech that put him on the map in 2004 was famous for its declaration that there was no such thing as “blue” and “red” America, just the United States of America. A 2007 New Yorker profile said that “in his skepticism that the world can be changed any way but very, very slowly, Obama is deeply conservative.” Obama spoke of being “postpartisan,” praised Ronald Reagan, gave culturally conservative lectures about how Black people supposedly needed to stop wearing gold chains and feeding their children fried chicken for breakfast. From his first days in office, there simply didn’t seem to be much of a “fighting” spirit in Obama. Whenever he said something daring and controversial (and correct), he would fail to stand by it. For example, when he publicly noted that the Cambridge police force acted “stupidly” in arresting Henry Louis Gates Jr. for trying to break into his own home, he followed up by inviting the police officer and Gates to sit down and talk things out over a beer. A disgusted Van Jones has characterized this as the “low point” of the Obama presidency, but the desire to be “all things to all people” had always been central to the Obama image. Matt Taibbi described him during his first campaign as:

…an ingeniously crafted human cipher… a sort of ideological Universalist… who spends a great deal of rhetorical energy showing that he recognizes the validity of all points of view, and conversely emphasizes that when he does take hard positions on issues, he often does so reluctantly… You can’t run against him on issues because you can’t even find him on the ideological spectrum.

Adolph Reed, Jr., who as early as 1996 had described the politics of “form over substance” being practiced by a certain “smooth Harvard lawyer with impeccable do-good credentials and vacuous-to-repressive neoliberal politics,” warned in 2008 that “Obama’s empty claims to being a candidate of progressive change and to embodying a ‘movement’ that exists only as a brand will dissolve into disillusionment,” and his presidency would “continue the politics he’s practiced his entire career.” Reed saw the devotion Obama inspired as a kind of “faddish, utterly uninformed exuberance” and said that Obama’s “miraculous ability to inspire and engage the young replaced specific content in his patter of Hope and Change.” (When Obama did get specific, Reed said, he often “relies on nasty, victim-blaming stereotypes about black poor people to convey tough-minded honesty about race and poverty,” talking frequently about “alleged behavioral pathologies in poor black communities.”)

Obama supporters think all of this is deeply cynical and unfair. But those who want to argue that Obama was the proponent of a genuinely transformational progressive politics, his ambitions tragically stifled by the ideological hostility of reactionaries, have to contend with a few damning pieces of evidence: the books of Pfeiffer, Rhodes, and Litt.

Granted, these men are all devoted admirers of Obama who set out to defend his legacy. But in telling stories intended to make Obama and his staff look good, they end up affirming that the left’s cynicism was fully warranted. Litt, for instance, seems to have been a man with almost no actual political beliefs. Recently graduated from Yale when he joined the campaign, he was never much of an “activist.” Litt was drawn to Obama not because he felt that Obama would actually bring particular changes that he wanted to see happen, but because he developed an emotional obsession with Barack Obama as an individual person. Pfeiffer feels similarly—he fell in “platonic political love.” Litt’s book begins:

On January 3, 2008, I pledged my heart and soul to Barack Obama… My transformation was immediate and all-consuming. One moment I was a typical college senior, barely interested in politics. The next moment I would have done anything, literally anything, for a freshman senator from Illinois.

He describes the beginning of his brainless infatuation: “[Obama] spoke like presidents in movies. He looked younger than my dad. I didn’t have time for a second thought, or even a first one. I simply believed.”

Litt’s memoir is remarkable for its lack of interest in actual policy. He mentions climate change in one or two sentences (p. 111), but seems to have spent most of his White House years preparing jokes for various black tie events like the Alfalfa Club Dinner and the Al Smith Dinner. (Litt’s rule for writing speeches for dinners of rich donors: “Jokes about money are acceptable… Jokes about power are not.”) Litt helped the president record videos for BuzzFeed (to get in touch with millennials), and Between Two Ferns (to plug the floundering healthcare.gov website), and to tape a birthday message for Betty White. But he was particularly in his element in preparing Obama’s annual comedy monologue for the White House Correspondents’ Dinner (WHCD). The WHCD, now thankfully gutted of its significance, was mocked outside Washington for the icky chumminess shown between political elites and the press corps. But Litt obsessed over it, and anecdotes about it take up page after page of his book. (An incident in which one of the president’s comedy PowerPoint slides failed to display correctly is told with dramatic flair over two full pages.)

This is the Washington of the Turkey Pardon and the Easter Egg Roll, where photo ops and symbolic gestures matter far more than such comparative trivialities as “what the actual policies of the administration are.” In fact, Litt even says that during the second term, he felt as if he was being given “the political equivalent of a vegan cookie” because the speeches he was writing focused on things that were “all nutrition, no taste” like “help[ing] more students pay off loans” and “insur[ing] more people.” He wanted to make jokes about Republicans, not try to talk to the American public about housing policy. In fact, Litt, Rhodes, and Pfeiffer all subscribe to a politics of gesture, where if you want to address some crisis you give a grand speech about it. One of Rhodes’ proudest moments is writing “the Middle East speech,” and describing a moment of political difficulty, Litt writes: “We needed something to break through. That something was a speech.” These three men are speechwriters, so we can forgive them for being preoccupied with descriptions of things rather than the things themselves. But this tendency to prioritize “getting the words right” over the actual experiences of human beings ran through the whole Obama presidency. Ordinary people were a kind of alien species—Litt says they referred to them as “real people (RPs)” and tried to litter speeches with “RP stories” to make them relatable. “In Washington you never stop hearing about the details of policy but you rarely see its effects.” This is only true if you rarely bother to examine the effects.

There may not have been much Change, but there were plenty of speeches about it. The economic situation of the average Black family may have been catastrophic under Obama, but he did give “the historic race speech.” The United States may have bombed an Afghan hospital, burning dozens of patients alive in their beds (their families each received $6,000 in compensation), but Obama gave a very powerful Nobel Peace Prize speech about how the pacifism of Martin Luther King needed to be balanced with a recognition that using force can be morally necessary.

…My colleague Luke Savage has analyzed how pernicious the influence of The West Wing was on a generation of young Democratic politicos, and sure enough Litt says that “like nearly every Democrat under the age of thirty-five, I was raised, in part, by Aaron Sorkin.” (More accurately, of course, is “nearly every wealthy white male Democrat who worked in Washington.” The near total absence of women and people of color in top positions on The West Wing may give more viewing pleasure to a certain audience demographic over others.) Litt says in college he “watched West WingDVDs on an endless loop,” and Pfeiffer too describes “watching The West Wing on a loop.”

Luke describes the kind of mentality this leads to: a belief that “doing politics” means that smart, virtuous people in charge make good decisions for the people, who themselves are rarely seen. Social movements don’t exist, even voters don’t exist. Instead, the political ideal is a PhD economist president (Jed Bartlet) consulting with a crack team of Ivy League underlings and challenging the ill-informed (but well-intended) Republicans with superior logic and wit. During the West Wing’s seven seasons, the Bartlet administration has very few substantive political accomplishments, though as Luke points out it “warmly embraces the military-industrial complex, cuts Social Security, and puts a hard-right justice on the Supreme Court in the interests of bipartisan ‘balance.’” It has always struck me as funny that Sorkin’s signature West Wing shot is the “walk and talk,” in which characters strut down hallways having intense conversations but do not actually appear to be going anywhere. What better metaphor could there be for a politics that consists of looking knowledgeable and committed without any sense of what you’re aiming at or how to get there? Litt says of Obama that “he spoke like presidents in movies.” Surely we can all see the problem here: Presidents in movies do not pass and implement single-payer healthcare. (They mostly bomb nameless Middle Eastern countries.)

Their West Wing-ism meant that the Obama staffers completely lacked an understanding of how political interests operate, and were blindsided when it turned out Republicans wanted to destroy them rather than collaborate to enact Reasonable Bipartisan Compromises. Jim Messina, Obama’s deputy chief of staff and reelection campaign manager, spoke to a key Republican staffer after the 2008 election and was shocked when she told him: “We’re not going to compromise with you on anything. We’re going to fight Obama on everything.” Messina replied “That’s not what we did for Bush.” Said the Republican: “We don’t care.” Rhodes and Pfeiffer, in particular, are shocked and appalled when Republicans turn out to be more interested in their own political standing than advancing the objective well-being of the country. Rhodes nearly has a breakdown when he is dragged through the conservative press over some Benghazi nonsense. He found himself in “an alternate reality that was insane,” and can’t believe Mitch McConnell turns out to be so “staggeringly partisan and unpatriotic” that he doesn’t care about Russian hacking.

The Obama Democrats, guided by the “let’s just all sit down in a room together and work out our differences” temperament of Obama himself, seemed desperate for Republican approval and shocked when the right proved unreasonable. In 2012, long after Messina had been told explicitly that Republicans were not going to be friendly under any circumstances, Obama invited congressional Republicans to the White House for a screening of Spielberg’s Lincoln, in order to show how political adversaries can cooperate for the common good. “Not one of them came,” Rhodes laments. Obama held out hope that a party willing to destroy the entire planet in order to preserve the privileges of the super-wealthy would come to his movie nights and work things out amicably.

The Obama administration bent over backwards to show that it was pragmatic and moderate and sensible, even inflicting cruel harm on families to show their toughness. Here is Tyler Moran, who was a deputy immigration policy director on Obama’s White House policy council:

There was a feeling that [the White House] needed to show the American public that you believed in enforcement, and that [we weren’t pushing for] open borders. But in hindsight I was like, what did we get for that? We deported more people than ever before. All these families separated, and Republicans didn’t give him one ounce of credit. There may as well have been open borders for five years.

We deported tons of people and separated families, and Republicans wouldn’t praise us!

This same bizarre naivete is evident in Obama’s dealings with Benjamin Netanyahu, as recounted by Ben Rhodes. Rhodes says it was obvious that “Netanyahu wasn’t going to negotiate seriously” about a just resolution to the Israel-Palestine conflict, and that Netanyahu “rejected any effort at peace.” Israeli settlements continued to be constructed in brazen violation of international law. Yet, Rhodes says, “despite Netanyahu’s intransigence, [Obama] would always side with Israel when push came to shove.” In 2011, the Obama administration vetoed a UN Security Council resolution declaring the settlements illegal, even though they plainly were and Obama himself had previously acknowledged as much.** Rhodes says the Palestinians were finding “little more than rhetorical support from us.” They barely received even that. Rhodes relates a stunning anecdote in which Obama meets with a group of Palestinian youth. One nervous boy summons the courage to tell the president that his people are being treated as Black Americans were once treated. Obama does not know what to say in reply. Incapable of directly criticizing Israel, he mutters something about how he believes in opportunity for all. But moved by the boy’s testimony, he decides later to act. What does he do? He adds a line to a speech he gives to Israelis, in which he tells them that Palestinian families love their children just as much as Israelis love theirs. Does he condemn the racist Israeli state? He does not. Does he actually do anything for the boy? Of course not.

Rhodes and Obama are frustrated, then, at criticism “for not being sufficiently pro-Israel, which ignored the fact that he wasn’t doing anything tangible for the Palestinians.” They gave Israel billions of dollars in military equipment, they refrained from tangibly aiding the people Israel oppresses, and Obama went before AIPAC in 2012 to say absolutely nothing in support of Palestinian rights and instead declare:

In the United States, our support for Israel is bipartisan, and that is how it should stay…. I have kept my commitments to the state of Israel. At every crucial juncture – at every fork in the road – we have been there for Israel. Every single time. … Despite a tough budget environment, our security assistance has increased every single year… We’re providing Israel with more advanced technology – the types of products and systems that only go to our closest friends and allies. And make no mistake: We will do what it takes to preserve Israel’s qualitative military edge – because Israel must always have the ability to defend itself, by itself, against any threat… No American president has made such a clear statement about our support for Israel at the United Nations.

Obama swore to AIPAC that he will always fund Israeli missiles before the Detroit school system (if this isn’t “declaring allegiance to Israel”—which Ilhan Omar has been called anti-Semitic for talking about—then pray tell, what would be?) As with the Republicans, Rhodes cannot understand how Democrats can give in on everything and yet still be rejected. How do they not understand? They’re being played for suckers. Of course they’ll still call you anti-Semitic even if you would give the lives of your children to protect Israel’s right to an apartheid state. Of coursethey’re not going to stop building settlements just because you have declined to challenge them on anything. That’s how political power works: If the other party senses you’re weak and won’t do anything to pressure them, they’ll walk all over you! Throughout the Obama staffers’ books, you can hear them crying: But it’s not FAIR! We played nice and they took advantage of it! Gentlemen, that’s how this game works!

…The left can learn a few important lessons from examining Pfeiffer, Rhodes, and Litt. First, these are not the sort of people you want in government. You need people who (1) have clear moral vision (2) have thick skins and (3) do not care about the goddamn White House Correspondents’ Dinner. You need people who understand that politics is about gaining power and then using it to make people’s lives better, not about giving uplifting but empty speeches and walking with purpose down Washington hallways. They also need to avoid accepting political reality as “fixed.” The people who defend Obama suggest that his hands were tied—power was arranged in such a way that he could not act. But the question is: How are you going to change that arrangement of power? If it’s true that “X bill will never pass this Congress,” then how are we going to get a different Congress? The Obama administration was reactive. They played the hand they were given, they had a very narrow sense of the boundaries of the “possible.” They did not understand that being uncompromisingly radical is actually more pragmatic.It’s essential to stop fetishizing credentials. Obama wanted to “hire the best qualified people no matter their politics, and send a message of unity.” That led to him hiring actual Republicans. Unless you’re a Republican, don’t do this. “No matter their politics”? No, politics matter. Your politics are the sum of your vision of what ought to be done. If a president wants to get something done, they need a team of people who also want to get that thing done. That should be elementary, but there just wasn’t that much politics to the Obama movement. Everything was about a guy.And I suppose that’s the final lesson here: Cults of personality are bad. Movements need to be about the people, not a person. The West Wing view of politics is that you just need to get the smartest, most competent, most qualified, most virtuous people into government. But that means nothing without a substantive vision for change and an understanding of how you mobilize an authentic popular movement to make it happen.

#yes to all of this #*#essays

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vantataa · 6 years

Text

Parties [Loki X Reader] (M)

@uselesspileofstressandsadness

[DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT WATCH A LOT OF MARVEL SO PLEASE BEAR WITH ME WHEN I SAY I KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT LOKI. PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORKS BECAUSE I WORK HARD ON THEM AND PLEASE ENJOY READING]

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @uselesspileofstressandsadness! Many happy returns of the day!

It was a Friday afternoon and your bag was stuffed to the brim with work you had to do for the weekend. However, instead of actually doing the work you were seated on your couch, a bowl full popcorn in hand and the coffee table in front of you littered with junk food. Your eyes were trained eagerly at the TV playing your favourite marvel movie.

Because come on. Who even does work on a Friday? You did have the entire weekend for it after all. So that’s why you were sitting on your couch and lazing around.

“[insert favourite scene]”

Your phone, which was laying idle by your side, begun dinging rapidly, as if some sort of fire alarm in the middle of a forest fire. You groaned into your mouthful of popcorn, accidently spitting out parts of it when you reached over to your phone with greasy hands.

Yeah no, you thought, one hand hovering over the device, that’s disgusting and revolting at the same time. Luckily you had a handful of tissues on the table too (you liked being prepared) so you hastily wiped your hands on them and finally reached over to your phone.

“What?” you ask, pressing the pause button on the movie.

“Y/N!” a voice says, “where are you?”

“At home, obviously.”

Why on earth did your best friend have to call just when you got to the best part of the movie?

“Put on something sexy and come out, I’m waiting outside your door. We’re going out.”

Okay no. it was a Friday evening and she wanted to go out? When the two of you could have been curled up on a couch eating popcorn and watching a movie? No way.

“Ha ha no.” you say bluntly and are just about to cut the call before she says desperately, “No wait! Please Y/N! I stayed with you for three days last week just to watch a non-stop marathon of Marvel, so you owe me this.”

You really didn’t like owing people.

“Look, I’ll do anything else. Just can you please leave me be to watch my movie for today?”

She snorts, “Oh hell no. You’ve seen that Loki movie more then 30 times already, skipping once wouldn’t hurt. Well, unless you want to run around naked at collage on Monday.”

Rita was truly beyond evil.

“Okay fine! Don’t blame me if I’m grumpy the whole time.”

“Would you like a drink madam?” the bartender asks you, making you feel old all of a sudden. Geez, of all places Rita just had to choose a bar. Couldn’t the two of you have gone to a karaoke or something, like normal people? No. So instead you were stuck in a bar with bearded men, all way to old for you, sending you lustful gazes.

Ew.

Shuddering at the thought you clasp your fingers together and say, “Um, yes please, just some water.”

The bartender raises his eyebrows at you, almost as if he’s never seen a person come to the bar to have water. But he still slips you a glass of the crystal-clear liquid anyway, still looking surprised. You smile gratefully, bring the drink up to your nose to make sure it isn’t spiked and take a careful little sip.

Yep, just water.

“Y/N~ Watcha doing?” a high pitch voice squeals in your ear. You turn around hastily to see a very obviously drunk Rita plonk her ass on the bar stool next to you, “Y/N! Why are you drunking – hic – boorring wha-whater?”

Oh oh. Although sober Rita respected your decisions on not drinking, drunk Rita wasn’t having any of it.

“H-here Y/N! Chu can have mai – hic – drink!” she says, thrusting a brightly coloured liquid into your hands. “Drink it!” she giggles, watching you with wide eyes.

In a fit of panic, you slip your hands into your purse, looking for something, anything, to stop you from drinking. You had never let a sip of alcohol ever pass your lips into your system, and you weren’t about to start anytime soon. Luckily, your fingers grazed over a box of skittles (you always had an emergency box of candy in your bag) right on time and and idea sprung to your mind.

“No thanks Rita! I already have a drink,” you say, holding up a glass of bright purple liquid.

“Is it alcohol?” she asks, looking at the glass suspiciously before smelling it. And no, it was actually not alcohol. It was just the glass of water from before with pieces of purple skittles inside, dying the liquid a bright purple.

“Ohhhh~ it smells divine! Like… grape! What wine is it?”

You cough nervously, “Um, Lacto Grapious.”

You just said the first grape related latin sounding word that came to your mind. To be honest, you had no idea if the name even existed.

“Nice,” Rita nods, looking satisfied, “Now you’re ready to dance!”

Then she pushes you into the crowd.

---

Okay, so when she pushed you into the crowd of raging people you did not gracefully catch yourself, glare at her and start dancing. What actually happened was that you stumbled face first onto the dance floor and knocked down some poor soul.

Luckily this was at the very back corner of the room so you managed not to get trampled on by the incredible amount of people who decided that dancing was better then staying home. Geez, what was wrong with them?

You shake your head at the thought and finally turn your attention towards the person you just knocked over. This time it's your breath knocked out of your body.

The man under you is probably the most attractive person you had ever seen. The fact that he had locked gazes with you and had an amused smirk on his stunning features just made you fall deeper in awe. His smirk widens as he catches you staring and you feel heat crawl up your neck.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" you say, scrambling to your feet and offer a hand towards the man. He grins and places his hand on top of yours, and you watch in fascination as your fingers get swallowed up by his.

"No worries darling," he says, getting up from the floor with out using your hand at all for support (he still doesn't let go though), "If I could have pretty girls like you fall on me all the time, I'd be the happiest person on the planet."

You couldn't believe it. Not only was this man attractive beyond human standards, he had called you of all people pretty and had the sexiest voice you had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

You feel your cheeks go warm again and mumble quietly, "Thank you."

The man let's the fingers of his free hand grasp your jaw and he pulls it up so he can look you in the eye and say cockily, "I didn't exactly catch that sweetheart."

Your eyes widen at his words and you have an urgent need to look away from his stunning eyes. But the second you avert your eyes the man backs you up to the wall at the back of the bar and leans in until his lips are stationed near your ear, "Oh, don't look away from me darling. Your eyes are simply breath taking. But I'm sure I can think of many more things of yours that can be more than breath taking."

You feel your breath hitch in your throat. God, just listening to the words roll off the guy's tongue so sensually was enough to get you rubbing your thighs together. Your underwear was getting soaked beyond repair. Which was sad, because it was your favourite pair of underwear.

You let your eyes slid back to the man's capturing ones and he lets out a throaty chuckle, "There's a good girl. Now, tell do tell me your name."

You gulp, "Y/N."

He laughs again (okay, this was getting a little bit offensive. Was he making fun of your name?), head tiling back in a way that allowed you to catch a glimpse of his tan throat. You rub your thighs together again and frown, this was really not normal.

You had not even met the guy for more then 10 minutes and you were already feeling so aroused. You really need to let you guard up-

"I'm Loki," he says, interrupting your thoughts as he grips the sides of your hips, "And Y/N, has anybody told you're absolutely beautiful?"

How on earth were you supposed to let your guard up when he was being so... perfect?

"Um yes," you reply, flustered, "My mum, my dad, my bro-"

"Ahh no, silly. Not in that way," he breathes, the warm air tickling your ear lobe and cheek, "You're so beautiful it's taking all of my self control not to pin you down and have my way with you."

Suddenly his words are hoarse, and he grinds his hips against yours, so you can feel the heard length of his clothed crotch. That was the last straw. You had never done anything in your life as dangerous as even hold hands with a person you had know for years (fine, you weren't exactly the social butterfly) and with Loki you had pushed the limits. Pushing a little more wouldn't hurt, right?

So that's why you slide one hand up his back to twist the little hairs at the back of his neck, use the other hand to fist the area of his shirt that covered his chest and pull him in so that the both of your lips are merely millimetres apart,

"Well, then why don't you have your way with me?" you say, breathing hotly against his lips.

Then you kiss him.

A/N: I hope this satisfied you, my best friend in the entire world! I'm sorry If it didn't :(

And again Happy Birthday @uselesspileofstressandsadness and I love you to bits and pieces!

[YES I WROTE THIS, IT’S NOT REPOSTED OR ANYTHING]

Also on my quotev account:

https://www.quotev.com/HASHTAGBTS

#loki x reader #oneshot #mature #no smut

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prxttylittle · 5 years

Note

“I’d let you if you asked.”, “I think you look cuter with me.”, AND “I called you because I can’t fall asleep.” :D

“I’d let you if you asked.”

{ v ;; the princess and the moon.

Prince wrapped both arms across Lunas chest and pulled her body close to his as she sat between his legs, feeling her hands come to rest on top of his own. He rested his chin on top of her shoulder, face close to hers as they sat in the grass, watching on as Matt and Nick play-fought. He sighed and pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her neck before settling with her under the light of the morning sunrise. They’d spent the entire night in the pub but eventually the owner needed some sleep and they had to leave. That’s how this group of now-secondary school graduates ended up wandering the streets, a mix of drunk and stoned, before fumbling into this local park. Behind where Matt and Nick messing, Cass sat on a swing, rocking herself back and forth. Prince never understood how she got through all of the groups nights out without a bit of alcohol or drugs in her system. He never cared enough to ask. Feeling Luna’s hands on his, Prince laced their fingers together, moving their left hands so they were raised up directly in front of the sunlight, beams shining through the cracks onto their faces, causing him to squint ever so slightly. His fingers released hers and danced down along her arm, tracing shapes over her skin ever so gently. He was smiling at her now and when she giggled at the feeling of his fingers tapping against her, and his lips on her neck, he chuckled lightly with her. He wasn’t sure what either of them found so funny but it was nice. There was a serenity about being here in the morning light, wrapped around Luna; that even being surrounded by their friends didn’t irritate him. He quietened their shared laughter by kissing her, not caring if their friends would mock. And mock, they did. “I swear I just saw Prince laugh!” Nick gasped dramatically. “And now he’s kissing Luna in front of us. Is this the end?” Prince didn’t pull away from Luna but he stuck his middle finger up pointing it at Nick. It wasn’t as if he never kissed her in front of people, maybe not so sweetly and not for as long as he was currently doing but it wasn’t that crazy for him to kiss his girlfriend, right? He rolled his eyes when he heard his friends laugh, finally pulling away from Luna. His eyes fluttered open, gaze meeting hers. His thumb brushed under her jaw lightly and he smiled with a softness dominating his features. Prince shifted slightly and heard the packet of Haribo Starmix in his pocket rustling, reminding him he had them. He opened the packet and took out a random handful, taking one from the pile before dumping the rest on top of Luna, laughing playfully. He reached into the packet, pulling out a jelly ring, and he didn’t think much as he reached for Luna’s left hand. He pushed the ring onto her finger and although it was just a gummy candy, it felt intimate. He tucked his chin into the crook of her neck, looking at her holding up her hand with the jelly on it. “Kind of feels right, huh?” He whispered so quiet that only she could hear it and only if she was listening. His lips grazed her cheek just as she spoke. “I’d let you, if you asked.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Let me what?” But his eyes flickered to the gummy on her finger, and then back to the look on her face and he realised she meant she’d let him marry her, if he asked. Eyes wide, he chuckled lightly and kissed her lips. “Maybe I will ask, then.” And the moment was starting to feel a little tense for Prince so he emptied the rest of the packet of sweets over Luna to bring back the lighter tone of before.

{ v ;; no reason.

When Jason had first heard Iola had returned to Chicago, he had wasted no time in tracking her down. He thought he’d be upset when he first saw her again, expecting all his heartbreak to just come flooding back. It hadn’t been like that at all, they’d clicked immediately like no time had past and Jason finally had his best friend back. He wanted more than friendship from her but he hadn’t wanted to pressure her or make her feel like he was only hanging around looking for one thing. Today, he couldn’t hold himself back. He walked closer to her, hands almost brushing, sat closer to her when they went for lunch with his legs sliding between hers under the booth. He didn’t pretend he was staring when she caught him more than once and he wasn't short on compliments. By the end of the day when they got back to his apartment, he was going crazy. He watched as she fell down on his couch, a smirk playing on his lips. He shrugged and chuckled lightly when she asked what the hell he was staring at. “Nothing.” He mumbled, his tone content from just being around her as he fell down beside her. “You just look beautiful. I can’t not look at you.” He admitted eyes searching hers. When she looked at him, he couldn’t help but take her in; her eyes blinking at him under the golden hour sun that peaked through his apartment windows, her lips that turned upwards into the most gorgeous smile he’d ever seen in his life, the way her hair fell into her face as she turned her head. “I’d love to kiss you.” He blurted without meaning to but he decided to have no shame in his words. He meant them. All day he’d just wanted to hold her, kiss her, just be with her. Not just all day. Since the moment she had stepped back into his life, he’d been holding back. He couldn't do it anymore. The silence lingered in the air and he sat upright. “Drink?” He stood up but before he could make his way to the kitchen, Iola spoke. “I’d let you, if you asked, you know.” His eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at her. Jason sat back down, eyes not leaving her for a single moment. “If I asked?” He chuckled. “Iola, I’ve missed you. I don’t know what we’re going to do about us but--- for now, can I kiss you?” And it wasn’t long before their lips were colliding, Jason pushing Iola lightly onto her back on the sofa. It felt right. It had been so long, and being in her arms again felt right. It was where he was supposed to be and he knew it. He ran a hand through her hair and couldn’t hold back the light giggle that fell from his lips, causing their teeth to clash and distracting from the moment. “God, I’ve missed this.” He murmured, eyes fluttering open so he could gaze at her. His eyes searched hers for only a short moment before they were closing again as he went back in to kiss her.

{ v ;; july 17th.

Zayn let out a grunt as he woke with a start, his head banging slightly. He winced in the morning light-- who hadn't shut the curtains? He shifted slightly but that was when he noticed the weight in the bed, a pair of arms wrapped around his waist. He rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hands, vision becoming less blurry. He got a look at the person wrapped around him and, without his permission, a smile embraced his lips. Part of him felt guilty that he dragged Ari into whatever was going on with him in the house that he seemed to just be fucking around with everyone but another part of him really liked her and liked waking up with her like this. He sniffled slightly and ran a hand through her hair, causing her to stir. “Morning.” He felt the huskiness of his voice as he spoke and cleared his throat but it didn’t feel any less raw. A chuckle fell from his lips when she suggested now might be the time to thank him for his gift-- that gift being himself. He shrugged. “What can I say? I like to put a lot of thought into my gifts for my favourite people.” A bright smile remained on his lips despite the headache he was sporting and also how exhausted he was feeling despite the fact that he’d been the one to wake her up just a moment ago. His hand traced up along her arm and back down again, fingertips stroking her skin tenderly. It was strange how they were both laying here, naked but so comfortable in each other’s presence. They’d kissed a few times over the last few days but now the friendship barrier was really shot to the ground. They crossed a line, and Zayn didn't mind one bit. He raised an eyebrow when she criticised his morning voice and how she’d expected sexier from him. Zayn knew he sounded so rough because he was on a comedown, but he wouldn’t make that tidbit of information known to anyone but himself. Another laugh and he simply apologised and promised to work on it for the next time. “Are you telling me that there's going to be a next time I wake up in your bed?” She challenged and, feeling bold, he just kissed her. Zayn liked kissing Ari, he decided. There was something about the way their lips just moved in sync, and how right it felt to have her in his arms, that made Zayn feel warm. It felt nice. Pulling away with a grin, he whispered, lips grazing her ear. “I wouldn’t mind if you’d let me do all of this all over again.” His eyes met hers and when she said she would let him the next time he asked, he just kissed her again. “What if I ask right now?” He chuckled against her lips before shifting so his lips were on her neck, hand trailing down her body. Things had definitely changed between them, and he was surprisingly happy about the way they had.

{ v ;; katie and leo.

It had taken weeks and weeks of fights, arguments and a lot of crying before Katie’s dad finally agreed to let her go on a weekend away with her friends. When Ava and Eli arrived at her door to collect her on Friday morning, she felt almost as if she was being emancipated from her father, it had taken that much of a fight to agree to this. The second she was in the car, eagerly taking over the aux, she was able to forget about her dad, her dad’s bitchy girlfriend, and just relax into the weekend at the seaside they were going to have. Her relaxed vibe was massively evaded when Eli pulled up to Leo’s house, only for another girl to emerge from the house with him. Katie’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ shape. Katie folded her arms over her chest and sunk into her seat. The rest of the car ride was spent with her pretending to be asleep or playing on her phone so she could avoid pretending she was feeling great about the extra addition, Caroline. Leo had taken over the aux when he got in the car and he was playing so many of their shared favourite songs that usually they would be singing along with like children in the back of the car. At least when she pretended to be asleep she didn’t have to indulge him as usual. After about two hours of driving, Katie heard Eli and Ava agree to pull over at a petrol station and to swap seats. Katie jumped at the opportunity, suddenly ‘wide awake’ as she got out of the car along with Eli and Ava. She snaked her arm around Eli’s, linking him as they entered the shop. “Eli.” She beamed, drawing out the ‘i’ sound in his name. She rolled her eyes when he said no before she even asked for anything. It wasn't as if she had anything to offer him in return for the favour she wanted, he had more money in one of his pockets than she had in her entire bank account, she was sure. She pouted. “Can I please ride shotgun while Ava drives the rest of the way? Sitting beside Leo and his girlfriend is exhausting. She literally complains about every second song. It’s irritating.” It took a little grovelling, and a lot of teasing from him about her being jealous before Eli finally agreed to let Katie take his seat up front. “Plus, that girl isn't even Leo’s--” But she didn’t give him a chance to finish, too eager about her new place in the car. “Thank you, thank you!” She kissed him on the cheek before running back out to the car. She yanked her handbag from the backseat and called ‘shotgun’ before clambering in with Ava, who gave her a knowing look that Katie chose to ignore after all the stick she'd just gotten off Eli. She also ignored the confused expression on Leo’s face that she picked up in the rearview mirror, pretending she hadn’t seen it.

By mid-afternoon, the gang all reached the beach-house that Matt and Panda permitted them to use. In a second car, the rest of their gang I’m sure they have, arrived and Katie wondered if she could hitch with them on the way home on Monday. She did enjoy riding with Ava and Eli, though, so she’d have to give that a think over. The first day was spent with them settling in, picking out and arguing over bedrooms. The next day, Katie chose to stay at the house while everyone went to the shops to pick up an array of alcohol and food. Still only being seventeen, she often got caught out for not having ID with her so she just relied on Ava to pick up what she needed. By Saturday night, they were all wrapped up in blankets and sitting around a fire on the beach behind the house, playing Never Have I Ever with plastic cups of different variations of alcohol. Katie had argued the plastic cups ‘for the turtles’ but was outnumbered and accepted her rum and coke in defeat. Eli sat forward. “Never have I ever snogged someone else in the group.” Katie glared at him, knowing that was clearly directed at her and Leo, but she shrugged before taking a sip of her drink, noticing Leo do the same. She didn't see if Caroline took a sip of her drink but she figured she would have had to. Katie took two more sips on the next few challenges before it was Eli’s turn again. She noticed the playful smirk on his lips and she frowned, “Never have I ever forced Eli to sit in the back seat on the way to Blackpool because--” Katie stood up and stormed off before she could hear Eli finish his statement, already knowing what it was going to be. She just reached the house when a hand wrapped around hers, pulling her back. Her eyes landed on Leo and she pulled her hand away. “He’s such a dickhead.” She rolled her eyes though she was sure later her and Eli would laugh about it, for now she was irritated at him. “Caroline isn’t my girlfriend.” He told her, not really indulging in her annoyance at Eli. Katie’s face flushed red. Her jealousy was humiliating. “Well, she’s obviously something to y--” Katie was cut off when Leo kissed her. She immediately melted into the kiss, her hands running through his hair. She pulled away, breathless. Her face was still flushed and she was even more embarrassed now that she realised how wrongly she’d read the situation. “I want to hit Eli. And you.” She pouted. His chuckle caused her to smile. “I’d let you, if you asked.” She picked up on the suggestiveness in his tone and she just kissed him again, furious with herself that she’d already wasted one night of this trip as a result of her jealousy.

“I think you look cuter with me.”

{ v ;; the princess and the moon.

Prince’s body practically froze when he heard Nick calling his litter sister ‘hot’, turning to glare at him and warning him to shut up. It wasn’t long before Nick was addressing him by the infamous ‘Princess’ nickname that he found so abhorrent, and the pair were throwing digs at each other. Eventually, it was Luna that tore them apart, Matt seemingly minding his own business. Prince stepped back, still shooting daggers at Nick, who only chuckled. “How cute does Prince look when he’s angry?” Nick teased, stepping past Prince who was being held back by Luna. Prince seethed, furious. “I think you look cuter with me.” Luna spoke while cupping his face, trying to gather all of Prince’s attention but the way she phrased it, using Nick’s insult to compliment him, just irritated him further, causing him to pull away. He glanced down at her. “Don’t indulge them.” He sighed, rolling his eyes. He turned and watched as Nick plopped himself down in the seat next to Matt, reaching over to steal a joint. His gaze then fixated on Luna’s hands on his chest, noticing how much her presence alone had calmed him down without him even realising. Looking between them now, Prince couldn’t help but wonder why he had let his loyalties lie with Nick for so long. Nick irritated him, always made comments about his sister and would never just stop using the term Princess despite how he constantly got some kind of slap for it. Nick was an asshole, straight up, and Prince loved Luna. He didn’t know why it had taken him so long to put everything together in his mind. His expression softened and he wrapped both hands around her wrists. “Can we go to my place?” He offered quietly but he was already guiding her out of Matt’s, not even providing the two lads an explanation as Luna waved goodbye. He was nervous. There was a strong chance that Luna would be upset, as in it was guaranteed. Prince just hoped she would be somewhat appreciative that Prince was deciding to come clean, even if he was a few months late with it. They reached his place and he led her into the sitting room, well aware that his serious tone was freaking her out. She had probably thought he was leading her off for a quick hook-up. Far from it. He let out a breath and sat across from her, rubbing his hands together. “Nick’s a fucking asshole, but I’m not telling you what I’m about to say to get back at him for talking shit just then. I should have told you sooner.” Prince’s eyes searched hers for a moment and he sighed. He could drag this out but that wasn’t Prince’s style. He wasn’t going to blabber and try to explain his way out of things. “Nick is a hitman. That's his job.” He didn’t break eye contact with her as he spoke slowly. He watched the realisation form on her face. “I should have told you when you told me what happened your mum.” He shrugged, he didn't really have an excuse as to why he waited to tell her and he wasn’t going to make one up to save face. He also wasn’t going to apologise because he knew if he was really sorry, he’d have told her months ago. Right now, he was just relaying the information and he’d live out the consequence when necessary.

{ v ;; no reason.

Jason crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows furrowed tightly together as he looked at the three images on the counter in front of him. He knew which of the three was his favourite but he couldn’t decide if it was the one he wanted to pick in this certain instance or not. His tension eased majorly when he felt two hands brush over his shoulders and wrap around his body from behind. He felt Iola's lips on the back of his neck and he spun around to greet her, arms wrapping immediately around her waist to pull her up, letting her legs wrap around his torso. He chuckled slightly. “Hey, sweetie. How was your day?” He mumbled against her lips, kissing her with delight. He hadn’t seen her all day and that was far too much for him. They kissed, and joked around, for a bit before she was asking what he was doing and he finally let her back down on the ground, turning back to the counter with her now, one hand remaining on the small of her back. He pointed at the three photographs. “Insider got in touch.” He spoke, pride gleaming on his face. “They want to do one of those Snapchat story specials on this new studio, and me as an artist.” Jason was practically beaming, his smile reaching from ear to ear. “I need to pick one of these for the cover photo for the website. In this one,” he pointed at an image of himself standing near an empty easel. “I look like a painter but it’s kind of cringe.” He laughed at himself and pointed at a second image, one of him and the woman who’d come by to take pictures of the studio and some select pieces for the article. “This one is like, hey here’s my interview with Insider and then this one;” He actually picked up the third. It was him and Iola standing in front of a portrait that he’d sold for an obscene amount of money. Her hands were wrapped around his waist and they were smiling so much that Jason could actually hear themselves struggling to hold in laughter like they’d been doing to try and take a serious photograph, though the non-serious alternative looked way better than anything else he could think of. Jason looked at himself in the image and could physically see the adoration on his face. “This one says ‘hey, not only am I an up and coming artist with my own studio but my girlfriend-- who bought me this studio because she’s just the absolute fucking best-- is, like, a Greek Goddess sent from the heavens above and actually smiles in my presence and that lipstick stain on my cheek proves you actually want to kiss me sometimes which is un-fucking-believable.” He glanced down at her, smiling brightly. He shrugged his shoulders forward. “I just don’t know which to choose. There’s also the added question of which one do I look cutest in?” He pouted sarcastically. He returned the action when she kissed him, before saying that he looked cuter with her. Jason had now long decided he was going to use this image of them. “I guess I do look pretty good in that one, look at those natural curls!” He gasped dramatically but was soon shushed by the very subject of the image shutting him up by kissing him, which he returned instantaneously.

{ v ;; july 17th.

Emotional seemed like a good word to describe Zayn today. It seemed to cover all bases, the fear and slight sadness he'd felt upon being in this place again, but the joy that overcame everything when Leilani, and Ari, pulled through and his panic from the last nine months finally washed away. He didn't really talk about it over the course of her pregnancy but Zayn had been so afraid that what had happened the first time was going to happen again. He feared the damage that would become of them if they had to suffer through that again, the heartbreak they would feel if they lost another child. Despite how often the doctor explained how unlikely it was to happen again, he still had the nagging voice at the back of his mind everyday for the course of nine months. Now, not only was that voice gone but it had proven wrong and Zayn and Ari were able to hold their baby in their arms. People were coming in and out all day and by the end of the night, Zayn finally managed to convince family and friends they needed sleep and also alone-time with the baby. Returning to Ari’s hospital room, he beamed at the sight of his wife cradling their daughter. The look on Ari’s face was wondrous to him. “You look beautiful.” He spoke gently as he pulled a seat up beside the bed. Normally he’d crawl into the bed beside her but he didn’t want to disturb Leilani who was sleeping soundly in her mother's arms. His good intentions didn't last very long when the screeching sound of sobbing erupted from the hours-old baby. Zayn chuckled and stood up. “Here.” He scooped Leilani into his arms and started walking around the room with her, rocking her back and forth gently. He looked up from the baby to Ari who was looking at them with an expression he didn’t fully understand. “I think she looks cute even when she’s crying.” He commented as the sound started to die down. It was astounding to him how much volume she had with only a few hours of life in her. At least it meant she had powerful lungs, the doctor had said. Zayn let out a breathy laugh when Ari retorted his cute comment by saying he looked cute too. He grinned. “You look cuter with me, though.” She added and he nodded at her ‘hint’ and returned to his wife’s bedside. Being extremely cautious with Leilani, he used a leg to push Ari over slightly before climbing into the bed with her. He shifted in a way that he was half-facing her with the baby, the three of them huddled together comfortably. “I’m so happy!” He whispered, head resting on Ari’s shoulder.

“I called you because I can’t fall asleep.”

{ v ;; the princess and the moon.

The sound of his phone ringing late at night was no shock to Prince, considering his line of work. He often had stragglers who couldn’t get out of their house until after everyone was asleep so that they could get some kind of supply off Prince without being caught, or people who didn’t want to risk being seen at Prince Jameson’s house in daylight– or else he was being called to house parties having a turn over early into the next morning. Prince’s clientele wasn’t exactly 9-5 suited, so in order to make his money, his phone was never on silent. However, this time, when he stirred from his sleep and noticed the caller ID, he frowned, confused that it wasn’t a customer at this hour. He bolted upright up in the bed and brought the phone to his ear. “Luna?” He questioned tiredly. He looked at the clock on his bedside and realised the time. “What happened? Are you okay?” It was unusual for her to be calling so late or even ringing at all since the way he’d last spoken to her. He couldn’t help the worry that bubbled within him and his words came out so instantly and quickly that he couldn’t stop himself. He relaxed when she insisted she was fine, nothing had happened. “I called you because I can’t fall asleep.” Prince sighed. “And I’m supposed to give a fuck whether you can sleep or not?” He remarked sarcastically. Silence settled between them and he spoke again. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He didn’t give her a chance to say that wasn’t why she was calling before he was hanging up the phone and making his way to his car. It didn’t take him long to get to Luna’s, the traffic almost non-existent considering it was the middle of the night. Letting himself into the apartment, Prince noticed the glow of light coming from the kitchen and was surprised to find Luna sitting at the table, rather than up in bed like he’d expected, camomile tea in hand. He raised his eyebrows at her and nodded in greeting noting mentally that she looked exhausted and even a little upset. He sat across from her and waited for her to tell him what happened, rather than asking. When she started talking about getting into another fight with Cassie earlier, Prince frowned. Only a small part of him felt guilty for the tension between the two friends, the majority of him was just annoyed that Cass made it so difficult for Luna to just be with Prince. Cass and Luna always went on and on about being best friends yet it turned out to be Prince who had the most support with the relationship once they went public. “Well, Cass is a fucking bitch.” He shrugged in response when she finally stopped talking, finishing by saying Nick came by to collect Cass hours ago. He ignored Luna’s pointed look about calling her best friend a bitch. “What? I think it’s fucked up that you’re up all night feeling bad about fighting with her while she’s likely fast asleep in Nick’s bed by now, not giving a shit. I also think it’s fucked up that she runs to Nick with everything but fucks old men and thinks she has any leg to stand on by criticising our relationship.” Prince scoffed. He truly couldn’t stand Cassie but it’s not as if he gave Luna a hard time about her the way Cass did regarding him. He just kept his mouth shut and he didn’t understand why she couldn’t do the same. He got up from his seat and went to her side. He leaned down so he was eye-level with her. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, thumb rested under her chin. His eyes searched hers and Prince figured now wasn’t the correct time to say ‘I told you so’ about how much easier he thought it would have been to keep their relationship a secret so he just pressed a peck to her cheek. “You look fucking exhausted. Come on.” He pulled her up with a hand around her wrist and led her to bed. Inviting himself to stay, he clambered under the covers with her, bringing the duvet cover over them. Part of him felt the softness he was showing this evening was just to prove to Luna that Cass was wrong about him, and them, but the other part of him (which wouldn’t admit this) just wanted her to feel better.

{ v ;; no reason.

At the sound of the iPhone FaceTime tune playing from his phone, Jason didn't have to check to see who it was. He pulled the phone from the charger and smiled as the camera turned on him. “Hi baby, what’s up? Isn’t it like 4am there?” He was concerned. Though he was barely awake himself, he couldn’t imagine why she was up so late. He frowned at the sight of her. Though she looked exhausted, she was still the most gorgeous girl he’d ever laid eyes on. “I called you because I couldn’t fall asleep.” She explained and his frown deepened with worry etched into his face now. He yawned, himself and chuckled lightly. “It’s like you could sense I just woke up.” He teased, wiping at his eyes. He had honestly only rolled over, eyes barely open, when his phone started ringing. “Or maybe you have me bugged.” It was nice to see her smile even if she was having a long night for herself. He pulled down at the top of her screen and noticed he had a bunch of messages from her, most of them being video links or memes that she must have gotten caught up in scrolling through having nothing else to do so late at night. He yawned again and had to hold back a laugh when she did the same. Jason couldn’t understand how a person could come across as tired as Iola and still not be fast asleep. Even he wanted to go back to sleep, if he didn’t have things to do. “I miss you, babe.” He sighed, sad. Every year he returned to Scotland around Christmas time and every year he hated leaving Iola for the few weeks that he was to be away. Even though she didn't celebrate Christmas, he always wanted to spend it with her. By flying home, Jason missed out on spending Christmas Eve and Day, and New Years with Iola. He was sure all they’d do would be cuddle in his apartment and watch shitty Netflix shows but at least they would be together. “I was thinking” he paused, eyes searching the screen to be sure she was paying attention and not suddenly capable of falling asleep. “I know you don’t do Christmas but maybe next year, you could-- Uh, well, you could come with me, to Scotland.” It only took five years for Jason to ask. “You could meet my mum. I always talk about you and I know she’d love to meet you.” Jason was nervous offering such a proposal and he wasn’t sure why. He had met everyone in her family, and then some. He considered her siblings his friends at this point and he adored her parents. It should just be natural that she get the opportunity to meet his family, too. He watched the smile appear on her face through the iPhone screen. “We can talk more about it when I come back, or even in a year but it was just an idea. I know that my mum is going to adore you almost as much as I do, if that’s possible.” He beamed. Another yawn escaped from his lips and he sat upright, phone in his hand with every move. “I can’t believe you’re awake at 4am and still looking like a fucking supermodel.”

{ v ;; july 17th.

Zayn was supposed to be separating himself from his phone. It had been something he had come to agreement with his counsellor in the rehabilitation centre before being released. He’d agreed to stop checking social media, to stop indulging in anything that wasn’t his work, his music. But, as he scanned through tweets, he couldn’t help himself. He sighed and clicked on his own profile. The last tweet read ‘@AriEdwards love you’ which he had tweeted two months prior when he was weening out of the centre, before having his phone revoked again. He hadn’t gotten the chance to delete it but it didn’t really matter because once it was out, it was seen by everyone. It was embarrassing but he didn’t care about that. What he cared about was the lack of messages on his phone from her, no calls. Didn’t she see the tweet? Didn’t she care? Maybe she knew he was trying to work through his issues and assumed getting in touch while he was away wasn’t what he needed. He wasn’t sure if it was or not. He wanted to hear from her, but he also was aware he needed to get better before reaching out to her first. Not just for him, but for her too. He watched as replies and gifs flooded in as he tweeted a general quote from what he was listening to. Zayn sighed, seeing one too many profiles with pictures of him and Ari as the icon, so he dropped his phone and went to shower. Honestly he wished he could get high. He wanted to. Standing under the running water, he didn’t care whether the drops were freezing or boiling, it all just felt the same to him. Coming fresh out of recovery, things were just numb. He knew it would get better, he just didn’t know when. Zayn didn’t want to blame his misery on his loneliness, because he’d been warned to stop relying on other people to keep him sober. That was up to him. He stepped out of the shower and barely bothered to dry himself before redressing in just a pair of sweats. He tried to distract himself; work on music, draw, skate around the apartment; none of it worked. He fell into bed and re-checked his Twitter. It seemed a lot of the replies to his ‘sometimes I cry’ tweet were filled with concern. He frowned. It was just a quote, he hadn’t been crying for help. He clicked into a random user and spotted two images of himself, zooming in on a bracelet that he wore constantly. He smiled to himself, knowing Ari gifted it to him, pressing like to the tweet. His gaze flickered to his bedside table where the bracelet rested and he browsed further and without thinking, he replied to a second tweet, expressing it was his favourite because it was a gift from Ari. It was sentimental, while also being for a good cause because of what the bracelet represented. It was a well-thought of gift and he couldn’t be more appreciative. He liked one more tweet before finally deciding to put his phone down. A few hours passed and all Zayn managed to do was roll over in his bed and lose sleep. At around 2am, his phone started to vibrate. He planned on ignoring it, assuming it was Ryker or Cody quizzing him on his social media activity. However, something in him told him to turn the phone over to check who was calling. His eyebrows shot up as his wife’s face lit up his screen. He scrambled to answer the phone. “Ari? Is that you?” Part of him worried she was calling a wrong number, or someone had taken her phone. Silence for a moment. “Arianna?” To which he finally got a response, feeling immediately calm at the sound of her voice. He lay back in the bed, letting out a breath. It had been almost four months since he’d spoken with her last, since he’d succeeded in hurting her to the brink of breaking point for their marriage— forcing him to get help. “Are you okay? It’s late.” He was quiet, despite being alone. It just felt too late into the night to speak any octave louder than a whisper. He heard shuffling down the phone. “I called you because I can’t fall asleep.” She confessed and he nodded even if she couldn’t see him. He didn’t understand it when his eyes welled up with tears. He knew he missed her, there wasn’t anything he was more sure of, but he hadn’t known hearing her voice again would shake him so much. “I’ve missed the sound of your voice.” He spoke, trying to hide the crack in his tone but it was difficult to hide anything from her. She knew him too well. He bit down on his lip. “I—“ he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.” He practically choked on the word, so afraid of this conversation that he had practiced so many times in counselling. He wanted to laugh when she asked what he was sorry for. “For everything, I guess.” He wiped at his nose, confused by his sudden onset of tears. “Everything I did when I relapsed last year. Even before that, everything that happened in the year after our son died, the way I treated you before we got married.” He paused to take a deep breath but it was so shaky that he was embarrassed about it. “I’ve loved you for so long and it wasn’t right for me to ever treat you the way I did. It just wasn’t. And–” Zayn had to pause again because of how shaky his voice had become, the words were becoming difficult to get out. He took a deep breath, followed by another. He heard Ari say his name on the other end. “I’m here.” He let out a sad chuckle and shook his head. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I know you didn’t call me up just to listen to me cry down the phone to you the first time we spoke again.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his face. Burning bridges was another part of his agreement of leaving the centre but Zayn didn’t feel any better after apologising to Ari, maybe because he needed to see her in person to know if she believed him. “You said you couldn’t sleep, yeah? Let’s talk about something else.”

{ v ;; what if.

Ashton jumped when his phone unexpectedly started ringing in his pocket, his drumstick falling to the ground. He rolled his eyes at Michael giving out that Ashton shouldn’t have his phone in the booth because now they’d have to restart that whole song. “Drama queen.” Ashton uttered, pulling out his mobile and when he saw Ari’s picture light up the screen, he jumped from his drum kit, answering immediately. “Hey! What’s up?” He shook his head when Ari apologised for calling out of nowhere, making sure he wasn’t busy. He held up a hand to his bandmates, ignoring their groaning about how little time they had and they really had to work on this album. “No, I’m not busy. I wasn’t doing anything at all, actually.” He let himself out of the studio, shutting the door behind him but not before he caught someone calling him an asshole for up and leaving like that. He shrugged. They’d get over it, he figured. He wanted to know what was going on with Ari that she needed to speak with him, considering it was probably the middle of the night where she was. Band practice which they did quite literally everyday wasn’t as high on his list of priorities right now. “Are you okay? Isn’t it late over there?” He nodded, despite how she couldn’t see him, when she said she was calling because she couldn’t fall asleep. A chuckle fell from his lips. “And I’m just that boring that talking to me is going to put you to sleep in an instant?” He joked. He then sighed and found a seat, planting himself down. “I am sorry though, Arianna. I wish I was there with you. I’d stay up all night with you if I was.” This wasn't the first time this week that Ashton was in touch with Ari because she was up late, having texted with her the day prior, and the day before that again. He wanted to ask why she was having such trouble sleeping but he also figured she would tell him if it was any of his business. He didn’t want to push her. There were times when Ari came to Ashton with her problems (Zayn) and he had just gotten irritated and talked shit about him. It wasn't helpful and provided her with no advice so if what was bothering her was her husband then he was sure she wouldn’t want to share with him what was happening. It was understandable. He decided to fill the silence by talking about what was happening in the studio. He knew she'd snuck away from Zayn to call him, if her cautious whispering was anything to go by so he figured he'd fill the time by just letting her listen even if she didn't care what he was talking about. “--and yeah, so now we’re currently working on a new single for the album. The song is the same name as the album-- Youngblood. I kind of really like it. I like where our sound is going and some of the songs are just so true to us.” Ashton frowned when he said ‘us’ because he had been referencing the band but he thought of the songs he had boldly agreed to putting on the album that could cleverly tell the story of him and Ari. He was nervous for her to hear them. Would she be angry that he’d written so much about her, or impressed? He didn’t know. “I think you’ll like it. I’m definitely going to send you a copy before we release it. If you hate it, just lie to me.” He chuckled quietly before carrying on talking and rambling for a bit more. “Ari?” On the other end she responded but he could hear the yawn that went with her words. “D’you think maybe you should try get some sleep in?” With that she said goodnight and Ashton returned to the studio. He ignored the boys giving out to him that he'd been gone for almost two hours because he really couldn’t rid himself of the smile on face and the elation that he was the one she wanted to call when he couldn’t sleep.

#anyway I'm thinking maybe America doesn't have haribo starmix #but I took that moment from millionaires music video by the script #bc im unoriginal #I don't think any other meme matters #the Katie Leo one??? me exploring Katie and elis friendship #nothing else matters #I don't thinnk #idk I didn't proofread #as usual #ok bye #{ v ;; the princess and the moon.#{ v ;; no reason.#{ v ;; what if.#{ v ;; katie & leo.#beencaughts #memed

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ancientbrit · 4 years

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Natter #5 05/15/2019

Subject: Natter #5 May 2019

Nearly dinner time so I'll need to be swift, although I won't finish until a bit later - there's the Bellevue Library meeting tonight to go through the clinic boxes. Maybe I saw you there?

I am beginning to feel like that Mum on the TV ad who phones her son as he is being harassed by Nasties, when she say's "The Squirrels are back. Your father says it's personal this time."

The verdampften deer are back and believe me this is personal!

Mind, they didn't do too much damage - this time, and they did leave a calling card or rather two calling cards, but I haven't been able to find where they got in, so my Hostas are in danger again. Never got any blooms last year as they wiped off the lot, just before they opened.

Today, Saturday the 18th, was Propagation lecture day at the BDG with Alison. All very well received especially the practicum at the finish. We have scheduled another for the end of July at The Grange. There will be basic instruction with the emphasis on practical hands-on work, which always seems to go over well and of course it does emphasise the spoken word. More information a little later.

Sunday was the Plant Amnesty & MG Interns snow day make-up class. Some good information there, but the bit that interested me the most was a photo that Janet showed me. She seems to have come up with a successful design for a Deer Fence. It consists of 6-7ft steel fence posts on 6ft centers, strung with horizontal 30lb monofilament Nylon fishing line spaced 12" apart. This is almost invisible and for sure the deer seem not to see it. They brush against it and stop, then back off. Try again and stop. It's as if they can't understand what is going on. They can't jump it because they can't see what is in the way. This fence has been installed for a few weeks now and so far they haven't twigged what is going on and Janet's garden stays deer free.

If only I could discover where they are getting into my garden I would install one too.

Now that Janet has shown the way, I expect somebody to come up with something similar for rabbit protection! She has incidentally, arranged a section that can be moved to allow access to her veggie garden.

At last we have something to suggest to clients at the Farmers Market. other than to place the deer between a couple of hamburger buns - although that is still an option!

Unfortunately, some weeks later, the deer returned with it’s offspring. The offspring, being much smaller, just walked under the lowest nylon line and went to town, with Mum looking on with an approving expression of her face. Needs a slight tweek to design.

You will undoubtedly have realised by now that tempus has fugited some since I started writing this.

I did experience an unfortunate event this morning when eating my Shredded Wheat breakfast. A strand of the shreds tickled my throat a little, making me cough, which turned unfortunately into a sneeze which happened to coincide with a mouthful of said Shredded Wheat. As the sneeze built up I realised that I was on the verge of a disaster and attempted to stifle the sneeze, which I understand can be injurious - but what are you going to do? The sneeze built up to the point where it was obvious that I could do little to stop it, but at least I didn't redecorate the kitchen. Instead, the Shredded Wheat took the path of least resistance and came down my nose! I don't think I can remember doing that since I was a kid. Happy days!

Just read a rather alarming article in the NYT about earthworms (some earthworms that is).

Cindy Shaw, a carbon-research scientist with the Canadian Forest Service, studies the boreal forest - the most northerly forest, which circles the the top of the globe like a ring of hair around a balding head.

A few years ago. while conducting a study in northern Alberta to see how the forest floor was recovering after oil and gas activity, she saw something new - earthworms.

I was amazed, she said,. At the very first plot, there was a lot of evidence of earthworm activity.

Native earthworms disappeared from most of northern America 10,000 years ago - I remember distinctly, during the last Ice Age Now invasive earthworm species from southern Europe - survivors from that frozen epoch, and introduced to this continent by European settlers centuries ago - are making their way through northern forests, their spread hastened by roads,timber and petroleum activities, tire treads, boats, anglers and even gardeners.

As the worms feed, they release into the atmosphere much of the carbon stored in the forest floor. Climate scientists are worried.

Earthworms are yet another factor that can affect the carbon balance. The fear is that the growing incursion of earthworms - not just in North America, but also in northern Europe and Russia - could convert the boreal forest, now a powerful global carbon sponge, into a carbon spout.

Moreover, the threat is still so new to boreal forests that scientists don't yet know how to calculate what the earthworms carbon effect will be or when it will appear.

It is a significant change to the carbon dynamic and how it is understood to work. The rate or the magnitude of that change is not truly understood.

The relationship between carbon and the earthworm is complex. They are beloved by gardeners because they break down organic material in soil, freeing up nutrients. This helps plants and trees grow faster, which locks carbon into living tissue. Some types of invasive earthworms also burrow into mineral soil and seal carbon there.

But as they speed decomposition, they also release Carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. As they occupy more areas of the world, will they ultimately add more carbon to the atmosphere or will they subtract it?

That question led to what Ingrid M. Lubbers, a soil researcher at Wageningen University in the Netherlands, christened "the earthworm dilemma" in a paper published in 2013 in Nature Climate Change. Scientists have been keen to resolve it ever since. It is just another reason why more knowledge of systems is needed because there could be an effect that would enhance climate change and enhance the rising temps.

The boreal is special. In warmer climates the floor of a typical forest is a mix of mineral soil and organic soil. In a boreal forest those components are distinct with a thick layer of rotting leaves, mosses and fallen wood on top of the mineral soil.

Soil scientists once thought that cooler temperatures reduced mixing, now they wonder if the absence of earthworms is what made the difference.

The spongy layer of leaf litter contains most of the carbon stored in the boreal soil. As it turns out, most of the invading earthworms in the North American boreal forest appear to be the type that love to devour leaf litter and stay above ground, releasing carbon.

It was found that 99.8% of earthworms studied in Alberta belonged to Dendrobia octaendra, an invasive species that eats leaf litter but doesn't burrow into the ground.

In 2015, a computer model, aimed at figuring the effect of leaf litter over time, was published.

It was found that forest floor carbon is reduced by between 50% and 94%, mostly in the first 40 years. That carbon, no longer sequestered, goes into the atmosphere. Not only that, in a 2009 study it was calculated that earthworms had already wriggled their way into 9% of the forest of northeastern Alberta and would occupy half by 2049.

The Canadian Forest Service found that 35% to 40% of the plots studied in northern Alberta contained earthworms. The leaf litter, which can be more than a foot thick, was thin and churned up where the earthworms were present. If their calculations bear out, it means that the lowly earthworm stands to alter the carbon balance of the planet by adding to the load in the atmosphere.

The global boreal forest is a muscular part of Earth's carbon cycle, at least one fifth of the carbon that cycles through air, soil and oceans passes through the boreal. Currently, the boreal absorbs more carbon from the atmosphere than it adds, but that is changing.

On the one hand warmer temps could extend the growing season, allowing trees to grow bigger and store more carbon. But rising temps. also release carbon to the atmosphere, by thawing permafrost and increasing the number of forest fires.

It seems that earthworms are a factor - if not the main one - nudging the boreal towards becoming a global source of carbon.

In northern Minnesota, the boreal forest has slowly been invaded by earthworms. They have altered not just the depth of the leaf litter, but also the types of plant life the forest supports.

Endemic species such as the white and pink Ladies Slipper Orchid, Minnesota's State flower - as well as ferns, orchids and the saplings of coniferous trees rely on the spongy litter. As the worms feed on that layer, they allow non-natives, plants such as European Buckthorn and grasses to thrive, which in turn push out endemic plants. There is a very real danger here of Minnesota's boreal forest being transformed into prairie.

These earthworms have even been found right up at the edge of the permafrost in the northern boreal, with the bigger concern that they will penetrate even further north into the permafrost with the subsequent release of masses of carbon which would be devastating. There is no way existing to eradicate the worms from the boreal forest, their impact is permanent. Hopefully educating people not to transport them up north might slow things down, but right now scientists are keeping an eye on a new invader - Asian earthworms, which have made their way to southern Quebec and Ontario.

Sorry for the lengthy report, but I thought it was fascinating and somewhat scary.

Your fearless leader,

Gordon

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