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#Tabatha Fair
constance-michaela · 9 months
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The Eighth Chapter (of eight): The Maid arrives
Tabatha accompanied Chantelle to introduce her to the Marchioness before returning directly to London for an important social engagement in Belgravia, from which she hoped to glean ‘intelligence’ and other gossip of mutual interest to her and the Marchioness. The Marchioness therefore accepted Tabatha’s apologies that she could not stay in the shires at least a little longer: “See you soon, Tabs!”
“Good morning Your Grace, I’m Chantelle” said the young lady, offering her right hand palm downwards in the manner Tabatha had explained was required. Tabatha had also managed every other conceivable need to effect this important introduction and enable a long term relationship to flourish, especially in the wardrobe department – which, catering for a young lady with such correct dress sense had been nothing but a pleasure for both of them over several days shopping in some of London’s most expensive retail stores and finest specialist lingerie boutiques.
The Marchioness was stunned.
Astonished and delighted by the manner of this lovely young lady, at how the reality of her actual person exceeded the expectations which Tabatha had set so carefully!
There was also another aspect to this introduction which the Marchioness knew Tabatha had withheld from her and which she would take up with Tabatha later, as much as Tabatha knew this was true and knew the Marchioness would corner her soon, swear at her and she would swear back and then they would both laugh and call one another offensive names like ‘tart’ and ‘whore’ just like they’d always done since private school and always would. ‘What a carry on!’ both women knew.
This aspect was that Chantelle spoke with a slight, but discernible lisp which Tabatha knew the Marchioness would find incredibly sexually attractive. When at private school and later at finishing school, Tabatha used to relentlessly tease Felicity and continue to really turn her on by lisping to her. Indeed, if she could approach Felicity unawares and speak thus she would be able to get her fucked in just minutes, so powerful was this fetish of Felicity’s.
So now, as she absorbed the visual impact that this fair haired blue eyed young woman made on her and observed how beautifully dressed in her black silk dress and pure white lace trimmed pinafore she was and wondered what delights in lingerie were concealed with such propriety beneath that dress, the Marchioness felt her vulva moistening in response to this angel’s vocal tones.
Fuck Tabatha for compromising me like this, the Marchioness thought, what an outstanding bitch! She amazes me with what she does and right now I’m going to struggle to keep my act together and not go all ‘gooey’ and soft and silly! I’ll give her a big kiss for this!
The Marchioness was a class act, though … feminine … strong … powerful … used to having to cope with the unexpected, taught so well in that at school. She coped … beautifully and magnificently … her brown and hazel eyes looked deep into those sky blue and they connected their very souls – instantly. A moment later those same nervous systems mobilised a smile: from the Marchioness, so warm, welcoming and friendly … compassionate; and from Chantelle a smile that spoke of understanding, respect, compliance and a desire to help … for the good of all.
“Hello and welcome Chantelle. I’m Felicity. I also answer to Lissy. I’m delighted to meet you and I hope you will be very happy here.”
“Your Grace” responded Chantelle in exactly the right manner, unaware as yet at how her lisp affected the Marchioness so powerfully.
“Tabatha, thank you for looking after Chantelle and bringing her here, safe journey back to London, my dear.”
“Your Grace” said Tabatha. They embraced and each kissed both the other’s cheeks.
“Safe journey, Tabs! Take care! Speak soon!” said the Marchioness.
Tabatha left, delighted with the outcome of her efforts thus far.
The Marchioness turned towards Chantelle. “This is, frankly a very large estate as I think you know, Chantelle. It needs a good team to run it. I’ll leave you to introduce yourself to them over the coming days and develop your own understanding of how this place ticks. Interested to hear your thoughts in due course. For now, it’s a nice sunny day, so why don’t I show you round the paved areas of the grounds, see some of the views across to Wales and we can then sit and talk more generally in my private garden.”
“Thank you, Your Grace” replied Chantelle.
Away from the windows of the main house as they walked and the Marchioness talked generally about the history and grounds of the estate, the Marchioness was surprised and delighted to feel Chantelle take the upper inside of her right arm. It felt so natural and just the right thing for Chantelle to have done! How lovely. They walked on, Chantelle listening, absorbing what the Marchioness was saying.
Both women started to feel a sense of well-being, of peace, of being comfortable together. Each felt entirely happy and the Marchioness was feeling increasingly pleased by the refreshingly cool sensation caused by the moisture being absorbed by the cotton gusset of her knickers from her vulva.
They entered the Marchioness’ private garden and disappeared from any view, Chantelle remaining on the Marchioness’ arm. The Marchioness indicated Chantelle should sit down next to her on her right in a quiet and sheltered sun spot which was a favourite place for her to come when she wished to have some time in quiet reflection to ponder matters of estate management away from the main house.
“So Chantelle, what duties do you think my role entails? What do you think I am looking for or would like? What would you like to do?”
Chantelle having disengaged her hand as they sat down, now sat closer, in a way that again was not only natural but discreet. They sat now, shoulder to shoulder and Chantelle placed her left hand on the Marchioness’ right thigh, again in a way which seemed so appropriate and perhaps to be expected of her.
The Marchioness shuddered with pleasure. Whether Chantelle detected that shudder, the Marchioness could not discern, but she did know that Chantelle had noticed how smoothly the fabric of her dress moved relative to the petticoat beneath. The Marchioness felt her breasts starting to swell, the characteristic hardening of her nipples and her labia showing early signs of distention.
“Your Grace is a senior member of the English aristocracy” began Chantelle. “You have inherited immense wealth and have been well educated to prepare you for the significant and onerous responsibilities that inheritance has brought to you. You are widely known to be wise, kind and generous and I trust Your Grace will excuse me if I say you are also known to not be without fault, principally that you can become uncharacteristically cross if provoked at length and that you are not averse to using quite robust and colourful language under such circumstances, purely to help communicate your feelings and requirements, rather than offend anyone.”
Chantelle paused as if to allow the Marchioness sufficient time to process what she was saying, a very prescient action for such a young woman to know she should take.
“Please continue” invited the Marchioness, allowing her right shoulder to rest a little more heavily on Chantelle’s left.
Unabashed and indeed encouraged, Chantelle continued. She stroked the Marchioness’ thigh as gently as the Marchioness had ever felt it stroked and the two women sat even closer still and more comfortably too.
“Your responsibilities come to you from time immemorial and will continue to pass on down the centuries to come. To do justice to those responsibilities for property and especially those who serve you, you need vision. Understanding. But you cannot implement that vision alone. As much as we who seek to serve you all need your powerful, seemingly unconditional patronage, then we, the commoners whether prosperous or poor need your support; not charity although sadly that is a need in the world we must all contribute to.
You are therefore responsible for creating, enabling and managing the work of others, helping them develop their careers, however humble they may seem to you and you are again widely known for embracing this need too. I know you spend at least half a day each quarter with each of your estate team here to talk to them, listen to them, look after them, understanding that this is the path to get the best from them and it is their best they want to give to you. You understand that, but that’s not the only reason you are so generous. It’s because it is what you wish to do, because you are so kind.”
The Marchioness felt quite touched and humbled by the wise words of this dignified, quiet young woman. Her message was becoming more important than her lisp and for the time being, at least the Marchioness allowed the lisp to dissipate away from her consciousness. Gently, indeed tenderly and certainly respectfully, the Marchioness placed her right hand on Chantelle’s left and invited her to please continue once more.
“My role in this is that while your Maid, Amanda is away with the Countess … Tish I think? … on honeymoon I am acting as Assistant Maid to continue to make sure your immediate day to day needs are met. I understand from Tabatha, who has been so kind to me that most cleaning and such like domestic work is done by your housekeeping team – but I would expect to make sure that your surroundings are clean and tidy. Things like your cosmetics and personal things are where you expect them to be and Tabatha said you would probably like me to help you decide what dress you would like to choose to wear each day. I would so love to help you with things like that!
On a practical note, if you are thinking about something and you’d like a cup of tea or some refreshments then were you to prepare those for yourself, that train of thought could well be lost and none of us would know what would have happened instead if your thoughts had not been lost and you’d decided something, a course of action. So I should provide that tea and those refreshments. Evening meal is provided by housekeeping, I know. But I expect to provide that tea and those things when you need them so that you don’t have to distract yourself or waste your time having to ask for them. You rightly expect your bathroom to be supplied with soap, towels and tissue – which housekeeping do, I know – but I will keep an eye on that and would check through after your every use.
I know that Amanda is already a legend across the peerage and I’ll struggle to meet her platinum standard I know … but perhaps Your Grace would be happy with a gold standard for this short while? And when you have welcomed Her Ladyship (as she now is by marriage) Amanda back and I have had the privilege to meet her, I understand that you, that is to say Her Ladyship the Countess Letitia have a requirement for a Maid for her, which I might fill … I would love to fill. I will also have to make sure you address Amanda correctly, Your Grace! She’s “Her Ladyship” to us all, now!
I have talked so much Your Grace … I just would like to say ‘Thank you’ for the opportunity you have offered me here and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“I am very touched by what you’ve said, Chantelle. You are quite right, on every level. And yes! I am indeed reminded that I must address my Maid as ‘Your Ladyship’ … I think that’s so lovely … very unusual indeed, actually if you think about it … unprecedented in the peerage, perhaps? But also as ‘Amanda’ when it’s just we two.”
“Your Grace” replied Chantelle.
They sat a few moments longer. The Marchioness stroked Chantelle’s hand. They both looked at one another, becoming soul mates now, in such short a time!
“Come walk with me, Chantelle?” asked the Marchioness. “Please take my hand?”
They walked hand in hand through the garden, relaxed now, both at ease but as much as that remembering the ‘pecking order’ here! They discussed the planting, the Marchioness impressed by Chantelle’s knowledge of the subject.
The Marchioness then felt she could ask Chantelle a question?
“Of course” lisped Chantelle.
“Chantelle, suppose you are at a party, in the hearing of others. You don’t know your petticoat is showing, or indeed it may be your wish that it does … or that you grant a fleeting glimpse of it from time to time. Someone … could be a person of either gender … informs you, quietly or otherwise that your slip is showing. How would you respond? What might you say or do?”
“Oh Your Grace! Isn’t that one of our worst nightmares? Something we ladies all try to avoid at all costs! Well, in public, anyway. I was quite comfortable to wear a second longer slip at Auntie Edith’s which showed beneath my dresses when we were both relaxing at home. She’d whisper to me: ‘It’s snowing down south, Chantelle!’ … such a lovely, tactful way of putting it, don’t you think? But I must address your question!
At finishing school, we were taught deportment. I’m sure you were too. It’s so important for a lady like you to understand and a girl like me to know! We were asked, challenged with this question by our tutor who divided us up into small groups to draft a suggested response we could all memorise and take away to use … or should I say, hopefully not use!
My group of four came up with: ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I had no idea! Thank you for letting me know.’”
“Chantelle, that is brilliant! That’s the most wonderful, sweetest way I’ve ever heard how to tell some ‘busybody’ or bloody creep to ‘Fuck Off!’ without them being able to complain in any way about your language and indeed compelling them to do exactly that! Thank you indeed! Please may I adopt that expression, should I ever need to use it, heaven forbid?! And please may I inform others of it?”
“Your Grace” said Chantelle.
Time then to return to the house and as they prepared to leave the garden, the Marchioness turned to face Chantelle and seek her other hand. It was given so immediately, with no apparent hesitation, so compliantly. So soft, but so strong, Chantelle’s hands, the Marchioness could tell.
They smiled. “May I please, Chantelle?” asked the Marchioness, leaning forwards almost imperceptibly to enable any misunderstanding or misreading to be overcome or corrected relatively easily without undue embarrassment for either party to offer a kiss to Chantelle’s right hand cheek with more nervousness and trepidation than she’d ever known in in making an amorous approach to another lady.
“Your Grace should not be shy” offered Chantelle quietly. As she did, she inclined her right cheek upwards to offer the Marchioness the perfect first kiss! It was perfect too, the softness of the lips upon the softness of the cheek. And then the left cheek. Perfection again.
“Chantelle” said the Marchioness, tenderly.
“Your Grace” said Chantelle quietly.
“You should be offering me afternoon tea around now, Chantelle” smiled the Marchioness.
“Indeed, Your Grace! May I?”
Chantelle took the Marchioness’ arm and they returned to the main house and to the Marchioness’ private suite … which takes us neatly back to “The First Chapter” of this story.
With so many themes involving love and lesbian sex having been addressed by these two stories, it only remains for me to say:
 The Countess married Amanda, the Marchioness’ Maid.
 The Marchioness married Chantelle, the Countess’ Maid.
 Tabatha married Elaine, her accountant.
 None of the above ever had a sexual relationship again with anyone other than their spouse.
 These marriage ceremonies all took place at the estate church.
 Lissy joked with Tabs that it was the first time a ‘commoner’ had married in her church for over one-hundred and fifty years. They both laughed. Tabs told Lissy she was ‘a fucking snob’ and Lissy reminded Tabs she was ‘a complete tart’ and ‘a whore’ as she would throughout both their lives. Frequently. They laughed again.
 The Marchioness gifted ‘Gamekeepers Cottage’ to Tabatha and Elaine as a wedding present.
 Chantelle reported back to Lissy, the Marchioness that no one of such title that demanded the address ‘Your Ladyship’ had been in service on the estate since the thirteenth century. She also pointed out that since her own elevation to Marchioness upon their marriage and her appointment as the Countess’ Maid that no one had ever been obliged to address someone in their service with a more senior form of address than they commanded themselves – and that furthermore, this was not just true of this estate, but throughout England.
***THE END*** Please note: As previously advised in an earlier ‘blog’ on this page: All my own and original work, no resemblance to any individuals or their circumstances is intended, all imagery understood to be free of copyright.
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solstar908 · 2 months
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Finally going about making a pinned post!
Hey everyone, my name is Cleo (She/Woof/It), though you probably already knew that.
I'm the primary fronter of the Lily Blossom System :D
The other members of said system are as follows:
Tabatha-She/They
Jax-He/They
Clarity-They/Them
Cynthia-She/Him
Quartz-Any
Glamour-He/Xe
Maria-Any (Slight preference towards She/Her)
Alastor-He/Him
(PluralKit | The Lily Blossom System)
Standard DNI affairs are in place (Examples: proshippers/MAPs/etc etc)
If you want to message us or otherwise stop and say hello, please feel free to! We would love nothing more than the chance to make more friends <3
No syscourse or I will hit you with bricks or perhaps hammers
Oh and fair warning, we reblog pretty much anything we like alskdfjs;aldkf
My asks are open as well!
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painterofhorizons · 2 years
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pls hurt me i wanna hear about pre-Akuze squad life
BUT I CANNOT HURT YOU WHEN THE SCENE IS INNOCENT AND FLUFFY D:
It really is. Wanna see? (Draft zero ahead.) I was thinking about how Tabatha Adams was described as soft and lively, and Shepard is... grumpy cat in her early 20s. (Okay, lets be fair, that doesn't change much later on, right?)
Hey, Shepard. You wanna go out with me? She looked at him, irritated about the question for a moment, than shook her head. No. Turning back to her food tray without any further #, xx stood there for a baffled moment, then turned around and went away without another word. Tabatha pursed her lips and kicked Shepards leg under the table. You real? What? xx asks you out and you're just… Not interested? Apparently. But he is handsome! So what? Everyone wants to be asked out by him. So what? No seriously, what's wrong with you? I would kill to be in your shoes right now. You wouldn't. Yeah and you need to learn how irony works. But for real though. How can you brush him off simply with a cold heartened no and that's all? Cause I'm not interested? Yeah, but you're also sympathetic like a see urchin. I just said no - Yeah, exactly my point! Big bold Shepard is too cool to go on a date with the most adored bachelor in this unit. We're marines, tabs. Yeah. And I'm 22. I can enjoy life and be a soldier at the same time. Shepard raised her brows but didn't say anything in return.
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dumb-cdc · 2 months
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bcc: Concerns regarding flag emojis
Hello everyone, My name is Dr. Tabatha Kofi (she/her) and I'm beyond excited to join the Dumb CDC community as Interim DEI Director. I recently completed my post-doctoral fellowship at Do No Harm and am eager to do great work with all of you here. I want to think of my tenure at Dumb CDC as my own Tabatha Takes Over™️ but much more fun for all of us! 😊 This first company-wide email is to request compliance in removing flag emojis from all Slack names and statuses by EOD January 31st. Because of yesterday's ruling by the International Court of Justice, leadership called an emergency meeting to discuss the use of flag emojis on Slack.
It has been brought to my attention that flag emojis represent countries (e.g. 🇺🇦 = Ukraine, 🇺🇸 = USA, 🇨🇩 = ???) and that displays of nationalism can make employees uncomfortable during times of alleged genocide. As you may know, the lawsuit issued by South Africa 🇿🇦 has great implications for the current conflict in Israel 🇮🇱 and Palestine 🇵🇸. So, no more flag emojis. We additionally discussed the use of flag emojis like the LGBTQIA+ flag 🏳️‍🌈 and the pirate flag 🏴‍☠️. To ensure fairness to all identities represented in our diverse workforce, no flags of any sort will be permitted to be used on Slack. This also includes the golf emoji ⛳️ and mailbox emoji 📫 as these technically include flags. Until it is determined which countries are and aren't involved in active genocides, any use of flag emojis will be escalated to HR. Thank you for your cooperation ☮️🦋 Yours In Solidarity, Tabatha (she/her)
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onmyweed · 5 months
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Mardi 8 août 2023.
Kingston Upon Thames. Angleterre.
Point de vue Alaé.
La pluie coulait à flot à l'extérieur, je pouvais l'entendre, assise sur mon lit, en face de mon ordinateur, la fenêtre entre ouverte de ma nouvelle chambre me laissait sentir une douce brise sur mes bras dénudés.
Bien qu'étant chez ma grand-mère depuis hier soir, je ne me sens pas à l'aise ici. Je viens de France, j'ai grandie dans le Sud Ouest, et le temps est plutôt paradisiaque comparé à celui d'Angleterre. Les rues sont mouillés, et l'odeur de la pluie est toujours présente dans mes narines depuis hier soir.
Ma grand mère toquait à la porte de ma chambre, et je lui dis d'entrer. Cette dernière m'apporte un Welsh RareBitt. C'est une tranche de pain de pie cuite avec de la bière, ainsi que du cheddar, du bacon et la moutarde. Je sais que la nourriture Anglaise n'est pas des plus classique et ne plaît pas à tous le monde, c'est justement pour ça que j'aime tant la cuisine de ce pays. Ma mère est Anglaise, alors avec mon père on a eu droit aux plats typiques.
Je n'en veux pas à mes parents d'avoir abandonner avec moi, je suis une plaie, le genre de plaie qui ne cicatrise jamais. Bien qu'elle ne saigne pas toute la vie, la marque restera.
Ils ont toujours tout fait pour moi, mais moi, je veux plus que cette vie tranquille, je vaux mieux que ça.
Les interdits de la vie sont les meilleurs moments de la vie. Plus on y entre, moins on a de chance de s'en sortir, et pourtant, je m'en suis sorti, indemne, et sans une égratignure malgré ma tendance à pénétrer chez les gens par effraction, simplement par curiosité... Et parfois par manque d'argent.
- Merci. Dis-je à ma grand-mère qui me regardait.
- Pourquoi je n'ai pas une petite fille comme les autres ? Une qui fait des études, et qui rende notre famille fière.
- Pourquoi je n'ai pas une grand-mère normale qui me sert des bonnes choses à manger ?
Tabatha souriait. Je ne l'appelle pas "mamie" ou ni même "grand-mère". Elle n'a jamais voulu à vrai dire, je l'aime beaucoup, mais on se provoque souvent, bien qu'on ne se voit presque jamais.
- Je ne suis pas Française moi. Dit Tabatha sur un ton sarcastique avant de partir de la chambre, laissent un sourire sur mon visage, et un plateau garni.
Je bois une gorgée de mon thé noir et commence à manger tout en regardant par la fenêtre.
Malgré la pluie abondante, je voulais sortir, je veux respirer l'air Anglais. Je veux me prendre une cuite, je veux ma beuh et même mes cigarettes.
Tout cela m'a été confisqué hier, avant mon départ, mon père m'a tout prit.
Il m'a seulement laisser 100 euros, mais je dois aller dans une banque pour faire échanger ma monnaie. Et sans carte d'identité, c'est impossible de nos jours.
Bien évidemment, je ne suis pas en possession de ma carte d'identité, elle est avec Tabatha, ma chère grand-mère. Je ne suis autorisé à sortir qu'avec elle.
Je pourrais me rebeller, et mal le prendre, mais il s'agit tout de même de ma famille, alors je ne vais pas agir avec la violence, mais plutôt avec la violation.
Je vais voler ma propre carte d'identité.
Si j'avais su que je dirais ça un jour.
Je finissais de manger et pris mon plateau afin de le mettre dans la cuisine.
Tabatha est sur le canapé, elle mange également tout en regardant la télévision.
Elle jetait un coup d'oeil vers moi.
- Je vais faire la vaisselle de mon plateau. Je lui dis, elle a l'air surprise, mais ne dit rien de plus. Super.
Je m'attele donc à la tâche de la vaisselle.
Je ne connais pas les habitudes de ma grand-mère, mais ce que je sais, c'est qu'elle fait toujours la sieste au moins une demie heure sur son canapé, depuis que ma mère est toute petite. La sieste, c'est un art. Je suis plutôt de cet avis d'ailleurs... J'adore les siestes, mais j'aime encore plus l'argent et le pouvoir.
Je finis la vaisselle et essuie mes mains à l'aide d'un torchon rouge et blanc.
Tabatha est toujours sur le canapé et a posé son assiette vide ainsi que son verre sur la table en bois du salon.
- Tu veux que je nettoie ton assiette ?
Je demande.
- Qu'est-ce que tu veux me demander Alaé ?
- Rien, pourquoi ?
Elle se lève de sur le canapé sans mal et s'approche de moi.
- Tu crois que je ne te vois pas déambuler sans avoir de but dans l'appartement ? Depuis hier que tu es arrivée tu as la bougeotte.
- Je me sens un peu enfermée oui c'est vrai, mais bon, je suis une gentille petite fille qui obéis.
Je souris à Tabatha, elle secouait la tête et partie chercher son sac à main.
C'est un bon signe je pense.
Elle revient devant moi et me tend deux billets de cinquante livres sterling, ainsi que ma carte d'identité.
- Vas t'amuser.
Alors là, si j'avais su que ce serait aussi facile, j'aurais demander depuis hier soir à sortir de là.
- Mais les parents ?
- On va rien leur dire, mais tu es à la maison à minuit, pas une minute de plus, je dois pouvoir te faire confiance.
- Je te promets que je serais là !
Je lui embrasse la joue et pars récupérer mon sac à main dans la chambre. J'ai une grand mère super.
Je posais tout ce que Tabatha m'a donner dans mon sac, sans vraiment les ranger et m'apprête à partir.
- Attends.
- Oui ? Je vois Tabatha qui me tend ses clés de voiture.
- Tu as bien ton permis ?
- Oui oui.
- Fais y attention, et si tu as un problème tu m'appelle.
- Mais Tabatha, je peux pas te prendre ta voiture quand même.
- C'est une sécurité, et au moins tu n'attraperas pas froid avec la pluie.
- T'es géniale, merci, à tout à l'heure.
Je m'empresse de partir de cet appartement. J'adore Tabatha, mais alors la décoration de son appartement est anxiogène au possible.
Le papier peint des années cinquante avec de grosses fleurs roses, les meubles uniquement en bois et une moquette au sol qui me fait grincer des dents.
Tabatha n'est pas fortunée, mon grand père est mort il y a 15 ans, d'une crise cardiaque, il n'avait que 45 ans, ca a été très soudain selon les dires de ma mère.
Mais les traites du crédit de la maison arrivaient tous les mois, et Tabatha ne pouvait plus payer, puisque son mari est brusquement décédé, et que, à l'époque, les femmes ne travaillaient presque pas.
Alors, Tabatha s'est retrouvée ici, seule, dans un petit immeuble qui devrait, selon moi, être démoli.
C'est pour ça que je ne dépendrait jamais d'un homme, de quelconque manière que ce soit.
J'entrais dans la voiture de ma grand mère, une Ford Fiesta noire.
Je pris la route sans vraiment savoir où aller, mais il n'y a que quarante milles habitants ici, ce n'est pas très grand.
Dans ma ville au Sud Ouest de la France nous sommes le double d'habitants.
Au bout de quelques kilomètres et après avoir passer une tonne d'arbres bi-centenaire, je vis un pub, plus éclairé que ceux que j'ai pu apercevoir hier soir quand je suis arrivée en ville, qui avaient l'air pourtant plus grands.
Je me gare sur une place de parking prévue à cet effet, et j'entrais dans le pub.
Tout de suite, je vis des jeunes, des plus vieux et encore des très vieux, rigoler ensemble et boire.
Ils avaient tous une pinte de bière à la main, en revanche, ce qui m'interpelle, c'est que je ne vois aucune femme, ni fille. Que de la testostérone en kilos.
Mon arrivé a apparemment sonné comme une bombe, puisque presque tous le monde s'arrête de parler afin de me regarder d'un air ahurissant.
Je ne vais pas me décourager.
Je pénètre dans le pub et arrive à hauteur du barman. Je lui demande un whisky glace.
Ce dernier ne dit rien et s'attèle à me préparer mon verre. Je souris intérieurement.
Il n'y a pas de loi qui interdit les femmes d'entrer ici, c'est déjà ça.
Les autres clients sont visiblement retournés à leurs occupations, pourtant l'ambiance semble plus froide que lorsque je suis arrivée. Peut importe.
Le barman me sert mon verre, et je vois un peu plus loin derrière lui qu'il vent des cigarettes.
- Je pourrais avoir un Winston s'il vous plaît ?
- Vous avez quel âge ? Il me demande sur un ton très bas.
- Dix neuf ans, vous voulez ma carte d'identité ?
- Non, ça ira.
Le grand blond me donne alors mon paquet de cigarettes.
- Je vous dois combien ?
- Les cigarettes plus le whisky ça vous fera 20,50 livres.
Je lui tends un des deux billets de cinquante livres que Tabatha m'a donner, il le prend et me rend immédiatement la monnaie.
Je prend mon verre et sors fumer une cigarette sur la terrasse. Je ne prend pas la peine de m'asseoir sur une des chaises en plastique posées à l'extérieur, je pose simplement mon verre sur le muret du bar.
- Tu aurais du feu ?
J'entends une voix masculine, et bientôt, j'aperçois le visage de cette voix. Un grand blond se tenait devant moi, les yeux bleus, un nez rubicond. Son regard est perçant... Je dirais même, intriguant.
Je lui donne mon briquet blanc, il allume sa cigarette tout en me regardant, bien qu'il soit déstabilisant, je ne retourne pas mon regard.
Il me rend alors mon briquet et le contact visuel assez troublant cesse dès lors.
- Tu es perdue ?
- Non, je suis juste ici.
Il me regarde de haut en bas avant de partir dans sa voiture et de démarrer.
Drole de spécimen, je pensais.
Je bois une gorgée de mon verre, qui est ce type ?
Maintenant que je suis revenue à la réalité, je me dis que ce garçon ne m'est pas inconnu, il me semble l'avoir déjà vu quelque part, mais je n'arrive pas à me souvenir où.
Ce regard... Je sais pourtant que je le connais. Il faut que je mène mon enquête.
Non, Non, Non.
Je n'ai pas besoin d'en savoir plus sur lui, il ne me dit rien qui inspire confiance. Il n'a pas l'air banal, et justement, comme je ne le suis pas non plus, je ne voudrais pas me mettre dans l'embarras intentionnellement. Je ne connais pas ce pays, ce n'est pas comme en France ou je suis en terrain conquis. Ici, je dois simplement observer, c'est comme ça que l'on apprend, simplement en observant autour de nous ce qu'il se passe.
Je finis mon whisky et écrase ma cigarette avant d'entrer une fois de plus dans le pub.
Cette fois-ci, personne ne me regarde, et l'ambiance semble être repartie de plus belle.
Je commandais un autre whisky, et donnais directement les sous au barman. Lorsque je bois, j'ai tendance de temps en temps à partir sans payer, mais étant donné la population assez masculine se trouvant ici, je vais quand même payer. Je ne veux pas me faire des ennemis seulement 24 heures après mon arrivée. Ce ne serait pas classe.
Quand j'y repense, je me dis que j'ai vu ce garçon à la télévision, mais où ? Est-ce un acteur ? Un chanteur ? Je ne pense pas, je m'en serais souvenue.
Si je me rappelle l'avoir vu à la télévision mais pas en positif, c'est que c'est peut être négatif alors...
Est-ce un tueur ? Un dealer ? Un braqueur ?
Je ne devrais pas, mais je vais quand même mener mon enquête lorsque je serais rentrée ce soir.
Je regarde autour de moi, les bars ici sont bien en dessous de ceux que nous avons en France. Ici tout paraît lugubre, c'est peut-être à cause de la météo souvent houleuse, ou bien l'air maussade des gens.
Pourtant, ils sont bien plus fêtards que nous autres Français, et également plus ouverts.
- Tu es la seule fille ici. Un garçon brun se place à côté de moi.
- Tu n'es pas le seul garçon ici. Je rétorque. Il a un sourire d'idiot, mais vraiment, celui à qui il ne faut pas faire confiance. Je ressens ce genre de choses.
- Comment tu t'appelles ?
- Alaé et toi ?
- Olélé ?
- Remballe tes blagues, on me l'a déjà faite mille fois.
Je sens que je ne vais pas apprécier ce garçon.
L'humour c'est bien, mais seulement quand c'est drôle, et là c'est bas de plafond.
- Est-ce que tu sais à qui tu parles ? Son ton est désormais menaçant. Oops. Mauvais calcul.
- Non, tu ne m'as pas répondu quand je t'ai demander ton nom.
- Marcel !
Il crit, et quelques secondes plus tard, un garçon d'à peut près le même âge vient se placer devant moi.
Je regarde autour de moi, plus personne ne parle, qu'est-ce qu'il se passe ?
- Ici, tu es pas sur ton territoire, tu vois bien que les femmes ne sont pas acceptées ici, alors tu dégages.
- Pourquoi tu as appeler ton pote juste pour me dire ça ? Tu es censé m'impressionner ? Vraiment vous n'avez aucune hospitalité, il faut changer ça.
Je finis mon verre de whisky cul sec, et je pars.
Quelle bande de cons. Franchement, c'était quoi ça ? Une stupide tentative d'intimidation ?
Je démarre la voiture tout en regardant à travers le rétroviseur, je vois encore ce garçon.
Non... Ce n'est pas possible, je ralentis et regarde d'un peu mieux. Oui, c'était lui, comment sa se fait que je ne l'ai pas vu arrivé ? Ou même entendu entrer dans le pub ?
Il faut dire que j'étais tellement distraite que je n'y ai peut-être pas fait attention.
Mon coeur battait la chamade. J'ai beau faire la forte, et trouver cette tentative d'humiliation pitoyable, il n'empêche que j'ai tout de même eu peur à un moment donné. Mais comme dirait mon père "ne laisse jamais rien paraître"
Pourquoi ce garçon était-il encore là ? Je dois m'arrêter à un magasin et acheter de la vodka. Je dois me le sortir de la tête, d'abord, pourquoi y est-il entré ? Je ne l'ai vu que dix secondes à tout casser.
En fait, il m'intrigue, car son regard m'a perturbé, et le fait qu'il s'arrête dans un bar paumé pour me demander du feu, pour repartir et ensuite revenir une fois de plus, ça ne m'aide pas.
Je suis assez curieuse et très intriguante. Je me mêle des affaires de tous le monde, car comme je le dis tous le temps, j'observe. C'est la clé.
Je vois au loin une enseigne que je connais. ALDI !
Je ne savais pas que ce magasin existait en dehors de la France et à l'arrigueur l'Allemagne, mais dans ce coin paumé de l'Angleterre, je ne m'en serais jamais doutée.
J'entrais dans le magasin. Il y a exactement les mêmes produits qu'en France, à quelques exceptions prêt, comme la viande en boîte, ou bien le lait dans le frigidaire.
Je trouvais le rayon alcool et trouvais ma bouteille de vodka Poliakov. 10,71 Livres Sterling, je ne sais pas combien ça fait en Euros, mais c'est sur que c'est moins cher ici.
Je prend également des canettes de RedBull. Je passe à la caisse et paye les quinze livres que la caissières m'a demander.
J'entre dans la voiture et prend un verre en plastique que je viens d'acheter, et me sers un verre.
Je pris mon porte feuille.
Il me reste exactement 52,36 Livres Sterling. Je pense que ça va suffir pour acheter de la marijuana, mais je ne connais pas le barème des prix du gramme de beuh ici.
Aller. Il faut que je sache qui est ce garçon, alors, j'ai dis l'avoir vu à la télévision, mais peut être pas pour une bonne raison. Nous sommes au Sud Ouest de Londres, donc j'entre dans la barre de recherche
" Tueur Londres "
Ce qui est bien avec internet, c'est que seul des mots clés suffisent.
Liste des tueurs à Londres depuis 1950 jusqu'à 2023.
Je remonte à l'année 2022, je clique sur les quatre noms apparaissant en face de moi, mais aucune des photos que je vois ne correspond à celui que je cherche.
Je tape alors "Bandit Londres"
Liste des bandits à Londres depuis 1950 jusqu'à 2023.
C'est le même site que le précédent sur les tueurs.
Je vois au moins une cinquantaine de noms. Mais beaucoup d'entre eux n'ont pas de photos.
Je continue de chercher tout en m'allumant une cigarette.
Et merde. Ça y'est. Je l'ai, il n'y a pas de photos, mais pourtant c'est bien lui. Joseph Cole. Grand bandit en Angleterre. Je l'ai effectivement vu à la télévision. Ma mère a l'habitude de regarder les informations quotidiennes sur les chaînes Anglaises, et c'est ici que j'ai vu ce garçon pour la première fois.
Ce Joseph, appelé "Joe" est le suspect sur plusieurs histoires de trafics, et de grosses bagarres. Il a toujours été suspect, mais jamais déclaré coupable.
Cela fait quelques temps que j'ai vu ce bandit à la télé et c'est certainement pour ça que son visage me paraissait être un souvenir lointain.
Je n'arrive pas à croire que ce garçon qui m'a demander du feu est un trafiquant et un bagarreur. Mais il est vrai que son regard m'a pétrifié en quelques sortes. Il a quelque chose de m'avais en lui, tout comme ce garçon qui m'a menacer il y a de cela une demie-heure.
Ils se connaissent de toutes évidences puisque Joseph était également au bar quand je suis partie, le petit rigolo mais nerveux doit être un de ces fameux autres noms que j'ai vu sur cette liste.
Je tape désormais "Joseph Cole" dans la barre de recherche.
Des centaines de résultats apparaissent devant moi. Des articles de journaux, régionaux et locaux.
" Joseph Cole, encore innocenté pour braquage à main armée dans un supermarché de Kingston Upon Thames"
" Joe Cole, la nouvelle menace de l'année."
" Joe Cole, parfait coupable, ou parfait innocent?"
" Aucune preuve retenue contre Joseph Cole dans l'affaire du meurtre de Léo Cassiani "
C'est tout de même impressionnant, s'en sortir autant de fois pour autant de crimes et délits différents. Il doit avoir pas mal de connaissance. Peut être même dans la police. Sinon il ne pourrait pas agir ainsi. Ou peut être que si, en fait je n'en sais rien.
Moi, je suis dans la petite délinquance, bien que je m'en foute de tout et que je ne me soucie de rien, il m'arrive tout de même de me dire que je pourrais aller en prison, et que m'envoyer ici a peut être été la meilleure décision que mes parents aient prise. Mais vais-je tenir ?
L'argent facile c'est tellement bon, cet argent te fait sentir vivant, et certains l'appellent "sale" mais moi, je ne le vois comme un moyen de s'en sortir dans la vie, le seul et l'unique.
J'espère un jour trouver un travail qui me convienne vraiment, et surtout, être payée en conséquence. Je suis loin d'être conne, je ne suis peut être pas intelligente, mais en tous cas je suis maligne et rusée, et la vie n'est faite que de ça ; les ruses, les coups de pute, c'est ça notre vie, qu'on en soit conscients ou pas.
Le numéro de téléphone de Tabatha s'affiche sur mon écran, je répond.
" - Allô ?
- Oui Alaé tu vas bien ?
- Oui, pourquoi ?
- Ou es-tu ?
- Sur le parking d'un magasin, mais pourquoi tu me poses toutes ces questions ?
- Il faut que tu rentres, immédiatement.
- D'accord, j'arrive tout de suite."
Quelque chose n'allait pas, je l'ai senti à sa voix, d'habitude elle est toujours enjouée, là c'est différent, elle n'avait pas l'air bien.
Je finis mon verre cul sec et prend le volant directement.
Je roule peut être un peu plus vite que d'habitude mais peut importe. Mon coeur bat rapidement.
Comme par hasard lorsque je regarde des articles de journaux sur ce Joe Cole, il arrive quelque chose comme ça. Je sens que c'est lié.
J'arrive en dix minutes en bas de chez Tabatha, j'ouvre en bas avec mon double de clé et ne prend pas la peine d'attendre l'ascenseur, je prend directement les escaliers.
Je pénètre sans frapper chez Tabatha.
Elle était assise sur son fauteuil ancien en tissus. J'approchais doucement et vis ce garçon à côté d'elle.
Pourquoi ? Pourquoi Joseph est-il ici ?
Qu'est-ce que j'ai fais ?
- Ne lui faites pas de mal.
- T'en fais pas Tabatha, je te la ramène demain.
Il s'approche de moi mais je prend un vase et lui jette dessus, mais il l'évite directement. Merde.
Il me prit par le bras et m'emmène à l'extérieur.
Je regarde ma grand mère pleurer, impuissante.
- Lâche moi putain ! Je cris, et Joseph me lâchait fortement. Ce qui fait que je tombe à terre.
Il sort un tazer de son pantalon.
- Tu vas continuer à crier ? Il me demande d'un calme effrayant.
- C'est bon, je te suis.
Je me relève et marche à côté du bandit si connu. Il m'a tout l'air d'un con, mais également dangereux.
- Qu'est-ce que j'ai fais ? Je pourrais au moins savoir.
Le blond fit rouler ses yeux en arrière, comme si je le fatiguais. J'en conclus que je n'ai donc pas le droit de savoir.
Je suis sûre que il y a un rapport avec ma pseudo engueulade avec le garçon du bar, si j'avais su que ça m'emmenerait la, j'aurais rien dit. Surtout pour Tabatha, moi à l'arrigueur je m'en fiche, mais pas ma famille. Je ne supporterais pas.
Arrivés dehors, Joseph me prend le poignet et m'emmène rapidement dans la même voiture que celle avec laquelle il est venu au pub tout à l'heure.
Il me pousse à l'intérieur de la voiture et me cogne la tête contre la porte.
Je tiens ma tête, et me retiens de crier. Merde, ca fait vraiment mal.
Joe entre à son tour dans la voiture. Il me regarde tandis que je tiens encore le coin de ma tête.
- Tu saignes là. Il me dit en pointant mon front.
- J'avais pas remarqué. Je lui répond ironiquement.
- Ça fait deux fois en cinq minutes que tu me provoque et j'aime pas ça.
- Tue moi alors, ou bien donne moi un papier ou quelque chose.
Son regard était fixé vers moi, il portait un tee shirt gris et un pantalon noir.
Sa bouche se tirait légèrement, et sa mâchoire se crispe.
D'un coup, il ouvre sa boîte à gant et sort une bouteille d'alcool et un coton. C'est vrai que c'est efficace, mais ça va faire mal.
- Attends. Je lui dis, avant qu'il ne me soigne.
Celui qui m'enlève est celui qui me soigne ?
Je prend la bouteille de vodka qu'il vient de prendre et bois une gorgée tout en lui faisant signe d'y aller avec le coton.
J'avais envie de hurler, c'est horrible, je déteste ça. Mais au bout de quelques secondes ça passe.
Joseph prend une boîte de pansement, décidément, on pourrait croire qu'il est médecin. Quoi que, de la vodka pour soigner une plaie ce n'est pas non plus un bac +12.
Ses yeux croisaient les miens tandis qu'il mettait le pansement sur le haut de mon arcade sourcilière.
Je sens le bout de ses doigts sur mon front, je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais mes jambes commencent à frissonner.
Nos regards étaient persistants, comme si l'on se bagarait à travers nos yeux.
Je détourne le regard en premier, et il sourit en coin d'un air satisfait.
- Pourquoi m'enlever pour me soigner ensuite ?
- Qui t'as dis que c'était un enlèvement ?
- Tu as menacé ma grand mère.
- Qui t'as dis ça ?
- Je l'ai vu pleurer quand je suis partie.
- Crois moi, ce n'est pas pour toi qu'elle pleurait.
- Ah bon ? Et pourquoi alors ?
- C'est pas ton problème.
Son accent Anglais était bien prononcé.
- Qu'est-ce que je fous ici ? Je suis agacée, et en plus j'ai le haut de la tête qui me tire. L'ironie, c'est que j'aurais préféré qu'on me tire dans la tête.
- Je ne veux pas que tu dises à qui que ce soit que tu m'as croiser, ou vu, ou parler.
- Pourquoi ?
- Tu sais qui je suis ?
- Oui, mais moi tu m'as simplement demander un briquet.
- Certains iraient voir les flics pour moins que ça.
- Tu as fais tout ça juste par peur que j'aille voir les flics ? Mais vraiment tu dois taper beaucoup dans la cocaïne pour être parano à ce point.
Il ne dit rien de plus et continue de regarder la route.
- Tu peux me ramener maintenant que tu sais que j'irais pas te denoncer.
- Non, j'ai dis demain, c'est demain.
- Mais je vais te servir à quoi ?
- Ça je sais pas encore, mais je sais que tu vas me servir.
- Non, merci.
- C'est soit ça, soit tu te fais buter par mon gentil petit copain avec qui tu aussi gentiment discuter tout à l'heure.
C'est donc à cause de ce petit con de péteux du bar que je suis ici.
- J'ai le choix, quelle chance. J'ironise. Tu aurais une cigarette ?
Il met sa main dans la poche de son jean noir et me tend un paquet de cigarette, j'en sors une sans lui prend le paquet de la main. Il me donne également un briquet
- Je croyais que tu avais pas de briquet.
Joseph me regarde longuement avant de reposer, une fois de plus son regard sur la route.
J'allume ma cigarette et ouvre un peu la vitre de la voiture.
Je ne sais pas où je vais aller, mais encore une fois, ca ne me fait rien.
Je n'arrête pas de dire à mes parents que je suis vide, dénuée de sentiments, mais ils ne me croient pas. Piurtant j'ai dix neuf ans, pas quinze.
Au bout de quinze minutes de route qui m'a paru interminable de part le silence gênant qui règne depuis ce qui me semble être deux heures, nous nous arrêtons enfin.
Devant moi se trouve un immeuble, très grand, contenant enormement d'appartements ou le palier se trouve clairement dehors. C'est comme une prison, mais à l'air libre.
Je suis Joe qui sort de sa voiture et marche en direction des escaliers extérieurs.
Il me fait signe de monter en premier, certainement pour que je ne m'échappe pas.
- Stop. Il me dit au bout de quelques marches montées.
Je pénètre donc à ma gauche ou se trouve pleins de portes différentes sur un seul et même palier.
Il y avait beaucoup de tapis d'entrées, tous différents. Ce qui me permet de comprendre qu'il s'agit de plusieurs habitations différentes.
Joseph s'arrête devant une des portes et y met une clé. Il pénètre à l'intérieur et me fait signe d'y entrer avec lui.
J'entre dans une grande pièce à vivre très lumineuse, assez propre malgré les deux boîtes de pizzas vides qui traînent sur la table en verre du salon.
Je suppose que c'est chez lui.
Il me pousse sur le canapé et sort des menottes afin d'attacher mon poignet à la ferraille de son canapé-lit.
- Qu'est-ce que j'ai fais bordel ? Je cris.
Il arrive rapidement devant moi.
- Ferme ta gueule.
Il s'éloigne et prend un sac de sport qu'il emmène dans ce qui me paraît être la cuisine.
J'entends la fermeture éclaire du sac s'ouvrir et ensuite de bruits de sac plastique qui se font trouer par un couteau.
Je sursaute légèrement.
Quelques secondes plus tard, Joseph revient, le nez presque coulant.
- Je peux en avoir ?
- Mais de quelle planète tu sors toi ?
- Tu peux me détacher ? Je vais pas m'enfuir, tu vois bien que j'ai même pas peur.
Il semble hésiter, il part dans la cuisine et reviens avec une bouteille de vodka, deux verres et un petit sachet de cocaïne, avant de me détacher des menottes.
Je vais passer une bonne soirée. Enfin, une bonne soirée bizarre, mais c'est toujours ça à prendre.
Il me donne une carte de fidélité d'un magasin ainsi qu'un billet de cinq livres. Je fais ce que j'ai à faire et sniffe trois lignes d'un coup.
Nous buvons notre verre respectif, mais nos regards ne peuvent se défaire l'un de l'autre. Il y a une tension entre nous, et je ne sais pas de quel genre de tension il s'agit, mais j'ai très chaud.
- T'es un petit caïd toi.
Il me dit tout en souriant en coin.
- Et toi, qu'est-ce que tu es ?
- À toi de me le dire.
Sans savoir comment, ni pourquoi je me retrouve posée sur les jambes de Joseph. Il attrape ma nuque et pose fougement ses lèvres pulpeuses contre les miennes.
Je réponds affirmativement à son baiser et celui-ci devient vite désireux.
Les mains de Joe se baladaient sur tout mon corps tandis que je me dandine sous son toucher qui me procure des frissons de toutes parts.
Nous nous enlevons notre tee shirt mutuellement, nos corps se touchaient, Joe me tenait au plus proche de lui.
Ses mains aggripent mes seins nus, Joseph me retourne et je me retrouve allongée sur son canapé-lit.
Il prend mon mamelon dans sa bouche et lèche le téton déjà dur de mon sein droit.
Son autre main descend dessous mon jean. Il me sourit, satisfait.
J'enlève son pantalon et il enlève le mien.
Nos lèvres se rencontrent une fois de plus tandis que je sens son membre dur sur mon ventre.
- Dès que je t'ai vu, j'ai eu envie de toi, c'est fou ça. Il me dit en souriant, je l'embrasse encore une fois en guise de réponse.
Je ressens son membre entrer en moi.
- Putain.
Nous gémissons en même temps.
Joseph assène des coups de reins en moi, me faisant complètement perdre la tête. Nos lèvres sont collées comme des aimants. Nos corps exultent et transpirent de plaisir.
C'est tellement bon, je n'ai plus envie que ça s'arrête.
Nous gémissons, nous crions, on se laisse totalement aller.
Joe me retourne et entre en moi une fois de plus. Sa main droite attrape ma hanche et sa main gauche glisse vers mon clitoris qu'il commence à frotter avec ses doigts.
- Oh mon dieu !
Je crie, je ne me contrôle plus.
- Tu vas me faire jouir bordel.
Je pose ma main sur le mur en face de moi.
- Vas y, plus vite.
Nos corps n'en peuvent plus. Je sens mon bas ventre s'enflammer au fur et à mesure que mon orgasme approche.
Je sens mes yeux se revulser, les jouissances de Joseph me font encore plus perdre la tête.
Nous jouissons au même moment.
On tombe sur son canapé-lit. Moi en premier et lui sur moi.
- Il faut plus que tu viennes embêter mon copain, d'accord ? Il me dit en embrassant mon cou.
- Et toi, il faut plus que tu viennes m'embêter.
Il me regarde, puis ensuite mes lèvres.
- Tu sais ... Ça fait longtemps que j'ai pas jouie comme ça. Il me dit avant d'embrasser mes lèvres une fois de plus.
- Moi, j'ai jamais jouie comme ça.
J'appuie mes jambes sur son dos afin qu'il soit plus proche de moi.
- T'as du caractère toi, hein ?
Il caresse ma joue avec son pouce tout en me regardant d'un air béas.
- Je me laisse pas faire.
- On va voir si tu vas pas te laisser faire.
Il entre sans prévenir un doigt en moi, me faisant sursauter, il pose un bisous du bout des lèvres sur ma bouche, et descend les siennes vers mon estomac, puis mes lèvres inférieures.
Il passait sa langue sur la partie la plus intime de mon être. Mon corps tremblait déjà, il met sa main sur mon ventre afin de me faire tenir en place.
Ses yeux perçaient les miens comme des coups de couteaux.
Mon dos se lève vers l'avant en sentant un autre orgasme arrivé. Il accélère alors et jouis au moins aussi fort que tout à l'heure.
Il me relève et me porte. J'enroule mes jambes dans son dos et le sens entrer en moi.
- Putain tu me fais jouir le cerveau. Il dit avant de m'embrasser fougeusement. Je met mes mains dans son dos.
Je le sens enflé en moi, et se vider complètement.
Il me repose par terre. Il me regarde, le souffle saccadé, et en sueur.
- Ça m'apprendra à dire que je ne me laisse pas faire. Je dis en souriant.
La mâchoire de Joe se serre.
- Quoi ?
- À partir de maintenant... Il s'approche de moi, me faisant reculer jusqu'à arriver contre le mur. Tu es à moi, t'as compris ?
- Je suis à personne.
Je passe devant lui, mais il m'attrape le poignet.
- Je sais comment être sûr que tu n'iras pas voir les flics.
Il me parlait d'une manière méchante désormais. Qu'est-ce que j'ai dis ?
- Quoi ? Je dis en remettant mon pantalon et mon soutien gorge.
- Tu vas faire la pute pour moi, je t'ai tester, tu es douée.
Non... Il a pas fait ça...
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amberfaber40 · 1 year
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The 21 Best Grumpy Cat Memes And Quotes About Love And Life
The 21 Best Grumpy Cat Memes And Quotes About Love And Life
Who Is Grumpy Cat? The viral cat whose real name is Tardar Sauce is a viral sensation on social media. These are the best Grumpy Cat memes, videos and snarky quotes about love, relationships, and life to share on Facebook, Pinterest and Instagram.
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What's wrong with you?
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Look at All the Cute Celebrity Kids (and Grumpy Cat) at the 'Cinderella' Premiere
Stars big, small, and furry came out to celebrate the live-action 'Cinderella' over the weekend.
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This Japanese Grumpy Cat Will Be Your New Spirit Animal
A new cat with sass is on the rise and she even makes Grumpy Cat look nice. Introducing Koyuki, a 9-year-old Scottish Fold cat from Yokohama, Japan, who's
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The Surliest Pics of Grumpy Cat and Her Many Celebrity Fans
The Internet's most beloved cat died this week at age 7
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Grumpy Cats Meme Generator
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Love makes the world go round... except when it doesn't. We've all been there before, to that place where your outlook on love is, well, not so bright. We've all experienced our fair share of relationship challenges, heartbreaks, and messy breakups.And who else out there has the power to remind you with just a momentary glimpse of their bitter face of just how incredibly terrible love can make you feel than Grumpy Cat herself?That's right. In case you missed it, Grumpy Cat is a feline of the female persuasion. No wonder she's so gosh darn pissy all the time. Have you been a female on the Internet (let alone in the world!) lately?It's rough out there, I tell you. ROUGH. Previously known by the name she was given at birth (on April 4, 2012), Tardar Sauce, who has both an underbite and feline dwarfism, became an overnight sensation at the tender young age of 5 months, when owner Tabatha Bundensen's brother Bryan took some photos of her perpetually "grumpy" facial expression and posted them on Reddit with the simple caption, "Meet grumpy cat."Meet grumpy cat from pics Reddit user magicsebi decided to help a (literal) brother out, taking it upon themselves to create what seems to be the first ever Grumpy Cat meme.Comment from discussion Meet grumpy cat. From there, a true star — and countless hysterical Grumpy Cat memes — were born.Tabatha, who was a waitress at the time Grumpy Cat memes first started to go viral, told the Telegraph: "I was able to quit my job as a waitress within days of her first appearance on social media and the phone simply hasn't stopped ringing since." And according to Business Insider: "In two years, Bundesen... generated nearly $100 million from Grumpy Cat's paid appearances, book deals, and modeling career, according to The Telegraph (Bundesen tells Huffington Post that amount is inaccurate, but doesn't say if it's high or low). Bundesen believes Grumpy Cat is 'unstoppable.'" While it's been awhile now since we've seen quite as much of Grumpy Cat and her famously bitter memes around these parts of the social media woods, she does appear to be one of those classic staples of comedy history that will never be completely absent. Well, that is, unless Grumpy Cat died, as some people believe is actually the case, but alas, we are not here for such conspiracy theories at this time.RELATED: 8 Most Popular Illuminati Conspiracy Theories About Celebrities, Murders And Famous SongsSo while sweet and sour mixed breed Tardar (her mother is a Calico and her father's breed is unknown, the scoundrel), she remains a potentially eternal symbol for all that is bitter, somewhat angry, sarcastic and resentful about love and romantic relationships.For those of you who have ever known what it means to be crushed by some romantic ideal of love, here are 21 Grumpy Cat memes that will make you feel like the cat's meow once again.1. A Grumpy Cat meme for those who have no time for love."Love is in the air? Get out the gas mask."2. Who needs a relationship when you can stay at home?"Why socialize when there's perfectly good wifi and food at home?"3. A harsh (but totally relatable) Grumpy Cat quote."I'm not saying that I hate you, I'm just saying that if you got hit by a bus, I would be driving that bus."4. No cares given."If I have said or done anything to hurt you, I don't care."5. A Grumpy Cat friendship meme for those people you truly just don't care about."I still can't see us ever being friends."6. Get out of here with those "Free Hugs" signs."Free hugs? Go hug a cactus."7. Share this Grumpy Cat meme with your friends that aren't so bright."I'm sorry that I offended you when I called you stupid. I honestly thought you knew."RELATED: What Does "Salty" Mean (And 12 Memes To Use When You're Feeling It)8. A love quote that starts out cute — but who wants cute?"Love is an open door. Close it."9. A Grumpy Cat quote your talkative friends need to hear."I like the sound you make when you shut up."10. The only Valentine's Day meme for single people you'll ever need."If you're sad about being alone on Valentine's Day, just remember... no one loves you on the other days of the year either."11. There are only two types of people in this world..."There are two kinds of people in this world, and I don't like them."12. There's no truer long-distance relationship meme."You know what's great about a long distance relationship? Nothing."13. Another perfect love quote. "Love is in the air. Try not to breathe."14. People suck."The problem with some people... is that they exist."RELATED: What It Means When Someone Is Being 'Extra' — Plus 17 Hilarious Memes That Explain How To Use It15. The best Grumpy Cat meme for people who love sleep.Related Stories From YourTango:65 Funny Monday Memes To Get You Through The Worst Day Of The Week100 Funny Valentine's Day Memes To Make You Laugh (Or Cry)30 Funny New Year Memes To Ring In 2023 With A Laugh"Why fall in love when you can fall asleep?"16. No hugs, please."You're feeling kinda huggy? I'm feeling kinda stabby."17. An (unrequited) love quote. "If you can't be with the one you love, hate everybody."18. Share this Grumpy Cat meme with the one person you just can't stand."You're like a ray of sunshine hurting peoples' eyes and giving them cancer."19. The best Grumpy Cat meme for scorned women."Flowers and candy? How about fire and brimstone?"20. Shut that Aladdin quote down real quick."I can show you the world. I can show you the door."21. This Lion King quote stood no chance."Can you feel the love? No."RELATED: These 23 Relationship Memes Will Get You Through ANYTHING TogetherGet the best YourTango advice, celebrity news and giveaways in your email inbox daily. And it's free.
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webanditnews · 1 year
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Shawn Fair Chooses Dr. Tabatha Russell to Join Him on Stage for His Leadership Experience Tour
Shawn Fair Chooses Dr. Tabatha Russell to Join Him on Stage for His Leadership Experience Tour
Transitioning from being a full-time employee to a CEO is no easy matter. Most people with any prior experience would simply flounder and fall flat on their faces. However, knowledge and experience are the greatest weapons anyone could ever possess in the business industry, and fortunately, Dr. Tabatha Russell has all of those in spades allowing her to master the process of going from employee to…
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drumcorpshero · 3 years
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Caramel Apple Cinnamon Roll 🍏🍎
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he's talking about god creating man and woman at the start of the world SO i do not trust him
Shdjdjdjd go off ig
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themanilafolders · 2 years
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The Mothmen Have Not Offered Apologies, But Say “You Would Have Done It Too”
To be fair, the mothmen had apparently paid for the pumpkins they destroyed shortly beforehand, so there was no actual crime committed.
Tabatha Bernard has said that she’s sorry everyone had to see that, but there was no way she could have prevented it.
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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years
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August Contest Submission #11: Fleurs Anciennes
Words: ca. 5,000 Setting: Canon Lemon: lime CW: None
The sudden jolt from the train woke Elsa from her light doze. It no longer surprised her to suddenly wake from an unexpected nap, they happened often enough nowadays. Warm breath puffed against her neck. She looked down at Anna sleeping peacefully on her shoulder. Hair, having lost its bright red color to a snowy white years ago, tickled her nose and Elsa lifted a hand to caress her sister’s wrinkled cheek.
Tomorrow would be forty-five years together.
There were many things Elsa forgot over the years, the first time she used her powers, the sound of their parent’s voices, the names of the various princes who tried to court her. But she’d never forget Anna’s tearful confession that night in the library.
“I can’t do this anymore! I can’t keep pretending I only love you like a sister. I want to hold you, and kiss you, and take you to bed. If we could, I’d ask you to marry me and be by your side forever. I- I’m in love with you.”
Neither would she ever forget that first desperate, clumsy kiss, her response to Anna’s confession when words failed to move past her own lips. Now they were set to celebrate their anniversary at the Paris World’s Fair tomorrow. Yes, they would have to attend the opening celebration as Arendelle’s ceremonial ambassadors and stop by their country’s display but then the rest of the day, and the entire week afterwards, would belong to them.
Knock. Knock.
“Your Majesties, the train will be arriving in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Tabatha.” Despite them both abdicating the throne fifteen years ago after Arendelle officially became a democracy, most citizens of Arendelle persisted in addressing them by their former royal title. 
“Annaaaa…” Gentle shaking of her sister’s knee. “It’s time to get up.”
“Five more minutes…” faint snores
It didn’t matter if Anna was five or sixty-five, waking her up tended to be a long, slow process. 
“Anna, we’re almost there.” Shake shake. “Time to wake up.” Shake.
“Ugh. Do I have to?” Anna sat up and tiredly rubbed her eyes.
“Yes, my love.” Years ago Elsa stopped trying to figure out how her sister’s hair could stand up on its own. “Turn your back towards me and I’ll fix your hair.”
“Hmmm, thank you.” 
Soft lips brushed against hers in a sleepy kiss. Before Anna could pull back, Elsa stopped her with a tender touch to her cheek and deepened the kiss.
“Oh,” wide, no longer sleepy, smile, “I’m awake now.”
“Good. Now turn around.”
“Right.” Anna stole one more quick kiss then she turned to face the window. 
Nimble fingers picked apart the untidy bun and smoothed down the wild locks.  Elsa fastened the last pin in Anna’s hair when the train began to slow its speed.
Paris. 
Though not their first time in the famous French city, they still eagerly watched people and carriages drift by on crowded streets. 
Elsa’s gaze moved from the window to watch the love of her life instead.
Teal eyes moved from the window and met hers. 
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Elsa shrugged casually, “just enjoying the view.”
Eyes rolled but she didn’t miss the light dusting of pink on wrinkled cheeks.
Squealing brakes grew louder, signaling their final approach into the station. Shouts in French announcing, Elsa assumed since she didn’t speak the language, for all passengers to disembark for Paris could barely be heard over the hissing release of steam.
Knock. Knock.
“Come in.” 
Tabatha opened the compartment’s door, curtsied respectfully, then efficiently began gathering their personal belongings.
“Kaarina and Polk are going to the luggage car.”
“I can help with the bags, Tabatha.” 
“Please take your time; I will wait for you on the platform.” Another curtsy, and Tabatha, easily carrying three bags including her own, exited into the corridor. 
“Or not,” Anna grumbled.
Chuckling, Elsa rubbed her sister’s back comfortingly. Not once since Tabatha took over after Gerda’s retirement did she let either of them help with even the simple tasks. Absolute horror would be the only way she could describe the look on her face the first time they offered to help. She looked about ready to burst into tears when Gerda picked up their breakfast plates and declared Tabatha should ignore them. She followed that advice ever since.
They helped each other don their respective shawls; dark blue with Arendelle’s coat of arms stitched in silver thread for Elsa and the same for Anna but in dark green. 
Elsa’s eyes flicked to the compartment’s window and sighed unhappily.
This is why she preferred not to travel outside of Arendelle. Back home she could openly show affection for her sister and no one batted an eye at quick little pecks on the lips. Their relationship was an unacknowledged open secret. 
Anna passed over Elsa’s ice cane and they carefully made their way off the train. On the bustling platform they were greeted by a tall man in a perfectly tailored gray suit.
“His name is Radford, he welcomes us to Paris, and will escort us to the hotel,” Anna whispered in her ear.
The only foreign language Elsa could manage with ease was English while Anna had an ear for them and could freely converse in six different languages. An immensely helpful skill over the years when they traveled outside of Arendelle.
Once Kaarina and Polk arrived, both carrying a trunk, the small party followed Radford out of the station, over the wooden footbridge leading directly to the front steps of the Grand Hotel Terminus, and to the door of their suite on the top floor.
Anna smiled as she spoke with Radford.
Still unable to understand a word being said, Elsa’s gaze wandered to the lavishly decorated hallway lit by the new electric lights. She sighed enviously. Equipping the castle with these amazing electric lights would have to be a task for the next generation in charge of the castle. She’d looked into it already; cost and logistics made it impossible at this time. 
“Oui, Madam.” Radford handed Tabatha their room key.
Elsa’s attention returned to the tall man talking with her sister.
“Passe un bon séjour s'il te plaît.” He bowed deeply then walked briskly back to the elevator.
“He said for us to enjoy our stay.” 
Tabatha unlocked the door and held it open for them to enter.
There were advantages to being known as the old, eccentric, spinster sisters. No one questioned them insisting on only having their own servants take care of things. Pretending to sleep in different beds, keeping a respectful distance, curbing the affectionate little touches, anything that an unknown, foreign servant might find odd didn’t matter. 
Kaarina, Polk, and Tabatha walked right into the larger bedroom to deposit the luggage.
“I asked for dinner to be brought up to our room in thirty minutes. Unless you wanted to go out?” 
“No.” Now in the privacy of their room, Elsa leaned her cane against a nearby wingback chair and wrapped her arms around Anna’s neck. Three weeks of foreign guests and preparations for this trip had left them with horribly little alone time together. She had no intention of squandering this time with eating out.
“Good.” Anna’s arms wrapped around Elsa’s waist and pulled her close. “An evening alone with you sounds wonderful.”
Lips brushed against hers.
“Absolutely wonderful.” The whispered words were barely audible.
“Ahem.”
Elsa turned her head to smile at Kaarina and Polk. Years of having servants walk in on them kissing ceased to cause embarrassment anymore.
“Tabatha is unpacking your trunks, Your Majesties.”
“Thank you. Enjoy your stay with your cousin…” Elsa searched her memory, “Marie, was it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Kaarina grinned widely. “It’s been five years since we’ve seen her and the kids.”
“Have a pleasant visit. We will see you on the fourteenth.” 
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Both bowed then hastily exited from the room.
“I guess they were eager to start their holiday,” Elsa chuckled. 
“Mmmm…” Anna placed a lingering kiss on Elsa’s neck. “They aren’t the only ones.”
“Tabatha is still here.” Her cheeks warmed. Quick, little licks were added to the kisses landing on her neck. Elsa’s knees wobbled.
“There’s a spare bedroom.”
Forty-five years together and Anna was still temptation on two legs.
“N-no.” Elsa stepped back out of her sister’s arms. They were dirty from traveling all day, they didn’t have dinner yet, they were not alone… and there was an unoccupied spare bedroom.
Distraction.
They both needed a distraction.
Eyes flicked around the room. The balcony was out, the evening was still fairly chilly and she did not want to chance Anna getting ill. The dining area was also out, while beautiful with its intricately carved table and chairs, no distractions could be seen. The spare bedroom was absolutely off limits. The seating area… 
She had never been so grateful to see a tiny stack of letters before.
“We have correspondence to answer.”
“Of course we do.” Anna handed Elsa her cane and they walked over to the ornate desk. “Do we need to accept any of these?”
“No.” She quickly looked through them before handing them over. Luckily, there were only four letters. Unluckily, they were certainly all in a different language, meaning Anna would have to answer them herself. 
“Do I need to add anything special?” In the drawer Anna found a letter opener and began breaking the seals.
“No, just the standard declining of the invitation.” 
With nothing to do while Anna wrote, Elsa wondered about the room. Electric lights glowed bright as the sun began to set. Again, she wished it were possible to equip Arendelle Castle with such technology. There was even a telephone to communicate directly with the service staff. A truly marvelous new hotel.
On the dining room table she spotted her book. Tabatha must have set it there earlier.
Elsa retrieved it and settled onto the comfortable Chesterfield, eager to read more of the new character detective Sherlock Holmes and his friend Dr. Watson.
Fully immersed in the story, the knock on the door with their dinner nearly caused Elsa to drop her book.
“Careful there, don’t want to lose your place.”
“Anna!” This time she did drop her book. Elsa turned to see her sister sitting beside her. “How long have you been there?”
“About ten minutes, I guess,” she chuckled and picked up Elsa’s book. “This must be good. I’ll have to read this after you.”
“Your Majesties, dinner is served.”
“Thank you, Tabatha.” Anna handed over the ice cane and escorted Elsa, still a bit dazed from being startled from her book so suddenly, to the table.
They sat down to two plates of steamed salmon, rice, and mushrooms. Conversation flowed easily from one topic to another; the opening ceremony for the World’s Fair tomorrow (“Ugh. I don’t want to get up that early. Can we skip it?”), things they were missing in Arendelle (“Kristoff was so excited. He and Bonnie get the grandkids for two weeks!”), books they had read (“That Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde book was creepy.”), what they would like to do during their week in Paris (“Could we go to the Louvre? We missed it last time.”), and even who to extend invitations to Arendelle next (“Ariel and Eric or Belle and Adam?”).
“I have drawn your bath. Is there anything you require of me before I bid you goodnight?” Tabatha folded her hands primly in front of her, ready to fulfill any request they might have.
“No, that will be all for the night.” Elsa smiled, eager to soak in the hot water. 
“Very well. Pleasant dreams, Your Majesties.” She gathered the empty plates to drop off on the way to her own room.
“Sweet dreams! Feel free to sleep in tomorrow.” Anna grinned hopefully.
Elsa rolled her eyes.
“Goodnight, Tabatha. We’ll see you early tomorrow morning.”
“What do you two have against sleep?” They both ignored Anna’s muttering though Elsa caught a slight quirk of the servant’s lips.
Tabatha bobbed a curtsy and silently left the room.
“Now,” Elsa grabbed her cane and began walking to the bathroom, “you can continue grumbling or you can join me for a bath.”
“Bath.” Footsteps hurried after her. “Definitely the bath.”
* * * * * 
Elsa concentrated on keeping her balance without the aid of a cane while she dried her hair. She hummed contentedly at finally feeling clean for the first time since they left Arendelle. Getting to lay in Anna’s arms for the last fifteen minutes while the water cooled had been exactly what she needed. Travel never allowed them much privacy and they’d been traveling for four days. 
Carefully, she stepped over to the counter with her cane. Elsa stopped halfway there. A full length mirror, fogged only along its edges with condensation, reflected her image back at her. Back in Arendelle, the candlelight did not shine nearly as brightly as these electric lights and every aging imperfection was perfectly illuminated in this light. Her once slim, hourglass figure now carried a bit more weight about her stomach and thighs, her breasts sagged and she now required undergarments for her clothes to fit correctly, and wrinkles were no longer confined to her face, they now covered her whole body.
She frowned.
Arms wrapped around Elsa from behind.
“Hey there, beautiful.”
“I don’t know about-“
“Ah ah ah.” Anna’s hand covered Elsa’s mouth, stopping her words. “What have I said? I will not tolerate anyone speaking badly about the woman I love even…” she removed her hand.
Elsa sighed.
“Ahem,” Anna raised an eyebrow.
“…even if that’s me.” Warmth spread at the sincerity of Anna’s smile.
“That’s right.” She placed a kiss on Elsa’s bare shoulder.
Turning around in Anna’s arms, Elsa leaned in and kissed her, taking time to slowly deepen it. Every single day this wonderful woman showed her how incredibly loved she was. 
“You know…” Elsa brushed her lips along a very familiar jaw. “We’re finally alone. No foreign visitors, no servants, no responsibilities until tomorrow…”
“Hmmm…” Eyes closed.
“The bed looked quite comfortable.”
“It is time for bed.” Anna’s hands rested decidedly lower than Elsa’s waist.
Arms resting on Anna’s shoulders, Elsa pressed her firmly backwards out of the bathroom. They could get her cane later.
Much later.
* * * * *
Elsa concentrated on Anna’s whispered translation of the opening ceremony of the World’s Fair and not the engineering marvel of the Eiffel Tower towering over them. These speeches all followed the same script welcoming the politicians who supported the event, thanking the major donors by name, claiming this to be the event of the century, and all punctuated with long pauses for expected clapping. They both sat through too many of these sorts of ceremonies in their life.
Finally the last speaker invited the crowd to enjoy the World’s Fair and bowed to thunderous applause.
People around them wasted no time in standing to find their friends and not going through the entrance, this crowd didn’t seem particularly eager to join the masses of regular citizens streaming into the event.
Once the initial rush died down, they wove their way around chairs and groups of boisterous people.
“Queen Elsa! Queen Anna!” called a deep voice in English.
Two heads turned as one to see a clean shaven, silver-haired gentleman with golden spectacles hurry their way.
“Richard!” Anna hugged the man the instant he reached them.
“It is wonderful to see you ladies here.” Richard hugged Elsa next, his laughter carrying over the din of conversation.
“I didn’t expect to see you.” Why had England’s longtime Ambassador to Arendelle shown up here? Elsa knew nearly all of Europe’s monarchies refused to participate in this World’s Fair celebration of the French Revolution.
“Don’t tell Queen Victoria,” he whispered mischievously. “Mildred wanted to hear Thomas Edison’s new phonograph.”
“Where is that lovely wife of yours?” Anna looked quite serious, “someone has to keep an eye on you.”
“Oh, I completely agree, Your Majesty.” 
“Mildred!” Anna turned to face her best friend.
“Hello, Anna.” They hugged tightly, delighted smiles on both their faces. “How was your trip over?”
“Not too bad!” With that the two excitedly began chatting about their trips.
“You would think our wives hadn’t seen each other in months and not two weeks,” Richard whispered in Elsa’s ear.
Both shared an amused look.
Elsa watched the two best friends quickly catch up, old memories surfacing. Decades ago, Richard introduced the younger woman from town he had begun courting and the two women connected immediately. After that, Elsa no longer felt guilty the few times she and Richard needed to discuss matters of state over dinner. Anna and Mildred could, and still did, enjoy each other’s company for hours.
“Do you think they remember we’re here?” Elsa whispered back.
“Absolutely not.”
They laughed at the old shared joke.
“I think they’re laughing at us, Anna.”
“Yup. They certainly are.” 
“We would never laugh at you.” Elsa tried her best to keep the smile off her face. 
“Uh huh.” Anna rolled her eyes and turned her focus to Richard. “How long will you be in France?”
“Two weeks, then we return to Arendelle.”
“We’re here for a week. Maybe we can meet up for dinner one night?” Anna asked hopefully.
“I don’t think we have anything planned for Thursday, if you’re free.” Mildred stood at her husband’s side and slipped an arm through his.
“We are free.” Dinners with their closest friends were always a pleasure. “We can meet- OH!”
Something hit her side hard causing Elsa to drop her cane as she fell sideways.  She closed her eyes preparing for the painful impact of hard ground.
It never came.
Relief flooded Elsa when two familiar arms caught her.
“Are you alright?” 
Elsa could only nod, her heart racing from the scare.
“Good. Good.” The shaky sigh of relief told Elsa that the near-fall scared her sister, too.
Once upright, Elsa turned to see what knocked into her. On the ground lay a laughing young man reeking of wine.
“Pardon, pardon!” More laughter.
Barely nine in the morning and this stranger was already falling down drunk. Elsa held onto Anna’s arm tightly, her sister looking ready to kick the drunk man while he was still on the ground.
“Pardon!” He still giggled as he reached for the dropped cane.
“It’s okay, I can-”
“Don’t touch-“
“I wouldn’t do-“
Three voices tried to stop the man before he touched it, though Anna remained silent, her glare intense.
“Glacé!” He dropped it immediately and shook his hand. “Glacé!”
“No, no.” Richard helped the drunk man up. “Amis?”
“Quel?”
“Amis.”
“Oh.” The young man gestured vaguely behind him.
“We will take him back to his friends. Which hotel are you staying at?” Mildred asked after positioning herself at the man’s other side. It obviously would take both of them to get him anywhere.
“The Grand Hotel Terminus.” Elsa spoke up as Anna remained silent and glaring.
“We’ll meet you there before going to dinner. Does five o’clock sound fine?”
“Perfect. We will see you at five. Enjoy the World’s Fair.”
Once the three started walking over to a group of laughing and pointing people, Anna leaned down to pick up the ice cane muttering something that suspiciously sounded like ‘I should have accidentally stepped on him,’ which Elsa chose to ignore. Anna’s protectiveness, which started prior to their relationship, had not waned over the years and, honestly, neither had her own. She probably would have discreetly frozen his feet to the ground and iced his undergarments had it been Anna he knocked down.
“Here.” Anna handed her the cane.
“Thank you, my love.”
Anna smiled at the term of endearment. 
Now that her sister no longer looked ready to find that young man and punch him, Elsa hooked their arms together and directed their steps to where Arendelle’s pavilion lay. She would have loved to stay and take in the Eiffel Tower but there were other days for that, distracting Anna was more important and they would have to walk right through the, reportedly, stunning garden exhibits. The gardens back home were Anna’s favorite place to be, to the point where, decades ago, the gardeners cleared an area just for her use. 
“Don’t you want to-“
“Tomorrow.” She kept moving them forward. “We should start making our way over.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Mmhmm.”
They were only six meters into the garden area when Anna’s eyes widened and her head started swiveling back and forth trying to take everything in. 
Even Elsa, with only a casual enjoyment of gardens, could see how breathtaking these displays were. Flowers exploded with color everywhere, tall green bushes hid the rest of the World’s Fair from view, beautifully carved fountains bubbled noisily, and butterflies could be seen fluttering from plant to plant. They strolled slowly through this second Garden of Eden without saying a word.
About halfway through the exhibit, she saw a stall down a side path and immediately decided that she needed to distract Anna so she could sneak back.
It seemed luck was on her side today. 
One of the many roaming gardeners paused to prune a yellow rose bush. 
“Anna, do you mind if we stop for a few minutes? There’s an empty bench here and I’m a little tired.”
“Of course,” her sister frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she couldn’t help chuckling before continuing, “someone kept me up late last night.”
“That was your own fault,” Anna purred in her ear and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
Elsa could feel her face warm up in a blush and she swallowed thickly.
“Y-y-yes. R-right.” All those years together and Anna could still fluster her with just a few words.
“Let’s get to that bench before anyone else, you seducer of younger women.” 
Completely speechless and face burning with heat, Elsa silently walked with Anna to the bench.
“Wait. I’m the only one who needs to rest,” the croaky sound of her voice betrayed her continued flustered state. “Why don’t you go look at the displays?”
“Are you sure?” Anna looked torn between staying with her and examining the garden displays.
“I’ll be fine. I just need a little rest.” She sat down and patted Anna’s side. “Go. Have fun.”
“Okay.” 
Elsa watched and waited.
Once her sister found herself no longer confined to the castle, her cheerful personality and eagerness to try new things helped her quickly learn the social skills they lacked after thirteen years of isolation. People naturally felt at ease around her and Anna enjoyed getting to know new people. There had been many times while Queen that Elsa used this to ease prickly meetings. They would both enter a room and before a word could be said, Kai would interrupt with a made up emergency that required Elsa’s urgent attention. By the time she returned ten minutes later, without fail, there would be smiles all around the room and the meeting would actually be productive.
It would only take Anna a few minutes to work her magic on the gardener then she’d be free to sneak away unnoticed.
Once the gardener nodded rapidly and started pointing at plants, Elsa stood and walked the two dozen steps to the side pathway spotted earlier. Another few dozen steps and Elsa reached the large wooden stall. The rich scent of chocolate filled the air and she pored over each of the five different assortment of chocolate boxes displayed. One glance at the chocolates in the purple box was all she needed. 
Box purchased and tucked in the small cloth bag at her wrist, which now held a discrete enchantment to keep it cool, Elsa hurried back to the bench. She needn’t have rushed. Anna and the gardener were still deep in conversation, oblivious to their surroundings. After five more minutes, and hating to break them up, she stood and called her sister over.
“Yes, Elsa?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, however, we should be going.”
“That’s alright.” Anna linked their arms together and they resumed their walk.
“It looked like a good conversation?” If the last five minutes she saw were any indication it was.
“Yup! Gustav is a third generation gardener and came all the way from Bourges to be part of this. He was telling me…” Anna began excitedly sharing her conversation with Gustav.
Anna talked about all she learned and how that might work in her own garden while they walked. Even though she probably only understood about fifty percent of the information, Elsa still contentedly listened and asked questions.
After twenty minutes their destination came into view.
“Oh, wow.”
Elsa could only nod in agreement.
Being a small, relatively unknown nation, Arendelle had been placed behind the other well known countries. The wooden structure before them was larger than most of the buildings back home. Expertly made carvings of the native animals decorated the four doorways, the traditional design found on most buildings of crocuses, straight lines, and chevrons painted in blues and purples decorated the whitewashed walls, and teal tiles sat on the roof instead of the more common brown. Multiple tiered sections of roof with pointed spires and the small balcony over the door on which a banner of Arendelle’s time-honored crest hung, gave Elsa the impression of her Ice Palace meshed with traditional Arendelle buildings. 
What took their breath away were the hundreds, if not thousands, of crocuses surrounding the building on all sides. They weren’t the common royal purple found everywhere, but the color of snow. They were so rare in Arendelle that local legend said they only grew outside of town, atop a specific hill, under an ancient tree because that was where two sisters promised each other a lifetime’s fidelity. The area could now be found on local maps as ‘The Queen’s Joy.’ Little did the town’s people know that every year Elsa and Anna would go to that hill and plant seeds harvested from those same flowers.
Tears pricked Elsa’s eyes.
“Queen Elsa! Queen Anna! You made it!” An older woman with gray hair hustled down the steps over to them.
“This is beautiful, Helga.” Elsa’s voice softened. “Thank you.”
“You both are so much a part of Arendelle and we wanted to show that.” Helga grinned, obviously happy at their awed reactions. 
“I knew the committee chose the right person!” Hugs all around as they praised the Master Carpenter even more, causing her to blush.
“Thank you both for recommending me. But I do have one favor to ask of you, Queen Elsa.” Helga looked hopefully over.
“If I can grant it, I will.” She wondered what it could be.
“In the initial plans, we included elements that were to mimic your ice designs. None of the prototypes worked so we scrapped it. Do you think… maybe…” 
Back when Elsa realized more and more people not from Arendelle believed the stories of her powers were just myths, she stopped using them outside of Arendelle lest they put a target on her, and thus her home, by some power-hungry nation.
Elsa looked around. 
There were no visitors this far back yet. Most of the crowd had headed to The Gallery of Machines and the few walking to the pavilions certainly were visiting the massive, beautiful building Argentina built. 
“Did you have something in mind?” Ideas sprung up immediately and she tried to ignore them.
“I’ll leave that to you, Your Majesty. I do have one small request though.” Helga nervously shifted from foot to foot.
“Yes?”
“Could you put your snowflake on the middle spire in front?”
“I can do that.”
“Wonderful!” Wide waving of Helga’s right arm caught her eye.
People streamed past until all thirty or so workers stood behind them.
“I suppose everyone is here now?” Apparently the movements Elsa had assumed to be work being done was actually them waiting for Helga’s signal. She heard Anna snicker beside her.
“Ahem, yes.” 
“Is the area still clear?” Elsa asked loudly. Too many people surrounded her to see for herself.
Once the hum of multiple ‘yes’ responses died down, Elsa handed Anna her bag and cane.
Hands moved in a tight circle and her magic, as strong as ever, danced around her fingertips. The image of what Elsa wished for the magic to do set, she pushed her hands out sending it barreling to the building’s middle spire, she floated one hand down and the other up, coaxing the ice into shape.
Ice swirled up each of the fifteen spires, the tallest one proudly displaying Elsa’s snowflake, teal roof tiles sparkled with flecks of ice, enough to glitter in the sunlight though not enough to be dangerous should any repairs be needed. From the top of the walls down until around ten feet above the ground, flat clear ice shaped as snowflakes glinted in the sun.  Now the white crocuses thickly covering the ground looked more like snow than living plants. 
Satisfied with how her added decorations looked, Elsa twirled her hands once more.
“The ice should only melt when you begin taking down the pavilion.”
Silence. 
More silence.
Too much silence.
Elsa began to worry.
Cheers suddenly shattered the silence.
Helga waited a full minute before shouting over the noise.
“Okay everyone, back to work!”
“Oh wow, that was amazing!”
“It’s been years since I’ve seen Queen Elsa use her powers.”
“I can’t wait to write to my husband back home about this.”
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
“That made this whole job worth it.”
“Thank you so much, Queen Elsa. This is perfect. Though I’m sorry, I have to get back. A display board fell just before you arrived.”
“Forgive us for interrupting your work.” Anna apologized and handed Elsa back her cane and her bag.
“No need to, Your Majesties. It is always a pleasure. Besides,” she glanced back to the building, “they’re smiling now instead of looking nervous. Thank you.” Helga bobbed a curtsy and hurried back.
“I see a bench. Would you like to sit down? It was kind of a long walk.”
“Yes, I’d like that.” Despite their leisurely pace over, it had been a long walk and their commitments as Arendelle’s ceremonial ambassadors were now complete; they had nowhere else to be and a real rest sounded sublime.
“Your bag felt heavier than from this morning.” Anna commented once they sat on the bench nearby. “Please tell me you snuck in your book. I can’t wait for my turn.”
Elsa had planned to give her sister the box back in their room but here would be nice too. She pulled the cool box out of her bag and turned to face Anna.
“Are those for me?” She looked hopeful, no doubt catching a whiff of chocolate.
“Of course.” Handing the box over, Elsa could not help smiling at Anna’s excitement when opening it. Some things never changed.
“Flowers.”
Indeed they were. Twelve rose shaped, red tinted, chocolates lay on a bed of shredded paper.
Taking a quick look around and still only seeing people from Arendelle, Elsa leaned in and kissed Anna’s soft lips. Fingers tenderly caressed the back of her neck.
Every year Elsa would, without fail, give Anna flowers on their anniversary. One year an orchid lovingly cared for in a greenhouse, another year jewelry straight away deemed too special to be worn everyday, even a book of collected poetry which lived on her bedside table for the past twenty-three years… each flower-themed gift cherished beyond measure.
They reluctantly pulled apart, remembering they were outside, and snuggled comfortably together. 
There would be time for more later.
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constance-michaela · 9 months
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The Seventh Chapter (of eight): The enabling telephone call
“Hi Tabs!”
“Your Grace?”
“How are you, you old bag?”
“Very well thank you, Your Grace. How are you, Lissy?”
“Likewise thank you, sweetie. I guess you’ll know why I’m telephoning, apart from the fact I miss you so?”
“Of course, Your Grace” Tabatha intoned, reassuringly.
Tabatha’s whole career, occupation depended on a number of key skills. Discretion of course and understanding. Assertiveness where necessary. But these and others would ‘come to nought’ without the ability to not only anticipate but also think ahead. Very deeply. Intuitively, too. Sympathetically. In tune. On message. ‘On the same page.’
“I know you are going to be without Amanda for over three months while she is enjoying her honeymoon with Tish … such a generous gift to them both, darling – so typical of you!” Tabatha continued. “So you are going to have no personal maid then – and I feel I can arrange to help you cover that period.”
“How?” asked the Marchioness, impressed as always by Tabatha’s foresight and innate understanding of her needs.
“There is a girl … I should say young lady, currently residing with her aunt in south London. Chantelle. I understand from her aunt that she’s ‘between finishing school and the next thing’ … trouble is, Auntie Edith doesn’t know what the next thing is going to be and she’s worried sick about it. You know me, I’ve already reassured Edith that I’m sure I can engineer a suitable arrangement in that I thought of you and your current needs.”
“Just like you always do, sweetie” replied the Marchioness. “You are an angel. Have you fucked Auntie Edith?”
“Of course.”
“You are such a complete tart! Please continue to explain.”
“Well Your Grace, we both also know you urgently need a business manager, you need to delegate and we thought Tish could fit the role, so she can be based at your shire estate and Amanda must of course remain your Maid, otherwise she would not have accepted Tish’s proposal of marriage.”
“Tish will be fine – especially as she’s so inexperienced! – excuse me if I jest a little! … she’s up for it … as if she had much choice!”
“OK Lissy, we can get Tish trained up a bit … two weeks with my accountant should do the trick.”
“Fine! Thank you. Have you met this Chantelle?”
“Only once and not since a garden party hosted by her aunt a couple of years ago. I really liked Chantelle, so easy to get on with, I loved talking with her, I remember. She was beautifully dressed and bless her sweet innocence! … absolutely no idea her petticoat was showing! I didn’t say anything, of course. So pretty, fair hair, blue eyes … such an unusual sky blue … clear skin … slightly upturned nose, so not a perfect beauty some would think … but a lovely figure and a nice rack, about 34C I’d say. Similar height to us.”
“I have two questions for you please, Tabs. Does she have a …” … the Marchioness paused as if struggling to utter an expression she found most distasteful … “a young man?”
“Absolutely not, Your Grace! She is of, so to speak our faith and following. My other enquiries have indicated Chantelle was quite promiscuous at school and Edith confirmed my intelligence that she’d been sent back to her for a month, suspended from school because she’d fucked the deputy headmistress. Such a shame, it was the woman’s first senior appointment. Obviously, she was sacked and I hear she is working as a lesbian prostitute in King’s Cross these days.”
“OK … all good … so far … you’re so wonderful, Tabs! My other question: is Chantelle a commoner, not titled or any posh, pretentious shit like that? I don’t want to get involved with some fucking stuck-up tart with ideas above her station!”
“She’s fine, Your Grace. Truly. Wealthy, of course. Educated? A bit. Further education? ‘Out of the question’ Edith told me. Which is why she needs to find a permanent situation, or work in a fucking shop somewhere.”
“Or head to King’s Cross!” joked the Marchioness. “Please excuse my levity, Tabs … I know you’re trying to help me. I love you, you bitch!”
“I love you too, you hussy! I’ve sort of scoped out where you’re up to with Edith, Your Grace. She’s fine with it. Really. I also think that what with everything else, Tish could do with a maid herself … other than her fiancée! When Tish and Amanda return from honeymoon in due course, might this Chantelle take that role?”
“You won’t believe me if I say my own thoughts have followed a similar path, Tabs because you always think ahead … I don’t try and keep up! But if this can all work, it would be perfect!”
“Would you like to interview Chantelle? Tabatha enquired, knowing perfectly well how Her Grace would respond. As it turned out, far more quietly than Tabatha expected, but with the same predictable response: No.
“Tabatha … sweetie! … Tabs … my darling! Of course I don’t want to fucking interview her! You know I’m no judge of character, that’s why I love you so! I just want you to arrange for the right female to turn up at the right time, as if by magic, like you do … please Tabs?”
“Certainly, Your Grace. I’ll attend to it directly. I’m confident this will all be sorted and in place by the weekend.”
“Thank you Tabatha, I know I can always rely on you. I take it you are wearing a slip?”
“Of course, Your Grace. May I enquire if you are dressed likewise?”
“I’m wearing two, Tabatha. I wanted to really dress up to make this telephone call to you. I like to think I can make myself look like a prostitute if I want to. Before I sat down, I studied my appearance in front of my full length mirror, you know the one by the bed to check that my petticoat is showing, so that I look and feel like a slut while I’m talking to you.”
“Your Grace is making me wet.”
“When we’ve finished this call in due course, I’m going to take off my dress and go to bed for the rest of the afternoon with my vibrator. I know you still think of me sometimes when you are using yours.”
“I do indeed, Your Grace.”
“Now we’re both getting wet!” whispered the Marchioness. “What else are we both up to? How’s Belgravia, sweetie?”
“It’s still there.”
“What the fuck does that mean, Tabs?” demanded the Marchioness.
"Well, I’m in Bayswater these days, Your Grace. My accountant told me it’s the ground rent that was killing it and that I couldn’t afford to continue paying that out of my capital. I got a right fucking lecture from her on how allowing expenditure to consistently exceed income is the road to financial ruin!”
“Fuck!” exclaimed the Marchioness. “Fucking hell! I had no idea! Why didn’t you let me know about this shit? You know I’d have helped you. It must have been so stressful for you! To lose your home. Oh sweetie!”
“Oh, you are most kind Your Grace but I can’t expect you to do everything for me, to fund me. Besides, Bayswater is so ‘aspirational’ these days compared with say, Hammersmith or Enfield and so many other London boroughs and also so handy for Paddington railway station … for my train to visit you, Lissy! I know how busy you are, didn’t want to trouble you!”
“Well, I’m fucking troubled now, Tabatha! Cheers mate! I need you to operate from Belgravia, where the money is and the shit is all happening. Bayswater’s lovely enough for most people, green and leafy and can be so quiet and private too … but you and I are not most people! I’m going to really worry you now and say I’ve just thought of a plan … we’ll come to this accountant of yours in a moment … why don’t we get the lovely Tish to sort this out while she’s on honeymoon? God knows she can’t fuck Amanda ‘twenty-four by seven’ and she would benefit from having this project to do … I won’t tease you by saying ‘to sort out your shit’ … seriously, Amanda can also help her with the spade work. Arranging agent’s appointments, progressing this along, keeping notes and all that sort of crap! What with telephones, let alone the internet this can be arranged from anywhere!”
“You astonish me, Your Grace. Thank you” replied Tabatha. “Might I add I am also impressed by Your Grace’s ability to think and formulate a complex project ‘on the hoof’ so to speak!”
“I love it when you take the fucking piss like that, you filthy whore! Thank god you do though, because if we aristocrats didn’t get abused like this from time to time, we’d become quite unbearable!”
“Thank you again, Your Grace. Might I ask if you would be happy to direct Tish in this matter, please?”
“Now you really are trying me hard, you tart! Seriously, of course I shall! You can hardly direct Tish to find you a new home! Thinking ahead as well, I’m sure we can sort out this type of ground rent issue. Have a fresh look at who is shagging whom round there … you get me?”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
“This accountant, then: what’s the story?”
“I met her at a cocktail party. We both discovered a mutual need.”
“You mean you fucked her? You tart!”
“No … well … not straight away … no, what it was is I knew I was approaching hock and she needed the work.”
“Then what?”
“I visited her at her office in Stepney and agreed what she should provide. I got a proper written quotation for her professional financial and accounting services at a fair price, I believe.
“And then you fucked her?”
“No, I fucked her first.”
“Tabatha! You naughty girl! Did she fuck you back?”
“Yes.”
“Brilliant! All this without a thought or care for me, I daresay?”
“You’re embarrassing me, Lissy … you know I love you … and I always will.”
“I love you too … I love teasing you … I can hear you blush, you tart!”
“We moved in together in Bayswater. Upmarket for her, down market for me.”
“Fucking hell! That’s sweet! So you now want a swish new home in Belgravia for yourself and your accountant, you cheeky bitch! Of course you shall! ‘Noblesse oblige!’ It’s the right thing for me to do …so right for both of us … all of us, for heaven’s sake! Shall you marry her?”
“Your Grace! I don’t know what to say!”
“Tell Lissy!”
“I should like to … I love her, Lissy. I love you too … but this is different now. I’m sure Your Grace and Lissy both understand … I hope so.
“I understand” said the Marchioness quietly and tenderly. “Tabatha, there is a saying that ‘If everything around here is going to stay the same, then a lot of things are going to have to change’ and that’s so true of your life, my life and the life of everyone around us right now. Your accountant. Chantelle, she’s got change coming her way unless she really fucks up somehow. Tish. Amanda … Amanda, finding her was one of the most wonderful things you ever did for me and may I say possibly the pinnacle of your career. If this Chantelle …
“I understand, Your Grace. Everything will be all right. I promise.”
“What’s your accountant called?”
“Elaine.”
“What a lovely name! So pretty!”
“I’m hoping to propose to her soon. I think we both want that and sense the proposal should come from me.
“Oh sweetie! Why don’t you both take some holiday and come and stay with us? You could stay in ‘Gamekeepers Cottage’ now that housekeeping have got it up to speed. Excuse me saying this, but you could even propose to her there!”
“I am overcome by your kindness and generosity, Your Grace. We would love to.”
“I promise I will not make any advances to either of you of a sexual nature. We aristocrats do have some standards you know, even in these liberal times!”
“Your Grace.”
“Tabatha. When would you like me to telephone you again, darling?”
“Would early Saturday afternoon be convenient for Your Grace? I’ll be properly dressed as always!”
“Fine. Doesn’t time fly! We must as ever tell one another to ‘Fuck Off!’ and end the call.
“Good-bye for now, Your Grace. Please feel free to telephone me any time beforehand should you wish.”
“Good-bye, Tabatha. I do, of course. Take care, sweetie.”
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bd-wireroses · 3 years
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♂ for Trixie?
♂ -POV of my muse’s father
I....I think something is WRONG with Trixie... Yes I know that sounds preposterous - of course something is wrong with her! She has mandibles and claws! No. I mean fundamentally wrong.... You know how people will look at their kids and say "oh they grow up so fast"? Well I'm the only man in Japan that knows what that really looks like and it's your 1 year old climbing around on sofas when they were a GRUB just a few months ago. Oh Tabatha what have we done? What would my parents say? They ask me about her, you know? They wanna know their one and only grandaughter and I have to tell them you and her are still bedridden. What am I to do, Tabatha? I should've just stayed at my clinic - cosmetic surgery is LOADS easier than this mess that you've dragged me into! No...No I can't say that....That wouldn't be fair to Trixie... I'll be a father but...I've been thinking of leaving Tabatha...Just taking Trixie and running to the inlaw's farm with her...But I can't do that...not to her or to Trixie...I just don't know what to do....
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mxvladdy · 4 years
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A Break
Part Duo. Some fluff, some plot. I guess? I just like writing this one. 
Chapters: 1-2-3-4
Two
Hanzo left later that evening with a chaste kiss and a promise to call when he could. You watch him go, waving him off from your little balcony stopping only when he became lost in the sea of people below. The gold of his ribbon disappearing in the blur of faces and colors. Alone again you flop down onto your bed staring watery-eyed up at your ceiling fan. The quiet around you no longer the comforting kind, his soft-spoken presence a larger comfort then you thought. Already you missed the feel of him draped over you in bed, his gentle snoring in your ear.
Glancing at your alarm clock you debate whether it was worth it to get up and do something with your evening or just call it an early night. Fuck it. You were gloriously sore and sleeping sounded amazing right now. Work could wait for tomorrow. Laziness winning over you rose kicking off your leggings slipping under the covers of the freshly made bed, courtesy of Hanzo. Stretching out on his side of the mattress you reach out to your bedside table, fingers ideally pulling Hanzo's latest gift to you.
The metal of the pendant was cool to the touch. The light silver chain of the necklace shone brightly from the twilight outside. Thumbing over the tiny owl impression on the drachma you smile longingly. Slipping it over your head you tuck the coin under your shirt.  
Greece. What an adventure.
You wished he could have stayed longer this time to talk about his travels. Greece had been a place you dreamed of going when you were younger, but gave it up to get your career off the ground. That was your life now, bookkeeping and payroll. Our business needed you more than you needed to travel. Perhaps one day you could feel confident enough to leave the shop for a world tour. Or maybe even a romantic getaway with Hanzo, see if you were really compatible.
Admittedly your romance had been a whirlwind from the start. A drunken kiss with a handsome stranger that should have led to nowhere but a musty motel room followed by an awkward goodbye. But instead, you woke up with his number and a promise of an actual date. Half a year later Hanzo had a drawer of clothes and a toothbrush in the bathroom. Snuggling in deeper under the sheets you yawn clicking off your lamp drifting off with your phone clutched in your hand. You sleep peacefully wrapped in your boyfriend's warm floral scent till a light buzzing wakes you. Your phone vibrates, the light blinding you when you unlock it. Not that you care.
Hanzo (3:14am): 
Shuttle just landed. Be safe for me.
You (3:14am):
Always will :*
And you too please! I find myself rather attached…
Hanzo (3:16am): 
Ha. I will try not to freeze to death.
Hanzo (3:16am): 
Perhaps you could warm me up next time?
You snort wrinkling your nose at his flirting.
You (3:16am):
Yes sir! But it’ll cost you
Hanzo(3:20am): 
A price I will willingly pay.
Hanzo(3:22am): 
I must go, I’ll call when I get the chance.  
You (3:23am): 
Goodnight! Miss you already
You wake late the next morning groggy but warm, tangled in the sheets. Alarm screaming obnoxiously close to your face. Blindly, you swipe at the phone silencing the noise and rise. Waddling groggily you head to the bathroom to get ready for the day. You arrive an hour late grinning ear to ear. Your friends and employees glancing up smirking at your poor excuse for calling in sick yesterday. You let them work heading to the back to get your workload started for the day. Setting up in the back of the store in your favorite corner you look over your new assortment of dried leaves, flowers, and fruits.
The background noise of the shop and quiet music overhead lulling you into a comfortable trance. You hum under your breath pulling your scale closer to you blatantly ignoring Tabatha. She circles you like a hawk, keen eyes looking for any opening to start grilling you. The heat of her gaze latching on to the blemishes and love bites you didn’t even bother hiding. Placing your pestle down you sigh turning to her. “Ok. Ok. Lay it on me girl.”
Tabatha moved in fast plopping down next to you grabbing your pile of dried lemon rinds. “In all the time I have known you I’ve never seen this.” She starts shaving the rinds down smaller. “You skipped work, unannounced. During peak season!” She rounds on you dumping the shavings into their allotted jar. “I’m so proud!” You laugh tension you hadn’t noticed you were carrying in your shoulders dissipating. “I’m serious!” She continues. “All this time and I’ve never seen you finally blow off some steam till he showed up.” Tabatha smiles and leans closer flicking a soft curl ticking your ear. “You know you have to bring him around for drinks and leftovers sweets. Shit, the rest of the team wants to meet him too! Your pictures don’t do him justice.” You nod promising to ask next time he came to visit.
The rest of the day moved on from there at breakneck speed, the front portion of the shop bursting with patrons. The back with employees running about, fresh herbs, pastries, and coffee carafes in hand. The din of your business running smoothly a comfort to your frazzled mind. You finish your newest blend with a flourish, sprinkling dried ginger into the jar closing it with a satisfying ‘snap’.  
“Yo Boss! Can you cover the front while I take my break?” Switching places you wish your employee a good break. Perching at the register you make small talk with a few regulars as the evening lull hits. Greeting a cluster of teenagers as they entered you pause mid conversation taking in the new customers coming in behind them.
Oh. Well, this was rare. Omnics came in from time to time sure that wasn’t unusual. You make it a point to welcome everyone equally, as did your employees. But omnics always came in with human companions or solo to pick up an order or gift. And they most certainly never glowed. You eye the two curiously. The green one wandering aimlessly picking up different jars of teas and homemade jams before being over a display case of brightly colored macaroons. The other taller one was dressed in baggy pants merely looked at the counter before making eye contact.
“Ahh~ greetings.” He spoke. His voice, while naturally monotone it held an underlying tone of levity. “I wish to inquire about your tea selections. I have heard you have a unique variety.”
“Oh course!” You blush embarrassed that you were caught staring. “We have a small selection of in house blends, but the bulk of our products are sourced from fair trade shops from India, China, Japan, and Africa.” You recite by heart pulling out your display tray. The omnic looked down at the cards reading each selection as you described them nodding along patiently.
“What a peculiar name?” He picked up your latest custom blend. Southern Dragon. “How do you come up with the names?”
“I let my staff pick and vote on names. But this one-” You smile softly popping the tin open. “I named after someone.” The tea itself didn’t look like anything fancy sure. The blend of reddish-brown sticks looked like something someone could scoop up outside, Tabatha had joked about it often. “ Hojicha, roasted in house with dried ginger and imported nashi pear. This is the first season we are caring it as I like to buy fruits only when in season. It isn’t one of our most popular yet, but many customers have appreciated the mild caramel flavor and slight sweetness of the peaches and gentle tang of the ginger.”
“I see, that sounds very pleasant. I would like a bag of that and perhaps the sharp lemon for my pupil.” You nod scooping out the desired amounts into two small bags weighing them swiftly.
“And anything for you?” You smile less genuinely at the smaller omnic as they all but swaggered over. You had felt his gaze the whole time you had been chatting.
“Hmm.” They leaned on your counter visor not leaving you, long metal fingers clicking on the marble counter top. “I’d take a small shortcake and a three-pack of macaroons, the matcha ones; if they come with your number.”
You freeze choking on your smile, even the other omnic seemed surprised.
“Genji-”  
“We have our business number on the bottom of our boxes and bags, and a popular online storefront.” You ring him up quickly handing him his order.
“Mmm. I was hoping for something more...personal.” They continued voice dropping low into a slightly clipped purr.
“No.” You cut them off quickly, smile gone. “I have a boyfriend.”
They gasp in mock shock. If they had lips you were positive they would be stretched into a shit eating grin. “What a lucky man.” They tip heavily turning without another word to the door, phone out texting animatedly. You look blankly at their abandoned companion waving a hand uselessly at the door.
“I apologize. He sometimes forgets himself. I hope my pupil didn’t offend? I would like to return at a later date.” They bow low in compensation. “I will have him apologize properly when we meet again.”
Meet again… You jerk your head awkwardly still processing what in the world just happened.
“Woooow,” Tabatha drawls wrapping an arm around you watching the two take their leave, the taller one levitating the moment they were outside. “ Wow . Popular with all types huh? Thought I was gonna need to come in here an’ knock heads.”  
“Please,” You scoff recovering to wipe down the counter. “That has to be one for the books, right next to that time I fell in the school fountain at graduation. All white- like a dumb ass.” Tabatha howls with laughter already walking back to your shared office.
“A beautiful day in history. But damn that green one was mighty pleased to hear you were taken.”
“Ha-ya.” You frown rubbing your arm. Now that you think about it it was kinda weird. Perhaps they were a friend of Hanzo’s. He never spoke of omnics, cowboys and old vets, but you would think highlighter green would stick out.  
Tabatha came back talking to the last of your closing staff noticing you were still looking out the window. “Hey- you ok?”
“Yea-yea. Just thinking about it now.” Your friend frowns discarding her armload to lead you back into your office dropping you in your chair.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. But how ‘bout you get started on the paperwork, and I’ll cover the front in case they come back.” You agree already pulling a stack of orders to you booting up your computer. You get a few hours of work done in peace as your employees filter out for the night, bidding you and Tabatha a good night. With a huff she collapses to the couch watching you work for a moment.
“You forgot didn’t you.” Hmm? Tabatha meets your blank stare dark brows raised into her hairline prompting you. Blinking you try slyly to look at your calendar. Was it someone's birthday? Anniversary? “ Gurl ." She jokes. "Dick that good you forgot whine and cheese night?” Oh. Oops. 
Whine and cheese night had been a tradition since grad school, then when you went into business together. Every last Sunday of the month you two had a few too many drinks and bitched about anything that came to mind that month. Tabatha chortled grabbing your keys and turning off your monitor. “Good thing I remember. I got some new vintages and some fancy cheeses I stole from my girl’s fridge.” She leads you out of the shop locking up the building pushing you out into the brisk night air. You walk the short distance to your flat listening to her talk rapidly about her upcoming trip with her girlfriend to France. “Handsome take you anywhere yet?” She asks finally taking a breath at your front door.
“Does the city fair count?” You ask flipping on the lights to your kitchen. You glaze at your friend's face. Clearly it did not. “He isn’t around often enough to do something like that. Not that I mind,” You add quickly trying to get your piece in before she decides to cut in, her frown growing. “We had plans to rent a beach house for a weekend but he had an emergency at work. After that, we just do stay in dates or stuff around town.”
“What, he always on call or something?” Tabby flops hard onto your floor pillow kicking off her shoes. “Or like too afraid to tell his boss off?”
You snort passing your lounging friend an overfilled glass of zinfandel. “Bit late for the background check ain’t it?” She accepts the wine gracefully wiggling deeper into the cushions stealing your remotes. “Besides, I like just having lazy days here. He travels a lot for work so I’m sure that gets exhausting. I doubt a road trip would be relaxing for him. I like just having him here even if it is to just sleep.”
“Rrrriiiggghhtt. ‘Sleep’ .” She snorts looking wholly unconvinced as you settle into your favorite recliner sticking your tongue out teasingly. The two of you get lost in your favorite show then, talking on and off between mouthfuls of pizza and chips. “So-” Tabatha rises a few hours later popping her back. Eyes going to the liquor cabinet dramatically. “Wanna bring out the good shit and tell me all about your impromptu to vacation day?” She wiggles her brows, popping the cork out of your favorite gin bottle pouring you way too much. Downing your first glass in one you hunker down for a long night.
For the second night in a row, buzzing wakes you. The vibrations sharp and rhythmic against your thigh. Groggy from booze and gossip you dig around your chair. “‘Ello?” You mumble wiping drool from your cheek.
“Ah. My apologies-I forgot about time zones. Would you like me to call you back.” Hanzo. You perk up a little stumbling over your passed out friend to your bedroom door.
“No-no. I wouldn’t want to miss this.” You beam rubbing the sleep from your eyes clicking your door closed softly. The haze of the day prior leaving you with his smooth voice, his soft chuckle in your ear made him feel like he was there. The warm presence on your back instead of your sweat-soaked tank clinging to your frame.
“The same can be said for me- but I really should let you sleep. I merely wanted to hear your voice before my… shift started.” Faintly you could hear the sounds of laughter and clinks of plates in the background.
“Where are you?” You ask beyond curious, hoping for a satisfying answer. He paused again, the sound of merriment and chattering fading into the background. “Breakfast and a shift change. It was my turn to cook along with a friend. He had an idea for a 'traditional American breakfast'. It is very hearty, the others are excited. I expect I'll have heartburn for the next week now.”
“Aww! You’ve never made me breakfast!” Ah shit. “Not that that’s a problem!” You backpedal. “Life is hectic and we both have hard schedules.” Silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Hanzo shushed you gently over the phone. “No, you are more than within your right. I do not do all that I would like with you, yet you set aside time for me every time you can.” You snort into dead air. It wasn’t that hard for you, Tabatha all but forced you to take weekends off from work.
“It’s ok. Don’t make it feel like a duty, love. I just… wish we could do more couple like stuff you know?”  You twine your fingers feeling childish for even complaining.
“I understand that feeling, I have been neglectful. Allow me to make it up to you?” You hum faking thinking hard on your answer. “ Darling.”   Your chuckle behind you hand practically hearing the pout on his elegant face. He continues with a huff. “After this assignment I’ll ask for personal leave. A few weeks perhaps? We can do whatever.”
“I like the sound of that.”
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emilyrosebass · 3 years
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Tabatha Coffey Wasn’t a Bitch, She Was Just a Lesbian
Why Lesbophobia Is To Blame For The Reality TV Star’s Stone-Cold Reputation
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We’ve all seen the meme: The letters B I T C H spelled out vertically, each attributed to some meaningless characteristic (B = Bimbo, Blonde, Barb, I could go on).
The picture originated from a 2017 Ted Talk by Tabatha Coffey—celebrity hairstylist, winner of Shear Genius, and host of Bravo’s early-2010s reality TV show Tabatha Takes Over—who spoke of the relentless criticism she’s faced throughout her career. Tabatha intended to show that her negative image could actually be tied back to positive qualities: Brave, Intelligent, Tenacious, Creative, Honest. But quickly, the image became a parody of itself: A joke about how absurd it is for neoliberal feminists to care enough about the word “bitch” to try to reclaim it, or try to spin it to be anything but negative. I get it—There are bigger fish to fry, and in 2020, a white woman dissecting “bitch” feels a bit like grasping at marginalization straws.
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But also...maybe Tabatha Coffey had a point? 
In retrospect, it’s obvious Tabatha’s reputation as a bitch is rooted in lesbophobia. She’s written off as domineering and cold—negative qualities misattributed to lesbians. She doesn’t conform to what we think a woman “should be,” particularly in relation to men; rarely is she maternal, never compromising. Tabatha never makes herself small. Instead, she remains firm, career-oriented, confident, and self-assured. 
It’s no coincidence that she’s usually called a bitch directly after setting a man straight (And, trust me, these are men that deserve to be put in their place). In S1E3 of Tabatha Takes Over, Tabatha is repeatedly patronized by Martino, the owner of Giovanni Pileggi Salon, who called her in to help save his failing business. Throughout the episode, Martino alternates between calling Tabatha “hon” and “a bitch,” as if he’s still trying to decide whether he wants to top her sexually or professionally. “If you call me hon one more time I’m going to whack you upside the head,” she finally snaps, “I’m not your hon, I’m not your sweetie, I’m not your baby, I’m not your darling.” She, fairly, sets up a boundary with men in the workplace—She’s here to help advise, not to be demeaned. But it’s this boundary that solidifies her image as a bitch. He retorts, “Most women aren’t like Tabatha: Stone-cold soldiers.”
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Now, I’m not going to deny the fact Tabatha is a particularly quippy host. She has some great one-liners—That is her job, after all. But sassy hosts make for good reality TV; it’s one of the medium’s earliest and most successful tropes. Many of her contemporaries, including Tyra Banks and Heidi Klum, are known for making offhanded biting critiques, too, and they’re never written off as cold-hearted bitches. You know who is treated like a bitch? Nina Garcia—LESBIAN. (Just kidding, I just wish she was. Nina, if you see this, I <3 you).
Despite her sometimes-harsh remarks, Tabatha is a fantastic host, a wonderful mentor, and a skilled stylist. She is obviously invested in helping people reach their highest potential: constantly giving positive encouragement, helping stylists get training, and suggesting promotions for employees who rise above. And in many situations, Tabatha exhibits extreme empathy and understanding—qualities she’s misdeemed incapable of. When one salon owner explains that her business fell to the wayside after her mother’s death, Tabatha comforts her. She says, “You have a lot going on. The things that you’re worrying about truly are life and death. It sounds like you left a little bit—Are you prepared to be present in your business again?” Tabatha is business-minded and motivated, but she doesn’t lack humanity, as many so accuse. 
It’s easy to write off Tabatha’s “Call me a B.I.T.C.H.” mantra as deflective or sensitive (To be fair, this does give me “A bitch is a female dog, dogs bark, bark grows on trees” vibes). But I think she deserves far more credit than she’s given. Tabatha is an icon, a mogul, and she’s got amazing hair and even better outfits. If she came onto the scene now with the same attitude, she would be absolutely adored, not discarded. 
So can 2020, a year of reconsideration and reflection, be the year Tabatha Coffey finally gets her flowers? She’s tough, she’s talented, and it’s time she takes over!!!
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formulatrash · 4 years
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Sky are showing the milk feature with McLaren again....
I think the thing that bothers me most about it is people are like oh Hazel you’re quite fangirl-y about them, you’ll love this!
Spoilers: no. I hate it. Being fangirl-y is about knowing exactly the line between fun and glow-y and yeah, a bit Smash Hits Poster Special and being creepy that that feature just swerves all over like a wet kerb.
Tabatha Valls, who does some of McLaren’s video production via her company Press Play and used to be a PR at Toro Rosso, knows how to walk this line really well: let them stick their fingers in each other’s mouths eating snacks and being cute, don’t put a camera on a salami to catch them deep-throating it. 
Carlos and Lando are naturally playful together and it’s genuinely sweet, whatever I think of Carlos but giving them a task and letting them have their own dynamic about it is very different from being like “NOW BE FRIENDS.”
(or uncomfortably forcing them to toy with saying ‘no homo’ in a way they don’t  feel the need to themselves, for the sake of someone else’s staid views about male friendships jsghdfjh)
It’s like - shit analogy time - the difference between WAP and like, Wiggle. One of them is an absolute banger and a delight that celebrates something and showcases two personalities and the other is literally one of the most cringeworthy pieces of music ever created that makes me deeply upset every time I hear it and if people can’t tell the difference between the two cus they just see a song nominatively about booty then that’s some weird perspective.
Like I’d be massively more comfortable with a segment where Lazenby read out his pornographic carlando fic than milky crotch cam. At least it’s honest. And y’know, fair play if he can write I guess.
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