please jules

I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.

About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.

The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.

It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.

Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.

They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”

“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”

It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone. 

And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.

So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”

The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”

When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.

They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.

When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”

After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.

Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.

It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.

We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.

She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”

Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”

“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.

“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”

And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.

« I think of his face lit by the flickering glow of the fire, laughter in his eyes. A smile on his lips.
Would he still be smiling as he swung from the gallows? Would he find me in the crowd with his last moments?
What would he say, if he knew I held his fate in my hands? That I could condemn him in a careless moment? »

What I want from QOAAD
• resilient Ty/Kit who are ready to make their fallen third musketeer proud while simultaneously realizing their feelings for each other
• more Watson/Holmes references bc they are pure gold
• more cute scenes with Tavvy/Max/Rafael (hello parabatri!)
• MORE CRISTINA/EMMA SCENES
• Jace/Emma training together/Jace realizing Emma is right on his heels for the title of “best Shadowhunter of all time”
• Jem and Tessa realizing they should have been more present in the lives of Emma and the Blackthorns.
• Julian and Mark plotting against Jaime Rosales for his secret friendship with Dru.
• an official “I love you” to Julian from Emma (& CANON JEMMA, obviously)
• also I’m not saying Julian needs to fulfill the “Blackthorn’s have sex in every book” prophecy BUT Julian needs to fulfill the “Blackthorn’s have sex in every book” prophecy. (Preferably shower sex to keep up with the wet theme but I’m not picky)
• justice for Helen and Aline who have been screwed over and deserve better
• Aline, Cristina or Diego as head of the Los Angeles Institute (I only say Diego because it would be perfect for Zara to think she has power when we all know the Rosales brothers are planning to overthrow her)
• the quote “there is nothing more important than love, and no law higher” proving itself to be true
• Zara Dearborn’s head on a gold platter, (and by gold platter I mean Cortana)
• no more major *permanent* deaths pls
• hero Dru proving that she deserves to be taken seriously as a Shadowhunter.

What I don’t want from QOAAD
• anything major to happen to TMI/TID characters that overshadows the plot (aka wedding, death, pregnancy, etc. This story is not about them).
• irredeemable anti-hero Julian: the young Blackthorn’s have no one and need him.
• any disrespect to Livia Blackthorn’s memory
• more Julian/Emma angst…(we got two whole books of it already, not including CoHF and TFTSA I mean c'mon)
• canon kitty relationship (don’t fight me they’re getting their own series & we have so much time)
• powerful cohort (it reflects American politics/conservatism so much and I just want to believe that life in books is better)
• Emma and Jules being forced to choose between their parabatai bond and being in love

The only acceptable reason for why Jules haven’t updated tlat yet is because her computer got hacked and her files disappeared so she had to go on a long journey as an undercover spy for the FBI for several years to find the hackers and get the file back.

Ok like I know we're not getting a Blackstairs baby anytime soon but I really want a Blackstairs baby

blushyalec  asked:

Congrats on 6k, cuddle buddy!! 💜 I adore you and I wouldn't wanna be this in sync with anyone else. Prompt: "Stop trying to make me laugh when I'm mad at you!" + Malec. 👀

bub!!! thank u so very much :’) im honoured to be your cuddle buddy, and i wouldn’t wanna be in sync with anyone else either! love you!!

“Magnus!”

Magnus was looking at Alec with an innocent look on his face. A small pout to his lips that said I don’t know what you’re talking about. The mischievous glint in his eyes, however, let Alec know that Magnus knew damn well what he had done, and not only that, he was amused by it. Alec could see Magnus trying not to laugh, the corners of his lips twitching as Alec glared at him.

With egg yolk dripping from his head.

Magnus had decided that instead of cracking the egg into the bowl, he would crack it on his boyfriends head. From the outside, seeing Alec with egg yolk slowly falling down his face, with the shell clinging to his hair, was hilarious. But Alec just continued to scowl.

“Whatever is the matter, my dear?” Alec didn’t think his glare could get even harder but Magnus was always one to surprise him and show him things about himself that he never knew. Alec reached for a towel to wipe his face, which in hindsight seemed like a good idea. But taking his eyes off Magnus when surrounded by baking supplies was never a good idea. As soon as Alec pulled the cloth away from his face, a puff of flour was blown in his face, sticking to the last remnants of egg.

“Don’t look at me like that, my precious little flour.” And oh, Magnus was really about to test his strength. Magnus’ eyebrows quirked, he’d noticed that Alec had wanted to laugh, but Alec was determined not to break his resolve. He wasn’t about to break and let Magnus win this one, not when he was covered in egg and flour.

And now sugar.

“You, my darling, are the sweetest.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh when I’m mad at you!” Magnus was grinning from where he stood, holding the bag of now empty sugar in his hand. Alec could tell that he had plenty more puns, and he knew he wasn’t going to last.

“But Alexander,” Magnus stopped to pick up a jar of raspberry jam, “I love you berry much.”

Alec broke. Laughter bubbled out of him, and then like a dam breaking, he couldn’t stop the happiness from pouring out from him. As he managed to calm down, he heard his boyfriend laughing along with him, both with glee of seeing Alec laugh and from knowing he had won. Or so he thought. Two can play at that game, Alec thought.

“You didn’t even try on that one.”

“Then why did you laugh, hmm?” Alec smirked as he stepped closer to Magnus, his boyfriend matching his expression, tilting his head to invite Alec in. Alec crowded into Magnus’ personal space, and just before their lips reached, he smashed an egg against Magnus’ hair. Magnus gasped in shock, looking up at his grinning boyfriend with wide eyes and eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

“Why, Magnus, I thought it was egg-cellent.”


jodie’s 6k prompt extravaganza