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xiexiecaptain · 1 year

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I’m fucking begging people to please read about the Characteristics of White Supremacy Culture

It is a collectively, intersectionally articulated analytical tool to describe and help dismantle cultural aspects that prop up and propagate white supremacy.

Contributed to by many many amazing community activists, scholars, teachers, and regular people but spearheaded in this format by Tema Okun.

WHAT: WHITE SUPREMACY CULTURE COMES AFTER ALL OF US

“We are all swimming in the waters of white supremacy culture. We are all navigating this culture, regardless of our racial identity. We are not all affected in the same ways – some of us are encouraged to join and collude without awareness that an invitation has been extended, some are invited to participate at the cost of separating ourselves from our communities and families, some are shamed because we can never fully join no matter how hard we try, some are denied any invitation in order to be targeted or exploited or violated. Because white supremacy culture is the water we swim in, we inevitably internalize the messages about what this culture believes, values, and considers normal. We absorb these messages as individuals and as a collective. As a result, white supremacy culture shapes how we think and act, how we make decisions and behave. As a result, white supremacy culture reminds us over and over again, sometimes out loud, sometimes in a whisper, that white is right and that there is a right kind of white”

https://www.whitesupremacyculture.info/what-is-it.html

PLEASE AVOID WEAPONIZING THIS TOOL:

“I want to offer a cautionary plea here about weaponizing this list. This website, the article, the information offered here is a tool, an analytical tool designed to help us better understand white supremacy culture. The intention is to help us understand the water in which we are all swimming so that we can collaboratively work together to build and sustain cultures that help us thrive as communities and individuals. Cultures that are not based on abuse of power and accumulation of profit. Cultures that are based on interdependence, justice, and respect for each other and the earth and wind and sun and stars. Cultures that embody the belief that we all do better when we all do better.

This does not mean we can't hold each other accountable (another word for supporting each other to be our best selves), set boundaries when people have not learned yet to take responsibility for themselves, apologize and take responsibility ourselves when we cause harm, and continue to grow and learn how to be with each other even when we are getting on each other's last nerve. I will say that white supremacy wants us to attack each other as the problem. As we fight with and among each other, we fail to identify the actual problem. An instruction we might hold to is to attack the problem, not the people, not each other (thank you Cal Allen). Of course, sometimes our behavior is a problem, our conditioning is a problem, and then we can, when we are able, help each other through. And if we cannot, we look to others who have the capacity to help or be in relationship as they look to us when they are out of capacity and we are able to show up.

***THE PILLARS OF WHITE SUPREMACY CULTURE***

>>FEAR:

White supremacy culture's number one strategy is to make us afraid. When we are afraid, we lose touch with our power and become more easily manipulated by the promise of an illusory safety.

White supremacy culture cultivates our fear of not belonging, of not being enough. Living in fear that we are not enough, white supremacy culture teaches us to fear others (or hate others) in an attempt, sometimes overt, sometimes unspoken, to prove to ourselves that we are ok. An easy way to prove we are ok is to point the finger at all those who are not. An easy way to belong to each other is to hate and fear all the others who do not (thank you Cristina Rivera Chapman).

READ MORE ON “URGENCY” HERE

>>ONE RIGHT WAY:

(Intertwined with Perfectionism, Objectivity, & Paternalism)

The cultural belief there is one right way to do things and once people are introduced to the right way, they will see the light and adopt it. This belief is connected to the belief that the right way is the "perfect" way and therefore perfection is both attainable and desirable.

When a person or group does not adapt or change to "fit" the one right way, then those defining or upholding the one right way assume something is wrong with the other, those not changing, not with.

Similar to a missionary who sees only value in their beliefs about what is good rather than acknowledging value in the culture of the communities they are determined to "convert" to the right way of thinking and/or the right way of living

READ MORE ON “ONE RIGHT WAY,” “PATERNALISM/QUALIFIED,” “PERFECTIONISM,” & “OBJECTIVITY” HERE

>>PATERNALISM/QUALIFIED:

(Intertwined with Perfectionism, Objectivity & One Right Way)

>Those holding power control decision-making and define things (standards, perfection, one right way)

>Those holding power assume they are qualified to (and entitled to) define standards and the one right way as well as make decisions for and in the interests of those without power

>Those holding power often don’t think it is important or necessary to understand the viewpoint or experience of those for whom they are making decisions, often labeling those for whom they are making decisions as unqualified intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, or physically

READ MORE ON “ONE RIGHT WAY,” “PATERNALISM/QUALIFIED,” “PERFECTIONISM,” & “OBJECTIVITY” HERE

>>PERFECTIONISM:

(Intertwined with Paternalism, Objectivity, & One Right Way)

Perfectionism is the conditioned belief and attitude that we can be perfect based on a standard or set of rules that we did not create and that we are led to believe will prove our value. Perfectionism is the conditioned belief and attitude that we can determine whether others are showing up as perfect and demand or expect that they do so. White supremacy culture uses perfectionism to preserve power and the status quo. As long as we are striving to be perfect according to someone else's rules, we have less energy and attention to question those rules and to remember what is truly important. We can be perfectionist in our social justice circles when we assume or believe there is a perfect way to do something and we know what it is. When we look more closely at our own perfectionism, we see that the perfectionist tendency is always in service of our own power or the current power structure. We might be fighting power out in the world but when we are perfectionist about how we do that, we preserve a toxic power structure internally.

>Mistakes are seen as personal, i.e. they reflect badly on the person making them as opposed to being seen for what they are – mistakes; making a mistake is confused with being a mistake, doing wrong with being wrong

>Little time, energy, or money is put into reflection or identifying lessons learned that can improve practice, in other words there is little or no learning from mistakes, and/or little investigation of what is considered a mistake and why.

>A tendency to identify what’s wrong; little ability to identify, name, define, and appreciate what’s right

>Often internally felt, in other words the perfectionist fails to appreciate their own good work, more often pointing out their faults or ‘failures,’ focusing on inadequacies and mistakes rather than learning from them; the person works with a harsh and constant inner critic that has internalized the standards set by someone else

READ MORE ON “ONE RIGHT WAY,” “PATERNALISM/QUALIFIED,” “PERFECTIONISM,” & “OBJECTIVITY” HERE

>>OBJECTIVITY:

(Intertwined with Paternalism, Perfectionism, & One Right Way)

The belief that there is such a thing as being objective or ‘neutral.’ The belief that emotions are inherently destructive, irrational, and should not play a role in decision-making or group process

>Assigning value to the "rational" while invalidating and/or shaming the "emotional" when often if not always the "rational" is emotion wrapped up in fancy logic and language

>Requiring people to think in a linear (logical) fashion and ignoring or invalidating/shaming those who think in other ways

>Impatience with any thinking that does not appear ‘logical’ or 'rational' in ways that reinforce existing power structures; in other words, those in power can be illogical, angry, emotional without being disregarded while those without power must always present from a 'rational' position

>Refusal to acknowledge the ways in which 'logical' thinking and/or decision-making is often a cover for personal emotions and/or agendas often based in fear of losing power, face, or comfort

READ MORE ON “ONE RIGHT WAY,” “PATERNALISM/QUALIFIED,” “PERFECTIONISM,” & “OBJECTIVITY” HERE

>>EITHER/OR & THE BINARY:

(Propped Up By Perfectionism & Urgency)

Cultural assumption that we can and should reduce the complexity of life and the nuances of our relationships with each other and all living things into either/or, yes or no, right or wrong in ways that reinforce toxic power.

>Positioning or presenting options or issues as either/or — good/bad, right/wrong, with us/against us.

>Little or no sense of the possibilities of both/and.

>Trying to simplify complex things, for example believing that poverty is simply the result of lack of education.

>A strategy used by those with a clear agenda or goal to push those who are still thinking or reflecting to make a choice between ‘a’ or ‘b’ without acknowledging a need for time and creativity to come up with more options.

>A strategy used to pit oppressions against each other rather than to recognize the ways in which racism and classism intersect, the ways in which both intersect with heterosexism and agism and other categories of oppression.

READ MORE ON “EITHER/OR & THE BINARY” HERE

>>DENIAL:

(Intertwined with Defensiveness, Propped Up By Individualism)

White supremacy culture encourages a habit of silence about things that matter

>Claiming the right to define what is and what is not racism.

>Insisting that white supremacy and racism require intent. Attempting to separate intent from impact in order to claim that if racism is not intended, then it is not happening.

>Refusing to consider or acknowledge the historical legacy of white supremacy and racism and the structural nature of racial disparities. Rewriting, reframing, or omitting histories to erase or downplay racism.

>Insisting that individually or collectively, a person or group is free from racialized conditioning, leading to statements like “I don’t see color,” and “we’re all the same.”

>Erasing intersectionality - generalizing about a whole group without recognizing the ways in which class, gender, sexuality, religion, age, dis/ability, and other identities inform our individual and collective experiences.

>Denying what another person is saying about the ways in which white supremacy and/or racism are showing up in an interaction or space.

>A pattern that often has a white person with different levels of power denying what a Black, Indigenous or Person of Color or a whole community is saying about their experience of racism.

READ MORE ABOUT “DENIAL” & “DEFENSIVENESS” HERE

>>DEFENSIVENESS:

(Intertwined with Denial, Propped Up By Individualism & Either/Or & Binary)

>People respond to new or challenging ideas with objections or criticism, making it very difficult to raise these ideas.

>People in the organization, particularly those with power, spend a lot of energy trying to make sure that their feelings aren’t getting hurt, forcing others to work around their defensiveness rather than addressing them head-on. At its worst, they have convinced others to do this work for them.

>Because of either/or and binary thinking, those in power view and/or experience criticism as threatening and inappropriate (or rude).

>White people targeted by other oppressions express resentment because they experience the naming of racism as erasing their experience; closely linked to either/or/binary thinking.

>White people spend energy defending against charges of racism instead of examining how racism might actually be happening.

>An oppressive culture where people are afraid to speak their truth.

READ MORE ABOUT “DENIAL” & “DEFENSIVENESS” HERE

>>RIGHT TO COMFORT:

(Intertwined with Fear of Conflict)

Our cultural assumption that I or we (or the ones in formal and informal power) have a right to comfort, which means we cannot tolerate conflict, particularly open conflict. This assumption supports the tendency to blame the person or group causing discomfort or conflict rather than addressing the issues being named.

>Scapegoating those who cause discomfort, for example, targeting and isolating those who name racism rather than addressing the actual racism that is being named

>Demanding, requiring, expecting apologies or other forms of "I didn't mean it" when faced with accusations of colluding with racism

>Feeling entitled to name what is and isn't racism

>White people (or those with dominant identities) equating individual acts of unfairness with systemic racism (or other forms of oppression).

READ MORE ABOUT “RIGHT TO COMFORT” & “FEAR OF CONFLICT” HERE

>>FEAR OF (OPEN) CONFLICT:

(Intertwined with Right to Comfort)

>Emphasis or insistence on being polite; setting the rules for how ideas or information or differences of opinion need to be shared in order to be heard (in other words, requiring that people "calm down" if they are angry when anger often contains deep wisdom about where the underlying hurt and harm lies)

>Equating the raising of difficult issues with being impolite, rude, or out of line; punishing people either overtly or subtly for speaking out about their truth and/or experience;

>When someone raises an issue that causes discomfort, the response is to blame the person for raising the issue rather than to look at the issue which is actually causing the problem

>Pretending or insisting that our point of view is grounded in the "rational" or the intellectual when we are in fact masking our emotions with what appear to be rational or intellectual arguments.

>Labeling emotion as "irrational" or anti-intellectual or inferior, which means failing to recognize the importance of emotional intelligence;

READ MORE ABOUT “RIGHT TO COMFORT” & “FEAR OF CONFLICT” HERE

>>INDIVIDUALISM:

(Intertwined with Perfectionism, Qualified, One Right Way, Defensiveness, & Denial)

Our cultural story that we make it on our own, without help, while pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps, is a toxic denial of our essential interdependence and the reality that we are all in this, literally, together.

>Failure to acknowledge any of the ways dominant identities - gender, class, sexuality, religion, able-bodiedness, age, education to name a few - are informed by belonging to a dominant group that shapes cultural norms and behavior

>Valuing competition more highly than cooperation; or where collaboration is valued, little time or resources are devoted to developing skills in how to collaborate and cooperate

>For white people: a culturally supported focus on determining whether an individual is racist or not while ignoring cultural, institutional, and systemic racism; the strongly felt need by many if not most white people to claim they are "not racist" while their conditioning into racism is relentless and unavoidable

>Desire for individual recognition and credit with failure to acknowledge how what we know is informed by so many others

>Isolation and loneliness

>For white people: seeing yourselves and/or demanding to be seen as an individual and not as part of the white group;

>For BIPOC people: individualism forces the classic double bind when BIPOC people are accused of not being "team players" - in other words, punishment or repercussions for acting as an individual if and when doing so "threatens" the team

>Little experience or comfort working as part of a team, which includes both failure to acknowledge the genius or creativity of others on the team and a willingness to sacrifice democratic and collaborative process in favor of efficiency; see double bind for BIPOC people above

I'm the Only One (or he/she/they are):

>An aspect of individualism, the belief that if something is going to get done "right," ‘I’ have to do it

>Connected to the characteristic of "one right way," the belief that "I" can determine the right way, am entitled and/or qualified to do so, in isolation from and without accountability to those most impacted by how I define the right way

>Little or no ability to delegate work to others, micro-management

>Based in deep fear of loss of control, which requires an illusion of control

>Putting charismatic leaders on pedestals (or positioning yourself as a charismatic leader on a pedestal); romanticizing a leader (or yourself) as the center of a movement, idea, issue, campaign

>Hiding or covering up the flaws of a leader (or your flaws) in fear that the organization, movement, effort cannot survive

>Defining leadership as those most in front and most vocal (thank you Cristina Rivera-Chapman for these last four bullets)

READ MORE ABOUT “INDIVIDUALISM” HERE

>>PROGRESS IS MORE:

(Intertwined with Quantity over Quality)

The cultural assumption that the goal is always to be/do/get more and be/do/get bigger. This leads to an emphasis on what we can "objectively" measure - how well we are doing at being/doing/getting more - as more valuable than the quality of our relationships to all living beings.

>Assumption that the goal is to grow - add staff, add projects, or serve more people regardless of how well they can serve them; raise more money, or gain more influence and power for its own sake - all without regard to the organization's mission or especially the people and/or living beings that the organization is in relationship with

>Valuing those who have "progressed" over those who "have not" - where progress is measured in degrees, grades, money, power, status, material belongings - in ways that erase lived experience and wisdom/knowledge that is invisibilized - tending, cleaning, feeding, nurturing, caring for, raising up, supporting (thank you Bevelyn Ukah)

>A narrow focus on numbers (financial, people, geography, power) without an ability to value processes (relationships), including cost to the human and natural environment

>Gives no value, not even negative value, to its cost; for example, increased accountability to funders as the budget grows in ways that leave those served exploited, excluded, or underserved as we focus on how many we are serving instead of quality of service or values created by the ways in which we serve

>Little or no ability to consider the cost of growth in social, emotional, psychic, embodied, spiritual, and financial realms

>Focus on getting bigger (in size, transactional power, numbers) leading to little or no ability to consider the cost of getting big in social, emotional, psychic, embodied, spiritual, and financial realms (thank you Bevelyn Ukah)

READ MORE ABOUT” QUANTITY OVER QUALITY” & “PROGRESS IS MORE” HERE

>>QUANTITY OVER QUALITY:

(Intertwined with Progress Is More)

>Most or all resources directed toward producing quantitatively measurable goal

>Things that can be counted are more highly valued than things that cannot, for example numbers of people attending a meeting, newsletter circulation, money raised and spent are valued more than quality of relationships, democratic decision-making, ability to constructively deal with conflict, morale and mutual support

>Little or no value attached to process in the internalized belief that if it can’t be measured, it has no value

>discomfort with emotion and feelings

>little or no understanding that when there is a conflict between content (the agenda of the meeting) and process (people’s need to be heard or engaged), process will prevail (for example, you may get through the agenda, but if you haven’t paid attention to people’s need to be heard, the decisions made at the meeting are undermined and/or disregarded)

READ MORE ABOUT” QUANTITY OVER QUALITY” & “PROGRESS IS MORE” HERE

>>WORSHIP OF THE WRITTEN WORD:

The cultural habit of honoring only what is written and only what is written to a narrow standard, even when what is written is full of misinformation and lies. Worship of the written word includes erasure of the wide range of ways we communicate with each other and all living things.

>Those with strong documentation and writing skills are more highly valued, even in organizations where ability to relate to others is key to the mission

>Those who write things down get recognized for ideas that are collectively and generationally informed in a context where systemic racism privileges the writing and wisdom of people in the white group

>Claiming "ownership" of (written) knowledge to meet ego needs rather than understanding the importance of offering what you write and know to grow and expand the community's knowing

>If it’s not in a memo, it doesn’t exist / if it's not grammatically "correct," it has no value / if it's not properly cited according to academic rules that many people don't know or have access to, it's not legitimate

>Academic standards require "original" work when our knowledge and knowing almost always builds on the knowledge and knowing of others, of each other

READ MORE ABOUT “WORSHIP OF THE WRITTEN WORD” HERE

AGAIN THE WEBSITE CAN BE FOUND HERE AND I HIGHLY ENCOURAGE YOU TO READ THE WHOLE THING! THIS IS A BRIEF OVERVIEW!

And all of this was copied from the website (aside from some formatting for the post.) I am just trying to spread this info/tool to people who could use it to help them dismantle white supremacist cultural aspects in their own lives/communities/organizations. I’ve found if very very helpful myself in always working toward anti-racism in my own actions. Hopefully others do too.

#dismantle white supremacy #anti-racism #decolonization #racial justice #tema okun #original posts #<- not original content this is just for tagging posts i make to find them later

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hotforharrysheart · 1 year

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Permanent Love Part 1

“They’ll be here any minute, and when we tell them what we have planned it's gonna be a super rush. The girls and I wanna take Helen to shop tomorrow and visit the spa for nails and toes...and..."

"Baby, you can do this, take a deep breath," he runs his hand under your breast, "how's this feelin'?" You lay your head back on his shoulder, "It's good." He kisses down your neck and grinds his hips into your bum, "Show me again?"

"Harry! This’ll be the 5th time this morning!"

"Come on baby, wanna see my mark." You turn slightly and he pulls up your shirt to expose your newly inked skin. He leans forward and kisses the bee then traces his initials, "I love ya so much" he mumbles against your skin.

"Mmmm, Harry..." you moan as he works his way up to your nipple. He attaches his mouth and starts nibbling and the doorbell rings.

He sighs and leans his forehead to your collarbone. “Guess this’ll hafta wait,” he says pulling back and tugging your shirt down.

You sigh as his fingers graze your breast as he tugs your shirt down. “Ugh! If we just had 15 minutes…” you say, lip sticking out in a pout.

“Bu’ we don’, s’lets go,” he says, pulling away from you and going to the door and adjusting himself along the way. He was happy to see them, of course he was, but he’s cursing the timing. He smiles his most charming smile and opens the door to greet the Chapmans.

“Harry!” Helen gushes reaching for his face to kiss.

“Hey Helen, It’s nice ta see ya! Ya doin’ alrigh’?” he says as she kisses his cheeks.

“Harry.” Ron says shaking his hand and patting his back.

“How was ya flight?” Harry asks as he welcomes them into the foyer.

“It was beautiful,” Helen says looking around, “Where’s my sweet, sweet girl?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” you say coming into the room wiping your hands on a tea towel. Looking around you see your laptop is open to Hayley’s lingerie store, to a particularly, uh-hum, scandalous look, and you slap the top down quickly.

“Mwah, Mwah,” you kiss her cheeks and greet Ron with a hug.

Cal brings in their bags and nods as he backs out the door. “Thank Cal!” Harry hollars, “See ya tomorrow night, yeah?” Harry says with a smile. Cal has been invited to the surprise vow renewal you have planned for Ron and Helen. They’re here to celebrate their 45th anniversary and after Helen had casually told you and Harry they hadn’t really had a wedding ceremony all those years ago, you two had cooked up an opportunity for them to have a vow renewal ceremony out by the pool at sunset the day after the show. You and the girls had big plans for Helen including a new dress and some time at the spa and Harry had planned to take Ron out to get a new suit and visit Darren’s favorite cigar bar. Ron and Helen meant the world to you both, they took such good care of you at the pink cottage; it was time to give back to them, something special, something memorable and romantic. It was time for them to have not only a couple of nights at Harry’s, no, your’s and Harry’s (that will never feel normal) villa alone, but also time to give them a wedding ceremony for the books.

You let out a breath and squeeze Helen in a tight hug.

“I’ll take ya ta ya rooms an’ let ya settle in an’ then we can all go to a late lunch wi’ ma mum an’ her boyfriend, Darren. They’re anxious ta meet ya.”

“I’m so glad you’re both here,” you tell them squeezing their hands. “We’ve got some surprises planned,” you say, smiling slyly.

“Oh dear lord, we don’ need any surprises, love. We’re just happy ta be here wi’ you two an’ finally see Harry in action,” Helen tells you.

“I know but we wanted to. It’s your 45th anniversary and we want it to be special!” You tell them.

You follow along as Harry gives them a mini tour, enough that they’ll know their way around as Helen ooohhhhs and ahhhhhs.

“These are ya rooms. Hope ya’ll be comfortable here,” Harry says.

“It’s jus’ beautiful,” Helen says.

You can tell she’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll bring ya bags up. Let’s meet in tha living room at 1:30 pm. Sound good?”

They both nod and you and Harry go downstairs to get the bags. You lug them up the stairs and you both stop as you get to the door and you see Ron and Helen hugging. You look at each other and smile and then Harry knocks quietly on the door.

The Chapmans look over and smile. “Thank ya.”

You both beam back at them as Harry pulls the door shut.

He grabs your hand and pulls you to your bedroom. “We’ve got some time…time ta finish wha’ we started in tha kitchen,” he says, nuzzling his nose on yours.

“I’d like that,” you say smiling as he presses his lips to yours.

Up the stairs you make it to your room, “Mmmm, Harry…” you moan as he devours your lips.

His mouth opens against your lips, “Fuck, open, Jezebel, lemme in,” he growls against your mouth as his arms skate around your back and down to your bum. “Mmm, fuckin’ wan’ ya, love.”

“Har…Har-ry…s..s.. slll…slow down, ya just had me….. ugh, god that feels good,” you half moan, half slur throwing you head back panting as he closes the door.

“Yeah, ‘m abou’ ta make ya feel real good,” he says stripping your shirt from you. “Off…off..” he says pushing down your shorts. “Wan’ ‘em off,” he says whispering in your ear. “I wan’ ya naked,” he says pulling back long enough to look at your expression. “Tha’ ok, Jezebel?”

You nod, licking your lips, panting with furrowed brows, “Yeah,” you mutter closing your eyes and rolling you head back while he noses your neck. You rip at his shirt frantically to get it off and then work your hands into his waistband, tearing at the button and zipper. All the while he strips your t-shirt up and you wiggle your body to help it slip over your head. Both of your hands reach for your waistband, pushing your shorts and panties down in one sweep. You kick your shorts to the side while you push at his waistband, his shorts fall on their own and then you hook your thumbs to peal his briefs off, his hard cock standing stiff to the side. You grab it feeling the warm pearls of cum on his tip. “You want me, Harry?”

“In way’s I can’ describe,” he starts just as you fall to your knees.

Your eyes glaze over, your reasonable self, the you that says you should do more to entertain your guests, leaves and the needy, horny, seemingly sex-starved, craving woman takes over, “Wanna suck you off Harry…d’ya wanna cum in my mouth or want me to fuck ya with my mouth and let you finish in my pussy?”

“Jesus Christ, swee’heart, I don’ care… wha’ d’ya want?” he says panting heavily as you fall to the ground.

“I want this cock in my mouth, but I want your cum inside me, please…” you beg kissing the bee he just had inked on his hip. You can’t help the words that fall from you lips, “Honey…”

“Wha’ love, wha’?”

“No honey, my honey, but you have honey too, want your honey to fill me up,” you say kissing his shaft.

“Fuck,” he mutters through a clenched jaw as you feel the blood surge through the viens on his cock.

“Mmmm,” you moan taking him into your mouth. You try to be gentle, but the time for teasing is gone, you want to feel his hardness in your mouth, to know the sensation of his steel erection on your tongue. He’s losing control slowly, steadily…and you’re intent on pushing him there…that point where he leaves all decorum aside and just wants to take, take…from you, his safe place, the place he can let go…a place only you can provide for him.

You suck hard, hollowing your cheek and using your hands to take what you can’t fit in your mouth. Focused on your job you’ve closed your eyes, dedication and commitment on your face, dedicated to pushing him, committed to making this good for him. “Baby, look at me.” He asks causing you to flutter your eyes open. You pop off and jack him with your fists to make sure the he doesn’t lose the sensation. You pout your lips out looking directly in his eyes and kiss the tip of his cock while he watches.

“No!” he says, grabbing your by your arms and pulling you up. “No, don’ make me cum, Jezebel, get up on the bed, an’ do it now.”

You turn to crawl up on the bed, and he grabs your ankle, pulling you back, then he leans over you on the bed to whisper in your ear, “Stop! Fo’ fuck’s sake, stop, right there, stay like tha’, God dammit. Why do ya have ta push me…hmmm? Push me an’ then crawl away, flashin’ this wetness,” he says running his hand through your wet pussy from behind. “Ya know I wan’ this, ya gon’ ‘ave ta be quiet or they’ll hear. Can ya let me fuck ya an’ ya be quiet?”

You nod, panting and swallowing, your mouth watering. You’re beyond ready to fuck your man, ready for him to push in and pound.

You still and widen your legs, as he sits on his knees between your legs, his hands on your bum cheeks. He spreads you wide, pushing your chest down toward the bed. “Still wi’ me?” he asks checking on you. The gesture just turns you on more. He never fucks you like this without checking to make sure you’re with him all the way. This time you’re more than ready to be taken…to the edge.

“Yes!” you whisper-shout over your shoulder, you body trembling with desire.

“Oh, ma love,” he says slowly, his accent much thicker than usual, dripping with arousal, slurred with desire as he scratches his nails down your back.

You bow your back and shiver into his touch like a cat being petted for the first time.

“H, I…I’m wet…” you whisper pushing your hips out trying to show him how ready you are, “Please,” you plead.

He leans down and kisses the dimples above your bum and then down to your slick core. “Mmm… ma Jezebel…” he says placing an open mouth kiss on your swollen wide open lips.

He pulls back with a smack of his lips, licks them and then wipes the back of his hand on across his mouth.

“Got me all sticky, Jezebel.”

“Don’t make me wait any longer, please H, inside me, get inside me, I’m hurting, I’m aching…”

He smirks, “Yeah, where’s it hurt, love, ya wan’ me ta kiss it better or fuck it better?”

“Fuck me…fuck me please!” you whimper on a sob dropping your head down feeling tears fill your eyes.

“I’m here, baby…Shhh, I’m never gonna leave ya,” he says positioning his cock at your drippy hole. “Here, feel tha’, see, ’m here…no’ gonna leave ya emp-ty…” on the last syllable he pushes in and then keeps pushing forward until he bottoms out deep inside you.

“AHHHH…,” you turn your head into the mattress to muffle your own noises, “mmmm,” you moan into the duvet feeling your hot breath penetrate the fabric and spread onto your face, just like the hot warmth you feel in your body as he penetrates you.

“Jesus Christ, baby, ya ok?” he says softly.

“Go, just go, Harry, go!” you murmur against the fabric.

“Shh, hold on, here we go,” he says pulling out and pushing back in. “S’ gonna be fast, babe…”

“Just go…,” you plead ready for the intensity, praying to god Ron and Helen have no clue.

“Mhmph, Mhmph, Mhmph,” he pumps three times, “Jesus, come on, Jezebel, gotta come wi’ me, s’ fast, Mhmph, so fast..”

“There, H, ri….ght there…don’t stop, don’t stop…I can’t stop it, I can’t stop it…”

“S’ok baby, come on, let it go, don’ stop it, let it go…”

Your hands twist and pull up the duvet…pull it to your mouth to stop the scream, but goddamn his cock feels so good.

“Jesus, jesus…” he says through gritted teeth just before he goes stiff, head thrown back, grimace on his beautiful face…only to relax into a look of bliss. He leans forward to kiss your spine just below your rib cage.

“My god, Jezebel,” he says draped over your body, both panting, “Are ya ok?”

You hum..a moan/hum after every exhale.

“Babe, ya ok?”

You giggle slightly, and hum again.

“Aww, love, come on, let’s get ya cleaned up, ya can’t stay in lovespace… god damn I wish ya could…Fuck!” he says shaking his head and kissing your shoulders, “Love it like this, but we gotta show up tanight, come on, baby,” he says turing you over and kissing your cheeks. “Gotta come back, angel…yeah… therrrrre ya are…love ya, God I love ya.”

“I love you too. S’it good?”

“Jesus Fuckin’ Christ love, was incredible….”

You sit quickly, “Helen! Oh my god, they’re here!”

He chuckles, “Umm, think they’re occupied, but, yeah, we need ta tell them abou’ our surprise.”

“My god Harry was I loud?” you say blushing furiously.

“Nah, I think we were quiet enough,” he says chuckling as he moves toward the en-suite. He warms a washcloth under the faucet and comes back to tenderly clean you. The way he places the cloth on his fingers then looks into your eyes while he washes the cum from both of you away. The intimacy of that act, something heart-felt and indescribable…secret, a moment you could never get enough of.

He tosses the washcloth in the laundry hamper, then helps you sit up next to him. “As much as I wan’ ta cuddle ya, we’ve got guests, VIP guests, an’ I know ya wouldn’t miss sharing this surprise fo’ anythin’. Can I get a raincheck fo’ takin care of ya when ya like tha’ next time?”

You nod a bit bashfully.

“Yeah? Promise?” he says lifting your chin to angle his mouth over yours, “Love ya…love fuckin’ ya…love fuckin’ ya into our special place, mmmm”

“You better stop mister, or we’ll never make it outta this room…” you pull back, “ I think you should leave first,” you whisper like a teenager caught in your room with the door shut.

He actually snorts in laughter, “Don’ think we need ta worry abou’ tha’…pretty sure they know we fuck…” He chuckles again. “They know how we fuck too…they made our pink room…”

You smack him, “Harry!”

“Wha’!?”

You take a moment to think about it, “Well…” you say with a indignate chin, “I mean, we’ve never done that with them in the same house, an…an…and, oh my god, how rude are we!”

He finally convinces you to shake it off and you follow a very confident walking Harry out of the room on your tip toes only to find their room door still shut.

He turns to waggle his brows at you as you both work your way down the stairs toward the kitchen. You’ve only a couple of hours left before you have to show at the venue. Looking at your watch you begin to start the usual time countdown.

“You think they will be here in…” you begin just as Ron and Helen make their way down the stairs. You catch Ron grabbing Helen’s bottom and squeezing and her reaction simple a swat and a smile and Ron winking at her.

“We’re all unpacked,” Helen announces as they make their way to the kitchen, Ron with a smirky grin on his face, one that Harry recognizes quickly. “Thank ya fo’ lettin’ us stay a few nights, it’s such a nice celebration fo’ us. We haven’t had an opportunity ta travel, ta visit such beautiful places, this is such a treat. Thank you!”

You smile and your eyes well with tears. You feel so lucky to have found the Chapmans and so thrilled that you could do something nice for them.

Harry drapes his arm on your shoulder and you wrap yours around his waist and lean your head on his chest. He can tell your feeling emotional. “Listen, uh…we’re s’glad ya here an’ agreed ta share ya special day wi’ us.” He looks down at you and smiles before meeting their eyes again. “Ya mean a lot ta us an’ we wanted ta do somethin’ special fo’ ya. We, uh, well…we wan’ ta throw ya a vow renewal ceremony. We know ya didn’t have a big wedding 45 years ago an’ everyone deserves ta have a special day. It’s all set ta happen on Wednesday. We’re leavin’ on Thursday mornin’ an’ ya can stay here as long as ya wan’.”

Ron and Helen are gaping at you, mouths open, looking back and forth from you and each other. Helen finds her voice first, her hands going to get mouth. “Oh ma lord…I don’ know wha’ ta say! We never expected this…a wedding? A real wedding?”

You both nod, smiling.

“Oh Ron!” She exclaims hugging him to her. She pulls away from Ron and rushes to you and throws her arms around you. “Thank you,” she says against your ear. “My sweet, sweet girl.” She pulls back, cupping your face. She moves to hug Harry and squeeze him tight. Ron is still standing stock still, eyes glazed over with tears. He knows how important this is to Helen and he’s overwhelmed with gratitude.

You notice and take three steps and wrap your arms around him. You gasp as he squeezes you so tight you almost can’t breathe and then you hear a strangled cry and he’s sobbing.

Helen pulls away from Harry and comes over to hug you both.

Just then the doorbell rings and Harry quietly says “excuse me” as he goes to open the door.

“Hi baby,” Anne says as she comes in, Darren following her, shaking his hand.

“Hi mum, Darren,” he says. “Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

Anne and Darren follow him to the kitchen and see you surrounded by the Chapmans.

Helen pulls back and wipes her eyes as she notices the new arrivals.

You pull back from Ron and he kisses your cheeks and wipes your eyes.

“Ron, Helen, I’d like ta introduce ma mum, Anne, an’ her boyfriend, Darren.”

Anne steps forward to shake their hands and Darren follows her lead. “I hope we didn’t come at a bad time,” Anne says.

“Uh, no! Not at t’all. We jus’ found out abou’ our lovely vow renewal surprise is all.” Helen says.

“Oh, well yes! We’re all so excited for you both,” Anne says smiling that smile that’s so like Harry’s it’s almost disconcerting.

You watch as Helen looks back and forth between mother and son.

Harry looks down at his watch and rubs his hands together. “Should we get goin’?”

Everyone nods and then you’re all piling into the extra large SUV and heading to the private restaurant you’d booked for dinner.

You twirl your cacio e Pepe on your fork and laugh at a story Anne is telling about Harry. You’re so pleased that everyone is getting along so well. You take a bite of pasta and smile as Harry leans over to kiss your temple.

After a delicious meal, Harry heads to the venue and you go back to the villa for a couple of hours with everyone else. Cal comes to pick you all up at 8:00 pm and you’re walking through the back doors of the venue by 8:20 pm and you lead your little group to the chairs at the side of the stage right in front of the pit.

Helen’s foot is shaking nervously she’s so excited for the show to start. When he finally comes on stage to thunderous applause, her eyes are like saucers.

By the time Golden starts, Ron and Helen are on their feet clapping along with everyone else. It was a great show, and as the last chords of Kiwi die down and Harry runs off the stage, Helen turns to you and hugs you tightly. “He’s amazing. Oh, my sweet girl. He’s amazing! Thank you!”

You hug her back. “You’re welcome.”

On the drive home, Helen couldn’t help having a few fangirling moment’s, the way she bonded with Anne was truly a beautiful thing to watch.

You and Harry are snoodled in the up on the side of the bench seat in the limo and you can tell he’s tired.

“Honey, was a good show? You ok?” you say into the top of his head that’s rested on your shoulder.

“Yeah, just tired.”

“As soon as we get back…” you start to whisper.

“No, home, soon as we get home, ‘s our home here” he mumbles.

You smile with a lump in your throat, “Yeah, as soon as we ge home, you can rest, yeah?”

All the while Helen, Ron and Anne and Darren are talking, getting to know each other, happy to be together. That makes you feel a certain comfort you can’t explain, seeing them happily sharing a moment, while you and Harry rest with each other. To be honest you’re feeling some fleeting moments of wondering what this night would’ve been like if you were with your mum…would she be as happy as Helen…? Would she love Anne as much as you do…? You feel a longing for her…your mum…but you shove it back into your mind, something about her memory is too much for you to visualize. You shake your head…why is your mind going there… it’s old, old news…why does it hurt to think of her?...Shove, shove, shove the memories…today is about comforting Harry, planning for Ron and Helen, celebrating their love… not time for old memories.

Arriving at the villa, Anne and Darren and Ron and Helen make their way to their rooms. As much as you love the plans you have for Ron and Helen, the planning is last minute. It’s only going to be possible because you’re able to pull strings. Thankfully there’ll be a rack of dress options for Helen available at the spa…Anima e Corpo had been recommended so it was shut down for next day to make a home call for Helen’s special day. Torina Suits would be fitting Ron, and the boys had their bachelor plans for the morning. Although it was a small moment, you still had last minute messages from the caterer and florist, not to mention the priest, to respond to.

While Harry was in a hot shower, the ice baths he did at the venue were his sworn cure, but a nice hot shower after was a deep relaxation he loved so much. You brushed your hair out, washed your face and did your nightly routine, you opted for a “treat people with kindness” tank top and a comfy pair of white cotton panties as you crawled in bed. Planning to do a little work for Ron and Helen’s ceremony the next day, you settled with your laptop.

Harry, wrapped in a towel, has answered a few messages when he turns to see you tucked up with the laptop to do some work.

“Nahh, babes, please… let it be, yeah?” he says crawling in bed. “’M so tired, jus’ wanna sleep…”

“Oomph” you puff as he crawls over and lays his head on your tummy.

“Stop…jus’…babe…can we jus’… sleep, please?” he says wrapping his arms around your bum. “Take…take these off, wanna feel ya.” He pulls at the waistband of your panties insistently, pulling them off your body. The entire time he’s smoothing his hands over your skin, “Yeah, jus’ like tha’… wanna feel ya…”

Sooner rather than later, you pushed your laptop to the side and he’s pulls you down to him, one hand cupping the breast where your new ink is, the other on your hip bone, pulling you close to his pelvis.

“Just wanna sleep…baby, we’ll figure out the rest in the morning, yeah?”

You sigh and snuggle back into him and he slides his leg in between yours. “Ok, baby.”

“Jus’ wanna be close ta ya,” he says, lips pressing kisses against your neck.

You turn your head and he kisses your lips softly. “Go to sleep baby. I’m right here,” you tell him, your hand covering his on your skin and close your eyes allowing yourself to drift off. The last thing you remember is a picture of your mum and dad that was in your childhood home.

The beautiful Italian sun shines through the bedroom window. Once again you both forgot to close the darkening curtains. He lays tangled within himself, you behind him the big spoon to his little one. Your mind races with the day's activities. You need to make sure the florist is here in time to set up and the caterer got the meal and cake just right.

You untangle yourself, sit up crossing your legs, and grab your phone from the nightstand. Harry stirs as you flip through your messages, and rolls over moving his hand to rest on the thigh of your crossed legs almost as if he has to touch you even in his sleep.

You smile down at him and then move back to your messages. Everyone is confirmed for the spa and is expected to be at the villa at 10 am. You puff out a sigh of relief. You grab your laptop and pull it onto your lap in an attempt to contact the Royal Palace caterer and florist and the photographer. Oh! And you need to make sure that Lambert has all of the girls’ dresses and the guys have suits. There’s so much to do! You’ve just finished sending off a message when Harry wakes up. He raises the hand on your leg and rubs it down his face.

You look down at the sight before you…his long lean body, tan skin against the crisp white sheets, arm muscles flexing as he rubs his face and back through his hair. Jesus…is this real life? Do I actually get to wake up to this? You think shaking your head.

He pulls his eyes to yours and smiles.

“You sleep good baby?” You ask him, your hand running through his curls.

“Yeah. Had ma Jezebel wi’ me, s’ yeah,” he says in his raspy morning voice.

“Wha’re ya doin, love?”

“Oh honey, I need to contact the Royal Palace caterer, and the florist...got so much to do..." you tell him softly.

“Can’ we get someone ta do tha’?"

“No because we decided to do this ourselves, remember? And you gave Luis the week off, remember?”

He sighs.

“Besides, H, I really want us to do this for them. They mean a lot to me.”

He pulls up to his elbows, hands rubbing down his face. “Look s’beautiful sittin’ there.”

"No, sir, don't start lookin' a me like that..."

“Like wha’? Lemma see wha’ ya workin' on," he says pulling the laptop towards him, only to roll over with it and set it on the bedside table.

“Harry, honestly! I have to do..." you break into giggles as he tickles your side. "Stop! Stop!!" you say giggling.

He goes still.

“What?" You ask, “you ok?"

“Yeah, baby, ‘m perfect, ya perfect...s’proud of ya...an’ lemme say, those glasses...bookworm Jezebel in ma bed,” he says and stops to place kisses on your thigh, "smell s’good..."

Smiling, you reach to take your glasses off.

“No, Jezebel, leave 'em..." he says pushing up onto his elbows fingering the bottom of the tank top that’s ridden up to your waist leaving you bare from the waist down. His large hands push your tank up over your tummy and up past your breasts. He moves in front of you and slowly pulls the tank top off, pushing you onto your back. His hands slide to your knees and he pushes your legs up but still keeping them crisscrossed and licks a stripe up your slit causing you to cry out. He meets your eyes through the little space through your legs. “Gotta be quiet , baby. Wanna eat ma honey bu’ we have company,” he says, smirking as he bends his head to you again, maintaining eye contact. He pulls back. “Baby show me ma bee...s'it feeling better...or s'it still a little sore? Show me."

You pull your breast up and run your fingers over your ink. “No, it feels good.”

“Still can’ believe ya did tha’ fo’ me.”

You blush. “I’m yours, baby.”

He groans. “Gonna eat ma honey now,” he says as he moves his hands to your crossed legs and he pushes them up and licks a hard stripe up your slit.

Your head falls back and you bite the back of your hand to stifle your noises.

“Eyes on me, Jezebel. Wan’ ya ta watch.”

You pull your eyes back to his, looking through your legs to see his face.

He suctions his mouth to your clit, tongue fluttering against your nerves and you’re already panting. When he moves his other hand to your dripping entrance and slides his middle and ring finger in, curling them to your hit your spot, your back arches and you whisper shout out his name.

He pops off. “Cum fo’ me. Wan’ ma honey, Jezebel.”

You feel another gush of wetness at his words.

He suctions back onto your clit, fingers rhythmically moving against your spot.

You can feel your orgasm coiling in your belly and you watch as he looks up at you from under his lashes. You can see the lust and desire in his eyes.

He moves his fingers against your spot a little harder and that’s what pushes you over.

“I…ahhhh…mmm…cumming!” Your back arches as you cum for him, your walls pulsing hard around his fingers, your hands fisting the sheets.

“Tha’s my girl…wan’ ya so much,” he mutters scrambling up to place both knees on either side close to your bum. He slides his hand down your crossed leg to hold your ankle. “Ya ok like this?” he asks thumb rubbing across the top of your foot.

You look down at your crisscrossed legs bent forward on your tummy, the back of your thighs and legs tucked against his lower abdomen. You can feel his cock nestled against the lips of your wet cunt. You look up at him, nod and pant out, “Yeah, it’s good, can ya get inside like this?”

He smirks a smile with a deep dimple. “Oh yeah, love… can take ya jus’ fine this way,” he says looking down to where his cock rests. His eyes find yours, “Ready?”

You smile and pull off your readers tossing them to the side, “Please….”

He pulls back slightly lining up his cock, meeting your eyes, “Love ya s’much,” then leans forward slowly thrusting in pushing your crossed and folded legs forward as he braces one hand on the bed and the other against the headboard.

The way his weight is resting on you creates an amazing angle and puts him deep, deep inside you. You push your head back into the pillow, eyes squeezed tightly as a sharp inhale and exhale leaves your body.

“Fuckin’ love tha’….never gets old…tha’ first push in…you’re special purr…s’all fo’ me, innit?”

You bite the back of your hand and nod vigorously unable to speak a word at the moment.

“’M so deep, s’it feel ok, Jezebel?”

“Oh my god, yes, H.” you let out a soft, yet high-pitched squeal. “Feels amazing,” you groan out cupping your breasts and brushing your thumbs over your hard nipples.

“Mmmm, yeah… nipples are so hard, those are my tits, baby, pinch ‘em like I do.” He leans down to place a kiss to your lips, his arm stretched as it’s perched on the velvet headboard for leverage. Against your lips, “pinch ‘em hard, pretend its my teeth while I fuck ya.” He pulls out just slightly and pushes in deep and swivels his hips like he’s tryna grind his fuck into you. He does it again and again. His tummy pressing into your folded legs between you. This isn’t a pounding style fuck, more like a deep, grinding fuck you can feel deep in your soul. His pelvic bone and pubic hair are stimulating your clit and the ridges of his cock are sliding against your g-spot. His spot. God, you love that he claimed the most intimate parts of your body for himself. He might as well, god knows he owns you body.

You cry out against his lips, “Shh, Jezebel, gotta be quiet, we have a house fullof guests.”

“I know, I know,” you pant out, “Tryna be…it’s just…it’s just….”

“S’good like this, hmm? Can feel ya clampin’ down on me…oh baby, please tell me ya gon’ cum like this…fuck!” His balls are drawing up…he’s not gonna be able to hold on much longer. “Touch yourself, show me….”

Maintaining eye contact, you reach down through the opening between your crossed legs and first, place your palm on his pelvis. Your palm feels the taunt area just above his cock, so much blood rushed to the area it’s hard and even harder as you feel the base of his cock against the side of your thumb. He pulls out slightly between your positioned thumb and fingers. “So hard, Harry…” you whisper.

He looks down to where your hand is, “Yeah, m’hard an’ ya so wet,” he says pushing in deep catching your fingers as he swivels and grinds.

You raise your head to look down, “Got me spread wide open…Ah-ha-hahh! Right there! Yes! Right there!”

“Darlin’…Shhh! Aww Fuck It!” he says in a I-give-up tone. “I can’t…I can’t hold on…gonna cum…AHH! With me…cum with me!

“Har-ry…” you whisper shout against the back of your hand as the orgasm overtakes your body. You’re so wound up and his hand on your ankle is a now a grip as your toes curl with the contractions that come in waves. You’ve bit your bottom lip so hard you think you might draw blood. Looking at his face contorted in such absolute pleasure makes the orgasm just go on longer.

His hair is flopped down into his eye, he’s stiff and shaking with your contractions. “OH. MY. GOD. Baby…” he’s trying to catch his breath. “Jesus, Jezebel…” he murmurs falling forward curled over your crossed legs.

You groan slightly at his weight. “Hang on angel,” he says finding the strength to pull back just a little. His hand is still pushed against the headboard and you can’t help but admire the flex of his bicep and the beauty of his underarm, you lean up and kiss his tricep. He pulls back and sits on his knees, holding your legs up on your tummy. He looks up at you as he slowly pulls out. “Good?”

You nod with a soft smile.

“Show me it…push it out.”

You put your hand down to touch the side of his thigh and whisper, “Jesus H, you’re so filthy.” He nods as you push your mixed cum from your body feeling it drip down.

He catches it with is finger and pushes it back inside you, only to have small dribbles leak out. He’s in a trance like state looking at it and unconsciously runs a finger tip up from your bottom across your tight rosette to your wet pussy. The sensation causes startles you, causing you to flex. Harry rolls his eyes up to you and he cocks his head to one side. “Good…or…no?”

“Unexpected…” you whisper, “But…better than I expected…”

“Fuckin’ love seein’ our cum in ya…,” he says unfolding your legs and settling between them, down on his elbows, his thumbs rubbing your jaw.

He holds your stare, searching your eyes and opens his mouth, then closes it again, letting out an exhale.

“What, honey?” you ask sensing he’s got something on his mind.

“Have you ever…down there…,” he says pulling his head back, taking a deep breath.

“No… I mean, this guy I went out with in year two of Uni, tried slipping down there a couple of times, like I wouldn’t notice or something,” you say rolling your eyes.

“Fuckin’ bastard, motherfucker…!” He says frustratedly and buries his head in your neck. “God! Dammit!” he huffs out a breath.

“Was it tha’ fucker, ya brought ta Mum’s on Boxing Day…swear ta Christ…”

You run your hand down his back and chuckle, “It’s fine, Harry, he didn’t…hey, look at me,” you demand pushing his head up with your shoulder. “I mean, have you?”

He shakes his head, “No…no’ at all.”

“Does that interest you?” you ask in return.

“I mean, wha’ d’ya think abou’ it?”

“I don’t think I wanna be penetrated with your monster down there, but I’m curious about the feeling…it’s more sensitive than I thought it would be.” He closes his eyes, “Harry, talk to me, what’s on your mind?”

“When we were in Amsterdam an’ we met back wi’ you and Sarah at tha’ shop, they had this little chrome…ya know, plug… with a heart shaped base an’,” he buries his head back into your neck, but you push him back to meet your eyes, “jus’ wondered wha’ it would feel like fo’ us ta fuck…wi’ it there.”

“I mean…I’m not opposed to it, you’ve always been gentle with me, H… so tender and I trust you with my body…trust you with our play…with our sex. I love you, I love what we do in bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, don’t think I wanna fuck that way, I mean I dunno, but I…” you look to the side shyly.

He turns his head at an awkward angle so he can meet your eyes, “No, Jezebel, don’ go shy on me, not abou’ this, yeah?”

“I…I…I can’t say I’m not I’m curious about it, do you think that makes me…”

“Doesn’t make ya anythin’, darlin’. ‘Cept mine… makes ya mine, mine ta share these thin’s wi’, yeah? An’ we can go slow, promise I’ll be gentle…”

You stare hard into his eyes, “I don’t worry about you hurting me, OK…,” you lean up to capture his lips, “I love what we do and I love tha’ it’s always special and it’s ours…s’ours and no one elses.”

“I’m so in love wi’ ya, know tha’?”

“I know, honey. Wanna stay in bed with you all day right now… soo wanna make love all day…” you whisper as he kisses your neck and shoulder, “But we gotta finish planning this ceremony.”

He jerks his head back. “Yeah, we have a wedding ceremony to plan…an’ god knows I wanna get better at tha’,” he deadpans staring deep.

You return his stare slightly perplexed, but brushing off his innuendo as something you’re reading into, “Yeah, we should finish up.”

He cleans you up and you task him with contacting Lambert and the photographer while you deal with the hotel caterer and florist. After forty-five minutes of back and forth and a near disaster with the cake, everything is confirmed for 6:00 pm and you both let out a relieved puff of air.

“Tha’ was fuckin’ stressful,” he says as he tosses his phone to the end of the bed.

You nod. “An’ this was a small do…I can’t even imagine wha’ it’s like planning a big do!”

He bites his lip. “Would ya wanna do it or would ya get a event planner?”

You’re distracted on the laptop because you’re responding to a follow up question from the caterer. “I’d like to be involved but not down in the weeds. It’s too much!”

He nods thoughtfully. “Jus’ know tha’ when it’s our turn ta plan a wedding, I’ll help ya in whatever way ya need me ta.”

You’re still responding to the caterer and aren’t sure you heard that right. “Wait…what? What wedding?”

He laughs his breathy little laugh and grabs your phone so you’re not distracted. “Ours. When we do this, I’ll help ya as much as ya wan’ me ta. I’ll hire as many people as we need. I’ll,” he gulps, “I’ll do whatever I can ta make sure ya not stressed an’ tha’ we have everythin’ we wan’.”

Tears well in your eyes. “Really?”

He moves so he’s in front of you and pulls you in his arms. “Really.”

“I love you.”

He kisses your ear. “Love ya too. We should get ready. Everyone’ll be here in a bit,” he says, getting up and pulling you with him.

“Ok,” you say as a tear slides down your face.

You put comfy clothes on and skip hair and makeup since you’re getting that done and head downstairs to the kitchen and put on the kettle and the coffee. You’ve just put the toast in the toaster when Ron and Helen step in the room with Harry right behind them.

“Guess who I found in the hallway?” Harry says giggling and pointing to the Chapmans.

“Hmmmm…imagine that,” you say giggling. “Who wants tea?”

“I’d like tea. Ron would prefer coffee,” Helen says.

“Coming right up. Toast ok?” You ask them and they all nod.

“I’m so sorry…good morning you two!” You say moving around the counter to kiss them both.

They both chuckle and kiss your cheeks.

“Sit down and I’ll bring everything over,” you tell them.

Harry just smiles as he moves to the counter and takes the coffee pot and creamer from your hands and bringing it to the table. You place four mugs on the table and he grabs two of them while you put tea bags in the other two and pour the boiling water.

He slips behind you and grabs the toast and plates bringing them to the table.

You smile. “Thank you,” you tell him as he grabs the butter dish and you move to the table with the tea.

You place your hands together at the table, and lean forward, excited to talk to them about the day’s activities. “So, I realize it’s just your first day here, but we have a kinda busy schedule planned in order to get ready for your renewal ceremony tonight. Luckily, we have the courtyard of the Royal Palace reserved and the staff there have been amazing to get everything taken care of,” you smile and lean in further with excitement, “They have a Michelin star chef who has prepared a menu with a beef, chicken and fish option and a homemade pasta with different sauces to choose from. The pastry chef is making you a beautiful cake, and they have a florist they do business with who will get the tables and trees dressed with flowers and ivy and little twinkle lights.” You glance over to Harry who is looking at you with sweetest smile, dimple on full display. You reach up and rub your chin thinking maybe you have toast crumbs or butter or something there. “What?” you ask with a smile.

He slips his hand onto your thigh and rubs slightly, “Nothing…ya jus’ cute s’all.”

You look up and Ron is smirking as he slides his arm across the back of Helen’s chair. Helen looks over at him and smiles. “I can’t believe you two are doing this for us, it’s so special,” she says not taking her eyes off her lover of forty-five years. “Oh, Ronnie, an Italian wedding…,” she says a little overwhelmed.

Ron just rubs his hand across her neck, “I know, baby, it’s pretty amazing.”

“The sun should be going down about the time you say, ‘I do’, so it we have candles planned to keep the light and then we can all sit down for a nice meal together and then some dancing,” you clap your hands, “I love a great party! And I cannot imagine celebrating two more deserving people. We love you both so much,” you say glassy eyed. “Ok no crying yet,” you say shaking your head. “We, Miss Helen, have a spa visit to get to and, you, Mr. Ron, need to get a suit.”

“As long as Harry doesn’t pick it out, I’m fine with getting a suit.” Ron deadpans.

You all look at each other and burst into laughter.

In a flurry of people and cars, you’re finally on your way to the spa with Harry and the men folk heading to get a suit and a stop at the cigar bar.

You’ve been massaged, wrapped in clay, had a facial, nails and toes done and a light lunch has been served and eaten. After everyone’s through you tell Helen, “I have one final surprise for you before we meet up with the boys.”

Helen’s eyes well up with tears. “You’ve done s’much already, my sweet girl. I don’ know how much else there is ta do!”

You smile and lean over to hug her. “You can’t get married without a wedding dress,” you say as Ny wheels in a rack of gowns.

Helen’s hands fly to her mouth and she looks at you, eyes wide in shock.

You grab her hand. “C’mon, let’s pick your wedding dress!”

She follows you to the rack and you can tell she’s still gobsmacked.

You pull out each gown and show it to her.

Her hands are shaking as she fingers the material of each gown.

You get to the end of the selections, “what do you think?”

“I…uh…they’re all s’beautiful, I don’ know,” Helen says, overwhelmed.

You smile softly. “I know this is a lot, but just try and focus and pick the one you like best and we’ll try it on.”

“Ok,” she says squeezing your hand. She goes back through the dresses and stops in the middle of the rack, pulling out a beautiful antique white all lace dress with sheer sleeves and a beautiful train. The skirt flares at the bottom in a very subtle mermaid shape ad there’s a gorgeous jeweled belt that cinches the waist.

“It’s beautiful, Helen. Let’s go over here and we’ll try it on.”

The spa set up a changing room with a bridal pedestal and a three way mirror for you.

Helen gets undressed and you help her into the dress and zip it up.

“Close your eyes,” you tell her. You grab the veil from the hook on the wall, gently tuck the veil on the back of her head, and wave frantically in the doorway for all of the girls to come and see. You smile. “Open your eyes.”

You watch as she opens her eyes and you both look at her reflection.

Her hands fly to her mouth again and tears roll down her cheeks.

Anne grabs a tissue and gives it to you and you hand it to Helen quickly.

She wipes her eyes and looks from the mirror back to you.

“You look so beautiful. A perfect bride.” All the girls nod behind you.

“Wha’ did I ever do ta deserve ya?” Helen says, kissing both of your cheeks. “Thank you, my sweet girl. Never though’ I’d have a daughter at this stage of my life bu’ here ya are.”

You hug her and pull back and grab her and Anne’s hands squeezing them tightly. “I couldn’t ask for two better surrogate mothers.”

“This is the dress. It’s more than I ever could’ve hoped fo’,” Helen says. She kisses your cheeks again. “Someday you’ll tell me abou’ your parents, won’ ya?”

Tears stream down your face. “I will. One day. Promise.”

#permanent love part 1 #original content #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #friends to lovers

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professorspork · 1 year

Note

ok your baseball post might be my favorite post of the hiatus thus far and it has inspired me to start thinking about my own rwby baseball headcanons so here they are if you are interested (please feel free to ignore)

I always thought Nora would be a good catcher—she’s sneaky smart and definitely has the classic catcher build. I see her as sort of being in the Cal Raleigh or Evan Gattis mode where she mostly hits for power but she would also have a strong arm and catch everyone stealing (plus she would LOVE Raleigh’s nickname lol)

Jaune on the other hand I see as a pitcher, but one kind of like Jamie Moyer or Mark Buehrle—he doesn’t throw hard at all but he has like 6 different pitches and is very clever about mixing them up and picking his spots and generally outsmarting batters.

I also like Sun as a centerfielder who always makes crazy athletic catches even though half of them are the result of him misjudging the ball off the bat. Definitely steals like 10 home runs a season but also forgets how many outs there are every few games.

Lastly, Cinder has “closer” written all over her. She’s got one gear and that gear is “fastball.” She throws 102 but has precisely two pitches. She can be insanely intimidating when she’s on the top of her game but if it falls apart it falls apart BAD.

Sorry for rambling in your ask box lol you’ve activated 2 of my biggest obsessions all at once

I AM VERY INTERESTED I WOULD NEVER IGNORE

THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST ASKS I'VE EVER GOTTEN

oh my god what you said about Sun reminded me of something I meant to put in my own post about Nora (😭 I knew I'd forget something) which is that she absolutely would say something like Nick Castellanos did last post season when he was asked why his defense was so much sharper in October and he was like "EVERYTHING IS HIGH STAKES I CAN'T ZONE OUT LIKE NORMAL SO I GET A GOOD JUMP ON THE BALL" and it's like someone please get this boy some ritalin he literally just said he's too ADHD for right field in the regular season

but yeah that is ABSOLUTELY Sun, you're so right. I had the dubious honor of seeing Jeff Francouer play the outfield at a Giants game in 2013 and. when I tell you I have never seen weirder and more out-of-the-way routes to balls in my WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE...

anyway i LOVE these headcanons and I definitely agree about the Big Dumper Energy. not sure what the equivalent of JOE MAUER POWER HOUR would be for Nora but it would absolutely exist. also just:

RF Nora 🤝 C Nora throwing runners out

and also frankly

C Jaune 🤝 SP Jaune thoughtful pitch selection

but like Jaune turning in like a 2012 WS game 1 Zito vs Verlander performance of just outfoxing people with mostly offspeed semi-junk on the regular is such a delightful thought (also lmao can you tell I was an Even Years Giants bandwagoner back in the day) i LOVE that for him

and oh my god Cinder is just. just literally Aroldis Chapman right down to being the worst fucking person in the world YOU ARE SO CORRECT

#rwby #baseball #leah watches rwby #rwby baseball

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icegoddessrukia · 2 years

Note

OITNB

favorite male character: Cal Chapman

favorite female character: Piper Chapman

least favorite character: Humps, closely followed by Piscatella and Carol Denning, and Maureen

prettiest character: Piper

funniest character: Cindy Hayes

favorite season: Season 5

favorite episode: Tattoo You

favorite romantic ship: Vauseman

favorite family ship: Cindy, Taystee and Suzanne

favorite friend ship: Suzanne and Piper

worst ship: Red and Healy or Suzanne and Maureen

#oitnb #Piper Chapman #Vauseman

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books-readers-blog · 1 year

Text

Self help books

*1. "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" by Stephen Covey

2. "How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie

3. "Think and Grow Rich" by Napoleon Hill

4. "The Power of Now" by Eckhart Tolle

5. "The Four Agreements" by Don Miguel Ruiz

6. "The Alchemist" by Paulo Coelho

7. "The Secret" by Rhonda Byrne

8 "Awaken the Giant Within" by Tony Robbins

9. "Man's Search for Meaning" by Viktor E. Frankl

10. "The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck

11. "The Power of Positive Thinking" by Norman Vincent Peale

12. "The Art of Happiness" by Dalai Lama XIV and Howard C. Cutler

13. "The 5 Love Languages" by Gary Chapman

14. "Mindset" by Carol S. Dweck

15. "The Miracle Morning" by Hal Elrod

*16. "The One Thing" by Gary Keller and Jay Papasan

17. "Getting Things Done" by David Allen

*18. "Atomic Habits" by James Clear

19. "Unlimited Power" by Tony Robbins

20. "The Compound Effect by Darren Hardy

21. "You Are a Badass" by Jen Sincero

22 "The Success Principles" by Jack Canfield

23. "The Law of Attraction" by Esther and Jerry Hicks

*24. "The 80/20 Principle" by Richard Koch

25 "The Lean Startup' by Eric Ries

26. "The E-Myth Revisited" by Michael E. Gerber

27. "Crush It!" by Gary Vaynerchuk

28. "The Art of Possibility by Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander

29. "The One Minute Manager" by Kenneth H. Blanchard and Spencer Johnson

30 "The Compound Effect' by Darren Hardy

31. "The Gifts of Imperfection" by Brené Brown

32. "The 10X Rule" by Grant Cardone

33. "The Lean Entrepreneur" by Brant Cooper and Patrick Vlaskovits

34. "The Art of Non-Conformity by Chris Guillebeau

*35. "Essentialism" by Greg McKeown

36 "The Power of Full Engagement" by Jim Loehr and Tony Schwartz

37. "The Big Leap" by Gay Hendricks

38 "Mind Over Mood" by Dennis Greenberger and Christine Padesky

*39 "The Now Habit" by Neil A. Flore

40. "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin

Productivity books

1. "Getting Things Done" by David Allen

*2. "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" by Stephen Covey

3. "Deep Work" by Cal Newport

*4. "Atomic Habits" by James Clear

*5. "The One Thing" by Gary Keller and Jay Papasan

*6 "Essentialism" by Greg McKeown

7. "The Productivity Project" by Chris Bailey

8. "Smarter Faster Better" by Charles Duhigg

9. "Make Time" by Jake Knapp and John Zeratsky

10. "The Power of Habit" by Charles Duhigg

11. "Eat That Frog" by Brian Tracy

*12. "The 80/20 Principle" by Richard Koch

13. "The Pomodoro Technique" by Francesco Cirillo

14. "The Lean Startup" by Eric Ries

*15."The Now Habit" by Neil Fiore

16. "The Checklist Manifesto" by Atul Gawande

17. "Sprint" by Jake Knapp, John Zeratsky, and Braden Kowitz

18 "The War of Art" by Steven Pressfield

19. "The Compound Effect" by Darren Hardy

20. "The E-Myth Revisited" by Michael E. Gerber

21. "The Miracle Morning" by Hal Elrod

22 "Procrastinate on Purpose" by Rory Vaden

23. "The 4-Hour Work Week" by Timothy Ferriss

24 "The Organized Mind" by Daniel J. Levitin

25. "The Time Trap' by Alec Mackenzie and Pat Nickerson

26. "Flow" by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

27. "The Willpower Instinct by Kelly McGonigal

28 "Time Management for System Administrators" by Thomas A. Limoncelli

29 "The Goal" by Eliyahu Goldratt

30. "The Way We're Working Isn't Working" by Tony Schwartz

31. "The Art of Stress-Free Productivity" by David Allen

32 "First Things First" by Stephen Covey

33. "The Productivity Handbook" by Paul J. Meyer

34. "The Art of Getting Things Done" by David Allen

35. "The Procrastination Equation' by Piers Steel

36. "Rework" by Jason Fried and David Heinemeier Hansson

37. "Do More Great Work" by Michael Bungay Stanier

38. "The Time Paradox" by Philip Zimbardo and John Boyd

39. "Make It Stick" by Peter C. Brown, Henry L Roediger III, and Mark A. McDaniel

40. "The Motivation Manifesto' by Brendon Burchard

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msmercury84 · 2 years

Text

"I Double Dare You," Chapter 12: Going Back to South Philadelphia

youtube

*Author's Note: Popi's is a restaurant that was a favorite of Wild Bill's. According to his granddaughter, Bill's favorite meal was spaghetti with one meatball. Augusta Guarnere's maiden name was DiSabato, according to information provided by FindAGrave.*

About a month before Bill and Leigh went back to visit Bill's family one more time before they were sent overseas, Guarnere wrote to his mother. He requested his grandmother's engagement ring. Although he hadn't officially asked Cal Spencer for Leigh's hand in marriage, Bill had a feeling that Mr. Spencer would give his blessing.

When Bill was four years old, his Grandmother ( the Italian word is Nonna) DiSabato specified in her will that she wanted Bill to have her engagement ring.

Usually, the eldest son in an Italian family got the engagement ring. The eldest son, Augustino, was in the Merchant Marines and had no need for the ring. Nonna DiSabato was quite taken with the baby of the family, so the ring went to him.

In his letter, Bill wanted his mother to ask his sister Teresa if the ring could be cleaned. She worked for a jewelry store in Philadelphia. He was hoping that the ring could look presentable. Made in Italy, it was 18 karat gold with a half carat diamond. The ring looked worse for the wear and the diamond was extremely dull looking.

Guarnere knew if the ring could be restored to its former beauty, it would be better than anything he could afford to buy. He wanted Leigh to have a beautiful engagement ring.

When Augusta got the letter, she was ecstatic to learn that Leigh would be her future daughter-in-law. She shed a few tears that her baby was planning to get married, but she adored Leigh and knew she would be a devoted wife.

Joseph Guarnere and Bill's sisters were as happy as Augusta when they heard about Bill's intention to ask Leigh to marry him. He asked that each family member say nothing about his plan to Leigh. Guarnere wanted her to be surprised when the time was right to propose.l

Teresa immediately wrote to Bill:

Dear Billy Baby,

When I looked at Nonna's ring, it looked pretty bad. The gold looked dull and there wasn't a hint of a sparkle in the diamond. My boss, Mr. Chapman, told me he would try a new jewelry cleaner in a small cleaning machine that we have at work.

He told me don't get my hopes up, because of the effects of time and something called oxidation. Mr. Chapman wanted to soak the ring in the cleaner overnight before he put it in the machine with new cleaning stuff.

Billy, it was nothing short of a miracle! When he took the ring out of the cleaner it looked brand new! Who knew that old ring was so gorgeous?

It didn't cost much for the cleaning and I took care of it. That's the least I can do for you and your sweet girl. Mr. Chapman insisted on giving me a new, blue velvet box for the ring.

Love Ya,

Teresa

Guarnere wrote to his sister, thanking her for getting the ring cleaned and he asked her to thank her boss for him. By this time, Bill and Leigh were stationed in North Carolina. Prior to that, the 506th had briefly moved to Tennessee for more training. Spencer was elated to learn that the USO was planning a big show in Philadelphia.

Bill decided to plan their visit for the weekend of the show. Both he and Spencer had their leaves approved by Colonel Sink in advance of their trip. Leigh's parents made plans to book a hotel room and take a train so they could see their daughter onstage.

The USO reserved seats for the Guarnere family, Bill and the Spencers. Rehearsal took place in the theater. The officials wanted Leigh to perform "Stuff Like That There" and she was part of a trio singing "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." She was also going to play a boogie woogie number while two dancers performed.

Leigh was determined to do her best, since she had special guests in the audience. She didn't tell Bill and his family about playing the piano. Spencer wanted to surprise them.

When Bill told his mother about the USO reserving seats for him and his family, Augusta was excited to see the show. She told him in a letter,

"Billy, it makes things even more exciting to know that I'm seeing my future daughter in law performing. Your pop and I couldn't be happier knowing that you found a good, sweet girl and we will be glad to welcome her into the family when the time comes.

Meeting her folks will be great, too. Don't worry, Son, I won't say anything to them about you asking for your Nonna's ring. I know that you would want Mr. Spencer's blessings before you did anything else. Going with what Mrs. Spencer says in telephone calls, they are crazy about you. It makes me proud when she talks about what a fine gentleman you are."

The day of the long train trip to Philadelphia arrived. Once again, Spencer and Guarnere took the midnight train. While they passed time talking, Leigh told Bill,

"The USO officials are looking for a good tailor to sew and repair the costumes. I immediately thought of your dad. They are very interested in hiring him."

"That ( he pronounced the word as 'dat') would be a blessin', Baby. Pop is a proud man, but he needs more money. This job would be perfect for him." Spencer thought of a way to mention the job and allow Mr. Guarnere to retain his dignity. She told Bill and he agreed that her idea sounded good. Guarnere tenderly kissed her, saying,

"That's a thoughtful thing you're doin', Honey. I appreciate ya bein' so considerate about Pop." Spencer smiled and thanked him. Several hours later, when they exited the cab and walked up to the front door, Augusta hugged them both, saying,

"It's great to see you two again! Come on in, I made pizzelles and coffee." Leigh went into the living room to sit and chat with Teresa and Augusta. She helped herself to a cup of fresh coffee and two pizzelles. Mrs Guarnere told her,

"You're learnin', Sweetie. I'm glad ya feel comfortable enough to help yourself an' not wait for me to say anything."

"Mrs. Guarnere, I couldn't feel more welcome and I appreciate you treating me like family." Leigh didn't notice Augusta giving a knowing look and a wink to Teresa when she mentioned being treated like family.

That night, everyone enjoyed a delicious supper of ravioli stuffed with cheese, beef, and Italian sausage. They also had the Guarnere family's favorite side dish Broccoli Rabe, red wine, coffee and pizzelles. Leigh asked Joseph,

"Mr. Guarnere, I hate to impose, but may I ask a favor of you?" Bill's father told her,

"Yes." She said,

"Sir, I need your help. The USO desperately needs a good tailor to make and repair costumes. Would you be willing to help? I told the officials that I know a very good tailor.

They are offering to pay a rate based on your experience and they will furnish everything you need. If you decide to take the job, once you complete the work, they will pay for shipping. All you have to do is take the parcel to the train station.

This will be demanding in the fact that it will involve a great deal of your time. You don't have to answer right now, you can think about it for a few days." Augusta had a brilliant smile on her face as she translated Spencer's request for her husband. He smiled, telling Leigh,

"Of course, I want to help you." He paused to give the remainder of his message to Augusta. She told Leigh,

"Joseph says that he would be proud to help the USO. This country took him in and he wants to return the favor. He thanks the officials in advance for providing money for his services." Spencer said,

"I don't know many Italian words, but I can say, grazzi, Signore Guarnere." The elder Guarnere grinned at her reply, saying,

"You are welcome, Leigh. You're a good girl to make this offer."

As Spencer was helping Augusta in the kitchen with the dishes, she hugged Leigh, saying,

"What you done for us is appreciated more than you know. Sweetie, the way you done it was perfect. You were extra sweet to take Joseph's feelins into consideration. Billy is right, you are an angel." Spencer answered,

"I'm glad I could help, Mrs. Guarnere. It's the very least I can do for the parents who raised the very special man I love. From the first time I saw Bill until now, he's been a gentleman who is very considerate and thoughtful. Thank you and please thank Mr. Guarnere for bringing him up the way both of you did." Augusta smiled and thanked Spencer, remarking,

"Your folks done a wonderful job with you, too, Leigh. They brought up a real lady." Spencer thanked her. They talked as they finished washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Leigh told Augusta,

"By the way, supper was delicious! If it's OK, I'd like to get that recipe and the recipes for some of Bill's favorite dishes. If we're shipped to the same location overseas, I might be able to cook for him sometime." Mrs. Guarnere promised to send her the recipes. She told Leigh,

"I want to thank your mother and grand pop for sendin' more of that delicious beef."

"We're glad to share. As I said before, this is what country people do for friends and family."

The next day, which was the day before the show, Louise called Mrs. Guarnere. By this time, they called each other by their first names and they were friends. When she learned that Leigh was rehearsing, she told Bill's mother,

"Augusta, I might as well tell you what I was going to ask Leigh to tell you. Cal wants to take everyone to dinner before the show. Just pick your favorite restaurant and we'll take care of it.

We couldn't have done this without Leigh sending some money home. Cal is proud. Like a lot of people nowadays, things are kind of tight where extra money is concerned. It means a lot to him to be able to take friends to supper." Augusta told her,

"It's the same way wit' us, Louise. While I've got ya on the phone, let me tell ya about the sweet thing your daughter done for us." Guarnere told her how Leigh mentioned the job for Joseph in a way to preserve his dignity. Louise was delighted to hear how her daughter handled the situation. She said,

"I'm proud of Leigh. We tried our best to bring her up right. You certainly did an excellent job with Bill. We've never met a more polite and considerate gentleman.

Augusta, we're so happy that Leigh met your son." They discussed the situation concerning Grayson. Mrs. Guarnere told her,

"When Billy told me what that animal done to her, it almost made me sick. Thank God she got away from him!" Louise agreed, replying,

"When Leigh and Bill got together, it was a gift from God. I truly believe that he sent the best young man into her life that he could find." Mrs. Guarnere thanked Louise. They were eager to finally meet each other and they looked forward to seeing the USO show.

While Leigh rehearsed, Bill got the ring from his mother. He was pleased with the way the ring cleaned up and he hugged his sister, saying,

"Teresa, it's thanks to you that my angel will have a ring that's beautiful. Thanks for that velvet box, too. That looks really classy." Teresa told her brother that she was glad to help.

Guarnere looked at the clock and realized that Leigh would soon finish rehearsing. She was taking the bus back to South Philadelphia. Bill wanted to walk her home from the bus stop. He went upstairs to his room and he put the ring in its box, carefully storing it in his duffel bag.

Bill told his mother and sister that he was walking to the bus stop and he left the house. Guarnere didn't have to wait very long. The bus was on time. Leigh and Bill walked hand in hand to the Guarneres' house

The next day, Cal and Louise Spencer arrived on the 2 p.m. train. They checked into the hotel and got settled in. Mrs. Spencer called Augusta to let her know that they were in Philadelphia. Mrs. Guarnere promptly invited them to come over for coffee and pizzelles.

Leigh spent the morning rehearsing. Bill went to the neighborhood florist's shop and ordered a corsage of red Sweetheart Roses for Leigh. Guarnere gave the address of the theater and the time he wanted the flowers to be delivered. He also gave Leigh's name for the delivery worker. Bill wrote on the card,

"Baby, you're gonna knock 'em dead tonight. All my love, Bill."

When he walked home from the bus stop with Leigh, Guarnere was surprised to see the Spencers. Leigh walked into the living room, hugging her parents. Cal asked Leigh if she was ready for the show. She said,

"Yes, Dad, I'm as ready as I will ever be. We've rehearsed so much that I'm surprised I haven't been singing in my sleep." Bill laughed, replying,

"That would explain the noise I heard comin' from Teresa's room." Teresa told Leigh,

"You're very quiet, unlike my baby brother who snores so loud that the neighbors can hear him."

"I don't snore. You're hearin' things, Teresa." The Spencers, Leigh, Augusta and Joseph laughed at the good natured banter between the brother and sister. Louise asked her daughter,

"Leigh, how many songs are you performing tonight?"

"I'm doing two songs, Mom. Most of rehearsal has centered around the dancing that I'm doing with two other singers. We're doing an Andrews Sisters' song. The first song I'm singing is the one that I did at the USO Competition." Bill said,

"Mr. and Mrs. Spencer, you're in for a treat. Leigh dances and sings better than those dames in the movies." Spencer thanked Guarnere for his compliment.

When Leigh sang at the competition, she had the whole audience on their feet, clappin' along wit' the music." Both Cal and Louise smiled. Mrs. Spencer told him,

"We're both looking forward to the show tonight, Bill. Leigh has always been interested in music." The group exchanged small talk for awhile. Cal Spencer made his offer to take everyone to dinner. After a brief discussion, Spencer called two taxis to take everyone to a popular Italian restaurant, Popi's.

Leigh excused herself to change her clothes before they went to dinner. She wore a short sleeved sapphire blue dress. Mrs. Guarnere wore a dark red dress and Teresa wore a black dress with red rosebuds printed on the material. Mr. Guarnere wore a charcoal gray suit he had made for himself.

Cal wore a dark blue suit, a white shirt and a blue tie. Louise wore a cranberry red long sleeved dress and black pumps.

When they were seated at the restaurant, Cal and Louise selected Chicken Alfredo. Teresa Guarnere had Linguini with Clams, Bill had his favorite dish, spaghetti with one meatball, his parents selected Pasta Primavera and Leigh chose Spaghetti Bolognaise.

The group enjoyed a few glasses of wine as they enjoyed their meals. They enjoyed each other's company as they talked and shared family stories. Bill and his mother enjoyed after dinner cigarettes.

Cal excused himself from the group to take his daughter in a taxi to the theater. Performers had to arrive 45 minutes before the show began. Once Leigh was dropped off, Mr. Spencer went back to take the rest of the group back to the Guarneres' home in two cabs.

Spencer had just finished putting on her USO uniform, the same one she wore at the competition, when a USO official delivered a small white box.

She thanked the official and took the box to her dressing table. Leigh smiled when she saw a corsage of three red Sweetheart Roses and the enclosed card with Bill's message. Spencer carefully pinned the corsage to her left lapel.

Leigh touched up her makeup and she applied red lipstick that matched her nail polish. She brushed her hair and applied hair spray. Now, all she needed to do was wait for her turn onstage.

Everyone arrived by taxis that brought them to the theater. Mr. and Mrs. Spencer sat in the front row with Bill. The Guarnere family sat in the second row. Julia and Maria had to attend parent teacher conferences at their children's schools, so they were unable to go to dinner. They were running late, but they managed to get seated before the show started.

About fifteen minutes into the show, the emcee said,

"Here's Leigh Spencer singing "Stuff Like That There."

She walked onstage confidently and took her place at the microphone. By the middle of the number, everyone in the audience was standing up, clapping their hands in time with the music.

Leigh singled Bill out in the audience, the same way she did in the competition when she sang,

"I used to think romance was bunk.

A double mickey for the icky.

But all at once my heart was sunk.

And Baby, You (she pointed at Bill and winked) you've done it."

Guarnere loved Leigh acknowledging him from the stage. He winked at her as an enormous smile appeared on his face. Julia and Maria liked Spencer including their baby brother in her song.

Julia whispered to Maria,

"Will ya look at that smile! Our Billy Baby is crazy in love wit' Leigh. Looks like we'll have her for a sister in law. She'll be a good wife for Billy Baby an' she's really sweet." Maria agreed with her sister.

Cal and Louise had beaming smiles that mirrored Bill's smile as they were amazed by their daughter's performance. The Guarnere family couldn't take their eyes off of Leigh.

Augusta and her daughters talked to one another, shouting to be heard above the music and the crowd. Julia told Maria,

"Holy Mother of God, she's a good singer and a good dancer!" Maria said,

"You got that right!" Mrs. Guarnere told Teresa,

"She's just like a star in one of those musicals. Leigh would give Judy Garland a run for her money!" Teresa replied,

"You're right, Ma. Look at Billy Baby, he's so proud of Leigh that he's about to bust!" Augusta said,

"He's very much in love wit' her and Billy has a right to be proud." Although Joseph didn't understand all of the lyrics, he enjoyed Leigh's singing and dancing.

Spencer received a standing ovation and she had to do two curtain calls before the show could progress. Augusta leaned over Bill before the next act came on to tell Mrs. Spencer,

"You have a very talented daughter, Louise. She done a great job singin' and dancin'." Mrs. Spencer thanked Augusta. Bill grinned, telling his mother,

"Just like I said, Ma. Leigh is the best singer in the whole damned bunch." He immediately apologized to Louise, who told him she wasn't offended.

Ten minutes later, Leigh was onstage again. She sat down at a nine foot concert grand piano. A husband and wife dancing duo stood upstage.

Spencer began to play an intricate boogie woogie arrangement. The man wore a black Zoot Suit with white pinstripes and his wife wore a bright red dress and open toed red pumps.

They moved effortlessly doing a very complicated version of the jitterbug. The audience clapped along with the music as the dancers seemed to float across the stage, their feet nearly moving in a blur.

Bill was extremely surprised to learn that Leigh could play the piano. She had never mentioned that she played a musical instrument. Augusta and her daughters and Joseph were equally surprised to learn of Spencer's talent on the piano.

The Spencers knew that their daughter played the piano, having paid for several years of lessons. They were surprised that someone was able to convince her to play onstage.

Leigh honestly believed that she was a mediocre pianist at best, despite what people had told her over the years. She thought that no one else was onstage during rehearsals earlier in the week and she sat down to play the piano.

The USO officials asked her to fill in for the pianist who was supposed to play for the dancers. The other pianist was at home suffering from an intestinal virus. Spencer quickly learned the boogie woogie piece. She and the dancers received prolonged applause for the number.

Toward the end of the show, one USO singer in a white uniform and another singer in a red uniform joined Leigh onstage to perform the hit song recorded by the Andrews Sisters, "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy."

The women had worked all week on the tight harmony and the dance steps that went with the song. They sounded exactly like the world famous trio and their dancing was flawless. Spencer was given the solo in the middle of the song, normally performed by Patty Andrews.

Once again, the audience gave a standing ovation. Bill was nearly beside himself. He was so proud of Leigh that he shouted,

"That's my girl!" Julia, Maria and Teresa decided not to tease their baby bother about his outburst. They knew he was deeply in love with Leigh. Mr.and Mrs. Spencer smiled when they heard Bill. They wanted to shout out the same statement, but both Cal and Louise were very reserved.

After the show, the Guarneres and the Spencers waited for Leigh before taking the taxis back to the Guarneres' house. Augusta and her daughters took turns hugging Spencer and complimenting her. Joseph hugged Leigh, saying,

"Good job, Leigh!" Both Maria's and Julia's husbands were there to take their wives home. The women told their husbands that they "missed one hell of a good show." Julia told her husband,

"Sal, honest to God, Billy's girl could be a big time singer someday. She dances an' she plays one hell of a boogie woogie piano!" Bill embraced Leigh, telling her,

"You were holdin' out on me, Sweetheart. I never knew ya could play the piano."

"I don't talk about it very much because I'm not that good." Guarnere looked shocked, replying,

"Baby, you made that thing talk! Ain't nothin' my angel can't do. You're super talented, Leigh." She thanked him for the compliments. The Spencers were very proud of their daughter and they also gave her performances rave reviews.

Before she left the cab to go into the Guarneres' house, Leigh hugged her parents and thanked them for coming to see the show. The elder Guarneres and Teresa were already in the house. Bill and Leigh walked hand in hand to the front door. As Guarnere held open the door, Leigh thanked him for the corsage. He gave her a tender kiss, saying,

"It's my pleasure, Honey. You were the best one in the show tonight." When Bill and Leigh got inside the house, Bill told his mother,

"Ma, it's a shame Henry didn't get to see the show. He would've loved hearin' Leigh playin' that piano." Guarnere explained to Spencer,

"Henry is crazy for boogie woogie music an' he loves it when somebody plays the piano. I'll have to write him an' tell him that my baby is a star in the USO. Maybe he'll get to see ya in concert sometime. Do ya know if they do shows in Africa? That's where he's goin'." Leigh told Bill that she wasn't sure if the USO performed in Africa. She added,

"I'd like to meet Henry. He sounds like a really nice guy." Bill, Teresa and the Guarneres told Spencer that Henry was sweet and caring. He was going to be a medic.

Augusta offered to preserve Leigh's corsage and Spencer thanked her, saying that she would like it very much if the corsage could be preserved as a memento.

The next day, Bill and Leigh boarded the train to North Carolina. Guarnere had his grandmother's engagement ring in its new velvet box. It was tucked into an inner pocket of his dress uniform. He was looking forward to proposing to Leigh when the time was right.

@lizziebitch33 @ethereal-jumpwings @celie-voss @wontyoutakeitback @cagzzz107 @stinkyrat09 @havaneselover08 @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @lenabob @alluringmoonlightbabe

@sparkycorleone @elioag2006 @marycorleone

#bill guarnere #easy company #william guarnere #how-are-those-nuts-sarge #wild bill guarnere #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #bill guarnere imagine #vintagelavenderskies #ethereal-jumpwings #ethereal jumpwings #mrsalwayswrite #rogue-barnes-durin-main #Youtube

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rogueshadeaux · 1 year

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Chapter Two - False Hopes

He was immediately recognizable; one of the two dudes that were window shopping, in an Adiad tracksuit that seemed way too thin for the middle of winter. He had black hair, a scar running along his forehead, and a fucking gun in his hand.

4k Words | 13 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: guns, assault.

Getting home was an event in itself, Dad taking unnecessary loops through neighborhoods and avoiding main roads as we left Portland in our wake, headed home. Home was Chapman, on a 5 acre lot hidden behind some comfortable, unclaimed woods. The only sign anyone lived at all on this road was our mailbox, bricked in after an accident involving a moped and a wild turkey. Our gravel driveway jerked the truck around, making me drop my phone as I browsed Reddit and causing Brent’s head to smack rather hard against the window he was napping on. “Wakey wakey,” I joked as he groaned, massaging his temple.

He tried to punch my leg in retaliation.

Dad shook his head in the driver’s seat, chuckling to himself as he said, “Alrighty, kids, school night, so I want you both to start headed to bed when we get in there, okay?”

“Thought we didn’t have to listen to you anymore?” I teased.

Dad rolled his eyes, meeting mine in the rear view mirror. “You’ve got a month till then, ma’am. And I’m still gonna make you two sleep at a decent time after that. I’ll turn off the Wi-Fi,” he threatened.

“You monster.”

Sleep, though, was hard that night. My mind just couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. The brick. The bomb. Was the world really that full of hate? These Conduits couldn’t help what they were. Who they were. Just like people couldn’t control skin tone, or height or something.

But those protestors…that was hate. Enough hate to get someone charged with destruction of property. Enough for them to not care that there were kids.

Enough to threaten to kill my Dad.

Losing him…that was one of my biggest fears. It was hard enough, growing up without Mom there. We had no remaining family; grandparents, uncles, all gone before we were even thoughts in Mom and Dad’s relationship. If we lost Dad, that’d be it. I’d only have Brent.

The thought terrifies me.

Thankfully, though, he was there as we woke early the next morning, pulling a waffle from our waffle iron when I stumbled into the kitchen, yawning and in the middle of a French braid. “Good morning my dear Jeanie!” He chirped.

“Dad, please. It’s 6 am.” I groaned. “Why are you happy?”

“Because, my dear. My love. My shining star,” he exaggerated, pirouetting with the plate high above his head and spinning towards me. “I get to see you two off. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He offered the plate to me. “Sounds terrible,” I teased, taking it. “But if it comes with breakfast every day, then sure.”

“I knew you only loved me for my cooking.”

“Dad, you can barely cook.”

Brent was next in the room, immediately bolting for the coffee pot and starting the brew. That was his job; coffee making. Didn’t know how, but he could make a delicious, albeit strong, cup of joe. Plus I don’t think either of us were going to function today without it; winter exams were in full swing, and being Seniors, they carried so much more weight. Especially with FAFSA looming in the new year, and college applications due just as soon.

I finished plaiting my braid, letting it fall to my back as I absolutely smothered the food in syrup. Maybe these waffles held the secrets to memorizing pre-cal. Lord knew I needed it.

Brent plopped beside me with his own stack of waffles, skipping the syrup and just digging straight in like a heathen. “I was also thinking,” Dad paused, pouring more batter into the iron and closing it, “That this will be the first Christmas break I’m off. Ever. I haven’t bought you two presents yet, so what would you say to a vacation?”

I couldn’t say anything at all. Brent, however, elected to choke on his waffle.

“Vacation?” I finally worked out, my eagerness barely audible over Brent’s coughs. We haven’t been on vacation since 8th grade, when Dad took us to Disneyland out in Cali. It’s just been too crazy for all of us; Brent was caught up in sports, I had started my art portfolio and gymnastics. Dad began his activism around that time too.

And after a hellish time like exam season, I was ready for a getaway.

“Yep!” Dad said, filling a glass with water and passing it to Brent. “Not sure where. But I can do my work from a hotel just as easy as from the den. Figured you two are old enough to tell me where you want to go. I will say,” he opened the waffle iron, “This may count as your birthday gift too �� I’ll still get you both something small, sure, but everything would go to a vacay.”

Oh, that word sounded weird coming out of his mouth.

Brent, throat now lubricated, asked “But we get to decide?”

“Sure,” Dad shrugged. “Within reason. Not taking you two to the Red Light District in Amsterdam or anything—“

“Damn, there goes my choice,” I sighed, giggling as Dad rolled his eyes.

“And keep it local, we wont be able to update your passports in time. But you two talk it out, and tell me before break. I have so many miles from work I can easily book us cheap tickets.”

That made it so much easier to get to school.

Brent and I immediately started debating on a place when we entered the courtyard of Linus Pauling High School, finding a tree to shelter under and nurse our coffees. “MOMA? Really?” Brent scoffed. “You want to go to New York to visit an art museum?”

“Hey, I’ve heard it’s cool!” I threw my empty hand up defensively. “Besides, they’re doing a showcase of all of Delsin Rowe’s tags he left in Seattle.”

That got his attention. Delsin Rowe, the Conduit’s Abraham Lincoln. The man that stormed Seattle for a week, changed the entire landscape of the world, and then ran off never to be seen again. He was like a real life Batman, freeing people from tyranny and then disappearing into the night.

I loved his art. Brent loved the story.

But apparently, not enough to get him to consider NYC. “I can look up the pics for free,” he shrugged, sipping his coffee. “Besides, New York City is the East Coast’s Hollywood.”

I grimaced at that. Hollywood was a part of our Cali vacation I’d love to forget, and yet be forced to forever remember.

“Yo, Brent!”

Our heads turned, looking at the group that was coming close. Tommy, Brent’s best friend, was leading the pack, arm wrapped around Theresa, my bestie. Had to admit, they were a cute couple; I just hoped it would last, because the nuke of their breakup would cause irreversible damage to our friend group. Cat followed close behind her cousin, the dinosaur hat she chose to go with today pulled down close to her skull, shielding her from the cold. Dominic lagged behind, scuffing his boots in the snow, off in another world where you’d always find him running away to. Mei was nowhere to be seen.

I didn’t miss how Brent deflated a bit beside me at that.

Nonetheless, Brent recovered, getting up to dap up Tommy, Theresa escaping his grasp and coming to sit beside me, snatching my coffee from my hands and taking a sip. “Wh-, give that back!” I laughed indignantly, swiping for my tumbler that she kept just out of reach.

“Give me back my black dress then we’ll talk,” she teased, taking another sip.

I blushed slightly, “Shit, I keep forgetting about that. Why don’t you come over and get it today?”

Tommy heard, chiming in with, “Aren’t you two grounded still?”

Brent went on to explain what happened, how Dad benevolently released us from punishment in exchange for being able to keep a close eye on us.

Explaining why he was working from home, though, was less exciting.

“You sure Lifeline left that behind?” Tommy inquired. “Y’know, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bomb-making Bioterrorist—“

“Tommy, they threw a brick at us,” I interjected before he could continue on with his bullshit. The token Devil's Advocate. Didn’t help his Grandfather was ex-DUP.

Dominic finally entered the stratosphere, repeating, “They threw a brick at you?”

It was my turn to narrate, explaining the day we had yesterday — minus all the cleaning. How Lifeliners spit at Dad, how they targeted us and didn’t even care we were still kids. Not for long, but still.

At least Tommy had the sense to look ashamed for being their advocate.

I finally got my tumbler back from Theresa, throwing back the little bit of coffee she left me and gulping hard. Coming down, my eyes caught flying hands, Cat trying to convey something getting lost in the boy’s banter.

My ASL was getting better — especially now that Linus Pauling offered sign language as an elective. But Cat, being so proficient, flew with those fingers so fast that I only caught one word: ‘safe.’ “Hey, Tommy, what’s Cat saying?” I asked, breaking up guy time.

Tommy hummed, turning to his little cousin. Cat was our designated baby, a sophomore we all guarded with our life because of her mutism. She was sweet, full of spirit, eccentric — but entirely silent. Which of course, caught her a bunch of shit with the bullies: caused some arguments from me and Theresa, with some reinforcement punches from Brent and Tommy.

“Oh, she asked if you guys will be safe? After everything,” Tommy translated, leaning over to whisper, “Remember to go a bit slower, these noobs can’t keep up,” in her ear.

I shrugged. “We should be? But…after yesterday,” I sighed. “I don’t know.”

“We will be,” Brent interjected. “Dad knows what to do,”

The bell rang, signaling for all its little livestock to mosey on to their first stop of slaughter. Meaning, for me, Pre-Cal.

Yay.

We all dispersed on promises to catch up at lunch, submitting ourselves to the torture of final exams. I wasn’t made for math. Formulas and number crunching just didn’t compute in my mind, like I was a computer using dial up. I finished my exam early, probably more a sign of my lacking knowledge than utter genius, being excused to the library by Mr. Emerson.

I found a comfortable corner to hide away in, pulling my sketchbook out of my backpack and opening to my last page; a partially done practice session of drawing realistic looking hands that, honestly, weren’t looking too realistic.

Realism wasn’t my attraction, though. I wanted to be a comic book author. Write my own stories, draw the art. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to expand my arsenal and become well versed in everything I could to grow my portfolio. Realism, abstract — hell, even did a few furry things for Cat. It all had to go towards building the life I wanted. Especially since the art school I wanted to go to, Giverny Institute of the Arts, was very competitive.

That big dream, comic books? Wasn’t gonna be easy, though. Comics died out in popularity after the Empire City Catastrophe, and haven’t really made a solid comeback since. Superheroes that were all the rave back then seemed taboo after The Beast, and were all but discontinued. Nearly every big name franchise went bankrupt save for a comic adaptation of Sherlock Holmes, and Manga — which wasn’t really my deal.

‘Course, there was also rule34, but…no. Just no.

I’d probably have to enter animation or something, which was fine. I could deal with that. It was way more secure than comics, at least. My last semester was predominantly electives, since my summer classes put me ahead of schedule, and I planned on taking every Rendering and Animation class Giverny sponsored through the school district. Maybe one day, I’d be one of the lucky ones. The type of person to beat all odds and achieve my dreams, to have a rather lucrative career as a comic artist. Maybe.

But for now, I’d have to hock away at these stupid hands. Why are hands always so hard?

I wasn’t alone for long, though, the familiar thump of heeled boots announcing another friend. “Hey Jean,” Mei greeted.

“Hey, didn’t see you this morning,” I looked up, sheepishly closing my sketchbook. Just ‘cause I wanted to be an artist didn’t mean I wanted anyone to see the work when it was still under construction.

Mei shrugged off her messenger bag, setting it on the floor and plopping beside me. “I was studying. Was going to in a minute, too. Just wanted to stop and say hi.”

“So then why did you sit down?”

“Cause I’m tired of studying.” Mei reached into her backpack, pulling out a ziplock bag. “Rice cake?”

I’ll always say yes to food.

Taking a bite out of the rice cake, I said, “Hey, by the way, thanks for talking to Dad. He ungrounded us and it’s all thanks to you, Mei-flower.”

Mei grimaced, “Oh god, I hate that you heard Sobo call me that. But, you’re welcome. It was good practice for my Debate exam, too.”

“Had nothing to do with him still wanting to rat you guys out?”

“Only partially,”

I laughed, taking another bite and exercising my bad manners by speaking with my mouth full. “Y’know, now that we’re ungrounded, maybe you and Brent could quit with the gross puppy eyes and go on a date. He’s free for the rest of the month. Rest of his life, if you’re willing.”

Mei rolled her eyes, muttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But there was no lying with her face that red.

“Oh please, if I have to sit through one more muttering mess of a convo—“

“Stop.” Mei giggled, accepting defeat. Sighing, she became crestfallen. “Besides, I don’t know if Brent is all that into me.”

“You’re kidding, right? Smooth talking, bad boy Brent that can’t even talk without st-st-stuttering around you?” I scoffed.

“You don’t know for sure if he likes me,”

“You’re saying you know him better than his twin?” She didn’t retort. “Just — give it a chance. Maybe winter formal? Since we can go to that now,”

That struck something in Mei. She wandered away in her mind, nibbling on her rice cake absentmindedly. “Hmm. Maybe. But that’s, what, this Friday? Would he be ready for a dance by then? He said he wasn’t going,”

“Please,” I shook my head, smiling. “You ask him out, he’s gonna demand we go to the mall today.”

“Hey so, Dad,” Brent started from the backseat of the truck after losing a round of rock-paper-scissors for shotgun. “You think we can go to the mall?”

Looking in his rear view mirror and waiting for a car to pass before he backed out, Dad cocked his head slightly. “The mall? Why—“

“Oh my God, did she ask you?” I interrupted, spinning to look at him. God, he was so pink.

No will to pretend, he simply asked, “You knew?”

“Pfft — knew? I told her to.”

“May I please be clued in, dear children?” Dad interjected. “Especially if it demands my money.”

“Mei asked Brent to the formal,” I spurted, ignoring Brent’s protests behind me. “About time too, hopefully you two will stop being so weird around each other.”

Dad now spun in place to look back at Brent. “Did she, son?” Brent nodded. “Well,” Dad shrugged, putting the truck in reverse, “You’ll need a suit, then,”

“Oh, can I have Theresa come hang out?” I begged Dad.

Brent, finally deciding to buckle in, added, “Tommy too? I wanted to get his opinion on outfits.”

Dad pulled forward, joining the terribly long queue out of the parking lot. “My God, do you guys not want to hang out with me? I’m cool. Hip, groovy, based or whatever the kids say—“

“Dad, literally no one says that,” I laughed.

But Dad, not one to miss my lack of denial, whined, “You don’t! I’m just chauffeur for you guys, aren’t I?”

“Don’t forget bank.” Brent joked.

“Hey, you want that new suit or not?” But sighing, Dad relented. “Fine. Invite them. I needed to get some new stuff since I’m working from home now, anyways.”

We were on our phones texting before he finished the sentence.

Unfortunately, that meant a 45 minute ride into the city — which easily turned into an hour and some change, with rush hour traffic. Wasn’t too bad, though; it was fun being able to see Dad immediately after school instead of waiting for him to stumble home from the office at, like, 9 PM. It did mean we were subjected to his playlist — and worse, his singing.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that bad a singer, but if I told him that, he’d sing more often. And he always got way too into it.

We were finishing up a hilarious and passionate rendition of ‘Dear Maria, Count Me In’ when we pulled into the mall parking lot. “Alright, I’m going to Office Depot. You guys message me when you’re done. And Brent?”

“Yeah?”

“Send me pics. I’m the one that has to wear those monkey suits for work every day,” Dad pulled his phone out of his back pocket, along with his wallet. “I’m gonna send you $150 — suits can be so expensive. Jeanie, do me a favor and take this,” he continued, yanking a crumpled $50 out of his wallet. “Hate carrying cash.”

Well I loved it, especially if it was free.

We separated, Dad going off to buy office supplies while Brent and I headed for the food court. “What about Miami?” Brent randomly asked.

I snorted. “What, the coke capital of America? Dad would not take us there,”

“I just really want to have a summer Christmas,” Brent sighed. “White Christmas’ get old.”

Like a lightbulb, an idea popped up in my head. “Do you think Dad would do Hawaii?”

“Hawaii?” Brent thought about it, a smile growing wide on his face with every second that passed. “That would be so cool.”

“Right?” I spun to face him, walking backwards. “Sandy beaches, good weather,”

“Probably a couple good trails,” Brent added. “I could try surfing again,”

“Volcanoes! That’d be awesome!”

He nodded. Hawaii. The best Christmas present. “We’ll talk to Dad about it, yeah. I like that idea.”

And knowing Dad, he would say yes. Man loved the beach.

We met up with Theresa and Tommy, managing to pull the two lovebirds apart for a while to go our separate ways. Theresa was quickly informed of our Christmas gift, the possibility of spending it in the ocean breeze, and immediately insisted we try to find a good few dresses for it — which I’d be down for, if it wasn’t the middle of December.

But goddamn, if the woman wasn’t a magician. Swear her New Marais roots came with some voodoo magic. She pulled me into a Booker’s, finding a sundress in their clearance rack that I immediately fell in love with; it was peach, with white flowers, an asymmetrical skirt flowing down to my ankles.

Or it would, if I put it on. But it was 32 degrees and I liked being warm. Couldn’t help but imagine how beautiful it’d look though.

“So, do you want it?” She asked, curls bouncing in excitement. “I swear if you don’t get it I will,”

I laughed, “Yeah, I’ll get it, jeez.”

Post-register, Theresa dragged me from the Booker’s to a hair care stall, talking to the vendor about their options for moisturizing dreads overnight since she was thinking about getting them back in. I scuffed my shoe and looked around a bit before breaking in boredom, telling her I’d be back after grabbing a snack. They had a Cinnabon in here somewhere, I know they did. I could smell ‘em.

Like a leopard on the hunt, I followed my nose, the prize surprisingly far from where I left Theresa. Either the batch was fresh, its aroma floating freely through the near-abandoned mall, or I was a fatass. It was more than likely the latter, though. It’s a wonder how I stayed a decent weight, to be honest.

The mall was huge, two stories and multiple wings — meaning they also had more than one food court. At least, they had a few pseudo ones, a stall selling pretzels or those little ice cream dots right next to a specialty food store. Like the Cinnabon I was after. I ordered my own treat and drink, with enough cash left over from Theresa’s deal hunting to get her her own stuff, messaging her to meet me at the seating by the stall in the mall’s walkway so we could chow down.

‘K, almost done’ she messaged back.

So that meant I probably had 15 minutes.

I shed my jacket and hung it on my chair, hopping on my phone to watch some videos as I waited. I loved Theresa, but her perception of time absolutely sucked; the only reason she got here at a decent time was because Tommy drove. She had a chronic issue with being fashionably late, which meant I was often left to my own devices.

So I was well versed in passing time on my own, watching some VClipz of people’s realistic speed drawings and hoping that I’d absorb their talent through some wild form of osmosis. I’d glance up on occasion, looking around for Theresa and hoping that maybe this’d be one of those times she actually was timely accurate — but no dice. It was just me, the Cinnabon worker, and these two dudes in all black tracksuits sort of meandering about, taking window-shopping very seriously by not stepping into a single store.

15 minutes had already passed with no signs of Theresa, and I sighed, opening my Cinnabon. No use in letting it get cold. I ate away absentmindedly, watching more VClipz and biting on the food, moving to pick up my drink and take a gulp.

And of course, in my reasonably clumsy ways, I managed to set my drink down on the stack of napkins, it immediately keeling over and spilling onto my lap.

“Son of a—“ I groaned, scooping up my phone before the soda could soak it. Of course I’d spill food on myself. Could never eat without making a mess. The Cinnabon worker, an absolute saint, rushed over with her mop, a spray bottle in the other hand and a dish rag over her shoulder. “I can clean this, why don’t you go clean off? I can watch your things.”

“You sure? I don’t want to be a bother—“

“It’s fine,” she assured me. “If you go around this corner, there’s a restroom along this wall,” she said, pointing past the Cinnabon and to the junction of the next breezeway.

I thanked her, waddling my cold crotch to the bathroom and trying my best to sop up the mess with paper towels. That did nothing for the stickiness, though, and I absolutely hated being sticky. Did I have enough money left to maybe get some new pants? I pulled out my wallet, partially to count my cash and also to make sure my stuff was salvaged from my Diet Coke when the door to the women's restroom opened.

And in walked a man.

I spun around, dropping my wallet on the ground and lifting my hands to show there was nothing. All I had, every bit of the $17 and some change left over, was scattered across the tile of the restroom, a quarter running away from the confrontation. “Please,” I begged, my blood running ice cold as he raised the hand with the gun. This was it. I was going to die over $17 fucking dollars.

But instead, he swung the gun at me, the butt of it slamming against the top of my head and making my vision swim.

I stumbled into the sink counter, slamming my lower back against it. The pain in my spine joined the pain in my head as both throbbed, forcing me to brace myself against the counter so I didn’t collapse on the spot.

And I admit it; I began crying. Why wouldn’t I? There was a random guy in here beating me with a fucking gun. He raised his hand again, swinging the gun down to hit me in my head once more.

And this time, my vision faded out.

#inFAMOUS Erosion #infamous erosion #infamous #infamous 2 #infamous first light #infamous second son #delsin rowe #abigail walker #cole macgrath #zeke dunbar #eugene sims #sucker punch productions

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