#Riley Gaines is speaking the truth

[coochiequeens]

It’s one things when some tween with green hair parrots TRA talking points to show what a good ally they are but for a Professor of Anthropology of all things to say that their are no differences in the skeletons of men and women is extremely disturbing. So glad the students laughed.

An interaction at a TPUSA event between female collegiate swimmer Riley Gaines and University of Pittsburg professor Gabby Yearwood went viral earlier this week when Gaines made the simple claim that there are anatomical differences between men and women. 

“If you were to dig up two humans a hundred years from now, both man and woman, could you tell the difference strictly off of bones?” 

“No!” University of Pittsburg anthropology professor immediately responded. 

The audience erupted into laughter.

Once the audience erupted into laughter, the professor quickly defended his esteemed credentials, assuring everyone that he was the “expert in the room.”

“I’m just saying, I’ve got over 150 years of data, I’m just curious as to why I’m being laughed at,” Professor Yearwood said.

The TPUSA event, which took place at the University of Pittsburg, faced heavy backlash from students on campus. The event title was, “Saving Women’s Sports” and centered around the danger of allowing biological men to compete in women’s sports. 

Since being blindsided by her university’s unilateral decision to allow a transgender “woman,” Lia Thomas, into the female locker room (though he possessed all of the anatomical features of a male) and onto the woman’s team, Gaines has spoken out regarding the threat transgenderism poses to women’s sports. Gaines is now a fierce advocate for equality in female sports after finishing her final season having tied with Thomas at the NCAA Championships.

If any interaction perfectly displays the blatant propaganda that has infected college campuses, it is this one between a female athlete, Gaines, and a blindly obedient follower of progressive doctrine, Yearwood. Radical transgender ideology has corrupted academia so much that college professors are now denying basic scientific truths to justify the whims of gender theory. 

After being mocked for this absurdity, Yearwood tries to use his experience and education as a rationalization for his claims. But students in the audience do not need a Ph.D. to know how factually incorrect his outlandish statement was. 

The skeletal differences between men and women have been easily observed by medical professionals for quite some time. The main difference is in the pelvic bones. Women will have a broader sciatic notch and a raised auricular surface, while men have a narrower sciatic notch and a flat auricular surface. This is because women’s skeletal structures have different features for child-rearing.

Of course, this is just one anatomical difference between men and women. Any honest anthropologist will tell you that there are several physical differences among the two sexes. If archaeologists were to dig up a body that was hundreds of years old, they would be able to tell with essentially 100 percent certainty whether that person was a man or woman based on their bone structure and DNA sampling.

No matter what cosmetic surgeries are performed to make a person appear to be the opposite gender, they will always be the sex that their biological features indicate. Whims cannot dictate scientific reality.

[pettyprocrastination]

Silent Treatment

Word count: 941

Warnings: angst, lack of communication within a relationship, that's about it? Anyways silent treatment is bad communicate with those you love this is purely for fiction purposes don't do this in real relationships.

An: wrote this on my freewrite for a word sprint whole heavily sick on the couch (still am🤧) so if there are any major spelling or formatting errors blame my Samsung and the tumblr app.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

If there's one thing Simon Riley can't stand it's the silent treatment.

He's used to anger. Knows it well and knows his own. Something nasty and rotten that boils inside of him, festering until he can extract it from his veins through the catharsis of violence under the command of his captain or splitting his knuckles open in an empty gym late in the night.

A man who spent his childhood fed insults and violence at the hand of his father has no qualms with a belly full of rage.

But oh, your silence all but starves him.

It isn't passive aggressive avoidance. There's no tight lipped smile as you insist everything is fine when the truth is standing before you both, because that'd give him plausible deniability. There'd still be that surface level communication no matter how empty it rang.

You offer him something so much worse.

Absolutely nothing.

At first, he's content to roll his eyes and let you stew. You want to act like a petulant little child? Fine by him. You can't beat Ghost at a game of solitude, he'll win every fucking time, sweetheart.

But then you slip by him in the hall, turning your shoulder to avoid his own brawny frame when before you would reach your hand out by just a millimeter so your fingertips would graze his own if only for a second.

By Christ, you might as well have backhanded him.

It makes him feel something ugly knotted deep in his chest. His body begins to itch down to the very bone when days past and you've yet to speak or for fuck's sake acknowledge him in anyway.

It's stupid and immature and childish.

YOU are stupid and immature and childish.

He's content to simply sit in his own silence and be done with it. He's left men and women for less than a passive aggressive attempt at an apology.

But while you slide into your stoic silence like a hot bath after an exhausting day, Simon singes his skin down to the bone on his. 

Perhaps it's ironic. That a man called "Ghost" is so uncomfortable with his own silence being gifted back to him that he turns to mild annoyances to gain a reaction from you.

Knocking your shoulder as you pass by one another, looming over you to grab something off of a shelf, entirely invading your personal space when it's unnecessary to press his body to yours in some hope of a twitch, a sigh, anything for you to show him that you're still in there aside from a closed mouth and empty eyes.

He'll find himself scratching at his scalp until the skin is raw and his fingers are tinted red.

Scream at him. Insult him. Hit him. Use him. All that is familiar territory.

Anything but silence.

When you return back to your apartment and find the entire place overwhelmed with the stench of cigarettes, he hopes it's the catalyst. That was your cardinal rule afterall, no smoking inside. One he could only get away with after he's fucked you to exhaustion and you're too comfortable to lift your head from his chest to scold him for indulging his self-destrictive habits in your own bed.

The pack is three quarters finished by the time you get home, the cigarette between his fingers is all but crushed flat as he watches you slip off your shoes and take soft steps towards him until you stand between his knees.

A myriad of comments sit behind his teeth, ready to be spit in your face. Wanting to ask if youre done with your childish charade and gotten it all out of your system, or maybe you've finally cracked because youre so lonely you can't help but come to him for a proper fuck because nobody will make you feel like he does.

But he says none of it. Simon Riley simply waits, and stares at you with tired eyes like a discarded shelter dog.

"I'm tired, Simon."

Your voice, my God had he missed it so much, sounds almost raw to his ears. A rasp to it that makes him wonder if you'd been crying.

Beneath the guilt, a sick part of him, just big enough to whisper above his conscience, feels a satisfaction in knowing he matters enough for you to shed tears in his name.

"I know."

"I don't like this. I don't like feeling like-" your words die in your throat as your face begins to scrunch up, forcing the whine in the back of your mouth to halt so you can uphold the facade of strength and resilience you told yourself you would on the car ride over here.

But then you look down and see the tired eyes of the man you don't know what to call to you and feel yourself wanting nothing more than to crumble in his arms.

“I know.”

A scarred hand gently grasps your thigh, slowly guiding you closer until you fold into his lap. Your own hands rise to cup his face, savoring the way he leans into your touch.

"We can't keep doing this."

"I know."

Despite his lack of words, you hear him perfectly.

You know he'll say sorry. He knows you'll say it as well. He'll tell you he's going to try and you'll accept it.

He knows he'll fuck it up again. As do you.

But now, as you tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder and pretend to not feel him shake and tremble in your arms, he vows to himself to make sure he never drives you to silence again.

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | ix

Broken hearts and bruised feelings make for an ugly pairing.

Read part eight here

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader, sam kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 16.4K

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it), fingering, oral (m&f receiving), exhibitionism, public sex, impact play, spit play, temperature play, dom/sub, touch of bratty sub, praise, degradation, soft sex, angst, fighting, mentions of alcoholism/alcoholic tendencies, drinking, swearing, crying, v emotional chapter, sorry if i miss any!

heres chapter nine a little early, just cause I feel so bad for being horrible at posting 😁 also I am living for the speculation on the story; you all have very intriguing ideas to share. as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes! (cause there’s def lots, this is incredibly lightly edited)

Music boomed in your ears and your chest burned with heat from your last shot. Dylan and Riley were fighting against their disgust for the tequila, nursing a lime wedge in their mouths as their eyes watered with regret. You placed your own wedge in the shot glass, barely wincing as the alcohol moved to your stomach. You had become accustomed to the sensation, and it was no different than the scratch of cigarette smoke on the back of your throat. If anything, the otherworldly ache from substance was much easier to digest than the permanent pain that settled in your heart. But, to you, another night of drowning out the sorrow was infinitely better than speaking the trouble into existence, even if you knew you would wake up feeling worse than the morning before.

Days had passed since your first show in Atlanta. It had gone without a hitch; the only thing you wished to change was the length of time you were allowed to spend on stage. Performing was your new purpose, your driving force for getting out of bed and surviving the day. It was something you had been searching for since you moved to Nashville, and you had finally found the feeling outside of another human being. The world seemed perfect if you were an outsider looking in, but perfect was subject, and your life was far from it. You had your dream job, more money than you ever dreamed of as a child, and more love pouring in than ever before, but you were still miserable. So miserable that drinking away the day served as more comfort than sobriety, lately.

Gold Dust Woman had become you; the name fitting better than it ever had. Elusive and empty, always searching for a thrill in a bottle, and seemingly unable to find a purpose. You felt like you were walking aimlessly, showing up to venues solely for the sake of entertaining. When the hotel doors closed and you found yourself alone again, any sense of self was gone without a trace. Mirrors had become the enemy, always seeming to showcase the emptiness you held behind your eyes, taunting you with unfamiliarities that you did not have the energy to change. You were lost within the mess of the rockstar lifestyle, and the blame was only on you.

You had turned volatile and distant, a shell of who you used to be. Unfortunately, it was not the pressure of the music industry, nor the lack of rules and enhanced freedom that you had gained. In truth, that was very low on your list of reasons for feeling so poorly. The reality was that your dance with the devil had finally caught up to you. The brothers had moved in for the kill, successful in their strike. Entertaining love from both of them had always been tiresome, but now you were exhausted. It was not loving them that was difficult, rather the fact that you loved them so much, and so equally. Now, there was no chance of escaping them, even just for a moment. You lived with them, travelled with them, and worked with them every minute of the day. Most of the time, your closed hotel door room did not even stop them from invading your life.

Sam was persistent, always around in attempt to win your heart for good. Jake, on the other hand, was absent once more. This separation was not at his hands, though. You had refused any further contact after the debacle of the nameless bimbo at the Atlanta venue. You had no way to express it, but the pain you were holding from that interaction was debilitating, and it was only worsened when you looked at him. You understood that his intent was to hurt you in the same way he was hurting, but he struck nerves that you didn’t even realize existed. You weren’t official with either boy, but had always been under the pretence of at least being committed. Perhaps your jealousy and anger was misplaced, but even if it was, it was still very present in your mind.

You were certain he knew the affect of his actions, and you were sure he felt remorseful about it. However, you had never allowed him the chance to express his apologies even if he did want to make amends. Every conversation he initiated was quickly shot down, every touch was evaded, and every longing glance was not returned. You tried to appear uncaring, but the truth was you cared too much. You weren’t sure if this stood for the ending of your relationship with Jake, but it was certainly a bump in the road that threw you violently off course.

Your hurt lied within the fact that Jake and Sam both knew the truth about the situation; they continued to try and win you over while knowing that you were seeing both of them at the same time. You, however, were not under the impression that the brothers would be entertaining anyone else. If Jake had flirted with another girl in good faith, maybe you would have been more likely to forgive and forget. Instead, he only used the woman to bother you. She was a weapon meant to shatter your ego, and it did exactly that. His childish endeavour was harmless in theory, mostly because you knew he did not take her home that night. Even if he did spend the entire evening immersed in her, it ended as soon as you both walked out of the door of the venue. The issue was not the innocent flirting; it was the fact he had done it solely to hurt you, and hurt you he did.

Seeing him entertaining advances from another person reminded you of where you sat all those months ago, pining after Sam while he had girls tripping over themselves to get his attention. It put you directly back into the state you were in when you were desperate for Sam’s attention, crying and hurting every night over someone who refused to acknowledge your existence in any way other than friendly. It made you feel small, insignificant and shattered your entire self worth. Perhaps he was trying to make you see things through his eyes, but he had no idea it would burn you as bad as it truly did. Being second to someone else was normal for you, but having gone so long without feeling that way, you seemed to have forgotten how much it sucked. Outwardly, you were furious, but deep down, all of the anger was nothing short of an act to cover the sound of your own breaking heart.

You missed him terribly, but not enough to give in so easily. You were determined to reach a lesson, and so far it had been working well. Although both of you were nearly unbearable to be around, the message was definitely portrayed in the way you intended, and that was enough to keep you in moderately good spirits. “Another one, please.” You told the bartender, closing your eyes for a moment to regain your senses. Thinking about Jake for too long seemed to heighten your blood pressure and prompt a migraine. You loved him, but in the same way a dog stays loyal to the owner who inflicts pain on it. You had one hell of a knack for self punishment, and you almost seemed desperate to be hurt by him. Instead of cutting it off completely, you continued to string each other along in the most painful way possible.

Loving him from a distance was excruciating, but loving him fully was even worse. Your feelings for Jake were so intense that it was hard to comprehend, but you seemed to be angry at each other more than you were happy with each other. You couldn’t help but appreciate how simple things had been with Sam, and even when you were annoyed with each other, it never seemed quite as catastrophic. Comparing the two brothers in any sense was something you had sworn not to do, but at the end of each day that passed, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep them separate.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” He said, placing the shot in front of you. The term of endearment sent a shiver down your spine, immediately reminding you of the boy who you were desperate to forget about. He was an addiction, one that you knew was killing you, but you couldn’t figure out how to give him up. It was selfish, but on the list of sins you had committed over the course of your relationships with the boys, greed one of the lesser injustices.

“Thank you,” you placed the cool glass to your lips, tilting your head back and swallowing the liquid. Without as much as a wince, you sat the glass back on the table and popped the lime in your mouth to satiate the burn. “Can I get a double rum and coke, too?” You had been drinking since before the show, but you were yet to feel even a buzz. You opted to pick up the pace, hoping if it wouldn’t wipe your memory clean, it would at least lull you to sleep later.

“Do you think I’m strong enough to carry you home?” Dylan asked, giving you an incredulous look at the sound of your order.

“No, but it would be funny to watch you try.” You chuckled, slipping your fingers around your drink and bringing the straw to your lips.

“You’ve been drinking since this morning. How are you still standing?” Riley asked, joining the conversation.

“Talent.” You smiled, looking to the booth that held the rest of your company. “I’m going to play pool.” You announced, not waiting for them to follow before moving towards the crowded area. You picked a cue off the wall, scanning the tables in hopes of finding a group that was looking for an extra. Better yet, your gaze landed upon a vacant table that was up for grabs. You moved towards it, setting your drink on the corner and arranging the balls.

You shot the cue ball, breaking the rack of the other balls. They scattered across the green surface of the table, one landing in the corner pocket and the rest slowing to a stop before they could reach.

You made a move to line up another shot, focusing on the ball and sinking it effortlessly. You straightened up, scanning for your next target, when you felt a body present itself at the end of the table. “Nice shot,” without any deeper analysis, you could tell that the compliment was laced with deeper meaning. The conversation starter was not because of your drunken talent, rather because he was desperate for you to speak to him. You did not acknowledge him, opting to brush past him and shoot at another ball. At your rejection, you thought he might head back to the booth to sulk, but you were never lucky, especially when it came to Jake. “I’d love to join. You know, if you don’t want to keep playing yourself.” He offered.

You made a move back to your drink, refusing to even look him in the eye. Instead, you shot another ball into a corner pocket, the slam of the cue against the ball exaggerating your feeling of distaste for his company. He watched, unsure of what to say to make things better. He knew he had done wrong, and it was haunting him. His moment of gratification from your shock was not worth losing you for good, and if he could take back the pain he caused, he would without hesitation. Despite his regret, he was beginning to get fed up with your lack of communication. His hot-headed nature was quickly surfacing, and he could only keep his composure for so long.

“Come on, y/n. Cut the shit.” He snapped, finally losing the temper he’d been so desperate to keep hold of. At the sound of his tone, your head shot up in anger, pupils clouded with a flame of rage. “You can’t ignore me forever.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of, Jake.” You snipped, knuckles turning white from the tight grip you had around the wooden cue.

“Oh, I know, Gold Dust Woman.” He said, never breaking your gaze. Your heart was erratic in your chest and the alcohol in your system was not particularly intoxicating you, but it was definitely worsening your emotional state.

“That’s your problem, Jake. You know everything, don’t you?” You sneered. “You’ve got it all figured out, and we just live in this world that Jacob created and we have to be happy about it because he thinks he’s fucking god.” You slammed the cue back on the rack, finished with your lighthearted game and finding yourself overdue for a departure.

“So you want to fight?” He chuckled, peering down at you with a hint of curiosity in his face. “Let’s fight, sweetheart. I’ve got all night.”

“I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to speak to you at all, but you can’t seem to take the fucking hint.” You picked up your drink and began walking away, done with the conversation before it ever really started. You were in no state of mind to hash out your thoughts or settle the matter, and you weren’t willing to channel the energy to get there.

“I want to talk, y/n. That’s the point. You can’t have it your way all of the time, even if you’re so used to getting it.” You chugged back the last of the liquid in your cup, sitting the glass on the counter as you signalled the bartender towards you. “The world has more than just you in it.”

“Another double, please.” You said, disregarding Jake’s words completely. “And I’d like to close out, if I can.” He gave a nod, compliant with your request.

“I’ll get it.” Jake announced, brushing you to the side as the bartender sat the debit machine in front of you. He was mad, but it did not forego his feelings for you, nor his need to take care of you. “And mine, too.”

“Fuck off, Jake.” You warned, reaching to grab it before he could. He looked to you, eyes all but red with anger, clearly showcasing that he was more than done with your tyrant.

“Behave,” he muttered, just low enough for you to hear. Even as upset as you were, his words prompted a rush of arousal straight through you. Jake being an asshole somehow equated to sexual desire in your mind, and despite your contempt, you would have been willing to let him have his way with you right then and there. You watched as he paid, turned on but careful to not be forgetful of the fire in your heart. “Let’s go.” He turned to you, eyeing the drink in your hand as a silent order to finish it quickly.

“I’m not going home with you.” You let out a laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculous request. You sipped through the straw, watching as the theoretical smoke began pouring from his ears at your disobedience. You may have been intrigued at his dominance, but not enough to push your feelings to the side. By having sex with him, you would only allow the painful debacle to continue without any repercussions. “I don’t even want to talk to you. Do you really think I want to fuck you?” Something snapped deep inside him, like the fuse to the bomb had finally whittled away to the end.

“I’m not asking, y/n. Finish your fucking drink and get outside.” There was no hidden implications within his message this time; he wasn’t using your high emotion as leverage for a night long session. He wanted to fight, too, even if he tried to pass it off as a mature discussion. You shot him a glare, but chugged down the carbonated beverage like it was holy water, knowing that it would be the night’s only salvation. You sat the cup on the counter and turned without another word.

Back at the booth, Dylan and Danny were watching with fear settled deep in their spines, worried that when they made their return back to the hotel, there would be no building left to sleep in. Jakes need for control and your fiery temper was not a good mix, and that was true without the added effects of the liquor you both had been gorging yourselves on. Danny was certain that Jake’s antics with the nameless woman at the venue would cause nothing but trouble, and Dylan was there to pick up the pieces after the devastation struck. They knew how catastrophic the situation could be, and they weren’t sure how to stop the inevitable.

“They’re going back together, aren’t they?” Josh asked, tipsy and almost laughing at the thought. He wasn’t even facing the door, but he didn’t need to see you to know what you were up to.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Danny chuckled.

“It’s Jake,” he rolled his eyes, as if it were obvious. “I can feel how angry he is all the way over here. He’s not going to let her go home without him.” The three settled into a shared laugh at the thought.

“Use your twin telepathy every now and then and tell me how they’re doing, okay?” Dylan asked, laughing but still worried about the scene that might unfold. Josh peeked over his shoulder in just enough time to catch Jake swing the door open for you, his grip nearly breaking the wooden panel as he held it. The emotion radiating from the both of you was heavy enough to fill the entire room, leaving no empty space for any questions or concerns.

“They’ll either never speak to each other again, or they’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.” Josh deducted, knowing no better way to explain his thoughts. Dylan heaved a heavy sigh, slinking back into the booth and closing her eyes. Danny snaked an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side in hopes to ease her worry, but all three of them were praying for the best possible outcome.

The night was cold on your exposed skin; the flimsy fabric of your tattered shirt sprawled with a worn band logo was not enough to insulate any heat. Your jeans were littered with rips and holes, leaving your legs vulnerable, too. The alcohol coursing through you was doing nothing to aid your temperature, and your teeth were chattering as soon as the bar door shut behind you. Wordlessly, Jake followed you as you stormed away. He never let you get too far, but kept a respectable distance from you. He didn’t want you running off, or for anyone to intercept the two of you. His arms-length distance was suitable for his comfort, but he didn’t want to crowd you, either. Even in his anger, he was always mindful of your safety and comfortability.

“Take my jacket, y/n.” He said, watching your draw your arms across your chest to preserve any body heat left in you.

“I don’t want your stupid jacket.” You replied, picking up the pace as you trundled down the sidewalk.

“Not asking,” he reminded, slipping it off his shoulders as he followed.

“Stop trying to take care of me!” You exploded, turning to him quicker than he could comprehend. He halted his movement in attempt to stop himself from running into you, still processing the sudden change when you started to speak again. “It’s not your job, Jake! I never asked you to, and I don’t want you to!” His scowl was heavy, unsettling and so unlike anything you’d seen from him before.

“I don’t care.” He said, looking down at you with little fear of your outburst. “I don’t care if you want me to, y/n. Don’t care if you asked, don’t care if it’s my job. I’m always going to do it, because I care about you. Now take the fucking jacket, and keep walking. You can yell at me all you want when we get inside.” You found yourself caught in a staring contest with him, both fuming but neither willing to give in. He raised an eyebrow, moving his arm to shove the jacket a little closer to you. With a clenched jaw, you snatched it from his hand and draped it over your shoulders. He didn’t think to utter a thanks, and you didn’t stay long enough to notice if he did.

The hotel lobby was vacant when you tumbled through the doors in disarray. The clerk at the front desk seemed like they were eager to greet you, but decided not to once they saw the expression you adorned. You rushed to the elevator, pressing the button as many times as your hand would allow. When the doors opened, you bustled inside and clicked the button to your floor, hoping the doors would close in his face. When they began to slide together, Jake caught up to you in enough time to stick his hand between them and send them flying open again. You rolled your eyes as he made his presence known, wondering why he felt the need to stand so close to you. In truth, he was all the way across the elevator, yet your intoxication and annoyance made it seem like he was nose to nose with you.

When a ding rang through the air signaling your arrival on the top floor, you couldn’t seem to get away fast enough. He stayed close behind, knowing that if he let you get to your room and close the door, you would never let him in. His inkling was not incorrect, as that was your exact plan. You thought if you could gain some distance, you would be able to lock the door and sulk in peace. You flashed your key card against the reader, twisting the knob and pushing inward in one swift motion. You opened the door so fast that you almost fell in and onto the floor, but kept your footing just to get the satisfaction of slamming the door in his face. When you turned to close the door, you were joyous when you didn’t see Jake immediately behind you. You thought you were in the clear, but just before you could bridge the gap, he stuck his foot between the frame and the door itself.

“Take a hint,” you huffed, out of breath from his pursuit.

“Would you give it up?” He snapped. “Let me in. I’m not leaving things like this. I’m not leaving you like this.” He refused to move out of the way, his foot planted firmly on the ground so you couldn’t lock him out.

“Then you can sit out there all night.” You challenged, sending another shove on the handle. He let out a hiss of pain as his foot was jammed in the opening, making the foolish decision to withdraw. Seizing the opportunity, you managed to latch the door shut without any further struggle. Jake felt a wave of frustration wash over him, letting his forehead fall flat against the solid door, sending the thumping sound through your room. You felt a sob rising in your throat, disgusted with yourself and the situation you found yourself in. You, too let your head fall against the door; both of you assumed the position, wishing you were leaning on each other to feel the warmth of comfort. Instead, stubborn and determined to be right, you left your hand on the knob with no intent to open it again. The yearning was so strong that you could both feel it clearly even through the blockage of oak wood.

“I know you’re mad at me, y/n, and I know why.” His words were muffled, but you could hear him clear as day. When it came to the sweet tone of his voice, you would strain to listen until you were left deaf and defeated. “Let me fix it, please.” You didn’t answer, instead felt the tears slip down your cheeks as you pictured the lingering pain he was holding in his features. He hurt you, and you were hurting him. It was an evil thing to entertain a relationship when you were both bound to destroy each other. Love was an ugly motivator, and it had left you both feeling alone much more often than it ever left you happy.

“I don’t want to fix it, Jake. I just want it to stop.” Perhaps your poor mood was clouding the level of drunkenness you were experiencing; now that the rage had settled into a dull ache, your head was swimming with intoxication. You weren’t sure what you were thinking, or feeling. All you knew was that it hurt, and it hurt unbearably bad. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“If you’re ending this, at least do it to my face.” The crack in his voice was unmistakable, his fear louder than any other emotion shared that night. “Please, Gold Dust Woman. Don’t end things like this.” You cheeks were already streaked with mascara, your skin damp with the physical remains of your mistakes. You wanted it to stop hurting, but you didn’t know how to put an end to it. Walking away was tempting, but the emptiness in your heart prompted from the thought alone was enough to make you stay. “Let me in. You can yell, or scream, or break things. I don’t care, just let me in.”

“I can’t let you in, Jake. Don’t you get that?” You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip, holding back the urge to cry out. “Every time I do, it hurts. It shouldn’t be painful to love you.” You were both too caught up in your breaking hearts to notice the declaration of love that you had let slip. “You said intimacy isn’t easy, and I know that, but it shouldn’t hurt this bad.”

“Open the fucking door,” he pleaded, jiggling the handle as he begged for your cooperation. “Y/n, I will break this door down if I have to.” His desperation was evident, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being in tears and him not being there to hold you. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, despite his previous promises of being a good sport if the situation turned on him. Love had crazed him, and he was too weak to fight it anymore.

You took a step away, looking to the whiskey bottle decorating your nightstand like a trophy of despair. If heartbreak were a competition, you would be in the lead. You reached for it, taking a long drink to satisfy the ache in your heart. You were so lost within suffering that you weren’t even certain what you were hurting over anymore. Yes, Jake had shattered you with his careless flirting, but it had grown far beyond his mistakes. Months of hurting from being stuck between the brothers was breaking you down, leaving nothing left but a mess of guilt and sorrow. You were on the brink of insanity, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take before inevitably spiralling out of control. You had no idea who you were, nor where you were going. Time was blur and you were just a pawn within the game, floating through while life happened around you. When he wiggled the handle one more time, the guilt from pushing him away became too much. You took two long strides to the door, using a single finger to pull down the handle, just enough to set the latch free. It took him a moment to process your action, but once he did, he swung the door open like it was the gate to hell.

Sandalwood filled the room, and it’s cold hands reached out for you with a mask of invitation. When you gave in to it, showing signs of weakness, the fingers clasped around your neck in a violent hold. It was enough to bring you to your knees, enough to make you beg for more, even while knowing it would eventually be the very thing that would take your life. You looked to meet his eyes, but neither of you were ready to run to each other in apology. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand with a heavy heart. “Start talking.” He kicked the door shut behind him, but did not move any closer to you.

“You don’t get to come in here and start barking orders.” You shook your head, chuckling as you raised your hand to wipe your cheeks clean of any painful evidence.

“Would you rather have it your way? I can stand in the hallway and wait. Maybe by the morning you’ll sober up enough to talk to me.” He tried his best to keep cool, but he had never felt so much emotion course through his veins at once. Every possible worry was swimming in his head, leaving him desperate for some sort of relief.

“You’re such a self-righteous prick.” You scoffed, slamming the bottle down on the table. “It’s okay when you get pissed off at me and ignore me for three days, but when I do it, it’s the end of the world?” You looked up, finally catching sight of his face. “Sorry, I forgot you’re the only person in the world who’s allowed to feel things.”

“No, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I think you might have things a little mixed up. I dont go around picking fights at the bar in front of everyone. I’m not the one locking you out in the hallway and making you look like an idiot.” He cocked his head to the side, the look in his eye dangerous. You were both volatile, barely needing to be provoked to explode.

“Oh, so it’s an appearance thing! God forbid Jake looks a little silly, I forgot it’s not good for his image when somebody calls him on his shit.” You seethed. “Sorry I ruined your mystical elusive bullshit, or that I made you admit you can feel something deeper than sexual. It’s about time that I realize that it’s part of the rockstar charm to make someone fall for you and then keep them guessing if you feel the same way.”

“Guessing?” He fumed, taking a step towards you. “You really have to guess if I care about you or not?” You stood, just as willing to challenge him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t letting random bimbo’s feel you up at concerts.” You snapped. “Or is that your backup plan? Love some brotherly competition but not when it gets too tough?”

“You know that’s not true, y/n.” He warned, pointing his finger at you to solidify his truth. “I fucked up. I get it, and I feel like shit about it. I’ll say I’m sorry a million times if I have to, but you don’t get to accuse me of that.”

“I don’t get to?” You reiterated, trying to understand his words. “You deliberately went out of your way to make me jealous. You stood there, dangling her off your arm like a shiny trophy for what? Leverage? A way of telling me that I’m easily replaceable? Or as a way to tell me that you don’t think I’m good enough?” You tried to fight the wavering tone, tears threatening to make another appearance and ruin your moment of power. “You don’t get to be mad, Jake. You don’t get to be upset over something you started. I understand that this whole thing hasn’t been sunshine and rainbows, but you started it! You got me into bed that night knowing I loved him, and you didn’t care about any repercussions! I can’t keep feeling like shit over an outcome you knew would happen!”

“I get to be mad!” He boomed, moving even closer. “I get to be upset, I’m allowed to hurt, I’m allowed to feel everything that you feel, because I’m a fucking person, too!” You were both yelling, uncaring of the late hour or the neighbouring rooms likely filled with sleeping people. “I get to fuck up, and I get to say sorry, just like you do! Just because I signed up for the pain doesn’t mean it feels nice to see you in his arms!”

“Why doesn’t it feel nice, Jake?” You hissed. “Is it because you love me, or is it just because you don’t want him to have me?” He gave you a bewildered look, stunned by your question. It caught him so off guard that the malice temporarily fled him.

“What?”

“You keep acting like you’re innocent, that this whole thing started because you were so enamoured with me, but it’s just not true, is it?” You raised an eyebrow, watching the flood of disdain wash over his face. “That baggage is awfully heavy, Jacob, even if you think you’re carrying it well. This pissing contest with Sam is way bigger than just me. You let me wallow in the guilt and feel like the worst person in the world because I fell for both of you, but you get off on it, don’t you? The thrill of taking something from your brother?” He straightened up, watching you with a fervour. His expression was deadly, eyes dangerous and warning you to stop before you took it too far.

“Y/n,” his voice was low, the tone calm but covering a mountain of red. He was vibrating at the accusation, and was pleading with you to yield. Their history was always left unspoken, and you voicing it back to him did nothing but bring up years worth of pain he’d been desperately trying to forget.

“Do you like passing girls back and fourth? Stealing them right from each others bed and ruining them, just so you two can make up and hug it out later?” He took a step towards you, silent but deadly. “Is it fun? Do you get a good thrill from it? Do you think you can do it forever, or that you’ll always get away with it, and you and Sam can live happily in your little fucked up world?”

“Stop talking, sweetheart,” he said, looking down at you and hoping you would see reason. You were chest to chest, the tension too high to withstand.

“Just answer the fucking question. Do you love me, or do you just love the idea of him not having me?” He didn’t respond, nor did he move an inch. You were yelling in his face, crazed for the truth, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all. “Tell me, Jake! Because I can’t take this anymore! I can’t keep running back and fourth. It never mattered if I made a decision or not, because you two will never fucking stop! I care about you so much, but it just feels like you both only care about beating each other in your twisted little game. I can’t keep falling without knowing someone is going to be there to catch me, because it’s killing me! This is killing me, and it’s never seemed to bother either of you-“ you were cut off by his hand raising and his fingers gently clasping around your neck, silencing any further thoughts.

“You talk a lot, Gold Dust Woman.” He noted, jaw hard set and nostrils flared with rage as he tried to keep it buried under the surface. “If you would shut the fuck up for a minute, maybe I could answer your ridiculous questions.” You watched him, angry but having no fear of him or that he would hurt you. You gave him a slow blink, showing him that you were willing to listen if he was ready to say something meaningful. “If I let go, are you going to behave?” You blinked again, answering his question sufficiently. He slowly released his hold, studying your face for any sign you would start your tyranny again.

“You really think that I like watching him love you? That it’s fun to know you’re tangled in his sheets, with his name painted across your lips?” You didn’t respond, giving him his own moment to voice his feelings. “It’s worse than torture, y/n. Sitting at home at night, or in my hotel room, knowing that I don’t get to hold you, or tell you exactly how I feel about you. You don’t get to tell me if I’m allowed to hurt, and you don’t get to put words into my mouth to make it sound like I’m a piece of shit. You have never been a game to me. What I feel for you has never been anything but true. Sure, maybe I don’t know how to show it all of the time, and maybe I should learn how to talk about my feelings, but you have no right to say that I don’t fucking care about you.” You felt a flash of regret as he spoke, seeing the sincerity underneath the hard exterior. It was so profound that it made your chest ache just hearing it. You couldn’t imagine the pain he was feeling while professing it.

“You think you’re forgettable? Or that you’re not good enough for me? Like I’m trying to find someone to take your spot once I move on?” His face was hovering over your own, tone condescending and filled with accusatory undertones. You wanted to be angry, but you knew that you had done the exact same thing to him. “Fucking answer me.” He barked, eyes burning into you.

“I… I did, yeah. That’s how it made me feel.” You whispered, voice cracking at the thought of his arm around another girl. “It killed me, Jake, and I had to get up on stage and pretend that you hadn’t just ripped my heart out of my chest.”

“Forgetting you has never been an option for me. I’ve been trying since the day I met you, and even more so after I saw the stars dancing in your eyes every single time you looked at him.” Him. Jake didn’t have to say the name for you to know who he was referring to. Jake had been struggling with inferiority long before you’d ever graced him with your touch, and he was finally reaching a breaking point. Every time he saw you and Sam together, it was like a stab to an already open wound. “I don’t know who made you feel like you weren’t good enough, or why they would ever make you feel like that, but you are more than enough for me. So good that it fucking kills me. You’re worse than any addiction I can imagine, and there is nothing after you, y/n. No girls lined up or anything like it, none that even catch my eye, because it’s all you, and it always has been. You are everything to me.” He tried to keep his stern demeanour, but his strength was wavering at the thought of his own love for you.

“I’m not going to stand here and talk down about him, because I don’t know how he feels or what he’s thinking. All I know is that I have been crazy about you since the first time I laid eyes on you, and I still am. I don’t know how to show you, but I have been trying in any way I know how. Yeah, I started this, and sometimes I wish I didn’t, but it has never been because I don’t want you.”

“If we care so much, why is this so fucking hard all of the time!” You exploded, unable to process everything he was saying to you. “If we like being together, why are we always mad at each other!” Your words were not particularly posed as a question, but rather a statement. “At first it was exciting, and the passion kept things interesting, but now it’s fucking exhausting.”

“Because that’s what happens when people care about each other, y/n! You fight, you feel things you don’t normally feel, and everything is a million times harder, especially when you can’t have each other!” He was frustrated, and that was clear. You still weren’t sure how you felt, or if the anger had dissipated enough for you to move on. You knew you were still upset, but there was a small voice in your head begging for you to reach out and hold him, that it would solve all of your problems and you would wake up in the morning without any more pain as long as you woke up next to him.

“Is that your way of asking?”

“Asking what?” He snapped, tired of the back and fourth.

“To love me.” You clarified, your heart erratic as the words left your mouth. He seemed to stop breathing for a moment, shocked at your words. “Because if it is, it fucking sucks.”

“I have been asking you that every single day, y/n.” He corrected. “In everything I do, and everything I say, but you won’t let me.”

“Because it’s not supposed to be this hard, Jake. The yelling, the ignoring, the jealousy and the pushing each other away. It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“Then leave.” He snapped. “Or tell me to leave! If you don’t think this is right, or if you don’t want me, stop pretending you do.” You managed to shake your head at his outburst, terrified that he would step closer, and even more terrified that he would step back. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t seem to let the words pass through your lips. It was tantalizing to love him so deeply but have no idea how to express it.

“I can’t.”

“What’s stopping you?” He scowled. “Why are you so scared to say it? It’s a four letter word, y/n. It won’t hurt you, and I’m sure it’ll feel so much better to get it out.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You hissed, placing your palm on his chest and pushing him backwards. You stepped away, making a move towards the bottle of whiskey on your nightstand. He stepped towards it, too, cutting you off and grabbing it before you could lay your hands on it. You turned your head, shooting him a glare that was piercing enough to disturb his soul.

“Or do you think you’re some kind of martyr?” He hummed, a smirk breaking out on his lips. “You’re so worked up because you’re projecting, aren’t you? Mad at us for playing with you, but you’ve been been the biggest con artist of all.” A rush of fear ran through you, your palms sweaty and your blood cold. “Who told you about Sam and I?” He pressed, finally calling out the most crucial piece to the puzzle.

“It doesn’t matter,” you reached for the alcohol, but he moved his hand so you couldn’t grab it from him.

“Maybe we aren’t the only ones who’ve been up to no good, hmm?” He raised an eyebrow, placing the bottle to his lips and taking a slow drink of the amber liquid. “Have you been trying to teach us a lesson, Gold Dust Woman?” He asked, the bottle barely free from his lips before he spoke again. You averted your gaze, nervous that he’d picked up on your plan so easily. “You’re not innocent either, sweetheart.” He picked up on your expression easily, his question answered without any further confirmation needed. “Tell me, baby. Lying won’t help you now.” His smirk turned into a twisted little smile, thrilled that he finally managed to figure you out.

“You can’t outdo the master,” you muttered, knowing that you had learned that lesson long before that moment. “So it never really mattered, anyway.”

“We all lost, angel. There was never going to be a winner, and you know that.”

“So why are you still trying?” You shot, fed up with his game and ready to retire.

“Why are you?” He responded, stalemating you once more. You stared at him, no words surfacing in your brain that seemed fitting for an answer. “Seems like that little four letter word would solve all of the problems once again. It may even be the answer to all of our questions, too.” You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, knowing that he was right; if you could admit to what you both were feeling, perhaps the pain would be obsolete.

“Give me the bottle, Jake.” You diverted the conversation again, reaching out with annoyance. He pulled his hand away again, shaking his head. You didn’t like the mischievous glint in his eye. It was very clearly telling you that he was no longer interested in talking things over. The demeanour shifted, and the tension in the air quickly turned sexual. He wanted to solve the problems in the best way he knew how, and you were never one to deny him of a wish.

“Now, why would I do that?” He smirked. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, and you’ve been nothing but bad.” He noted, taking a step closer to you. “I love discovering your secrets, Gold Dust Woman. They’re always so much fun.” His tone dropped and he took a step towards you, backing you up onto the bed. When the backs of your knees collided with the mattress, you sat down and looked up at him. Your stomach was burning with desire; your anger still lingering, but almost completely overtaken by hunger for him. It did not take much for Jake to turn you into a mess for him, and seemed like it was his favourite thing to do.

“We can’t use sex to try and fix everything, Jake.” You fought it, but your retaliation was weak. You knew that sex with him could cure even the worst of ailments. It could turn dust into gold and even water into wine. Jake’s trade was sex, and he was the master of it. If you had doubt about anything, it surely wasn’t that. Worst of all, it was completely irresistible.

“I’m not trying to fix anything with sex, angel. I am fixing it, and I’m starting with your shitty attitude.” He explained, already expecting you to know that. “You’ve been sneaky, running around and trying to teach us something that we already know all about. You think this is fun for us? That we enjoy it?”

“N-no,” you shook your head, mouth practically watering at the idea of him. It had been so long since you had a moment alone with him that you almost forgot how enchanting he was.

“You really think that I’m doing this because it’s exciting, or because I get a thrill from stealing you from him?” You didn’t respond, because both of you knew that you had been feeling exactly that. “Am I really going to have to show you how much I care about you?” He mumbled to himself, admiring your face despite his distaste for your actions. “Before anything, I think I might need to remind you of who’s in charge, here. Seems like you forgot that you don’t get to speak to me like that.” With his free hand, he undid the buckle of his belt, smiling at the sight your face. He slowly slipped the leather from the loops of his jeans, carefully sitting it on the bed beside you, hoping to remind you of his love for using it. “Does that sound okay to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, willing to submit to him as an apology for your earlier actions. In your anger, you had thrown some hurtful accusations his way, one’s that weren’t anywhere near the truth. You were willing to stay in line as long as he didn’t push you too far.

“Good girl,” the small praise sent a rush of arousal through you. “You want some?” He questioned, lifting the bottle of whiskey into your line of vision. Almost as soon as the flame died down, he reignited it worse than it burned before.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking dog,” you snapped, your expression of excitement quickly twisting into a scowl. Unfortunately for you, Jake’s favourite pastime was pushing your buttons, but he wasn’t willing to stand the backtalk. He took his free hand and clasped your cheeks between his fingers, holding your mouth shut in a way much less than gentle.

“I can talk to you however I want, sweetheart.” He warned, eyes hard and lacking any sympathy. “I asked you a question. Do you want some of this?” He tried again, his words slow and impactful. Your gaze flickered from his face to the bottle, teeth grinding together in anger as you nodded your head. “Then open your fucking mouth.” He relaxed his grip on your face, allowing you to obey his command. With little hesitation, you slackened your jaw and parted your lips, expecting him to pour the liquid straight into your mouth. Instead, he brought the bottle to his own mouth, taking a sip and setting it down on the table again.

His lips upturned into a small smile when he looked down and saw your shocked expression. Despite not expecting it, you were intrigued by his intentions. He let his fingers slide down to your chin, tilting your head upwards and holding you in place. He leaned forward, close enough so he wouldn’t miss his target, but distant enough to deprive you of any other touch. Slowly, he let the liquid trickle from his lips into your mouth, neither of you moving until all of the whiskey was dancing around your own tongue. He closed your mouth for you, leaning down a bit further so his lips were ghosting over your own.

“Swallow,” he hummed, encouraging you a little. You did as he asked, feeling the warmth spread through your chest and settle in your stomach. “That’s my girl.” He spoke as his eyes fluttered closed. In appreciation for your obedience, he pulled you in for a kiss. The liquor was still potent on his skin, adding to the intoxicating feeling of kissing him. After all, Jake would not be so familiar if he lacked the scent of sandalwood laced with whiskey, and he would not be so familiar if you did not find yourself drunk off a single kiss. He pulled away, almost unwilling to part with you, but straightened up despite his dismay. “Stand up.”

You rose to your feet, head still spinning with the previous events and a growing ache between your legs that only he knew how to satiate. He cupped your cheek in his hand, drawing you into another kiss. As he did so, he slipped his jacket from your shoulders and discarded it on the floor. He let his hands rest on your hips just below the hem of your shirt, both of you growing more desperate with every second that passed. When he broke away, he took little time to pull your shirt over your head. The air was cool on your skin, but you knew it wouldn’t take long for him to warm you up again. With expert precision, he unbuttoned your jeans and allowed you to slide out of them.

He took a moment to admire you while you stood nearly fully exposed before him. “On the bed,” he ordered, fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. As much as you felt like you couldn’t resist him, he felt it for you a million times more. Jake was such a fool for you that his love for dominance meant little to nothing to him, and he would give it up in a heartbeat if he knew he could please you by doing so. You quickly turned, shuffling into the mattress with your back to him and got on your hands and knees. You knew him well enough to know how he wanted you, and he did not have the patience for you to ask him, anyway. He took a few steps towards you, his palm landing on your lower back in a sweet touch. He let his fingers drift over your skin, savouring the feeling of having you so intimately. His touch eventually landed on your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze before beginning his own tyrant.

“So, what is it, baby? What’s got you so worked up?” He asked, voice low and feigning concern. “Was it the girl at the concert?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, not sure why he was bringing her up, now. You thought you had made your point abundantly clear.

“You were jealous,” he noted, an air of cockiness in his voice. His hands were still dancing over your exposed skin, as if he was trying to familiarize himself with you again. “Right?”

“Yes,” you sighed, hating yourself for being so worked up over the incident.

“Because you thought she would get to have me like this?” His question seemed sincere, like he was genuinely trying to get to the bottom of the issue. “That I would treat her the same way I treat you?”

“I… yeah, I guess.” You admitted, feeling defeated and knowing there was no way out of this situation without explaining yourself. The whole reason you didn’t want to talk to him was not because you enjoyed being without him, but because you were terrible at explaining your feelings. You had no idea how to express your distaste for his actions, and you didn’t want to look like a fool trying to do so.

“Tell me how you feel, angel. I want to know.” He was coaxing the answer from you with sweetness, and when he had you in such a position, it wasn’t hard to do.

“Hurt,” you answered, but you both already knew that. It was the nights main topic. “It hurt seeing someone else touching you. It sucked seeing you touch someone else.”

“Mmm,” he urged you to keep going, thankful that you were finally able to speak without anger in your tone. “Because you want me all to yourself, don’t you?” He asked, slowly moving his hand between your legs.

“F-fuck, yes.” You stuttered, feeling his fingers locate your clit through the fabric of your underwear. “I do, Jake. I don’t want anyone else to have you.” At the delightful confession, he added a bit more pressure to his touch.

“See? It’s not so hard to say that, is it?” He hummed, pleased at your obedience.

“No,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed as you spoke. “It’s scary, sometimes, trying to tell you how I feel.”

“Why, baby?”

“Because I care about you a lot.” The weight on your chest was lifting with every word you said. Jake knew how to get exactly what he wanted from you; all it took was a promise of his hands, and you would tell him the secrets of the universe. Sex with Jake had always been a motivator, but in this case, it had little impact on the overall discussion. You were exhausted from keeping everything locked up in your brain, and you wanted to tell him more than you wanted to keep it hidden. His touch was just encouragement, aiding you in your confession.

“You know I’d never touch anyone else like this.” He reminded. “I’d never treat anyone as good as I treat you.”

“I know,” you breathed, hoping that he would give you more than what he was already offering.

“So why accuse me of not caring, angel?” Your eyes opened, expression dropping as your stomach burned with anxiety. He wasn’t into the sweet confessional; he wanted you to repent for the hurtful words you said, and he wanted to punish you for even thinking them. “Do you think it’s fun to be a brat?” He furthered his question, tone growing stronger as he continued on. “That you can speak to me like that get away with it?”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You did not feel the need to defend yourself; you had made your bed, and now it was time to lay in it. Your only hope was that he would find mercy for you if you showed enough remorse for your actions.

“You’re not sorry, sweetheart. You’d do it again if you had the chance, and that’s why I can’t let you get away with it.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he reached for the belt on the bed beside you. The metallic cling of the buckle sent a shiver of fear through your body, but you kept your position and bargained with the pleasure that was bound to come after the pain. “What was it that you called me?” He pretended to ponder, letting the cool leather dance over your skin to taunt you. “Remind me, again.”

“A self righteous prick.” You mumbled, eyes closed as you braced for impact.

“Right,” he nodded his head, as if it took great effort to recall your insults. “A self righteous prick who thinks he’s god, that cares too much about his image and only wants sex.” He listed off, showcasing that he remembered your words exceptionally well. “Does that sound familiar, or am I missing something?”

“No, that sounds right.” The shame in your voice was astounding, filling the room and weighing you both down.

“Still feel that way, angel?”

“No, sir.” You shook your head. The leather had now warmed to the same temperature as your skin after sitting idle for so long.

“I don’t think I believe you.” He tried to sound sympathetic, but he couldn’t hide the sadistic tone he so often used with you. He was enjoying watching you struggle, and he was going to enjoy everything that came after.

“I’m sorry, Jake.” You tried again, but it was futile.

“That was four insults, if I’m counting correctly.” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “So… two for each, and two more just because you pissed me off. Ten… I think that’s fair. Do you, sweetheart?” You were in a predicament of fighting and risking further punishment, or agreeing and suffering without trying to defend yourself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yes, sir.” You tried to hide your annoyance, but he could read you like a book, even if he was blinded and deafened.

“Remember your colours?”

“Yes.” You nodded, comforted by the thought of being able to stop if it became too much.

“I always loved the colour red on you.” He crooned, letting his hand run over the thin red lace concealing you. Your stomach settled at the gentle touch, wondering if he was going to be kind to you and change his mind. Just when you let your fears settle, the sharp sting of the belt sounded through the room. You let in a sharp gasp, the feeling catching you off guard and the pain quickly fizzling away. In his own way, he was being kind to you. The strength in which he hit you was nowhere near what he was capable of, and you knew that. He did not get off to the thought of you getting hurt, just to the idea of making you suffer a little bit.

You barely recovered from the pain before he lifted his hand and brought the leather down for another time. You held back a groan, not wanting to show any emotion at all until the punishment was through. “One down,” he said, encouraging you to keep going. His focus was on your ass, which was unfortunate for you to receive so many blows to the same place, but he was doing it for good reason. He didn’t want to risk any marks being visible in any stage clothes, and was aiming to keep your bedroom escapades away from the public eye to save you from any uncomfortable situations. It was thoughtful, but brutal all the same.

He wanted to draw out the experience, but the thought of leaving you without comfort for so long was nearly painful for him. He brought the belt down once more, the force more than he intended. You let out a hiss, flinching away from the contact in hopes to ease the sting. He brought his hand to your skin, letting his fingers drift over the red mark left behind. It was soothing, but barely, mostly because you knew he did not have enough sympathy for you to stop there. In truth, you did not expect him to. You were mean, and what you had said to him was not fair. Jake cared about you, and that was never something you should have questioned. Your emotions got the best of you, convincing you that you were less than what he truly thought you were worth.

When you showed signs of recovery, he wasted no time in striking again. The fourth was much gentler, but on top of the already irritated skin, seemed much more violent than it truly was. By the fifth one, your teeth were grinding together to keep yourself silent. By the sixth, tears were pooling in your eyes. You did not have faith in yourself to make it to the end, but you were not one to give up so easily. When he struck for the seventh time, it knocked the breath from your lungs and left your legs quivering. When the sting subsided, you let out a whimper of relief. The sound settled in his chest, prompting a feeling of guilt. “Have you had enough, or do you still feel that way?”

“N-no, I don’t. I’m sorry.” You rasped, tears rolling down your face. “M’so sorry, Jake.” The sincerity of your voice nearly brought him to his knees and he had to shake himself out of his thoughts to keep himself in character. With a clenched jaw, he raised his arm and brought the belt down to your skin once more. You let a raw cry out at the impact, the pain intense and the only thing you could focus on. He let the belt drop to the floor, finished with his mission and worried he pushed you too far. He moved to lay a hand on your skin again, hoping to soothe the ache. When you shied away from his touch, a wave of terror washed over him.

“Are you okay, baby?” He asked, his hand opting to find your hip rather than the red skin on your ass. You took in a shaky breath, propping yourself on your elbow as you tried to catch your breath.

“That was only eight.” You reminded. He cocked his head to the side, processing the statement with confusion. “You said ten.” He let out a small laugh, one filled with disbelief at your words.

“You want two more?” He asked, clarifying before moving on.

“No! I just… you said ten, and… yeah.” You trailed off, finally able to gather your thoughts as the ache began to fade.

“I think I’ve made my point.” He explained, prompting you to straighten up so you could look at him. “You did so well that I don’t believe you need two more.” He hid the truth, which was that he did not have the heart for two more. He thought he pushed you far enough, and the idea of giving you any type of lasting injury greater than superficial was sickening to him. “Come here,” he beckoned you towards him, guiding you into his lap. With great ease, he lifted you and settled you into his arms. You let your legs find home on either side of him, melting into the touch and almost forgetting the pain he had inflicted on you moments before. He let his hands settle on your hips, pulling you down just a little further in search of relief from the erection strained against his jeans. “I knew you could be good for me,” he mumbled, distracted by the closeness of your face and the friction of you against him. “It wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No,” you replied, also lost in his features. With him so close to you, nothing else existed. If it did, it was completely unimportant to you. He leaned forward, capturing you in a kiss too sweet to match the nights intensity. You brought a hand to his cheek, holding him to you as your other found his arm to keep yourself steady. Truthfully, it was just another excuse to touch him. With his hands on you, you had no fear of falling. Even if you doubted it, deep down you knew Jake would always be there to catch you.

He moved his hands to your back, unclasping your bra with ease. You loosened your grip on him so he could take it off. When it was discarded on the floor, he ran his thumb over your nipple. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through you, prompting you to grind your hips against him. He let out a low groan against your lips, parting with you to suck in a sharp breath. To cover his own desperation, he brought his lips back to you, peppering kissing down your cheek to your jaw and settling on your neck. He let his lips dance over the sensitive skin, careful not to leave behind any marks amidst his passionate endeavour. When he found that sweet spot he was searching for, you let out a shaky sigh as your arm wrapped around his neck. You let your fingers dance in his hair, uncaring of the unusual sweetness of the moment.

You let out a gasp, hips moving down on him again as he continued his work on your neck. In an automatic response, a growl sounded from him, showing his appreciation for your enthusiasm. He moved his fingers, forgoing his previous gentleness, and pinched your nipple between his fingers. A whimper fell from your lips, lighting a fire in him at the sound. His hand dropped from your breast, falling to your hip as his fingers dipped under the elastic of your underwear. Faster than you could comprehend, he gave a sharp pull and the lace easily broke away from your skin.

“Jake-“ you made a move to voice your discontent with his action, but he was already in motion, shifting to lay you down on the bed and settle between your legs.

“Shut up. I’ll buy you whatever you want to replace it.” He huffed, using his hand again to break the other side free. You were so eager for him to touch you that you couldn’t find the will to care about the fabric he had destroyed. The skin that he had wounded was stinging in reaction to the fabric of the blankets, but the pain was easily forgotten as he discarded the remains of your underwear on the floor and moved downward between your legs. He hooked his arms beneath your thighs and pulled you down on him, his mouth connecting with your cunt as he disregarded any more discussion.

You let out a moan, overwhelmed by the sudden change. His tongue moved quickly and with intent; he wasn’t eager to tease and was desperate to give you an orgasm, partially because he loved pleasing you, but mostly due to his desire to fuck you. Your hands found his hair, already needy enough to pull on the strands as encouragement for him to keep going. He hummed against you, almost smiling at your crazed reaction. He knew what he did to you, and he was intending to prove a point.

“Fuck, Jake.” You whimpered, almost unsure of what to do with yourself. The pleasure from his simple work was unexplainable, and you were on the brink of insanity from his tongue alone. Just the same as the first night, you had yourself convinced that Jake was a simple reincarnation of the devil. Put on this earth in a mortal body to inflict suffering on others, but most specifically you. It was hard to feel remorseful about your entanglement when a simple touch from him alone could outshine any other existing thing in the universe. Evil was coursing through his veins, and you were the prey he chose to take for his own. Even so, it was hard to feel like prey when every touch he graced you with was blissful, and it was hard to recognize you were dying when the descent was so pleasant.

Sinful was not a powerful enough word for what Jake was doing to you; it was godless, and you feared that a human being could not house power over another like he had on you. As a whole, he was iniquitous. His advantage over others was unfair, and he chose to use it for evil. But, you were in no position to point a finger, because your enjoyment left you just as criminal as him. You could shame Jake for his unrighteous acts, but you knew that you were no better simply for allowing it to continue.

You had become the boy who cried wolf, denouncing him for placing you amidst the painful battle, but you were no better for allowing him access to you despite its disastrous effects. It was no longer believable that he was causing you any harm because you were so willing to accept his invitations.

He added his fingers to you, driving you closer to a climax instantly. Your hips moved in search for more, and every time you thought he was unable to provide, he managed with ease. Your abdomen ached from your tensed muscles and your stomach was burning in hopes for a release. “Oh god, Jake, I’m gonna cum.” You warned, forehead glistening with sweat from the intensity of the feeling. You noticed his hips grinding into the mattress as he worked, desperate for relief, too. The knowledge of his enjoyment from giving you pleasure was a driving force, sending your already exhausted body into a frenzy. He couldn’t verbally encourage you, so he hoped his focus was enough to let you know that it was okay, and that it was exactly what he needed from you.

The orgasm washed over you like a storm of emotion, the relief alone enough to bring you to tears again. Your muscles were tense, your lungs depraved of oxygen as you cried his name. He didn’t slow until he was certain he had given you the absolute most he could. When your legs relaxed and your body fell limp onto the mattress again, he tapered his movements until he eventually pulled away from you completely.

He caught his breath, wiping away the remnants of your orgasm from his chin. His eyes studied your face, trying to memorize every detail so he could relive the moment later. In a soft touch, his hands drifted over your thighs and all the way up to your stomach, the featherlight sensation sending a shiver down your spine. He moved back up your body, unable to resist the urge to kiss you again. You drew him closer to you, hoping that you could hold him there and exist in the blissful cloud forever. He revelled in the touch only for a moment before rising to his feet again. His eyes drifted over the table on your bedside, taking note of all the items on the surface. He adjusted himself in his jeans as he reached out for one.

Your initial thought was the whiskey, but when his hand surpassed the bottle, you pulled yourself from the euphoria in attempt to comprehend his thoughts. His fingers settled on the keycard to your room, in which he picked up and slid between his fingers, flashing it in your line of sight so you could see what he had grabbed. You sat up, fear striking you similar to the first night you shared with him. “You’re leaving?” You asked, worry evident in your tone.

“Oh, now you want me to stay?” He teased, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back, Gold Dust Woman.” He assured you, but did not lean forward for any further touch. “I want you exactly like this when I get back. Do you understand?” You managed a small nod, wondering when his return would be. Knowing Jake, he could have meant five minutes, or five hours. His air of mystery was constant, and he did not like disturbing it.

“Yes, sir.” You said, eyes never leaving him. At your confirmation, he stepped towards the exit of the room. You opened your mouth to stop him, but no words came out. Instead, you watched him slip through the doorway and into the hall without any further explanation. The lock clicked shut behind him, and he disappeared as if he never existed in the first place. The deafening silence in the room was too much to bear, and the lack of company was crushing. The only reminder of his presence was the lingering tingle on your skin from the ghost of your orgasm.

You watched the door, the seconds passing by slowly, and your hope fizzling away with each minute that went by. You looked around the room, noticing only his jacket and belt on the floor, but no other reminders of him. There was nothing worth coming back for, aside from you. You had to find faith that you were worth the return, and it proved to be a struggle. You weren’t bound to the bed, nor the room. You could freely dress yourself and wander after him to discover where he was headed to. The idea was tempting, but there was a prickling fear of him coming back to find you away from the spot he was so keen on you staying in. Knowing Jake, you thought it best to stay and hope he was being genuine.

By minute five, the unsettling feeling was taking over. You could feel it in your bones, the fear of him returning to his room and going to bed. Although horrible, you did feel like the treatment would not be unwarranted. You had put him through hell that night, and you were unsure if you would ever be able to make up for it. When all hope was lost and the minute counter reached double digits, you collapsed onto the pillows in a heap of regret for your actions. Your chest ached with remorse and your heart was breaking at the memory of his pain stricken features. Before you descended too far into your own despair, the electronic click of the lock sounded, and the door opened once more.

Jake stepped inside, a styrofoam cup in his hand and a smile on his face. “Hi, angel.” He greeted you as if he had not left you in a complete state of disarray. He immediately noticed the relief on your face, finding his ego return at the knowledge that you wanted his company. “What’s wrong? Did you really think I’d leave you here like this?” He asked, tone dripping with fake concern.

“You? Never.” You managed a smile and a small laugh. He got a chuckle out of your comment too, ensuring that the door was shut tightly before returning to the bedside. Your eyes landed on the cup, curious as to what he felt was so important that he had to leave to retrieve.

“You knew I’d come back, sweetheart. Still have a point to prove, remember?” He reminded, looking down at you as he spoke. His eyes drifted over your naked body, the sight almost sending him feral. His composure was hanging by a thread, and you didn’t even have to do anything to worsen it. He sat the cup on the table alongside the keycard, but instead of climbing into bed with you again, he pulled his shirt over his head. You let out an audible sigh of satisfaction, thankful that he still had some kindness left in his heart for you. You peered inside the styrofoam, noticing nothing but ice. You looked back to him, dumbfounded only for a moment before realizing why he had left. The ice was not to chill any refreshments; it was just another thing for him to terrorize you with.

When he freed himself from the rest of his clothes, he dipped his fingers into the cup and pulled out a single ice cube. You settled back on the mattress, inviting him in. He took to the bed, finding himself back in his earlier position with ease. He gently laid the ice cube on your stomach, looking up at you with a smile. “Are you starting to remember how much I care, angel?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, focused mostly on the frigid feeling on your skin. He let out a low chuckle at your response. Instead of replying, he lowered his mouth to your stomach, just above where the ice was slowly beginning to melt from the heat of your body. He brought his tongue to the droplets, slowly running it over the skin to rid you of the water. You took in a sharp breath, the feeling of warmth from his mouth offsetting the chill from the ice almost immediately.

With ease, he slowly ran the ice up your torso. The cold was a shock, but quickly soothed with his tongue. When he reached just below your chest, he scooped the ice into his mouth and brought his lips to your nipple. He pulled it into his mouth, letting the ice sit on you before he made any further moves. The chill sent your back arching off the bed, an involuntary reflex that was prompted by the sensation. Once your nipple was hard, he began moving his tongue. A whine sounded from your throat as he continued, the feeling completely new and exciting. He continued on until the ice was a distant memory and your skin was warm once more.

When he pulled back, a shaky breath left your lips. He looked up, pleased at your expression. He gave you a smile, happy that you seemed to enjoy the change in pace. “Did you like that, beautiful?” Such a sweet name send your morals crashing down, no further care about your fight before finding yourselves in the position. You never seemed to catch any softness from Jake during sex, and when you did, it was earth shattering. The high energy and excitement was fantastic, but when you saw love dancing in his eyes, it reminded you of a whole different side of Jake you wished you could know.

“Yeah,” you said, but your focus was not on his words. You both seemed to be caught in a staring contest, clinging to the adoration in each others gaze in hopes to discover what had been so often left unsaid. “Can I try?” He laughed at your question, suddenly overtaken by the soft spot he held for you.

“If you want to.” The glimmer in his eye was so different than what you had seen from him before. It was one that was begging you to let him keep you like this for the rest of his life, and it was beautiful. Jake was not trying to prove he cared for you through rough sex and orders; he was doing the opposite, something you least expected of him. He was showing you himself to you completely, in the most intimate way possible.

“Okay, lay down.” You giggled, playfully shoving him off of you. He dramatically fell to the side of you, collapsing on the bed in a heap of laughter as he did. Dominance was natural to him, but vulnerability wasn’t. It was his last opportunity to show you how much you truly meant to him, and he was going to do whatever it took to make you understand. He assumed your position, nestled in the pillows and watching you experiment with him.

You grabbed your own ice cube, placing it between your lips as you watched him. Instead of bringing it to his body, you approached him for kiss. With surprise, he accepted the offer and snaked his hand to your hip, guiding you towards him. It was messy, both of you passing the melting ice back and fourth with little grace, but it was right. It felt right to be so careless with him, not needing to worry if he thought you were making a fool of yourself, and not worrying if he was enjoying himself. Both of you were having a grand time, and it was solely because you were in each other’s company. When the ice landed back in your mouth, almost melted but still hanging on, you moved away from him. He almost seemed disappointed at the loss of contact, but the drunken haze of desire in his eyes told you he was excited for your next move, too.

You sank down on the mattress, laying on your stomach between his legs while giving him a sweet smile. The breath caught in his throat, hoping that you were going to do what he thought you were. You lowered your head, bringing your hand to him as you brought your mouth to his cock. He let out a shaky breath, unfamiliar with the feeling of letting someone else be in control. You brought the ice to the tip of your tongue and ran it from the base of his cock to the tip, slow and steady with your pace. His eyes fluttered closed, the sensation completely foreign yet enjoyable, mostly because it was you that was doing it. You repeated the action a few times until the ice has melted completely. Once it did, you brought your mouth to the tip and slowly began bobbing your head down on him. You kept your focus there for a moment, attempting to show him that slow could sometimes be better. He would never admit it, but in that moment he would have agreed with you.

He let out a sigh, his small way of telling you that he thought you were doing a great job. Once the feeling of him in your mouth became familiar again, you picked up the pace a bit. To him, the speed was still agonizingly slow compared to what he was used to, but he was willing to allow you to lead the way. He reached down and gathered your hair in his hand, keeping it away from your face as you worked at him. As you relaxed your jaw and took him further, your eyes fluttered up to meet his. The eye contact was almost too much for him; he thought he might finish at the sight alone. In fear of the moment ending, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow to stop the impending orgasm. He tightened his grip on your hair, thrusting his hips upwards gently to meet the time of your mouth.

You focused on steadying your breathing, and then made your attempt to take his full length. When the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, he let out a groan, one that was surely the most heavenly sound you had ever heard in your entire life. You felt him twitch in your mouth, an obvious sign that he was close. If it were up to you, you would have let him finish, but he used his hand in your hair to pull you off of him. “Is that your way of saying sorry?” His chest heaved for breath as he asked the question. You looked to him, fearful that he was not enjoying the moment as much as you were. When he saw the fear dancing in your eyes, he was quick to speak again. “Because it’s working.” He added, settling your anxiety. “Come here.” He released the hold on your hair, beckoning you towards him. You moved upwards, straddling him again. He held your hips up as he shuffled upwards too, resting his back against the headboard of the bed. “You never fail to amaze me, Gold Dust Woman.” He hummed, raising a hand to your cheek in a soft embrace. You leaned into the touch, reaching down to line him up with you.

“Sometimes I feel like I exist just to please you.” You admitted, sinking down on him as a soft moan left your lips.

“If you do, you’re doing a fantastic job.” He assured you, pulling your upper half down towards him. You rested your forehead on his as you began to rock your hips. “But you exist for far more than that, angel.” He didn’t even care about the slow pace, nor the lack of control. He was so focused on loving you that he could almost forget that he was fucking you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his eyes drift over the soft details of your face. “You have no idea how important you are, y/n. This world exists just so you can live in it.” Normally, the profound emotions he was displaying would have sent you running, terrified of intimacy and vulnerability. Deep down, you knew that running was not a question anymore. You were in this until the end, and any ideas of having a fair shot at control was just not true. Jake and Sam were always in charge, running the show how they pleased and with little care. Even so, all the pain no longer mattered, because you were in love. So deeply and unconditionally in love with them that it was almost impossible to comprehend. So in love that it was impossible to communicate it, because words did not amount to anything close to what you were feeling.

“Do you see it, yet?” He asked, helping you move your hips. “Do you feel how much I care for you?”

“I do, Jake.” You nodded against him, the verbal confirmation not seeming like it was enough. “I’m sorry for questioning it. I never should have doubted you.” You said, feeling like your heart was going to explode. “I hope you can see that I feel the same way.”

“Say it, Gold Dust Woman.” He pleaded, fingers digging into the skin of your hips. “I need to hear it.”

“Jake,” you warned, knowing that you were both treading dangerous waters.

“Please, y/n. I can’t be the one to say it first, because it won’t mean anything if I do.” You had never seen or heard Jake so desperate for anything in your entire time of knowing him. “If you feel it, just say it. We’ve already said it a million different ways, just not like this. It’s not as scary as it seems, and I swear to you that I’ll keep it safe.” Your heart felt like it was breaking, yet mending all at the same time. He was right, you had said it in every way except for direct, and you were scared of something you had been feeling since the beginning.

“I love you, Jake.” You whispered, opening your eyes to look at him. He looked up at you, gaze clouded with an unfamiliar emotion. If you looked close enough, you would have noticed the gloss of tears shining under the adoration. “I love you.” You said it again, stronger than the last. “I love you so much that it hurts. I don’t know how to love someone, or what it even means, but I know that I feel it for you, and I have for a long time.”

“I love you, Gold Dust Woman.” You both opted to ignore the shaking of his voice. He moved forward, slinking his arms around you as he pulled you into a hug. You wrapped your own around his neck, holding on to him with the same fervour. He moved so he could lay you down on the mattress, shifting so he was between your legs again. It was his favourite place to be, and even more so now that the weight of the confession had been lifted off your chests. As if he’d turned feral once again, he guided your leg around him and took over control once more. He thrusted into you with more power than before, the feeling eliciting a moan from your lips.

He only continued on his pace for a few moments before his attention was drawn elsewhere. His eyes scanned the room, shining with mischief as they settled on the sliding door to the balcony. “Do you trust me?” He looked back to you with a wicked smile.

“Of course I do,” you gasped, feeling the tip of his cock brush against your cervix.

“I have an idea,” he announced, slowing his hips to a stop. You let out a groan at that loss of movement, unsure if you were willing to go along with his plan if it meant you had to stop. “Come on,” he said, drawing back from you and making a move to stand. You watched him in confusion, but sat up and slid off the bed anyway.

“What are we doing?” You asked as he helped you stand.

“You told me you loved me, Gold Dust Woman.” He reminded. “I think that calls for a celebration.” He guided you towards the doors, using his free hand to slide it open.

“Jacob, absolutely not.” You recoiled, staring at the dark balcony with wide eyes.

“Oh come on, angel. Where’s your sense of adventure?” He smirked.

“What if someone sees us?” Your voice was shrill, terrified at the thought of being caught.

“Just means I get to show the world how much I love you.” He said, the smirk growing into a smile. You watched him in disbelief, unsure if he was even being serious. “Get out there, sweetheart.” He ordered, the flash of dominance returning to his lust clouded pupils.

“I don’t want to get caught.” You shook your head, but still found yourself admiring his beauty in the dimly lit room. You were certain that he had the power to convince you to jump from a cliff if he looked at you for long enough.

“Then you better keep quiet and cum fast.” He was no longer willing to debate the topic, watching you with expecting eyes. You knew the softness would not last long, but you had no idea that it was turn into a show of exhibitionism. He gave you a look of warning, to which you couldn’t deny. You stuck your head out of the door, noticing that none of the other patios seemed to be occupied. Next, you looked to the ground, noticing the minimal movement below. The world was quiet, and there was no better time to explore pleasure like such. With a deep breath and an air of blind confidence, you stepped out into the night, the cool air stinging your warm skin.

He followed, seeming barely concerned about your surroundings. He let his hands slip to your hips, giving you a small comfort in knowing that if you were going to be caught, he would have to take the fall with you. “See? You’re okay.” He assured you, mouth hovering over your ear. You gave a small nod, allowing him to guide your upper half down and pull your hips back towards him. You gripped the rail of the balcony with your hands to keep yourself steady, feeling himself line himself up with you. “If you want to stop, just tell me.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling a bit more comfortable than you were when you first emerged. With a hand on your shoulder, he pulled you back on him, letting out a small sigh of relief. Once he knew you were steady in your position, he brought both hands to your hips to hold you in place as he began thrusting. Your eyes were begging to close, lulled by the ecstasy of feeling him inside you, but your mind would not allow it. You were on edge, nervous about someone seeing you, but the more he fucked into you, the less you cared.

You let a moan slip past your lips, quickly silencing yourself with hope that it went unnoticed. “That’s my girl,” he purred, ecstatic at your enjoyment. “Do you like being a little whore for me?” His voice was low, but it was loud and clear to you. It settled deep in your stomach, the beginning of the tightening knot.

“God, yes.” You whispered, the anxiety fleeing you indefinitely.

“Feel so fucking good, angel.” He took a sharp intake of breath, likely cutting off his own sounds of pleasure. He slipped his hand around to the front of you, quickly finding your clit with his fingers. The added stimulation from the circles he was tracing were means of torture. He knew that it would be impossible to stay silent, and he was being an asshole on purpose. He sped his hips, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the empty air. If there was anyone below, it would not be difficult to imagine what was happening above. He increased the pressure of his touch, hoping that he would either coax an orgasm from you, or at least pry another moan out of you.

You clenched your jaw, holding back as much as you could, but every so often a noise too strong to hold back would surface and cut through the silence. He felt you clench around him, a sure sign that you were close, and he wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. He slammed his hips into you, quickening the movement of his fingers. You were lightheaded, mind swirling with plenty of thoughts but none that made any sense. “Cum on my cock, baby.” He muttered, encouraging you to let go. You didn’t need the help, because the knot in your belly had let go. You legs were shaking and you could barely hold yourself up. He used his hand to cover your mouth, ensuring that you could ride out your orgasm without worry. When you began to descend from the euphoria, you expected him to slow, too. Instead, he continued on his brutal pace, not ready to end the night just yet. “Give me one more, sweetheart.”

“I can’t, Jake.” You whimpered, trying to keep yourself silent. The more he moved, the less control you had over yourself.

“You can,” he promised. The irritating sensation from his fingers was overtaking every other feeling in your body, the overstimulation begging to break your psyche. “Be good for me,” he continued with his gentle words, knowing that if you didn’t let go soon, he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Your body was on fire with everything he had put you through that night, and his wish was not hard to comply with. Even though the feeling of his fingers seemed like too much, you couldn’t deny the pull of pleasure underneath the discomfort.

“Fuck,” you croaked, the insatiable sting finally overwhelming your body in a moment of weakness.

“That’s it, sweet girl.” He sighed, feeling you descend into another climax. He was most concerned with holding your body upright, so he had to forgo silencing you with his palm. You were too far gone to care about keeping yourself quiet, the fear obsolete next to the pleasure he was giving you. In a mess of curses and sweaty bodies, you came down from the high with stars dancing in your eyes. When he felt you relax against him, he finally allowed himself to let go, spilling into you as he echoed your name into the night. He fucked his release into you a few times before pulling away, just as a final note to end the night with. He heaved a sigh, coming back to reality and realizing the obscene display you were in. “Come on, angel. Let’s get you inside.”

You let him lead you back into the hotel room, body and mind exhausted from the high energy the night held. You both cleaned up, minds begging for sleep, but found that your hearts were aching just a little less than before. Jake pulled on his boxers, lazily throwing his shirt to you while he did so. “Are you staying?” You looked up at him, hope gleaming through the exhaustion.

“Of course I am, baby.” He said as if the question were blasphemous. You slid under the covers, making room for him to get in beside you. Once he was settled, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Jake. I never should have said that stuff.”

“I am, too.” The apologies were minimal, but stronger than they appeared. You closed your eyes, settling your head on his chest and listening to the lull of his heartbeat. “Can you say it again?” He asked, voice quiet and barely breaking through the night.

“That I’m sorry?” You asked, wondering what he meant.

“No,” he mumbled. When you realized what he wanted to hear, your heart warmed at the thought of him wanting to hear it again. All of your fears of rejection, the fear of intimacy and vulnerability was no longer important. From the sound of his voice alone, you knew that his need to know you cared was far more important than your attempts at protecting yourself.

“I love you, Jake.”

And there it was; the statement so heavy that it had tantalized you for months, slipping past your lips like the easiest thing you had ever said. It was true, and it was so exhilarating to finally speak aloud.

But even so, as exciting as the proclamation was, it did not hinder you from falling into the same patterns as you had before. If anything, it did nothing but make it all the more painful.

You better put your kingdom up for sale

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr @sinarainbows @jakesmustache @gvfpal

[excessive-vampires]

Dealing with Demons Chapter 16: Nothing So Small Part 3: Riley

Masterlist with CW

Taglist: @demyxdancer @softvampirewhump @d-cs

“What an odd little duo we have here. A woman who was possessed by a demon and a researcher from the Bright Bureau.”

Riley had fucked up. They had fucked up and let the fear in at the moment of truth and now everyone here was going to die. No no, there had to be some way to make this right. 

“Her, I understand.” Mason continued. “She knew that I needed her as part of my plan. But you, Agent…”

Riley found they could suddenly speak. “Bishop.” 

“Agent Bishop, I don’t see why your Bureau has been hunting me so persistently that even a noncombatant showed up.” 

“You hurt my team.” 

“No but before that. Why did you start coming after me? There was no way you could have connected me to the information theft after so long, so why?”

“You were kidnapping people.” 

“People who’ve sold their souls! They obviously don’t value their own existence, so why shouldn't I use them for my purposes?” 

Riley thought back to their similar statement to Coleman and felt sick to their stomach. 

“Agent Bishop, I’m going to tell you my plan. And then I’m going to give you a chance to walk out of here. Not until after I complete my objective, of course, I’m not stupid. But you don’t have to die.” 

Mason began pacing in front of Riley and gesturing elaborately as he continued to speak. 

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the four major limitations of magic, Agent Bishop. Magic cannot bring back the dead once their soul has departed this plane, it cannot create life, it cannot alter the flow of time, and it cannot change a person’s thoughts, feelings, or memories of the past. Beyond that the only limitations are the knowledge and power of the caster. But how do we know that these are really limitations of magic and not just the limits of the caster? What if the only thing preventing magic from doing anything we want it to is the fact that humans have a limited amount of mana? Magic already works differently for demons, who, if they have consumed enough souls, can easily surpass the most powerful human casters with no training at all. If I’m right, and I believe I am, the most powerful demons should be able to do whatever they want, so why can’t they?

“I used to think that maybe no demon had ever gained the sheer amount of power necessary, but then I had a revelation. Demons are limited because they are incomplete beings. Each demon is made from only one emotion, but if you were to somehow combine one of each, you’d have a creature born out of the full spectrum of human desire, and I believe such a creature would be able to do anything. 

“This raises three problems. First, it would be unimaginably irresponsible to create an all-powerful demon and set it loose on the world. Second, how could the demons be effectively fused? And lastly, how could this be used to give more power to humans? Well, it turns out that the solution to all of these is the same. To find a way to reverse the process by which demons consume human souls. 

“That’s right, my soul is going to consume seven demons, and then I will have the power of a god. I will go down in history as the first of a new breed of caster, as the one who brought humanity to the doorstep of the divine!” 

“You’re insane,” Riley managed through huffed breaths as they tried desperately to move. “There’s no way this will work!”

“I’ve tested it! I’ve had eight years to perfect my ritual! Sure, the first couple of attempts were… messy, unfortunately for my followers. They’re all gone now, as are the demons involved in the earlier experiments. But now there’s only one more obstacle to overcome. You see, the human body just isn’t formatted correctly to hold more than one soul without, well, melting is probably the best word for it. In order to succeed I need a body that has been fundamentally changed in a way that allows it to contain demonic energy and the souls those demons have devoured. I thought I was going to have to invent a ritual to do that to myself but then, just like it’s supposed to, my summoning ritual found me the demon that best fits my needs. One with a body that I can use.” 

“You bastard!” Avi yelled from the rune. “She’s mine!” 

Mason turned towards the demon and his smile didn’t falter. “And soon, you all will be mine.” 

“It won’t work! Human bodies can only contain one demon at a time, no matter how you change them! All you’ll accomplish by trying is killing her!” 

“You’re lying.”

“No they’re not, you sick fuck!” a demon with blood red skin and a black dress yelled. 

“How hypocritical,” Mason scolded. “I’m not doing anything that y’all don’t.” 

“Deals require consent,” Avi shot back. “We do nothing to humans that they don’t knowingly agree to!” 

Riley strained against the force holding them still while Mason was distracted, everything above their neck had been freed up to allow them to talk, but the rest of their muscles might as well be encased in concrete. They looked over at Cee, who was still completely frozen, and couldn’t even move her eyes. If not for her breathing she could have been a statue. 

Wait. Breathing. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” Mason said, turning back around. He grabbed Cee by the back of her shirt and dragged her over to a secondary circle attached to the section of the larger rune that Avi was in. This one was just painted on the floor in white paint, except for a few inches of silver where it touched the larger rune. “So kind of you to come back here so I didn’t have to waste time and mana bringing you to this place myself.” He dropped her in the middle of the white circle. Avi was cursing at the top of their lungs and hurling threats and insults at Mason who completely ignored them. The rest of the demons watched intently. The ones with humanoid faces looked scared. Mason turned back to face Riley. 

“Any questions?” 

“If you need her alive, then why blow up the Bureau base?” Riley asked, trying to delay him. 

“Scrying is my specialty, Agent Bishop. It’s how I was able to block myself from your artificers’ view and it’s how I was able to see the exact moment you and this woman left the building.”

Riley tried to think of something else to ask while they formulated a plan. “Why only demons? Wouldn’t you need angels too?” 

“Agent Bishop, do you know why you never hear about the seven heavenly virtues in religious discussion? It’s because they are defined by the sins they oppose. A virtue isn’t really a feeling, it’s the opposite of a certain feeling. A lack of desire. If I added angels to my plan then they would just cancel out the demons.”

Another question, anything. “What’s going to happen to the people who’ve sold their souls?”

“Their souls will be consumed by the demons shortly before the demons are consumed by me. I need them to start the chain reaction. But, as we both have said, they’ve sold their souls, it would have happened to them eventually anyway. Now, watch closely, Agent Bishop,” he said as he started walking towards the center of the silver rune. “You’re about to witness history.” 

Riley focussed on their breathing. That was movement. As long as the impulse started in their lungs they could move their chest. They breathed deeper, now they could move their whole torso. 

Mason wasn’t paying attention to them anymore, which was good. Instead he was chanting and drawing shapes in the air and the rune he was standing in was starting to glow, which was very, very bad.

Riley worked to feel the muscles moving in their chest, and to feel the connections between those muscles and their other muscles. And slowly, painfully, as though they were being crushed under an enormous weight, Riley moved. 

First they flipped over off of their back and onto their stomach, and then they started to crawl. With incredible persistence, they pulled themself forward, one centimeter at a time, towards the circle Cee was in. 

If they could scratch the paint connecting that circle to the larger rune then Mason wouldn’t be able to enact the ritual to completion, it’d be brought to a screeching halt prematurely. Which had a chance of leading to a magical explosion, killing them all, but Riley didn’t think any of them were getting out of there anyway whether the ritual succeeded or not, and at least Mason would fail and wouldn’t be able to try again. It was only a chance, but it was all Riley could do. 

Riley was soaked with sweat from exertion, making their bangs stick to their face and partially obscure their view. They were breathing heavily, but even that movement was starting to get difficult. Harsh heat emanated from the silver rune and Mason’s chanting was reaching a crescendo. They weren’t going to make it in time. 

They were within reach of the silver rune, but still too far from Avi’s section of it to reach the painted portion before Mason completed the ritual. 

Avi was looking at them, as they saw the realization dawn on Riley’s face they mouthed something. Riley thought it might have been “You tried your best.” 

Riley looked towards Cee, but she was facing away from them. They moved their eyes around to the other demons in the rune. Maximilian was rocking back and forth on the floor. The demon in the black dress was shaking with sobs. A person-shaped cloud of static that Riley recognized as a demon of sloth had its head in its hands. 

Riley wanted to grab their protection amulet for comfort but it was too much effort. If only there was some way to break the lines. Runes were finicky, one line out of place and the ritual would fail. Safely. And Mason probably wouldn’t have enough mana left to try again within twenty-four hours. But the grooves in the floor that the silver had been set into ran deep, and by now it was hot enough to be partially melted, Riley didn’t even know if they could get their hand close enough to touch it. 

Wait. 

The rune was melting. 

And it was made of silver.

With the very last of their strength Riley inched their arm up to their throat and curled their fingers around their amulet. They slowly pulled the silver circle over their head. They gripped it at the top, where the cord attached, and slid their hand over towards the rune. 

The heat was unbearable, Riley gritted their teeth and tried as hard as they could not to scream, not wanting to risk alerting Mason to what they were doing. Their fingers blistered but they kept moving their hand forward until the amulet touched the rune. Immediately the silver started to melt and created a neat line across the rune’s outer edge. 

Within seconds the heat was gone. Mason’s chanting stopped abruptly. 

“No! What’s gone wrong?! I made sure everything was perfect! I—”

Mason turned and saw Riley and the remains of the amulet. He screamed wordlessly. Riley laughed despite the pain. They knew they were about to die, but they had stopped Mason. He wouldn’t be able to set everything back up and try again before the joint task force got to him. 

They had stopped Mason. Not someone else, them. They had stepped up, and they didn’t fail. 

And that was enough. 

[ponyosmom35]

Wake Up

Bittersweet chapter ten

steve harrington x fem oc

synopsis: Steve tries to talk to Indie after arguing with Nancy about Barb's disappearance, he needed to apologize. However Indie doesn't take it the way he thought she would.

warnings: anger, angst, yelling, mentions of sex, oc is being out of pocket

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

Steve approaches Indie, a mixture of guilt and concern in his eyes. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the conversation.

"Hey, Indie... Can we talk for a minute?"

She looks up at him with anger, she was in a rush to get to Nancy’s car so they could go continue their search for answers about Barb. “no” 

Steve is taken aback by Indie's immediate response, her anger obvious. He takes a step back, his expression a mix of surprise and guilt. He sighs, trying to keep his composure.

"Please, just hear me out for a second."

“I have to go” she says slamming her locker and pushing past him. They had much more important things to do besides worry about Steve.

Steve's heart sinks as Indie brushes past him, the anger in her eyes striking him to the core. He turns, watching her walk away, feeling a pang of regret in his chest. He calls out to her, desperation in his voice.

"Indie, wait!"

“What could you possibly have to say to me, Steve?” she yells, gaining the attention of her fellow students around her “did you wanna tell me about how you continuously ignored Barb when she hung with you guys?”

Steve flinches at the sharp tone in Indie's voice, her words cutting through him like a knife. He swallows the lump in his throat, guilt washing over him.

"No, it's not that... I just... I wanted to talk about that night... and Barb."

“Okay fine, why don’t you enlighten me on how you invited her to a party at your house and instead of making her feel welcome you let your friends make fun of her” 

“I’m sor-”

She cuts him off before he can continue “How about when you left her completely alone sitting by the pool so you could fuck Nancy Wheeler? My sister is missing Steve! She was taken from your house and you’ve been more worried about your parents finding out about your party than whether Barb is alive or not!” 

Steve's face falls as Indie pours her anger and frustration on him, each word hitting him harder than the last. His heart clenches at her words, guilt and shame washing over his face. He tries to speak, to defend himself, but the words die in his throat. For once, Steve Harrington finds himself speechless.

“I shouldn’t be surprised with how you’ve treated Johnathon since Will went missing. But you have the fucking nerve to treat Johnathon like a freak when he’s going through the worst thing that can happen to a family. I guess I always thought that you were better than that - but it’s clear to me that you’ve only ever cared about getting your dick wet!” she exclaims “Where were you when she needed help? Did you hear her scream or did you ignore it so that way you could finish with Nancy?”

Steve's face flushes with shame as she speaks. Her words are like daggers to his already guilty conscience. He opens his mouth, trying weakly to defend himself.

"I... I-"

Steve's voice falters as he realizes the truth in her accusations. He did fail Barb; he did ignore her when she needed him. He let his own desires overshadow her safety, knowing that there was already a kid missing in the town. 

“So wake the fuck up Harrington and get out of my way I don’t have time for this” she says pushing past him.

Steve stands there, stunned into silence by the force of her words. He can see the anger and hurt swirling in her eyes, and he knows that nothing he says can make things right.

"Goddammit," he mutters under his breath, guilt, and regret gnawing at his conscience.

The confrontation with Indie was like a sledgehammer to Steve’s chest, leaving him gasping for breath, both physically and emotionally. The way she had looked at him—eyes blazing with anger, words dripping with contempt—had struck a chord so deep it reverberated through every fiber of his being. It wasn’t just the sting of her accusations or the weight of her disappointment that affected him. It was the realization of his own failures, magnified by her intense gaze. 

Steve had always thought of himself as a guy who was, if not good, at least decent. He had a reputation—one built on the kind of charm that could smooth over most mistakes. But Indie had ripped through that veneer, showing him a reflection of himself he could no longer ignore. He had stood there, paralyzed, as she called him out on his failures. The reality of his actions—or lack thereof—hit him with a force that left him reeling.

He had never really looked at himself through someone else’s eyes before. Sure, he’d faced criticism and disapproval from others, but it was different when it came from someone like Indie. She wasn’t just anyone; she was a person who had been forced to confront the raw edge of his mistakes. The way she had reacted to him, her rage so raw and pure, made him feel like he was being examined under a microscope. Every flaw, every lapse in judgment, was laid bare, and he was left to confront the ugly truth of who he had become.

The days following that confrontation were a blur of self-reflection and self-loathing. Steve found himself replaying every moment of that conversation over and over in his mind. He couldn’t escape the image of Indie’s furious face, her accusations slicing through his defenses. It was as if her words had opened a chasm in his soul, revealing a darkness he had been too comfortable to acknowledge. 

His thoughts were haunted by the image of Indie’s eyes—those eyes that had looked at him with such pure hatred and disappointment. He couldn’t understand why, but the way she had looked at him made him want to claw his own eyes out. It was an intense, visceral reaction, as though her disdain had pierced his very sense of self. Her anger had ignited something in him that he couldn’t ignore, something that demanded change.

Steve had always been able to coast along on his charm and his reputation. He had been the guy who could get by with a smile, a joke, and a wink. But now, in the wake of Indie’s confrontation, he felt like he was stripped bare. Her words had ripped away the façade he had carefully constructed, leaving him exposed to his own failings. He had been selfish, irresponsible, and shallow. The weight of his actions—or inactions—pressed heavily on him, and he couldn’t escape the gnawing guilt that had settled in his gut.

He remembered the incident with Jonathan, the way he had broken Jonathan’s camera and how Indie had screamed at him. At the time, he had been defensive, dismissive. But now, reflecting on it, he saw it differently. Indie had been standing up for Jonathan, someone who was just as much a victim as Barb. And in that moment, Steve had been the one causing pain, adding to the suffering. It was a harsh realization, one that made him cringe every time he thought about it.

He needed to make things right. Not just for Barb, but for himself. He couldn’t stand the way Indie had looked at him, couldn’t bear the thought of being the person she had seen that day. He needed to prove to himself, and to her, that he was capable of change. He needed to be someone who was worth more than the worst of his actions.

Every time Steve thought about Barb, he was filled with a sense of dread and remorse. He knew he had failed her, had failed to protect her when she needed it the most. And now, Indie’s anger had become a catalyst for his own self-improvement. He understood that making amends was more than just about saying sorry; it was about changing his behavior, making real, tangible efforts to be better.

He started by reaching out to Jonathan, trying to mend the broken trust and offering genuine apologies. It was a small step, but it was necessary. He wanted to show that he was more than just the sum of his mistakes. He wanted to prove that he could be the kind of person who took responsibility and worked towards making things right.

As days turned into weeks, Steve’s self-reflection deepened. He grappled with his own shortcomings and tried to build a path toward redemption. It wasn’t easy, and there were moments when he wanted to give up, when the weight of his guilt felt too heavy to bear. But he kept pushing forward, driven by the need to change and by the hope that, somehow, Indie would see the effort he was making.

Every step he took towards self-improvement was a way of addressing the hurt he had caused. He knew that the road to redemption was long and fraught with challenges, but he was determined to walk it. Because more than anything, he wanted to erase the image of Indie’s disappointment from his mind, and replace it with one of respect and understanding.

Steve knew that he had a long way to go. He had to confront his own flaws, work through his guilt, and strive to become a better person. The path to redemption was uncertain and filled with obstacles, but for the first time, he was committed to facing it head-on. And somewhere along that journey, he hoped that Indie would see the change in him and, perhaps, find it in herself to forgive him.

[peachetteprice]

27 Hawthorn Court | Simon "Ghost" Riley

Chapter 2 - The Sunk Cost Fallacy

Chapter Summary:

The Sunk Cost Fallacy: is the tendency for people to continue an endeavour or course of action even when abandoning it would be more beneficial. Because we have invested our time, energy, or other resources, we feel that it would all have been for nothing if we quit. (Source: Scribbr).

1.6K Words

Content warnings: none

God, she'd done it.

She'd really done it now.

If the previous interrogation hadn't sacrificed her job to the wolves, what she'd just done would have surely slathered it in blood and hung it from an iron hook for easy pickings. Being the man he seemed to be, Ghost would have said nothing about her butchering of the Greater Manchester Police - as if their reputation could get any worse - but if anyone (anyone, that is) found out about the insurance she'd just pinched for her own personal gain, the British monarchy itself might finally be torn apart.

All because of what she'd done.

There was no better place to confront the consequences of her actions than in a McDonald's car park, truly, staring blankly at her smudged lipstick in the driver's side overhanging mirror, pupils barely able to defy the open zipper of her purse.

"Can we go inside, now, mummy?"

George wanted chicken nuggets. He did; he made sure she knew. She did, too.

The lad wouldn't stop begging for them on the drive there, even with his chubby hand simultaneously stuck inside a Walker's crisp packet (ready-salted, he wasn't much of a fine diner), nibbling at the salty crumbs smushed alongside his saliva into the corners. Luckily, Ruth could spare a few quid, and she'd do just about anything to take her mind off the sacrilege she'd just committed against her country.

"Yeah, mate." She bleeped wearily, wiping the stain of lipstick from beneath her bottom lip. Brutally, it'd taught her not to apply makeup and drive, in tandem; she looked positively troll-like, and it only served to sour her good opinion of herself, which currently strung its head out of the window along an open motorway in the hopes that an oncoming four-by-four might lop it off entirely.

She hoped for some truth in that sentiment as she grabbed her keys.

The greasy food that arrived on their table eight (maybe, twelve; they had to visit the bathroom) minutes after entering the McDonald's was nothing like the drool-worthy scent that had infiltrated every rational thought of hunger. It never was; the bark was harsher than the bite, so to speak, and - as pellets of rain (again) began to dribble down the window pane - there was nothing less appetising than the slop inside two buns that called itself a 'hamburger', but it was sustenance, and sustenance she desperately needed after thirteen hours with nothing but a Lucozade and polo mints.

"Enjoyin' your meal?"

The unfamiliar voice and the man who'd accompanied it - who took the booth seat beside Ruth - had come not a few minutes after she'd shovelled half of the burger between her lips, saliva coating the gummy mush until it was just slick enough to slide down her gullet with an audible gulp.

Ruth didn't recognise him.

He was a tall fellow, adequately covered on the bottom half of his face by a thick beard. He didn't wear a suit, although the command of his voice certainly warranted it, but a slim knitted jumper, sky blue, hitched past the elbows to show off his lean, furry arms. And, though his eyes were seemingly kind and oddly bear cub-like, the pit of his voice was rough and hard, like a rolling tyre down a gravel path. It was an odd dichotomy that Ruth didn't want to think too much about, for fear it would consume the better half of her thoughts. What sort of a man was he?

Ruth didn't say anything at first. 'Enjoyin' was quite the overstatement, and she knew better than to engage a stranger in conversation in the restaurant-portion of a McDonald's at midnight. Yes, George had had a nap at the childminder's which might have satiated his ramblings but she'd rather he didn't mention anything about the contents of her purse beneath the table, something she lamented herself for telling him in the first place.

And she lamented herself, further, as the man swiftly introduced himself:

"John Price. Captain, but I won't force that on ya." He smiled. "Pleasure to meet ya, detective."

"John Price. From the... from the case," she voiced, utterly confused as he took her hand and shook it; tough grip. "You're the suspect's captain, is that right?"

A moment of doubt hit his throat in the form of a chuckle. The suspect's captain, that he was, but he wasn't from the 'case', he explained, he was simply from the files pertaining to the case, pertaining to Ghost, but his person had nothing to do with the case, as it stood. 'Water under the bridge', Ruth had shot back, though a worse-than-disgruntled expression took over the hollow of his face where the light - from the overhead McDonald's ceiling lamp - had cast its shadow.

Water under the bridge, it surely was not, because that was the difference between a 'guilty party' and an 'innocent bystander', he'd chastised.

"But, let's move on. It's never good to get hung up on the details, hey?"

It was as John - see, he'd said she could call him John, for the sake of nonchalance - was explaining that Ruth would no longer be working on the case as it had been leveraged from the GMPs mitts and put under special provision within the military paralegals, to be swept under the rug and forgotten entirely about, no doubt, and it was the very reason John had tracked her from the station all the way to McDonald's (it was such a passing statement that Ruth hardly put a moment's thought to its disturbing nature), when a look of horror swept the intricacies of her face.

Horror that, as he continued explaining that all resources henceforth would be passed along as property of Herefordshire Council and the overarching Constabulary, only settled further into the knot within her brow and the crinkle of disgusted skin beside her nose.

Horror that, unfortunately, he'd noticed and asked if everything was alright.

"Fine." She nodded, though John mightn't have thought it the least bit convincing. "A-are you sure this is the sort of case that should be passed across borough lines, let alone... through different constabularies?"

"It's a sensitive case--" he began, but was severely challenged as Ruth cut him off, noting,

"--But it has everything to do with a family who've been murdered, brutally, not some... Lieutenant in the bloody military, only unless he has something to do with the facts."

"Simon Riley does not have anything to do with the facts." John assured.

"How can you know that--?"

"--Detective Wyatt." Price thumbed the table, extending his sincerest of smiles, trying to hide the displeasure creeping into the outer corners of his eyes, "This is no longer an issue for you or your station. We will conduct our own investigation--"

"--And what do we tell the press when they come knockin', askin' for updates on the Riley case? Are we supposed to tell them that some bloke stopped me in a McDonald's in front of my son and took it right from my bloody hands?"

It wouldn't have been such an issue if she had rid her brain of that boy's face.

"You will tell them that it is a sensitive case and that it has been moved out of your domain to be dealt with properly," his plosives exploded across every word, and every phrase was punctuated with the tap of his dull fingertip on the table, "do I make myself clear?"

"Will it be dealt with properly?"

"Do I make myself clear," he was insistent, if nothing else, and it was brilliantly aggravating. "Detective--"

"--Will it truly be dealt with properly, John?" Her nostrils flared. "What are you gonna do about that little boy and his family?"

John's gaze petered to your own boy, George, munching mindlessly away on a bag of soggy, earthy-tasting carrots that, otherwise, to a kid who didn't yet know the taste of a medium-rare steak, must have been luxurious.

"Alright. " He growled. "You wanna get personal? I can get personal. Do you always equate the cases you work on with your family? Is that how you assign importance to 'em?"

"Scuse me?" She rummaged for any sense from his thoughts but came up null.

"You've been at the job for eleven-and-a-half years, you're never prone to insubordination, yet, I'm speakin' to you clearly and calmly about how this is not a civilian matter, and you're gettin' pissy with me."

"Don't you dare talk to me that way--"

"--No, no, no, Ruth." He wagged a finger disapprovingly with such arrogance that, for a moment, she thought herself a dog at the beg and call of his command. Her mouth clobbered shut like one as he continued, "I am not your boss. I am not your friend. " He was really punctuating now. "I'm here to explain to you that, with your chief's permission, you will be persuaded that this is not your case."

The insolence. The pure, vitriolic insolence from such an inane man. How dare he have the tact to say such a thing?

A sliver of her mouth barely lay exposed as she began to speak, but even that couldn't be let past his conviction.

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear ?" Dictated the man.

There was nothing left for her to say but, "Yes," no matter how terribly her mind shrieked 'no'.

Not a civilian matter? Even when matter was only a matter because of innocent civilians? Not her case? Despite the overwhelming fact that she was the first detective on scene as soon as the murder had been known to the police? She had run on a Lucozade and polo mints, for God's sake, for a case that was now not her liberty to investigate?!

It was all that concerned her mind as she sat before her rear view mirror, again, marvelling at the stain of lipstick that still hadn't come away from her damn skin.

All because of what she had done.

What she had done, in fact, was the very reason she'd tried to rejuvenate her appearance for the first time in five years. It was the reason she'd attempted to alter her makeup at one shifty traffic light, matching the crimson of her lips to the stop signal and giving her hair a tussle for good luck.

All because, sitting in her purse, were the blacked-out copies of the case files for a series of murders that were no longer under her investigation.

And Christ, she'd really done it now.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[urbanchristiannews]

HERE WE GO, AND THE DEVIL IS A LIE! RILEY GAINES SAYS ADIDAS IS "ERASING WOMEN" by Using 6-ft-2 Biological Male With Hair on His Chest, no Breasts, and a Penis Bulge For Women's Swimwear Line During So-Called "Pride Month," Which Should be Called the "Sackcloth and Ashes" Month Just One Month After DYLAN MULVANEY'S DISASTER WITH NIKE AND BUD LIGHT. Daniel Whyte III, President of Gospel Light Society International, Says Real Men and Real Women Ought to Stand With Riley Gaines and Others by Any Means Necessary Against This Satanic Sodomite/Homosexual-led ERASING OF WOMEN. Women Who Fought So Hard For Decades to be Noticed and Seen Are Now Being ERASED, and Some Women Are Going Along With the "ERASURE GENOCIDE." Whyte Says Further, This is the First Time He Has Seen So Many Women Willingly Submit to Men Who Are Trying to Erase Them. By the Way, Some Pastors and Churches Are Participating in the Erasure of Women by Having So-called MAN CHURCH. Some Men Are Erasing Women to the Point Women Are Saying They Do Not Know What a Woman is, Including a Supreme Court Justice, and Some Are Foolishly Nodding Their Heads and Agreeing by Saying, Yes, a Man Can Get Pregnant. Whyte Says THIS IS MADNESS! Yet, People Call Whyte Mad. Whyte Responds Back and Says With Paul to the Leaders of the Abomi-NATION: NO, "I AM NOT MAD, MOST NOBLE FESTUS; BUT SPEAK FORTH THE WORDS OF TRUTH AND SOBERNESS."

https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/05/18/11/71120489-12096977-Adidas_has_been_slammed_for_using_what_appears_to_be_a_male_mode-a-50_1684406461329.jpg   HERE WE GO, AND THE DEVIL IS A LIE! RILEY GAINES SAYS ADIDAS IS “ERASING WOMEN” by Using 6-ft-2 Biological Male With Hair on His Chest, no Breasts, and a Penis Bulge For Women’s Swimwear Line During So-Called “Pride Month,” Which Should be Called…

[theyoungturks]

Ex-NCAA swimmer Riley Gaines claims trans rights activists assaulted her. Ana Kasparian and Cenk Uygur discuss on The Young Turks. Watch TYT LIVE on weekdays 6-8 pm ET. http://youtube.com/theyoungturks/live Read more HERE: https://www.cnn.com/videos/us/2023/04/08/riley-gaines-protesters-san-francisco-state-university-nr-intl-vpx.cnn "Former NCAA swimmer Riley Gaines said she was assaulted on the campus of San Francisco State University, where she spoke about her views opposing the inclusion of transgender athletes in women's sports, according to the event announcement. CNN's Natasha Chen reports."* *** The largest online progressive news show in the world. Hosted by Cenk Uygur and Ana Kasparian. LIVE weekdays 6-8 pm ET. Help support our mission and get perks. Membership protects TYT's independence from corporate ownership and allows us to provide free live shows that speak truth to power for people around the world. See Perks: ▶ https://www.youtube.com/TheYoungTurks/join SUBSCRIBE on YOUTUBE: ☞ http://www.youtube.com/subscription_center?add_user=theyoungturks FACEBOOK: ☞ http://www.facebook.com/TheYoungTurks TWITTER: ☞ http://www.twitter.com/TheYoungTurks INSTAGRAM: ☞ http://www.instagram.com/TheYoungTurks TWITCH: ☞ http://www.twitch.com/tyt 👕 Merch: http://shoptyt.com ❤ Donate: http://www.tyt.com/go 🔗 Website: https://www.tyt.com 📱App: http://www.tyt.com/app 📬 Newsletters: https://www.tyt.com/newsletters/ If you want to watch more videos from TYT, consider subscribing to other channels in our network: The Watchlist https://www.youtube.com/watchlisttyt Indisputable with Dr. Rashad Richey https://www.youtube.com/indisputabletyt Unbossed with Nina Turner https://www.youtube.com/unbossedtyt The Damage Report ▶ https://www.youtube.com/thedamagereport TYT Sports ▶ https://www.youtube.com/tytsports The Conversation ▶ https://www.youtube.com/tytconversation Rebel HQ ▶ https://www.youtube.com/rebelhq TYT Investigates ▶ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCwNJt9PYyN1uyw2XhNIQMMA #TYT #TheYoungTurks #BreakingNews 230411__TA03Transgender by The Young Turks

[jdgo51]

The Glorious Truth of Easter Day: My Lord Is Living!

Today's inspiration comes from:

Streams in the Desert

by L. B. E. Cowman

"I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever!" — Revelation 1:18

"'Flowers! Easter lilies! Speak to me this morning the same sweet lesson of immortality you have been speaking to so many sorrowing souls for years. Wise old Book! Let me read again in your pages the steady assurance that “to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

Poets! Recite for me your verses that resound the gospel of eternal life in every line.

Singers! Break forth once more into hymns of joy — let me hear again my favorite resurrection songs.

Trees, blossoms, and birds; and seas, skies, and winds — whisper it, sound it anew, sing it, echo it, let it beat and resonate through every atom and particle on earth, and let the air be filled with it. Let it be told and retold again and again, until hope rises to become conviction, and conviction becomes the certainty of knowing. Let it be told until, like Paul, even when we face our death, we will go triumphantly, with our faith secure and a peaceful and radiant expression on our face.

Christ is not only a fact but a living fact. He is the glorious truth of Easter Day!

O sad-faced mourners, who each day are wending Through churchyard paths of cypress and of yew, Leave for today the low graves you are tending, And lift your eyes to God’s eternal blue! It is no time for bitterness or sadness; Choose Easter lilies, not pale asphodels; Let your souls thrill to the caress of gladness, And answer the sweet chime of Easter bells. If Christ were still within the grave’s low prison, A captive of the Enemy we dread; If from that rotting cell He had not risen, Who then could dry the gloomy tears you shed? If Christ were dead there would be need to sorrow, But He has risen and vanquished death today; Hush, then your sighs, if only till tomorrow, At Easter give your grief a holiday.

~ May Riley Smith

A well-known preacher was once in his study writing an Easter sermon when this thought gripped him: “My Lord is living!” With excitement he jumped up, paced the floor, and began repeating to himself, “Christ is alive. His body is warm. He is not the great ‘I was’ but the great ‘I am.’ ”

Christ is not only a fact but a living fact. He is the glorious truth of Easter Day! Because of that truth, an Easter lily blooms and an angel sits at every believer’s grave. We believe in a risen Lord, so do not look to the past to worship only at His tomb. Look above and within to worship the Christ who lives. Because He lives, we live. ~ Abbott Benjamin Vaughan"'

Excerpted with permission from Streams in the Desert by L. B. E. Cowman, copyright Zondervan.

[mediaevalmusereads]

A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby. By Vanessa Riley. New York: Zebra, 2020.

Rating: 2/5 stars

Genre: historical romance

Part of a Series? Yes, Rogues and Remarkable Women #1

Summary:   When headstrong West Indian heiress Patience Jordan questioned her English husband's mysterious suicide, she lost everything: her newborn son, Lionel, her fortune—and her freedom. Falsely imprisoned, she risks her life to be near her child—until The Widow's Grace gets her hired as her own son’s nanny. But working for his unsuspecting new guardian, Busick Strathmore, Duke of Repington, has perils of its own. Especially when Patience discovers his military strictness belies an ex-rake of unswerving honor—and unexpected passion . . . A wounded military hero, Busick is determined to resolve his dead cousin’s dangerous financial dealings for Lionel’s sake. But his investigation is a minor skirmish compared to dealing with the forthright, courageous, and alluring Patience. Somehow, she's breaking his rules, and sweeping past his defenses. Soon, between formidable enemies and obstacles, they form a fragile trust—but will it be enough to save the future they long to dare together?

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: racism, blood, violence, allusions to suicide, imprisonment, and non-voluntary institutionalization

Overview: I first learned of Vanessa Riley while reading an article about women of color and historical romance, so when I finished a rather confusing (and depressing?) read, I decided to see which of Riley’s books my library had on offer. This novel originally caught my eye because of the marketing: a multi-cultural regency romance? Seems like just the thing I’m looking for! Unfortunately, the writing style just didn’t gel with me, so for that reason, I can’t give this book more than 2 stars.

Writing: While I can respect the easy-to-digest prose style of most romances, Riley’s style didn’t work for me for a number of reasons. First, I found the use of the first person jarring. If you know me, then you’ll know that first person narration feels unnatural to me (unless the book is self-conscious about the way perspective is being used). But I also found the first person strange because Riley’s book alternates between Patience’s POV (which is in first person) and Busick’s POV (which is in third person). While the shift in POV was a nice delineation between the two characters’ perspectives, I ultimately had some trouble losing myself in the story because there was such a marked shift. I found myself preferring Busick’s chapters over Patience’s because I found it easier to let the prose just kind of wash over me.

Riley’s prose style is also a bit too reliant on dialogue and rhetorical questions for my taste. A large portion of this book involves characters talking to one another, which would be fine except I felt like Riley used dialogue in order to tell readers things rather than show them. The dialogue would repeat certain ideas or events over and over again, and the flow of the conversations didn’t feel natural, as topics would change abruptly or characters would speak in ways that didn’t feel genuine. I did like moments when Patience and Busick would have a little tit-for-tat; Riley is strongest when writing Patience's witty comebacks to Busick’s insistence on military order.

But because there was so much dialogue, there wasn’t much room for anything else, and I felt like Riley wasn’t quite sure of how to create suspense without dialogue. As a result, there are a lot of rhetorical questions; “Was she a spy?” “Did he have some secret in his past?” and the like. I feel like these types of questions popped up every other page, and part of the reason they were relied on so much may have been because Riley had a tendency to tell rather than show. Riley would point blank tell us what her characters were thinking or feeling, as well as what actions they were taking, and as a result, the narrative (and characters) felt flat.

Structurally, I also think the book could have used some tweaking. Early on, I felt like Riley was using a lot of expositional dialogue to dump a lot of info on the reader, and Patience’s internal monologue would make allusions to characters or events in ways that felt awkward and/or not relevant in the moment. I even had some trouble determining what exactly was going on at first because the book starts out with an exciting scene, and the circumstances that created that scene were unclear (unless you read the book summary first). To help with this, it would have been beneficial to get some kind of prologue, and if Riley didn’t want a prologue that depicts Patience being separated from her son or being victimized by the antagonist, then maybe we can see her escaping Bedlam or joining the Widow’s Grace - anything to give the book the space to establish a setting.

Plot: This book primarily follows our heroine, Patience Jordan, as she tries to regain custody of her son, Lionel. Following her husband, Colin’s, suicide, his uncle Markham seized control of their estate at Hamlin and claimed guardianship over Lionel. The reason? To gain access to Patience’s father’s money. To cover up the truth, Markham had Patience committed to Bedlam, so now, Patience must find evidence that Markham fabricated this insidious plot - evidence that she thinks is contained in some legal documents hidden within the family home.

However, Lionel’s legal guardian is not Markham, but Busick Strathmore, Colin’s cousin. Wanting to do right by his family, Busick seizes control of Hamlin and establishes himself as Lionel’s adoptive father. Not sure if Busick can be trusted, Patience gets herself hired as a wet nurse for Lionel, and uses her knowledge of the house to look for the legal documents that will prove Markham’s guilt, thus preventing her from being separated from Lionel again.

On paper, this plot looked really intriguing, but in practice, not a whole lot happened. Most of our time is spent reading the dialogue between Patience and various other characters, and we don’t actually get to see much of her snooping around, risking getting caught, and so on. Events didn’t seem to build on one another, so I mostly felt like I was getting character snapshots rather than an actual narrative.

There’s also something of a side plot where a mysterious “ghost” causes some minor trouble around the house. Personally, I think this plot could have been more centralized; if Riley had gone full Gothic romance (I’m thinking Jane Eyre because Jane gets hired to care for a child and Thornfield is spooky), I think this book would have been a delight. But the existing tone is a little too light, so it didn’t quite achieve the desired effect.

I also think that the whole Widow’s Grace stuff removed a lot of agency from Patience. While I liked that Patience had friends - especially friends in high places that could wield social influence to help her - having an organized, underground band of women was a little much for me. I would have preferred to see Patience concoct plans and discover information on her own, rather than having the Widow’s Grace act as the architect.

Characters: Patience, our heroine, is fairly likeable in that she’s brave, determined, and fiercely loyal to the people she cares about. I really enjoyed following her as she tried to search for her legal papers, outsmart Busick, and bring her companions along for the ride. I also liked that she had a lot of complex emotions surrounding her husband’s death; while the marriage wasn’t happy (and she has a lot of feelings about being treated as an Other), she also feels guilty about potentially contributing to her husband’s depression and wonders what she is going to tell her son about his father. I liked seeing her try to work through all these emotions, all while remaining focused on her goals.

Busick, our hero, is also fairly complex, but my appreciation for his complexity is dampened by some of the cheesiness that surrounds his military outlook on life. Busick is a former soldier who is working through his feelings about being injured in battle. Two years before the story begins, Busick loses his leg and must either use a prosthetic or a wheelchair, and he has a lot of issues with the perceptions surrounding his disability. As a result, he tries to hide the fact that he’s missing a leg; he never uses his wheelchair (except when alone) and plays it off like his leg just isn’t healing right. This kind of internalized ableism could have been really interesting to read about, especially since there was an opportunity for Busick to learn more about his value as something other than a soldier. However, Busick’s desperate desire to be useful to the war effort came off as fairly ridiculous; not only does he bring soldiers into his home and conduct drills in his yard (wouldn’t that be done at a camp or base?) but he tries to put Lionel on a strict military-style schedule and requires people to witness him as he rides a horse around the lawn (to prove his strength?). His past as a notorious rake isn’t really utilized effectively either; while we get allusions to his amorous activities, I didn’t really see how it was relevant. Did the military give him more discipline and now he’s reformed? Does he find himself slipping back into his old ways now that he can no longer fight on the battlefield? How does this situation with Patience and Lionel challenge all that? I think I would have liked to see Busick grow a little more, maybe by having him use his guardianship of Hamlin and Lionel as a way to “prove” that he’s changed from rake to responsible, disciplined adult (and his disability threatens that by making him seem incapable, so he has to deal with that as well). And while there were some hints at those kinds of things, they really weren’t central to his story.

Side characters were fairly enjoyable in that they had sweet relationships with the heroine or hero. I particularly enjoyed the relationship Patience had with Jemina - her fellow inmate at Bedlam who suffers from amnesia. I appreciated that Riley didn’t make Jemina seem “crazy,” but instead, she was a capable woman who demonstrates genuine affection and concern for her friend. I also liked that Busick had a similar support in Gantry, a viscount who is helping Busick with Hamlin (and with self-acceptance?) while also struggling with his own family issues. Lady Shrewsbury, the head of the Widow’s Grace, was interesting for the role she played in using her social power to get Patience into Hamlin, but otherwise, I didn’t really like the idea of the Widow’s Grace (because it removes some agency that could have been given to Patience instead).

Markham, our antagonist, is barely present, so I don’t really have many thoughts on him. While his actions were sneaky and abhorrent, and I appreciated that Riley didn’t use him to showcase a bunch of on-page misery, I also thought he was underutilized.

Romance: I hate to say it, but I think Patience and Busick lacked chemistry. I couldn’t quite see how each character enriched each other’s emotional lives; Patience seemed to like Busick because he was fatherly towards Lionel and because he was kind, while Busick seemed to like Patience because she was pretty and defiant. I wish Riley had done a little more to make them feel made for one another; maybe Patience challenges Busick’s rigid outlook on life and shows him that he has value beyond just being a soldier. Maybe Busick shows Patience that she matters as a person - something that was lacking in her marriage to Colin - or that she doesn’t have to take on all her burdens herself. There were hints of some of these things, but because of the writing style, I thought we were told rather than shown that the two characters had feelings for one another.

I also think the romance lacked heat and longing. While not every romance has to be sexy and steamy, I do think that there should be some element of longing that plays out in how the characters interact physically. One place where Riley actually does this pretty well is when Patience discusses how well she works with Busick while taking care of Lionel at night - the two hand him over to one another and move around the room as if doing a “dance,” and they brush against one another and smell each other’s scent. But other than that, it felt like I was smacked in the face with statements like “I noticed his mouth and wondered what it would be like to kiss it” or “Didn’t you notice? He follows you with his eyes!” I personally like these physical moments to be a little more subtle and for them to build on one another without the author having to spell out what they mean for me.

TL;DR: A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby has an intriguing premise and good characters, but ultimately lacks a strong plot, gripping prose style, or steamy romantic chemistry. Most of what holds this book back is the overuse of dialogue and rhetorical questions to create suspense, as well as the tendency to tell not show. While I would love to rate this book higher, the prose just isn’t there.

[morganamysticblog]

A Change of Heart

It was the morning before Riley and Liam’s wedding.  She should have been excited, overwhelmed with joy.  However, all she felt was dread and fear.  The questions continuously running through her head.  Is this really what I want?  Am I about to make the biggest mistake in my life? 

Riley was not used to this fancy of a life.  She had no clue what the expectations would be for her as a Queen.  The scrutiny and pressure she had been under so far from the press and the other nobles was starting to become too much.  I can’t keep up all of this much longer.  I’m going to end up on the cover of every newspaper because I’ll punch somebody in the face or something stupid.

And then there was Liam. She cared about him, but she didn’t feel that intense burning passion for him like she thought she should by now. She had chosen him that day in Paris because Drake had bailed on her, and she knew Liam had feelings for her. She would be safe and taken care of with Liam.  But do I love him?  Do I really want to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him?

So many questions running through her head.  Suddenly there was a knock at her door.

“Come in.”  Madeline opened the door.

“Are you ready?  We need to get you to the boutique immediately. We have a busy day.  No time to sit around wasting it.”

Riley walked into the boutique with Madeline.  Madeline pulled out a purple knee-length dress with flowers on it.  Riley went into the changing booth to change coming out with a small twirl.  “So, is it what you pictured Madeline?”

“It will be perfect for the pictures.  Come, we have a tight schedule.”  Madeline pulled on Riley’s arm almost dragging her to the waiting car outside. A short car ride later they arrived at an upscale bridal shop and Madeline led Riley up to the second floor where Hana, Olivia, Liam, and Drake were already there waiting.

When Riley saw Drake, she gave him a small, sad smile.  Drake just looked down at the floor, not making eye contact.

Madeline sat down on a couch between Liam and Riley, pulling out a large binder filled with fabric scraps, notes and other information for tomorrow’s wedding.

“Alright then, let’s get started.  As you both know most of the arrangements have already been taken care of, but the people need a glimpse into the planning process, so here we are. Duchess Riley, who will be standing with you as your Maid of Honor?”

Riley looked around the room, trying to take deep breaths.  “Hana, would you do me the honor of standing up with me?”

“Oh Riley!!  I would love to.”

Madeline wrote down Riley’s choice, then turned to Liam.  “And your majesty, who will be your Best Man?”

“Drake, you have been my best friend my entire life.  I couldn’t imagine anyone else up there with me.  Would you do me the honor?”

Drake looked up at Liam, a hint of sadness in his eye.  He swallowed hard, then looked over at Riley for a brief moment.  “I…I can’t do this.”  And he jumped up and walked out of the room.  

Liam looked around for a moment, confused, then got up and followed Drake out of the room.

Drake was half way down the stairs before Liam caught him.  “Drake…what’s wrong?  Where are you going?”

“Liam…I just, I can’t be your best man.  I’m sorry.”

Riley sat in the bridal shop with everyone looking at her.  Why are they looking at me?  I’m just as confused as they are.  “I guess I’ll go see what’s going on.”  She got up and went out to the hall.

Liam just looked at Drake with confusion, not understanding why Drake would refuse to be his best man. “Drake, why?  I…I don’t understand.���

Drake turned and looked at Liam, a mix of sadness, anger and guilt merging on his face.  “I just can’t.  If it were anybody else, if you were marrying anyone else, I would do it in a heartbeat.  But…I just can’t.”

Riley stood outside the door to the bridal shop listening to the two men, trying to gain some insight as to why Drake left so abruptly.

“Drake, I don’t understand. I thought you liked Riley.  Your support in all of this craziness has been amazing.  Why would you say no?”

“Liam, I do like Riley. That’s the problem.”

“I hate to sound like a broken record here, but I don’t understand.”

“Anyone else Liam…anyone else.”

“Drake…please.  Tell me what’s going on.”

Drake stood there for a long moment looking down at the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his heart racing.  Finally, he looked up at Liam, “I love you like a brother, Liam, you know that.  But I can’t stand there and watch you marry her.  I just can’t.”

“But why?  Do you think I’m making a mistake?  Do you know something I don’t? Please, Drake, tell me.”

Anger overrode all other emotions as Drake stared at Liam.  “I can’t stand there and watch you marry Riley knowing in my heart that I want it to be me, not you. It should have been me.”

“What…what are you saying Drake?

“I love her damn it! I have the whole time.”

Just then Riley walked out into the stairwell after hearing the conversation between the two.  Her eyes were wide in shock at what she had heard.

Drake saw her, his eyes going wide as well, then he turned and ran out the door, not giving anyone a chance to say anything back.

“Did you know about this?” Liam turned to her, anger suddenly flashing in his eyes.

“Me?  No.”

“Well, now you do.  So what are you going to do about it?  This is what you have been waiting for is it not?”

“Liam, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“In Paris, all those months ago, you did say he was the one you wanted – he was the one you loved.”

“Yes, but…”

“Well?”

“Well what, Liam?”

“What is your decision? Me or Drake?”

“I…uh.”  Riley just stood there with her mouth open, staring at Liam.  He’s blaming me for this?

“I see.”

“What?  Can I take a minute to process here?”

“You shouldn’t have to. I’ll be upstairs when you’ve made your decision.  Don’t take long.”  And Liam went upstairs to the penthouse room above the bridal shop.

Riley sat down on the stairs, total shock setting in.  She had wanted to hear Drake say those words so many times, but he never would, he just kept pushing her away as always.  And then there was Liam’s reaction, which was completely uncharacteristic of what she was used to seeing from him.  He reminded her, in that instant, of a spoiled child throwing a tantrum because he wasn’t getting his way.  If this is what I have in store for me, this is just another reason I can’t do this.

Making a mental checklist in her head, Riley finally began gaining the courage to tell Liam the truth about how she had been feeling, all her doubts and concerns, fears and anxiety. She slowly made her way up the stairs and knocked on the door.

“Enter.”  Riley heard the anger still in his voice, but she pushed open the door, hoping he would calm down and listen to her, her decision becoming more and more clear with every step.

Liam looked up to see Riley walk into the room.  “So? Are we to return to complete the arrangements?”

“Liam, we need to talk. And before you start getting angrier than you already are, what I need to talk to you about has nothing to do with Drake.  This is about me.”

“You?  What, is someone else going to barge in and tell me they have feelings for you as well?  What else could possibly go wrong at this point?”

“Liam, stop.  Please, just listen for a minute.”

“Well, get on with it then.”

“Wow.  You know what…get over yourself, Liam.  I understand that was a shock. It was to me too.  But that does not give you any reason to take it out on me.  I have been going back and forth in my head for weeks trying to figure out a way to say this as delicately and nicely as possible, but with your attitude right now? I don’t know if I can do this the nice way.”

“Get over myself.  Get over myself?  Did you seriously just tell me, your King, to get over myself?”

“For starters, you are not my King.  I am an American citizen, not a Cordonian citizen.  And yes, I told you to get over yourself.  You may be King of this country, but your attitude?  You do not speak to me like that.  EVER.”

Liam snapped his head up, staring at Riley.  No one had ever spoken to him like that before.  Something clicked in his mind and he slowly started to calm down a bit. “Riley, I apologize.  You are correct, I should not have spoken to you in that manner.  What did you want to discuss?”

Riley took a deep breath, trying to form the words in her mind, picking at imaginary strings on her dress.  Finally she looked up, taking another deep breath.  “Liam, I can’t marry you.”

“Of course you can. We have everything prepared for tomorrow.”

“No, I mean, I know everything is ready, I just…I can’t do this.  I can’t be Queen or Duchess or any of it.”

“Riley, you are allowing your nerves to get the better of you.  Let’s just go back downstairs and finish the arrangements.  You’ll feel better once that is complete.”

“Liam, you’re not listening to me.  I…I can’t do this.  I thought I could, but the more this went on, the deeper in I got, this is all too much.” Riley looked down at her hands, not wanting to make eye contact with him.

Liam took Riley’s hand in his and gently pulled her chin up with his other hand to look at him. “Riley, you will be fine, I promise. The press and the people adore you. The way you have handled every situation so far, you are amazing.  You have nothing to worry about.”

A tear slowly released from Riley’s eye as she looked at him.  “Liam, I can’t do this.  It was fun for a while, like Cinderella getting to go to the ball, every girl’s dream of becoming a princess, but it’s too much…it’s all becoming way too much. I just want my normal life back.”

“I don’t understand. What are you saying?  I thought we were meant to be together.”

“Liam…” tears began falling from Riley’s eyes.  She didn’t want to hurt him, but she couldn’t go on like this either.  “I…I can’t marry you.  Not just because of the massive ulcer creating fear I have about everything, but because…because I don’t love you.  Not the way I should.  I care about you, I really do.  But it feels more like a really good friend, not someone I want to spend my life with.”

“But…we are engaged. You said ‘yes’ when I asked you to marry me.  You said this had nothing to do with Drake.”

“It doesn’t.  This is all me, my thoughts, my fears, my choice. I tried to tell you so many times, but there never seemed like a ‘right time’.”  Riley looked down at her hands again, not wanting to make eye contact. This was a lot harder than she thought it would be.

“Riley…are you certain? Are you positive this is not just due to nerves?”

“I’m sure.  You said before that you didn’t want a loveless marriage.  And I’m not saying this would be completely loveless, because I do care about you, but like I said, I’m not in love with you.  I didn’t want to lead you on, and I know that’s exactly what happened.  I tried, Liam.  I really did.  It’s just not there.”

“I…I understand.” Liam let out a sigh before taking her hand in his and looking at her.  “Believe it or not, I feel the same.  You are a wonderful friend, and I would not give up the time we have spent together for anything, but that spark, that feeling that I thought was love, I see now that it is not.”

Riley’s eyes went wide hearing Liam confirm that he felt the same for her, friendship, not love.  At that instant it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her.

“I do not wish to force you into something you are uncomfortable with.  However, I have already broken off one engagement to be with you.  The people will not look favorably upon me if I do it again, especially the day before our wedding.”

A light went on in Riley’s mind, recalling something she had read while helping Olivia research her family history.  “I have an idea how to fix that.”

Liam’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “I’m listening.”

“You know Cordonian history better than anyone, right?”

“I would like to think so.”

“The very first ruler of the united Cordonia, Kenna, worked with Diavolos Nevraskis to overthrow and defeat his father, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened when the dust settled and Kenna’s forces won the war and united the five kingdoms?”

“Kenna married…”

“Kenna married who?”

“Diavolos Nevrakis.”

“Exactly.  Diavolos went against his family heritage, so to speak, aligned with Kenna, supported her, and showed that the Nevrakis family could be a strong ally.  Kenna and Diavolos fell in love and were married in the first Cordonian royal wedding.”

“Riley, what are you getting at?”

“Liam, there is one woman who loves you more than life itself.  Olivia Nevrakis.  If you marry Olivia, it would harken back to the first royal marriage, Rhys and Nevrakis joining together, again.”

“The people would never go for it.  And what of her betrothal to Anton?”

“The only person who would object would be Anton.  And the entire kingdom knows he is a traitor and murderer, so they wouldn’t believe him anyway.”

“But the marriage contract signed by her parents.  That could be discovered and published.”

“There could be an ‘accident’ that somehow, oops, destroyed that document.  No one would know except the two of you.”

“I…I don’t know. Olivia is a friend.  You say she loves me, truly.  I don’t know if I can say the same.”

“Think back to all of your time together.  How she has been there for you through everything since you were children.  And how she looked at you during the social season, how she kissed you at the ball in Lythikos.  You can’t tell me you don’t feel something for her.”

Liam closed his eyes, thinking about how she had grown and become very beautiful, smart, strong. Then he thought about that kiss. He hadn’t admitted it to himself before because he was focusing his attention on Riley then, but he did feel something when Olivia kissed him.  He replayed the moment in his head again, then his eyes opened wide with realization. He did have feelings for Olivia.

He looked at Riley taking a deep breath.  “I…I…I see it now.”

“Ok, so now we get Olivia up here.  I believe you have a question for her.”

Liam pulled out his phone calling Olivia.  “Olivia, could you please come up to the penthouse room upstairs?  I need to discuss something with you.”

“Sure.  I’ll be there in just a minute.  Is everything ok?”

“Hopefully.  Just please come upstairs.”

“I’m on my way.”

Liam hung up the phone and looked at Riley.  “Will you stay?  To help explain?”

“Sure.”

[romace-tea-cup]

Imagine being a rose quartz goddess and you are mated to felix Volturi. Part One

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

I was coming home after a long day of studying for a project in the library , it was currently 9pm and i was walking down the cold streets of seattle . Seattle had some cold nights during winter , i had put on my headphones but i was disturbed when i noticed a red headed girl , She had big red curly hair and had snow pale like skin . She seemed to notice me , she then walked up to me and bit me on my neck . The pain was unbearable it felt like they just had poured lava on my skin and i was being burned alive . After 15 minutes of feeling pain i started to fall asleep , but before i fell asleep i felt myself change my form in some way , i felt my skin develope crystals and my hair growing longer than it was . Before i closed my eye's i saw a man while he was looking down on me with the red head woman . " This one is a gifted one , good catch " the red headed girl just looked at me and said " Yes , it appears i have caught a strange creature " . I then felt a pair of cold arms lift me up and carry me , i noticed it was the man and the red headed girl followed behind . Then ... It all went pitch black .

Three Days later

I woke up on the floor , i was not sure where i was it looked like an old house or a warehouse . I then slowly started re gaining my memories back and remembered that i was attacked by that red haired girl . I then noticed my hair ... It was way longer it reached my knees and it was pink , then i felt my face and i had some type of diamonds on me i started to panic until a cold hand touched my shoulder , i turned around and saw the guy that had carried me before everything had turned pitch black .

" I see that you are awake , i must admit , you are a wired little thing " he stated " Where am i ? What happened ? What am i ? " i questioned him and he seemed to chuckle " Sweet heart , if i knew what you were i would tell you , but truth is that i don't even know myself , welcome to hell , you are now a vampire my dear " after his statement i froze , what the hell did he mean by vampire !!?? " what ? Vampires don't exist " he then chuckled deeply and looked at me " If we are not vampires then i would not be able to do this " he then ran as fast as lighting and then right then and there i knew he was telling the truth . The red haired girl had arrived and took a look at me and she then raised an eyebrow after examining my new look " What the hell is she supposed to be ? " she questioned and he again chuckled amusedly " Victoria if i knew i would tell you , she is a beauty is she not ? " she the. Questioned my identity " Who are you ? " i them proceeded to tell her " My name is y/n " she then looked confused , " You are a wired little thing , normally newborns are thirsty , aren't you feeling thirsty ? " i shook my head and then she became more and more confused , never in her thousands of years if being alive has she witnessed something this extraordinary . My hair then light up into a bright pink light and i summoned a shield some how and a sword they stood silent for a moment and then decided to speak up " What the hell is this !? " she said , i then chuckled at her " You were the one that turned me you should know hunny " , " Seems like you have captured a great talented one victoria , nice catch , she would make a great addition to the army " she then smiled " Yeah , she would "

The rest of the week i spent it bonding with Bree and diego . Then were amazed at my gems , beauty , long pink hair , and my abilities . It was almost as if they relied on me if anything happened . Then I decided to head out at night to steal some clothes , i was walking around when a newborn nearly lost his shit with me and i pulled out my sword and shield and attacked him , when he tried to fight back i realized i had developed a new power , a pink light just flashed at him making him scream in pain before being burned with a light pink fire . I was amazed at my abilities but decided to keep it a secret from Riley and victoria . I started walking like nothing happened but then i looked up and i noticed four vampires where looking down at me while the rest of the newborns were fighting for humans to feed , there facial expressions were confused and as if they wanted to take a closer look at me . I then panicked because they al looked scary and had grey cloaks and i decided to run , they did not bother to chase so i just decided to ignore it and continue as if nothing had happened .

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FELIX'S POV

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We were sent to seattle to go check on the new born army that had caught the eye's of various humans including vampire covens . We were discussing what we should do and demetri spoke up and said " They have already drawn too much attention " i then felt an urge to speak my opinion " So has our un action , others may begin to question the volturi's effective ness " i said , i hated when other vampires thought that we were weak and not strong enough to put an end to the army . Jane then said " Let them " while not taking the eye of the army fighting over food , I had enough of her attitude , she was turned as a kid she does not know what to do ! So i gently said " Maybe we should consult with aro " and then she used her power on me to remind me that aro's decision are being watched , i felt a rage to rip her head off but i knew i did not stand a chance against her and her brothers abilities . Alec then spoke uo and said " Then decide sister , its time " she then agreed and stated " Yes it is , either we let them do what they were created for ... Or we end them (sigh) decisions decisions " then i got up with an urge to keep my growl from escaping my mouth and demetri just had a smirk on his face while looking amused at my attitude iver feeling janes power . We all got our attention when we saw a girl , She has beautiful long knee length pink hair , pale skin with gems on her face , a beautiful form , and a sword and shield that were the color pink she had summoned . A new born had attacked her and she summoned her sword and shield , then she proceeded to light the new born on fire making the flames pink and beautiful . We all looked down at her trying to get a closer look at who she might be . She seems to have notice us because she had run away but we dis not chase after her . " Impressive , i have never seen a vampire with strange abilities " jane stated and alec agreed . We then decided to confront the leaders of the newborn army Riley and victoria .

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Username : yunnoitwasshorty

Full name : romancetea

Let me know if you enjoyed this chapter love yall lovelies ill continue the next chapter soon please follow me !

[urbanchristiannews]

HERE WE GO, AND THE DEVIL IS A LIE! RILEY GAINES SAYS ADIDAS IS "ERASING WOMEN" by Using 6-ft-2 Biological Male With Hair on His Chest, no Breasts, and a Penis Bulge For Women's Swimwear Line During So-Called "Pride Month," Which Should be Called the "Sackcloth and Ashes" Month Just One Month After DYLAN MULVANEY'S DISASTER WITH NIKE AND BUD LIGHT. Daniel Whyte III, President of Gospel Light Society International, Says Real Men and Real Women Ought to Stand With Riley Gaines and Others by Any Means Necessary Against This Satanic Sodomite/Homosexual-led ERASING OF WOMEN. Women Who Fought So Hard For Decades to be Noticed and Seen Are Now Being ERASED, and Some Women Are Going Along With the "ERASURE GENOCIDE." Whyte Says Further, This is the First Time He Has Seen So Many Women Willingly Submit to Men Who Are Trying to Erase Them. By the Way, Some Pastors and Churches Are Participating in the Erasure of Women by Having So-called MAN CHURCH. Some Men Are Erasing Women to the Point Women Are Saying They Do Not Know What a Woman is, Including a Supreme Court Justice, and Some Are Foolishly Nodding Their Heads and Agreeing by Saying, Yes, a Man Can Get Pregnant. Whyte Says THIS IS MADNESS! Yet, People Call Whyte Mad. Whyte Responds Back and Says With Paul to the Leaders of the Abomi-NATION: NO, "I AM NOT MAD, MOST NOBLE FESTUS; BUT SPEAK FORTH THE WORDS OF TRUTH AND SOBERNESS."

https://i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2023/05/18/11/71120489-12096977-Adidas_has_been_slammed_for_using_what_appears_to_be_a_male_mode-a-50_1684406461329.jpg   HERE WE GO, AND THE DEVIL IS A LIE! RILEY GAINES SAYS ADIDAS IS “ERASING WOMEN” by Using 6-ft-2 Biological Male With Hair on His Chest, no Breasts, and a Penis Bulge For Women’s Swimwear Line During So-Called “Pride Month,” Which Should be Called…

[supernaturalteenwolf14]

Cora’s Brother Part 2

Okay since my last one got some likes I’ll go ahead and do another part!!! Fair warning it will be a little bit of a slow burn.

In this part Derek is seeking help from Riley about him learning to shift into a full wolf without difficulty. In my little world here him and Braeden weren’t a thing, it would just complicate things. 

Words: 2862

Thank you for reading!!!!!

Part One

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“All you have to do is breath Mitch” I told one of the beta’s who was getting ready to go through their first full moon. When a werewolf hits puberty the full moon after is when they go through their first full shift.

“Obviously I’m breathing” He said angrily

“Okay why don’t you calm down then? Think of something that makes you happy like your family or friends. Focus on that thought and only that and while doing so slow your breathing” I told him. He nodded his head and did as I told soon I saw his claws turn back to his human ones. 

“Thank you” He told me relieved 

“It’s all about finding an anchor Mitch, now go back to class remember I’m here if you need me. Don’t try to kill anymore teachers” I joked.  

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

The full moon was tonight and the compound is as it always is on a full moon. Slightly panicked. We had multiple wolves coming of age and some omegas who still need to learn control.

“Is everything handled for tonight?” My grandma asked me.  

“Should be” I stated. “Mom is getting everyone chained up now who absolutely needs in and I”ll be with the ones who think they can control it and if they can I’ll talk them through it” 

“Good” She stated walking away.

“What are you going to do?” I asked her. 

“I’m going to take a nap, you guys got it handled” She said.  

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

She was right we got it handled. Everyone I was with was in control and my mother even got a couple of the out of control ones to gain it back. Overall it was a pretty good full moon. Right now it was the morning after and I could already feel my bones aching for not fully shifting last night.

“You okay?” Cora asked me from the doorway.

“I’m fine, I’ll just need to shift tonight since I couldn’t last night” I told her. 

“Derek is coming back” Cora told me I looked up at her and smiled. It’s been a couple months since we both last seen Derek. Of course Cora had been keeping in touch with him. “He’s gonna need your help”

I furrowed my eyebrows at her in confusion “With what?” 

“He evolved” She said proudly. When a wolf evolves it means they can now change into a full wolf, which is rare. Talia Hale could do it so it runs in the family. I remember when I evolved, it’s a scary thing thinking you’re loosing your power only to gain it pack more powerful than ever. I remember Cora asked us about the lose of power Derek was experiencing, we all thought it was a by product of what Kate Argent did to him, we were wrong. 

“Cora that’s great! Yeah I’ll help him.”

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

I looked down from the balcony and watched as Derek entered and gave his sister a hug. I made my way downstairs and greeted him with a smile. “Congratulations” I told him. 

He nodded at me. “I was hoping I could get your help”

“Of course, we’ll start tomorrow, tonight we eat” I stated with a smile. 

“Here?” Cora asked. 

“Nah we’re going out” I said. 

All three of us walked into the restaurant on the other side of town otherwise known as the ‘human’ side of town. The humans aren’t aware of our existence but people have their superstitions. We all got our table and ordered our food. 

“How’s Scott?” Cora asked her brother. 

“He’s good, he’s got Beacon Hills covered” He answered. 

“So you’re staying?” Cora asked hopeful. 

“Yeah I’m staying” He said his eyes shifting to me. “And I kinda need a pack” 

“Well then tonight isn’t just dinner; it’s a celebration. Welcome to the pack Derek.” I told him. 

“Here you go” The familiar waiter said as he gave Cora and Derek their food “And for you” He said once he got to me and set my plate down in front of me. 

“That’s real funny Connor, why don’t you go back and actually cook my hamburger” I told him noticing my completely raw food. 

“Why don’t you go back to your side of town” He told me matching my tone. 

“It was once your side of town too” I informed him.

“Not anymore it isn’t” He said before another female waitress intervened with a nasty look at Connor and taking my plate apologizing to me.

“I hate him” I said. 

“Who was that?” Derek asked. 

“Connor Sparks, my brother. He’s like us, he just doesn’t want to be so once he learned control he bailed. I didn’t think he was working today” I said. 

“What he just doesn’t have nothing to do with you guys?” He asked. The surge of anger I got basically sent my body into over drive. I needed to shift.

“Yep, and on that note, you two enjoy dinner, there’s something I need to do” I told them putting enough money on the table that would pay for their dinner plus a tip.

“Riley wha-” Cora started. 

“I’m good I just need to run” I said and left before anything else could be said. Truth is I didn’t want to be in the same place as Connor especially after the way he had just treated me. How could someone be born into one of the most powerful werewolf families and not want to be a part of any of it, instead chooses to start his own family. He has a wife and three kids that have no idea about me and he won’t let any of us around them. Even goes as far as to not take them to the school I work at. Going out into the woods I took my clothes off and shifted into a wolf. Then I just ran.

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

“Okay so this whole process is going to hurt like hell” I warned Derek. I was getting ready to teach him how to fully shift. “You aren’t going to be able to fully shift until the next full moon but you can get there part of the way so that it won’t hurt so bad” 

“The first one wasn’t too bad” He stated. 

“It’s always the easiest. It’s the ones after that hurt like hell. Your body and your mind now knows whats going to happen. You feel it don’t you?” I asked him. 

“Yeah, like my whole body is sore” He said rubbing his shoulder. 

“All 206 of our bones break and morph into completely different shapes and sizes to form our wolf. Most of the time your sore like that after a shift but it goes away. It becomes painful before a full moon, that’s why I usually like to shift during the full moon when I can” I told him. 

“Because of the pain?” He asked me. 

“Because the more you hold back a full shift the more pain your in until eventually your body decides to do it for you” I told him. “It would be like your out of control basically the smallest amount of anger is enough to get you to shift, but once you are shifted all you feel is relief.”

“Like last night?” He asked me referring to my sudden exit last night. 

“Like last night” I confirmed. “The woods are ours so we can run in them anytime without worrying about humans seeing us or hunters” 

“Sounds nice” He stated. 

“It is” I smiled. 

“So how do I start the shift?” He asked. 

“You concentrate. Imagine yourself becoming the wolf focus on your body. I usually start with my neck but it can be something else.” I said watching as Derek concentrated as hard as he could until a crack was heard in the room and Derek grunted in pain.

“You’re right” He said breathing deeply “It hurts”

“The first couple times yeah, but you get used to it” I told him. “What broke?”

“My shoulder” He said rubbing it. 

“Next time it happens don’t let the pain take you out, let it guide you. What ever hurts focus on it more what ever you do just don’t fight it” I told him as his grunts of pain filled the air as more and more of his bones broke. 

“I think that’s enough for today” I told him “You did good”

“It didn’t feel good” He told me. 

“Ice baths help” I told him

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

It’s been a couple months since Derek’s been a part of the pack. He’s been a good help tagging along when he could when we had to meet with some of the surrounding packs. He’s been doing well on his shifting although he hasn’t fully shifted he’s gotten close, this next moon coming up I’m sure he will fully shift. We’ve become good friends. He’s learned how we work and he’s gotten to know a lot of the other pack members. Even though he has a room here if he wanted him and Cora decided to move into a loft close to here. It’s kinda like if they aren’t here they are there and vice versa. 

Right now my mother and grandmother are discussing about what to do about one of the surrounding packs beta. Their alpha is a hot head named Marcus. One of his betas hunted down a young hunter and killed him. When it comes to this sort of thing we let the hunters decide what to do. Marcus’s beta who I learned was named Karl was in his right mind and knew what he was doing. He chose to take an innocent life and there was nothing we could do about that. The good thing with our hunters here is that they make death a very last option. 

“I wanna speak with your alpha!” A large man said storming into the compound. Marcus. 

“You can speak to me” I told him.

“Last time I checked you weren’t the alpha little wolf” He said a little too close to my face for comfort. 

“You can speak to the alpha through me” My mother said coming up next to me. 

“They aren’t taking my beta” He said to her. My eyes shifted to Derek and Cora entering the compound their attention focused on Marcus. Everyone’s attention was focused on him.

“Your beta killed one of them, he was a child and he was innocent Marcus. Our deal with the hunters is that they take over when an innocent life is lost, especially when in control.” My mother said. 

“No hunter is innocent Mary” He stated. 

“The color of his eyes speak a different story” She said. “The decision has been made Marcus” 

All my senses kicked in when he stepped closer to my mother. I stepped forward and let a low growl be heard. “Maybe it’s time for another alpha to take over” He said.

“You better think carefully about what you’re getting ready to do Marcus” Mom told him. 

“My pack against yours and if I win I’m the next alpha. Not your whole pack either my pack will fight just the Sparks.” He stated. 

“And if we win your stripped of your alpha title and your betas belong to us are we clear?” Mom told him.

“Crystal” He said turning around to leave “Saturday night in the clearing of the woods” 

Once he left I looked at my mother in shock “Mom what the hell. Just the sparks means you, me, and grandma and she can’t fight so it will just be you and I against an alpha and his pack” 

“Marcus only has three betas” She stated as if that made any difference.

“It will still be you and I against three betas and an alpha, we’re going to loose” I told her. 

“We might have a chance if we get your brother” She said. 

“Mom he wants nothing to do with us” 

“I’m hoping he will if he knows what it means if we loose. Marcus won’t fight until we give up he will fight until we are dead. So either he helps or he’s fine with his family being dead. Find him and talk to him while I talk to your grandmother” She said turning around to leave. 

I rolled my eyes and started to walk away until I felt Derek’s hand wrap around my upper arm to stop me. “What happened?” He asked concerned. I gestured for him to follow me as I explained everything. 

“He can’t do that though can he? Just limit it to the family” Derek asked. 

“He shouldn’t be able too, it should be pack against pack but my mother agreed to it so there’s no changing it now” I said walking up to my room so I can get my jacket. 

“Why would she do that?” Cora asked. 

“I guess because she thinks we can win if we somehow convince Connor to join in, which I highly doubt he will” I said putting my jacket on. 

“This whole situation is a complete shit show” I stated more to myself then to either Derek or Cora. Walking out the door I noticed Derek kept following me and not Cora as she started talking with other pack members. “I don’t need your help Derek”

“I think you do” He stated. “Maybe I can try to talk to your brother if he won’t listen to you” 

“You can try. Connor hates everything werewolf, I’m sure if he had the chance he would cure himself of it” I stated as he followed me out to my car, even getting in the passenger seat. 

“There has to be a reason why though, he can’t just hate what he is out of no where” He said. I let out a breath. 

“When he was first learning control he lashed out on his girlfriend. Left three scars along her face. She’s fine, in fact she’s still with him, but he never forgave himself.” I said. 

“Yeah but to cut himself off from you, his mother and grandma?” Derek said. 

“I think some of it is her too. I’ve never actually spoken to her but there is one emotion I smell every single time any of us are in her line of sight.” I said .

“What is that?” He asked. 

“Disgust” I said. 

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

Trying to talk to Connor was the single and worst thing I have ever tried to do in my life. Like what I expected he didn’t care. “Connor mom and I don’t stand a chance against a whole pack” I told him. 

“Then maybe you should surrender” He said nonchalantly.

“Connor if we do that the town will go to crap, and it won’t be safe for your wife and your kids” I told him hoping that would change his mind. 

“That won’t be a problem much longer because we are moving far far away from here, all you’re telling me is that I should do it before Saturday” He stated and walked away from me. 

I shook my head and walked over to Derek who’s been listening in sitting at a table. “I’m gonna kidnap him” I told him. 

“That’s not going to work” Derek told me. “He has to want to help” 

“You got any better ideas?” I asked him. 

“I’m gonna talk to him” He said getting up before I could even respond. I watched as Connor reluctantly agreed to speak. I focused my hearing to listen in. 

“I’m not helping them” Connor told Derek. “I’m done with that part of my life” 

“Are you really?” Derek asked “Because your heart beat is stating otherwise, and I can smell the worry” 

“Listen dude, if I do this I loose everything” He said. 

“Why because your wife doesn’t accept who you really are?” Derek asked him. “Listen I don’t know you but I know your family and coming from someone who doesn’t have that much family left, you should do everything you can to protect them. I’m not going to give you relationship advice, but somethings can be kept from her” 

“When’s the match?” Connor asked. 

“Saturday” Derek replied. 

“I might be there, and I might not. Better tell my sister to train hard, mom’s never been much of a fighter” Connor said. I watched as Derek walked back up to me and I didn’t really know what I was doing until I did it. I got up and wrapped my arms around his neck. 

“I don’t know how you did it but you did. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you” I told him as he hugged me back. 

“All I got was a maybe” He stated. 

“That’s a lot more than what I got” I said letting him go. “Can I ask you one more favor?” 

“What is it?” He asked. 

“I’ve trained with my pack mates but you’ve actually done real fighting with the alpha pack and other things-”

“I didn’t exactly win those fights” He stated. 

“You still have experience though. Think you could help me train?” I asked him. 

“Of course” He said softly. Throughout our conversation I didn’t even realize how close we still were from the hug I had given him, and the fact that his hand was still placed on my waist. “We start tonight” 

[kat-hawke]

Strangers and Old Habits

(Following [The Not-So-Dead])

Released several hours early from the hospital, Kat found herself with time to kill until Riley was expected to pick her up for the walk home. Sucking in a deep breath and she stood at the edge of the street, she paused to enjoy the fresh air and city scents. Eyes swept across the various pathways, settling towards Old Town, a familiar instinct to visit the tavern or work. Before she took the first step, her attention shifted in the opposite direction.

Perhaps it was the months spend in a bed, or the overpowering clean scent of the hospital, but something urged her towards the Dwarven district, specifically the brawl pub beneath the tram. Taking the quickest route with a minor detour to adjust her outfit and hair to match the setting, and appear as the regularly did in the brawl pub.

Adorning the brawler's grab from the locker and pulling the raven hair into tight-knit braids against the scalp to collect at the base of the skull, Kat took to her perch from the second-floor lounge room. She had no intention to fight, her body still recovering, but the loud music and scent of blood in the air sated a more animalistic hunger. The other unhealthy habits were also quenched, downing the first glass of whiskey in one swoop before pouring the second. The collection of Azerite shards she stashed here a year ago were, luckily, still present.

The first two fights offered little entertainment value, following the usual winner-loser play with no excitement or brutal finishers. The third and final fight she would be able to witness appeared to be the same, as a female Ren'dorei and a lumbering human man entered the arena. Kat's lips pursed to one side as her drink swirled in one hand, fingers on the other curled around an azerite shard and drained the energy. The cool euphoric sensation touching every nerve from her hand to the shoulder, until the high raced up her spine.

She knew better than to write the Ren'dorei off at first glance, but the odds appeared to be against the elf. Settling in for what Kat predicted to be a dull fight, she kicked her feet up on the ottoman and sipped on the whiskey as the contenders below threw fists and feet. After several minutes the elf seemed to gain the upper hand and claim victory, slipping to her contender's side and firmly planting a heel into the kneecap, twisting it out in an unnatural angle. The spectators around the arena picked up in a cacophony of mixed approval and disgust as the Ren'dorei took it a step further, catching the man's head as he fell to the ground and driving her knee into the face. The crunching of cartilage and bone as the nose shattered practically echoed off the brawl pub walls, and she lifts a hand to the crowd.

Kat hums low in the back of the throat as a finger taps against the side of her glass. Eyes trained on the Ren'dorei below as she exited the arena, the way the elf scanned the crowd and caused an uproar with the brutal finisher certainly caught Kat's attention. She could now leave with having witnessed a satisfying fight.

Glancing down at the whiskey as she refilled the glass, Kat prepared to leave. Anticipating Riley would arrive at the hospital early, she did not want to come up missing, again. Just before she could down the last of her drink, she heard the unfamiliar voice from the doorway.

 "Here to see Darah."

The use of her pit slave name froze Kat in her seat, now thoroughly interested in who would dare be so bold. Deliberately she kept her focus forward as a new fight began below, the bouncer at the door stopping the Ren'dorei from entering.

"You can see just fine from here." The bouncer, a massive Draenei, responded.

Somewhat amused, Kat perked a brow, keeping her attention on the fight as fingers claimed the rocks glass from the small table beside the ottoman. She was leaning back into the crescent sofa as she continued to listen.

"My mistake," the elf quipped. "I misspoke, common, not my first language. Here to speak with Darah...I actually can't see fine from here, or well at all."

"Oh, sorry, I must have misspoken. Common, not my first language." The bouncer mocker her. "You're not get—"

"Let her in," Kat interjected, curious why the Ren'dorei was present. Her stark gaze was shooting towards the Draenei, who looked back at her, growling in discontent before stepping aside to allow the elf to pass.

Without wasting a second, the Ren'dorei entered under Kat's scrutinous gaze. The woman's violet and flickering teal hair is bound in a braid that hits about mid-back, barefooted with tight-waist pants, and a simple sports bra top hugs the upper body, leaving arms and stomach bare to show off muscle tone and abs. A look that Kat can respect and admire, but the most notable feature, and what catches attention, is the woman's eyes, pitch black and lifeless.

The elf's path takes her immediately to the room's balcony railing. "Imagine this must be a nice view. How many fights did you have to win to earn the right? Or does money alone put you in a suite like this?"

Initially, Kat allowed the silence to be the answer as she gulped down the whiskey until the glass ran dry. "Lost count, it all becomes moot after so long." Her tone was void of any emotion as the empty glass was retired to the table. "But that's not wot you came up here fer."

"It's not irrelevant," the Ren'dorei replies, "pardon my not looking directly at you. You're a real nightmare to look at." An interesting choice of words, but ones that keep Kat's attention. "Anyone who's won enough to end up here is riding something higher than natural skill, or luck. Plenty of people punching their way through the skilled ranks. I want to find out what truth there is to a legend."

A low contemplative hum sounded from the back of Kat's throat. "Is that wot th' showin' off was for? Tryin' to get my attention before makin' yerself known at my door? If yer plan is to disarm me with insults, ya've got another thing comin', but I do appreciate skippin' th' bullshit praises and compliments most bootlickers try t'throw."

"No, that was for me," for a moment, the elf's head turns towards Kat before she winces and looks away. "Raising a kid is tough, sometimes you have to take it out on someone who thinks being bigger than everyone else means they get to win. It wasn't an insult though, just the truth when the Void clouds your eyes, people with lives as complicated as yours get hard to look at."

"I see," Kat stated in a monotone before a long pause as the fight below came to an end. The tip of her thumb ran across the fingers as she contemplated what exactly the Ren'dorei meant, what all could the woman see, or rather, did the Void show her. The process of deciding whether or not this woman was a threat had not yet concluded.

"Look at me." Kat demand.

Visibly the elf tensed but complied. Turning to face Kat dead-on, her hands clasped and unclasped repeated at her sides, and a faint tremble was starting to show in her form as she stares. "Think maybe for some of this conversation, your guard might not be the best audience."

Raven brows perked at the suggestion on the guard's presence, another bold statement, but it went to the wayside as Kat stared back into the elf's void-black eyes. Curiously her head canted from on side to the other as she searched the woman's face, honing in on the eyes. The movements of the elf's hands and subtle tremble had not gone unnoticed, silently noted. Kat lifted her jaw as the tip of the thumb continued to run back and forth across the fingers. "Does wot ya' see scare ya'?"

 "No," the elf replies simply, "but no mind is meant to take all of what the Void has to show, what you are doesn't scare me, but what looking at you too long could do to my mind does."

Kat was only half satisfied with that answer, though intimidation was not the goal here, only to get the elf to show her hand or call the bluff. Nevertheless, the woman was still trembling. 

"It should." She dryly responded as legs uncrossed, and hands ran down the leather-clad thighs as she came to a stand. Eyes fixated on the Ren'dorei as she took full and deliberate steps towards the elf. "And just wot does th' Void have t'show that has ya' tremblin' so?"

"I've narrowed down a few things," the elf held her ground. Her hands settle behind her back, clasped together, feet taking position slightly apart. She's military or has a history with it. "Three in four chances you're a Worgen, that's interesting." 

Exciting and concerning, that one detail got under Kat's skin and sealed everyone's fate. Who was within earshot.

"The Void has a vested closeness with you in almost every possible truth, though, in nearly all of them, it's held back by something else." 

A slow and deep tone chuckle rolled in the back of Kat's throat as she approached, smirking at the answer as she noticed the water building in the corner of the elf's eyes and clenched jaw. "Interestin' indeed. Now, do any of the stories about Darah ever mention a Worgen?" The query was rhetorical. Kat spoke slower as she left only a foot of distance between them, coming face to face. "The question is, does the Void have a vested closeness with me, or do I have a vested closeness with th' Void?"

"There's a presence that shadows your every movement. Who's the puppet and who pulls the strings...less clear. It varies from vision to vision," the elf replied.

"Is it painful?" The question was whispered between them as amber eyes narrowed skeptically.

"Yes. Most painful headache I've ever had. And for what it's worth, I'm not afraid of you because the things I'm seeing now still don't match what I saw in the Rift."

Another low hum as Kat took in the answer, still unsure if the elf was worth the time. A sinister grin was tugging at the corners of her lips as arms uncrossed. Each hand planted on the railing, at either side of the elf. "There are stories of those who said they weren't afraid of Darah before entering her den. It would be a shame if you were to become just that, another story." 

Leaning forward, Kat shifted her weight to the railing, the proximity to the Ren'dorei, sending a searing pain across her chest and into the very core of her being. The left eye turned a deep violet hue, and the skin around the socket cracked as she came up beside the elf's ear and stared down at the fight in the ring below.

"Why are ya' here?" Kat whispered.

"That," she replies through clenched teeth. "Whatever you just did played out the same in almost every version of reality. I'm looking for ways to control this before it kills me."

The smile on Kat's lips was palpable in the amused tone of her exhale, the warm breath against the neck and collarbone of the Ren'dorei. She snapped back without warning, bringing her eyes inches from the elf's, staring into the small dark abyss. "That's yer first mistake," she hissed, "there is no control, only understanding."

"You want so badly to intimidate," the elf whispers, "it is working, some. Understanding I would take. A way to focus and narrow the sight. I can take a lot, have taken a lot, but if the lens I see through isn't narrowed, it will still end with a broken mind."

"Want t' intimidate? No' really. Well, maybe just a bit," she admitted, "but it's more t'make sure yer even worth m'time. I don't waste time with the weak-willed." Finally, she pushed away, forcing off from the railing and walking backwards towards the crescent sofa. "But intimidation is good because there's one rule here." Arms lifted from her side, motioning out to the room and ring below as she continued to walk back. "Don' fuck with Darah." Dropping back into the cushions, she returned to the previous pose, plucking a small shard of Azerite from a tray on the end table and rolling it in her fingers as the gaze settled on Serelia again. 

"Sit." She flicked the fingers of the other hand to the other side of the sofa. Her left eye was returning to normal now that they were distanced again. "And tell me why, of all people, ya' come lookin' fer a pit fighter t'solve this issue?"

Moving to take a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, the elf chuckled at the display. "You know of a lot of weak-willed Ren'dorei? Any of us who couldn't take what the Void pushed down our throats should be dead by now, but I know there are some hanging on that never should've made it."

That wasn't the question, and the faint arch in one of Kat's brows made that apparent.

"Following rumors, call it desperation." The Ren'dorei elaborate. "I hear descriptions of the way you fight. As I said, it doesn't sound like just skill or luck or any combination. I think you know more about your opponents than even they know themselves. Now that I'm seeing you, even if I'm wrong about the how and why I'm confident you're someone worth talking to on the subject."

"Desperation leads t' haste, and haste leads t' mistakes." The azerite shard turns pale as the energy is absorbed into Kat's fingertips. "Mistakes with the void can be—" Abruptly, she pauses, staring off at the wall as she wet her lips, gaze adverting to the fight in the ring below. "—deadly..." 

Kat doesn't elaborate on the stories of her fights. They both knew the truth that the rings were painted in blood, and she fought savagely to death. Anything and everything was a weapon in her hands, right down to crushing eyeballs beneath the thumbs and ripping throats out with her teeth.

"You don't have to convince me of that, Darah. Desperation may have brought me to chase your legend, but this has been a slow learning process otherwise. I admit I didn't expect to find someone like you who might have as much experience carrying the Void as the Ren'dorei, though."

"Carryin' th' Void." Kat echoed, a chuckle threatening to weave into her tone. "That's cute. Did it show ya' that, or is that yer own conclusion?"

Even if unintentional, the single word struck a nerve, and a spark of anger threatened to ignite. Snapping the brittle and expended azerite crystal in her fingers, Kat adverted derailing the conversation.

"I can see all atop each other every version of you that you could've been today." The Ren'dorei looks directly at Kat again. "More of them are Forsaken than I bet you'd like to know, somewhere you're not here at all. There are versions of this night where this room is packed, and you're surrounded by adoration. I can't filter through all of it, not even close, but I can tell you this, you wear the Void like a glove, and it clings to you in almost every single one of them. Living or dead, human or beast, loved or feared, Darah and the Void are one," she smirked, "or so it shows me."

"That's wot happens when it's no' by choice. But ya'd know all about that wouldn' ya'?" Bristling from the mention of Foresaken, Kat watched from the peripherals. "I can look through th' darkness, but no' the same as ya'. It's much more narrowed and precise, a tool t'be used. That's th' shit side of the Void, it sees every possible path, every reality, as the truth. Th' key is findin' which truth is the only truth, th' here 'n now. Past and future are irrelevant, useless white noise."

"I would," she agrees to Kat's former statement before moving on. "I narrow and filter out truths I know to be wrong. Through words and actions, through my other senses. I can at least cut off the versions where you're surrounded by others, or where you don't exist at all. It's as you say, I see every possible truth, the Void doesn't much care which one is real. What I need is a better way to filter than what I've got."

"And I should help ya' why, exactly?" Raven brows pushed together with the query.

"Can you?"

"I'm still here and alive, ain't I?"

"You are," she concedes thoughtfully, "but you also said yourself you can't see what I can see. Suggesting the path to this is losing that too?"

"If I wished t' indulge in the chaos I could. But I don', because I know that starin' long enough into th' abyss means it stares back. Except this particular abyss turns yer brain into puddin'." Kat's attention shifted entirely to the elf again. "Do ya' fear losin' that? The chaos and pain?"

"No. Just trying to gauge what I can offer. If control over my vision was on the table, I could've offered to help the Shadow of the Shore see what she needs to see. If it's not...I will have to think about payments."

Slowly Kat's head nodded with a long, drawn-out 'ah' accompanying the action. 

"So ya' think that if ya' can properly filter wot th' void shows it would offer, wot? Clairvoyance? Through th' means of sheer willpower or some trinket?" Amusement danced on her tone.

"The glasses help, but not enough. I'm more than willing to lose this to save my sanity."

"Don' be naive," Kat waved a hand." Th' strain that would put on yer body, soul, and mind-- it would tear ya' apart after the first few attempts if ya' survived the first. I can see wot I need t'see just fine." 

Alternating which leg hung over the other, Kat cautiously watched the elf, lips pressed into a fine line as she probed. "Ya' have a child. I'm willin' t'bet that ya' have no idea wot they truly look like hm? I'm no' about t'create an orphan, either."

"Look at that, Darah's softer than I'd expect." The Ren'dorei smiled. "Yes, I'm not willing to risk my life, guess now I have something to fear. And no...no just descriptions."

"Call me soft again, and I'll throw ya' into th' ring. Personally. From over that railin'." Kat promptly interjected as she motioned to the railing in mention. The elf still smiled after the threat, which once again threatened to spark her anger.

"That's th' problem with trinkets and enchantments, they wane. Better t'learn and condition yerself to move through, rather than against. Even if ya' were successful, th' gift of clairvoyance is just as much a curse as the lack of proper vision, soon ya' become a tool fer everyone else. Point bein', it's wot ya'd offer in return, to be a tool. I see more t'ya' than that, and it doesn' split m'head open t'see it."

"Spent my life in military service, then working for the noble houses, I'm very good at being a tool," the Ren'dorei chuckles, "but no, no, I think those days are beyond me. You talk, though, like you have something else in mind, some other reason you might be willing to help."

Abruptly Kat shifts the topic. "Does it hurt? T'no' know wot yer own child looks like?"

For a split second, the elf's expression darkens with the question, a reaction that Kat had hoped to see, one that coaxed the faint smile to her lips. 

"Some," the Ren'dorei answered, "but I know she doesn't seem to have inherited my curse. That was my greatest fear. It makes the rest easier to know the Void doesn't grip her."

"Then make sure it doesn'. It won't hesitate t'use ya' like a doorway t'get to her." 

"It would be no life for a child. Adults are barely fit to handle it. How could her mind develop...if it ever does? I'll do what has to be done."

Another shard of azerite was drained between Kat's fingertips, the empty stone cast aside to the floor. The very thought of a child succumbing, unwillingly, to the void turned her stomach.

"Do ya' hear it?" She questioned further.

"Sometimes, rarely. More early after our change. And often during N'zoth's influence on Azeroth. Most of the time, it's content to use my eyes, it needn't whisper to me anymore when it governs everything I see."

"Mmm..." Kat hums behind flattened lips. "That will surely change." 

"Before I lost my sight, it was always there. I expect it to return. A price to be paid to see my daughter while I'm still here to do it."

There's a pause as Kat mulls over her thoughts. There were undoubted uses for someone with such a skillset, especially one that knew how to fight. Sooner rather than later, she would need to pull every advantage to eject Thea from her unit. The elf's daughter appeared to be the deciding factor that leads her here, a dangerous piece of leverage, and so quickly it had been revealed. The fight below caused an uproar in the crowds as the underdog claimed victory in the match, interrupting Kat's train of thought. 

"I canno' promise t'fully restore yer vision, but there is somethin' hidden behind the void of yer eyes. But I can at least share wot I know, and m'methods, t'offer control."

"And in return?" She asks, instead.

"Consider it a debt." Kat refused to elaborate, watching the woman from where she sat, knowing better than to reveal her hand early in the game.

Immediately the elf faced Kat again, locking their eyes. "Nothing that puts her at risk. That is my only condition."

"I'm no' a witch of the woodlands. I don' take children as payment." Looking away as she spoke, Kat couldn't help but feel offended at the very thought. 

"Witch of the woods might be safer than anyone who makes themselves a champion here," a vague gesture towards the arena. 

"Says th' one who fights like a champion." Kat mused in response.

"I'll decide soon, find you here again with an answer in two days. You're promising, more than most, but I have others to consider. You might be the best option by default when I end up killing the other likely one."

"Consider though; does the other one know th' trial and tribulation people like us have gone through?" Amber hues shifted to look at the elf from the peripheral. "I've learned over th' years that many can talk a big game, but only those who genuinely understand offer results."

"Not the same as ours, no. His own...but since he's the one who blinded me in the first place, I'm quicker to trust a stranger. Still, sometimes the enemy, you know..." She trails off, hands falling to the couch on either side of her hips as she pushes herself to rise. "Help or not, you've been an interesting conversation Darah. Like to get some hands-on time for a friendly spar, see what a champion can really do. Following legends...it's an interesting business."

"I fight t'kill, darlin'. I don't like killin' my investments, bad fer business." A deep chuckle rolled with Kat's words. "Don' waste m'time, and I won't waste yer's." 

"Not a waste of either of our time, but maybe a risk to yours."

Kat didn't respond to that. Instead, she shifted her weight in the seat, and one hand slipped to the side of her thigh as she summoned the bouncer at the door with a call of his name. The Draenei's mouth opened to speak as he approached, but before a single word could be mouthed, the sound of gunfire filled the room. A hole opened up in the bouncer's skull, and he dropped to the floor, the smoking gun in Kat's hand return to the thigh-side holster. 

"Ya' were right. He shouldn't have been around fer the conversation. Heard too much." Looking back to the elf with a deep breath, her lips flattened again, and she waved one hand towards the door to dismiss the woman. "Two days. Don't keep me waiting."

"I did warn you, always a shame to lose a good guard," the elf nudges the Draenei with her boot, before stepping over him to make her exit. "Two days, Shadow."

[ @serelia-evensong​ ] [ Mentioned: @blue-eyedraven​ ]

[kaitycole]

Adventure Made Blondes...

Summary: Jackson catches Drake up on everything he told Riley and tells them about the ill-fated diplomatic ball.

Word Count: 2381 

Pairings: Drake x Riley, Constantine x Eleanor, Jackson x Bianca

Warnings: N/A

Part 11 of WP. To catch up read here.

Tag List: @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @bobasheebaby @bascmve01  @burnsoslow  @the-everlasting-dream  @ao719  @sirbeepsalot  @janezillow  @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @kimmiedoo5  @choices97 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite  @lodberg @edgiestwinter  @marshmallowsandfire  @hopefulmoonobject​  @iaminlovewithtrr  

**I don’t own the characters, just borrowing them**

FC for Eleanor Rys and her dress and FC for Bianca Walker and her dress.

He waits until her car is out of sight before heading back into the house. He sits back down in his chair before looking at a picture of him and Eleanor on the table next to him.

“I really wish you here to help, El.” A single tear falls down his cheek before he wipes it away.

*          * “Maybe you should just go by yourself. He probably only said I could come so you wouldn’t think he was an awful person.” Drake rubs the back of his neck, regretting his decision.

“Or he wants a chance to make amends with his son. I really think you should hear what he has to say.” Riley gives her husband a smile; she knows this won’t be easy, but she does think it’s important for them to talk.

“I just don’t know, RI. I mean when I confronted him weeks ago, he told me to leave and then confided in a complete stranger.” He flops down on the couch.

“You grew up with your dad being your hero, Drake. Seeing you made him realize that that façade was shattered.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind as she rests her chin on his shoulder, “How would you feel if our baby learned you weren’t the hero they always saw you as?”

Drake knows his wife is making valid points, but it’s not as easy for him as it is for her to accept Jackson’s word. He taught Drake that a man stood behind what he said and how he acted, yet Jackson seemed to have gone back on everything he taught Drake.

“Guess it couldn’t hurt to hear what he has to say.”

“If it gets too much, we can leave. And I’ll be beside you the whole time!” She peppers his cheek and neck with kisses before letting him go, “Let’s go!”

Drake stands up and watches his wife buzz around the room, gathering her purse and sweater before bolting out the door. He didn’t understand why she was so excited about going. He grabs his keys off the holder by the door before locking up and walking to his truck where she’s waiting to get in.

It’s a few moments into the drive before Riley squeals, causing Drake to panic. He looks at her and she giggles.

“According to this baby app, our baby is the size of an apple.”

Drake takes a deep breath, “Maybe save the squeals for when I’m at a red light or parked next time?”

She turns red, “I’m sorry.”

He grabs her hand, squeezes it before laughing, “An apple, eh? Like a Cordonian Ruby?”

“I’ll never understand y’alls love for apples.”

“Speaking of Cordonia, Liam is planning a trip down here.”

“What!” She squeals again, “Liam’s coming!”

Even though Riley initially flew to Cordonia for Liam’s social season, it was clear from the beginning that Drake and Riley were destined to be together. Liam wasn’t blind to how her and Drake looked at each other, so he didn’t make it awkward or continue to try to pursue her. He had given them his blessing, not that they needed it, but Riley wanted it. She refused to tear Drake and Liam apart, refused to be the woman who destroyed a childhood long friendship.

However, that didn’t stop her from befriending Liam and making him her best friend just as Maxwell had made her him. She stuck by his side through the whole social season and helped him gain the courage to stand up to tradition by not settling for a loveless marriage.

*          *

Drake sees Jackson sitting on the porch, waiting for them as they pull up into the driveway.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.” Riley grabs Drake’s hand. She gives him her best smile, the one he fell in love with all those years ago.

He takes a deep breath, “Okay, let’s go.”

They slowly make their way up the walkway as Jackson comes down and greets them midway.

“Good morning. I have a pot of coffee ready, if you’d like some.” Jackson says, kicking some dirt on the ground.

“Drake loves coffee, I’m sure he’d like one, right Drake?” Riley gently nudges his arm.

“Oh, uh, yeah sure.”

The three of them all walk inside the house; Drake and Riley take a seat at the kitchen table as Jackson pours him and Drake a cup.

“There’s sugar on the table and I have creamer in the fridge.”

“I drink it black.” Riley cuts her eyes at him and he adds, “But thank you.”

“Of course. I prefer a bit of creamer, myself.” Jackson sits down across from Drake and Riley. They all sat in a semi-awkward silence, not sure exactly how to start things. It’s not until Riley’s sudden dash out of the kitchen that either say anything.

“Is everything okay?” He looks at Drake with confusion.

“Is that Hazelnut creamer?”

“How’d you know?”

Drake chuckles, “It’s one of Ri’s food aversions.”

“Aver…That means she’s…” Jackson pauses, waiting for his son to speak up.

“Pregnant, yes. Just a little bit into her second trimester.” Drake smiles.

“You’re gonna be a grandpa!” Riley exclaims, walking back into the kitchen, having heard the end of their conversation.

“Wow. Congratulations.” Jackson says, smiling at the couple in front of him.

Drake wants to be happy to share this moment with Jackson, for his child to have a grandfather. “Before we start handing out grandparent titles, I think we need to talk first.”

“Drake!” Riley opposes, cutting him a look; telling him to play nice.

“No no, I understand where he’s coming from.” Jackson says.

For the next hour, Jackson catches Drake up on everything he had told Riley not too long ago. When he told Riley it was effortless almost, he knew regardless of what she ended up thinking, it wouldn’t really affect him. He had no risk in that exchange but he felt a lump in his throat each time he swallowed while repeated it all to his son.

Drake takes in everything his father tells him. How the picture of love at first sight, a happy marriage between his parents, the type of love he strived for; was all a bunch of lies. He listened to how his father started an innocent friendship that ended up in two broken families, to how his once hero became nothing but a stranger in front of him.

“And know you know everything I’ve told Riley.”

Drake just stares at Jackson, he’s not sure what more he could be told. What Jackson could tell him to make him understand why they did what they did, why they left him, Liam and Savannah. Drake hadn’t even called Savannah to tell her yet; he knew he had to, but he just didn’t know how to.

“Are you okay, hun?” Riley squeeze Drake’s hand.

“Yeah. So, what happened at this ball?” Drake looks at Jackson; part of him not caring, the other part of him just wanting to learn the truth.

*          *

The next day at the palace, everything is a whirlwind. Floral arrangements, name cards and fairy lights are being carried through the palace halls. Jackson and Timothy are watching as mayhem fills the palace.

“Your wife excited about tonight?” Timothy asks, nudging Jackson.

He knew he was talking about the fact the couple had been invited to the ball by Queen Eleanor herself and that they had been given a reserved suite. Bianca has been talking about the ordeal for days. Even calling her sister and comparing it to Disney World.

“It’s all she can talk about.”

“What about you?”

“It might be weird not being off to the side and being on high alert.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He glances around before lowering his voice, “About having both Eleanor and Bianca together. Since you have feelings for…”

Jackson interrupts him, “Don’t even finish that false statement.”

As he strides through the halls, he gets lost in thought: I can’t believe he thinks something so absurd. Only a fool would fall for a Queen, especially someone so much lower in station. What could someone like me even give a woman like her.

The rest of the day is uneventful, especially with Timothy keeping his distance. It’s not until he’s about to leave that he runs into Queen Eleanor.

“Jackson!” She practically squeals before realizing people could hear, “Office Walker.”

“Your Majesty,” he bows.

“Are you looking forward to the festivities?”

“Bianca hasn’t stopped talking about it since the invitation arrived.”

“I’m glad, but I asked if you were.”

“Oh! It will be different for sure, but it will be interesting to see how the other side lives.”

She playfully bumps his shoulder before smiling, “Does Bianca have a dress? I could have some brought to your suite.”

“That’s not needed. I’m sure she will have something.”

“Well, do let me know. I know what it’s like to feel like an outsider.” She gives him a faint smile.

“Ellie, there you are.” The masculine voice fills the air around them.

“Your Majesty.” Jackson goes to bow.

“No need for that Jackson. This meeting is rather casual.”

“Constantine,” Eleanor nods.

“One of the decorators is looking for you, dear.” He tells his wife.

“Constantine. Jackson. If you’ll excuse me.” Eleanor smiles before taking her leave.

“I take it all the security needs are handled since you’ll be off duty.”

“Yes, sir, but I’ll duck out if needed.”

“I expect no less, but I do hope you try to enjoy yourself. I believe all the children will be staying over. Drake and Savannah are welcome to join.”

“I appreciate that, sir.” Jackson says.

*          * 

By the time the ball begins, the palace has been completely transformed. Lights, flowers, decorations have truly changed the once cold and stoic palace into a lively and comfortable setting.

Bianca’s eyes were as large as a kid’s on Christmas; trying to take in as much as she could. She’d been in parts of the palace before but never seen it like this.

“Mrs. Walker?”

She turns around to see a maid smile at her.

“Yes?”

“Please follow me ma’am.”

Bianca looks at Jackson who smiles, “Go on, no one here bites.”

She’s then escorted to one of the spare rooms typically reserved for nobles staying from abroad. Her eyes light up once again when she sees several beautiful ballgowns and accessories throughout the room.

“Jackson said you’d have a gown, but I still thought I’d offer.”

Bianca turns around and immediately drops into a curtesy, “Queen Eleanor!”

Eleanor bites back a smile, “No need for all that. It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Walker.”

“Bianca is fine, ma’am.”

“Bianca it is then.” She walks closer to Bianca, “I had some gowns and such brought in here for you to look at. I won’t be offended if you don’t choose any, so please don’t fret.”

“Why’d you do all of this for me?” Bianca looks at the gowns, she’s never seen such dresses before and refuses to even think of what they must’ve cost.

“Let’s just say that I know firsthand what it’s like to attend the ball in a gown people didn’t find good enough.” Bianca sees the sad smile on Eleanor’s face before looking at her own gown.

Up until this moment, Bianca hadn’t realized that she never saw Queen Eleanor as a person. She was always this high-powered entity to her, but now she saw that she wasn’t that much different than her. She couldn’t even imagine how lonely Eleanor must feel being her and not really having friends. Friendships within nobility were rare, Jackson had told her before, they lasted long enough for each party to get something they wanted from the other.

“Which would you pick out for me, Queen Eleanor?”

Eleanor smiles, “I think you’d look lovely in this one.”

*          *

Bianca walks down the hall, trying to remember which way she came from. Timothy quickly sees her and walks towards her.

“Need any assistance?”

“Timothy, oh thank heavens. I’m trying to find Jackson.”

“The ballroom is this way, I’ll escort you.” Timothy motions for her to continue walking, “That’s a lovely gown.”

“Thank you. Queen Eleanor lent it to me for the night. She’s very sweet.”

Timothy’s eyes widen, “Yes, she is.”

They didn’t say much of anything else as they walked through the empty halls towards the ballroom. Bianca immediately saw Jackson and parted ways with Timothy.

“Jack!” She called out as he appeared to be looking for her.

“Bianca. Wow.” Jackson’s jaw dropped. His wife stood in front of him wearing a completely different gown than she had arrived in. She had originally chosen to wear an ill-fitting dress that she had for years that she’d worn to Tonya and Cash’s wedding a few years ago. Yet here she was in a pale-yellow strapless dress that had white appliqué flowers covering the bodice and flowing down onto part of the skirt. It hugged her sides which showed off her figure more than most clothes she wore and the rhinestone studded belt insinuated her waist.

Bianca’s face turns red as her husband stares at her.

“Where did you get that gown?” He pulls her to his side and kisses her temple.

“Queen Eleanor lent it to me. Actually, she picked it out as well.”

“The Queen does have excellent taste.”

The couple walk into the ballroom just before the King and Queen are announced. Bianca feels herself attempting to cover her shoulders; feeling slightly exposed as they made their way through the room.

“Cold?” Jackson asks.

“Just feeling a bit uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be. You look beautiful.”

As they reached their table, they stood as Constantine and Eleanor were announced and entered the room. Constantine wore his typical regale attire while his wife wore the lavender colored gown Jackson had seen just a week prior. Her hair was down and curled which was usual because typically noble women wore their hair up to events that lasted long hours.

Bianca looks up to whisper something to her husband but stops when she sees him practically drooling. Immediately the confidence his earlier words had given her, crumbled; feeling herself pale in comparison to the Queen.