#this took ages I’m so sorry nony

[mcrb2dt-evans]

You held out your arms as your oldest granddaughter Savannah ran right to you and Chris with Scarlett right on her tail. “Noni! Ciccio!” You squeezed them both tight “my little buggies, I missed you so much!” They giggled “we missed you too noni” they ran right to Chris next and he hugged them tight and kissed the top of their heads “my little rugrats”. You hugged Ryan and Casey “come on, let’s head out back, everyone’s already here”

Once you all made it to the backyard, Teddy was the first to greet them. “Well look who finally decided to show up” he laughed. Ryan walked over to him and started ruffling his hair and Teddy swatted him away “you know I hate when you do that” “well then don’t be a smart ass Teddy Bear and I won’t”. Scarlett gasped “daddy! You said a bad word! You can’t say bad words” Ryan turned to Scarlett “you’re right sweetie, Daddy’s sorry” Teddy mumbled “yeah I got a few bad words for you” Ryan heard him and smacked the back of his head “OW! Mom!”

You just shook your head “five minutes. You’ve only been home for five minutes and you’re already arguing?” You told the girls to go play with Penny, Gray and Rylee as you walked over to the boys “I don’t want any more arguing from either of you for the rest of this weekend, got it?” They both nodded “yes mama”

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

After everyone finished getting settled in Ryan sat down next to you outside as he watched his girls play with their cousins and Teddy and laughed at Scarlett, his youngest, being a natural little ringleader. He shook his head as he spoke “Scarlett reminds me so much of Danica at that age” you laughed “I remember a time when Danica would act like that and it would annoy you” he playfully rolled his eyes “it annoyed me with Dani, it’s adorable with Scarlett”.

He turned thoughtful “I’ve realized a lot more now though since having the girls” you tilted your head “oh yeah? What’s that?” He sighed “I realize how big of an apology I owe you and especially dad because I realized that it’s really not easy and you do try your best but sometimes you do fall short. I should never have said half the things I’ve said to dad because now I realize just how much those words hurt.”

You furrowed your brow “what happened?” Ryan took a breath “I told Savannah today that I have to go on a work trip and that I won’t be home to go to her championship soccer game. She told me I’m the worst father in the world because I’m never home”

“Aw, honey she didn’t mean it. She’s just upset” he sighed “yeah well unfortunately I’m noticing that the older she gets the more she gets my temper” you nodded “well she’ll eventually grow out of that because you did but try doing what your dad and I did. Give her a bit to calm down and then talk to her”

“Yeah I know..how did you and dad do it?” You laughed “oh sweetie it wasn’t easy at all but each day we did our very best and that’s all we could do.” He nodded and you poked a little fun “but remember these are the easy years, you still have to get through her teens. That’s when it’ll be super fun” Ryan groaned and hung his head as you giggled.

[thechampagnelovers]

Please blog about hp when you read them, I love talking about so much hahaha. I really wish I would be following more blogs on here that focus on hp but it would take time to get into it and find good blogs. I still struggle with that even in this fandom. So many people I follow have problems with each other and I am just so confused? Like I just want to follow decent people and have a good time and it‘s hard so I take time off as much as I can (as I said multiple times I know) and just come on here to reblog cute things like YOUR LYRIC EDIT! Cuuuuuuuute! Such a nice present for your friend. 🥺🥺🥺

While scrolling through your reblogs - all so cute I swear - I did see something we don‘t have in common though so I thought I’d tell you, just to spice things up: I can‘t get into Taylor Swift. I was such a die hard fan the first two albums (I was so fucking little lol) and then she started heavily on the pop and then I just lost her? I mean I understand her talent and lyrically she is really amazing but she ist just nobody I can or want to listen to. Okay kill me now hahaah. How did you come to like her music? Maybe give me three of your favourite songs and I promise to try again. 😅

Moooving on: I can only imagine how cool it must be to become friends with someone over creating something together. That is a really good foundation for friendship or at least connection because you automatically have to get personal and open up, right? At least that‘s how I see it... It‘s one of the things I wish I had in my life. Sharing my creativity with others, even friends, you know?

A comfort album... yes absolutely! 🥺

I have a 1D Playlist where I have all their songs collected and when I put that on I just let it run through and I don‘t really get to the point where I can skip because it‘s like a Mood™️ if that makes sense haha. But yeah I totally get that you‘d only trust Niall with Little Things and he would never let you down. When Liam sang it I was like „Nice, thanks for the memories, amazing vocals“ ajsklsn. Maybe I should start hating some songs too, builds personality hahah.

I am so sorry you had such a weird weekend. And sorry you had those cramps again. 😫 I am already dreading mine. 😭 Why did you stop taking the pill, if you don‘t mind answering that? I stopped because I couldn‘t handle the hormones at all. I hope you get this figured out! Please keep me updated. 💓 Oh and I think you have a healthy relationship with crying and it‘s good to be open about it! If it helps I cried today too, yayyy! Is there anything I can do to cheer you up though maybe? Oh and tell me why your book is depressing? We should opening a book club honestly. I am currently crying over rwrb, I finally got some time to really get into it and am almost finished and... NOT OK. Wow okay I have been ranting again. Hope you had a better day! x

I definitely will! When I get back home I’ll read them and I can tag the posts, it’s gonna be so fun! I don’t follow hp blogs :/ I think I follow just one but I don’t even remember the url sjdhjd

If you need chill people to follow I recommend all my mutuals! I’m a strong advocate in having a curated online experience and most of my mutuals are drama free blogs 🤍

Thank you beer nony 🥺🥺🥺I just realised I never made you anything for your bday 😔😔😔 I’m so so so so sorry skdjjdjd next edit is dedicated to you, and I’m also gonna make something for tee! Lately all my post are gifts for mutuals and I love that

I won’t kill you JDHDJD it’s okay, I like Taylor but I’m nowhere near a hardcore stan so I don’t really mind it, also I understand what you’re saying, albums like 1989 and reputation are completely pop and tbh they’re not my fav albums lol 😳 although they both have songs that I LOVE, she never misses. Two of my best friends are swifties, and me and my other best friend are 1d stans so everytime we hang out we play taylor and 1d dkdhdjdj that’s kinda how it happened I think

If you miss the old taylor, my recommendations is ofc folklore and evermore! Cozy comfort albums, goes back to her roots a little bit more, it’s definitely not pop. My fav album is red for sure, and I know you don’t like her pop music but lover is just spectacular and you can’t miss it

Top songs for me are (in no particular order) red, the story of us, miss Americana, state of grace, holy ground, the lakes, no body no crime, champagne problems, gold rush, come back be here, New Romantics and getaway car! And I’m sure I’m missing so many gems too! But yeah, if you want to give her a second chance, red, lover and evermore are my recommendations! And you can check out the folklore online concert on disney+

Ohhh nony 🥺🥺🥺 you’re right, it’s a very nice feeling, and that’s how I always make friendships really djjfjd idk other ways to interact :/ and you can do it! I would love to see what you make, maybe it’s harder irl but online you can make so many friends sharing your art! And I would love to see it

Djdhjdjd I totally get the mood feeling, bc it is a vibe for sure 🤍 ugh I love Niall, he’s the only man I trust

Thank you nony! This time I didn’t suffer near as much as the last time but still not fun. I stopped bc of some logistic problems with the pharmacy djdjdj and I wasn’t really having sex so why bother yk? (Funny story the other day my ex asked me if I wanted to go to his house and I had a full breakdown that made me delete my Instagram so, yeah, that’s my sex life). Besides a little breakout on my skin once in a while I didn’t have many side effects but now I’m really struggling with it now. Mine have a very little dose of hormones so it didn’t affect me much, but yeah some pills can be so bad :( I’m sorry to hear that, and don’t worry I’ll keep you updated

Yay crying 🤍 lol djdhdjd idk if I have a healthy relationship with crying, it’s either nothing or all at once but I’m getting better with it.

The book is about very triggering stuff that I really don’t want to mention bc I would have to filter this post and I don’t feel like it skdhdjdhd but it ended on a nice note, so it’s okay

I had a great day today! Honestly yesterday was the stress and the hormones acting up on me, now I’m more chill and I feel better, so thank you love 🤍 enjoy your week!

[babyjakes]

needy baby.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

summary | you become especially little and needy one night before bed, and your daddy steve is sure to take good care of you.

pairing | daddy!steve rogers x little!reader

warnings | super soft daddy steve so so soft, reader is feeling extra little (some whining, some begging), finger sucking, fingering, oral (f receiving), slight edging? idk barely, praise kink, soft humiliation kink, multiple orgasms, overstim, crying (in a good way, from pleasure)

word count | 1,824

requested by @nony-bear | Hi honey! I was hoping I could request a smut for daddy Steve based on one of the prompts from the prompt list? I would love if you could do “I know, baby. Shhh, I know.” Maybe with daddy Steve making you cum over and over again (But in a very consensual way)? But if you’re too busy or anything no worries don’t feel like you have to write it! Thank you either way and much love! 💕💕💕

an | hi friend (oh my goodness i’m so so sorry this took so long but!!!) here it is finally, thank you so much for this request!! haven’t written daddy steve before but i think this one turned out so cute and soft and lovely!! (just like you!! <333)

“Daddy,” you whimper as your feet pad softly down the hallway to Steve’s half-opened door. Seeing light coming from inside the room, you step into the doorframe, your eyes landing on the tall man who’s just climbing into bed. “Daddy,” you sniffle again, causing the blonde’s head to raise gently as he notices your presence.

At the sight of your tears, his face immediately softens, his voice coming out in a concerned croon, “Y/n, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Taking this as permission to enter, you scurry across the room to his bed, jumping up onto it and into his arms. “Woah, woah, hey,” he murmurs, smoothing back your hair out of your face with one hand as he cups your cheek with the other. “What’s up, peanut? What’s got my pretty girl so upset?”

“Wan’ Daddy,” you mumble shyly, squirming a bit against him as you shift to straddle his thigh. “S-sorry, know s’past bedtime. Sorry, Daddy,” you add quickly, hoping he won’t be upset with you for getting up and out of your bed.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. Looks like you need some Daddy time, huh?” he sighs understandingly as he runs his fingers through your hair, feeling guilty at how badly you seem to be needing his company. The past few weeks have been chaotic for the both of you; Steve’s spent most of the time away on missions or helping out in other ways at the tower. That’s left you to navigate being little on your own, a journey that’s so far brought on nothing but loneliness and anxiety. Your deteriorating mental state and headspace have been showing themselves more and more lately, popping up as tantrums or what might first look like bratty behavior. Steve’s well aware of the stress you’re under, though, and as you sit on his lap in this moment, rocking yourself against his leg with tears bursting from your eyes, he makes a silent commitment to step back from work and give you the attention you’ve been deprived of, the attention you deserve.

“D-Daddy,” you whimper again, your hands gripping the white fabric of his shirt desperately as you try to sate the burning between your legs.

“I’m here, doll. I’m here. What do you need, honey? Can you use your big girl words and tell me?” he coaxes. Though he can easily tell what you’re after by the way you’re grinding yourself against him, he still hopes he can get you to open up and admit it, something that’s expected of you as his baby girl.

Your bottom lip wobbles helplessly as your wetness grows, now beginning to soak through your cotton panties and pajama shorts. “D-Daddy, please,” you beg, so deep in your littlespace that it’s hard to manage any more than a few simple words.

“‘Please’ what, babygirl? Gotta tell Daddy what you want so he can give it to you,” Steve coos, rubbing up and down your back as you struggle against his thigh. Letting out a soft whine, you peer up at him, the look in your eyes almost enough to do him in. Almost.

“W-wan’ Daddy to- to t-touch me, please,” you stammer through your tears.

“You want Daddy to touch you?” Steve repeats, leaving one hand on your back while bringing the other down to hover over your clothed mound. “Is this what you mean, sweetheart? Want Daddy to touch you down here?” You nod through a heated whine, causing the man to smile sympathetically at you. “Okay, princess. Daddy can do that; are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

“Y-yes Daddy-!” you all but cry out. “Promise, will be good!”

“Okay, pumpkin, okay,” he chuckles as he reaches down to the hem of your pajama shorts, lifting you up slightly as he helps you out of the teddy-covered fabric. “My, my, little one. Someone’s awfully wet down here,” he observes as he runs a finger over your dripping panties, causing you to whine softly in need. “Oh bunny, look at you. So needy for me, aren’t you,” he croons as he pulls down on the light pink panties, slipping them off your sock-covered feet.

Gently, Steve rests you back on his lap, using one arm to cradle you while bringing the other up in front of your mouth. “You want these, honey?” he asks, waving his middle and ring fingers together before you. Wide-eyed, you nod, your lower lip trembling in sinful hunger. “I want words, princess,” Steve reminds you.

“Y-yes,” you hurry, “please Daddy, please. Wan’ ‘em so bad-”

“Want what so bad?” he pushes, causing a sob to escape your lips as you struggle to please him.

“Your fingers, D-Daddy, wan’ your fingers, please!”

“There it is, such a good girl,” Steve praises as he forces the two digits into your mouth. “Need you to get ‘em nice and wet for me, sweetheart. Good,” he coos as you suck on them hungrily, popping them out after a few moments and bringing them down to your soaked entrance. “Open up, bunny. There you go,” he sings as you widen your legs for him. You let out a desperate whimper as his wet fingers find your throbbing clit, rubbing tender circles over the swollen nub as your tummy begins to tighten.

“P-please,” you beg, Steve’s precise ministrations not quite enough to give you the relief you’re so desperately chasing. “Please, p-please!” you blubber.

“Use your words, little girl; tell Daddy what you want,” he mocks as you writhe under his touch.

“W-wan’ ‘em in me, Daddy- w-wan’ your fingers in me, please!”

“Good girl,” Steve smiles, rewarding you by ramming his two thick digits into your aching cunt. You clench around him, the warm flesh of your glistening pussy sending all the blood in the strong man’s body rushing to his cock. You mewl as he scissors within you, the unmatched length of his strong fingers allowing him to find weak spots within your heat you didn’t even know existed. “That’s it, sweetheart, doin’ so good; takin’ my fingers so well,” he praises as your chest rises and falls erratically under your teddy pajama top.

Your hands reach up to cover your face as you struggle against Steve’s brutally soft measures. “Please Daddy,” you sob, spit beginning to dribble down your chin along with your tears as you beg for your release. “M-more Daddy, please. P-please let me cum.”

“You wanna cum, doll?” he asks, bumping his fingers up against the soft ceiling of your inner walls. A terrible burning sensation starts to rise up in your gut, a pathetic whine sounding in your throat as you know you still need just a little bit more, just a little…

“Yes, Daddy, p-please! Please make me cum,” you implore, the feeling of your orgasm being so close yet just out of reach almost becoming too much to bear.

“How should I do that, honey?” he teases, feeling a little bit bad for making you work so hard for it.

“W-wan’ your mouth, Daddy, p-please- can I have your mouth?”

“Where d’you want my mouth, baby?” Steve asks, impressed at your asking for something you’re usually much too shy to mention. Picking you up with one hand still inside, he rests you back against the mattress in front of him, pressing himself between your legs as your knees fall uselessly to the sides.

“D-down there, Daddy,” you whimper, your face nearly on fire as your cheeks burn in humiliation.

“Where, sweetie?” he asks, wanting to make you say it.

Letting out a frustrated whine, you plead, “On m-my clit, Daddy, please!”

“I see, you want my mouth on your clit, little one? Want me to suck your little button ‘til you’re cumming all over my face?” Dipping his face down between your legs, he brings his mouth to meet your heat as his lips wrap around your swollen nub. A strained sob escapes you as he increases the pace of his fingers, now ramming relentlessly into you as your orgasm approaches. “Fuck, doll, just like that,” he grunts into you as he senses your impending release. “Want you to cum for me, baby; go ahead and cum for Daddy.”

And with a blistering cry, you do, your pussy clamping down helplessly around Steve’s fingers as he nurses your burning clit. “Daddy!” you scream out as your muscles finally snap, “oh- Daddy!”

“Fuck, cumming so fuckin’ hard,” Steve moans as you ride out your high, the sight of his sweet little girl coming undone for him his absolute favorite thing in the world. “Such a good girl,” he sings as you begin to even out, your button now completely exposed as it twitches feverishly in his mouth.

Muffled sobs fill the room as you bury your face in your hands. To your surprise, Steve keeps his fingers inside of you, lifting his head up to look over at you as he continues pumping at a much slower pace. “Did such a good job, honey. Came so hard for Daddy, didn’t you?”

“Th-thank you, Daddy,” you whimper, jumping slightly as you feel the pad of his thumb rubbing up against your clit. “D-Daddy-”

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay, just let Daddy take care of you,” he soothes as his thumb swirls over the hardened nub lovingly. “You’ve been needing this for a while, huh?” he asks. Shamefully, you nod. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Daddy’s been so caught up with work; he hasn’t been doing a good job of taking care of you, has he?” A faint burning reappears in your tummy as Steve continues to toy with your clit, his other hand beginning to increase the pace of his fingers working within you. “Well don’t worry, honey. Daddy’s all yours now. Gonna make sure you’re all taken care of, sweetie.”

“D-Daddy,” you sputter, a familiar fuzziness growing in your core as he smiles softly at you.

“It’s okay, honey. You can cum again; you’re allowed,” he grants as he quickens his thumb over your clit, your second orgasm bursting through your trembling body before you can even process what’s hit you. “Goood,” Steve drawls as he watches you spasm, “thaat’s it, bunny. Cumming so hard for Daddy.”

By the time you’ve come down from your second climax, your heart is pounding heavily in your chest, sweat glistening across your forehead as tears trail down your cheeks. “D-Daddy, D-D-Daddy,” you pant, unable to form any word but his name as he continues his work his fingers in your soaking sex. “Hmmphh-… D-Daddy,” you buzz, your thumb finding its way into your mouth as Steve smiles adoringly at you.

“I know, sweetheart. Shhh, I know,” he murmurs, loving the way you’ve become a blabbering mess beneath him. “One more, baby, think you got one more in there for Daddy?”

“P-Please,” you beg as his thumb returns to your clit, an animalistic whine rising up through your throat as you fall apart around his fingers once more.

[little-ligi]

about the prompt post... could you write arthur/gwen/lancelot... something canon era... anything at this point (am i desperate, yeah). ignore me if it is not something of your liking. (btw you are highly underrated, love your works ❤)

Hi Nony!! (sorry it took me ages to reply to this!)

Thank you so so much for your lovely comment, you really made my day ❤️❤️

Ok so I started writing a little Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot for you (I've never actually written this 3 before but now I'm hooked 😉) Anyway, I was thinking it would just be a little short drabble and I'd post it as an answer to this ask, but it got longer and more plot and I am now going to use it for my entry to Day 5 of Camelove, so I'm really really sorry for making you wait but please look out for it on the 12th of February!! I hope it will be worth the wait! ❤️

Thank you again for sending me the prompt, I really love people sending prompts!!

[multifandomfanficwriters]

Hi I really love ur fics and wondering if you could do an imagine with Dipper and just watching a movie while cuddling, thanks!

Movie Nights

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Pairing: Dipper x Reader

Words: 1258

Warnings: none

A/N: Oh hey look I’m not dead!! I’m really sorry it took me so long to write this nonie!! I hope it lived up to your expectations! If I have to be honest I’m really proud with this fic I really like how it turned out and I hope you like it too!

Hearing the microwave ding behind you, you turned around, opening it, carefully taking out the hot bag of popcorn and placing it on the kitchen counter next to the other two already slightly cooled down ones. Then you opened the cupboard and took out a large bowl. Carefully emptying the popcorn into the bowl, so as to not burn yourself, you didn’t notice the shadow of a figure slipping inside the kitchen.

-“Where did you say were the napkins?” A hesitant voice startled you. Letting your grip on the bag loosen a bit and spilling some of the popcorns as a small yelp left your lips, you turned around, ready to smack whomever this intruder may be only to be met with a confused and flustered Dipper. Sighing, relieved you didn’t have to face a burglar, you pointed to a drawer a bit to the side.

After a few years of knowing Dipper and several months of dating him, he had finally agreed for you to be the one to host you weekly movie night. It’s not like he hadn’t been to your house before. Of course, you had invited him numerous times but it was always for a short while and you parents were there too. Now, however, they had gone off to visit some distant relatives and left you alone at the house, knowing you didn’t exactly burn with desire to meet up with people who “have known you since you were a wee bit baby” but whom you couldn’t remember the names of for the life of you. Therefore, you thought that it would be a great opportunity to spend the night cuddled up next to your boyfriend and watch a good movie while munching on some snacks. And with that thought in mind you called him, expecting him to be happy that you didn’t have to bother his parents with your constant comments while watching movies in their living room. But to your surprise Dipper was somewhat hesitant as he reluctantly agreed.

You were currently preparing all kinds of snacks and drinks, from the popcorn you had just finished filling the bowl with and were now throwing away the paper bags and the ones you spilled when Dipper startled you to the ice cream and all the bottles of coke and your favorite kind of juice. In all honesty, you had enough food to feed a small army and you both knew it. But that didn’t stop you while you were filling the cart at the store. The food just kept piling while you were laughing you asses off and mentally thanking your parents for letting you use their credit cards.

These movie nights stated a few months into your friendship when you had invited the twins to come over to your house to study. However, Mabel had other plans for the weekend so when Dipper arrived at your door all you ended up doing that evening was watching movies until his parents came to pick him up. Ever since then it has been the same. You stocked up with all sorts of junk food that could last you for at least a few days and watched movies; every time different ones. And even though you always felt sick the next morning from all the unhealthy mixture of sweet and salty foods and fizzy drinks, it was all worth it.

Walking back to the living room you smiled at the comfortable nest of blankets and fluffy pillows Dipper had made in front of the TV. When you laid your eyes on your boyfriend, who was currently arranging your favorite drinks and foods closer to where you were going to sit, your smile grew bigger. Putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table you turned to Dipper who was standing on the other side of it. Even for a teenager his age, the awkwardness radiating off him was too much, considering that you had been friends for the past few years and were his significant other for over four months now.

-“What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” You asked him concerned.

-“What?! Oh no, no, I’m fine!” Dipper jumped surprised and held his hands in front of him as if to defend himself from your worry. He quickly sat down on the blankets and carefully organized pillows, moving aside a bit to make room for you as if you weren’t going to lean into him halfway through the movie.

You simply sat down, deciding not to question him for now and as you settled into a more comfortable position, you turned on the movie.

A good fifteen minutes had passed from the beginning of the movie when you leaned into Dipper, expecting him to put his hand around you and pull you closer. However, you were left surprised when he stiffened at your touch.

-“There’s something you’re not telling me. First, I had to convince you to come over for our weekly movie night and now I feel like you don’t want me near you. Did I do something wrong? Please Dipper. I’m just worried.” You said softly, eyes cast down not wanting to see his disappointed expression.

-“No!” He exclaimed. “You did nothing wrong! You could never do anything wrong. You’re perfect. I’m the one who messed up everything.” Dipper admitted shyly, scratching the back of his neck as a soft red hue covered his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

-”What do you mean?” You asked confused. “Dipper, please tell me you didn’t summon a creature from another realm and now we have to get it away from here before it destroys reality as we know it….again.” You deadpanned as you crossed your arms over your chest.

-”What? No, no! I promised I wouldn’t try anything like that ever again.” Dipper defended himself, a visible shiver running down his spine as he remembered the events from around half a year ago. “It’s just that…well…” He hesitated as he continued. Looking up at you from under his eyelashes, Dipper saw you patiently waiting for him to continue. “I’m nervous because this is the first time I’m going to spend the night at your house and because we’re going to be alone.” He finished in one breath, shutting his eyes tightly and hanging his head low, waiting for you to laugh at him.

Instead, Dipper felt a soft hand gently lift his face. Opening his eyes, he was met with your face, gentle as ever, a small smile gracing your lips and eyes holding an ocean of love only for him.

-”Is that all? I have to say, I should have guessed. I was a bit nervous the first time I had to spend the night at your place, too. But it’s okay. Just try to forget where we are and focus on the fact that we’re together and we’re going to do is watch a movie, make stupid jokes and eat a ton of junk food. That’s what helped me, at least.” You said sincerely, earning yourself a lopsided smile.

-”I’ll try. Thank you.” Dipper said with sparkling eyes, his cheerfulness you oh so loved returning as his nervousness melted away by the second.

With one last smile, which seemed to be permanently stuck on both of your faces, you turned your attention back to the TV, snuggling comfortably against each other for the rest of the movie. At that moment, you thought you couldn’t be happier but little did you know what life had prepared for the two of you.

[lala-pipo]

Hello, I have you as a friend on Livejournal and I can't seem to access your story, 'Love On Four Legs' :( Can you please help?

Dear Nony,

did you also write me a message on Livejournal? I do still get notifications on happenings on there so your message wasn’t lost. 

I got several messages of that kind on livejournal ever since I took that fic down which surprised me. I didn’t delete it, I just put it on private because I wasn’t comfortable with it anymore. When I wrote this fic 8-9? years ago the age gap in this story didn’t bother me much (because I was 9 years younger as well) but looking at it now the age gap in it makes me very uncomfortable, so I didn’t want to see it online like this anymore and put it on private. 

I intend to rewrite the story one day because I still like its plot, but I currently don’t have any time for that. So, I’m sorry. If I find the time to rewrite it in a way that I’m comfortable with and publish it again, I will let you know. ^^

PS. I tried sending you a message on livejournal, but your privacy settings won’t allow me to do that. 

[pagan-raider]

Bonds of Blood

Request: I have a weird request. If Ivar had a twin sister, with the same ''issues'' as him, how would he act? Imagining that they were very very (creepily) close. Like, their relantionship with Ragnar, with Ubbe, their mother.

Note: I got this request like ages ago but first didn’t have the guts to write it. It took a while to become comfortable enough about my writing to try something like this. Sorry Nony, that it took so long. I hope you’re still around and that this is what you had in mind. I’m still a little nervous because it feels like entering completely new territory with this. I hope it turned out okay.

Warnings: This was requested to be creepy and creepy it is. Nothing too graphic, but don’t read if you’re not comfortable with this kind of setting. I will put no tags because I know that this is not for everyone.

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The great hall was crowded with people. Your father, the king of Kattegat, had returned after all these years. So of course and in spite of the circumstances of his disappearance there had to be a feast. It only seemed like Ragnar was the person who was the least interested in it, at least you hadn’t spotted him yet, even though it was getting late.

You didn’t know exactly how to feel about his return.  To be honest you barely knew him. You had been a child, not older than six, when he had left after his defeat in Paris. On many occasions throughout the years you had hated him, usually when you would have needed him but he wasn’t there, but most of the time you had just missed him. The only one of your brothers with whom you could ever really talk about your father was Ubbe. The others either hated or worshipped him and as always there was no reasoning with them.

It was also Ubbe who sad across from you at the table now. The sluggish smile he gave you showed that the ale was beginning to have an effect. Then his gaze fell on your empty goblet.

“Do you want more ale? I’ll go get some for you.” He offered.

You gave him a thankful smile. Your sweet Ubbe. Out of all your brothers he was the one to always take care of you, to make sure you always had everything you needed and were included in almost everything your brothers did. He never complained about having to carry you or Ivar to places you couldn’t reach on your own, like Sigurd and Hvitserk would occasionally do.

You watched him make his way through the celebrating and mostly quite drunk crowd as you felt an arm slide around your shoulders. The young warrior sitting next to you pulled you closer to him to whisper into your ear. “I want to tell you a secret.” He babbled drunkenly, his breath heavy with mead. “I’ve always wanted to sleep with a völva.”

You gave him an almost pitiful look and shook your head. “But you surely won’t tonight.”

“Why not? It would only be to your advantage. There’s a lot of talk about you and your brother. You could marry me, then it would surely stop.” He slurred, keeping you pressed to his side.

You were still thinking of a smart reply or even better a way to get away from him as your vision turned black for a split second, then you saw deep blue eyes, so similar to your own, glaring at you with an angry expression that held a barely hidden thread. After another flash of blackness you returned to reality. The man beside you was still talking but you didn’t pay attention anymore. You turned your head, searching the room until you found the exact same pair of glaring eyes you had seen in your flash vision.

Ivar was watching you and your admirer and he clearly didn’t like what he saw. His heavy gaze made a shiver run down your spine. To your relief Ubbe was back only moments later and the young warrior loosened his grip on you as he saw your older brother approach, though his arm was still draped around your shoulders. Ubbe raised an eyebrow at the sight and you gave him a little wave of your hand to say that it was nothing to be concerned about.

You were taking the first sip of your ale as you heard the slithering sound that always announced your twin brother. You readied yourself, for you knew that with him always came trouble, especially on occasions like this. Ivar pulled himself onto the bench on the other side of you. To your surprise he looked entirely calm.

“Arnulf, have you not head?” He asked the other man.

Arnulf raised an eyebrow in question.

“Any man who tries to touch my sister will not see the sun rise again.” Ivar said with a smile that did not reach his eyes, his icy glare was glued on the young warrior.

You had to suppress a chuckle as genuine fear spread over the big man’s face and his arm slid from your shoulders.

“I meant no harm, Ivar. I swear.” Arnulf mumbled raising his hands defensively.

“I might forgive you.” Ivar mused, while sliding his hand around your waist. “As long as you never dare to look her way again.”

Arnulf just nodded and rose to find another table. Ivar grinned darkly at his victory and pulled you so close to him you were almost sitting in his lap. He placed a kiss on your neck and then nuzzled his nose into your hair.

“My poor little sister, I always have to rescue you from those pigs.” He whispered, kissing your neck again, while his hand kneaded the flesh of your hip.

“Ivar.” Ubbe warned, keeping his voice low. “People are staring already.”

Ivar just shrugged. “It’s not like I’m not used to that.”

You blushed. You sometimes felt embarrassed when Ivar was acting like this in front of people, but you usually let him have his will. For once because there was no point in fighting Ivar, he always got what he wanted in the end and secondly because you knew he needed you. It was much harder for your brother to live with the disability both of you shared than it was for you. As a boy he would always be compared to your other brothers. He had to fight much harder than them to gain the same respect. You on the other hand had inherited your mother’s gift and were widely respected for that, whether you could walk or not did not make much of a difference.

You and Ivar had always been close and you loved him like no other person in the world. Your mother had always told you that because you were in much more gifted position because of your sex and your gift of sight, you had to make some allowances for Ivar. So you never had in you to push him away, even when people were staring or talking behind your backs. If you were completely honest you didn’t even want to, you enjoyed his attention, even though you would prefer it if Ivar wouldn’t always put it on display like this.

 As the night neared its end, more and more people left or simply fell asleep on their tables until it was finally only you and Ivar left. Ivar was sitting in his mother’s throne and had once more pulled you into his lap. You enjoyed those moments when you two were alone with each other, with no one staring or whispering for once. Ivar was the only person in whose presence you could completely relax and who seemed to fully understand you. Maybe it was because he had to fight the same struggles in daily life or maybe it was because you had shared the place in your mother’s womb. You didn’t know the reason, but it didn’t matter much anyways, you just took it as it was.

“I’ve got something for you.” Ivar told you with a grin.

“Really? What is it?” You asked excitedly as he produced a small item from his tunic. It was wrapped into a neatly folded cloth.

“Open it.” He said, handing it to you.

You carefully unwrapped it and gasped as a beautiful silver amulet with a red stone in the middle fell into your hand.

“How did you know that I wanted that?” You questioned.

“I saw you look at it on one of the market stands the other day.”

“You weren’t even interested in the stand I was looking at and left after like two seconds.” You accused, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugged but a dark grin appeared on his face. “I see everything you do. You better not forget that, little sister.”

You rolled your eyes. He liked to call you that even though he was only minutes older than you. Normally you would have reminded him of that fact, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off the beautiful gift in your hand. “Would you?” You asked, handing it back to him.

Ivar placed the amulet between your collar bones and tied the leather string behind your neck. When he was done, he let his fingers follow the string back to your throat and downwards, caressing every inch of skin that your dress revealed.

“So beautiful.” He whispered.

Both of you were startled when you heard someone clear his throat. Squinting into the dim light of the dying fires you saw a figure approach. As he stepped out of the shadows you were surprised to see your father.

“You’re too late.” Ivar informed him. “You missed the feast mother has prepared in honor of your return.”

You could tell that his hostility was put on. The feeling of his heart beating fast against your ribs told you that he was as exited to see your father as you were.

Ragnar ignored Ivar’s comment and just looked you up and down, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Are you two…?” He finally asked, not finishing his question and just making a vague gesture with his hand instead.

You immediately felt a blush creep up on your cheeks as you wondered for how long he had been watching you, but Ivar just smirked darkly, not seeming to be embarrassed in the slightest.

“What do you want?” Ivar asked coolly. “Everyone is asleep. We were about to leave as well.”

Ragnar nodded. “You should. It is late, the sun will be up soon. I did not mean to disturb you.” The corners of his mouth curled up in a smile as his gaze fell on you and you could help but smile back.

“I’m sorry for staring, but my daughter has become such a beauty.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, almost looking shy now. “Allow me to carry you to bed like I used to do when you were a little girl.”

You nodded and his smile widened as he slowly cradled you into his arms and lifted you up.

The reminder of your childhood crushed the small part of you that still wanted to hate him and you felt your eyes get teary as you realized how much you had actually missed him. All too soon he had reached your chamber and carefully placed you on the bed, as if you were made of porcelain.

“Don’t cry.” He whispered as he saw the tears glistening in your eyes.

You suppressed a sob. “I have just missed you so much, father.” You admitted.

He gave you a sad smile. “We will talk tomorrow, I promise. Now sleep, my little girl.” He kissed your forehead and gave you a last smile before leaving you.

You were tired after such a long night but all the thoughts going round in your head didn’t allow you to find any rest. You tossed and turned in your bed wondering what it meant that your father had come back, not only for you but also for Kattegat.

There was no way of telling how much time had passed as the door to your chamber opened with a low creak.

“Ivar?” You asked into the darkness, knowing that it could only be him.

“Make some room.” He ordered as he pulled himself into your bed.

It was not unusual that you and Ivar slept in the same bed. You had shared a bed as children and somehow that habit had never left you. Sleeping pressed to Ivar’s chest was the most natural thing to you and you had never thought anything by it.

“Where have you been all the time?” You asked.

He slid his tunic over his head and made himself comfortable against the headboard before answering. “I’ve been talking to father. He wants to go back to England.” He paused, searching your gaze. “He has asked me to come with him.”

You felt your stomach clench almost painfully. You had never been separated from Ivar and even the thought made a feeling of pure horror spread through you. Going to England meant going into great danger, especially for Ivar. You didn’t dare to imagine how it would feel if he wouldn’t come back.

But you also knew that this was all Ivar had ever dreamed of, finally a chance to prove himself and to show that he was as capable as his brothers. You didn’t have the right to influence his decision.

“And will you go?” You asked, trying to keep your voice as neutral as you could manage.

“Of course.” He said, a proud grin growing on his face.

“You might die if you go.” You tried to make it sound like a simple statement but weren’t able to keep your voice from trembling.

“I might.” He said, placing a hand on your cheek, caressing it slowly. “But you of all people should know that if that is what the gods have planned for me, neither of us can change it. Is that not right, little sister?”

You nodded. “It is. That just doesn’t make it easier to bare.”

“I know.” He locked his eyes with yours again. “And I’ve been thinking. About what I want to do before I might die.”

You said nothing, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t. Instead he slid his hand around your neck and brought his face closer to yours until your lips touched.

Ivar had kissed you before, but never like this. There was a new passion that hadn’t been there until now. You shivered as his tongue travelled along your bottom lip, trying to make you open your mouth for him. And just as it always was with Ivar you didn’t have the willpower to withstand him.

Your tongues danced around one another as he feasted on your lips, his hands travelling over your skin, making your body head up in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

You broke the kiss, looking up at him with wide eyes, scared about what was happening. “Ivar….” You whispered. “We can’t…. This is wrong.”

He smirked darkly and rolled on top of you, trapping you underneath his body.

“Oh it is wrong, sweet little sister. But that only makes it so much better.”

[graziadiocenterilpostino]

“Do As I Say, Do As She Does”, An Anonymous Student Essay

This essay was written for an Italian course last semester. The instructor thought it was exemplary and thought it would be an excellent idea to share it with a larger public. The student agreed to it, with the condition of remaining anonymous. We therefore publish it here with minimal edits due to the different medium and audience for which it was originally intended. 

“Yep, the ol’ man was a gigolo”, Papa says with a smoker’s chuckle and tears in his yellow, beady eyes. He’s remembering his father, Gaetano “Tommy” S***, or Big Papa as he is known by the great-grandkids, seeming to forget that I’ve heard the story he’s about to tell dozens of times already. Sometimes I wonder if he’s aware of this fact, but he proceeds to tell me anyway in a subtle attempt to admit just how much his father’s infidelity had affected him as a young man. Lately, though, I’ve been thinking that Papa is speaking less about the weakness of his dad, and more about the strength of his mother.

My great-grandmother’s name is Rita, but I never knew that until third grade when I attended her funeral. We all called her Noni instead, a name synonymous with the smell of Entenmann’s, Dove soap, and the beautiful garden of lemons, oranges, and roses surrounding my great-grandparents’ house on Ellery Street in San Pedro. She greeted us with the same delight at every Sunday lunch, stepping out of her kitchen to squeeze our cheeks and cry out joyfully, “Carme-nooch! Vincenzo! Gino!”. Her eyes would sparkle as she embraced us, and she gave the warmest hugs known to mankind. She greeted everyone like this, and in our big Italian family, that meant over twenty people on any given Sunday. On holidays, at least forty people would show up, cramped together in the living room to enjoy her delicious cooking and endless supply of stories. Anywhere you looked, the walls were protected by a cross, or a statue of Mary, or guardian angels. Always surrounding these items were pictures of S*** relatives, symbolizing the central role of faith in our family. Noni’s strong adherence to the Catholic beliefs had made her a welcoming and forgiving person, who treated everyone with the same level of respect and affection no matter what. It was no wonder why she was able to attract such great company through all the years up to her passing at the age of eighty-five, ten years ago. But it was only within the last five years, once Papa started to reveal more information to me during our back-porch talks, that I truly realized the sacrifices Noni had made because of her faith, and the very different role religion had played in my great-grandfather’s life.

By the time I was old enough to know who Big Papa was, he was already disabled (which, according to my grandfather, was the only reason he stopped messing around with other women).     I rarely saw him get up from his enormous throne of brown leather, but when he did, everyone made a big deal out of it. He still had the aura of a king, despite being in his eighties, which I’m told was passed down to him from his father, the first Carmen S***. My great-great-grandfather  Carmen was known as “Capodochiaro” by the fishing community in San Pedro, which in his dialect meant “king of the beach”. He came to America in 1913 from Ischia, Italy, bringing with him a childhood’s length of experience in fishing and specifically, net making. Over his lifetime he had owned ten commercial fishing boats in the Los Angeles Harbor, and was so successful that at one point the New Zealand government tried to recruit him to teach their fishermen net making. At his wife’s request, the Capodochiaro refused. Big Papa was raised in San Pedro to continue the family business and maintained three of the boats. His work ethic was just as strong as his father’s, which he then passed down to my grandfather. To this day, Papa can never seem to emphasize enough his father’s ability to show him what it meant to work and take pride in your work at such a young age.

When he was not working, however, Big Papa was a lot more reckless. He nearly smoked and drank himself to death at several points in his life and, as mentioned, got himself involved with other women. Yet he did all of this while maintaining a close relationship with God. The irony of these two truths occurring at once reminds me of the irony involved with certain initiations into the Mafia. In the video we watched on Michael Franzese, he describes the “made man” ceremony in which a picture of a saint was burned in his hand, a sacrilegious act to initiate him into a life of greed, deceit, and horrific violence. At the same time, these individuals identified themselves as proud Roman-Catholics!

On a smaller scale, Big Papa displayed the same dichotomy between his faith and his actions. Though he rarely attended church himself, my great-grandfather was a strong believer in Christ and made sure to put my grandfather and his siblings through Catholic school and all of the necessary sacraments. It really shocked me, to say the least, when I found out that the man who had made such an effort to instill Catholic beliefs and morals into his son was the same man to make him sit in the car during his pre-work “errands”. Thankfully, reading Jerre Mangione’s Mount Allegro has enabled me to explore this behavior in new ways. For instance, Mangione describes his relatives as having Catholicism “so deeply ingrained in their bones that they could violate some of its man-made rules without the slightest feeling of guilt”. Was my great-grandfather so confident in his faith that he could violate the     seventh commandment without remorse? If so, why was he then so adamant on raising my grandfather “by the book”? Once again, Mangione provides an explanation. In the same passage, he proclaims that “the young had yet to prove their devotion by going to church and following the rules of the Catholic Church”. In other words, the adults had done their time, and had reached the point at which they were essentially best friends with God, no longer His servants. In Big Papa’s case, he had served as an altar boy, got married in a church, and that was enough for him. His only responsibility after that was to put his kids through the same experience, for their own good and protection under God. It did not faze him that he was sinning in his own life or violating Holy Matrimony. My great-grandfather viewed God as a best    friend who he would often disappoint, but who would always forgive him. His greatest contribution to the friendship was offering his beloved children the chance to grow into honorable men and women, to do as he said and not as he did.

Noni’s approach was similar and different. She certainly made an equal if not greater effort to raise her children within the Catholic faith. However, as stated earlier, she practiced what   she preached; and it was because of this adherence to the faith that Noni felt obligated to sacrifice so much. For example, her propensity to forgive her husband for all of his affairs could only be attributed to a woman seeking to live her life in the image of Christ. It also revealed her devotion to her children, as she believed divorcing my great-grandfather would only create problems for Papa and his siblings down the road. She stuck it out because she truly believed it was the right thing to do for her children, not herself. For over half a century she slept under the same roof as the man who had betrayed her so many times, so that her family could remain unified. Her marriage may have been hanging by a thread, but Noni’s sacrifices proved to be worthwhile. Our massive Italian family stayed intact for all of her life, all thanks to her selflessness that she maintained because of her devotion to God and the Catholic faith.

When Noni passed away, Big Papa’s health was in steep decline. His mind was deteriorating, and he had lost almost all of his short-term memory. Because of this, he would always ask for my great-grandmother, and the adults would reassure him that she was on vacation. They never told her she had passed away, but my grandfather is convinced that he knew. Big Papa passed away on her birthday, within the same year.

Papa never complains about his upbringing as a child aware of his dad’s indiscretions. He  never feels sorry for himself, instead only for his mother. But he also expresses extreme gratitude for Big Papa and reassures me that although his shortcomings as a husband went without saying, he was still a “great father”. This conclusion used to strike me as odd, but now I am able to  understand it better. My grandfather inherited his mother’s warm heart and his father’s work ethic, the former allowing him still to appreciate the latter without resentment. His unconditional love for his father was the same kind of love given by Noni, who took Christ as her example.

I would like to make clear that I have nothing but love for my great-grandfather. There is so much more to him that was left out of this essay, for the sake of relevance, that I wish I could have included. I understand that people are complicated, and this essay was in no shape or form a  means to speak ill of Big Papa. This side of him was discussed solely for me to explore his relationship with God and how it differed from that of my great-grandmother. From everything I’ve been told, I can say without a doubt that my great-grandfather was a good man. He had flaws like   the rest of us, in some areas more than others, but I know in the end he truly loved his wife.

[danceandmince]

Photo Credit: Disney/Image Group LA

Anika Noni Rose, voice of Princess Tiana, at 2017 D23 Expo’s The Power of The Princess

Details below the cut.

ABOUT BEING CASTED

Anika was performing in “Caroline, or Change” in 2004 at the Ahmanson Theatre in Los Angeles when she was asked by Disney to possibly voice. She wasn't thinking of voicing a princess and told Disney she could voice a Flea or Tick. That she knew the bite would sound like "Nyah!" That interaction with Disney was 2 years before the auditions for Tiana. Anika was filming Dreamgirls when the Tiana auditions were called. She went to 3 auditions that were far apart and was told she got the part while traveling to Australia.

ON RON & JOHN

Ron Clements and John Musker are each other's Yin and Yang says Anika. Ron is real quiet but when he's on, he's on. And John's going to interrupt anyway. Like they're aggressively going to the same point, they are a megamind organism. She called them masters of surprise, Anika said she spent a lot of time weeping. She explains by recalling a moment in Paris where they were at a toy reveal press event. They showed a clip of Tiana animated in color for the first time to Anika, she was crying and wasn't aware of how much Tiana would look like her.

MISUNDERSTANDING CALL OUT

There was discussion on processes of films, in which Jodi Benson was remembering The Little Mermaid as the "the last hand drawn" but Jodi's full thought was meant as "last hand painted on cels." Anika interjects with "Excuse me? Yeah, there were some hands on my film." Jodi then completes the thought with "to use hand painted cel" which is a correct fact. Hosts and WDAS Animators Kira Lehtomaki and Amy Smeed confirm that The Princess and The Frog was hand drawn, but colored digitally.

MARK HENN

Mark Henn was sitting in the audience, the Hosts ask for him to stand. Mark brought never before seen pencil tests to show the audience. One of the first animations of Tiana was as a frog. I actually did not write down what this scene was, but I'm remembering it as the "There is no way I'm kissing a frog and eating a bug in the same day." dialogue. He then shows us a test that was never in the movie, he believes the audio was pulled from an audition tape of Anika and that the test was to see how the voice and visuals worked together as a whole. Tiana says something along the lines of "I'm not kissing a frog." Sorry I don't have detailed notes of these, watching the pencil lines on screen were too much of a treat.

ON MUSIC

Randy Newman was described as great and funny by Anika. It took a long time for Anika to be casted as Tiana. She was at the Oscars for Dreamgirls and Randy was there. She came up to him during a rehearsal and said "Hi, Randy. I auditioned for Tiana..." but no casting secrets were revealed that night. She calls Randy fantastic, interesting but an introvert. He wouldn't look at you. He's all about a feeling, and connecting on a feeling. Randy was a perfect fit as he felt the city and lived there. There were many other songs created for the movie, but they were darker, bluesy, and sexy. Too sexy actually.

ON WHAT ALMOST THERE MEANS

Anika felt like all of the movie was much like her life. In the first drafts, Tiana was named Maddy, short for Madeline. Anika grew up in a small town where her guidance counselor in school told her she should learn a trade. But she was lucky to have a supportive family. Almost There is about being somewhere. Anika knew Tiana's journey and her path. Find joy in the journey and the steps you have taken. You can be Almost There and take a couple more steps.

WRECK-IT RALPH 2: RALPH BREAKS THE INTERNET

A clip that was previously shown in the Animation Hall D23 Presentation was shown the audience of The Power of the Princess. Ralph and Vanellope venture into the internet and discover a website called Oh My Disney. The Princesses are mobbed by fans while they walk backstage, their door is guarded by a Storm Trooper. Vanellope glitches into their dressing room to which the princesses act in defense, Cinderella breaks her glass slipper to be a weapon. Each Princess then goes around finding ways to qualify Vanellope as a Princess. Tiana's line asks if she's ever been "Cursed?" The Princesses find Vanellope's casual wear to be delightful, they then create their own versions of Disneybounds. Tiana wears a yellow shirt that says NOLA, pants, and sneakers. She is holding a starbucks cup and her natural hair is down and rendered in CG. Tiana says to Vanellope "It would be boring if we were all the same."

ON REPRESENTATION

Anika has all kinds of photos of children dressed as Tiana "An Asian Tiana" She talks about how Tiana shows brown kids and their friends that "They too, are regal." Anika would wear a yellow towel on her head as a child, but now kids can be as regal, as phenomenal as they are. We reach children on a level which they speak. It isn't until adults reach in and put the boundary. A man in New York approached Anika, thanking her that he can buy a princess doll that looks like his daughter.

FINALE

Before closing the panel, each voice was asked for their favorite quote and/or sing. Anika did not choose a quote, but sang Down in New Orleans. Anika said she had to catch a flight after but took a selfie with the audience.

BETTER NOTES FROM PRESS REPORTERS

High School Los Angeles Times - Cassandra Hsiao

Rose thought Disney was considering her for a much smaller part than the voice of Tiana, the lead princess. “I was not at all thinking of a princess,” Rose said, describing the meeting that took place between her and Disney. “I was like, listen, I’ve been working on some things, if by chance you need a flea or a tick I know what that might sounds like.” 

For Rose, she was in Paris when the directors of “The Princess and The Frog” John Musker and Ron Clements showed her a clip without a preface. “They showed me myself for the first time in color,” said Rose. “I had never seen her fully animated and I had no idea she was going to look so much like me. I was weeping in Paris backstage.” 

Rose explained that Tiana as the first African-American princess not only showed brown children that they are regal but also show their friends that they too are regal. The movie also encompassed ideas of perseverance and tenaciousness– something that struck very close to Rose’s heart. “I felt like when I read the script, I knew this girl. I grew up in a small town without anybody doing the thing I wanted to do. I grew up in a small town where a guidance counselor told me maybe I should learn a trade. So I understood being somewhere where nobody else understood what I wanted to do. So I felt like the journey I was going on as Tiana, though I was not a young girl in the South in the Jazz Age, was my journey. I knew her voice. I knew her path. I constantly felt and still feel that I am ‘almost there…’ There is a joy in the journey of your dream. And sometimes you’re not quite touching it there. But the fact that you’ve gotten to the point where you’re almost there means you only have a couple more steps to go.”

Rotoscopers - Kajsa Rain Forden

Anika Noni Rose’s journey to Disney had a lengthier path. First, she was invited simply for open discussion, a meeting with Disney to see the possibilities; Rose was ecstatic: “I would love to come in for Disney because I’ve got voices.” Rose specifically remembers offering her voice for a flea or tick, having developed a particularly humorous biting noise. It would be another couple of years before Princess Tiana, or Maddie as she was originally named, became part of her life.

 Rose thought of the team as “each other’s yin and yang,” also calling them masters of surprise. Rose remembers the poignant moment when Ron and John surprised her with a first look at Tiana, fully animated and in color – causing her to cry while backstage in Paris. 

Consistently impassioned, Rose had much to say about Princess Tiana’s power, including how she finally showed “little brown children” that they are regal, that they can be princesses or princes. Tiana also promotes a sense of autonomy, the idea that you can work for your dreams on your own abilities and on your own terms.

 For Rose, Tiana opens up the field of imagination for children who hadn’t yet seen princesses that looked like them and that could be included in a pantheon with other diverse characters. “It is not until adults reach in and ruin [imagination] that [children] put up boundaries.”

Oh My Disney - Sean Reed

“I was weeping in Paris backstage. I didn’t realize how much she’d look like me.” –Anika, remembering the very first time she saw animation of her character Tiana, from The Princess and the Frog.

“You can be almost there and be sad about it, or you can be almost there and find the joy in the journey, and how far you have gone.” –Anika, commenting on what makes Tiana’s story so inspiring. RE: WEEPING. 

“That was like a master class in conquering your fears.” –Paige speaking for all of us after Anika’s incredible advice.  

“We reach children on the level that they speak. We reach them in their hearts.” –Anika just doling out another gold soundbite like it’s her job.

[marq-de-laf]

Hello! Sorry to bother, I just want to say that I love this blog, and if you maybe know what his time in prison and after was like for lafayette cause I found some fairly contradicting texts and I'm confused. Thank you for your time!

Hello, Nony. 

Gilbert’s imprisonment always grieves my heart. It’s a story very few people know about. I’ll try to make some sense of it here from what I’ve gathered from multiple books and sources. Part of the miscommunication lies in the fact that Lafayette’s captors moved him to different prisons to prevent possible friends of the Frenchman from discovering his location. Lafayette didn’t write about his own experience until much later and his first-hand account is not only subject to his age, but is touched on with such brevity that it made me wonder if it was a topic he wanted to avoid discussing in great length. Lafayette, when remembering later, often went into painful amounts of detail…down to what colors people were wearing. The account of his imprisonment in his memoirs touch more on episodes within that time that broke up the monotony: his escape attempt, his wife’s arrival, etc. All that to say, I’ll do my best and as I do more research, I may have to go back and edit later.

From bad to worse. – The first real prison stay for Lafayette was at Wesel. Better treatment was offered if he would swear to renounced republicanism. Lafayette ardently refused. His Prussian captors also plied him for any information they could get regarding French military secrets and tactics. Again, he was silent. The authorities then transferred Lafayette to Magdeburg where he was imprisoned for about a year. Here, he later described being ‘doomed to moral and bodily decay.’ By one account, the cell he was held in was about 4 ft. wide and 8 ft. tall. He suffered in the cold, dark, and damp. There was no sunlight in the cell, and guards stood on constant watch. His spirits dampened, Lafayette nonetheless continued to refuse offers of better treatment in exchange for abandoning his principles. 

Losing hope. After his time in Magdeburg, he was briefly moved to Neisse, still under Prussian supervision. His friends and family were completely in the dark as to his fate. No one had been told where he was being kept. It was as if he’d fallen off the face of the earth and he was left to fear for his family without word. To add to his misery, he contracted a fever that nearly killed him. In Unger’s book, Lafayette (which I haven’t read in full yet), he describes how Lafayette gradually grew dangerously despondent. “Lafayette believed his captors were planning his secret execution–that he would simply disappear and no one would know where or when. He found a sliver of wood, moistened it, and dipped it in soot to write his last words: ‘Adieu, then, my dear wife, my children, my aunt…whom I shall cherish to my last breath.’”

Hell. Olmütz, where Lafayette spent four years incarcerated, was situated in Austrian held territory. He arrived on May 17, 1794. It was not a prison, but a dungeon equal to anything you’ve seen on TV. Once again, Unger paints a pretty dismal picture. “The prison was part of the city wall over the Morawa River, which carried the city sewerage and filled the prison above it with a suffocating stench and swarms of disease-carrying mosquitoes and flies. Lafayette…[was] chained in solitary confinement…forbidden to talk, in rags, and with no personal possessions.” They gave him and the two other French officers with him numbers and did not address them by name. If memory serves, Lafayette was State Prisoner #2. He was not given a chamber pot and had to eat with his hands in such filth. Bathing was also prohibited.

Escape? The fever Lafayette had spawned in Magdeburg had not left him by the time he moved to Olmütz and gradually grew worse. As his health deteriorated, a doctor was finally called for. This doctor, as luck would have it, was a part of an escape organized by many friends of the ailing Frenchman, including Angelica Church (formerly Schuyler). The doctor brought with him a note detailing the scheme. Lafayette used his own blood to write a reply and sent the physician on his way. The doctor demanded that Lafayette be allowed outside from time to time and the authorities eventually complied. During one of these outings, two of the conspirators burst from the woods. A skirmish broke out. One of the guards tackled Lafayette and bit his finger so badly that he nearly lost it. He managed to scramble away, hopped on a horse, and took off. Adorably (and unfortunately), he misunderstood his accomplices’ English and went to the wrong town. Believing himself to be in friendly territory, he announced his identity and need to a farmer…who promptly sold him out to the authorities. Lafayette was immediately arrested and dragged back to prison.

Lockdown. Lafayette’s memoirs describe the punishment for his escape best. “Lafayette was put in irons, and suffered the most excruciating torture. He was in a feeble state, overcome by fatigue, and suffering greatly from the bruises and wounds received in his late attempt to escape. His anxieties, his anguish (and despair we may almost say,) at finding himself again in the power of his unrelenting jailor, so affected his nerves, that his fever returned with increased and alarming violence. In this state he was allowed nothing but a little damp and mouldy straw; irons were put round his feet, and round his waist was a chain, fastened to the wall, which barely permitted him to turn from one side to the other. No light was admitted into his cell; and he was refused even the smallest allowance of linen.” “Worn down by disease and the rigour of the season, his hair fell from his head, and he was emaciated to the last degree. To these physical distresses were soon super added those mental anxieties, which perhaps, were still more difficult to endure.” After some time–and influence from friends abroad–he was unchained from the wall and allowed to walk one hour a day. No one was allowed to speak to him.

Adrienne saves his life. Two years in, Adrienne arrived with their daughters, Virginie and Anastasie, and refused to leave during her husband’s confinement. One of his girls wrote later: "We got out at the house of the commandant of the city. We did not see him. He sent the officer who was charged with keeping the prison, to conduct us. After we had gone through the first gate we passed down long corridors to two padlocked doors that opened into my father’s room. ‘I don’t know,’ my mother said the night before, 'how I can support what we are going to feel.’ My father had not been notified of our coming. He had been given no letter at all from my mother. Three years of imprisonment, the last passed in complete solitude (for since his attempt at escape he had not seen his servant), anxiety for all he loved, sufferings of all kinds, had deeply affected his health. The change in his looks was frightening. My mother was hard hit by it; but nothing could diminish the delirium of her joy except the bitterness of her irreparable losses. My father, after the first happiness of reunion, did not dare to ask any questions. He knew of the reign of terror in France, but he did not know the names of the victims. The day passed without his daring to question her concerning his fears or her being able to muster strength to tell him. Only in the evening, after my sister and I had been shut into the next room, not connected, did she tell my father that she had lost on the scaffold, her grandmother, her mother, and her sister.’

Lafayette and his family were released on September 19, 1797. What happened afterwards will have to be a post for another time. I’ll try to get that together as soon as possible. As to the conflicting reports you might have gone over, it’s because very few people were actually able to contact Lafayette or his family. I hope this shed some light on things. I’m crying now. Dear me. 

[avidbeader]

Voltron fic: “Scattered” Ch. 21

Okay, Tumblr peeps - you get first look.

Rated T. Genfic/no ships. S2 AU. You can begin at the beginning here or read it on FF-Net and AO3 when I get it posted there sometime this evening. FEEDBACK IS WELCOME.

So, obviously I’m not going to have this done before S3 drops. But I know what I want to do the rest of the way (maybe 3-6 chapters?) and hope to have this thing done by the end of August so I can give more attention to my HP WIP and “The Quintessential Bond”.

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Shiro sat at the window and watched as his father and Keith walked together in the garden, enjoying the morning sun. They had developed the habit back when Keith was first fostered with them, to spend a little time each day walking and talking about anything that crossed their minds. As he watched, Daichi reached over and put an arm across Keith’s shoulders. Instead of stiffening the way Shiro was used to seeing Keith do when other people invaded his personal space, Keith leaned into it. It brought a smile to Shiro’s face.

He heard footsteps behind him and Sayuri ran her fingers in his hair. “How can you still maintain this outlandish cut of yours up there in space?” She had never really liked his undercut.

“They have clippers. Plenty of aliens with hair like ours.”

She laughed a little at that, then took his hand as she sat beside him.

“Takashi, please. Tell me some of it. What is going on up there? How can they expect you to lead a war at your age? With… with children? How can they ask you to kill?”

Shiro pressed his lips together before answering, considering exactly how much to share. “It’s on a different scale than what we think of as war. A lot of what we do is take out giant weaponized robots. Or drones that are commanded by a single central computer that might or might not have a living person running it. I think you could count the number of actual beings we’ve killed on two hands.” That didn’t include the arena, of course, but that was a different conversation for another time.

Sayuri looked a little reassured, but persisted with a mother’s instincts. “And what about the first time?”

“First time?”

“When you and the Holts were taken from Kerberos. What happened to you?”

Apparently they were going to have the other conversation now as well.

She was looking down, focused on his cybernetic hand. Shiro realized that she was imagining experiments and torture, straight out of SF horror films.

Shiro reached over with his human hand and clasped hers. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t vivisection, kaa-chan. Nothing like that. The Galra are a conquering race, not scientists. They send most of their prisoners of war to work camps…or to gladiator arenas.”

Her eyes flew up to his face, zeroing in on the scar that crossed it. “Takashi?”

He swallowed hard. “I had to fight for my life, kaa-chan. Over and over. There wasn’t any way out other than to keep winning.” He ran his tongue around his teeth, trying to work some saliva into a suddenly dry mouth. “I had blocked out a lot of my memories from my imprisonment, but bits and pieces have been coming back. I remember that I tried, every time, to get the others to yield before I hurt them too much. The Galra hated that, but they never stopped me.”

“Did they…did they release them? Or kill them after for surrendering?”

Shiro looked up at her and the concern in her face deepened. He could feel how haunted his eyes must be.

“I don’t know, kaa-chan.”

She put her free hand to his face, drawing him close to press her cheek to his. Shiro managed to bite back the sobs that wanted to break free, but couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. Sayuri stood and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.

He closed his arms around her and let himself cry it out. For the first time since Kerberos, he felt no shame over the tears. No guilt for showing weakness. Just the release of knowing he had survived, his family was still here, and he was loved.

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 Lance hit on an excellent strategy of avoiding his father in the throng by hovering near his grandmother and great-aunts, all of whom insisted he was too thin and plied him with ropa vieja, tostones, and buñuelos. The younger cousins were also a good line of defense, swarming him with questions about space, aliens, and the alive-again Kerberos crew.

Late in the evening, Sara dragged him upstairs to her room and gave him her tablet so he could catch up a little on his social media sites. As he skimmed posts from friends, she leaned over and asked, “You okay?”

He glanced up at that. “Yeah, why?”

“I overheard papá telling mamá that you were going back. Did he try to talk you out of it?”

Lance nodded, the pain of the conversation returning. Blue purred in his mind.

Sara leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. They just want you to be safe.”

“Well, no one on the planet will be safe if I don’t go back.”

She put her arm around him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? It’s just you and four other kids up there fighting an evil empire?”

“And a princess and her adviser. And some space mice. And we’ve got some aliens on our side so far. The Arusians are short people with horns and the Balmerans are rock people, but they support us. And the Metreans.” Lance shivered a little, remembering long, spidery arms. “We’ll find more.”

The tablet pinged with a message: Incoming.

“What the quiznak?” Lance frowned at the message.

“What the what?” Sara laughed and he realized what he had said.

“Sorry, it’s a rude word in Altean.”

“Uh-huh. What’s the message mean?”

A voice sounded from midair. “It means I gave you a bit of warning before freaking you out.”

Sara shrieked and Lance grabbed her to keep her from falling off the bed.

“Pidge!”

She shimmered into view and grinned that gremlin grin that never failed to irritate him. “Yes?”

“What are you doing here?”

She held out a pocket-sized device. Lance recognized it as one of the latest smartphones and took it.

“Giving your family their communicator. It’ll definitely reach the Castle across the solar system and I’m pretty sure that they’ll match the castle’s range. There’s a message option in case we do find a maximum distance on them.” She woke the device and pointed to the lion icon. “They hit this and then blue for you or orange for the Castle. I added the rest of us just in case.” She handed the phone to Sara, who was staring open-mouthed. “Hi, I’m Pidge. Which sister are you?”

Lance jumped in. “This is Sara. Mina’s still downstairs. How did you get in here?”

“Cloaking device, duh.”

“But how’d you know where to come?”

“Tracking option on your cloaking device, duh.”

Lance’s expression turned offended. “You put tracking on these things?”

“So you want to get knocked unconscious while invisible and not be found? I can arrange that.”

Lance felt his face burn red and Sara had recovered enough to laugh. “I like you. How did you get to Cuba?”

“My Lion. I got all the comm devices done and figured I’d deliver them myself. How’s it going here?”

Sara squeezed his arm in support.

“Well, I’ve had the chance to talk to almost everyone who could get here, if I eat any more I’m gonna hurl, my dad tried to tell me I wasn’t going back, and my favorite band broke up.”

“That sounds—wait, what?”

Sara nodded. “They’re scared for him.”

“I get that. I mean, look what happened to my dad and brother and Shiro. Space isn’t the safest place. But if we don’t try and stop the Galra, Earth will get invaded.”

“Maybe you should tell our dad that,” Sara observed. “If he hears it from enough people, maybe he’ll realize that you all really do have to go.”

Pidge shrugged. “Is he really going to listen to a girl half his size?”

Sara snorted. “Appear out of thin air in front of him like you did us. That might impress him.”

“No,” Lance interrupted. “It’s a fifty-fifty chance whether that impresses him or pisses him off.”

Pidge leaned down, looking Lance in the face. “You need us, you call us. Okay? Otherwise we’ll see you back at the Castle. Allura said to be back by 1800 hours tomorrow your time.”

“Wait, that late? That’s over twenty-four hours here. Shiro said we had eighteen hours.”

“Let’s just say Allura didn’t remember that vargas are longer than hours.”

This time her gremlin grin didn’t bother Lance at all.

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 Iolana watched as Hunk deftly arranged a plate and handed it to Mr. Araullo, the neighbor who had contributed his boat trailer to the barricade keeping the media crews at a distance. The older man pulled a paper packet out of his pocket and handed it to Hunk, who beamed at him.

More seeds. The neighborhood had jumped on the idea of seeds and starter plants with enthusiasm, taking up a collection and sending a few volunteers to town to purchase some things while others checked their homes and gardens for possibilities. Hunk added the packet to the table that was already filling up with contributions and moved back to prepare another meal for the next person.

Noni stepped up to take over—the three of them had been rotating serving duty during the afternoon’s impromptu party—and pushed Hunk with a plate of cookies toward the group of children who were waiting patiently for him to be free again.

Hunk sat down and started sharing out the cookies. Most of the kids began scarfing them down immediately, which meant only a few were fighting to get their question in first.

“Come on, you know the rule. Take turns by height, shortest one first.”

“I like that rule!”

Hunk’s head snapped up at the familiar voice. “Pidge?”

A small teenage girl appeared out of midair and looked a little abashed at the sea of open mouths around her. “Sorry, I would have tried to be more discreet about it but I thought you should have this.” She handed a camera to Hunk, who took it in bafflement.

“I tripped a guy who was trying to sneak close enough for pictures. He had a press badge on. I don’t know if he already took any. He…might have hit his head a little on a tree, but he’ll probably be fine.”

Hunk frowned and pulled up the digital display to start flipping through the photos. He growled at the first ones showing zoom views into their windows and started deleting them. Iolana and Noni traded looks and Noni slipped out to alert the neighbors currently on guard duty at the barricade and collect some help in checking on the man.

Iolana came forward and Hunk made introductions before offering, “You hungry? We’ve got plenty.”

“Sure, but just a little. I stopped by to give your mom her communicator.” She handed the converted phone to him. “Lion icon to open the program, yellow to contact you, orange to contact the castle. Other colors for the rest of us just in case.”

“Sweet!” Hunk looked up at her and Iolana nodded to indicate she had heard it all.

“That’s very kind of you.” If nothing else, these children were looking out for one another and that was some comfort to a mother’s heart.

As they passed the table that held Hunk’s future garden, he brightened. “Hey, did you fly Green down here?”

“Yeah, came in stealthed to the beach down the cliff.”

“Can we get you to take this stuff back? That way I’ll have more room in the pod for the rest.”

“Sure, what is it?” Pidge asked, looking it all over.

“Everyone’s sharing seeds and stuff so we can grow our own Earth food in the castle!”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “Hunk, you are quiznaking brilliant! Have you got a list of what you’ve collected? We can do the same with the rest of the team!”

Iolana stepped up. “I’ll have Mrs. Lim do it. She loves organizing things.”

“Thanks, Tinā.” Hunk rubbed his hands together. “I can’t wait to make Coran try everything!”

Pidge laughed at that. “We should start with things like oatmeal, mashed potatoes. Stuff that’s like their food goo. And then blow their minds.”

Iolana was amused and just a little bit frightened at the maniacal glow in her eyes.

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 Keith was doing his best not to simply inhale the food before him.

He had forgotten just how good Sayuri’s cooking was. In the States she had experimented with a variety of ethnic cuisines, teaching Keith to be more adventurous in his tastes.

But the simple early lunch of miso, rice, grilled fish, cucumbers and konnyaku was perfect. He savored the flavors and textures, already regretting the return to the ship and its unending supply of food goo when Hunk didn’t have the ingredients to experiment.

The idea of a grocery run before returning to the Castle occurred to him and he filed it away for after the meal.

Shiro caught his eye and gave him a rueful expression as he took another mouthful of rice, knowing exactly what Keith was thinking.

“I would like to hear more about this princess,” Sayuri commented, helping them to pace themselves with conversation.

Keith shrugged. “What do you want to know? She’s a princess. I think she’s my age or older but not as old as Shiro. She’s a pretty good diplomat but better at leading, if that makes sense.”

Shiro added, “And she can handle herself on an infiltration mission.”

Sayuri nodded and suddenly focused on Keith. She reached out with a napkin to dab at his face. “You’ve got something—”

Keith shot back from her, knocking his chair over as he jumped to his feet.

Shiro rose as well. “Keith?”

Keith balled his fists as he struggled to shove away the flashback. You’re safe, you’re safe, it’s not him, you can breathe… He tried to force more air into his lungs to prove it.

He could hear their voices, as if from a distance, and a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Shiro’s voice broke through the haze. “Keith, you’re hyperventilating! Slow down!” Hands on his shoulders steadied him, guiding him back to a chair.

He felt arms around him. Sayuri was trying to speak to him. “Keith, what is it?”

He still didn’t feel like he had enough air to breathe, much less speak. Red rumbled in his mind, It is all right, my cub. It is safe, you are safe.

Her presence steadied him and he managed slower, shuddering breaths. “Sorry,” he gasped, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

As Shiro’s parents made concerned noises and Shiro knelt in front of him, Keith heard a tapping nearby. He looked up and saw Pidge in the doorway.

Shiro followed his gaze and rose. “Pidge? Is anything wrong?”

“No! At least…I was just bringing your parents their communicator.” She stepped forward, bowed uncertainly, and held out the modified smartphone to Shiro’s father. “Open the lion icon. Black is Shiro, red is Keith, orange is the castle, the other colors are the rest of us. It allows messages if we don’t answer.”

Daichi took the communicator and returned the bow. “Thank you.”

Pidge turned to Keith. “Are you okay?”

Keith hesitated, but nodded. “I will be.”

Sayuri ran her hand through his hair. “What did I do that frightened you?”

Shiro noticed Pidge’s expression shift to an “a-ha” realization. “Pidge?”

“I thought the lions told you all.”

“Told us what?”

“Darzi,” Keith interrupted. The last thing he wanted was Pidge giving the details to Shiro and his parents like he was helpless. “Darzi came close to suffocating me. I’m still a bit…jumpy…about hands near my face.”

Shiro knelt once more and moved very slowly and deliberately to lay his hands on either side of Keith’s face. Keith inhaled sharply but didn’t jerk away. Shiro spoke in a low voice. “The lions did tell us. I didn’t realize you were having flashbacks about it.”

Keith shrugged, starting to feel crowded by everyone hovering over him. “I’ll get over it.”

Shiro looked ready to argue. Daichi gently tugged him back but circled to face Keith. “Should we find someone for you to talk to, ask the princess to let you stay here a few weeks?”

“No! We have to go back now! Every day we delay in fighting Zarkon, the stronger he gets!” Keith drew in breath to continue his argument, but paused at a sudden squeal from a bouncing Pidge.

Shiro looked at her in bewilderment. “Pidge? What’s going on?”

“That’s it! That’s how we convince my mom to come with us!”

“Okaaaay… How?”

“Her other major in college was psychology! She can be our ship’s counselor!”

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 Pidge walked into the family room to find her parents sitting together with a tablet as her mom caught her dad up on the news. Matt was sprawled across the loveseat, working his way through a bowl of popcorn and watching the sequel to a favorite movie that had been released while he was on his way to Kerberos.

She crossed over to Matt and shoved his legs out of the way so she could sit. He stuck his tongue at her and she buried her hand in his bowl to scoop out some popcorn.

“Hey!”

Colleen looked up. “If you’re hungry, Katie, there’s—”

“I’m not. Just wanted the salt. I’ve had food in Cuba, Samoa, and Japan and I’m full.”

“All the comm units delivered?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, everyone’s set.”

Colleen asked, “Where’s ours?”

The other three traded looks and Pidge licked her lips. Now or never…

“Well, what if I told you I had a great idea, Mom?”

Colleen’s eyes narrowed, but she put the tablet down. “I’m listening.”

“I know Dad and Matt want a few weeks here to sort of catch up on things. But I know we can use Matt as another comms specialist to support Coran and Dad would have all kinds of opportunity to study xenobiology.”

Colleen’s expression hardened just a little, hearing it said out loud that her family was ready to leave the planet again.

Pidge drew a deep breath. “You could dust off your second degree and be our Deanna Troi.”

Matt let out one startled yelp of laughter at the reference before clapping a hand over his mouth. His eyes danced in glee at the idea.

Sam’s expression brightened at the thought. “That’s got potential. I know you kids are incredibly capable—I saw it myself when you all rescued Keith from the Garrison—but you’re all still kids fighting the front lines of a war.” He turned to Colleen. “You wouldn’t be just tagging along and feeling useless. You’d be filling a role that is genuinely needed.”

Colleen looked stunned. “But…I’m not qualified. I’ve been working in chemistry all this time. I’m not licensed.”

Matt broke in with enthusiasm. “You’re trained, Mom! You just need to brush up on the latest advances! And I don’t think they’re going to require a license on the Castle-ship.”

“And we’d all be together, Mom,” Pidge added softly. “Please say you’ll think about it?”

Her mother looked at all of them, expressions full of hope that she would say yes. “I… yes, I’ll think about it.”

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 As the time grew near for the paladins to return, Allura went down to the hangar for the pods and waited. Hunk was the first one to arrive, bursting with excitement and throwing dozens of questions at her about greenhouses and gardens within the castle. She finally managed to break in and suggest he consult with Coran later, just as Lance arrived.

A few minutes later, a screen appeared, showing Pidge on the command deck. “Where is everyone?”

“We’re at the pods. Shiro and Keith haven’t returned yet and we’re waiting on them. When they get here, could you meet us in the chamber that housed my father’s A.I.?”

“Sure thing, Princess. Coran said you might need my help?”

“Possibly. Did your father and brother return as well?”

“Not yet. I need to talk to you about that when we have a chance.”

Allura was about to reply but spotted the last pod entering the hangar. “They’re here!”

As Shiro and Keith exited the pod, Allura spied a pile of bags in the space behind their seats that looked to hold foodstuffs. Lance had a similar stash, and of course Hunk was already off and running with the notion of growing Earth foods here. Allura bit her lip, trying to stamp down a sudden stab of jealousy that the paladins still had access to their home planet, their families. She would never hug her father again, smell a juniberry flower, or taste a cup of hot kavisia.

Then she noticed that Shiro was hovering a little over Keith, who looked like he hadn’t slept well. And her mission took first place in her thoughts again.

“Paladins, would you follow me?”

She led the group to the A.I. chamber and through its door. Pidge was already there and looking around curiously. When Allura turned to face them, they were all wearing expressions of confusion. Shiro looked concerned. “What’s going on, Princess? I thought your father’s holoprogram was corrupted beyond repair.”

Allura straightened her posture and stamped down her grief. “Yes, it was, but the hardware itself was undamaged. It’s still functional. Coran?”

“Ready, princess!” The adviser’s voice echoed from somewhere.

And suddenly they were all in the cryo-room of the Castle, looking out from inside a pod as its shell dissolved. Allura heard Lance let out a startled squeak and suddenly remembered his experience with the rogue healing pod. Perhaps she should have shown this to just Keith after all…

As they watched, they realized they were seeing through Coran’s eyes. He spotted them and shouted, “Enemy combatants!” He charged toward Lance, the one closest to him, only to lose his balance. “Quiznak! You're lucky I have a case of the old ‘sleep chamber knees’.”

As they watched, the scene got more and more ridiculous and even Lance was both giggling and covering his rapidly-reddening face. “Oh my god, why did I do that?”

The scene ended abruptly at Allura’s horrified cry of “It can’t be!” They could see the walls of the chamber once more. Coran stepped out from a recessed area with a control panel of some sort.

Pidge tilted her head. “So, you didn’t need me after all?”

Coran shook his head. “No, it’s all working perfectly, just as we needed.”

Lance was leaning on Hunk, hiding his blushes and laughing into his friend’s shoulder. Shiro patted Lance’s back and stepped forward. “Amusing as that was, may I ask why?”

Allura drew in a breath. “I want to ask Keith to record his memory of that man’s assault and enter it as evidence for his trial.”

She had been focusing on Shiro, but her eyes snapped to Keith as he staggered back slightly. Allura’s heart jumped—she had never seen any of the paladins’ faces turn that pale! She darted toward him, even as Shiro turned and steadied him.

“Keith! I’m sorry! I thought—I was trying to help!”

He raised a hand, visibly collecting himself. Pidge moved to his side and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“No, I’m sorry. I should have a handle on this. I just…don’t want to remember it.”

“I think that’s kind of her point, buddy,” Hunk offered. “Which would be better, going through it once here, where you know it’s safe and we’ve all got your back, or having to testify at a court-martial?”

Allura couldn’t believe it, but Keith’s face now rivaled her hair for whiteness. His indigo eyes were huge. But he showed his mettle as a paladin immediately. “Will…will they accept it? Can they accept it as evidence? They don’t have the technology to access Altean files.”

“Oh, I can help with that,” Pidge volunteered.

“Actually, my intention was to insist that the proceedings be held here, as the wronged sovereign nation.”

Shiro frowned, his doubt showing in his tone. “That might work. Usually we look for a neutral venue when it’s needed.”

“Well, if your planet wishes to be seen as equal to others in the greater universe, they’ll need to accept the Interstellar Charter of Cooperation. I’m citing one of its rules when it comes to disputes concerning attacks on a royal personage or their representatives.”

She didn’t dare look at Coran. The Paladins didn’t need to know that the charter had been drafted, but never fully ratified before Zarkon began attacking on an interplanetary scale. Neither did Earth.

Making this Darzi pay for what he did to Keith was all that mattered.

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Thanks for reading! More to come!

[firstjustgoin]

A Character Not My Own

1. Start with a character. One that doesn’t look or talk or act in any way like you. A character you’re afraid can’t speak for you, but maybe that’s a good thing.

The first thing I notice about Frances are her knees. They kind of remind me of mine, all scuffed up and bulging, like the bone’s gone and outgrown the skin hugging it. I like how she doesn’t cry like the other kids I sometimes see around here, maybe that means she’s been around the block a few times or that she’s “precocious” like Noni sometimes tells me I am. After she says this, Noni usually gets this far-off look in her eyes, like she’s trying to spy on another timezone, or figure out what Jayla’s doing locked in her room all the time. I told Noni once that I thought Jayla was doing angel dust and she slapped me so hard across the face, I still carry the sting with me like a pain echo.

I don’t even really know what angel dust is, maybe something you find under the church pews after everyone’s gone.

After she slaps me, I usually let my face bunch up real tight at the center like I’ve swallowed a lemon whole and even though I can’t really cry all that much anymore, I make it look like I will. She’ll stroke my face with her rough fingers and whisper, “You’re still good, my love. You’ll always be good” or something else I can’t quite catch in between these deep, heavy sighs that seem to rise up from the very center of her body.

I’m nearly thirteen now, so it’s not like I’m a full child anymore. I’ve been around the block too, or at least this block and I know that Noni’s love isn’t something I can lose like the lunch money she gives me on Fridays. Wherever I end up after I finish school and save up enough money, Noni’s love is going to follow me around like an echo too.

When I see Frances, she’s sitting alone in the far corner of the visitor’s lobby, and I wonder if she has someone like Noni, always following her around. She looks about my age, but she’s reading a book the same size as her whole middle. I squint real hard and try to see the name of the book, but either my eyesight’s getting worse or Ms. Raciti wasn’t lying when she said that if you didn’t read all summer you’d forget how. I tried to explain to her that I would be a bit busy this summer and I didn’t have anybody who could drive the fifteen miles one way to get to the public library in the town over. Ms. Raciti didn’t seem real impressed by my sob story and just shoved a copy of Where the Red Fern Grows into my hands before I can say another word.

I heard some kids talking later that the dog dies at the end, so instead of reading it, I’m using it to prop up my fan when the July heat gets too heavy even for me.

I think for a second about going up and asking her what she’s reading, but even then I don’t know how I’d keep up a conversation for long. The only thing I’ve really ever liked reading was an old baseball history book my dad left lying around sometimes. I actually learned how to read using that book, picking it up while my dad was napping on the couch or out on a beer run. B-a-all. B-a-a-att. H-i-it. I’d sound out the words bit by bit, the letters falling out of my mouth slowly like thick, homemade honey. “She’s so precocious,” I’d hear Noni say before knowing what that word meant. It made Noni proud that I was so curious about the world, but it made dad angry. I knew he loved me and all that, but he always thought that caring too much about education and school and whatnot was just setting yourself up for a life of disappointment.

“You can go to school all you want, but when you end up right back here, you’re just gonna wish you didn’t have all that stuff sitting around in your brain, taking up space.” I heard once Noni and dad talking about his school days and it sounded like he was quite the precocious kid too. Nothing those smarts ever did for him but make him want to drink more beer.

Sometimes I hear kids whispering in school about my dad and I want to march up to them and set the record straight. Did you know he won a county-wide math competition when he was in middle school? Did you? But I don’t say that because I know what they’ll say next. His toothy photo used to be pinned up in one of the school hallways next to a placard that said, Vernon County Math Olympiad – First Place. They took it down awhile back.

Right about when I’m gathering my courage to go over and talk to girl across the room, a parade of people pour through the door.

“Frances!” An older woman wearing a long purple dress says when she spots her, “You trying to get yourself in trouble here? You know they don’t let any kids in here, ‘specially now that it’s getting dark out so early.” The woman is right; there is no more light streaming through the small strip of window, as if the sun has been swallowed up in the last 10 minutes by night.

“I’m just reading, Aunty,” Frances says without even lifting her eyes from the page. Two tiny boys, couldn’t be older than three waddle up and start pulling against Frances’s shorts. Two more women come in behind them, both dressed up in those light blue pajamas I saw once when I had to go to the hospital for strep throat.

One of the women, who doesn’t look too much older than Jayla plops down next to Frances and nuzzles her head into Frances’s neck. I can’t help but stare. I’ve never seen a grown woman treat a girl like that. I don’t know why, but it makes me want to cry.

In all of the hubbub of the last few seconds, I forgot that Noni’s still sitting next to me, legs crossed at the ankles, flipping through a copy of Good Housekeeping. She’s always reading magazines like that, with headlines like “How to Make Your House a Little More Country” and “Fifteen Front Porch Ideas Perfect for a Lazy Summer Day.” Sometimes she giggles and says to nobody, “Fools living in their tiny houses like it’s a damn fashion statement. Move to Vernon County and you don’t have to pay money to live in a tiny house.”

“Sharon Parker?” The man behind the counter calls through the noise, his eyes glued to a tiny black-and-white TV projecting muffled voices into the room.

The woman with her head on Frances’s shoulder pops up. “Yes, I’m here. My family’s all here.”

“It’s getting late tonight,” the man says, in between sips of what could be coffee or rum. I’ve never been good at telling the difference from far away. “You and your daughter can just go tonight.”

The older woman in the purple dress stands up and says, her voice louder than before, “Sir, we’ve come all this way. We can’t just pop in for a few? Promise we won’t be holding anybody up.”

“I’m sorry but that just won’t be possible,” the security guard says, still not looking up from his cup.“But sir,” she begins to walk towards him. “I’ve got my whole family here, it won’t take any longer than just two people.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stop right there.” Suddenly the man behind the counter is sitting up straight, hands moving behind the desk to a place I can’t see. “I’ve said that this woman and her daughter can enter. Now you need to go back outside or sit quiet in the chairs out here.”

Noni’s drops her Good Housekeeping and I watch her knuckles get white against the side of the chair. For a second it feels like my eyes are in clouds because I can’t tell what all this sudden pressure is in the room. The man’s got his eyes locked on the woman in the purple dress while everyone else hovers around them like bees stuck in place.

The woman stops walking and raises her hands up for a second before saying, “I got it, sir, no need for any of that nonsense. I’ll sit right here with the rest of them.” The woman grabs France’s hand and pulls her toward the sign in counter, her mouth a flat line like Noni sometimes gets when I break a dish or run too far outside for too long.

I catch Frances’s eye as she walks by me, her fingers woven tightly in what I now know is her mother’s hand. She smiles for a second, then turns away and even though I’ve spent most of my life in the world she’s about to enter, I can’t help but wonder what world she’s come from and why I can’t seem to understand it at all.

▲

Noni lets me sleep in the next morning and I wake up with my room filled with smoke and the smell of burning bread. Unlike most grandmas, or at least the ones I’ve read about in books, Noni can’t cook to save her life, a sentence she says regularly to avoid cooking altogether.

“Oh honey, you know I can’t cook to save my life. Why don’t you make us your special recipe for dinner?” And I’ll smile real proud and walk over to the kitchen with my head held high to cook us some of my famous tuna fish sandwiches, extra mayo extra mustard.

“You have to tell me your secret ingredient,” Noni’ll say but I’ll put an invisible key up to my closed lips while my eyes sparkle with a secret I’ll never tell.

Cumin.

It’s dad’s old recipe. I remember sitting on the kitchen counter when I was real small, my toes painted neon green and feet swinging off the edge while I watched dad stir up a batch of tuna salad.

His voice lowered to a whisper, like every time he was doing something super secret that he didn’t want Noni to find out about. “Now watch closely, Ari,” he said and he curved one finger in to tell me to inch towards him. “This is the most important part. The part no recipe’s ever gonna show you.”

I watched like I was watching the last inning of the World Series or last scene of one of those Soaps Noni watches back to back as she falls asleep on the couch.

He put his finger to his lips and took a pinch of some brown spice I’d never seen before from a little ceramic bowl on the counter.

“What’s that?” I asked, my voice rising with curiosity.

“Now what did I just tell you, girl,” Dad growled and every hair on the back of my neck stood up straight like it was taking roll call. “This is our secret. Nobody else has gotta know. You understand?” I nodded solemnly without speaking to show him I meant business.

“Great. This right here is a spice called cumin. It’s a beautiful spice, about as powerful as a wave when it comes to cooking. One pinch of this and you’re, boom” He made a bat swinging motion with both his arms, “golden.”

“Cumin, got it,” I said like I was repeating back the entry code to a secret hideaway.

No, before I put in my pinch of Cumin to my tuna salad, I make a quick bat swinging motion with my arms, like I’m hitting a home run. Something I did a few times last season, even though dad wasn’t here to see it. As I ran from third base to home, I swore I saw his thick, dark hair turning and tossing in the late fall breeze. But he wasn’t there. I’m old enough now to know that he won’t ever be.

When I bring out my tuna fish sandwiches, cut into perfect triangles with carrots lining the edges, Noni’s wide smile, beaming with pride, turns south and tears begin to fall from the wrinkled corners of her eyes.

“What did I do? Did I use too much bread?” I ask as I slide the plate in front of her, my face filled with a hot shame.

“No, no, sweetheart,” she says, waving a hand in front of her face to hide the thick tears from her cheeks. “It’s not you. The sandwiches are just lovely. It’s just when I see you come out of that kitchen with our food like that I just can’t help but think ––” Her voice trails off, like she’s slowly disappearing into a tunnel.

“About dad?” I offer, knowing that she hates it when I bring him up. “Yes. And no. Just about how fast you’ve had to grow up. How much a little adult you’re becoming.” My smile returns. I collect moments of praise in a scrapbook in my mind. Every time a teacher or guidance counselor or any adult really comments on how mature I am, how I carry myself so well, I walk a few inches taller for the rest of the day like I’m walking in invisible high heels I see Jayla wearing when she sneaks out at night.

“Bone Apple-tite!” I say, my voice full of the kind of dignity I hear from food show hosts on TV. 

Noni’s laugh fills the room and I can hear Jayla turn her music with the heavy drums up louder and louder. We eat our sandwiches with our pinkies out like the adults we are.

▲

The next time I see Frances is a couple weeks later during a one of those heavy mid-summer rainstorms where Noni drives five miles an hour down the road, and we can only see as far as our headlights. I love how the whole town gets swallowed up in the rain, how we could be anywhere in the world when we’re in our creaky pick-up truck crawling down the road.

It’s raining so hard Noni almost cancels our visit; even though she knows it’s the only thing that will get me screaming louder than Jayla’s music. It’s been a week since she’s let me visit on account of the truck needing to go to the mechanic and a hell of a week dealing with office folks, of whoever it is that Noni is talking to with when I’m watching cartoons in the living room. I hear her voice get real squealy until it doesn’t even sound like her and a lot of now you listen to me sir and for the love of God, but I press the volume up on the TV and let the fake sound effects of anvils and falling pianos fill the room.

So when we wake up in the morning and windows are all fogged up and I can hear the plop, plop, plop of the rainwater falling through the cracks in the ceiling into a pan on the floor, I march right into Noni’s room while she’s still in her nightgown and demand to be driven and if she won’t do it, maybe I’ll ask Jayla to do it instead. It takes a minute of screaming, but Noni knows what’s good for her and she knows she can’t afford to lose her only granddaughters just because she’s afraid of a little water.

With our hair stuck to our face and bodies dripping, we stumble into the waiting room, just as cold and gray as always. When I see Frances curled up in the same chair in the corner of the room, I have to stop myself from just running over and saying hi. This isn’t recess on the playground; I’m not looking for the last player for game of foursquare.

I slouch down in my seat next to Noni as she tries to pat us both dry with handkerchief she has in her soaking wet purse. I try to push her away but she’s a grandma and has a few tricks under her sleeve. My face is red and I want so badly to look as calm and in control as Frances does, with her feet tucked under her and another thick book in her lap.

I think she notices me staring at her, because she closes her book and sits up straight, her dark eyes not even blinking as they look at me.

“Hey,” she says and I almost jump because I didn’t expect her voice to sound so low and serious, like a radio show host.

“Hey,” I say back and stand up wincing as my wet thighs stick to the plastic chair tops.

We stand face-to-face, her a few inches taller than me. I stick out my hand like I’ve seen adults do so many times and say, “Hi. I’m Arianna. You can call me Ari, if you want.”

She grasps my hand, her fingers thin and bony and says, “I’m Frances. You can call me Frances.”

We stare at each other for another few seconds, not sure what to say next. It’s not the first time I’ve seen another kid here, usually playing a handheld video game at maximum volume or slurping some bright purple or blue drink out of a plastic can. Frances is the first kid who seems like she might also be called precocious by her grandmother. I want her to know that I’m precocious too.

The real problem, I’m realizing in this moment standing here in this nearly empty room, is that there’s nowhere really to go from here. We can ask each other the basic questions –– the ones I always hear adults exchanging lazily in line at the grocery story or bank. So what do you do? How’s your sister doing? How long have you lived around here? But all of these questions are always asked when it seems like you don’t really care what their answer is. I want to know Frances –– there’s something about her stormy eyes and thick books and bulging knees that makes me even more fascinated by her than I am by the guest on the morning talk shows I watch with their blinding white smiles and transformation stories.

She is braver than I am. “Who are you visiting?” she asks without moving her eyes from mine.

“My dad,” I say, “You?”

“Me too. So what did he do?”

No one has ever asked me this before. I assumed it wasn’t “dinner table conversation” like my grandma always says about politics and religion and parents in prison. I think about getting mad and brushing her off but I don’t. Instead I say in a quiet voice so Noni won’t hear, “He killed somebody.” I want to ask her her what her dad did but I just feel like running miles in the opposite direction. 

“Forever?” She asks and I just nod and without having to ask I know that her dad’s going to be here forever too.