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mjlovescm · 3 years

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18- Maybe nice boys do exist

Completed, 26 chapters, “So, you’re the babysitter, huh ?” Rodrick Heffley x black fem reader

Standing in front of the Heffley's front door, you for some reason felt anxious. Tonight for the first time ever you were babysitting. Well, maybe not for the first time ever, but you highly doubt watching Faith counted. Either way, tonight would be your first time babysitting Greg and Manny.

The door swings open, and you're greeted by a surprising, pleasant site. Susan hadn't told you why she needed you to babysit, but looking at her, you could tell she was going out. Her hair was down, draping onto her black dress. The ends curled and brushed through. Her makeup was how it always was, natural except for her eyes and lips.

“Hi.” She greets you with a smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Heffley, you look great.”

“Thank you.” She says, stepping aside to let you in.

“Date night, huh?”

“First one in a while. Let's just say you and Rodrick may have inspired Frank.”

You go to speak but decide to stay silent instead.

“Frank!” She yells. “Babysitters here.”

“You're the babysitter.” Greg said skeptical. “Great.”

“Nice to see you too, Greg.”

Behind him was Frank holding Manny. Your jaw almost dropped when you saw what he was wearing. It wasn't anything over the top, but it was the first time you'd ever seen the man in a suit. Ironically, he usually dressed like Rodrick did on your “date”.

They took a few minutes to lay some ground rules and explain some things. Like making sure Greg did his homework and didn't stay on the phone with Rowley too late.

“We'll only be gone for a few hours, but If we're gone for longer than that, Rodrick can just take you home.”

“NO I WON'T” Rodrick yells from his room.

“YES YOU WILL.” Susan yells back.

“Besides that, don't give Manny any candy, or he will be up for hours.”

“Got it.”

You watched how Susan eyes were trained on Frank's wallet. Making sure you were paid well. He handed you the money before taking Susan's hand and walking out the door. You closed is shut behind them and went to the living room where Manny was sitting.

The first hour is spent, in all honesty, pretty boring. You should have been thankful, boring meant easy, which meant easy money. But maybe you just expected more from watching Rodrick's brothers. Like being paid to basically hang out with him and yet you hadn't seen him yet.

You snap out of your thoughts and go back to coloring with Manny, deciding to enjoy the boring. After thirty minutes, Greg decided to make an appearance downstairs.

“You're smart, right ?” He asks, sitting beside you.

“Yes. Why?”

He doesn't say anything else, instead, he just holds his homework over your drawing.

“Could I at least get a please.”

He gives you a confused face, telling it you wasn't gonna happen.

“Fine.” You say, setting your drawing on the table.

You take a moment to look over Greg's homework. It was fairly simple, mostly he was in middle school. He had finished the front, which were straight forward questions. Aka, no need to show your work. But the back was where he struggled, you could see the layers of the erased writing.

You answered half the questions and gave him the answers. Thinking he would pay attention to what you did and apply it to the other half. Instead, he just copied what you wrote onto his paper and waited for you to do the other half. You explain the formula to him and a few ways check to his answers.

Now, knowing you would do the rest for him, Greg actually did the problems. They took him a few good minutes, but when he was done all his answers were right.

“See, not that hard.”

“Wow, Rodrick was right, you are smart.”

“Thanks.” You say with a small smile.

…

“I'm starving.” You say, opening the Heffley's fridge.

A part of you felt a little wrong, rummaging through someone kitchen. But you'd been suppressing your hungry for a while, and you were over it.

“There's frozen pizza's in the freezer.”

“Do you want peperoni only or meat supreme ?” You ask the two boys.

You were all in agreement and went with peperoni. You read the instructions carefully before putting it in the oven and setting a timer. You had a history with fucking up when it came to frozen pizza's.

The pizza only had a few minutes left, and the aroma had filled the kitchen. It caught Rodrick's attention and prompted him downstairs. He was caught by surprise to see you in his house.

“So you're the babysitter, huh.” He says, a wicked smile on his face.

“Nice to see you too.” You say, mimicking his smile.

“Move over” He says before taking a seat next to you.

You roll your eyes playfully and get up, Rodrick taking a seat.

“I said move over, not leave.”

“Shut up, I need to pee.”

He mumbles a tmi and turns the tv on. While you're gone, your phone rings. Out of laziness, Rodrick ignores it. It doesn't ring for too long before Manny turns it, annoyed by the sound. When you come back, you settle into the couch, sitting next to Rodrick.

It didn't take long for smoke to fill the kitchen. Rising and filling the air, the strong smell slowly seeping into the rest of the house.

“Do you smell that ?”

Rodrick ask right before the sound of the blaring fire alarm fills your eyes. Everyone is sent into a panic, on high alert from the sound and now smell. You and Rodrick run into the kitchen to find smoke coming from the oven. No words are spoken, there's no time for it. Rodrick turns the oven off, turn the dial so fast it snapped off. He opens the oven fully to take the pizza out while you opened windows.

Giving the smoke time to empty the house, you all go outside. Thankfully, it wasn't too cold.

“So much for pizza.”

“Fire.” Manny says, his hands still over his ears.

“Your parents are gonna pissed.” You say sitting on the steps.

Rodrick takes a seat next to you, and he could see disappointment written all over your face.

“y/n it's fine. We got the pizza out and the smokes gone.” He pauses “Mostly.”

“Yea but what about the smell.” Greg says.

“Stinky.” Manny adds.

“My first time babysitting and I fill the house with smoke, great.”

“At least you didn't burn it down.” Rodrick jokes, trying to lighten the situation. Instead, it earns him a punch in the arm.

Too anxious to go back into the house, you force everyone to stay outside. Tired of the cold, you all sit inside Rodrick's van.

“I'm still starving.” You complain.

“Same.”

“Me too.”

He wasn't sure if it was the cold or his empty stomach, but an idea pops into Rodrick's head.

“Where are we going ?” You ask, sliding around in the back of Rodrick van.

“We're getting pizza.”

“Really.”

“Yea.” He says with a shrug.

You give him a suspicions look while he drives. His eyes stay on the road, occasionally looking at you from the rearview mirror.

You wouldn't consider Rodrick the best person. He was considerably good by standards for a white teenage boy. But then again, those standards aren't exactly high. Regardless, by your standards, Rodrick was an actually kinda sweet. At least he had been lately.

“God, I've been craving 7-eleven for weeks.”

“Trust me, I know. You've been talking about it like every day.”

“Then why did it take you so long to take me to get some.”

“Do I need to remind you we're only here because you filled my house with smoke.”

You stay silent and take a sip of your large Slurpee, enjoying the atmosphere of the strip mall parking lot. Your legs hung over the back of the van, the doors wide open. Rodrick watches you as you watch as cars pass. He stares at your satisfied smile, happy to make you happy. A deep sigh leaves him, knowing he has something to get off his chest.

“Can I tell you something?”

Rodrick's voice is quite, so quiet it almost catches you by surprise.

You nod your head, yes.

“Listen, I know I've been apologizing a lot lately, but I feel like I kinda left some stuff out.”

“Like what?”

“Well.” He pauses to gather his thoughts.

You watch more intensely as Rodrick speaks. Both of your brown eyes, dark from the atmosphere. He explained that he knew you were already not feeling good, but Heather, who was in the closet with him, wasn't. She was all over him saying wild things and in return he did the same. Letting his drunken thoughts about you speak for him.

When he saw you outside of the closet, and you were so opposite, it hurt. He thought maybe you didn't mean anything you said. Maybe you were embarrassed to be seen coming out of the closet with him. Maybe even embarrassed to be with him at the party at all, knowing the only reason he was invited was because of you. He acted on all these assumptions and was rude to you, inevitably leaving you to find a ride.

“It was fucked up to leave you there, I was stupid and drunk, and I won't happen again”

You both took a minute to process everything he said. It was a lot not just information but honesty. Rodrick was being vulnerable with you. He wasn't high or being forced to by his mom. He was being genuine.

“What exactly did you say to Heater in the closet?”

“Nothing important.” He lies.

“Promise.” You ask, voice weary.

“Promise.”

Next chapter ;)

All chapters :)

Tag list - ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ♡

@amajikisupremacy,

#mjlovescm #black fem reader #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley

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queenofallhobos · 3 years

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DAISYPOOL Chapter 1: Here there be backstory

Summary:

“Just read the story, fuckers.”

“Be nice Wade!”

“Fine! PLEASE read the story, fuckers.”

“There is a LOT of cursing... and some sexual situations. You’ve been warned.”

"Are you kidding me Wade?! Wilma?!" I yelled when I picked up my new ID. "What's wrong with my ACTUAL name?" I demanded whirling on him. "I did use your actual name, see?" He said pointing to my new middle name. "Yeah, I see that. Why isn't it in the right place?" "You're a Wilson now, you needed a name that started with a W. It's the rule." He supplied with a shrug. "You know how these things work, Peter Parker, Jessica Jones..." "Tony Stark, Steve Rogers... it isn't a rule. Besides when have YOU ever been one to follow the rules? There are also a ton of W names you could have used! Willa for instance." "Willa is from another fic." Wade shrugged again and patted my shoulder. "Now nut up and shut up, Wilma. Time to reveal your tragic backstory to the readers." "Really? This is the beginning to my story?" I deadpanned glaring around the room as if I would be able to see my invisible audience. "It's a fanfic, the readers aren't here for you so it starts when things get interesting. You told me you saw my movie, why do I have to explain this to you?" Wade sighed giving me a disappointed look. "Whatever, how does this work? Do I just tell them what's going on and how I know you're not just a crazy person?" "It's your story, you do you boo boo." Yet before I was able to open my mouth the microwave beeped and Wade jumped to his feet to pull out a bag of buttered popcorn. "When the hell did you start making popcorn?! Ugh, nevermind." I shrugged and took a breath trying to figure out where to start. "Well... It all started when I was born" I begin. "Jesus, God Almighty, Wil. We want to entice our readers not info dump on them. Have I taught you NOTHING?" Wade exclaims. "How the hell am I supposed to tell them everything without telling them, WADE?" "You show them shit head. Cue flash back." "That's more your thing, I don't know how to-"

The apartment around me fades into the interior of my old chevy aveo, the one I drove before all this mess starts. "Oh... this is weird." I yelp, taking a peek at my old face with all it's acne scars and laugh lines. "Damn Wil, check out those tits!" Wade said poking at my old DDD's "Focus Wade, cause shits abou-" I was cut off at the sudden impact of my car into the trailer of the semi I had been behind on the freeway. "I knew I hadn't seen brake lights." I huffed. "Shut up, this is the good part." Of course he thinks this is the good part, there he is blowing up Francis's lab and attempting to save me only to be attacked by fuckin' Francis. "That was when you gave me your powers." I pointed out to when I had grabbed Wade's hand for comfort before he was thrown across the room. "They already know all this, we don't need to watch the whole thing." Time seemed to be on 2x speed as we watched Wade and I emerge from the ashes, naked and confused. A training montage so I could help Wade get his revenge on Francis, along with some bonding time where he took on the role of my big brother. Our first adventure to see Xavier to learn about my powers, which trust me was not as exciting as it sounds. Xavier is cool in his own way but I am POSITIVE Patrick Stewart is a million times better. This part I really will just info dump on you, trust me it's much more interesting than the lecture I got that day. Essentially we found my power is the ability to mimic another mutants power indefinitely. I do it by touching the palm of the other mutant with my own palm, and while it may sound like I'm some sort of OP character it isn't that straight forward. I don't know how to control the abilities and they're a watered down version of the mutants I got them from. The day I met the Professor I managed to shake hands with Logan and Iceman before Xavier put a stop to it.

"That good enough? They know how your movie ends, my presence didn't change anything since I wasn't there that day." I asked Wade who had started dozing on the couch, mouth wide open with popcorn stuck to his tongue. "WADE! Ugh nevermind." I grumbled, then with another paranoid glance around the room decided it was time for a walk to clear my head. I hadn't been expecting my 'story' to start today, hell I was convinced Wade was full of shit when he told me I would probably become the character of a fanfic. Don't think about it too hard, it'll give you a headache... trust me. My feet led me toward the Sanctum, my guilty pleasure place. I'd waited until I was sure Stephen Strange was the Sorcerer Supreme before beginning to mess with things. Just little things, freezing the bottom of the steps in the middle of summer with the weak ice powers I'd learned to control, ordering a ton of pizzas to be delivered there, making up a fake party and spreading a bunch of invitations using the sanctum for the address. I'd managed to sneak a few bags of dog poo I'd lit on fire, they just used magic to extinguish it but it was still hilarious to me. Mostly it was just stupid juvenile kind of pranks and I was slightly surprised I hadn't been caught by Stephen or Wong, but I will admit I was more concerned about Wade finding out I'd been causing trouble and leaving him out of it. I had just crossed the street when a couple of giggling girls bumped into me, drawing me from thoughts. I was just about to chew them out when I caught the end of their conversation. "-that we met Thor!" The one shrieked.

Chapter 2

I will try to update once a week, so check back next Friday, or let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist.

@evening-starlight

#wade wilson #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson fanfic #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #oc #original character #original content #original story #original series #loki (marvel)#loki imagine #thor: ragnorak

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youllneverknowrac · 5 years

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Oscar Diaz- Playing House

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Life has been treating you better than you could imagine. Having moved in with Oscar after your parents kicked you out not too long ago was the best thing that’s ever happened, considering the circumstances, your boyfriend keeping his word and taking care of you. He was making sure you had everything you needed and then some.

School had just let out for the day, you and your group of friends walking out of the building together chitchatting away until you spot Oscar’s famous red car. You give a quick goodbye to each of them, hurrying over to the car and sliding in all the way to the middle of the large seat to be up against him,”Hi.” You smile and give him a kiss on his cheek,”Are we picking up Cesar today?” You ask him after he greets you back with a kiss of his own, opting for your lips instead. The engine starting up, Oscar wasting no time in speeding down the road.

“Nah, he wanted to walk home today with his friends.” He answers, keeping one hand on the wheel, his other arm snaking around your shoulders,”So did your mom call you today?”

You sigh and nod solemnly,”Just for a few minutes before first period started. It’s still kind of awkward between us, she also said my dads mood is just getting worse everyday.” You inform him, getting quiet for a few moments before continuing,”I’m glad we’re attempting to talk more though...I do miss her.” You admit,”I know she said some horrible things about you in the past, so I’d understand if you’re upset that I’m talking to her again.”

“I’m not upset Y/N, she’s your mom so I understand. If you feel the need to have her in your life I’m not going to stop you or be angry about it.” He defends,”You do what you feel is best for you mami.” He answers truthfully, causing your heart to swell with how amazing he is and how he cared so much about your happiness.

“Thank you...for being so understanding. I love you.” You grin and scoot yourself on to his lap. Your feet on the seat and your back now leaning against the drivers side door, Oscar protesting for you to stop,”You can’t be sweet and expect me not to love on you.” You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck,as he strains to see the road. You playfully place quick sloppy kisses on the side of his face, ear, and neck, Oscar finally caving in and laughing at your antics.

“We’re going to crash and your going to fly through my windshield and then I’m not going to be so sweet any more.” He chuckles as you continue your assault on his face, his free hand gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter.

“Fine, fine.” You laugh moments later and carefully remove yourself from him, sitting back down in your original position,”I can’t help myself baby, you’re just so cute.” You tease and lightly pinch his cheeks, Oscar rolling his eyes and stopping your actions with his hands.

“Aye nena, por que estas asi conmigo?”(Aye babygirl, why are you like this with me?)

“Shut up, you love it.” You say with your own eye roll and playful scoff.

“Hmh, you think I love it.” He says, glancing at you before shaking his head and chuckling in defeat as he turns on to your guy’s street.

“See? I was right.” You smile, Oscar not replying, a smile of his own resting on his face.

After pulling into the driveway minutes later, you pick up your bag and head inside, going straight into the bedroom to get out of your clothes.

“Can we order pizza tonight babe? A meat supreme with extra cheese from Giovanni’s sounds so good right now.” You suggest to Oscar who followed you in,”Please.” You add, pulling off your jeans and tossing them into the hamper.

“Yeah, we can do that.” He agrees as he leans against the doorframe with crossed arms,”You wanna go ahead and order it? Cesar can pick it up on his way home.” He says watching as you tug on a pair of shorts.

“Yeah, I’ll call right now.” You agree, pulling on one of Oscar’s too big t-shirts. Feeling comfortable you grab your phone and call the familiar number that you order from all the time,”Hey Dina! It’s Y/N...yeah our usual order.” You laugh as she cuts you off,”15 minutes? That’s fine, Cesar is going to swing by and grab it. Just use the card on file and charge it since I’m not sure if he has any cash on him...Okay, thanks!” You say and hang up excitedly,”Oh my god I can’t wait, it’s going to be so amazing.” You squeal and clap your hands in delight.

“Chill out baby. It’s just food.” Oscar laughs amusingly as you walk by to head into the living room, giving your butt a hard smack.

“You, chill out.” Jumping in surprise when you feel his hand land against you, a squeeze followed after.

“I just can’t help it, you’re so cute.” He says smugly, copying your words from earlier as he pulls out his phone to text Cesar about the food.

“You’re so hilarious.” You reply dryly, your butt slightly stinging as you plop your self down on to the couch to lay in front of the squeaking fan. If there was one thing you missed about your house it would surely be central ac. It wasn’t so bad here, the small widow units helping out to keep the house from turning into a sauna.

“Don’t be greedy with the fan.” Oscar says as he picks up your feet and sits down, letting them fall into his lap.

“It’s not being greedy if I was here first.” You say softly hitting him with your foot.

“Exactly, you were here first so you decided to hog up the whole fucking couch and air.” He replies pulling on your toe in return.

“Ow!” You yelp,”You know I hate when you do that.” You complain and pull your feet back quickly.

“Then don’t hit me with your big ass feet.” He laughs and grabs your legs to place them back on top of his,”Fair is fair mamas.”

The playful banter doesn’t stop until Cesar comes in with the food a bit later,”Sorry! There is a piece already missing. I ran into one of my classmates on the way back. She was going on and on about Ruby and helped herself.” He explains and puts the box on top of the coffee table in front of you and Oscar.

“That’s kind of weird but whatever...was it that Jasmine chick you told us about last time?” You ask curiously as you sit up and reach forward to open the box, Cesar nodding yes to your question as you grab a slice.

“You just let her take it?”Oscar laughs and grabs his own slice,”Man up hermano.”(brother)

“Leave him alone, what was he going to do? Steal it back? It’s a slice of pizza. Not that big of a deal.” You defend the younger Diaz brother, folding the cheesy goodness before taking a bite.

“I would have.” Oscar shrugs, beginning to eat his own slice, Cesar offering you a sad smile,”Ain’t no one taking shit off my plate.”

“Trust me, we know you would Spooooooky.” You smirk, drawing out his name in a amusing tone, trying to ease the bad vibe that formed.

“I’m just gonna take this to my room. I gotta finish up my homework. That cool?” Cesar asks, standing up with two pieces of pizza in his hand. Oscar nods and waves him off, not bothering to look up as he eats.

“He’s not like you, and you know that.” You sigh softly,”It’s okay for Cesar to be the ‘nice’ boy. He doesn’t have to be hard or tough.” You tell Oscar before taking another bite.

“Nice boy ain’t going to get him anything around these parts except for beat up. He’s lucky he’s still a kid, but all that’s going to change in a couple of years when he starts growing up.” Oscar says, putting down his slice to look at you,”Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong but just let him be a kid. Let him be the nice little boy that he is. Let him hang out with his little misfit friends and let a random girl take a slice of pizza from him. Freeridge is going to make him grow up soon enough, that’s inevitable, but don’t help speed up the process.” You explain,”That’s all I’m trying to say baby. I get it, he’s your brother and your trying to do what you think is best for him in the long run but just try to see my point of view.” You explain to him, finishing off your slice before going over to straddle his lap,”You’re a good brother and you’re so good to me and the people you care about, but you had to grow up way to fast Ozzy. I just want him to be him for a little while longer.” You say, looking deep into his eyes as you wrap your arms around him,”I know I don’t have much of a say here but I just wanted to give my input.”

“As long as you’re my girl, which will be always mamas, you’re always going to have a say in what goes on in this house. You are a part of this family.” Oscar tells you with a deep sigh,”I get what your saying, but I still can’t help but worry. What if something happens to me? I’m not going to be around to protect him or even you.”

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t say stuff like that, nothing is going to happen to you.” You say interjecting,”Ever.” Wrapping your arms around him tighter and burying your face into his neck.

“I’m not trying to make you upset Y/N...we just gotta be real here. We both know what I do and what it can lead too.”

“Stop. Please. This is about Cesar, not you and what if’s.” You mumble into his skin.

“Aight, let’s just move on from both subjects completely. Yeah?” He says, his hands moving up and down your back comfortingly.

You sniffle and blink back a few tears that wanted to fall, not moving from your position as you nod your head in agreement.

“I promise that I won’t let anything take me away from you bebé.” Oscar says, even though he knew deep down that his words were likely going to be broken, he just wanted to comfort you right now.

You don’t respond and just let him hold you for a while until you regain your composure,”I’m gonna finish eating.” You tell him with a deep breath,”Go talk to Cesar.”

Oscar nods and scoots you off his lap before leaning down to press his lips to yours lovingly,”Be right back.”

You smile and give him one final peck before reaching for a new slice, it was a bit cold by now but you didn’t mind. As you sit there and eat, all these thoughts run through your head about how today went. Your phone call with your mom, loving moments with Oscar, the playful fighting, the whole conversation about Cesar which led to Oscar’s lifestyle choices. It was just crazy to think that this would be your new normal for forever now. You couldn’t even be a real teenager yourself, because you had grew this strong attachment to both Diaz brother’s causing you to become a mom, wife, and girlfriend all in one. In all honestly you kind of liked it this way, because no matter what the day brung you would always have this house and two boys to come home to.

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subbyboymax · 4 years

Note

I want to ask you all of them 🙈🙈

So why won’t you ask all of them? Huh anon?

Jk I love you whoever you are. As requested:

1. Zodiac sign

Taurus. I don’t really pay much attention to zodiac stuff but I’ve heard from friends that I fit the stereotypes somewhat.

2. Sexual orientation

This is hard because I’m kinda questioning atm, but I would say I like women and identify as NB using male pronouns which I personally feel is accurate to me, but I still am unsure myself what that actually means. I am still figuring myself out.

3. Relationship status

Single and honestly looking. I’ve had one girlfriend in high school and I’ve had romantic interests since but I have such low self confidence that I end up being too nervous to really pursue a relationship.

4. Someone you miss

My friend Rebekah. I miss her a lot. She’s like a sister to me.

5. Person who’s arms you’d like to be in

Hmmmmmmmmm... anyone really...

6. What you find attractive in Men/Women?

Typically I find personality attractive and looks don’t really matter, but usually someone’s smile and eyes draw my attention the most.

7. How tall are you?

5’7 or ~170cm but I wish I was more smol.

8. What you love about yourself?

Already answered

9. What you’re doing tomorrow?

I’m probably going to exercise and play games with my gaming clan.

10. What are your future plans?

My goal is to become an electrician, but I also want to go to various Asian countries and try to improve my Asian cooking by studying the food culture all over east asia.

11. Your last night out in detail?

Oh god I don’t even remember the last time I was out at night... I guess it was last year when I had my heart broken and I went to a really nice bar and spent $200 on alcohol and was GONE. Never again. Ended up being hung over for the first time in my life.

12. Your favorite book?

Hmm... favorite book(s) would have to be the Ranger’s Apprentice series of books. Good story, good characters.

13. All of pets you’ve ever had?

I’ve had so many pets I could make a whole post about them and may do that later.

14. Something that changed your life?

Unfortunately too many things have happened to change my life more than I would like. I still can’t really answer this question fully.

15. Do you remember your last dream?

I was basically playing a game that turned out to be an isekai and I basically had a SMG and had to fight off a dragon. Shit was weird but very vivid. It’s weird because I don’t particularly like guns or dangerous stuff in general.

16. What your last text message says?

“Keep me posted! We should meet up and have a toast to it!” was sent to my friend Renè, who has been my best friend since birth pretty much. Our parents were close while they were pregnant with us and we are practically brothers. He’s getting a house near where I live and we will live in the same state for the first time since we were 8 years old. Obviously we will social distance but we still had to celebrate and see each other to mark the occasion.

17. Do you respect your government and the way your country is run?

Absolutely not. Please vote biden if you live in the US. Even if you hate the idea of voting for biden, he’s better than trump. If hillary had won, she would have been putting her third justice on the supreme court. Biden is the only chance for our freedom and for the freedom of many people. I am terrified of 4 more years of trump.

18. Where you would like to live?

South Florida, where I was born.

19. Your favorite flavor of ice cream?

Depends on my mood, but typically strawberry.

20. Last thing you ate?

Pizza that was left over from last night.

21. Which swear word do you use the most?

Fuck. Like I use it so much it’s stupid.

22. Your plans for summer?

Heh... plans...

23. Any upcoming concerts?

Bruh if only. Like I work as an usher and as a stagehand, so if any concerts were happening at all I would JUMP for joy. And I am CHONK so jumping is not exactly the most comfortable thing to do.

24. Something that you’re proud of?

That I am finally committing to getting therapy for my long list of traumas.

25. Do you still talk to your first crush?

I wish I could, but she’s not part of my life anymore, sadly. She was a good friend.

26. What language do you want to learn?

Japanese, because I really have a strong interest in their history and culture and want to go sightseeing there someday.

27. Where have you lived before?

Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and St. Louis, Missouri.

28. Eye color?

I think it’s green or something but it changes depending on the light because it’s sometimes more silvery idk.

29. Favorite style of clothing?

Traditional Japanese formal wear. It’s always been an interest of mine.

30. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

All of one minute to throw on an outfit and get socks on. I wish I had an eye for fashion but hopefully if I ever have a partner, they will help me with my style choices a bit lol.

31. Where did you go today?

Nowhere, because pandemic lmao.

32. Where are you right now?

In my room wishing I could have cuddles.

33. How many countries have you visited?

None because money is not exactly a thing we have an abundance of.

34. Something old?

What does this mean? I guess I have my great grandfather’s old stamp collection.

35. Something new?

Hell if I know, I’ve had nothing new in months.

36. Something inherited?

My laptop.

37. Is death more scary than life?

Hell no. Death is easy. Life is scary and overwhelming but it’s worth living the life you have. You only lose out on life by dying before your time. You gain nothing in death, despite it being less scary and uncertain than living is. Keep living to experience everything you can and have no regrets once you do pass on.

38. Experience you’ll never forget?

The time my high school crush complimented my hair in physics class. I get very few compliments and I never feel that attractive so I hardly focus on my appearance but I had brushed my hair that day and the fact she commented on it made me smile very wide.

39. What’s your favorite part about today so far?

Honestly today has sucked and I have been dealing with depression but I am trying to stay positive. Hopefully the answer to this question changes later today!

40. Who is your hero?

My Great-Grandmother. She was part of my life until I was 17 and she taught me that kindness and compassion is the most important trait for a human to have. She was the most amazing woman I have ever met in my life.

41. Are you happy with where you live?

I love this house, but it’s definitely not perfect and I would love to have my own place someday.

42. Do you like your handwriting?

Ew no it looks like alien language. It’s so bad. I can barely read my own writing.

43. What do you wear to bed?

Typically just underwear, or in the winter I will wear a T-shirt and fleecy pants.

44. Tea or coffee?

Tea

45. Chocolate or Vanilla?

Chocolate hands down. It’s such a varied flavor imo.

46. Are you excited for anything?

Being okay someday.

47. How late did you stay up last night and why?

Midnight because sleep is hard.

48. What’s your ringtone?

I’m boring and keep my phone on vibrate so no ringtone.

49. Did you have a dream last night?

Yes, I said it earlier.

50. What keeps you going each day?

Honestly no fucking idea lmao.

51. Picture of yourself?

You’ll have to DM me for that one, friendo. Anons get no face pics!

Also for the other people who sent in asks, I saw them, but I figured I could just use this ask to consolidate and not spam posts. Thank all of you for sending in asks, you are the best <3

#Asks #Thank you anon

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residentgoodgirl · 5 years

Link

Chances are that you know what made Lorena Bobbitt famous in 1993, even if you aren’t old enough to have experienced it in real time. Just over 25 years ago, Lorena — who now goes by her maiden name, Lorena Gallo — cut her husband’s penis off in the middle of the night, driving away with it and throwing it into a field. The trial and media coverage were sensational, as you might expect them to be around any penis-chopping case — and Lorena’s story became a punchline, an oddity, a way to consider supposedly hotheaded Latina women.

Amazon is now premiering a four-part docuseries about her, aptly called Lorena. The documentary, produced by Jordan Peele, covers the trial, of course, but also explores the context around it that people have largely forgotten, or never learned to begin with: the ways Lorena’s husband, John Wayne Bobbitt, allegedly abused her; the cruel treatment she received from the media, her tender age (she was 24 years old); and how this case brought the issue of marital rape to the forefront for the American public.

The timing is excellent, if a total bummer. The embers of the #MeToo movement are still burning, marital rape continues to be a surprisingly controversial topic for the courts to grapple with, and everyone is still afraid of immigrants. Lorena is compelling and well-made, a narrative that focuses both on the salacious details of the case (wanna see a severed dick? Girl, you got it) and Lorena’s activism in preventing domestic violence and sexual assault. It acts as both a historical primer for those who didn’t live through Lorena’s trial and a rectification for the way she was treated, not just by her husband but by late-night talk show hosts, journalists, and the public. “The media was focusing only on the penis, the sensationalistic, the scandalous. But I wanted to shine the light on this issue of spousal abuse,” Lorena told Vanity Fair in an interview this past summer.

As a documentary that reassesses a notable ’90s scandal with the benefit of a couple decades’ hindsight, Lorena is one among many recent examples. And these retrospectives tend to fit a similar pattern: We are asked or encouraged to reconsider a woman whose public image was linked inextricably with a man’s bad behavior, whose reputation was destroyed while the man got away relatively consequence-free.

2013’s Anita was a reconsideration of Anita Hill’s allegations of sexual harassment against then–Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas. The documentary recast her not as an angry black woman trying to keep a man from his deserved job, but a reserved, smart attorney who merely told the truth about a man about to be given a tremendous amount of power. (Sound familiar?) 2014’s The Price of Gold gave Tonya Harding room to tell her version of the story of her career and the 1994 attack on Nancy Kerrigan, replete with class context and details about her own abuse.

The 2016 documentary O.J. Simpson: Made in America, though primarily about Simpson, also forced audiences to rethink how his murdered ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson was treated by him and by the press. And 2018’s The Clinton Affair included an interview with Monica Lewinsky herself about her affair with President Bill Clinton — long considered a salacious sexual scandal, with Lewinsky cast as a slut trying to fuck a powerful man — and reframed the incident as one in which a young intern was seduced (and then thrown under the bus) by the goddamn president, who should’ve known better.

These reconsiderations aren’t limited to documentaries. In June, journalist Allison Yarrow published the book ’90s Bitch: Media, Culture, and the Failed Promise of Gender Equality, which includes Hill, Harding, Lewinsky, and Lorena in telling “the real story of women and girls in the 1990s, exploring how they were maligned by the media.” Podcasts like Sarah Marshall and Michael Hobbes’ You’re Wrong About… also serialize reassessments of history, often focusing on women mired in scandals. They’ve done episodes on Amy Fisher (the “Long Island Lolita”), televangelist Tammy Faye Bakker, Lindy Chamberlain-Creighton (the “dingo’s got my baby” woman, who never actually said that), Courtney Love, and Lorena herself.

“America is going through this period of realizing how much we misread what was right in front of us,” says Marshall. “We came to the realization that we elected a reality TV president. We elected someone whose image was made by reality TV. That kind of understanding can allow us to go back and say, “What else did I just swallow that I was sold?”

Documentaries that revisit scandals are no doubt valuable in that they can profoundly change the way we consider the past and hopefully, the future. But they also pose a certain temptation to get too comfortable: There is some risk that we might watch something like Lorena, pat ourselves on the back for figuring out who the bad guy really is, and walk away thinking that the past is the past and we won’t make the same mistakes again. But what Lorena Bobbitt’s story meant in 1993 “is not that different from what it means today,” says journalist Kim Masters in Lorena. “It’s the same story.”

Then, too, there’s the reality that these reconsiderations tend to revolve around trials or public hearings, which provide a clear way to revisit the past through criminal records and court transcripts and recorded interviews. These were big, splashy stories that now get big, splashy reappraisals. But the world is filled with smaller, more mundane injustices and oversights, and most of those who suffer will never make it to court or Congress, or receive a high-profile opportunity to seek vindication.

Watching something like Lorena feels important, but it also feels lousy, because not enough is different now. Reconsiderations like these can’t be antidotes if we ignore the cure — if we continue to dismiss women and other marginalized, vulnerable people when they’re being abused, or taken advantage of, or otherwise maligned. Lorena receives a tremendous amount of empathy in Lorena, as she should. But why can’t we extend that kind of empathy to more people like her today, instead of waiting two and a half decades to rethink how we’ve behaved?

Apology tours for sexual misconduct are practically rote at this point: Transgressors get plenty of airtime to beg for forgiveness for touching butts, to come out of the closet, to recommend a supposedly great pizza dough cinnamon roll recipe. Meanwhile, victims or survivors are largely forgotten after the accusation becomes public. It’s relatively new that women like Lorena or Hill are getting some space to tell their stories on their own terms, and still rare that the opportunity is afforded to women of color in particular.

Lorena is timely not only in the sense that conversations about sexual abuse and assault have taken center stage over the past year, but also because anxiety about immigrants taking advantage of the system and of poor, unwitting white Americans is currently at a fever pitch. When Lorena and John Wayne Bobbitt got married in 1989, she was 20, and in the US on a student visa. “There’s women who are opportunists, gold diggers, they use you as a stepping stone to advance their career,” Bobbitt says, referring to his ex-wife in an interview in Lorena. “These women, they know that their backup is [to] use law enforcement to their advantage by saying, ‘You know what, if you leave or you fuck up this relationship or you don’t get my citizenship, I’ll call the cops.’”

Despite Bobbitt’s own laundry list of arrests — many of which are for domestic violence against past partners — he still uses Lorena’s citizenship (or lack thereof) as supposed proof that she was unstable, demanding, and manipulative. “She was obsessed with having her American dream, her American dream, her American dream,” Bobbitt told Vanity Fair. “She just wanted too much, too fast.” And even in a supposedly silly reality series like 90 Day Fiancé (a show about bad American people marrying other, noncitizen but still-often-bad people), it’s clear that many of the same biases against immigrants that were at play in the Bobbitt case are alive and well today.

Lorena takes great pains to draw similarities between then and now, reminding viewers that domestic violence is still a secret shame for countless women, and that it’s still incredibly challenging to get away from your abuser. The last episode of the series is called “The Cycle of Abuse” and opens with a slideshow of women’s bruises and scars from domestic violence. “This is about a victim and a survivor and this is about what’s happening in our world today,” Lorena recently told the New York Times.

And that may be true of what Lorena experienced at the hands of the media, as well as her husband. “If Lorena’s story hit today, Fox News would take the place of Howard Stern, and the 24-hour news cycle would focus on what she did, rather than what he did,” says Kim Gandy, the president of the National Network to End Domestic Violence. Documentaries like Lorena are timely for a reason — a bad reason — and instead of feeling smug for finally listening, 25 years later, it’s worth taking the opportunity to see what we can do better now.

While the outrage around Brett Kavanaugh’s confirmation to the Supreme Court this past fall might have sounded deafening depending on who’s inside your political bubble, the result is ultimately the same as it was for Clarence Thomas after Anita Hill’s testimony. He’s in, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Meanwhile, Christine Blasey Ford, the woman who came forward to detail Kavanaugh’s alleged assault, was left unable to work and in need of a security detail.

I was 3 years old during Lorena Bobbitt’s trial. I was 7 during the Clinton–Lewinsky scandal. I was a few months old for Anita Hill’s hearing. When Blasey Ford testified late last year, I was 27. And yet somehow her testimony still felt like unbearable déjà vu, as if I had lived through this already and already knew the inevitable conclusion.

Today, though entertainment industry figures like Harvey Weinstein and Les Moonves are facing some long-overdue music for accusations of sexual assault and harassment, it’s taken decades for that to happen. For figures like Bryan Singer and R. Kelly — both the subject of recent reporting that details sexual abuse allegations stretching back many years, both of whom continue to deny any wrongdoing — it remains to be seen what lasting consequences, if any, they will suffer. Their accusers, like Lorena, have been vulnerable people from already marginalized groups — in these cases young, primarily queer boys and black girls — who have been either painted as liars and manipulators or outright dismissed.

What’s upsetting about these stories is not just the abuses they describe, but the public indifference they often get in response; the rumors and allegations around Kelly, for example, have done astonishingly little to tarnish his celebrity or dim public affection until very recently, following the release of the Lifetime documentary series Surviving R. Kelly. And it’s taken 10 years since Michael Jackson’s death for a significant documentary about the allegations of child molestation against him, HBO’s Leaving Neverland, to crack through the surface.

Ten or 20 years from now, will we be watching a heartbreaking five-part docuseries on the alleged victims of Bryan Singer? On the many accusations against him, on how they were ignored for years, on how they sort of broke through in early 2019, how they quickly petered out, and how he continued to get work — and watch his movies win awards — even after the allegations were made public? (Hopefully not.) Is years or decades of hindsight the only way any of us can begin talking about things like domestic violence or sexual assault? The distance might make it feel safer to discuss, especially when powerful people are involved, but it also means the conversation starts far too late.

Lorena also reminds audiences that she was the subject of wild cruelty from the media and comedians during and after her trial. “David Letterman used to call me his girlfriend,” Lorena says in the docuseries. “The jokes did bother me, because I didn’t know to handle it. People were talking about my background. They were saying I was just a hot-blooded Latina woman. It hurts my heart. It hurts my brain. It hurts my whole body.”

Howard Stern practically made a career out of promoting Lorena’s ex-husband — he had Bobbitt on his show repeatedly and during his 1994 Rotten New Year’s Eve Pageant special, raising money for Bobbitt’s medical expenses. During the pageant, Stern airs a mocking reenactment of Lorena’s crime. “A penis is a terrible thing to waste,” Stern says, holding two pieces of a fake member, cut in half, aloft. The Bee Gees performed a parody song that included the advice “Don’t ever piss off your wife.” The metaphor is so blatant it’s embarrassing: A man’s penis is his power, and this woman had the audacity to try to take it away. She needed to be put in her place. “To me it was just cruel,” Lorena told the New York Times. “Why would they laugh about my suffering?”

In hindsight, jokes like these may seem to be in such bad taste that it’s a wonder Stern still has a career. But jokes at the expense of victims and marginalized people haven’t gone away, and neither have most of the comedians who make them. Amy Schumer used to crack jokes about Mexicans being rapists; she apologized for it years later. Sarah Silverman did blackface in 2007; it took her until 2015 to apologize for it (sort of??). Louis C.K. is, currently, mocking the Parkland shooting survivors and joking about his history of masturbating in front of nonconsenting women, all to applause from comedy club audiences. Every Saturday, Michael Che and Colin Jost turn Saturday Night Live into a Statler and Waldorf sketch where they complain about having to learn a few new gender pronouns. None of this will age well, but even in the moment, plenty of us don’t find these “jokes” all that funny to begin with.

The only tangible thing to learn from watching Lorena, besides the full facts of her case, is that the strongest advantage people like Lorena have on their side is time. You just have to wait. You have to wait out the cruel late-night jokes and the sexist media coverage about you and the gossip and conjecture and slut-shaming and mockery. You have to wait two and a half decades, and then maybe, if your case was a big enough deal, someone will make a movie about you, and you’ll get a chance to wear a nice blouse and trousers and sit on a couch and tell your story from the beginning, without interruption, for the first time in your life. The world will turn in your direction, and your abusers will look worse and worse with every passing day (even if they’ve evaded any concrete kind of consequences), but first — you have to wait.

Scandalous stories like Lorena’s are also undoubtedly complicated by the fact that they don’t only boil down to a bad man and a woman wronged. Even in light of widely publicized and well-produced reconsiderations, not all viewers will be on board with Lorena, who did commit a crime, just as Lewinsky is far from a fully redeemed figure now in the public eye. And both women will always be punchlines to some people; even for the few who do get their turn to reframe the stories of their own lives, not everyone is going to listen.

“We always want to find a victim, a villain, and a hero,” says Marshall. “We accept the story we’re told. Having everyone filed away as a certain kind of person and every event filed away as a certain kind of story is how we impose order in the world.” But if you’re able to turn away from that tidy story, and hear what the people who lived it are really saying, “you get closer to the truth.” ●

CORRECTION

February 19, 2019, at 6:34 p.m.

The name of the Michael Jackson HBO documentary Leaving Neverland was misstated in an earlier version of this post.

#news #tw: domestic abuse #tw rape

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santiagoswagger · 6 years

Text

you’re already home where you feel love

For the last (!!!) week of b99 hiatus creations. I can’t believe this fic collection is ending but I’m so pumped for the show to come back this week! Thank you for all the support on these. It made the long hiatus a little less hellish :)

Jake convinces Amy to watch all five Die Hard movies with him, and Amy gets more than she bargained for.

Set somewhere between "The Funeral" and "The Mattress."

A full bowl of popcorn sits in the center of her doily-covered coffee table, right next to a giant bag of gummy bears and a tall liter of orange soda. As Amy surveys the diabetic chaos that has taken over her living room, she sighs to herself.

She can’t believe she agreed to this.

She’d tried to put it off for as long as she could but Jake was nothing if not persistent, especially now that he had new, not-so-work-appropriate ways to distract her into agreeing to whatever he wanted. Like watching every single Die Hard movie together for the first time.

‘Compromise is the hallmark of a healthy relationship,’ her mother had always said when Amy was young. Her parents have the strongest relationship of anyone she knows, so she figures if she wants things to work out with Jake – and she really, really does – she supposes she can watch his favorite franchise with him, just for a night.

Then again, her mom ended up with eight kids, so maybe compromise is overrated.

Jake bounds over from the kitchen, carrying a pizza box (she nixed his choice of display temperature meat supreme, her one bit of control over the night) and looking happier than she’s ever seen him.

He glances up at her as he situates the food. “Why do you look like you lost a bet?” he laughs.

She flops on the couch and crosses her arms indignantly. “I wish I’d lost a bet. I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Oh, Amy,” he says as he shakes his head, grabbing the remote and sitting himself next to her on the couch. “Die Hard isn't a punishment, it’s a privilege. Just watch, you’re gonna fall in love.” He triumphantly presses play on the movie and digs into the pizza.

She’s seen the first one plenty of times before, so the movie commences with a lot of eating and the playful banter they excel at. In a lot of ways, they’re back to being Peralta and Santiago, two partners arguing about the best cop movies of all time. There’s just a little less couch between them now and she doesn’t blush with embarrassment when their fingers brush in the popcorn bowl. She spends most of the movie watching Jake as he mouths the lines under his breath and pumps his fist every time John McClane does something heroic. His eyes are awed and glued to the screen as if he’s watching it for the first time, and she doesn’t think she’s seen anyone more magnetic.

The second movie is a little hazier, as she’s a couple beers in by this point, which makes the whole thing a lot more enjoyable. She even lets loose and eats a handful of gummy bears halfway through, shocking and delighting her boyfriend.

By the third movie, she’s definitely a little drunk and laughing loudly and easily at all the wrong parts. Jake doesn’t seem to mind, though, especially since she’s moved much closer to him on the couch and her head is resting comfortably on his shoulder. Every once in a while, he glances down at her when he thinks she isn’t looking and she sees his lips quirk into a soft smile. He only ever smiles like that around her, she’s noticed.

At some point during the fourth movie, Jake moves to wrap his arm securely around her waist, drawing absentminded patterns into her skin with his fingers as he watches the screen. It’s like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it, he just wants to be closer to her, and Amy thinks her heart might actually explode. Being touched by Jake is still so new and exciting, but it also feels strangely familiar. She’s not sure why they didn’t start touching like this a long time ago.

She doesn’t make it through the fifth movie. She falls asleep in the middle of the first act, her head snugly tucked into the crook of his neck. Jake gently wakes her as the credits roll, knowing how much she hates going to bed without taking off her makeup and brushing her teeth.

“Ames,” he whispers. “Wake up, it’s time for bed.”

She groans. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

He snorts. “Even when you’re half-asleep you find ways to argue with me. Unbelievable.”

She smiles as she opens her eyes and sees his, emanating warmth and making her feel tingly all the way down to her toes.

“So, what’d you think?” he asks. “Are you ready to admit that Die Hard is the best cop movie of all time, once and for all?”

She pauses, pretends to think. “Nope, still Training Day.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately and shakes his head. “So rude, after I set up this whole marathon and bought all these snacks for you.”

They make their way to her bedroom, Jake continuing to tease her as they go about their nighttime routine. Her last thought before she drifts to sleep is that she’s pretty sure Jake was right: she’s gonna fall in love.

#b99 #brooklyn nine nine #jake x amy #peraltiago #b99 fic #peraltiago fic #thank you thank you thank you for reading!

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littlecrookedheart · 6 years

Text

Shadows

Pairing : Clove and Elliot | Tom x Clove

Rating : Fluff, M for language

Word Count : 6,080

Author’s Note : Please take caution reading this if you are sensitive to sexual harassment (in the family of cat calling / staring.) Please take caution reading if you struggle with grief / death discussion.

Disclaimer : I do not own these characters. I’ve added a bit of a flare to them for the sake of this piece, but they do not belong to me.

Clove grabbed her phone from the bedside table, jumping up as she saw the time and Elliot’s missed messages, quickly typing back a reply. She swiped a sweater and black jeggings from her bag, running her fingers through her hair like a comb and leaving Tom with a note and a kiss on the cheek.

She pulled up to the driveway, sending her text before seeing Elliot already running up to the car, a wide smile on his face.

“You look sunny today.”

“I've been up for awhile.”

“Nope, Scooter, not what I meant. You look happy.”

Elliot shyly grinned, playing with his sleeves as she drove off down the road.

“I um...I may have asked Robbie to a dance.”

“Whaaat!”

“I know I'm not going to school with him this year but he should still go, right?”

“For sure. How'd you do it?”

“It was so dumb. I wrote it on the inside of a box of breadsticks.”

“Carbs are never dumb, first of all. Second, that's really cute!”

“You think? They're his favorite, you know the ones from that pizza place that has the best bread?”

“Yeah, the one by the spice market?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, critical question. Does he dip them in ranch, garlic sauce, or marinara?”

“How is that a critical question?”

“He's practically my brother in law-”

“Clove!”

“It matters!”

Elliot rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Garlic.”

“Ah, see? That wasn't so hard. And now he has an extra stamp of approval from your favorite me!”

“You're my least favorite you.”

“Elliot, you know how much I love you, but I will dump you out of this car.”

“Right here? Nah. We’re by that diaper place.”

“You lost me.”

“This whole area smells like a diaper.”

“No way?” Clove rolled her window down, immediately making a face and closing it. “Wow. It really does smell like a diaper.”

He chuckled, turning away to stifle the sound, “Like massive diaper.”

“I've considered it and I think that this would be the perfect Elliot dumping zone.”

“Welcome! Just the two of you?” The hostess perked, smiling from behind a couple of menus. Before either of them could reply, she gestured for them to follow her, leaving the menus at the table. “Your server will be over in just a moment.”

“Sit next to me, Scoot. Miss you.”

Elliot rolled his eyes and slid in the booth next to her, immediately flipping to a place in the menu full of waffles and pancakes.

A few moments later, a server came to take their order quickly dropping off drinks and a basket of toast.

“This is what I live for.”

“Toast in a basket?”

“Carbs!” Clove spread butter and jam on two pieces of toast, stacking them before taking a big bite. “I could literally just have this and I'd be content.”

“What are you gonna get?”

“I don't know! What do you think I should?”

“We've been sitting here for like ten minutes and you haven't decided what you want? I'm getting the supreme pancake thing.”

“Oh! Do they still have those birthday cake pancakes?”

“We have the birthday cake waffles,” the server said as he reappeared, pulling out his notepad. “Your birthday?”

“Nah, they just taste like dessert and I like dessert.”

“I haven't tried them but they do look delicious…” He gave her a long, full bodied once over, “Those cakes.”

Elliot looked to her with a scowl, confused.

“Not even trying to hide it, huh?”

The server moved his eyes along her curves, obviously staring at her chest. She pretended not to be bothered, zipping her jacket up higher.

“I need a sec. Scoot, go first.”

“Um...okay...I want the pancake supreme breakfast.”

“Sausage or bacon?”

“Both?”

“Okay. And for you, sweetcheeks?”

Clove started cracking up, holding a finger up to signify that she needed a moment. She stood up, facing him straight on.

“You think I'm hot, right? Do you always creepy stare at hot girls?”

“I'm not supposed to flirt on the job, sweetie-”

“'Sweetie,' my foot in your ass. I hope you like the unemployment line.”

She marched up to the front desk, pounding her fist on the wooden counter. The server quickly followed over, murmuring under his breath.

“Hi! I'd really like to see the manager. Like, head honcho. Who is in charge?”

“Ma’am, if you'll please-”

“I'm ma'am now? Twenty seconds ago I was, ‘sweet cheeks.’”

Elliot grabbed his phone to record her, a man with a large beard approaching her at the counter.

“Hello, I'm Peter. I'm the manager, what can I help you with?”

“I came here for a breakfast with my kid brother. He's right over there,” she nodded toward him, “Instead, I'm being sexually harassed by the guy that's meant to be my server.”

“Are we sure this wasn't a misunderstanding?”

“Right, I suppose I misunderstood him staring at my tits and making a comment about my ‘cakes,’ along with calling me, ‘sweet cheeks.’”

Peter's face turned a deep shade of red as he whipped around to face the server, who stood with his hands up in surrender.

“Didn't mean anything by it! If she didn't have those things out in the open like that-”

“I'm wearing a sweater, asshole. I could walk in here completely naked and you being a creep would still not be okay!” She used her hands to talk, keeping her volume cool and collected despite the rage in her eyes, “Clothes don't determine consent! Having breasts does not mean I'm dying for you to talk to me like that! You need to take a few lessons on common fucking courtesy, because my dude, you are lacking.”

“My office, Clancy. Now.”

Peter turned back to face her, shaking his head, “I am so sorry. He will be dealt with and your meal today will be free of charge.”

“Thanks, but listen, Peter. First of all, don't doubt someone when they say they're being sexually harassed. Second, he doesn't need to be, ‘dealt with,’ he needs to be fired. Keeping him employed here poses a risk to every single female patron that walks through that door with your seal of approval. That isn't an establishment most people want to support.”

As she turned away, Elliot began to clap, attracting the attention of a few other customers who joined in. She did a little twirl and bow, elbowing him as she got back in the booth.

“Tom thinks you're a badass.”

“Did you record me?”

“Yeah, because you're a badass. So I sent it to Tom.”

“Don't ever be like that guy, Scoot. You're so much better than that.”

“I'm not gonna objectify someone's body. I know how bad that is.”

“You're right. And you're smart for remembering.”

“You sure you're okay? That guy was a creep.”

“I'm fine! No scratches. Plus, I felt pretty brave doing what I did.”

“Yeah..you were.”

She wiped her mouth, grinning at him, “So...why do you think that area smells like diaper?”

“Dunno,” he shoved a huge bite of pancakes in his mouth, “But it didn't smell like that until after the flood.”

“Something wicked in those waters.”

Elliot glared at her, pouring more syrup over his food.

“Sorry, jeez. Something more wicked. Like poop.”

He snorted, covering his nose and mouth, “Goober, don't say, ‘poop,’ at the table.”

“Okay, dad. I forgot we can't say any of the gross words.”

Elliot’s face went slack, a weak smile slowly curling on his lips. “Dad hated that.”

“He did! He was the only one who was allowed to talk about poop while we ate.”

“I don't know why that made me really sad.”

“It’s okay, Scooter. We’re allowed to miss them.”

At the front of the restaurant, a small girl sat beside her mother, looking up as she watched her reapply her lipstick after their meal. Elliot’s gaze locked on them, his fake smile beginning to become genuine. Clove turned her head and watched them for a moment before saying, “That’s adorable.”

“I remember you used to do that with mom.”

“You do?”

“I remember when we were younger and you’d sit on the hamper in the bathroom and watch mom do her makeup. She always said, ‘Clove, draw your eyebrows as high as your hopes will take you-’”

“And when you dream, aim higher,” she joined him in unison, putting her arm around him. “I miss her.”

“Me too.”

“Remember when she’d sing to you when you were little? You’d hum along but never sing. She told you that your lungs were made to belt it out and you were doing the world and injustice by keeping it in.”

“I really can’t sing, either. She was the one doing the world and injustice by wanting me to belt it out.”

“Nah, Scoot. She just loves you.”

“Do…you believe in heaven?”

“I’ve seen enough of it to know it’s out there.”

“I don’t know if I do…but if it’s real, mom’s there. Dad too, but…mom is like the queen of the angels.”

“You know something? It might sound crazy, but-”

“Can you feel her, too?”

“Yeah. Right now, sitting across the table,” she pointed her fork to the empty spot, “Telling you that this hair looks so nice since it’s grown out.”

“She’d like Tom, I think.”

Clove’s eyes welled with tears, picturing a world in which her mother may have known him.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s just bittersweet.”

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him sniffle against her.

“Mom would love Robbie. God, Scooter. She’d be so proud of you. I know she is, wherever she is. They both are.”

“Do you think..” Elliot poked at his breakfast, choosing his words. “Do you think they’d care? Y’know…about me…liking guys?”

“I don’t have to think, I know they’d be happy to know that you were being true to yourself. I know they’d care, but only about your happiness. They’d never treat you differently.”

“Yeah…but how can you know that? It’s not like I ever got close to saying anything.”

“Because I know they didn’t mind. You know, one time I told mom that I liked girls.”

“You like girls?”

Clove shrugged, finishing off her drink, “Yeah. Not super often, but if I met a girl and I got feelings for her, I wouldn’t think any differently. One time when I was younger than you, though? I had a crush on our old neighbor. Remember Mia?”

“The girl with short hair? She was so much older than you!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t care. It was just a harmless crush, anyway. I told mom, ‘I think Mia is really hot.’ and she just laughed and said, ‘I don’t blame you.’”

“She really said that?”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I feel bad that we’ve mostly talked about mom.”

“Dad was great, but Scooter, me and you were always glued to mom’s hip. Of course we’re gonna have these times where we just talk about her, but we will have those times about dad, too.”

“My favorite thing about dad was his Saturday morning speech.”

“Oh, God. Kill me now.”

Elliot cleared his throat and began to do an impression. “Today is Saturday and I am going to sit right here-”

“In my pj’s-”

“And no kid or wife-”

“Is going to make me put on real pants!”

“-So if you need anything today…”

“Ask your mother or call a delivery service.”

They both stared at one another for a moment before doubling over in laughter.

“There is no question where we get our humor from.”

“Hey, Clove? I know we can’t visit their gravestones…not today, at least. But could we do something for them?”

“Whatcha have in mind?”

“Maybe we could write notes and burn them or something.”

“Huh. Okay. You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Clove pulled her jacket on, slipping a twenty dollar bill to Elliot.

“What’s that for?”

“Being you. But can you run up and get grandpa’s to go? It’s free like the rest of this meal, thanks to Clancy.“

He made his way to the counter to grab the order while Clove pulled out her phone, swiping through a photo album she had complied of she and Elliot with their parents through the years. He met her back at the table and slid the change under his glass for a tip, looking over her shoulder.

“Come on, Goob. Let’s go.”

“Just up that hill.”

Elliot pointed ahead to a pathway of trees, dead and barren from Winter’s wrath, the surrounding woods plush with evergreens. Atop the hill sat a dead patch of grass, remnants of a bonfire still smoking at a makeshift fire pit.

“Someone had fun here last night,” Clove smiled, “I love bonfires.”

“Actually…that was me. I came up here to think.”

A look of concern crossed her face as she sat on the ground next to him, bumping his knee with her own.

“You’re not just playing with fire…right?”

“No, I swear. I just got the idea from the fire last night. Watching the branches and sticks curl up and basically just become ash? It..it was like..why can’t bad memories do that, too?”

“Because memories are a part of us.”

“I wish not all of them were.”

“Tom told me something once that helped me a lot. Can I share it with you?”

Elliot nodded, pulling his beanie off. He stretched it in his hands, looking into the distance.

“We are the people we are. Our grandpa is the guy who was involved with the cult. Our parents..were murdered by that cult. We can’t run from it, but we have to remember that it doesn’t define us.”

“I don’t know if I know what you mean.”

“When you look at me, do you see any of that?”

“No.”

“What do you see?”

“My sister. That’s it.”

“Exactly, Scooter. Because we aren’t our past. Nobody should ever look at you and see those things, especially yourself. You were amazing before, during, and now, after all of that. You aren’t, ‘Elliot, kid who almost died however many times.’ You’re Elliot, my baby brother. You’re smart, you’ve got a great head on your shoulders. You’re a big sweetie-”

“Don’t push it.”

“…Even though you don’t believe it.”

“Thanks, Clove. I guess you’re right. I don’t think Robbie is anything like his dad or something..that’s kind of similar, right?”

“Yeah, it’s similar.”

Elliot laid back, folding his arms under his head. Clove joined him, watching the overcast sky as the clouds drifted along. She thought of the moments in between the sadness, taking her brother’s hand in her own.

“We made it.”

“Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”

“And we’re gonna keep on making it. Somewhere up there in all of those clouds, mom and dad are there. They’re looking at us now and they’re proud, I can feel it in my heart.” She placed a hand to her chest, choking back tears, “One day in a couple years, you’re gonna graduate high school, and you’re gonna look in the seats and wish they were there. It’s gonna feel like acid in your heart, but I need you to know something.”

She turned to him, wiping her eyes with her other hand, “I swear to you, no matter what you feel, they will be there. I will be there. You still have a family, okay?”

Elliot dove forward, embracing her tightly.

“Why did they have to leave, Clove?”

She squeezed her eyes, desperate to hold back her emotions as he sobbed in her arms. Be strong. Be strong.

“I don’t know, Scooter. They are right here with us, right now,” she wiped his tears, pressing her hand over his, aligning it at his heart, “You can’t tell me you don’t feel that.”

“I’m so scared..I-” he buried his face in his hands, “It’s been this long and I’m still so scared to lose you, too.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’m not leaving.” Clove’s arms wrapped around him, rocking back and forth as she began to hum, her touch maternal against his heartache. “We’re okay, Elliot. Breathe with me,” she said, her voice soft. She inhaled deeply, waiting for him to mirror her, slowing down his sobs one breath at a time.

Once he’d gone quiet, her humming the only sound against the blowing wind, she kissed the crown of his head and tightened her embrace.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He sat up, using his sleeves to wipe his face.

“Still wanna burn a note?”

“Yeah.”

She dug through her purse, taking out a miniature journal and a pen. She scribbled something of her own and handed him the items, digging a book of matches from her things.

“Do you want me to read it?” Elliot asked, pulling his hat back on.

“Only if you want to. I didn’t think you would.”

“Um…Doctor Ripley…wants me to be more open with you.”

Their therapist, a kind, plump man with thinning hair and very large, square glasses, had been working with Elliot twice weekly over the past year and a half. Clove joined him in seeing a therapist, sometimes the same, sometimes a tall woman with a harsh smokers rasp and eyes like a river. Always helpful, regardless - and she was delighted to see that Elliot, too, was having a good experience.

“Okay.”

He took a shaky breath and cleared his throat before starting, “Mom and Dad…I’m not mad anymore. I’m sorry that I was. I didn’t know how to..how to think about you actually not being here anymore. I kept..thinking about you, hoping we could go home again. I think it took me this long to let you go..and I just want to. I want to let you go. I love you so much…but you deserve to be free.”

Clove swiped the matchstick along the panel, placing the flame along the edge of his note. He dropped it, watching as it blew to the blackened pile of sticks. Once it dissipated, it was nothing but a clipping the size of a snowflake, and it floated off with the breeze.

“I’ll go now.”

She dug the tip of her boot into the dirt, doing her best to keep her eyes from flooding.

“Mom…Dad..”

Elliot placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling her body tremble beneath his touch. “You don’t have to, Goob.”

“It’s okay. Mom, Dad…you taught me love for so long I never actually realized that one day, I wouldn’t feel yours anymore. I just want to say thank you for Elliot…”

He looked to her, his brows bent in confusion.

“Thank you for Elliot because when I look at him, your love is everywhere. All around me. And I don’t think I could live without him for one second.”

She lit a new match, placing her note on the embers.

“I didn’t write this..but I want to add something. Grandma Josephine…wherever you are, thank you for my mom. Because she has always been an angel, and me and Elliot miss her so much. I wish I could have met you before you were hurt. But all of you…Elliot’s right. We have to let you go. You have to be free.” Clove reached for her brother’s hand, looking to the sky. “We’ll always love you.”

“Always.”

Their hands linked as they looked to the sky, taking in the crisp air. Elliot reached to hug her again, his eyes going wide as he broke away, “Grandpa’s breakfast!”

“Oh, shit! Okay, ready? I’m ready.”

She waved goodbye as Elliot ran inside, dodging many beginning drops of rain. She pulled up Tom’s contact and called him, leaning her head back against the seat rest.

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Hey. You busy?”

“Nope. Did Elliot tell you he sent me a video of you absolutely slaying that-”

“Tommy?”

Her voice was breaking, chest riddled in emotion and a heavy sound of tears.

“What’s wrong, angel?”

“I just really need you right now.”

“Okay, I’m here. Want me to meet you anywhere?”

“Are you home?”

“Yeah. Come over.”

“I’m gonna take a minute to myself and I’ll be on my way.”

“I’ll come pick you up if you need me to. Can you drive?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“It’s gonna be okay, my love. See you when you get here.”

Tom hung up the phone, scrubbing his face with his palm before sending Elliot a text.

He grabbed his keys and ran outside, speeding to the farmers market down the street before Clove arrived. Nearly slipping on the slick sidewalk, he pummeled through the door, running into an elderly woman who was sweeping the floor. The air smelled of fresh produce and rain, his eyes scanning around for plants and flowers.

“You okay there, son?”

“Yeah! Sorry, I slipped.”

“You’re in a real hurry.”

“The love of my life is on her way over and she’s bawling her eyes out. I need flowers. Can you point me-”

“What kind?”

Tom pulled his phone out to verify the texts from Elliot.

“Red carnations and white daisies.”

“You want the mini carnations?”

“What looks better?”

“The mini ones.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

The woman gathered a bundle of flowers and wrapped them in newspaper, tying a ribbon around the base.

“Wait, what are those tiny tiny white little things that come with flowers? On green branches?”

“Baby’s breath. I’ll add some.”

“Thank you!” He pulled out his wallet, but she shooed him away.

“You came in here and nearly bowled me over. I asked if you were okay and you didn’t say, ‘a girl I like,’ or, ‘my girlfriend,’ you said the love of your life.”

“Yeah?”

“Young people finding that is something special. On the house.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah, now you go on.”

Tom smiled and ran out the door, jumping in the car.

When he pulled up to his apartment, sheets of rain blanketed the sky, Clove’s car nowhere to be seen. Safe, he thought, darting from the car to the front door, pushing it open to see her already sitting on the couch, her hair and sweater soaking wet.

He set the bouquet down along with his keys and grabbed a towel from the hall closet, pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch.

Her eyes were rimmed in red, face puffy from her tears. He pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight as she collapsed in his arms, crying with all of her might.

“I’m here, I’m here.”

Once her crying slowed, he unfolded the towel, scrunching her curls within it to dry them. Lifting her sweater over her head, he dried her skin, draping the blanket around her shoulders.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna get you a top.”

She nodded, sniffling, using her sweater to wipe her face.

Tom shuffled through his drawers, finding an oversized t-shirt and a washcloth, stopping by the bathroom to warm up the cloth before heading back to her spot on the couch.

“Okay. Hand me that towel?”

He took it from her, drying the top of her back and spots on her hair he’d missed as he stood behind her, unhooking her bra before handing her the shirt. He smoothed his hands over her shoulders, running his fingers along the imprint of her bra straps, noting the indentation across her back where the band rested.

She pulled the top on, kicking off her jeans as she nestled into the corner of the couch, Tom squeezing his way next to her. He wiped her face with the washcloth and kissed her cheek, pulling her into his embrace.

“You know..when I was little before Elliot was born, sometimes my mom and I would order pizza and have a girls night. She’d bake cookies and play with my hair…”

Tom zoned out for a second, her hair in his hands as she told this story, her voice aching in grief. And back to reality, he took her hand, kissing the top of it.

“…It was just…everything.”

“Missing them extra today?”

“Yeah. Elliot and I talked about them and it was so nice but just..I can’t help but be heartbroken when I think about some things.”

“Do you want to tell me about those things?”

“Graduation. I know it was just a sheet of paper, but I did it, you know? They weren’t there. They won’t be there when I open my store. They…”

She choked on her words, tears spilling from her eyes again. Tom’s own eyes began to water as he wrapped her in his arms even tighter, easing her through the moment.

“If I ever get married, I- I always dreamed of them being there. And I know I have Elliot, I just…it’s not the same. I dreamt of it my whole life, Tommy. They’ll never be there. They won’t see me fall in love with you every single day. They won’t see it if I…what if we have a baby one day? How can I explain to my kids how amazing they were, but ‘sorry, you’ll never meet them?’ It’s just…it’s not fair. And I’m angry!” Her voice grew louder, “I’m so mad and I’m so fucking upset because I deserved them to be there. I deserved them holding my hands as I walked down the aisle. I’m angry and I’m sad and I feel like my chest is caving in.”

Tom rubbed her back, gently holding her to his chest.

“It’s not fair. You’re right. It’s the opposite of fair. But you know what you’re forgetting? They see you, Clove. You know they do.”

“Seeing me from another plane doesn’t make me feel less alone.”

“It’s know, baby. I wish I could mend your heart a million times over. Let me see those eyes.”

She looked to him and gave him a small, sad smile.

“They’re so fucking proud of you. Look at you, you’re a powerhouse. Not only are you a total badass, you’re an amazing artist. You have the best heart. The best head on your shoulders. You’re everything, Clove. And if for one second you ever feel alone, remember that you will always, always have my heart and soul. Plus, you know what? You can be pissed off. Throw something, kick a wall in, punch me in the face! It’s justified. You are allowed to be angry!”

She blinked a few times in a deadpan stare, “Did you just yell at me to punch you in the face?”

“Yes. Punch me, baby. If you feel better after beating the shit out of someone, I’ll volunteer.”

She giggled, his laughter joining hers.

“I’d never hurt you. I just…I’m so..”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m gonna be here every step of the way, even if that means making you laugh at me.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because you’re the love of my life. Oh! Speaking of.”

He hopped up and grabbed the flowers, handing her the bouquet.

“Tommy…”

“Do you like them?”

He kneeled on the floor next to her, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“They’re perfect. My mom…you..you remembered?”

“Elliot helped me out, but yeah. I remembered the story where she put them in every window on your birthday. You said that’s where you got that from…and if you have kids, you’ll do the same for them.”

She held them to her chest and kissed him, his lips like feathers against her own, the warmth of his love radiating from where he knelt.

“I’m gonna love you forever.”

“I’m gonna love you for even longer. And so do they. Their love for you is limitless, angel. They see you. They’re proud of you. They love you.”

“I’m wish they could have met you.”

“Me too.”

Late in the evening, Tom stood in the open doorway, listening to the birds sing after the storm. Clove sat curled up on the couch, streaming YouTube videos on Tom’s laptop as she munched on Doritos.

“Do you mind if I ask Elliot over to stay the night with us? I just really want him here.”

“Absolutely. I’ll text him and pick him up.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s cool. We can get dinner on the way back.”

He sent the text, stepping inside to put his shoes on.

“Your hair looks nice like that.”

“What, like wild? You just like it down.”

“I do. You can’t blame me, you look like some fancy poet.”

“Now, that’s a compliment I’ll take. Elliot says he’ll be ready in fifteen. I should head over. What do you want food wise?”

“Can I say…junk? I want junk.”

“I can do that. Toppings?”

“You know me so well. Just a bunch of cheese…and some of that garlic bread?”

“Say no more, my lady. I’ll tell him to text when we’re on the way.”

“Tommy?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

After picking up Elliot and a massive order of pizza, Tom pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store, taking the key from the ignition.

“Ice cream?”

“Hell yeah!”

Tom chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, what kind?”

“Anything chocolate.”

“You…really, really are Clove’s brother.”

“What of it?! Can you get me some tea? I have mone-”

“Shut up, dork. I don’t want your money. Do you also have a weird flavored tea addiction? I’m grabbing raspberry while I’m in here anyway.”

“I might like it.”

“I might dump it on you when I get back then. Put that money away.”

Elliot stuffed the bill back in his pocket, trying not to grin as widely as he was.

At Tom’s return, he grabbed the grocery bags, sifting through them to eye the items inside.

“You’re like, a really good boyfriend.”

“What do you say that for?”

“Clove is lucky to have you. She had a bad day and you went like,” he gestured with his hands, “Massively all out. People don’t usually do that.”

“I’m in love with her. That’s what you do when someone you love is hurting.”

“Thanks for being there for her. I know she loves you like that, too.”

“Can I…Elliot, I really want to tell you something. But it can’t make it back to Clove.”

“Okay?”

“Um..I have been thinking and I just-”

“Watch out!”

Tom slammed on the brake just in time to avoid a loose dog sprinting down the road, owners chasing behind.

“Who does that!”

“This town isn’t ever boring, huh?”

“I feel like I almost shit my heart out.”

“Same.”

They parked in Tom’s parking spot, unhooking their seat belts simultaneously.

“I’ll get the bags if you get the boxes?” Elliot smiled, reaching behind him to grab the few grocery bags they’d gotten.

“So wait, your mom was this jack of every trade, and your dad sold cars?”

“He said he’d been selling cars since he was seventeen.” Elliot chimed, slurping what was left of his ice cream.

“It sounds so boring!”

“Mom was the magic, dad was…the stage?”

“Scooter, what does that even mean?”

“Like, mom was all lights and colors, ya know? But dad was just stable. And he always would support her.”

“That…was a great metaphor. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“You should be.”

“Oh! Another time, mom came in from being out all morning and called a family meeting-”

“Oh my god.”

“You remember, Scoot? Oh yeah. She came in with this old, hideous, weird beaded wedding dress from the thrift shop. She said she needed to work her magic and it would be as good as new.”

“Was it?”

Clove and Elliot looked to each other and said, “No!”

Elliot laughed, “She made it big enough for the neighbors dog. That’s it! Mia, right Clove? Her first girl crush.”

“I’ve heard of Mia.”

“What? You have?”

“He’s my boyfriend, Elliot, what did you expect? He just had no idea?”

“Maaaybe?”

“Nah, she told me about Mia the same day I told her about-”

“Ben Park.”

“The comic guy?”

“Yeah, and Tom’s first guy crush.”

“You like guys?”

“I don’t really have a preference. I’d be into anyone who made the world light up, but I don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

He kissed Clove sweetly, pulling away quickly as not to annoy Elliot.

“Wow. This is actually really cool to know. I guess..I guess more people get it than I thought.”

“You’re never alone, man. Even if it feels like it.”

“You guys are cooler than I give you credit for. Can we do this again sometime? Maybe Robbie could have dinner with us.”

“We can do this any time. My place is open to both of you whenever.”

“Oh…speaking of. Scooter, what do you think about me moving a town over?”

“Why?”

“We’ve just been thinking about finding somewhere-”

“Like you guys living together? That’d be cool. We could do this more. Plus, you could give me my dresser back that you took to your studio.”

“If we can, we’ll get a place big enough for you to have your own room for when you’re over. And close enough to not really make a difference, like less than an hour.”

“Really?” Elliot laid back against the couch, “Cool.”

Tom pulled an array of blankets from the closet, tossing them behind him.

“What are you doing, baby?”

“Fort time.”

“Oh my god! For real? Scooter, when was the last time we built a fort?!”

“Like your birthday that one year?”

“Oh boy. I love forts.”

They spent the next thirty minutes layering blankets over the furniture, tossing them over one another, laughing until their sides hurt. Finally, after many slips and fumbles, the three of them settled in beneath the fort, television streaming old Adam Sandler comedies.

“Elliot’s out officially,” Tom whispered, “We had fun tonight, didn’t we?”

“So much fun.”

“It’s kinda funny, when I was talking to him in the car before we got the food, he had much of the same sentiments as you regarding your parents. Like…different experiences, but still saw them the same way.”

He climbed behind her, holding her close.

“Elliot and I wrote them notes and burned them today. But we read them out loud and it…was nice.”

“If I could say one thing to them, I’d thank them for giving the world someone like you.”

“My mom would cry.”

“That’s where you got that from.”

“Hey! You love that about me.”

“I do. I love every piece of you.”

“Thank you for being here for me..for loving me. For loving him,” she nodded to her snoring brother, “He needs people like you in his life.”

“He’s a part of you. Of course I love him. I’ll always be here for him, too.”

“You’re amazing.”

She kissed him, sweet pecks, silently pulling beautiful affections from within him. Tom held her into the night, gently singing to her as she fell asleep. He grabbed his phone, going to her social media and scrolling down to find photos of them that she’d posted.

He felt his chest swell with emotion, blinking away fresh mist. He closed the app and looked toward the ceiling, imagining their faces as happy as they were in the photo. With a voice as low as a whisper, he said, “I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve given me. I want to…I love her more than anything. I want to marry her so badly. I hope that if she says yes…if she says yes, I hope you’d approve. I hope I can make her as happy as she deserves. And I’ll be anything I can to Elliot. I swear to you, he has my heart, too. I’ll help him. I’ll guide him. Whatever I can do. Thank you…from the bottom of my heart…for these two. They’re my family.”

And he dozed away, his cheek resting in a bed of Clove’s hair, their fingers laced together. This night was full of quiet love, happy, happy love - the light of the moon dancing across the walls, much like the slow fade of two lingering silhouettes watching over them.

#it lives beneath #elliot vance #tom sato #tom x clove #write things

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hazelandglasz · 6 years

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(Art AUs) Date AU with Sterek (and I'm very proud I'm limiting myself to one prompt here :P)

Date AU: I’m on a blind date and the guy/gal starts ranting about how “art isn’t a viable form of work, and how it’s not needed in schools” and you just walked up and schooled them while serving us our food order about how important art is in society, and left your number on my plate written in mustard.

You know what, I have a ton of prompts waiting for me but this is just too funny to pass up so here goes (with Derek as the poor blind date) - I changed it a little, I hope you don’t mind ;)

On AO3

The moment Whatshisface rolls his eyes in disgust is the only moment of the evening when Derek can understand why Erica thought they would be a good match.

Yes, eurgh indeed. Derek isn’t sure they are “eurghing” for the same thing, though.

The man is exuding “elitist” and “spoiled” from every pore, and though he could be seen as conventionally attractive, his personnality is quickly turning him into the ugliest of gargoyles in Derek’s eyes.

“Can you believe this?”

With extreme difficulty, if “this” refers to this date. “Hm?”

“This,” Snobby McSnotty says, pointing at the highlighted dish on the menu. “They want us to pay extra for a pizza under the pretext of supporting the neighborhood’s school Arts program.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Derek says, not only because he knows it will bring this sham of a date to a shorter shelf life, but also because, well, he does believe Arts in school are an important part of the social fabric and the way children grow into adults.

Exhibit A, Mr Douche in front of him who probably stayed in a corner for all of his art classes as a child.

“You’re playing cute,” Dumbass says with a smirk. “But we both know that Arts in schools are about as useful as a degree on a pretty girl, am I right?”

“Most definitely not.”

“Oh, come on, Daryl–”

“Derek.”

“Yes, right. Derek,” the man says, leaning forward as if trying to pull Derek into a confidential mood–as if–, “Art can be fun, sure, but it’s not, like, essential.”

“Ahem.”

Derek looks up and the first smile of the evening blossoms on his face at the sight of his waiter.

For starters, Mr. White Crisp Shirt pushes every button on Derek’s crush control panel.

For seconds, he is glaring daggers at Mr. Douchy Pants and that is almost enough to make him Derek’s best friend.

“We haven’t decided yet.” Jackass says to the waiter without even looking at him.

The waiter, whose name can’t possibly be what is written on his nametag–what kind of name is Stiles anyway–squints even harder.

“It will be just a moment, thank you,” Derek adds, trying to distance himself from his date’s behavior.

This softens Stiles’ demeanor a little, but he still scoffs at Jerkface’s back as he leaves them.

“Some manners won’t kill you, you know,” Derek says, his eyes firmly on the menu.

“I don’t have to, it’s his job.”

“Oh my God.”

“What? Like you’re such a posterchild for manners?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

Jerkface snorts. “Right. So under all those muscles and glares, you’re telling me that there is a softie with a heart of gold, who frames children’s drawings and is polite to everybody?”

“I don’t see how one is incompatible with the other.” Derek tries really hard to control his temper. “And as a matter of fact, yes, I frame my nephews’ art to hang around my house.” He pauses to take a sip of his wine. “Not that you’ll get to see it or anything.”

Behind him, Derek swears he hears someone snorting and attempting to hide it under a cough. In front of him, Jerkface Supreme merely smirks. “Playing hard to get, uh?”

“Nope, predicting the end of the evening.”

“See, that’s why Arts are not useful to kids–nay, why it’s a bad influence.”

“Oh wow.”

“By giving a disproportionate place to Art, you developed a sense of superiority over other people.”

“Because that is not condescending at all.”

Derek agrees with that sentence, almost said it himself, but their waiter is back and is glaring at Douche McJerky.

“Who asked for your opinion?”

“No one, but that hasn’t stopped you, now, has it,” Stiles says, putting down a bottle of water and leaning over the table. “Now, whether you want to hear it or not, get ready for some knowledge being dropped into the void between your ears.”

“How dare–”

“Tut-tut,” Stiles cuts him, a finger pressed to his lips.

Derek leans back in his chair, glass of wine in hand as he pulls the mini plate of appetizers toward himself. This gonna be good.

“First of all, asshole, art is important in school because it gives children an outlet, a way of getting rid of their anxiety, their surplus of emotions instead of resorting to violence.”

“B–”

“Second of all, art is important later in education because it allows for creativity, world building, all things useful in all aspects of life. It develops the brain in ways other curriculum cannot, and studies show that students engaged in arts perform better. Wouldn’t you like that, to perform better?”

Behind Stiles’ hand–and Derek does notice that it is a very nice hand indeed–DoucheCanoe glares and frowns, and turns a very unattractive shade of puce.

“Third of all, having regular Art classes help the children to develop their motor skills and their visual-spatial skills. It supports a critical view of the world, and helps them being prepared to tackle different points of view.”

“That’s rubbish,” Annoyance in Human Form says, pushing Stiles away before he can get to point number four, “and I demand to see your manager.”

Stiles pauses, and his lips slowly but surely stretch into a smirk.

A devilish smirk, the kind that sends delicious shivers down Derek’s spine.

“I am the manager.”

Oh this is priceless.

“What-but–you’re a kid.”

Stiles beams at him. “Why, thank you, I moisturize daily, and I have good genes. Now scram.”

Derek’s date opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, before snatching his jacket to storm out.

Stiles brushes his hands like he got rid of some particularly nasty vermin before turning to Derek, his smile turning apologetic and, dare he say it, shy.

“I am sorry I ruined your date, but it didn’t look like a very promising one.”

“You saved my evening,” Derek says with a crooked smile. “Did you have more fine points in favor of the arts?”

“I sure do.”

“Would you care to share them with me?”

Stiles’ cheeks turn a blotchy pink, from the high of his cheekbones to his neck. Derek kind of wants to follow it under Stiles’ crisp white shirt.

He blames the wine.

(It’s not the wine.)

“I–I’d love to.” Stiles waves at someone, another waiter who silently brings a large plate of pasta, covered in a red sauce that smells divine. “I’m Stiles, manager of this restaurant.”

Derek smiles. “I’m Derek, art teacher.”

Stiles’ laughter lasts for a while, enough to give Derek a need to see how this sound would feel against his skin.

(He finds out two weeks later.)

#anotherlongstoryshort #sometimes i write #sterek au #blind date gone wrong #art is important kids #fluff

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deepbluexsea · 2 years

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Task #31: Survey

Under the cut. ~

1. If your character was an animal, which animal would they be? There are different sides to Johnny, so it's hard to choose. Something like an owl or fox would definitely fit him, but so would something like a panther in other situations. 2. Does your character pick wildflowers when they see them? He's not really the type, but his (grand)daughter sure is. 3. How do they see themselves in their head? Is the image accurate, or not? I think Johnny sees himself as more geeky than he comes off to others. Otherwise, he's pretty realistic about it. 4. If they talk in their sleep, what do they say most often? Johnny doesn't really talk in his sleep, but on the rare occasions he has, he was arguing a case that was weighing heavily on his mind. 5. Do they like muffins or cupcakes more? Why? I guess probably cupcakes. Muffins are just boring cupcakes, right? But he's not immune to any sweets every now and then. 6. Do they prefer arm day or leg day more? While he doesn't skip leg day, Johnny prefers arm day more. He definitely has runners' legs. 7. What is the longest your character has ever slept in? After finals in law school, he went to bed following his last exam and slept until 4:00 PM the next day. To be fair, he hadn't slept for almost 40 hours before then, but still. 8. What is their most embarrassing middle school moment? There were a few, but his mother berating the principal on how school rules should be modeled on state law in front of his classmates probably took the cake. 9. What is/are their favorite pizza toppings? There are not very many Johnny doesn't like of the typical toppings. He usually eats supreme or pepperoni. 10. What was the last dream they had? Bella sliding down the stairs banister and climbing the railing at the top like monkey bars, and Johnny being terrified she was going to hurt herself. 11. What is one possession they should get rid of, but can’t/won’t? At least half of his old Harvard t-shirts. They are so worn at this point that a couple aren't even wearable, or they're covered in paint (from repainting the house, or from Briel wearing them to work). 12. If your character spray-painted a wall, what would they write/draw? Johnny can't draw to save his life. He would probably write "REGISTER TO VOTE" or something similar. 13. What would your character want their final words to be? He truly hasn't decided. There are so many impactful and/or wild "last words" stories in criminal law. He definitely wants it to be something meaningful. 14. What is one aspect of their physical appearance that they like? At this point in his life, he really appreciates his hair – particularly that his hairline isn't receding and doesn't seem like it will any time soon. 15. Do they prefer jeans or sweatpants, or something else? Johnny almost always wears slacks because of work, but when he's at home he likes, and wears, jeans and sweatpants equally. It just depends on the day. 16. How far can your character spit a watermelon seed? It's almost guaranteed that he has never tried. 17. Are they more likely to notice the shapes of the clouds or the color of the sky? The color, for sure. 18. Do they laugh during serious moments? Not unless he’s doing it on purpose. After years of practice in his career, Johnny has a pretty high degree of control over the way he presents himself. 19. On a road trip, are they usually the driver, in the passenger seat, the DJ, the backseat driver, or the one napping in the back? He's usually in the passenger seat because of his propensity for road rage. He has gotten better with it over the years, so he drives sometimes. He's been known to be a backseat driver now and again. 20. Does your character sleep in normal clothes, pajamas, or something else? Eight times out of ten, just boxers. Sometimes he adds a soft t-shirt. If it's winter, he wears pajama pants and shirts more frequently, but not always. 21. When they sneeze, do they use their hand or elbow to cover their mouths? Elbow. As a kid, he'd get smacked across the head if he forgot. It's deeply ingrained. 22. Someone asks your character to dance and pulls them out to the dance floor. How would they react? It depends. Johnny would be somewhat uncomfortable dancing formally with someone other than his husband or a close friend or family member. He can let loose and/or be silly from time to time, though. The audience and setting definitely makes a difference to him. 23. Are they more of a cat or a dog person? Dog person, hands down. 24. What alternate time period would they enjoy living in? Johnny enjoys a good medieval TV show or movie, but he's not sure he'd actually want to live in it. The roaring '20s are also super interesting to him. Ultimately, he wants to exist in the freest point of history possible... so, maybe the future, actually. Hopefully. 25. Does your character keep a diary? If so, what do they write about? Honestly, keeping a journal of his thoughts is probably the last thing on earth Johnny would do. It's just too much evidence. Not to mention, he has no time. Now, a journal of his whereabouts and time stamps? Maybe... 26. When they’re stressed, do they stress shop, bake, eat, clean, etc.? Not really. He paces. Chews on pens. Runs his hands through his hair. Pours a stronger drink. 27. Do they prefer raw cookie dough or fully baked cookies? Cookies, of course. 28. What game is your character bad at playing? Pictionary and the like, which absolutely infuriates him. Johnny is so competitive. Give him something strategic and he swears he'll figure out how to win. 29. Are they ticklish? Sort of. Certain places will make him squirm or give him goosebumps: the back of his neck, sometimes his lower back, those claw-looking head scratcher things... 30. What’s inside their car’s glove box? His registration and insurance, some napkins, an extra notebook and pen, business cards, a tire pressure gauge, his car phone charger, a flashlight, and his pass/badge for Bella's preschool. 31. What’s their birthstone? Do they like it? Why or why not? Emerald. He doesn't have any strong feelings about it either way. 32. Which Avenger is your character most like, personality-wise? Honestly, probably Captain America... which, come on, makes sense. He was probably more like a Spider-Man as a kid. 33. Does your character pay attention to the weather forecast? Yes, mostly to dress Bella appropriately, or to be aware of extreme weather and prepare for it. He also really doesn't want to walk to work and then end up in the rain. 34. When was the last time your character got sick? Did anyone take care of them? He actually got a little virus this past spring, but it wasn't bad. Johnny doesn't often get sick. Gabriel always fusses over him when he doesn't feel well, and Bella tries to be helpful. It never fails to warm his heart. 35. What’s a weird/wacky/embarrassing story about them as a young child? Well, Johnny wasn't very fond of pants for a little while as a toddler, so that led to wonderful outcomes (such as some truly embarrassing photos). 36. If they eat steak, how do they like it cooked? Medium or medium rare. 37. Do they prefer to write with a pencil or a pen? If a pen, what color? Always a black pen, and usually it's a fountain pen. #lawyer 38. Imagine your character on the beach, waist deep in the water. A big wave rolls up and towers over their head. Do they dive under the wave, body surf, freeze and get swept off their feet, or something else? Dive under it, definitely. Johnny's a 'deal with the problem headfirst' kind of guy, but also, he just likes outsmarting the waves. 39. What are the last five items in your character’s Google search history? Do they often clear their search history? 1. "Commission on Ethics and Lobbying in Government selection" 2. "grass stain removal jeans" 3. "Yankees" 4. "Ginni Thomas" 5. "New Mexico weather" Johnny always clears his search history, and he uses a VPN. One might say he's a little paranoid about his freedom. 40. Does your character sing in the car? In the shower? He sings in the car occasionally and every now and then in the shower. Johnny has a good singing voice, but he doesn't use it as much as his best friend, Sam, wishes he would. 41. Do they have a harder time going to sleep at night or getting out of bed in the morning? He has gotten pretty good at both, but since he loves sleep and cuddling his husband, probably getting out of bed. Neither is too terribly hard for him, though. 42. Would they rather fly or be immortal? Probably fly. It would save him a lot of time, which he values. Immortality would only be a valid choice to him if those he loved were immortal, too. 43. What’s the dumbest way your character has been injured? Oh, by far, trying to move a coffin (don't ask) without help and promptly giving himself a hernia. 44. Are they able to fall asleep in the car? On an airplane? On a boat? Yes, yes, and yes. Johnny can sleep almost anywhere. It's a talent. 45. How do they like their coffee or tea? Most often, he drinks his coffee black. He will occasionally add plain creamer. He doesn't hate cream and sugar in an iced coffee. He isn't huge on tea, but he'll drink it however Briel makes it for him.

#task #es task #survey

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scribblles · 7 years

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Day 2: Promise

IH Week

Word count: 1573

Rating: G

As gentle fingers ran through his hair, sending pleasant tingles through his scalp, Ichigo closed his eyes and took in a long, deep breath. The river was rushing at full strength below them from the recent rains, the air was dry and pleasant, the wind rustled gently through the top of the wide tree casting shade over them, and his head rested on the soft thighs of his girlfri – he stopped short in his thoughts and the corners of his mouth curved up in a small, satisfied smile. The soft thighs of his fiancé, he mentally corrected with a deep happiness.

They had settled down for a picnic at their favorite large shade tree on the bank of the river. It had been the first time in a long time since they had had time to themselves since announcing their engagement two weeks ago. He thought engagements were between two people, but clearly their family and friends thought otherwise. Having this picnic had been possible only through sneakiness and subterfuge. Which Orihime had been all over, surprisingly. One knew the smothering Bad when even Orihime needed a break from her friends.

Ichigo was fairly certain the play-doh and glitter part of their plot was sheer genius on his fiancé’s part. He smiled again at that word: fiancé. God, he was such a sap.

But, he figured, he was allowed to be a sap on perfect days. Which this was. A Perfect Day.

“Kurosaki-kun?” his fiancé said.

“Hm?” he replied, keeping his eyes closed as her magic fingers continued to run through his hair.

“Are you ready for dessert?”

“Hm…” he said. Dessert sounded good. Especially considering he knew something about it that she didn’t know. But dessert meant that he would have to move, which didn’t sound good.

Her fingers stopped. “Kurosaki-kun?”

He groaned and popped his eyes open. She was staring down at him with a little smile on her face, her eyes sparkling.

“Kurosaki-kun, my legs are falling asleep,” she said and bopped his nose.

Ichigo sighed, knowing that her legs had probably fallen asleep long before this, but she’d just reached her limit. With great effort, he rolled until his head was on her calves. Not as comfortable, but it would do. “How’s this?”

Orihime laughed and shook her head. “Weird!”

He snorted. “Says the Queen of Weird.”

“Too weird,” she decreed through her laughter and bounced her calves up and down until he sat up.

“So cold, Inoue,” he accused, shuddering.

She wrinkled her nose as she continued to smile. “Cold would be eating all the dessert. I do need the energy after losing all the blood flow to my limbs.”

Ichigo dove for the basket and held it to his chest. “Don’t even joke.”

Orihime grinned and settled down next to him. “Are you going to share that, Kurosaki-kun, or say vows to it?”

He eyed her suspiciously as he slowly lowered the basket to the blanket between them. “I’m going to share it.”

Thankfully, Orihime was the only one who ever saw this borderline goofy version of himself. His friends would never let him live it down, but Orihime? She just…brought it out in him with how open and nonjudgmental and silly she was. Instead of teasing him, she just joined in whatever silly stuff popped out of him. He didn’t even really know he had this side until… She just brought out all of him, he supposed.

Ichigo smiled when she shook her head and laughed, and watched her as she opened the basket and carefully set out plates with their dessert. They were delicate little individual lemon tarts with sweeping piles of meringue baked on top. Fairly benign for her, but Orihime’s mentor had ordered her to bake nothing but basic (boring, she called them) recipes to make sure her foundation in baking was solid. Orihime had been busy rushing around planning their getaway and had let Ichigo fill the tarts with lemon curd and put the meringue on top.

Well.

Ichigo, in his infinite wisdom and genius, decided the lemon tarts needed something. And what does every non-chocolate dessert, pastry, and cake need? Why, chocolate of course. So, he snuck chocolate chips into the lemon mixture.

He was quite proud of himself. Chocolate made literally everything taste better. There were even chocolate pizzas, chocolate sauces for steaks, chocolate dipped figs, chocolate – well, anyway, Orihime couldn’t do anything out of the ordinary for the moment, but he could.

And truth be told, he missed her experimental flavors.

He was proud as punch and sure that she would fall all over him in awe of his skills.

As she wiggled out a bit for herself with her fork, she was busy chatting about how she was beginning to like the boring baking as it somehow birthed all kinds of ideas for more unique flavor combinations plus it was honing her skills. So busy with what she was saying, she didn’t examine her creation as she usually did and simply popped it in her mouth.

He was so eager for her reaction, Ichigo hadn’t even tried it yet, just watched her chew, then slow her chewing, then frown, then lift up the tart to examine it, then frown even more deeply until she was downright scowling.

Not…quite the reaction he had been envisioning.

“Ino–”

He was stopped short with a sharp finger pointed upwards, her eyes continuing to examine the tart with scowling scrutiny. Startled, he didn’t know how to react.

Speaking of hidden sides of people. This…was new.

“Kurosaki-kun,” she said softly, and he fought not to visibly shrink back.

“Y-Yeah?”

Her face smoothed into a neutral expression as she slowly, deliberately, lowered the rest of the tart and placed it on the blanket. She brushed non-existent crumbs off her fingers and placed her hands in her lap, her eyes closed.

“I want you to promise me something.”

Ichigo swallowed. “Okay?”

“That you will never.”

She opened her eyes and her gaze pinned him where he was, like a bug.

“Ever.”

He dared to glance at the uneaten tart still in his hand, then quickly back at her.

“…Adjust.”

He winced.

“My baking without my knowledge again.”

Her voice had been soft but stern. He stared at her and fought the urge to gulp.

“Uh…okay.”

She blinked.

“I mean, yes, Inoue, I promise to never ever mess with your baking without you knowing about it again.”

Orihime nodded, satisfied. She gestured at his tart. “You may try it.”

Ichigo jerked, not even aware before that he had been waiting for her permission, but he had and somehow, she had known he had. Tentatively, he stuck his fork in it and put a small piece in his mouth. And wrinkled his nose.

“You see?” she said.

He nodded. Somehow…it wasn’t good. Which was impossible because chocolate always made things better, and yet it was not better it was…off-putting. Un-melted, hard semi-sweet chocolate chips stirred in with the light, creamy, and tangy lemon curd was…not good. Not even the “well, this is strange, but it works” feeling that usually accompanied Orihime’s fare.

Humbly, he placed his tart down on the blanket.

And sat silently as Orihime quietly packed the dessert things away. The dessert that he’d ruined.

When she was done, she looked at him sympathetically. “I know how you are about chocolate, but there are right ways and there are wrong ways of adding chocolate.”

He nodded, the ego-deflated student to the patient, learned teacher.

“Next time I’ll make you a lemon tart with chocolate.” He perked up at that. “You add a thin layer,” she placed her thumb and finger close together, drawing a thin line across the air, “of chocolate and then add the lemon on top. Once I can bake like myself again, I’ll be adding different flavors to the chocolate like orange or raspberry or both.”

He smiled a little at the way she got all dreamy when coming up with stuff.

She shook herself from her baking dreams and moved to pat the ground next to the tree where she’d been sitting earlier.

Ichigo raised his eyebrows.

“Sit, Kurosaki-kun. I’ve decided your punishment.”

He gave her a look, to which she just grinned, and then settled down, resting his back against the tree. Then, in a twirl and a plop and a few wiggles, Orihime was resting her head on his thighs, looking supremely pleased as she flipped her hair out behind her.

“The tables have turned, Kurosaki-kun.”

Ichigo held back a smile and obediently began running his fingers through her long hair. Some punishment.

She closed her eyes and sighed in satisfaction. “And don’t tell me if your legs fall asleep because I warn you now, Kurosaki-kun, I do not care.”

“My legs are at your disposal, Inoue.”

Orihime smiled and serenely laid her hands on her stomach.

Not five minutes later she said, “Kurosaki-kun…”

“Hm?”

“But really, you’ll tell me if your legs fall asleep, right?”

He smiled, something he did a ridiculous amount when around her, and didn’t say a word.

Ichigo had learned of another side to Orihime. People could criticize her food, even gag at it, and she’d role with the punches. But mess with her baking at your own peril.

And somehow, as disgustingly cheesy and cliché as it was, discovering her new side made him love her just a little bit more. . .

#ihweek2017 #ichihime #scribblesfanfics #me take a serious prompt seriously?? ha!#still so rushed and clumsy and running a day behind but it's here #do they seem to OOC?#I feel like orihime would be really touchy about people messing with her kitchen creations #but???#idk #too sleepy can't tell anymore

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newstfionline · 7 years

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Around the World and the U.S., New Travel Ban Draws Anger, Applause and Shrugs

New York Times, Sept. 26, 2017

When President Trump announced the latest and most far-reaching version of his travel ban on Sunday, citing threats to national security posed by letting citizens of specific countries into the country, the White House said it had come after exhaustive planning. It was meant to prevent the confusion and chaos that his first travel ban created at airports, colleges and technology companies in the United States and at refugee camps around the world back in January.

A White House official said the new policy was more narrowly targeted than its precursor, which was swiftly blocked by the courts. But immigrant and diaspora communities from the affected countries once again reacted with dismay, and refugee advocates denounced the new decree as more of the same.

“This is still a Muslim ban,” Becca Heller, the director of the International Refugee Assistance Project, said in a statement.

The first travel ban was blocked by federal judges because it was perceived to discriminate against Muslims; the Trump administration argued it was a security measure designed to thwart terrorism. A revised version of that ban expired on Sunday.

The new third version, which is to take effect on Oct. 18, adds Chad, North Korea and Venezuela to the list of affected countries and drops Sudan. (The other affected countries are Iran, Libya, Syria, Yemen and Somalia.)

Different restrictions were imposed on each of the three additions, depending on the threat they were deemed to pose. For example, for Venezuela the ban applies only to visits by certain government officials and their families, while Somalis are barred from emigrating to the United States but not from visiting.

Chad, an Ally Against Militants, Asks, “Why Us?” The addition of Chad to Mr. Trump’s travel ban took that country’s government by surprise and bewildered analysts of Central Africa.

With a mixed population of Muslims and Christians, Chad has been a longtime American ally in fighting Islamist militants in the region, including offshoots of Al Qaeda and Boko Haram, and its troops took part in a French-led effort to root out Islamist militants from parts of Mali in 2013.

In a statement, the government expressed “ incomprehension in the face of the official reasons for this decision, which contrasts with Chad’s constant efforts and commitments in the fight against terrorism.” It called on President Trump to rethink the decision, “which has seriously affected the image of Chad and the good relations maintained by the two countries.”

In a report on Chad last year, the State Department said that few Chadians join terrorist groups, and that the country had tightened its borders to impede the movements of militants, but that a financial crisis kept the country from consistently paying police and military salaries, which presented some risk.

Matthew Page, who was the State Department’s expert in the region until last year, said that the travel ban for Chad seemed to be “a knee-jerk move, rather than a carefully considered decision.”

Human rights activists also expressed outrage.

“This makes no sense at all, even from a Trumpian standpoint,” said Reed Brody, a lawyer for Human Rights Watch who has worked extensively in Chad.

Victims of a former Chadian president, Hissène Habré, who is accused of torturing and murdering opponents during his rule in the 1980s, regularly travel to the United States to collect humanitarian awards. “Think of all the courageous and dedicated activists who will now be barred from the U.S.,” Mr. Brody said.--Dionne Searcey And Jaime Yaya Barry

Cheers From Trump Supporters. Supporters of the president’s national security agenda cheered the new policy on Monday. “I’m excited,” said Louis Murray, 52, who campaigned for the president in Boston as part of a group of Catholics for Trump. “I’m excited that the Department of Homeland Security and the Trump Administration has looked very hard at how to use extreme vetting to keep Americans safe.”

Mr. Murray said he viewed the administration’s broad travel policies as the best way to prevent attacks like the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013, which was carried out by two beneficiaries of the asylum system. “When you’re talking about the movement of people across national borders, I don’t know how specific you want to be,” he said.

Conservative lawmakers also called the new travel ban a necessary public safety measure. “We are a compassionate nation,” Representative Lou Barletta, Republican of Pennsylvania, said in a statement. “However, our enemies continuously seek to use our generosity against us, and the president has a duty to protect the American people first.”

On Twitter, Representative Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, Republican of Florida, supported the inclusion of Venezuela in the new policy, saying in Spanish that it was correct to block officials of the “corrupt Maduro regime” and their families from making shopping trips to the United States or patronizing Disney amusement parks.--Caitlin Dickerson

Dismay Among Somalis in Minnesota. Somali-Americans in the Cedar-Riverside area of Minneapolis processed the news of the travel ban as they went about their business in the rain on Monday, voicing wariness of an administration that has frightened them from the start and trying to learn more about the details of the ban.

Slma Osman, 29, said she had just put her three toddlers to bed Sunday evening when she heard about the travel ban on television, and the news made her cry. She emigrated from Somalia a year ago to join her husband, and the new ban seemed to scotch her dream of bringing her parents over to unite with her children.

“I feel lonely,” she said, walking to a bus stop on her way to work. “When my children grow up, they will feel the pain.”

Jamal Hassen, 23, a student in the Twin Cities who was born in Ethiopia to a Somali mother, said he worried about her. “Our moms are going to the mall by themselves, and get harassed because of their head scarves--especially after he got elected,” Mr. Hassen said. “It was calm before that.”

Mr. Hassen did not dispute President Trump’s claim that Somalia’s immigration officials do not adequately vet extremists. Some Somali-Americans from the Twin Cities have been recruited by Islamic extremist groups abroad, but Mr. Hassen said it was unfair that all Somalis must pay a price. “We are getting punished for what they did,” he said.

Kamaal Yusuf, 32, a taxi driver born in Somalia who emigrated as a teenager, heard about the travel ban in a coffee shop after driving his sons to day care. “I feel very sad,” he said. “America is supposed to welcome immigrants from all over the world. That’s the good I see in America. Now it’s messed up.”--Christina Capecchi and Kimiko de Freytas-Tamura

Venezuela Is Angered, but Émigrés Are Pleased. Venezuela’s foreign ministry blasted the travel ban on Monday as an “irrational decision” that “constituted a form of political and psychological terrorism,” and asserted that the United States was trying to “stigmatize our country using the pretext of the fight against terrorism.” Venezuela also said that it would consider retaliating.

But the travel ban, which would bar business and tourism visits to the United States by “certain Venezuelan government officials and their immediate family members,” drew the opposite reaction among Venezuelans who have fled the country since the rise to power of Hugo Chavez, who died in 2013, and his ally Nicolas Maduro, the current president.

In fact, Alicia Reyes was nothing short of ecstatic about the new restrictions.

“They’re dogs, rats, the worst in the world,” Ms. Reyes, 53, said of Mr. Maduro and his party. She moved to Weston, in South Florida, from her native Caracas 18 months ago because of the erosion of social order there, which she blamed squarely on the government.

“The people in Venezuela are dying of hunger,” Ms. Reyes, who works in a pizza restaurant, added in Spanish. “We couldn’t stay there any longer. There is no future there.”

Mr. Trump has feuded with the Venezuelan leadership; last month, he alarmed officials in Caracas by talking about a “military option” to quell the chaos in the country. Jorge Arreaza, the Venezuelan foreign minister, lashed out at Mr. Trump in a speech at the United Nations on Monday.--Nick Madigan, Nicholas Casey and Somini Sengupta

Thwarted Reunion Plans For Iranian Families. In Los Angeles, the large Iranian diaspora centered on the Westwood neighborhood spent Monday morning puzzling over the ban’s potential impact. It had not yet sunk in with many people that the new decree would block most Iranians not only from emigrating to the United States, but also from visiting; only students and scholars would be allowed in.

“People haven’t paid attention yet to understand how this might change the life of their family,” said Farhad Bersharati, who owns a travel agency in Westwood. “If I was in the shoes of President Trump, I might do the same thing with the kind of people who are ruling my country now. But putting the people who are still there all together with the revolution is not fair.”

Many of the more than one million Iranian-Americans have relatives remaining in Iran. They will no longer be able to sponsor them for permanent residence.

Alex Helmi, who owns a Persian rug store in Westwood, questioned the purpose of the ban and said he was confident that the Supreme Court would rule fairly on it. “What is the goal here--is it propaganda, or stopping terrorism?” he said. “You have not found one Iranian person who has been connected with any terrorism in this country. This is a little bit odd.”

A spokesman for Iran’s Foreign Ministry, Bahram Qasemi, called the expanded travel ban “inhumane, wrong and illogical.”

The new travel ban does not affect the status of anyone who is already in the United States legally, so people like Negi Kharazi who have immigrant visas can still get the green cards they have been waiting for. But now, Ms. Kharazi will not be able to bring Babak, her husband of five years, over from Iran.

“How can I be without my husband?” she said. “This is so mean. Our own government does not care, and the U.S. government does not care. We are disposable.”--Jennifer Medina and Thomas Erdbrink

Hardships Seen Even for Permitted Students. It was not immediately clear what led to a special carve-out that permits Iranian students, but not most other Iranians, to continue to obtain visas. Iran sends more students to America than the other countries affected by the ban--12,269 of them in the 2015-16 academic year, according to the Institute of International Education--and many are graduate students in scientific fields who also serve as teaching assistants.

Pedram Gharghabi, 31, a doctoral candidate and research assistant in electrical engineering at Mississippi State University, said on Monday that the ban would probably lead to hardships even for exempted students.

“My understanding is that our families will not be allowed to enter the United States for a visit,” Mr. Gharghabi said. Because many Iranian students’ visas do not permit the students to leave and come back, he said, “that means we may not meet our families for years.”

Amin Khalili, 22, who is studying for a master’s degree in biomedical engineering at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, N.J., learned of the new rules from a fellow student late Sunday night. “I think everyone here is in stress and uncertainty,” said Mr. Khalili, who is from Tehran. “Honestly, a lot of us stopped watching TV. It’s been very stressful for all of us.”

The new ban appears to keep out all students from Somalia, Syria and North Korea. But it appears to permit those from Chad, Libya, Venezuela and Yemen.--Stephanie Saul

Weary Shrugs in War-Torn Nations. For citizens in some conflict zones, news of the latest travel ban was met with weary shrugs.

“How many times are we meant to condemn this man?” Mohamed Al Amad, a Yemeni journalist in Sana, said of President Trump. “Most Yemenis are too busy feeling bad about the American bombs that Saudi Arabia is dropping on them to think about Trump’s silly ban.”

In the Libyan city of Misurata, Ali Busitta, a municipal official, said that “the travel ban is wrong and it is offensive,” and added, “We understand that the terrorism in Libya looks scary, but you can’t just say that we are all bad.”

Most Libyans are occupied with the more pressing and often violent problems confronting their country, Mr. Busitta said. “Frankly, they are too distracted by what’s going on to care about this ban or that ban.”--Nour Yousseff and Declan Walsh

Confusion and Anxiety Among New York Immigrants. Immigrant advocates scrambled on Monday to address questions from their communities.

Rama Issa-Ibrahim, executive director of the Arab American Association of New York, said many people who have been petitioning to bring relatives to the United States are confused and anxious now.

“We don’t really know how this is going to unfold until Oct. 18, but since January, we’ve seen the chaos that these travel bans, the executive order, has brought to our community and to the country in general,” she said.

Yemeni-Americans in Brooklyn have been mobilizing since the executive order announcing the first travel ban was issued in January. But Rabyaah Althaibani, an activist who was involved in a Yemeni bodega strike across the city in February that was a protest of the original ban, said she felt worn down by yet another one. “I feel so helpless and fatigued,” she said on Monday.

Ms. Althaibani, 39, has not been able to bring in her Yemeni husband, Basheer Othman, who was a prominent liberal journalist in Yemen. The couple married in January 2016 in India, but they have been living apart ever since, with Mr. Othman waiting in Malaysia to receive a visa.

“I don’t know what it means for him, and it’s really scary,” Ms. Althaibani said through tears on Monday after speaking with him via Skype. “I’m in limbo, and it’s a hellish nightmare.”--Liz Robbins

#travel ban #US travel ban

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