#also hey British people if you ever want to understand deeply how much of a fucking imbecile you are

[bharv]

Just been invited into a collaborative soundscape performance art space in March and it will be the first time I’ve been playing in a performance space like that for about seven years, I am actively salivating rn

[ryutarotakedown]

Haori for the ask!

[ask game link] MY GIRL MY GIRL MY GIRL MY GIRL MY GIRL THANK YOU FOR ASKING ME ABOUT HER!!!!!!!!

How I feel about this character: um. see above. she is my favorite dgs girl ever and i love her so much and she deserves the entire world and also to rest once in a while. she is incredibly brave to the point of recklessness and she is incredibly responsible to the point of self loathing and she feels emotions so much all the time and i think she might actually be the least deliberately-repressed character in dgs which doesn’t say that much but still! every day i think about her in awe

— seriously, sixteen years old and you’ve helped make an entirely new poison and diagnosed its symptoms on sight and acted accordingly and also went into a beach hut to yell at a confirmed murderer. didn’t even do it because she hated her, did it because she wanted her goddamn poison back. who is doing it like haori murasame

All the people I ship romantically with this character: susato!!!!! and gina but i haven’t thought about ginahao as much as i should tbh. i think haori would take a shine to her immediately but actually fall for her the moment she sees gina scream at someone for susato’s or haori’s sake

My non-romantic OTP for this character: all? of them? yuujin and wilson are both super fascinating dynamics to explore with haori! but the one that actually takes up my entire frontal cortex is her and jezaille.

— they are both women in the same field but jezaille is lauded because she’s british whereas haori surely is not — i mean, that’s not actually said in canon but auchi disparagingly refers to her as a “tomboy” and susato mentions how incredible it is that she has a job in an all male university, i refuse to believe she didn’t have a fucking Time of it. and that in itself inspires jealousy, right, and then haori finds out she killed her mentor and she still has to work with her for Months??? i’d go insane! it’s a miracle haori didn’t actually murder her! like. here is my only chance to bond with someone who understands the exact position i am in, and then it turns out she hates me for almost the same petty reasons as the men in the laboratory. and also killed a guy. haori is so fucking alone it drives me up a wall

— also i wrote a ficlet in dante’s ronin au once where jezaille calls her susato’s attack dog

— also also, we do not have any information on whether she knew asougi or not but i like to think she did. just like as that guy who’s always around susato with the sword and the cringefail aura. maybe they had conversations while waiting for susato to come out of her tutoring sessions! maybe they knew each other!! do you think susato told her that he was dead after getting back to japan, or do you think she only found out after mamemomi accused mikotoba of covering it up at the end of 2-1?

My unpopular opinion about this character: tragically i dont think theres enough haori content for me to actually have unpopular opinions on her. but she performs so incredibly well under stress. i think shes one of the rare people for whom stress actually helps to narrow down her focus.

— also one thing i always laser in on when writing her is her unfailing emotional honesty which is deeply funny considering 2-1 happens because she decided to find out about the poison on her own rather than telling anyone; the self loathing slash impostor syndrome slash fear of failure and rejection overrules that bit of her i guess :pensive: she is fully in panic mode for so much of 2-1

— oh yeah Yeah The Self Loathing thats also something ive never seen in any haori fics yet! she has a whole bit about wanting susato to throw her to the ground in the recess halfway through the trial and it’s kind of a joke but also Not yknow. “i completely betrayed your trust” like. god. theres a perfectionist streak there i think or at least signs of a not super great self esteem!

— hey haori would you say that the two things you hate the most (about yourself) are poisoning and betrayal. haha. okay thats not actual character analysis but i couldnt resist the reference

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: i wish she came back in any form at all i wish susato mentioned her after 2-1 at all although i will say that 1) her being part of the defense in the end credits is like catnip to me and 2) it is my firm belief that susato deliberately avoids talking about her because she’s too afraid of her own feelings to even consider opening up to ryuu about her

— when will the haori murasame fancase of that trial at the end appear, by the way. i want them to get hosonaga a decently light sentence for theft and then he is immediately accused of murder right afterwards

— she also should have gotten to learn about wilson being awful. and also should have been the one to give susato jezaille’s case notes in 1-1 (i saw that hc in a susato roleswap au fic and i have completely integrated it into my belief system. as far as i am concerned she was that person. but a confirmation in 2-1 woulda been nice)

My OTP: [poking head out behind ao3 page and enough susahao fanart to drown a man] take a guess

My OT3: add gina in there baby!!! i dont have as solid ideas on the rest of the girlcule yet but gina is Necessary.

— i actually think haori would dislike both maria and nikolina upon first meeting, maria because of The Racism (she’d scream at her about believing in skull sizes) and nikolina because she does come off as pretty privileged and smug and aloof when you first meet her

— [insert five page rant about how we never see nikolina outside of her being afraid for her life and therefore have almost no idea what she was like in the troupe or among the crew but also she was probably afraid for her life while in the troupe as well so in a way we do have a pretty good idea of her behavior and also i think she uses aloofness as a shield]

— but Point Is they both remind her of jezaille too much for her to like them at first. but later! who knows?

[i-make-fun-of-spn-characters]

I feel like you've given most spn related things some lil spice but I always love the spice on this : hot spicy take on the "Dean is the most horrible character and ruins everyone's life and Sam and Cas are poor little meow meows who only do bad things sometimes because tyran Dean farted in their direction" takes that are not really only said by anti-Dean peeps ? Obsessed with that incredible thesis and would love the added spice ❤

SPICY HOT HOT GHOST PEPPERS CAROLINA REAPERS HELP I'M BURNING

I really try to respect other people’s opinions, and I believe there are a wealth of ways to interpret a story, and I think that’s a deeply beautiful thing. This applies to interpretations I don't agree with and outright dislike as well. That said, some opinions are simply and objectively bad, dishonest, and/or demonstrably false, and I truly do not believe you can sit down and honestly watch through the show with an open mind about all the characters, truly pay attention to what they do, say, and believe, and come to the conclusion that this show is about an evil manipulative abusive man terrorizing his pure and sinless brother and friend. It is an interpretation built from cherry picking facts to suit an ugly, miserable theory, making Mount Everest out of a bunch of the tiny mole hills, making the worst possible presumptions of feelings and intentions, and holding characters to completely different standards in order to neatly divide them into "abused" and "abuser" in a way that, frankly, fetishizes the abused person. I despise this interpretation of the story with every fiber of my being, and I have absolutely no respect for the opinion of anyone who peddles it, regardless of who they cast as villain/victim (because people have also done this with the others—it’s just more “popular” to do it with Dean... I mean... does anyone else remember how people were shitting on Sam after his emotional reaction in 14.12? Calling him an evil abuser? Because I do).

The thing that always gets me about this take isn't just how dishonest, unfair, mean-spirited, and compassionless it is in its treatment of Dean’s feelings, circumstances, and intentions... but how deeply reductive and offensive it is toward Sam and Castiel, sucking away their identities to turn them into effigies to mourn for their sad, Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to their "abuser". Further, it grips the heart of the show—the relationship between Sam and Dean, and then the relationship among TFW as a whole—in a tight, uncompromising fist and pulverizes it. It literally rips out the heart of the show (the RELATIONSHIPS) and replaces it with something unprepossessing of any merit: A miserable, 15 years long story about a malicious abuser getting away with terrorizing those closest to him for his entire life, while his poor abuse victims suffer through until they die for him/happy to be reunited with him because they “don’t know any better” and never ever learned better, I guess. What a stupid, sad sack of a story.

Castiel is a thousands of years old celestial being who has literally beaten Dean into the pavement under no form of mind control, and has shown over and over again that he will do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of whatever Dean thinks about being sidelined. If he thinks whatever he is doing is in Dean's best interest, he literally does not care how Dean feels about it. He will nod and smile and then fly off and swallow thousands of souls with Dean begging him not to, shove Dean out of the way to attack the big bad, leave Dean alone in Purgatory, refuse to come out of Purgatory so he can self-flagellate, fly off with the angel tablet, help Sam with the Book of the Damned, let Lucifer possess him without anyone's knowledge or agreement, come into Dean's room under the guise of apologizing for ghosting him so that he can steal The Colt out from under his pillow and murder someone, decide not to murder that person and still prevent Sam and Dean from helping by knocking them both unconscious, get himself killed, make a deal to trade his life for Jack's and never tell anyone, hide information and worries and ignore phone calls, ghost Sam and Dean, and bicker and fight with Dean as if they are a married couple. Love sickness and feelings of worthlessness (which Cas has a wealth of reasons to feel—many of which aren’t even related to Dean but to his heavenly family) are reinterpreted as the result of some sort of constant, terrorizing emotional abuse. Power and authority that Dean does not actually have is forced into his hands by these fans. Maybe listen when Cas says, “Hey—not everything is your fault.” Maybe listen when he says “I loved the whole world because of you”, calls Dean a role model, says he enjoys their conversations, offers to die with him and dies for him multiple times. Maybe treat these feelings as genuine and valid and HIS and not as the delusions of some poor manipulated baby. 

Sam is framed this way even more often than Cas, and it's a damn shame, because what I typically see is this: Sam’s development into a mediator and peacemaker is twisted and reinterpreted as coming from a place of weakness and/or fear. Rationality, maturity, wisdom, and compassion are not the traits of a scared, powerless child. They are the traits of a mature adult, who has been beaten down by life, and fought and raged against his circumstances, and somehow come out of it with more kindness and understanding and strength instead of less. He has made his own decisions whenever it was possible, within the set of circumstances doled out to him. From telling his dad to go fuck himself and going to college, to getting back into hunting to avenge Jess (NOT because of Dean—Dean took him home without complaint at the end of the woman in white case), to continuing to hunt after their father died because he wanted to feel close to him (Dean was actually weirded out and sort of disgusted by this), raging and fighting to save Dean from his deal against Dean’s wishes, continuing to hunt and working with Ruby (directly against Dean’s dying wish), drinking demon blood, jumping in the cage, leaving hunting to go be with Amelia, coming back to hunting to save Kevin, fighting with Dean over what he had with Amelia and threatening to leave if Dean didn't shut his mouth, leaving Amelia to go back to hunting (Dean ultimately suggests he go back to her—Sam chooses to stay), trying to kill Benny, demanding to be the one to do The Trials and saying he is going to SURVIVE them—that being the ENTIRE POINT, losing that resolve in a fit of depression but choosing to drop the knife, demanding space from Dean (and being given it), fighting to save Demon Dean who didn’t want to be found or saved, using the Book of the Damned against Dean’s wishes, telling Charlie that this is what he wants—that he used to want normal but now all he wants is to hunt with Dean and that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t have that, unleashing the Darkness in his desperation to keep Dean with him and even saying, “I would do it again” in the aftermath, saving the town being destroyed by Amara, getting into The Cage with Lucifer, leading a team against the British Men of Letters, nurturing Jack, punching Dean in the face when he was going to sacrifice himself, leading more hunters, wielding a gun against Chuck... and that’s just some highlights. Sam Fucking Winchester does not need your bullshit about him being some sad, scared, helpless baby lorded over by mean old Dean who has never let him do anything he wants. 

Yes, in the text itself, there is jealousy and resentment at times, and there is legitimate and righteous anger on Sam’s part on a few occasions. There is blame cast on Dean by Sam for some of these choices/circumstances. Some of those moments where Dean is blamed are legitimate, and some of them... frankly, are not. Within the framework of the fucked up dynamics of the way they were raised, Sam and some fans bristle when they feel Dean is casting himself as the parent he is not, but Sam also has been guilty in the past of trying to reframe himself as Dean’s child when things got tough. Neither of them is responsible for the origin of that dynamic, but they BOTH have responsibility to change it, and they both, ultimately, succeed in doing so. For Sam, his part comes in recognizing and learning to fully own his own choices. Recognizing that he is not a child, and he is certainly not Dean’s child, and it isn’t just “Mummy—loosen the grip”, but Sam has to too—not claim independence only to blame Dean for his choices when his own decisions have an ultimate outcome he is unhappy with. That is a legitimate arc that Sam goes through imo, but he comes out the other side of it, and he and Dean relate to each other much better as peers from then on—and I’d like to note that throughout the entire series, when they don’t relate as perfect peers and teammates, it isn’t always Dean “bossing Sam around”, but Sam also trying to sideline Dean and yes—boss him around. And when they lied and hurt each other and yes, even manipulated each other, Dean most certainly wasn't always the one doing the lying and hurting and manipulating. Always, always, ALWAYS, they both had an understandable point of view, and it was complex, and you could understand why they made the choices they did, even if you thought of those choices as being wrong ones. 

I also would like to point out (because this is basically what I see all of the time) that Dean being hurt by someone or simply voicing his feelings or opinion is in no way abusive or manipulative. Dean is certainly charismatic and loved and his returning love and respect is often deeply desired, but he is not an actual siren, who bends people to his will simply by speaking or being. People are, in fact, able to tell him “no”, and frequently FREQUENTLY do. Further more, no one is owed his affection, his unwavering loyalty, or his trust. He has a right to his boundaries, regardless of if it makes some poor sad sap feel deprived of the “wellspring of coveted love” while he works through things. He can be hurt and angry, and he can wear his heart on his sleeve at times, and he can be flawed, and broken. [Insert Castiel's speech from 15.18 here]. So can Sam. So can Cas. None of them are manipulating each other by virtue of getting angry, feeling hurt, being traumatized, needing space, or having differing opinions or feelings. Sam didn’t punch Dean in the face in 14.12 because he's a cruel, manipulative abuser trying to force Dean under his thumb. He didn’t work behind Dean’s back with Ruby, insist on doing The Trials, beg Dean to use Doc Benton’s alchemy, use the Book of the Damned to cure Dean, pump him full of blood to cure him of being a demon despite the fact that it might kill him, or scream at him and fight him for wanting to get in the Ma’lak box because he “doesn’t respect his autonomy” and “wants to control him” and “doesn’t respect his right to his own body”. He did it because he loves him desperately, and Dean could stand to fucking hate himself less, and he fiercely wanted Dean to live even when Dean didn’t want to or couldn’t picture what that could be like. He didn’t force Dean to do anything simply by opening his mouth to voice disagreement and swaying Dean when he did so. Now reverse that. 

Cas didn't beat Dean into the ground in season 5 because he wanted to terrorize him into never going against Castiel ever again. He didn’t go behind his back dozens of times, sideline him, go MIA, all because he wanted to manipulate and control Dean and punish him. He didn’t throw sassy remarks at him to shatter his self-esteem. Now reverse that. 

*Breathes*

Anyway, fuck "X is abusive” interpretations. 

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

In derry girls, what did you think of the episode where clare came out? Im irish (republic) and gay so i love that it was included, but some of the language used makes me uncomfortable i guess? I get that NI in the 90s wasnt very accepting but the directors have said that they already portrayed it through rose coloured glasses so having michelle say d*ke feels unnecessary. I love the show though and can certainly look past it! I was just interested in what you thought :)))

Hey anon!

Personally I love this episode of Derry Girls! In fact it’s probably my favourite episodes. I already liked Clare as a character throughout the series, probably because I relate to her a bit too much, so to have her be revealed as gay was just like the icing on the cake. Good representation for northern Irish characters are few and far between, and gay northern Irish characters are basically non existent. Derry Girls was this hit TV show that provided many with the first chance to see themselves represented meaningfully on TV, and that includes myself.

However, I think there’s a lot of really important stuff in this episode that people either don’t notice or just don’t really talk about, which I do understand because Derry Girls is, at the end of the day, a comedy and it’s much more fun to quote characters like Aunt Sarah saying “you cannot move for lesbians these days” than to think about the darker side of Northern Ireland.

(T/W for homophobia discussion!!!)

(Also this sort of turned into a ramble about acceptance by the end of the post but I just have a lot of feelings on what Derry girls represents and I feel like non northern Irish viewers maybe don’t catch onto that because they don’t have the necessary context)

Derry Girls, as a show, is so interesting and personal to me because it manages to perfectly strike the balance between presenting Northern Ireland as a deeply flawed and divided country, but also presenting it as a place where people can be happy and live their lives to the fullest despite the ever present danger of the troubles. And that’s a genuinely refreshing portrayal of N.I that we usually don’t get. However I’d argue that if Derry Girls doesn’t at least try and illustrate, to some extent, the causal and very rampant homophobia of northern Ireland then it runs the risk of romanticising Northern Ireland at the time, which I think is incredibly dangerous. I do think that the show is intentionally more digestible and does filter things through rose tinted glasses, however I’d argue that simply glossing over the homophobia would have actually been a bit disrespectful to the queer history of Northern Ireland and could erase the experiences and struggles of the LGBTQ community in N.I, both then and now. If the show doesn’t acknowledge that things were shitty then we paint an inaccurate picture of what it was like, and arguably still is like, to be gay in Northern Ireland. And considering that Derry Girls is one of the very few good depictions of Northern Ireland, it’s incredibly important that it’s an honest depiction.

You specifically asked about Michelle, but I think it’s important to talk about Michelle and Erin in relation to one another, and how they are both products of their time and of a deeply homophobic society.

(Now I’m going to briefly discuss Michelle’s use of the d-slur here however I just want to acknowledge that I’m probably not the best person to talk about this since it’s a lesbian specific slur and I’m not a lesbian. I welcome any additions to this post!)

I think Michelle sort of represents the overt and “loud” homophobia that’s present in our society. Michelle saying the d-slur is far from the first homophobic thing she says. I mean It’s literally a running gag in series one that she calls James “gay” constantly. And the sad thing is that Michelle’s off handed comments throughout the series are incredibly realistic to what you’d hear in Northern Ireland even today. I remember the f-slur being chanted during break time at my primary school, without anyone fully understanding what that word meant. Michelle is a representation of the homophobia that’s deeply ingrained into N.I to the point where it’s not even thought about or even seen as an issue. I mean...no one ever really talks about Michelle’s comments. Now whether or not they had to include her saying a slur specifically to illustrate the homophobia of N.I is not for me to say. You could change that sentence in the script and I think the point of Michelle representing “loud” and homophobia would still stand.

On the other hand...I think Erin represents the much more insidious and “quiet” homophobia.

Firstly, she has no issue with capitalising off a very personal essay for her own gain, shrugs off any protests that this might be wrong and doesn’t consider how her actions may hurt the writer of this piece (who is later revealed to be Clare).

Even the language she uses is a bit uncomfortable, saying that “a real life lesbian walks among us”. Are lesbians wild animals or mythical creatures? That seems to be what Erin is implying here. Plus Erin tries to make it out to others such as Sister Michael that she’s doing this because she genuinely believes in equal rights and wishes to stick up for the LGBT community, but when Clare actually tries to come out Erin is clearly confused and she reacts very badly. I mean, Erin literally says she doesn’t want Clare to come out and demands she get back in the closet, and you can see how hurt Clare is by this reaction. And this scene is kind of played for laughs and I think that straight viewers probably found Erin’s reaction quite funny...but this scene hit way too close to home for me. It’s the classic “I have nothing against gay people, but I’d just rather I didn’t have a gay friend/child/co-worker because they make me uncomfortable” that’s way too common in Northern Ireland. It’s the idea that people can present themselves as liberal and open minded, but when finally confronted with something that doesn’t fit their narrative, their societal conditioning kicks in.

As a queer woman, it was never Michelle’s causal homophobia that made me uncomfortable, it was Erin’s reaction...because it hit way too close to home. It’s a perfect representation of the “quiet” homophobia that’s still a massive issue in Northern Ireland today.

(Also the context of when Derry Girls was released is super important! Series one of Derry Girls was released in 2018...but Gay marriage wasn’t actually legalised in Northern Ireland until January of 2020 and even then it was quite contested by conservatives. Now I’m not saying there’s social commentary here but that’s absolutely what I’m saying.)

Now I’m not saying that Michelle or Erin themselves are homophobic, nor am I saying that they’re bad people. I think that they are teenagers that have absorbed a lot of homophobic rhetoric due to the time and the society that they live in. Although Erin’s reaction to Clare trying to come out was painful to watch because it felt so real, I don’t think her reaction was malicious. Erin is a teenager who has grown up in a homophobic society and now doesn’t really know how to react to this new reality and probably didn’t realise how hurtful she was being to Clare. (This isn’t me trying to excuse her reaction, again I am part of the LGBT community and I’ve experienced that exact same reaction from people, it’s me trying to understand Erin’s reaction). Erin and Michelle have both absorbed rhetoric from their deeply homophobic society, and unfortunately this rhetoric continues.

Plus I just want to comment on this idea of acceptance and change in Derry Girls. Derry Girls is set in the time of great change in Northern Ireland, where people were sort of starting to accept that people are allowed to be British or Irish or both. But this process was messy and it wasn’t instantaneous. And the acceptance of the LGBTQ community in Northern Ireland was the exact same. It didn’t just happen overnight. It was a slow and messy process of change, of people re-evaluating their previous beliefs and being given the chance to grow as people and to learn how to accept others. That’s not to say people haven’t made mistakes in the past, because they have, but they’re willing to take the steps to change. I‘ve always thought the LGBTQ subplot of Derry Girls is sort of a parallel to the overall process of change in Northern Ireland in a political sense. And I think that flies over so many people’s heads because they don’t have that context of the political situation in N.I.

(And this theme of acceptance is seen again in the series finale of series 2 with James! ✨ Thematic consistency ✨ )

Because at the end of the day, Clare is accepted by the group. In fact, we see both the teenagers and the adults actively take steps to make her feel loved, welcome and accepted. My favourite moment will always be Granda Joe saying “you’re a very talented people” to Clare in the most earnest voice. Clare is still loved by her friends and although they don’t exactly know what they’re doing, they do try and show their support for her. They absolutely make mistakes, and they did hurt Clare, but they’re trying and I think that stands for a lot, especially at the time.

And I think all of what I discussed was absolutely necessary to Derry Girls. Derry Girls might be a somewhat rose tinted portrayal of Derry in the troubles, but it never tries to romanticise the situation that the teenagers were in (because no one should be romanticising the troubles). I think that this stance of portraying the harsh reality of homophobia in N.I is equally important to the narrative of Derry Girls. I see my own experiences in Clare, despite the fact it’s 30 years later, so if they didn’t at least attempt to show the homophobia in Ireland it would have felt disingenuous and too “perfect”. Again, I’m not saying that Michelle using the d slur was the right way to go about showing the “loud” homophobia of Northern Ireland. That’s not my decision to make. However, just because Derry Girls is making efforts to present Northern Ireland in a more digestible way to audiences (especially non northern Irish audiences) doesn’t mean they shouldn’t also acknowledge the reality of Northern Ireland at the time.

(This all kind of makes it sound like I want Clare to get hate crimed which I obviously do not want. I think the way that Derry Girls showed the issues in Northern Ireland were perfect and very much necessary, minus the use of the d-slur specifically which wasn’t necessary to the plot.)

Anyway thank you so much for the ask anon! This was much more rambly than my usual posts but I just really have a lot of opinions on Derry girls because it does mean a lot to me and it often does hit close to home.

[theauthorunicorn]

She’s Back Part 2 | Evan Buckley

Read Part 1 here

Prompt: During the operation at the train wreck the reader met Abby and saw her with Evan but she doesn’t know why she’s even back.

“I mean, if I could just take a week off Captain that will be good.” it’s been three days passed since the train incident and I’m just tired ignoring Buck for a while now. He wanted to reason everything out but I think I’m not ready to hear him after knowing that they both met the day after the incident.

“A week off now? Earlier you keep asking me to transfer you to another shift? What’s wrong Y/N?” Bobby asked eyes furrowed.

I sighed in annoyance, “I don’t know, I’m kinda tired and -” I can see Buck in my peripheral vision listening to us, “I wanted to try other things or stuff. I really don’t know Cap and this answer usually could grant a week off though.”

“Who’s having a week off?” Eddie interrupted.

“Me. I’m asking a week off, okay?”

“Why?” he asked confusingly.

“I don’t know or probably I’m gonna fly to Europe and explore somethings or even go to London and see what are they up to.” I told them. I can see Buck’s annoyance in my answers and I don’t care.

“Please, grant me those. I needed this time off.” I begged to Captain Nash.

And oh if you’re wondering by the way the “I need to tell you something” by Buck was never happened because I try my very best not to talk to him or even be at the same room with him.

“I’ll go check if you can Y/N. I’ll let you know after the shift.” Captain Nash assured.

*****  

“Thank you so much.” I hugged Bobby as he informed me that I could have five days off and that’s the best that he could do.

It was raining hard as soon as our shift ended and unfortunately my car was still in the shop because of engine problem. I grabbed my umbrella in the locker and booked an Uber home.

“You’re gonna Uber home?” Eddie asked as he passed me.

“Uhm,” I locked my phone, “My car was in shop, engine problems.”

“I could just swing you at your apartment this rain isn’t gonna stop soon.” Eddie offered.

“We live in the opposite side so ‘swing you home’ is not efficient.” I said as I declined his offer.

“Okay, I just want someone to hear this conversation so he could drop you home and talk whatever is going on to both off you.” He winked at me as he walk towards the door.

I checked my Uber and no one has ever picked my booking.

I walk toward the door and thought that it would be a perfect spot to wait for a cab since it’s impossible to get an Uber at this time.

It’s twenty minutes passed and no cab even passed by. I keep myself entertained over my colleagues who will start their shift after us catching up.

Then, a black Jeep stopped in front of us, I sighed to know at that very second who it was. Buck rolled his passenger side window and shouted, “Hey. Y/N it’s impossible to get a cab now, I’ll just drop you home.”

Maria, a friend of ours had this confusion then proceeded to ask me, "Buck is here, I don't know why you're still waiting for a cab? You two are basically a couple without being in a formal relationship?" I rolled my eyes to her.

"Am I right, Buck?" She shouted over Buck even though he didn't know what are we talking about.

He nodded and shouted back at me, "Y/N, get in the car."

"As if I have a choice." I mumbled as I walk over the Jeep.

I said my goodbye to Maria and she's happily teasing the me and Buck. I don't know why people kept seeing us so compatible to each other because right now, I can't even see it.

I stand in passenger side of his Jeep, "Hey, thank you for doing this, I don't even know that you're still in the station at this time." He smiled and God forbid those smiles. "Can you open up the back, I could just sit over there." I pointed it because I'm refusing to seat beside him.

He looked over at his back, "It's kinda messy over there, I got my stuff for the gym earlier. It'll be better if you'll seat over here." He pointed at the passenger side.

"I think I can do that," he smiled again, "I mean, I can sit at the back."

"It's really messy in there Y/N. I wished I cleaned it up before passing you here because I would if I just know that you'll be here. And it's pouring hard so you better get inside." He opened the door and a backed away. I climbed over the passenger side to settle this little argument.

"Where can I put my umbrella? It's literally dripping." I asked him.

He points at his back seat and it's really messy. "Put it in the back."

He started driving away from the station, he offered me a bag of Cheetos and even if I wanted some I declined his offer. Buck started casual talk but it really ends up in my yes, no or maybe.

"Do you still have grocery at your home? Because the last time I was there it was almost empty."

Well, he's not wrong. He spend a night in my apartment four days ago as we watch The Office again.

"I still have some. I'll probably just order a takeaway tonight." I said in a monotone voice.

Then, it's a dead silent. It felt like five minutes before he start speaking again.

"I heard you're gonna have a five day off, where are you going? Are you gonna visit your parents in New York?" He asked as if he dropped a million dollar question.

"No and not to be rude, Buck. It's none of your business." I put my airpods in my ear to shut whatever he's gonna talk.

He sighed deeply as he saw me doing that. I kept my head leaned over the window watching the raindrops race over the end.

*****

He parked his car adjacent to the door, I settled myself before opening it. I put my phone and airpods at my bag, "Thank you so much for driving me home, Buck and I'm sorry that I'm mean earlier I'm just not in the mood."

"It's Evan and it's okay I understand, Y/N."

I opened the door and hop out, "Drive safe." Usually it followed set of words, 'call or text me when you're home.'

And he usually answers, "Yeah, I'll text you when I'm home." and he does this time out of habit even if I didn't ask for it.

*****

I had different shifts from Buck after that day he dropped me home, he also did text me that he arrived home safely that night but I didn't reply, I left him on read. And fun fact I'm flying over London tonight for my mini vacation.

"So, London, huh?" Maria asked me as I settled my things I had the night shift the past few days so I had the chance to hangout with Maria.

"Yeah. It'll be good." I said in British accent. I tied my hair into pony tail before grabbing my things.

"I hope you have a wonderful vacation over there dearie."

"Yeah, I will." I walked over my car unlock it from a far when someone grabbed my free hand.

"Hey, I got you coffee to compensate your all nighter duty." Buck said as he handed me a venti Starbucks cup. "It's Vanilla Latte." He smiled.

"Thank you." I said confusingly. He's acting weird like he normally fo everyday.

"You're welcome and actually if you can remember I want to grab something with you so I can say something to you. Maybe right now, like breakfast?" Buck asked as if we're actually okay and its making me mad.

"No, I have something to do today." I replied plainly.

"Something much more better than me, mmm, Y/N." He said playfully.

"Buck, stop this."

"Evan, call me Evan." He insisted.

"I'll be flying to London tonight and I need to pack up my things, I'm sorry if I can't. And please stop acting that we're okay because we both know that we're not, Buck."

And now, he's totally angry. "I want to talk to you so bad because I want to explain things and after all you're gonna leave like what Abby did to me. It felt like everyone is leaving me, Y/N and you're the last person I expected to do that."

It felt like I'm burning up, I catch my breath before answering him, "I'm not like Abby, Evan. Okay. Don't compare me to her. That's it, get over it. Get over her. Find yourself and I'll go figure out what the hell is happening with me in London. I needed this time off so you don't have the right to tell me those words you said to me."

I opened my car and threw my bag at the back as I settled the coffee in the cup holder. He held the door to keep it open, "I'm sorry Y/N. I didn't mean it."

*****

I'm at the airport right now waiting my flight to board.

"All passengers from BA 798 bound to London this is your pre-boarding announcement -"

"Y/N!" Someone called my name, panting. I looked around to see Evan catching his breathe. "I'm glad I still catch you here." He hugged me tightly.

"Is everything okay? I mean how can you be at this area if you don't have a ticket." I asked him.

"I bought a ticket for Kansas tonight and I’m not even flying there just to pass through because I need to tell you something before you go." He uttered those familiar words.

"I know I fucked up that I didn't get over to what I felt with Abby because I kept a promise to wait for her but when you came into my life it drifted away but I'm not gonna lie as soon as I saw her that night it all came back even if I didn't want to because I'm finally happy. I saw pain in your eyes when you both saw us and it felt like I personally planted a knife in your heart to have those look in your eyes. I wanted to pause everything at that time to explain things to you but I couldn't they needed our help. Then, the day after the incident you avoided me, I thought it might be a temporary thing but it didn't. Yes, I met her that day also too, so I could settle whatever is left in here for her" he pointed in his heart. "And when you heard that we agreed to see each other that day, I see the pain doubled in your eyes. Abby, went here with his fiance to tell her relatives that they're going to get married in June, I met Sam too, her fiance I actually saved him at the incident, I may be lying if I'll say now that I wasn't hurt when she say that she'll be married but I did a little, then, I think about you Y/N. I think about everything that we had for the past year and especially the last few days before you start ignoring me," he giggled, "it's much more special and wonderful than what I had with Abby and it was so wrong to compare you to her this morning and again, I'm sorry."

"At this time we invite our business class customers to board the aircraft." The boarding gate agent announced and I hesitantly looked at my watch to check what time it is.

"I'm actually called?" I told him.

"Please stay for a while, I'll finish this up in a minute or two." I nodded.

"Because of the situation we didn't actually do as what we planned that night grab a breakfast or something and me telling you something and right now, you're going to London and I couldn't afford to have those five days passed away from you without knowing this, I love you Y/N more than anything. You mean the world to me and if I could just fly with you tonight I would but I can't, Captain said we will be short staffed. So, yeah, I love you and I want to spend my days with you annoying you, loving you and caring for you."

When he finished saying those words, I teared up and hugged him tightly as I savor those words in my head.

"All passengers for BA 798 bound to London kindly board your flight now at gate 22."

"Hey, I think you're being called for your flight."

"They can wait, I'm a business class passenger." I said to him. He laughed as we still hug each other. "And I love you too, Evan."

[crash-cinematic-universe]

A Speedster, A Nuclear Bomb, and a Worn Down Walkman (Ch.1)

pairing: peter maximoff/fem!Wilson!reader

summary:  Y/n Wilson is the only child of the renowned X-Man Deadpool. When Y/n is asked to enroll in Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters by Charles Xavier himself, she has no choice but to accept; much to the dismay of her father. Y/n isn’t used to the knew surroundings or the constant stress of her mutation. All she wanted to do was disappear. Little did Y/n know, she caught the eyes of a certain speedster who wasn’t planning on letting her fade away anytime soon.

req:  Hey, I was wondering if you could write something about dating peter maximoff and being deadpools kid - @8-eight-8

warnings: none, rlly

notes: FUCK YEAH!!! IM BACK TO WRITING THIS SERIES BABEY. sorry this took so long, i swear it wont take this long next time. also 2.5k words to make up for it hell yeah!

PREVIOUS: prologue 

taglist: @creator-appreciator, @wallows-spring

            Saying that life at the academy was hectic would be a severe understatement; your first few days were filled to the brim with endless placement assessments and class work and first impressions. It was as if you were meeting every person at once, each new smiling face and unique name immediately leaving your brain after mere seconds of talking. It was overwhelming and chaotic and at one point you felt as if you had begun to spiral in the first week-- worst of all, you were beginning to miss your father. However, there was one person who stuck in your mind like a fly to a gluetrap-- Peter Maximoff. 

            Peter was made of pure adrenaline, constantly on the move at high speeds as if he would cease to exist if he were to stand still. Nevertheless, he somehow managed to land himself right next to you anywhere you went. You’re not exactly complaining, though, you quite like having Peter around. He’s like your anchor, a person you can lean on when everyone and everything becomes too much-- not to mention Peter’s physical appearance. His features were refined and smooth, as if he was carved from marble by Michelangelo himself. He always had a grin on his face, his eyes lighting up like Fourth of July fireworks that you just can’t look away from. 

            Similarly, Peter was still having trouble processing… you. You were like an ethereal being, an inhuman gracefulness and beauty following you everywhere you went. You brightened up rooms, your laugh could make the saddest person feel uplifted, your eyes were abyss-like pools that made Peter feel fuzzy whenever they locked with him. Peter couldn’t stay away from you if he tried-- you were magnetic, an invisible force pulling him closer and closer until he got close enough to smell the shampoo you use. Everything about you was amazing and perfect and pristine to him-- he would be lying if he claimed he didn’t have a crush on you. Unfortunately for Peter, you were completely and totally out of  his league. In fact, you were so out of his league that the mere thought of you liking him seemed about as realistic as a fever dream. For now, Peter was content with being your friend.

            Meanwhile, Charles was attempting to settle on one of the hardest dilemmas of his lifetime. Originally, Charles had invited you to the academy to attempt to control your mutation. Hank had run various tests to get an idea of exactly how strong you’d become, and the results were shocking. Long story short, both Charles and Hank had come to the conclusion that you were a ticking time bomb. With every day that passes your manipulation of energy expands, reigning in more and more force by the second. The process is gradual and slow, but with time, you would lose your ability to contain the energy. Keeping you in the academy would be your only chance at stopping your inevitable destination, but that would also put the rest of the students at risk. Then again, you were useful; having you on the X-Men team would help save so many people. For the first time in what felt like years, Charles didn’t know what to do. 

            “Hank,” The British man called. “If you were the equivalent to a timed explosive, would you… would you want to know?”

            “I’m sorry?” Hank’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

            “I just… I’m not sure if I should tell Y/n about her… situation.” Hank nods in understanding before inhaling deeply.

            “Charles, she’s only been here a few days. She’s barely settled in-- give her time to… warm up to the place.” Hank replies. That doesn’t help Charles’s situation.

            “And after that? After she’s settled in?” Hank sighs. He’s not sure what to do either-- all Hank really knows is that he wants whatever's best for you. Hank had come to enjoy your presence through the last few days. You were kind and paid attention to Hank and his interests. It was refreshing-- Hank wasn’t used to having some be genuinely impressed by his work.

            “You have to tell her eventually, Charles. You’re only hurting her by hiding it.” Charles groans and leans back in his chair. He was truly dreading this conversation-- he had no doubt in his mind that you’d want what’s best for the other students; Wade mentioned that you had a habit of putting others' needs and feelings before your own.

            “Thank you, Hank. That’ll be all.” He waves the other man out of the room, allowing himself to be left to his own thoughts. Charles’s head ached as he glanced at the report Hank had written on you, one specific observation jumping out at the distressed man: “Y/n Wilson is as much an evolutionary breakthrough as she is a safety hazard-- she must learn to contain her power; if she’s successful, she’ll be one of the most powerful mutants ever recorded. If she fails-- if we fail, the consequences will be as catastrophic and destructive as a nuclear explosive. Proceed with caution.”

______________

            The sound of confused giggles and hurried footsteps echo through the hallway as Peter gently tugs you along, turning to glance at you every now and then. Peter knew you were having trouble getting comfortable with the other students, and he was determined to change that. He had a small group of friends that were eager to meet you-- Peter managed to bring you up in every conversation he’s had with anyone in the past week.

            “Peter, where are we going?” You question as Peter turns around a corner. He just shoots a smile back at you before quickly pulling you into his bedroom-- a bunch of students sitting in various places on the floor. You can recognize a few faces from the hallways, but other than that they’re mostly strangers. Except for one-- I can recognize Kurt from the library.

            “Alright, so, uh, I thought that maybe you’d want to meet some of my friends. Just to-- uhm-- just to get more used to some of the people here.” Peter’s stomach flutters as you grin at him.

            “You did this for me?” Peter nodded before your attention was quickly drawn away from him and to the people around the room. Peter is quick to introduce you to all his friends.

            “Uh, Kurt, Jubilee, Scott, Jean, Ororo, this is Y/n,” A blue teenager materializes in front of me almost instantly. 

            “We met already but it is nice to meet you again,” He grins a toothy grin, his hand extending to shake mine. I’m soon met by a boy wearing odd goggles, presumably Scott, then Jubilee, then Ororo, then finally, Jean. They were all friendly and unique and oddly comforting in a way, regardless of the fact that they were all a full decade younger than you and Peter. 

            “What’s the best way to get to know someone?” Scott asks, glancing at Jubilee. She smirks back at him.

            “In all 16 years of living, I’ve come to learn that the single best way to get to know someone's personality is via the ancient practice of Truth or Dare.” She grins wildly.

            “Oh, uh, I don’t know if--” You can hear Peter inhale sharply as Scott pulls him onto the floor, the other students following suit and soon forming a circle on the floor. Jubilee tugs you down by your sleeve.

            “Alright, who’s first?” Jean quips. Everyone exchanges a look before settling on Peter.

            “Oh, uhm… Kurt, truth or dare?” Everyone seems to be disappointed by Peter’s selection, but they continue nevertheless.

            “Truth.” Peter bites his lip while he attempts to think of a question to ask, and you can’t help but stare. The silver speedster is undeniably cute-- you’ll willfully admit that any day. “Out of everyone here, who do you think is the smartest?”

            “Well, both you and Y/n are much older than ze rest of us, so it’s one von of you two-- sorry Jean, zey just have more experience. Uh, I guess Y/n since I vonce saw Peter try to catch a bird with his bare hands.” You laugh out loud at this new discovery and Peter’s face burns a light red. 

            “Alright, Kurt, it’s your turn.” Jean says. The blue boy scans the crowd before choosing the next victim. 

            “Y/n, truth or dare?” All eyes turned to you expectantly. You were never a coward, so you took the most logical route.

            “Dare.” The entire group jitters with excitement, anticipation for what odd things Kurt would make you do circulating in the air.

            “I dare you… to hold hands with Peter for ze rest of ze game.” Scott and Jean both huff in disappointment as Jubilee and Ororo gaze at Kurt with such fury it was as if they were trying to kill him. This dare was odd, sure, but you weren’t one to back down.

            “Easy peasy,” You quip as you hold out your hand for Peter to take. He laces your fingers with yours and immediately your entire arm feels as if it had just been jostled awake. The feeling of Peter’s hand in yours is foreign, but incredibly welcome. His hands are warm. 

            “My turn, right?” You ask, trying to forget the fact that Peter’s hand is entangled with yours. “Jubilee, truth or dare?” 

            “Truth, and make it good.” She grins. 

            “Whose mutation do you think is the least useful out of everyone in this circle?” Jubilee glances around the circle.

            “Depends. I don’t know what yours is,” she trails off for a moment. “And I don’t wanna be mean…”

            “My mutation is energy manipulation-- I can control the energy that’s constantly being produced.” Peter’s grip on your hand tightens a bit as Jube’s eyes widen. 

            “Okay, that’s fucking awesome so definitely not yours,” she exclaims. “Kurt and Peter are useful in combat, Jean is useful in getting information, Ororo and Scott are both super powerful-- I think my mutation is the least useful.”

            “Don’t say that, Jubilee,” Scott says from across the circle. “You’re useful sometimes.” Jean cringes at his words and both Jubilee and Kurt laugh aloud. Scott seems unaware of his mistake. 

            “Thanks, Scott,” The young girl said before returning to the game. “Alright, my turn again? Ororo, truth or dare?”

            “Dare,” Ororo smirks. She’s quite pretty, her hair looked soft and shimmery-- not dissimilar to Peter’s. 

            “I dare you to knock the power out of the entire mansion for a full five minutes.” Ororo complies, a large clap of thunder echoing through the mansion as the room goes dark. Ororo had created a large thunderstorm to cover for the power outage, lightning and rain wailing down on the windows. Peter grips your hand tightly, his muscles tensing as he shuts his eyes for a moment. The other students are consumed by their chatter and laughter in the darkness.

            “Hey, you okay?” You ask softly. Peter is jumpy and nervous, but he doesn’t want to seem cowardly in front of you. 

            “Y-yeah, I’m just not the b-biggest fan of thunderstorms,” You can tell he’s trying to act tough. Gently, you run your thumb over his knuckles in an attempt to calm him down.

            “Don’t worry, silver, the storm will pass. For now, I can distract you if you’d like me to,” You offer. Peter looks at you for a moment, and his heart skips a beat. You’re kind and sweet and selfless, you’re considerate and caring and wonderful and Peter is in awe of you. 

            “A distraction would be nice.” Peter said quietly, wincing at the weakness in his voice. He was almost 30 years old, one of the oldest among the group in the room and he was cowering because of a little thunder. He felt ashamed and small-- it really was no shocker that you were out of his league. However, when you flipped his hand over and began tracing shapes on his palm with your finger, all of his worries melted away for a moment. 

            After a while, Ororo switched the lights back on and dispersed the storm outside, the group  of teens returning to the antics almost instantaneously. You pulled your hands away from Peter reluctantly.

            “Well, uh, I better get going-- I have some work to do.” You say as you stand up. “It was lovely to meet all of you, this game was pretty fun. I’ll see you around.” You can hear Peter scramble behind you, quickly following you out of the room as if he were a lost puppy. You walked in silence for a while, Peter’s strides in sync with yours as you made your way to your bedroom. You admired the detailed architecture along the walls as you walked, various small symbols were scattered across the wallpaper. You didn’t realize you’d reached your bedroom until you were standing face-to-face with the door.

            “Thank you.” Peter says, his voice low and raspy. He’s not looking at you, his eyes glued to the floor.

            “For what?” The shameful feelings returned as Peter kept his eyes on the floor. He feels like a baby-- a whiny baby who gets afraid during thunderstorms and has trouble articulating his thoughts and feelings. It made him so frustrated when he couldn’t find the words to say what needed to be said-- his mind just moved too fast to grip onto any coherent thoughts. When he glanced into your eyes, he managed to get something out.

            “It’s just that I know a lot of people who would make fun of me for being as old as I am and so easily scared.” You smiled softly, a hint of sadness in your eyes. Peter didn’t want you to pity him, but at this point he just needed to express his gratitude. “Thank you for… not being one of those people.” You took his face gently in your hands and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

            “Anytime, Maximoff. Anytime.” You smiled before opening your bedroom door and stepping inside. The first thing you notice is that the books on your desk have been knocked over. Then, you realize that there was someone standing behind you.

            You yelp, whipping around and shooting out a blast of energy. You didn’t even expel that much force, but the figure is launched into the wall. It’s only then that you realize this figure was actually your father.

            “Dad? What the fuck are you doing here?!” You shout as you rush to help him off the floor.

            “What, I need a reason to come see my daughter?” He jokes as he pops his arm back into its socket. He looks worried, but he masks it with a smile. “It just happens that Charles wanted to see me the same day I came to visit you.”

            “Charles wants to see you? Why?” You ask as Wade pulls you into a hug. A cough from the doorway startles you apart, and a very anxious looking Hank is standing in the doorway.

            “Looks like we’re about to find out,”

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Primary Organs, Mama Lives in My Mouth, Phantom Limbs & Slaughter the Animal | Short Story Update

Hey People of Earth!

Today I’ll be updating y’all on FOUR short stories I recently(ish) finished drafting because it’s been so long since I last updated you on short fiction! TW: suicide, death, trauma, animal cruelty.

Plot: Six-year-old Eileen watches the body of her dead mother from the driveway of her neighbour’s house after her mother commits suicide.

Genre: Literary fiction, short fiction

POV: First person, present tense

Word count: 2342

Characters:

Eileen

Main character

SOFT

Danny

Eileen’s 18-year-old neighbour

Confused and doesn't know what to do

Ma

We obviously don’t know much about her because she’s dead at the start of the story, and we learn little of her through Eileen’s lens

I wrote this story in March for a contest (I didn’t end up submitting) as I was writing Mama Lives in My Mouth which has similar characters, and side-tangented this draft. At the time, it was one of my favourite things I’d written, but some newer work which I’ll talk about are FIGHTING for its spot. Drafting this was so painless, and the voice is a favourite I’ve written because of the lens we’re looking through (a six-year-old girl who clearly doesn’t understand her mother is dead, and the reason why her mother is dead). The story itself doesn't take place for more than 5-10 minutes, and is literally Eileen and her neighbour Danny observing her mother’s dead body while Danny speaks to a 911 operator. Because of the content, it’s my saddest story, and that’s made worse by the innocent narrative.

Publication status: unpublished, rejected 7 times (I’m! sad!), actively seeking

Plot: After her child nearly drowns, a mother shrinks herself so she can live in her child’s mouth, thereby staying close to her child and evading rent costs that have hiked due to gentrification. (lol) (sorry not sorry)

Genre: Literary fiction, flash fiction

POV: First person, present tense

Word count: 536

Characters:

Mama

Overprotective, but wants the best for her child

May or may not have an affair with her child’s dentist

Her child

Our narrator, though they experience the story in detached ways as they don’t really know what’s going on

The dentist

Potential love interest for Mama

Publication status: I haven’t shared this on here, but this story is being published! Last year, I was published in Young Voices 2019, and will be in their 2020 issue with my sister @sarahkelsiwrites​ (literal publication sister) which will come out mid Fall. I’m hyped about it!

This story has more “lore” than the others because I began writing it a year and a half ago and only recently finished the draft (which I talk about in THIS vlog). This story was originally called “Phantom Limbs in D Minor” which I prefer in sound, but the D Minor bit just never fit with the story! Sad :(

Plot: 20-year-old Linda shouldn’t be this methodically detached to her everyday life, but a year after her mother’s death, she finds herself in this exact situation, living in a phantom-like state. Acting as a live-in designer for her sister Mel and Mel’s boyfriend Fraser, Linda can’t seem to reconnect with herself post her mother’s death until Fraser interrupts her regimented routine with a request.

Genre: Literary fiction, short fiction

POV: Third person, present tense

Word count: 6199

Characters:

Linda (20)

Our semi-unhinged, but still soft, MC

Very detached from herself and though it’s not canon, there’s clear textual evidence she suffers from OCD

Mel (24)

Well meaning, but sort of overbearing older sister of Linda

Mel turned out kinder than I initially judged, and though she’s a bit self-centred, she does deeply care for her sister

Fraser (20s?)

Mel’s boyfriend. In Linda’s words, he’s unkind.

This story was bizarre to draft as it came together over a long period of time. Thematically and also in general, I didn’t know what the story wanted to be, and after drafting, was surprised at how much of a “nothing happens” story it is. I think Linda’s characterization is strong and I do like it! The opening is still one of my favourites, especially in terms of imagery.

Publication status: Not currently seeking. I definitely want to let it sit before I start sending it out!

Plot: 13-year-old Dorothy moves from Ontario to British Columbia after her parents’ divorce where she meets Ginny and Carver, a set of twins who seem both interested in the preservation of animal life and the repercussions of harming it.

Genre: Literary fiction, short fiction

POV: First person, retrospective past tense

Word count: 4340

Characters:

Dorothy “Dot” or “Dottie”

VERY soft but also ROASTS

Our narrator

Loves all animals, is vegetarian

Mother

Dorothy’s mother

Kind of textbook How Not to Be a Parent

Cares about her daughter, but is a bit misguided

Carver & Virginia “Ginny”

Fraternal twins, children of the woman who runs the boarding house Dorothy and her mother move to

Kind of the same person, with both being unfeeling, apathetic, curious, and vegetarian.

I adored writing this story. To date, the opening is the best opening I have ever written IMO in terms of prose. I got this idea for this story after praying to the short fiction gods for a short story idea! I was sitting in my backyard hammock looking up through the trees, one of which is a plum tree. My dog began barking at this gating my dad put up and the idea followed along this exact pattern, with Dorothy sitting in her backyard hammock with her dog etc. However, after this magnificent writing session where I drafted the first 1200 words, the next day, I couldn’t tap back into the story. Frustrated, I tried tinkering with it, but ultimately gave it a rest for about two weeks. Two days ago, I opened the story and the muse guided me to the end, which was pretty magical! Overall, I’m satisfied with the story. The prose is some of my best and I love the character work. It’s also my first ever time writing twins (I am a twin myself!), which was difficult at first. This is also my first explicitly CanLit (TM) story! Please publish me!

Publication status: Not currently seeking, but I will in the future!

That’s an update on these short stories! I have enough full-length fiction pieces that I’m thinking of starting a collection (I’ve written 7 non-flash pieces, 4-5 of which would most likely fit the collection), so in the interim, I shall be brainstorming names. Surprisingly, the pieces fit together quite well (I’m thinking they will be The Species is Dead, Primary Organs, Phantom Limbs, Slaughter the Animal, and *maybe* NYC in Your Apartment). But for now, that’s it!

--Rachel

[crazyfreckledginger]

Damian Wayne x Reader - "Claws Are Coming Out"

When Damian’s brothers find out that he likes you, they tease him endlessly but still help him try to get you to like him as well, what no body expected, however, was that the cat you rescued, Montey, who loved you unconditionally also felt very protective of you and cockblocked the two of you, not wanting you to like Damian. Will you manage to return his feelings?

Requested by anon: “ I think the asks are open if not ignore this but I was hoping that u could write about Damian liking this Colombian girl that rescued a cat when she was ten. The only problem is that the cat is very protective of her so he (the cat is a male named Montey) doesn’t like Damian. Also could u make the girl nice. I’m sorry if I seem to specific it’s just that I’m the rules it says to be specific and I wouldn’t mind if u changed parts. U don’t have to write this it you don’t want to. Thank u.”

A/N: I didn’t include the Colombian part because I want as many people to identify as they want so I kept it neutral, hope you like it! 

"We're nearly there, sweetheart,"

Despite her protests, her father still thought it was safer for her to stay at one of his friends houses.

And this friend of his happened to be Bruce Wayne. They met at a meeting, having had an accord with each other at Wayne Enterprise in order to cut down at the waste they were producing.

After a year or so of knowing each other, they merged their companies, finding out they had the same aims and morales.

Thankfully for (Y/N), she didn't have to meet him regularly. The girl found him too intimidating, was it because of his demeanour or position of power? She never knew -- and she didn't want to stick around too long to find out.

Even as an adult, he couldn't help but rub the wrong way off of her.

And yet now, here you were, going to spend the week with him and apparently, his sons when her father doesn't trust the neighbourhood enough to leave his daughter there. He made sure the house was secure, but he didn't want her walking out alone there to and from her work, if something happened, he wouldn't know until her parents got back.

"Please come back soon," the girl's eyes softened as her father tapped his fingertips lightly against the wheel, fixating the Wayne Manor gate gradually opening.

"We will baby, just hang in there until then, I know you don't like Bruce, but trust me, he's a good man. Although I suspect he's hiding something from me," he trailed off, deep in thought. He soon snapped out of it and followed the path before parking the car.

The girl released a breath as she got out of the vehicle. This place looked even bigger from outside the car.

"Welcome, Master (L/N), and you must be Lady (Y/N)." A British accent voice beside them. She peeked around the trunk door, her fingers tight around her suitcase as her father moved to him.

"Alfred, it's great to see you again!"

"Come, Montey," the girl whispered before closing the trunk. The small furball purred, jumping up the backseat and crawling between the small opening before it pounced on her chest.

Effortlessly, she caught her trusted friend and kept him securely in her arms.

Her other hand grasped her suitcase and she dragged it behind her towards the beautiful marble stairs.

She watched as her father casually pressed the car key, only glancing momentarily to make sure the boot was closing automatically.

"It's nice to meet you," (Y/N) gave the butler a polite smile even if she was becoming increasingly anxious at the unfamiliar environment.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you as well," He returned the smile, "my name is Alfred, and I am Bruce Wayne's butler. This way please." He opened the door wider and escorted the pair in. (Y/N) was taken aback from the splendid chandelier hanging over the beautifully paved hallway.

"I noticed to have a cat with you Miss (Y/N)," he stated.

"Yes I do, I'm sorry if it gives you more work, I'll make sure he stays tidy, he makes me feel more comfortable," she blurted out. The older man chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"I assure you Miss, it is no worried at all. Master Damian is quite fond of animals as well, I merely wanted to inquire about it's name," he sent her a reassuring smile.

"Oh," she sighed in relief, blushing a little bit of embarrassment, "his name is Montey,"

"A name that fits him well," he praised.

"I can show Miss (Y/N) to her room, I understood through Master Bruce that you have a plane to catch. I assure you, your daughter is in good and safe hands," the butler nodded.

Already, the woman started to feel at ease. Alfred started to slowly wash away her uneasiness. He seemed very reassuring.

"Thank you very much Alfred," your father grinned before he turned to his daughter.

"Stay safe for us alright, we won't be long, we will pick you up was soon as we're back,"

"Alright," (Y/N) breathed out, hugging him tightly. She watched him as he pulled away from her, waving at her before parting, disappearing behind the closing door.

"Are you always this scared?" A cold voice spoke bitterly from a high place. Her eyed peeled towards the grand staircase, seeing a slightly familiar face at the top. He had a scowl on his face, he seemed to be in permanent disgust at every thing that was within eye shot.

"Master Damian, watch your manners," Alfred scolded, grasping the girl's bag despite her protests and marching up the stairs and giving a disapproving look to the blood son.

"I get nervous in areas I'm unfamiliar with," she replied softly, hugging the cat tightly. She didn't want to get on anyone's bad side so soon after arriving -- not that she really wanted to be. Either he was acting spoiled because of this wealth or something happened to him for him to become so cold and distant. She learned to try and understand people before judging them. She had Montey to thank for that. If she didn't find him in the state he was in when she first found him, she could never have understood why he kept his distance and scratched anyone who got so close.

*****

And that is how the both of them met. They were close for countless months now. He was also going to Gotham University, which is why she was sure she had seen his face before, and, despite the different programs they were on, they still managed to make time for each other. Over the time they spent together, Damian noticed how his feelings for (Y/N) were slowly morphing into something more than friends -- but he didn't want to act on it, he didn't know what the outcome could be.

"Awwwww does little demon spawn have a crush~" Jason ruffled his hair annoyingly.

"Quit it or I'll kill you!!" He slapped his hand away and readjusted his hair.

Dick grinned at the pair, chuckling, "you'd be cute together, she's sooooo sweet,"

"Grayson!!" He grunted, "Don't you have other people to piss off??"

"Why? Because she's going to be here any minute now?" Tim snorted. Damian glared daggers at his older brother before they all pulled away and acted nonchalantly once the door opened.

"Oh hey guys, what are you up to?" (Y/N) beamed at them as Montey jumped down at her feet.

"Hey bud," Jason crouched down to scratch the kitty's neck, who purred happily in response.

"Hey (Y/N)," Dick and Tim waved before grasping Jason's collar and pulling him away to another room.

"What's up with them? Are they okay?" The girl inquired, confusion written all over her beautiful face.

"Nevermind those idiots, come," he grasped her hand, blushing slightly upon contact and dragging her up to his room. Montey hissed aggressively, racing after them. Damian let go before the kitty could attack him from being too close to the girl.

*****

"So you can't carry it out in any order? It has to be respected otherwise it wouldn't work?" Her eyed peeled away from her notes.

"Wait show me see again," he leaned over her book. He gulped when her nose accidentally brushed against his cheek and he tilted his head slightly to face hers. They were so close, their breathing mingled together. (Y/N) blushed shyly, not being able to look away from his perfect jawline and his slightly ajar lips. Daringly, he captured her lips in a hungry kiss. A surprised gasp was swallowed by Damian before the girl slowly brought a hand up to his cheek to kiss him deeply. Smoothly, he pushed the books off his bed and sunk her back into the mattress to hover over her body.

Her palms pressed against his chest as he straddled her hips to have better access to her lips.

A content, shy breath escaped her as his lips trailed down her neck. A low growl echoed through the room.

"D-Damian," she gasped.

"Hmm?" He pulled away. The sound didn't stop, he was sure it came from her. His eyes followed her finger to a familiar furball on the floor. Fur was up, uncontrollable hissing followed by bearing claws.

An angry meow tore through the room before he pounced on Damian.

Surely he anticipated that giving Montey food wouldn't last forever? Did he plan it in the first place? No, he couldn't be that smooth.

Could he?

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[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 128

Chapter Summary - Danielle is dealing with work, but still thinking about Tom and whatever his call was regarding, while Tom still thinks of how to talk to her, but when he gets a message, he has to think of its meaning.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Copyright for the photo is the owners, not mine.

I WILL get there, it is my dream!

All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​ @damalseer​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​ @winterisakiller​ @fairlightswiftly​​ @salempoe​​ @wolfsmom1

Danielle stared at the scene in front of her silently as the fire crews deal with the burning rubble, she simply watched them all, studying how they dealt with the situation.

‘You seem distracted.’ She turned slightly as Branagh standing close to her.

‘I think it is more I am trying to keep myself preoccupied.’

‘That’s seldom good.’ he folded his arms and leant against a large container. ‘Is it to do with Tom?’

‘Somewhat.’

‘Dare I ask?’

‘Dare I say anything?’ She challenged. ‘I know Tom looks up to you so much and is so grateful to you and also keeps in contact with you as best he can. You are the reason he got on so well on Wallander.’

‘Tom is the reason he did well there, not me.’

‘Without your guidance, and without your suggestion that he should try for Marvel, he would not have gotten the opportunity to show his incredible talent to the world as he has.’ She countered with a smile.

Branagh could not argue the point too greatly. ‘So what has the very talented Tom done to warrant you trying to occupy your mind with dull after scene work?’ She gave him an analytical look. ‘You are very cautious.’

‘You have to be in this line of work.’

‘I was eager to take you for this job because you were not the same overly cautious as others, you had a daring streak to you, or so I thought.’

‘It takes considerable daring to choose to allow yourself be with someone such as Tom, in the media, surrounded by women of both wealth and talent, and do not get me started on the internet fans.’

‘That is more than a little true,’ Branagh conceded once more. ‘So is the issue one of these women?’

‘Well, he is on a press thingy with Maisie Williams at the moment, and seeing as she is about twenty years old, I think him being interested would send up a few more than the usual warnings, don’t you?’

‘The girl from Game of Thrones?’

‘Arya Stark, yes.’

‘Oh, I was thinking the red-haired one, no, I have you now.’

‘So, no, it is not that. I trust him there. I don’t always trust some women not to try something, but I trust him to decline.’ Branagh nodded slightly. ‘I think he is planning something behind my back and I don’t know what. I don’t think it is negative, but I think he thinks it could be construed as such by me and I have no idea what it is.’ When she looked at the director again, she erupted in laughter. ‘I take it you regret asking?’

‘I have no idea what you just said.’ He confessed.

‘I accidentally heard part of a conversation that I assume I was not supposed to hear and Tom mentioned that no, he didn’t ask me something because he was frightened what I would say, and now I am wracking my brains trying to figure out what this is because he is all addled by it, which is making me all addled by it, and I am fucking losing sleep at this stage and I bet, knowing him, it is something fucking mundane and all this is just us losing our heads for nothing.’ Branagh frowned. ‘Yeah, you regret asking.’ She chuckled before looking to the side at her paperwork, which was being kept safe from the elements in a file. ‘Fuck, this is miserable.’

‘Can you imagine how these people actually felt?’

‘I dare say Dublin was confused.’

‘Yeah, well, neutral means neutral, right?’

‘You think the Germans were right to do it?’ Branagh asked curiously.

‘Not particularly, but I understand their reasons. Belfast was us helping our own, but if we were helping a British occupied area, that’s not neutral, is it?’

‘You are a very intelligent woman. You look at all the angles, not just your own.’

‘Would you expect anything less from someone with Tom?’ There was a moment’s silence and a knowing look. ‘There is a lot of things she can be called, stupid is not one of them.’ She winked.

‘You think so?’

‘I know so. She is smart, there nothing wrong in acknowledging that. A different type of smart though. I read Yeats because I love his work, I doubt she ever even heard of him.’

‘Yeats, not Shakespeare?’

‘Nah, I’ll stick to Irish.’

‘But you know….?’

‘Yes, doesn’t everyone know his work? I think there are street children in Sri Lanka that know his name.’

‘Favourite play?’

‘Are you going to judge me on it?’ She asked with a raised brow.

‘Very much so.’

‘As You Like It.’ Branagh stared at her in interest. ‘Not what you were expecting?’

‘Not at all. An interesting choice.’

‘Some of his most famous quotes are from it, “All the world’s a stage” and “Too much of a good thing”. It is overlooked because it is a comedy and not a tragedy, but I love it.’ She smiled. She was about to say more when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, as soon as she felt it buzz again, she excused herself and got to a sheltered spot. When she pulled it out, she saw Emma’s name on the screen. ‘Ems?’

‘Hey.’

‘Is everything alright?’ There was a definite something to Emma’s tone that worried her.

‘I was ringing to ask you.’ Danielle looked at the phone in confusion. ‘Tom seems odd.’

‘Tom is odd at the best of times, Ems, but yes, I think he is a little off of late. He seems like something is bothering him and I am trying to let him to talk to me whenever it suits but he has said nothing, so I didn’t want to talk about it and possibly make a mountain out of a molehill because I could be utterly wrong and be reading things arseways.’

‘Yeah. I don’t know.’ Emma conceded. ‘Maybe it’s just that he misses you.’

‘Perhaps.’ Danielle laughed. ‘How are you?’

‘Okay, I guess. I really need a catch-up.’

‘I am home at the end of the week, we will sort one then.’

‘Okay. I will see you then, I have news.’

‘Wait, what is the news?’

‘I’ll tell you then.’

‘Emma!’

‘I will talk to you then.’ She insisted, though Danielle could hear her smile. ‘Bye.’

‘Worst friend ever,’ She growled at the phone as Emma giggled and hung up. Only after she hung up did she sense another in the room, turning around, she gave a small smile. ‘Hello, ignore me and my madness.’

Redmayne laughed, stirring his tea. ‘You’re quite alright, I am sorry for having accidentally eavesdropped on your conversation.’

‘It’s nothing, just Tom’s sister worrying about him.’

‘Is something wrong?’

‘Not that I know, but I have been busy here not allowing you all be blown up, so I doubt he would tell me if there was, he would want me concentrating on this.’ She sighed. ‘In all fairness, I probably should not have anyone distract me in this utter clusterfuck of things that could go really badly.’

‘Was that fire supposed to be so intense?’

‘From what the effects guys were saying, I don’t think so, but they are not telling me if it is wrong, and I am not going to be popular when I ask later.’

‘You work really hard.’

‘Doesn’t most anyone here. I mean, look at that costume, someone sat sewing that for hours.’ She pointed to the uniform he was wearing under a jacket. ‘It’s not an easy job getting these gigs, so you have to be good.’ She stated, grabbing a bottle of water and heading back outside.

*

Tom watched the dogs run around the dog park happily, chasing one another and interacting with the other canines. He was still contemplating how to bring it up to Danielle without her feeling like it was pressuring her. He wanted nothing more than to get it off her chest. At first, before she left, he thought there was something bothering her, but it was clear from their conversations on the phone since their separation, that she knew something was bothering him and was waiting for him to talk about it. Sighing, he thought more about how to just ask her.

When he received a message, he thought to ignore it while out, but instead, he decided to see if it was the alterations Luke said his PA would send on regarding the Blue Peter episode he was going on. When he looked at his phone, he frowned and inhaled deeply, reading Redmayne’s words carefully, he knew the answer to the question asked.

Is there a reason you haven’t asked her yet?

[politicalprof]

2019 in books:

David McCullough, 1776: A highly accessible, if somewhat naive, depiction of the year that defined the prospects for American independence. I wouldn’t go there for deep, critical analysis. But for a story of a year, it is well done.

Michael Palin, Erebus: HMS Erebus was a British naval vessel that spent much of its career in Arctic and Antarctic exploration. If you are interested in Victorian era explorations of hard places, a fascinating read.

Emilio Corsetti III, 35 Miles from Shore: The story of an airline crash in the early 1970s in the Caribbean. What happened, why, how, who survived and what we learned. Interesting if not brilliant.

Raymond Thorp, Crow Killer: Old-fashioned tale of the inspiration behind the Robert Redford movie Jeremiah Johnson. As much fantasy as history. But it offers a flavor of a time and a subgroup few Americans would know.

James Corey, Caliban’s War: The second book of “The Expanse” series. The protomolecule is working its mojo, and Earth, Mars and the Belters are none too happy with one another. A fun read of a massive space opera.

Walter Kempowski, All for Nothing: Set in the context of the collapsing Eastern Front during WWII, this story proceeds from the fractured point of view of the Germans who are about to be turned into refugees fleeing oncoming Soviet forces. The book, notably, does not make these Germans sources of sympathy: the mood is dissonant and disordered. A real piece of literature.

Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall: Because who doesn’t want a point-of-view account of a key counselor to Henry VIII, one who rose to extraordinary wealth and power despite his humble birth and then managed the, how shall we say, removal of Kathrine as Queen? Replaced by Anne Boleyn? Who wouldn’t want to read it? It’s excellent, by the way.

James Corey, Abaddon’s Gate: Book three of The Expanse, and the protomolecule has remade humanity’s relationship to the universe. But we’ll probably screw that up, too. Another good story, filled with actual thought about the problems of space travel and space living.

MIchael Krondl, The Taste of Conquest: The Rise and Fall of the Three Great Cities of Spice: Venice, Lisbon and Amsterdam each in their turn dominated the global spice trade -- a trade that was one of the main stimuli for early colonialism and imperial conquest, and which strongly influenced the rise of the modern corporation as a linch-pin of global capitalism. The book is not as good as it should be, but the story is one that few people know, but should.

Hilary Mantel, Bring Up the Bodies: Hey, it’s time to get rid of Anne Boleyn everyone! Or, at least, to separate her head from her body. And let’s manage the English Reformation, too ... all just a few years before losing our own head. Welcome to the early/middle 1500s in England everyone!

Leigh Perry, A Skeleton in the Family: Who doesn’t have a skeleton living in their house who helps solve mysteries. I mean, who doesn’t?

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: So my son has started reading Harry Potter. So I have started reading Harry Potter. I liked this book: it’s tight, it’s focused, it’s a fun read. I see the appeal.

Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, Good Omens: The answer to the questions: “What if the angels and demons charged with over-seeing Earth as humans go from the Garden of Eden to Armageddon decide that they like Earth and don’t want Armageddon to happen (even if their allies do)? And what if the Anti-Christ were raised in a perfectly mundane family in a perfectly mundane English village? How might it all turn out?” To delightful and funny effect.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Meh. Okay. Not as good as book one. But still a good story.

Gilbert King, Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys, and the Dawn of a New America: A broad pastiche of events surrounding one of the many civil rights cases of the 1940s and 50s: the abuses and murders of several African American men accused of raping a white woman in Lakeland, FL, in 1949. With a whole lot of associated discussions of other cases, the NAACP, corrupt and criminal law enforcement, race riots, and the like. A good read. And how can it be that the bastard George HW Bush, put Clarence Thomas on the Supreme Court to fill a seat once held by the staggering legal figure that was Thurgood Marshall. Shameful is the only word.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Certainly better than the Chamber of Secrets. A darker turn. But beginning to get padded as readers demanded “more” if not “better.”

James Corey, Cibola Burn: Book 4 of The Expanse ... and I didn’t like it. It seemed like filler, a book written to a contract deadline. Maybe it will pay off in the end. But another one like that and I’m not going to care.

Tom Phillips, Humans: A Brief History of How We Fucked It All Up: Did you know our oldest known ancestor, Lucy, probably died by falling out of a tree? If stories about how people have messed things up, have suffered both intentional and unintentional consequences, turn you on, do I ever have the book for you. Schadenfreude much?

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: Dear lord is this book long. Why? No doubt because the fans wanted it to be. But it is as gratuitously padded as any book I have ever read. It’s okay. But I wasn’t particularly impressed. Perhaps another six Quidditch matches would have helped ....

Adam Higginbotham, Midnight in Chernobyl: Thought the HBO miniseries was scary? It was tame. I mean: the Soviets, with their level of “technical prowess” and their industrial “quality control checks” ran the facility. Heck, Chernobyl wasn’t even their first disaster. Let’s just put it this way: the actual fuel piles in each of the FOUR Chernobyl reactors were so big that: 1) different sections had different characteristics, and didn’t all operate at the same rates or temperatures; and 2) the monitoring equipment couldn’t record how all of the pile was operating at any time. Happy now? Russia still has 10 Chernobyl-style reactors in operation. Enjoy your good night’s sleep everyone!

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: Yes, yes: I know. This isn’t Order of the Phoenix. Well, I read Order of the Phoenix many years ago, and thought it was deeply annoying. A pile of words with little point. A way to keep the audience happy with long passages about very little.

Meanwhile, I, like my son, roared through Half-Blood Prince. A ripping good tale. Much tighter than the last several of the series.

JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: A fine read. A bit slow getting going: let’s go here! Let’s go there! Let’s recap the plot! But after the first 1/3 or so, the story got moving and I enjoyed it. Didn’t expect great literature; didn’t get great literature. But then again, I deeply appreciate how much pleasure my son got from this, and how excited my daughter is to engage with it. If it hadn’t been conceived and written, it seems like there’d be a Harry Potter sized hole in the universe.

Neil Gaiman, American Gods: In all honesty, I didn’t really like the first 2/3 of this book: too many tangents; too many sub-stories for the sake of sub-stories. And I’m still not sure I think it was a great book. But I really enjoyed the last third of it, and there were moments, vignettes, and sentences that truly blew me away. So I am glad I stayed with it.

Kameron Hurley, The Light Brigade: A sci fi story of soldiers apparently engaged in a war with Mars who are transported to the battlefield as beams of light. One gets unhinged from time. I am not sure it was worth the work, and I came to understand it was based on a short story and so, at times, it seemed a bit one-trick pony-ish. But it had its share of moments.

Daniel James Brown, The Boys in the Boat: A bit slow going at first, but it grows more compelling as it moved forward. This is the story of the 1936 crew (rowing) team at the University of Washington that went to Berlin and won the gold medal as Adolf Hitler watched. An interesting story about crew as a sport (about which I knew basically nothing), and life in Depression-era Washington state -- with a little, somewhat gratuitous, commentary about life in Nazi Germany layered in. One takeaway? The actor Hugh Laurie’s father was the lead oarsman on the British crew at Berlin in 1936. Hugh Laurie rowed crew at Cambridge as well.

James Corey, Nemesis Games: The next in the Expanse series. Much more enjoyable than the last one, but still a bit strained. One heck of a plot “twist.” A perfectly lovely way to relax; didn’t change my life. Some interesting character twists. But also a lot of “here are some giant developments (a lot of giant stuff) that give us lots of things to write about going forward!”

Alan Stern and David Grinspoon, Chasing New Horizons: the story of the New Horizons mission to Pluto. Interesting behind the scenes look at how the mission got funded, planned and implemented. Accessible in terms of the explanations; thick with bureaucratic story-telling and summary. It turns out this stuff is really, really hard. Interesting, but it didn’t blow me away.

And to end the year, I am reading: Christopher Moore, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal: What if 13 year old Jesus had a buddy who, 2000 years later, wrote a gospel that filled in those missing years of Joshua’s (as Biff calls Jesus) life? Well, here’s your answer.

[star-anise]

I would enjoy it greatly if you would rant about the White People Smile thing, because ever since that post, I've noticed how much I do it

Okay this one is gonna be a deep dive.

For the uninitiated, I’m explaining why white people do what they do. This refers less to the actual amalgamated experiences of every person with pale skin and European descent ever, and more the aspirational model of whiteness held up as the cultural ideal in former British colonies.The gap between these two concepts is left for the audience as an instructive lesson on how useful racial stereotypes are in predicting the experiences and behaviour of individual people of that race.

Previously, while explaining why guest towels are often not meant to be used by guests, I dipped into the white propensity to never let someone know when they’re making a mistake–to smile awkwardly and say nothing when a person is being rude or offensive–before going back to talking about the unique properties of linen and terrycloth. This is a further look at the subject.

So, I can’t explain this for every person ever. And I’m gonna take a different tack than I normally would, which would normally be to talk about trauma and the fight/flight/freeze response to stress. Instead, I’m going to talk about my research into the cultural moment centuries ago when this response started to be advocated, and how connecting to long-lost European martial arts helped me unlearn this response.

Tl;dr it emerged as an alternative to stabbing people

I said once that I was a frustrated medievalist, fitting in my history education around other concerns, and therefore ended up studying, more than anything else, how the middle ages disappeared? This is one of those cases–the only vaguely relevant history class I could get into that semester was  Early Modern England, which focused on the Tudor and Stuart dynasties, 1485-1649. That’s the period right after the Middle Ages are said to have “ended” in Britain.

At the time I was also very active in the Society for Creative Anachronism, a living history group. I did rapier fencing, using the long, light swords that were intended specifically for person-to-person combat in civilian settings. They’re duelling swords, at a time the duel was becoming a separate institution from the battlefield. They were used in Spain, Italy, and France earlier, but this time period was about when they became popular in England, so I decided to use the class as a lens to study duelling in England. My prof was very receptive to this, partly because it meant he had one student whose papers weren’t about the political machinations of someone named Thomas and/or Cromwell.

So, duelling is an inherently aristocratic system. To understand it, you have to understand that “privilege” literally means “privi lege”, Latin for “private law”. It meant that the laws that applied to nobles were different from laws that applied to commoners. Commoners were not generally allowed to carry weapons or kill people; if the average commoner killed somebody, he would be tried for murder before a jury of his peers and executed for murder. But the nobility fell under the privilege of the sword; they were the class of society whose job it was to carry weapons and kill people, police and army by hereditary right. Nobles were judged by juries of their peers, other nobles; other nobles accepted that sometimes they were 100% correct in killing people. And if you’re like, “Whoa that’s fucked up, it’s like police deciding if a police officer was right to kill a civilian,” DING GOLD STAR FOR YOU. It’s why Robin Hood, the anti-aristocratic hero whose archenemy was a sheriff, is such a popular folk figure in England.

So nobles could kill commoners without serious consequences, and nobles were also allowed to kill other nobles, so long as they followed a code of combat known as chivalry. That included things like: Don’t attack someone who’s unarmed or defenceless; don’t attack from behind or without warning; bow to him before you begin fighting; blah blah blah blah. They were always more ideals than realities during times of war, but when artillery showed up on northern European battlefields in the 1400s, they became deeply impractical in warfare.  (Redacted: detailed explanation of why this is.) The ideal of a fair fight between matched foes stuck around in the duel, but it became a civil affair, not a military strategy.

Okay okay so. Why did duels happen? More than anything, they were about honour, prestige, and respect. Nobles had a certain way they expected to be treated, a code of politeness and manners with which people had to treat them. A commoner who failed to treat them this way could be punished with limited ability to resist, but other nobles had to be treated according to the same chivalric values of the fair fight. They had to be challenged to a duel.

So duels occurred over all kinds of shit. Failing to give someone precedence or jostling them in the door; having an affair with somebody’s wife; insulting someone’s favourite religious figure; behaving in an unchivalric manner; accusing someone else of behaving in an unchivalric manner; anything. People could make tutting sounds over duels being fought for the stupidest shit, but that didn’t necessarily stop them from being fought.

So the duel and the culture of politeness were really intertwined. You were polite to people because if you weren’t, they could stab you and get away with it. It’s funny how the word “gentle” started out a thousand years ago meaning someone from a particular lineage, how that lineage was the only people with social permission to perpetuate huge amounts of violence, but now means restraint from violence–but that’s what happened. A lot of courtly manners among the nobility were really like… intense high-stakes peace negotiations with everyone, all the time. 

So like, imagine current Tumblr callout culture, except if somebody called you out, you had to let them try to kill you.

Many monarchs of this era HATED duelling culture. Countries like England and France had histories of war between nobles and the Crown, so the Crown hated their nobility being really strong powerful military leaders. Powerful nobility had the pesky tendency of refusing to obey monarchs they didn’t like, or even kicking them off the throne. This pushed those monarchies towards a principle of absolute royal authority over which nothing and no one had precedence. Privilege, so far as these monarchs were concerned, ought to belong to the CROWN, and then people the Crown specifically deputized. You can’t just have people running all over and killing each other whenever they wanted! So the monarchs all started, slowly, to place restrictions on duelling and noble privilege, trying to consolidate that power.

Part of how that was done in Britain specifically was to reach out to the common people. Well, the rich common people. The merchant class. You may also know them as the bourgeoisie. One of the ways the monarchs of this era got extra money their nobles didn’t want them to have was by selling rights to colonial enterprise and writs of nobility. If you had enough money, you could become a baronet! Or own land in Ireland! Or go trade fur in North America! Which led to the social mobility I’ve mentioned before–while the crown was squeezing down the rights of the nobility, it was also opening up to the concept of common people becoming nobles. 

Here’s the thing about European racism: In places where there weren’t as many people of colour around to be racist at? They just narrowed down their concept of race. Nobles genuinely believed they constituted a separate race of people from commoners, and that they were physically different and genetically superior to common people. So this kind of class mobility was an existential threat. How can someone with no noble blood become a marquis?!

(Spoiler: In previous centuries there had been much more class mobility, before the medieval concept of “nobility” fully formed, so it was in fact as bullshit as most other racial constructs. And as the noble/common divide blurred, race had to be defined in more comprehensive ways: English against the inferior Irish, until the Irish could be assimilated into whiteness and defined in opposition to black Africans. When there have in fact been black English people for as long as there has been an England. Really truly honestly, race is constructed bullshit.)

Anyway, when the British Crown prohibited duelling in the 17th century, they tried to justify it by saying to their nobles: Hey look, here are all these commoners dressing and acting like you! And duelling like you! How droll! Don’t they look ridiculous and stupid, fighting over the littlest thing? Wouldn’t you say duelling is a little gauche? A little bourgeois?  You wouldn’t treat them like your equals, as though they deserved to be treated with the rules of chivalry, would you? No, that would be silly.

So in former times, if someone breached the standards of politeness, they’d be called out and expected to apologize or fight. But now, calling someone out would be affording them noble status when they didn’t merit the racial construct of nobility. And also, like I said before–if a commoner who was trying to break into high society made a mistake, and people pointed it out to them, then they’d learn to correct that mistake and fit in better. And then they might MARRY a noble, and DILUTE the BLOODLINES and POLLUTE the shades of PEMBERLY and MASS HYSTERIA, CATS AND DOGS LIVING TOGETHER.

So now, the nobility slowly came to believe that ~taking the high road~ was the better response: Refuse to dignify bad manners with a response, just let the awkward silence hang there so everyone can see how badly-behaved they were. Well-bred people will just know the secret unwritten rules of society. Then you can quietly exclude the rubes from your parties without ever letting them know they’re being excluded. And anyway, if you did duel someone, you’d have to do it in dead secret and if you actually did kill them, you might have to flee the country or else the Crown would arrest you and try you for murder and it’s not nice to get your dwindling noble privilege rubbed in your face.

So that’s the birth of the British response of “When someone fucks up, smile, look constipated, and say nothing.” It was especially strong in noblewomen, who wouldn’t be able to duel anyway, so might as well make a brave face of the only option that feels possible. By the time Jane Austen was writing in the late 1700s and early 1800s, society was leaning further and further to “true politeness means never expressing disapproval of someone else’s bad behaviour.” Partly because pointing out someone’s lapse in manners came to mean you thought they were stupid and hadn’t been properly enculturated into your class, which was of course the worst thing ever.

Across the centuries, the threads holding all the pieces together have rotted, so we forget why we define politeness this way; it’s just The Way Things Are Done. It’s just #verybritishproblems. It’s just the lower-class belief that if someone offends or insults you, you should punch them in the nose; it’s just the anxious privileged liberal belief that violence is wrong and we should just wring our hands about it. The most aware I’ve seen people from former colonies be on the topic is Australians, who know that they don’t subscribe as much to British manners and ideals because they were a prison colony, largely settled by poor people who got there by breaking the rules.

My grandmother, born 1929, totally aspired to that level of class and gentility, even though she was raised dirt poor; being a white settler in Canada meant that theoretically, if you worked hard and went to church and improved yourself through cleanliness and education, you could join the new ruling class. She aspired to the heights of Calgarian society, for whatever that was worth. And she has this specific way of sucking her breath in that means “Oh GOD, granddaughter, you have just something TERRIBLY gauche. Think about everything you are doing, wearing, and being at this moment, and magically intuit which of them is incorrect!” She’s also the one who made my mom learn to do pulled-thread embroidery, and taught me how to lay a place setting of silverware for a four-course meal, and basically strove to turn herself into a living model of aspirational whiteness. When my mom and I go into family therapy, we usually end up talking about how much we want to reject her ideals.

How did I unlearn this?

I am not a good fencer. I love the idea of swordfighting, but in addition to my weakness and disability, I have a really timid posture and way of moving. When I was a kid, I made it a game to see if, by turning sideways or flattening myself against a wall, I could navigate through a crowd quickly without ever needing anyone to move or notice I was there.  I really connected with the idea of Arya, in Game of Thrones, learning how to be a silent ghost, learning to catch cats. 

Then, in fencing, I had to learn entirely new responses. I’ve traditionally flinched and frozen when physically threatened; now I had to train myself to assess an incoming threat and fend it off. I had to learn to stand upright, to hold my core strong and solid, to respond to an attack and then to attack in return. It’s really physical, and in turn, really emotional. When I’ve taught teenage girls in turn, I’ve had to ease them through the process of laughing in discomfort when they land a hit on someone, crying when they hit someone out of fear and shame because they’re not supposed to DO that. Those are stages I’ve had to go through as well. I was pretty affected by a book I acquired through SCA channels, The Armored Rose, about the experiences of modern women learning to do historical combat. It’s a feminist analysis and it felt true to me, but now, a few decades later, I think it’s not really about “women” so much as “people who have been socialized to never be violent”–there are a lot of men I’ve taught who have been just as likely to freeze, who needed to overcome emotional hesitation before responding assertively, and women who had no hesitation at all.

But one lesson that really left an impression on me was learning from a doña, an acknowledged master of the form, who was helping me fine-tune the way I held myself when I fought. “Pull in your core,” she said, encouraging me to bunch my muscles up so that when I uncoiled it would be even more powerful and positive. “Hold a little bit of ferocity. You gotta be a little mad at your opponent.”

“Anger gets in the way of clear thinking,” my usual teacher, an older man, said.

“Too much, yeah,” she said. “But in the women I’ve taught, the problem is usually not enough anger, not too much.”

I can still call that feeling up very clearly–legs tense and coiled, body held upright, ready to respond to an attack with a counterattack of my own. IIt felt good. I loved fencing, loved the sense of accomplishment I got learning how to respond to attacks and defeat them.

As a child and teenager I was hideously socially anxious, and had been bullied for most of my life. When people were socially aggressive towards me, it was incredibly hard not to just freeze up. Fighting back was impolite. Resistance was futile. I would either physically or metaphorically tuck myself into a ball and wait for them to stop hitting me, get bored and go away. In my late teens and early twenties I started getting medication and therapy to deal with my problems, and that meant learning to be socially assertive. To say, “No, you didn’t hear me right, what I really meant was–” and “No, I’d rather not go,” and “Excuse me, I’d like to be included in this discussion.” And a lot of the time, when I did that, I could physically feel the scrape of another sword against mine as a ghost in my mind. I’d put my feet into a fencer’s position before difficult conversations, to give me courage.

And after writing my final paper on duelling, I thought a lot about what it would be like to live in a duelling culture. How weird, how foreign would it be, to believe that somebody else deserved to die for treating me badly? How did you summon up enough anger to fight someone for insulting you? What kind of emotion would be necessary to drive a real sword into them, and not a blunted one? 

What would it be like if I treated myself like someone whose feelings and experiences mattered, whose integrity was worth defending?

I mean, it was not a quick, easy, or complete fix. Years after, I’d still do things like get assaulted and take a year before telling anyone about it because the guy who assaulted me was friends with all my friends and I didn’t want to make them choose a side. But as much as I did change, that was how. And that enabled me to have richer relationships with a lot of different people. Before, people would hurt me without knowing it, and never know why I was later too scared of them to talk. I took a long time to trust people, to feel comfortable enough to connect with them. That fragility made it hard for me to help people, to do the kind of jobs that I wanted. The sturdier I got, the better at defending my boundaries and expressing myself, the wider the array of people I could talk with, get to know. 

And since what I really wanted was to be a therapist focused on complex trauma, and a huge proportion of the people with complex trauma in Alberta are First Nations, Métis, and Inuit, that put me in situations where we had to talk about colonization and decolonization, and people started to ask me, “Hey, white girl, why do white people have so much stuff in their houses you’re not allowed to touch or use? Why are white people like this?” and could explain social niceties like “Yeah, this is a weird random thing white people do that seems really rude or stupid to you? But if you’re applying to a job and want a white person to hire you, they’ll judge you for not paying attention to it.”

I also learned, later, as training for a job, another form of martial art. Specifically, nonviolent martial arts–what to use when an impaired or intoxicated person attacks you, and you want to defend yourself without harming them, and how to render them safe if they’re hurting themselves. That job left me alone for 48 hours with teenagers with serious behavioural problems, who would do things like flail their hands in the direction of my face when I was helping them with basic hygiene. 

They didn’t mean to hurt me, and it wasn’t aggressive, but still, their nails would sometimes draw blood and it frequently left me feeling frightened and angry, because I’d been physically hurt. And it’s actually really hard to convince your monkey hindbrain that they didn’t intend to hurt you, to make that adrenaline and fear go away. It made it really hard to care for them when I didn’t feel safe, because it was hard to summon up compassion, gentleness, and empathy with my heart going a hundred miles an hour. So that training helped a lot. After that, I could catch and deflect their hands before I risked getting hurt. We could have a better relationship because I felt confident and safe around them. 

It’s filed in my brain next to the time I was playing with my nephew when he was a toddler, when I discovered that he stopped blithely using me as a climbing post when I said “Ow!” when he stepped on my boob. Once I let myself vocalize pain, he realized that he was causing me pain. He asked me about it, and when I said that it hurt me when he stepped on me, he apologized, gave me a hug to make it better, and played more gently after that. He hadn’t realized he hurt me; letting him know when he was too hard let him know how to be kind to me.

Those two are physical memories I call to mind when I’m dealing with someone who’s really upset and lashing out at me: sometimes the kindest thing you can to for someone else is deny them the ability to hurt you. To let them know the effect they’re having on you, so they can stop.

Okay. Dive’s over. I just felt my ears pop.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #281

“is there a method to your madness, is it all about pride? ‘cuz everyone i know, they’ve got a demon inside.”

Has anyone ever told you that you looked like a celebrity? No, just a video game character and an animated movie girl when I had black hair. What color is the pillowcase(s) on your bed? Brown. Do you have a favorite day of the week? Tuesday because it’s reset day in WoW and as a mount farmer, that means I get to try my raids for the week again to continue to be denied. :’) Have you ever been in an art show? An art show, I don’t think so. I’ve had two or three things in an art museum, though. Would you consider yourself to be well-exposed to life or sheltered? I’m pretty split down the middle, I’d say. I’ve seen far more emotional pain than I think most young adults have, but at the same time, I’ve very under-exposed to adult experiences. How high is your pain tolerance? It depends on the type of pain. I can particularly say I do NOT handle stomach pains well, though. Have you ever played the game Halo? Nah, those weren’t my type. Have you ever had to learn lines for a play/skit/movie? Only songs sung together for plays in elementary school. Never solo. Do you like your nose? … Sure? Kissing someone with facial hair, do you mind? I don’t care. Would you ever like to be a stunt person? I’m fucking dumb, I read this and thought “you mean little people?” until I read the last person’s answer lmaooo. Anyway, no. I’m not ballsy enough for that shit. Are you a pyromaniac? I find fire pretty, but it still can scare me if I’m too close to it. Are you one of those people who listen to songs on repeat? 110%, it’s literally what I’m doing now lmao. Can any of your friends sing very well? SARA. Would you ever enter any kind of pageant? No, no, no, no. I really don’t support pageants of any type I can think of, beauty in particular. What a way to scream “HEY THEY’RE BETTER THAN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, again, especially in beauty pageants. That fucks people up. What a way to start things like self-loathing, eating disorders, body dysphoria, etc. Do you have piano fingers? Mom has always told me that, “like Grammy.” Have you ever slept on a beach? YIKES, no. I ain’t fuckin’ with the tides going in and out or just a massive wave. I’d also feel WAY too vulnerable. Would you like to be taller? I’m cool with my current height. Are you a fan of piercings on the opposite sex? I just like piercings in general. Have you ever been attacked by an animal? No, besides play getting too rough. Is there a movie that makes you cry every single time you watch it? It’s easy to do that lol. The Notebook in particular will 100% make me tear up. What's your opinion on Johnny Depp? He’s an incredibly talented actor that I find very attractive, but I don’t know him as a person. Can you speak in different accents? Just British and southern. Who was the last person you mocked/mimicked? My nephew, playfully of course. If you write, isn't writer's block the most horrible thing? THE ABSOLUTE WORST. What size shirt do you normally wear? Ugggghhh generally 2XL, I think. It can be one size smaller or one size larger depending on the shirt. Has anyone ever aimed a gun at you? Yikes, no. Have you ever written a song? Just poems. Do you believe there is life on other planets? It’s possible, but I don’t particularly lean a certain way, I think. The universe is just… infinite, you know? But also the circumstances that life rose within Earth were so remarkably perfect to support it that I don’t entirely know if it’s been duplicated elsewhere. When was the last time you fell? Around two weeks ago? I have extremely low blood pressure naturally but also amplified by medications’ side effects, and I got out of bed too fast when I woke up. Hurt my knees pretty bad and barely missed my head hitting the couch. Do you have any sort of debt? I do NOT want to think about this. Is there a specific time period that interests you? The era of dinosaurs of course, as well as the Renaissance, just to name a couple. Do any of your friends own an expensive car? *shrugs* Have you ever been on a train? No. Have you ever been in a parade? No. Are you, or anyone you know, an atheist? I know plenty. Have you ever sent a celebrity fan mail? No. Have you ever been in a musical? No. Is there a friend's family that makes you feel like you're family too? Yeah, Sara’s. Even though I’ve only been with them not that long of a time, they’re wonderful and made me feel so welcome. Do you ever have a fear of getting close to new people? Boy, do I!!!!! It’s funny though, because at the same time, I want to be close with people; I want to rush to the point I have a close friend. It’s weird. What is the worst things about work? N/A And the best? N/A Do you like to sleep in? Not really, honestly. I feel groggy and lazier than I naturally am lmao. Do you like to be an early bird? Well I’m in my best mood in the morning, but I don’t like waking up early. However, I’ve been planning a morning routine to adopt once we move that involves waking up at like 7 or so, so we’ll see how much I enjoy mornings then. But oh boy do I have a habit of saying I’ll do something and then not doing it, so… What is something you notice you just don't watch? History stuff and usually action. Last thing that bothered you even if just a little bit? Something Miss Tobey said to me a few days ago. Last thing that seemed a blessing from above? I don’t believe in supernatural “blessings,” but I’ll bite. The thing that made me happiest recently was uhhhh… I actually don’t know. Nothing that REALLY felt “blessing-ish.” Do you usually drink diet or regular soda? Regular; I can’t do diet. It tends to taste horrible but more importantly the artificial sweetener gives me a wicked headache. Are you on a diet? Not a diet, no. I’m more so just trying to make it a habit to simply eat better and not snack. Someone you highly respect who is not in your family? Sara’s dad. Did you say 'goodnight' to anyone last night? I don’t think I did. Does anyone ever comment on the appearance of your handwriting? People tend to point out it’s really nice. Have you looked at anyone's Facebook profile lately? Whose? Nah. Did you have a cake for your last birthday? What kind? Yeah, red velvet. Can you recall the first horror film you ever watched? How old were you? I actually don’t think I can. Maybe Paranormal Activity? Or The Blair Witch Project? When’s the last time that you mailed a letter or a package to someone, and who was it to? Sara’s bday gift I think. The last book that you checked out from the library? I haven’t done that in years. What was your pet’s last vet visit concerning? Roman got neutered, and the only time I took Venus to the vet was when I first got her and she refused food for almost a year. Changed the tactic of warming the mouse up and she was more than happy to snag it. Which animals do you tend to go check out first at the pet store? The reptiles, because they’re closest and also my favorite section. Last medication or item that you picked out from the drugstore? Nicole picked up a bunch of my prescriptions that needed refilling. Do you usually have a big list or a small list when you go to the grocery store? I don’t do the shopping here, so it’s not my choice. How much was the last check you deposited? How about the last amount that you took out? I have no clue. Have you ever been admitted into the emergency room? For what? Being suicidal and then a suicide attempt. Have you ever been arrested before? Ridden in the back of a police car? No to the first, but yes to the second because that’s just how you’re transported from the ER to the psych hospital here. Have you ever been a victim of a house fire? Thank God no. When did you graduate high school? 2014. How much gas can fit in your gas tank? N/A Does your vehicle break down a lot? N/A What’s the longest you’ve ever had to wait before being seated at a sit-down restaurant? I want to say at LEAST 45 minutes once. Can’t remember why it was so busy, though. Have you ever had a cavity before? How about a root canal? A tooth pulled? Braces? I’ve had cavities and braces, but thank Christ no root canals, and I’ve never had to have a tooth pulled by the dentist, either. Which art forms do you appreciate the most? Man, you can’t ask this to someone who enjoys art so deeply. Like I really don’t know what I enjoy *most*. Music can give me chills, poetry can be so rich and, well, poetic, and traditional artwork strikes awe and makes you wonder how they do it. I just adore art. What is your favorite zoo animal that you would like to set free? To start, I have very mixed feelings about zoos, but I guess I am *mostly* in favor of humane, adequately providing captivity to a certain degree as this allows for conservation of especially endangered species, and zoos also make it easier to study and understand the silent voices of those we share the earth with. As well, they offer a safe environment to expose the fearful to all sorts of animals, and I feel it is very, very important for humans as the alpha species to care for and understand (as best our language barriers allow) our wonderful neighbors. That being said, I definitely believe that a lot of zoos under-provide for their animals, and this is horribly heartbreaking so that I absolutely disagree with their “right” to own and display animals, but for this specific question, I am going to use my state’s zoo as the standard here. Ashboro, imo is pretty damn great and generous to their animals (you should see the miles of land the elephants, bison, antelope, and rhinos have!), but the exhibit that comes to mind first when mentioning animals I’d like to set free iiiis… you know, I don’t know. I was going to say the polar bears since it can get STUPID hot here in the summer and their abode doesn’t have a great amount of ice that survives the sun, but at the same time I’d be very wary about returning a polar bear home for… obvious reasons. I say “I don’t know” because I’m not gonna pretend to know what ample space is for so many different kinds of animals. Damn, now I really wanna go there. Wow this was a long answer to a p simple question lmao. Favorite kind of fish? I don’t have a distinctly “favorite” fish, really. I don’t know enough of ‘em, but I can say I really like clownfish and angelfish. What kinds of museum artifacts fascinate you? Whew, as someone who took Art History just last year in school, ancient art pieces of all sorts! It is so, so fascinating, watching the evolution of art and to see how the urge to just create extends so, so far back into history. Have you ever gone to court before? For a disability case, yes. Also to convince a judge that I didn’t need to stay in a mental hospital for I think the original plan was around six months. What is the last song that you danced to? Ha ha I watching Hotel Transylvania with my niece and nephew and did the macarena with ‘em. What’s your favorite alcoholic drink? Margaritas or sangrias. Is there anyone that you’ve visited in jail? No. Are you more likely to fly in an airplane, or pick people up/drop them off at the airport? Historically, pick people up. Which sporting event would you be most likely to sit through? Dance competitions. Favorite flavor of ice cream? Cone or dish? Any sprinkles? My favorite Basic Bitch flavor is vanilla, just with chocolate syrup. Cone or dish just depends on what I’m feelin’, really. I hate sprinkles on anything; the texture throws me off. Have you ever cut your own hair? No. What do you eat most frequently? Uggghhhh some form of bread, probably. Are you a fan of video games? Yeah, but not as much as I used to be. What's your favorite color combination? Idk really, I like a lot. I will say though that orange and black excites me bc Halloween Vibes. Did you share a locker at school? No. What's one sport you could never play? Wrestling, ew. Have you ever sung karaoke? Oh god no. What is the oldest age you think should wear makeup? lmao BRO tell me this a joke How old were you when you went on your first date? Idr, sometime in the 7th grade, if group dates in middle school even count? lol Has anyone besides your family seen you naked? Yeah. If so, who? An ex and probably doctors at some point? Did your parents sign you up for anything you hated as a child? Sunday school, really. Have you purchased any cool objects from a foreign country? Considering I’ve never left the country, no. Are you on a laptop or a desktop computer right now? I only have a laptop. Do you remember anyone's number by heart? No, but I seriously need to memorize my mom’s. Do you live above, below, or on the Equator? Above. Do you know how to use Photoshop? I know how to do a decent number of things, but I’m definitely no expert. Where was your first job? I was a sales associate at GameStop. What's the best place you have ever eaten? Olive Garden is fucking fantastic, fite me about it. Do you own a hair straightener? No, I don’t need one. Are you barefoot right now? I always am at home unless it’s cold enough to need slippers. Are you subscribed to any magazine? Nah. Do you need AC right now? No; it’s actually pretty cold inside rn. Do more people call you by a nickname or your first name? It’s just a derivative of my first name; “Britt.” But I guess that classifies as a nickname. Name something you're proud of. Deciding to actually *try* to move on and making massive progress through it with That Person. Lately I’ve wondered if I truly have, though. My PTSD has been really bad of the late. Does any accent annoy you? I can’t say it “annoys” me, given you can’t really control your accent, but I do find it difficult to understand extremely southern accents, even as a local. Do you take vitamins? This just reminded me I’ve been out of my Vitamin D prescription for a while… oops. I’m supposed to take it for my legs. When was the last time you took aspirin or some other pain reliever? Yesterday, actually. I had a pretty bad headache. When was the last time you deeply regretted something? God, last night, I was remembering and accepting some things. Lemme just say I regret the everloving fuck out of the subject. What is something that you regularly wear that makes you stand out? Besides my lip ring, nothing in particular. Do you prefer small birthday parties or big ones? Small. I just don’t like big gatherings in general. What song are you listening to now? “Creatures X: To The Grave” by Motionless In White. What was the most traumatic experience of your life? The breakup w/ Jason. I’ve told the story enough in surveys and I don’t wanna recite it again. Who was your childhood best friend? Brianna. Are you still friends now? On Facebook, anyway, but we don’t talk. If not, why? We just drifted apart. What is one career you don't think you could do no matter how much it paid? Butcher. No fucking way. Have you ever edited Wikipedia? No. Have you ever edited any other wiki? Oh yeah; I’m an admin at the Silent Hill wiki and have invested hours upon hours upon hours helping out there for years. I’m also a content moderator at the Team Ico wiki, and I’ve also assisted a lot at the meerkats wiki because it is a fucking grammatical and formatting catastrophe. I think that’s it? Wait no, I did a few fixes on the Dragons of Atlantis wiki when it was still at the Kabam website, too. Is there a website [besides social networking] that you check almost daily? Yeah, a few. Do you get scared when you know some virus or sickness is being passed? I wouldn’t say I get scared, no. Just more aware and cautious. What’s the worst illness you’ve had? I’ve had a fucking wicked stomach virus before. (TMI alert?) I would not stop puking to the point it was agonizing to the point of tears because my muscles were so exhausted. Which do you prefer: M&M's, Skittles, or Reese's Pieces? BITCH can I choose all???? But in almost any chocolate-related case, I will choose a Reese’s product. Where on your body would you never get a tattoo? I don’t plan on getting a face tattoo, or at least a big one. Maybe something small and cute. OH YEAH EW absolutely never getting my sclera tattooed. That looks painful as a motherfucker. Honestly, have you ever stuck gum under a table or desk? No, that shit is disgusting. If your parents could read your thoughts, would you be in trouble? Not usually. Mom might be mad sometimes when I’m angry at her. Have you ever egged somebody's house or car? No, that’s childish as shit. My childhood house was egged once, so it pisses me off especially. Do you like licorice? UGH no, that shit is disgusting. Did anybody ever read bedtime stories to you when you were younger? My mom did. Which natural disaster do you find the most terrifying? Tornadoes or earthquakes. Do you have a favorite Johnny Depp movie? What is it? Alice in Wonderland. If I gave you a Yo-Yo right now, could you do any tricks? Nope.

[galvanizedfriend]

This is something that I was once upon a time planning on turning into a multichapter but that I don’t think will ever happen anymore, so here’s my two cents to the Klaroline Rewind event!  Caroline had a night to forget with the douchebag of the century and, a year later, she meets him again at the airport for the wedding of the best friend they unfortunately share. AU/AH, romcom-ish type of thing. Just cause I had to unwind after writing 8k words of angst.

-----------------

Caroline met The Worst Guy Ever about a year ago.

 No, really. The Worst. 

Men are, as a general rule, pigs. If women were to make in-depth pros-versus-cons evaluations of every guy they meet before deciding on whether to hook up with them or not, well. Let's just say the perpetuation of the human species would be seriously endangered. There's only but a handful of guys out there who are really worth any woman's time, and Caroline hasn't had the pleasure of meeting many representatives of that rare, dying breed. They're like real life unicorns. And it doesn't help that Caroline is a walking magnet for dudebros. 

She doesn't know what is it about her that gets them to crawl out of sewers and holes in hell to greet her with their Hey there, gorgeous’ or Have I died and gone to heavens whenever she walks into a bar. It's probably the blonde hair. She's considered going darker a few times, but she's a natural blond, her highlights are incredible and her hair is way too pretty for her to dye it just because guys can't even bother to work on their lame pick-up lines and still expect her to have sex with them. And the sad truth is, if she's really desperate, she will.

 It's exhausting to be a twenty-something single woman in the XXI century. There's the pressure of making it in this godforsaken world as an adult, there's the pressure from society's understanding that a woman of her age should be looking for serious commitment with marriage in sight, and then there's also the pressure that comes from the needs of her very horny human body. It's just too much. She really hopes to come back as a lesbian in her next life. Bisexual at the very least. Everything would be so much easier if she just didn't need men at all, not even for their parts.

 But anyway. The Worst Guy. Yes, Caroline's met her fair share of jerks and idiots, so it takes something really special to leave her aghast. This guy is a king among douchebags. And that's not just her personal opinion; she's shared the story with all her friends and the friends of her friends, and all the women at her work, and even some random people at bars or parties. The collective response to her tale is always a disgusted ugh! followed by What an ass! or Please, tell me you punched that son of a bitch?. If you discount abusive, aggressive and violent men, who are criminals and not in the same category as everyday lame-ass men, he really is The Worst.

 Caroline doesn't like to say she's not over it yet because it implies bestowing a level of importance to the fact that is not merited. The guy was a friend of a friend - her best friend, yes, but still only a notch above a complete stranger. She knew him for three days when the story went down and, technically, they did no more than make out for a little bit, so it's not like they had any kind of relationship going on. He's not important, just a guy who did something astoundingly douchebaggy.

 The whole thing was bound to go down as a funny anecdote to be shared between girls, a Oh, you think you've had the worst hook-up ever? Hold my beer kind of story. Provided, of course, that she never had to see the guy again and could just wipe him out of her memory for good. Considering they live in different time zones, it shouldn't be too difficult.

 Which is exactly why Caroline is livid to come out of the arrivals area at the Richmond airport to find him there, wearing sunglasses indoors, like the proper ass that he is and holding up a sign that says Clarisse and giving her that smug, dimpled smile that got her wanting to suck face with him the first time but now just makes her blood boil.

 She is going to murder Tyler on his wedding week.

 Caroline inhales deeply through her nose, plasters the most sardonic, Miss-Mystic-Falls saccharine smile she can muster on her face and braces herself for confrontation. If she puffs out her chest, throws her hair back to show a little more cleavage and has a bit of Naomi on her gait as she walks over to him, well. Who can blame her, right?

 "Hello, love," he greets her in that insufferable Royal Asshole accent of his. It wouldn't surprise her at all to find out he's not even really British, that the accent is just another item on his long list of douchebaggy features. "Such a pleasure to see you again."

 "That's so sweet of you, Nicholas. Too bad I can't say the same."

 He laughs, the idiot. "I trust you had a pleasant flight."

 "Lovely! Everything was perfect until the moment I walked out and saw you," she says, punctuating her sentence with a grin. "Please tell me Tyler is dead, because that really is the only acceptable excuse for sending you to pick me up."

 "Tyler had some urgent matters that required his attention and apparently thinks I've got nothing more important to do than serve as chauffeur to his ex-girlfriends."

 "And you couldn't be your disappointment-of-a-friend usual self and send someone else instead? An Uber driver would've sufficed."

 "And miss the chance of surprising my lovely old friend Clarisse? Nonsense!" he says, smirking. "Tyler also reminded me that I have certain responsibilities as his best man. I was entirely unaware, but it seems being his personal slave is one of those, who would've known?"

 Tyler is so dead.

 "Aren't you a dear?" Caroline asks around a sigh.

 "I know. Now, have you got everything you need?"

 "If I'll be spending an hour in a car with you, I might need a weapon. Do you think I could buy a gun here somewhere?"

 Klaus chuckles, taking her luggage as he starts walking towards the parking lot. If she didn't know any better, she'd almost believe his gentlemanly act. "I've missed you, Caroline."

 "So you do know my name."

 "It comes and goes," he says flippantly. "How's New York this time of the year?"

 "Humid. How's hell?"

 "Not the same since you left." She can't help the laughter that escapes her. His sense of humor is on point, she'll give him that. "You are sorely missed in New Orleans," he continues.

 "I hardly remember New Orleans." Lie.

 "I'd be more than happy to escort you down memory lane, perhaps tend to certain unfinished business," he offers in a very casual manner, but the wolfish smile on his lips leaves no doubt over his intentions.

 "I believe we made a non-breakable deal about never discussing New Orleans again," Caroline reminds him as they stop by a huge black SUV. "Wow, that's a very big car. Are you trying to compensate for something?"

 His smile widens, showing teeth and those damn dimples again. There should be a law against douchebags coming in such alluring packages. "Would you like to find out?"

 "Sorry, I'm not that desperate yet. I'll let you know if every other human being on the planet dies, though. Then you'll be first and last on my list. Until then, we don't talk about it. In fact - here's a great idea. How about we just don't talk at all?"

 "We made a deal about never telling other people. I don't see what the problem of discussing it is if it's just us girls," he says, loading her luggage into the back of the car.

 "The only thing I can recall from that night is that everything was very basic, very below par, and there was not a lot to be missed there, so I really don't see the point."

 "You wound me, love," he says, a frown showing behind his sunglasses.

 Caroline smiles again. "Not nearly as much as I'd like to."

[uniqueharreh]

Take Me Back

Summary; You broke up with Harry and after realizing you made a mistake, you’re begging him to take you back. 

Warnings: angst, smut (and some kinky “love making” with some s/m and daddy kink elements ), strong language!

Word Count: 3.7k

No one said it’s going to be easy. To let go of your best friend, one of the kindest people you were ever able to get to know, let alone call him your partner. He said, that he understood why you came to the conclusion of a breakup. His work wasn’t a classical one, he was always traveling around the world and when he was home with you in London, he was rarely home. You always thought you can tolerate that, you agreed on dating one of the biggest stars in a world and this was the price of it. You had to share him with the entire world. Have girls dream of him. And him being a workaholic wasn’t helping either.

So one day, when you were supposed to leave for your weekend off, he didn't come. You remember that day as if it happened yesterday. A simple text with an apology, that he had to stay in a studio and fix something.

You tried to keep your head calm. You tried not to argue with him, or be mean when he comes back. And you most certainly knew that recording his next album was major stress for him as well.

“We need to break up,” you said the second he walked into the bedroom, thinking you were sleeping. Lights off, but you were sitting on the bed, waiting. You already cried your portion throughout the day and your eyes burned a bit.

“What do you mean, Y/N?” he murmured, confused. Sometimes you had a day when you weren’t feeling enough, worth enough to be with him. Usually, it came from mean comments online, that you accidentally went through.

“It means exactly what it means,” you said quietly, getting off the bed. “I’ll go to some of my friend’s until I find some apartment for myself if that’s okay with you.”

Harry knew he wouldn’t do much with begging you to stay. You thought through it, and somehow, he knew he should let you go, because you deserved someone who could treat you better, with much more affection.

“I can stay at Jeff’s. I insist,” he said, and you wanted to cry. You just broke his heart, and he offered you to stay at his place, that you moved in together.

“I can't, it’s your house anyways.”

“I insist, Y/N.”

* * *

You were sitting in a plane, on your way to LA. Three months since you broke his heart, three months since you last talked. You moved out as quickly as possible, and he was staying in LA, finishing his album, going to dinners and to clubs with his friends. He seemed alright, at least from the pictures taken by paparazzis.

But you knew him, you knew how soft his heart could get, and how deeply he always went through his break ups. You were friends long before you started dating and you couldn’t go without a week of not texting or callings. It was weird, weird to think about knocking on Jeffrey’s door. In hope, Harry will come to answer. Because you knew, that Jeff would slam the door in your face and not even bother to tell Harry that it was you.

He probably hated you as much as Harry hates you now.

And it wasn’t the easiest thing to think about either. Because, what if he won’t listen. What if he moved on and you are no longer that important to him. What if you ruined everything because of the little uneasy feelings you had that time.

But out of all people, Harry would be the only one to understand. To understand how hard it is to be with him, to live with him. How needy he can get at times and how distant he can get in a moment you try to make him talk about his emotions.

You always thought it was his thing, but apparently, most of Aquariuses suck at explaining what they feel and what bothers them.

After terrible landing, you went to the hotel you booked a room at and checked in, you were incredibly exhausted from the long flight. But you also wanted to see Harry right now. To tell him what a big mistake you made.

How does anyone ever move on from Harry, from that lovely man who cares?

After taking a shower and a little nap, you got dressed and called an Uber. Your stomach was tied in knots and you could barely breathe. Just the thought of seeing him was enough, but apologizing and hoping to make him love you again, that was whole another level. And you were anxious, after a long time. You were anxious to see him, scared to screw things even more, than you did up until now.

Getting out of the car in front of Jeffrey’s house was one of the hardest things that day. Swallowing your pride and ringing the doorbell. It was quiet for a bit, but then you heard a voice and mumbled deep voice with a British accent.

Harry opened the door, staring at you not even saying a single word. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He didn’t realize you were actually standing in front of him, in LA, that you promised you’ll never visit. Because LA seemed so fake to you and you hated how some treated Harry badly there.

“Hey, I.. uh.. “ your whole entrée didn’t work the way you planned.

“What are you doing here?” he wasn’t really excited to see you there. “Jeff’s going to kill you if he notices you’re here. What do you want?”

“I.. I thought we could talk,” you mumbled, your cheeks being reddish and your

palms were getting a little sweaty. And you couldn’t look into his eyes. You couldn’t really look at him really.

“Now you want to talk?”

“I, uh... Harry, I am sorry, for what I did to you.” you looked into his eyes and you could see the pain, the pain you caused, that you were the one who made him feel him this way.

And he scoffed.

“Sure.”

“No, really. Harry, I wasn’t thinking straight and I shouldn’t break up with you. I knew what your work is, and I got hurt over something none of us could really change.”

But he wouldn’t listen. He was torn over the fact you left him over something he couldn’t really control. And you didn’t even talk to him, you just, left. And somehow you could see why he wouldn’t listen. But you needed him to forgive you. So you two could at least be the friends you used to be.

“Can we talk about it? In private? Please, I’m begging you.”

“What for? What do you expect of this?”

“Your forgiveness at best,” you said. Honesty was always your strongest ability. You would hate to lie to someone’s face or to not say the full truth.

“Where are you staying?”

“In a hotel. Mariott.” you felt a bit of hope, that he would agree on to sit down and talk, which was rare.

“Alright, I can’t tonight, have some things planned. What about tomorrow evening? Around five? I have a night off, so... “

“Perfect. And, thank you,” you said and you sort of hugged sort of awkwardly shook hands. You weren’t sure how to treat the other.

* * *

You were nervous the entire day, you barely slept throughout the night and the closer it was to five pm. The more anxious you felt. You even settled for a glass of red wine before Harry was supposed to show up, and another one close to five. You wouldn’t be able to face him in an empty room sober.

A soft knocking interrupted you from your thinking and it was probably the first time in years, that Harry would come a few minutes ahead.

“Hey, come on in.” you motioned into space behind you, but you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. His skin was sun-kissed from the months spent living in LA, his green eyes were piercing you and you had to clear your throat.

“Wanted to talk, better start now..” he said, walking around the room, looking at the view you had. “Kinda treating yourself with your stay in LA. Still, remember how you always bashed the city.”

“Never liked the way some treated you there.”

Harry scoffed and turned around.

“As if you treated me better, right?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said in defense, but you know you did.

“You know, the worst thing is, that I tried to be an advocate for you. I blamed myself for months, that I should do more. That I shouldn’t cancel on you. I was trying to find the answer on the bottom of the whiskey glass and was drinking away my sorrow. But none of it helped. You know why? It wasn’t really my fault.” he nearly hissed, you could tell her already had a shot or two as well. So you weren’t one to be blamed for having two glasses of red in your veins.

“It wasn’t your fault. And I hate myself for making you feel this way, I really do,” you said quietly, almost scared of him realizing you are still in the room. Because he was angry, he was pissed off.

“And I waited, Y/N, I waited for you to fucking come back, to fucking call or something and apologize that day. To change your fucking mind, you know. But you didn’t.” he snapped at you, the second you were done talking. You knew how he was when he was this angry. You already got into few disagreements and glasses were thrown at walls, and him yelling and punching walls. He was a mess when he was angry.

“Harry, please calm down,” you said, nearly whispering. He pushed you against the wall angrily, his breath was mixed with the mint gum and strong whiskey, he was frowning at you, his green eyes almost turned dark, at least it seemed so. He was clenching his fist, but you knew he would never hurt anyone. Especially a woman. But he did punch the wall next to your head, your heartbeat rising, you were eye to eye.

“What the fuck are you doing with me,” Harry said and his voice broke down. “I can’t even be mad at you for breaking my heart, this is so fucking unfair,” he mumbled. At this point, he was stepping on his own tongue, and he was holding some of the tears back. You could say from the change of his voice. And how he sniffed time from time and looked away.

“I never stopped loving you.” you didn’t even think much about it, and it sort of spit out of your mouth by itself.

“Don't fucking lie to me,” he yelled and pushed himself from you, walking over to a mini bar and taking a whiskey out, opening it and pouring two glasses. Downing his immediately. “Why did you leave me?”

You walked over to him, he sat down on the bed, still holding both of the glasses and gave you one. After downing yours, you were sort of standing in between his legs, looking at him down.

“It was always you working, it was tour, months away from me when you finished European tour. And you invited some friends from the UK to your shows overseas, but barely called me, or asked me if I could come. Sometimes you would go days without calling me or texting me, and I could only guess if you were alright. But when the tour ended, it got even worse. You needed time away, you had other projects come up, you started immediately with your album and I was barely seeing you walking to the studio in the morning, and only cuddling to you after you came back. I felt like you didn’t want me anymore like I wasn’t worth your time anymore. And I was so scared you would break up with me, that I need to say it first.” you were looking into his eyes and he was looking into yours.

“You could have said that I was being a dick,” he said honestly.

“I wanted, so many times, but when. You were always out. I just felt like some kind of roommate. And I was missing you so badly, it was so confusing.”

“I.. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, placing one of his hands on your thigh and making circles with his thumb. He rested his head on your belly and took a deep breath in. “I never stopped loving you either.”

Your heart nearly stopped, the affection you were given right now. And how close he was, the movements of his finger were making you a bit dizzy.

“I wish I would never break up with you.”

Harry looked at you, smiled a little and hugged you a bit closer.

“Yeah, I wish you would never break up with me either.” you looked into his eyes and you could still see the anger and sadness mixed.

“Another drink?” you said with a light smile and pushed yourself from his hug, you needed him, wanted him, but knew you shouldn’t try to do any of those things running on your mind.

You walked over to the table where the whiskey was standing and poured for both of you, hearing him standing up from the bed and feeling him soon behind you.

“Maybe we could forget about it all tonight, and pretend nothing bad happened.” he murmured right to your ear, making you shiver a bit.

“What do you mean?” you turned your head to the side a bit and looked at him.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he whispered nonchalantly.

“Will you leave in the middle of a night, if Jeff calls you to some of his emergencies?”

“Nope.” and you were happy to hear even that, you downed your glass of whiskey and turned face to him, seeing him downing his, and instantly grabbing you by your jawline and pressing his lips on yours.

“I missed you.” he murmurs, while lazily kissing you, his fingers running through your hair and you know he means it. Because you missed him just as much.

“Claim me then,” you say while looking into your eyes, resting your forehead on his.

“Want me to claim you, baby girl?” he whispered, grabbing you under your butt and pressing you with his whole body weight against the wall, his lips tracing your jawline, meeting your lips for a bit and then leaving to the next side of your jawline.

“Yes, sir.,” you whispered, already feeling the warm and wetness forming a bit lower, especially when you could feel his member pressed against your bum.

“Say it louder, pet.”

“I want you to claim me, sir.” you nearly moan the last few words and that kind of action is met with agreement by him, carrying you back to the bed.

“Undress yourself,” he orders and you start to unbutton your shirt, you look into his eyes a bit shy when he can see you decided to skip the bra that day, smirking, watching you undress for him.

“Stand up, pants down and bend down when done,” he says shortly and leaves to the bathroom, you can hear the water running, and after few moments of you waiting there just in your lace thongs, he walked back just in his black boxer shorts. His crotch area evidently pressed uncomfortably against the thin fabric, waiting for a sweet escape.

And you were waiting as you were said, bent, hands on the bed, legs on the floor. You bend a little bit more, when he was near, wishing he would touch you finally. But he always loved to play, to have that control over your sweet release, over your body. You were his, and you never felt more complete than when he was taking proper care of you and your body.

He was watching you for a bit longer than usual, taking in the amazing view he had.

“Should Master spank you, for how bad you were behaving lately?”

He could hear you whimper, you moved with your hips a little bit so he would finally touch you, especially there. You needed it and he was aware.

"No, sir.." you let out a little sigh. Of course, you wanted him, but you also needed to cum.

"No?"

"I-uh... I don't know. Yes. I don't know." you moaned desperately. And it was met with a quiet laugh.

"Beg for it," he said and you knew he won't have mercy with you. As much as his dick was throbbing and needing the escape as you did, he won't give you what you need, until he punishes you. Which won't really help with your neediness.

"Please, sir. I really need it. I'm all wet for you, Master," you moaned, "please, sir.. please..."

He stood right next to you, and firstly the palm of his hand just softly caressed your back, going to the lace and playing with it for a bit.

"Did daddy's girl wear these on purpose? Hoped she would get properly filled, used, spanked and fucked?" you could swear to God, just his words will bring you to your sweet heaven.

"Yes, daddy," you whispered and your cheeks were turning red quickly.

"Good girl, good choice." he spanked you once, twice, three times quickly. Biting his bottom lip to not moan with you. "Such a nice shade of pink." he kissed you on your buttcheeks, and as much as you were hoping he would continue with the kissing somewhere else, he spanked you again, and again.

His hand was already burning, but the view of his hand being painted in pink on your ass was something he could look forever at.

He spanked you a few more times and then took a step back, taking off his boxer shorts and taking his shaft into his hand, stroking him gently.

"Fuck I could cum just like that. Watching you bent over like a little slut for you daddy," he mumbled, his hands tracking your right hip to your underwear and slowly pulling it down.

"Please touch me down there.." you moaned after he took them off, and made you fell on your belly to the bed...

"Please touch me down there, what?"

You let out an annoyed groan.

"Please touch me down there, sir." you looked at him over your shoulder and spread your legs more, raising your ass a bit more for easier access.

He chuckled lightly, kneeling at you, first just massaging your clitoris. "You're soaking wet, dripping on the bed sheets, petal." he murmured and then he bent to you and started kissing you, first just the inner thigh for more teasing, but then he sucked on your pussy, flicking his thong at your entrance, back to your clitoris, your moaning was the loveliest sound to his ears in that second.

"You can't cum until you beg for it nicely," he said all of sudden, pushing himself from you. He already knew when your orgasm would hit any second, he could feel how you started to tighten, and your moans were louder. A loud annoyed groan was exactly what he needed from you.

"On your knees, and suck him nicely, baby girl," he ordered. And you did as he said, without hesitation, you got on your knees, at first stroking his errected dick with your hands, then sucking just the tip of it. And you knew how much he loved your tongue flicking around that sweet spot of his. But in a second you took him deep into your mouth and started thrusting him even deeper, that's when you almost lost him.

He was never really the type of guy who would moan loud, but now having his shaft deep in your throat, and you looking into his eyes, flicking your tongue when you had the chance was something else.  He needed to cut that act soon, or else he would pump a full load into your mouth and even further.  

He kissed you with so much passion, that you were caught off guard.

"Such a good girl, come ride me." he murmured, helping you off your knees and then laying on the bed, watching you sit on him, stroking against him a bit before you helped him enter you.

And was that a loud moan of both of you. You missed his thick cock inside of you, and he missed being inside you as much, as your wet thing walls were crushing him. But watching you ride him, seeing your boobs bounce a bit, he would never let any other girl do this with him. He loved having control, but now, he was all yours and you could control how fast you were thrusting against him, and how fast you would make him cum.

But you also needed to tease him, so sometimes you squeezed him a bit more, or slowed down a bit and leaned for a long kiss.

"Don't make me wait, or I'll get you under me and fuck your brains out. I'm so close, Y/N." he growled angrily and spanked you a bit.

"I would love that," you said, biting your bottom lip and thrusting against him a bit faster again. Without hesitation he turned positions with you, getting you under himself, grabbing both of your hands tightly and placed them above your head, thrusting fastly and deeply inside of you. With every single thrust, he was closer and he couldn't focus or even control himself, just as much you couldn't control your orgasm anymore.

"Harry, I'm cumming, please... let me cum," you begged him, desperately begging, trying to hold it for him.

"Cum with me, love." he kissed you, and with a mumbled moan he thrust few more times before being crushed by your orgasm, pumping a load of his cum inside of you. He was holding you tightly, kissing you lazily.

"I love you," he said... "Please don't leave me."

"I won't, I promise. I love you so much." you cuddled more into his arms, kissing him lightly on his shoulder.

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Alone Again (Naturally)

Summary: Bill pursed his lips. “I think-...yes. Yes I did.” He didn’t sound too sure about it which she found odd but decided to let that pass until he brought that up for himself, if ever. “I ran with a group. I can’t give names but I can feel it sometimes. Those summer days and shit.” He chuckled. “Jesus, they must have been my best friends in this shitty world...-Pardon my French if you’re a religious man.” He laughed in an eerie way that time.

Word Count: 2,702

Ships: Bill/Audra, mentions of Reddie 

{October, 1964. Still-shot of large suburban home. A pile of dry orange leaves marks the lawn. There is a concave dent in the right side which caused an autumn invasion in the grass, suggesting the playfulness of children in the home-}

Bill Denbrough sniffled to choke back a nervous nose-bleed and set aside the movie script. 

His coffee table was glass plated so he could see the mound of crumpled papers that were burrowed into the maroon carpet. He tried hard not to think about the mix of faded words typed across those folds because they’d cost him a social life to write but they’d been seen & rejected. 

He was the leading man in this shit-show he called a life and he so desperately craved a cigarette. He’d never been that much of a smokin’ kind of guy but it was just that kind of night.   

The body of the lonesome drip he was being was thrown over the bar counter in the Hotel’s finest drink station. That’s where he was physically. Mentally? He was on the porch on that fake October 1964 autumn day. It was much better than admitting to himself that at least six or seven people had already walked past him with expressions of concern and pity. He’d much rather be inside his own story like being trapped an oil painting. 

Rather, just the beginning of his story. He’d not want to even touch the ending which had somehow become inexplicably horrifying in the process of writing. It was something he absolutely adored on paper but didn’t want to live for himself...though something about it spoke to him in a familiar voice.

“Howdy partner.” Came an irritably cute voice from over his shoulder. 

Sure enough, bathed in the flickering gold lights was the tallest drink of water. Audra Phillips was sporting a criminally cute smirk and bouncing on her toes. There was a lovely painting of a sunset behind her head that framed her well. It was the picture of whatever cowboy western movie Bill couldn’t think of where the lead woman sparks fire in the cowboy’s interest...or whatever. 

She strolled on over and leaned her crossed forearms atop his legs which laid across the bar. “I tease, sorry.” She gleamed. He knew she’d done the southern accent to simply bounce off his past jokes about the ghost of a British accent she had now yet didn’t come with at birth. 

“Hey, hey, hey Audra. You come for a drinking buddy?” He flicked his empty glass and she let her long honey hair fall a bit into his lap when she twisted to look up at him. 

“Not tonight, Bill.” She winked. “Just wanted to see how you were....” Her voice faded as she pinched some loose jean fabric that hovered above his knee. “I just that part in the screen-play where-...” The woman begins to mime stabbing her right eye “The man accidentally stabs himself with those kids craft scissors when he trips, you know...?” 

Bill nodded with an amused smirk. 

Audra begins to giggle. “Do we, in the film, have the artistic license to change the color of the scissors from blue to purple?” She could barely ask without starting to giggle again and Bill wondered if she’d started to drink before him. 

He raised a brow and crossed his arms in a funny way. “No. You see, the blue symbolizes the sorrow that character had been feeling, Audraaaaa.” He pinched her. “Why do you ask?”

She ceased her giggling. “I wanted to see if authors really do hide deep, meaningful symbols in...the simplest of places.” She shrugged and Bill found her presence incredibly endearing. 

“They do...but not with that. You could change that. I was lying.” He laughed and heaved his body around to hang his legs over the side of the bar while Audra leaned against it to his right. She giggled again. 

“Why do you write such...horrifying stories?” her voice went velvet soft. 

Bill considered her question and hummed. “I don’t know. Quite honestly, it does seem pointless, huh?” He took on a minor British accent for some odd reason. “Where do I get off scaring all these people.” He laughed. 

“I’m concerned about where it comes from...is all.” She glanced into his eyes and shrugged. 

“You think I’m...messed up, Audra?” He laughed though it was astoundingly not funny. His favorite gal just shrugged again. 

“There just stories. They scare ya for a minute or two before you forget em’. This is just my time to be...spitting blood into the wind...” He gestured out in the open. “It’s all pointless but...I love it.” His hand fell back into his lap. 

“More than a minute or two...those craft scissors might as well be stabbed through my eye right now with how often the image pops up in my mind.” She shook at the thought. 

“Pop it goes, huh?.” Bill mocked in her accent again. “Like a balloon...only the balloon is your swelled eye tied to no string but your spindly nerves.” He chuckled, wiping his chin. 

Audra gagged. “Disgusting. Keep going, Billy and I might revisit my dinner.” The gag choked into another round of giggles but Bill had danced off in side-tracked thoughts. 

“My brother called me Billy.” Was all he said and he figured he’d been silent far too long because his girl glanced up with minor shock and concern. 

“George?”

Bill nodded and swung his legs back and forth slowly. The two of them exchanged looks and fell silent again. Outside the hotel, snow was hurling towards the grounds of New York and burying itself between the cracks of the side-walk. There was a particularly nasty crack just outside and around the block. Many ‘walk-arounders’ would trip on it the next morning. Including a man that Bill Denbrough might have once recognized as Eddie Kaspbrak. It’d be a freezing night and an even brisker morning by the look of it. 

Audra could’ve asked about the screenplay many crew-members were intensely curious about but upon seeing her friend sitting there, perched on the bar, she decided it was far from a good time. There’d been something so...off about him lately. She batted her eyelashes and turned again to face the bar, slapping her hands in a playful tune to which Bill responded by ruffling her hair. 

“It seems to me...-” He started and hooked his gal instantly only to fade his voice out once again. But with the soft look of concern painted across Audra’s young and wonderful face, he decided to suck it up. “I cried for three days straight when my father died, you know that?” 

That stopped Audra’s heart for a solid minute or two and he couldn’t blame that wide-eyed deer expression because what a sentence twist. 

“That third day...I think a lot of those tears came from the fact that I knew it would soon be my turn to be that tired old man.” Bill shrugged. “I miss when the turn from Summer to Fall was dreaded because of ‘back-to-school’ and not because the threat of seasonal depression was very real for me, y’know Audra?” He thumped his palms against his jeans and was grinning kind of wickedly. 

The ‘back-to-school’ girl that had once been in Audra was also long gone because she was approaching thirty-two. So she nodded with understanding. 

“I didn’t want to admit that some of the tears might have also been genuine fear to return home for preparations.” 

Audra raised a gentle brow and rubbed his thigh for comfort. 

“I was scared to go home...to that town, Audra.” He met her eyes and something ignited a frightening flame. “I don’t know why...but I could have thrown up thinking about having to go home just for my fathers funeral...I didn’t want to go at all. Does that make me a bad person?” His speech was starting to frighten his company but it felt uniquely euphoric to get this shit out of him. “Didn’t end up mattering anyway. My parents had moved up to Castle Rock just some months before and didn’t bother telling me. They could be a little...neglectful with me sometimes. I don’t consciously hold it against them.” 

Audra reached for his folded hand and rubbed something circles against his skin with her thumb. 

“My mother...” Bill leaned back on the beam and sighed. “Bless her but she...” he raised his hand and let it fall back into his lap. “Has just been having such a difficult time accepting that the only man she loved is gone and when you pair that with the long-lost littlest son from years ago...she’s a wreck. I try to encourage...to get her to keep going but...” He spared the phone hanging on the wall nearby a quick glance and scratched under his chin. 

“A big brother without a little brother...well he’s lost the years of practice with encouraging talks that he could’ve had with him. So, this thing with my mother is...bigger than me, Audra.” Bill downcast his eyes and Audra could see that small-town living behind them.

She breathed in deeply and gave him the softest smile that she could manage. “Bill, my friend...” She squeezed his hand. “That’s a lot to take in so I can’t imagine how it felt to have that living in your chest. Thank you for sharing it with me. I think of us as...good friends...best friends even?” 

Bill nodded his head. It wasn’t quite like the friendships of his childhood which had long since slipped his mind of true clarity but his thing with Audra was it’s own special kind. 

“Good.” She nodded back, cheeks blushed. “So let’s take a step back, yeah? Instead of sitting at this bar like a couple of...” 

“Sad sacks?” 

Audra giggled and thumped his leg. “Yes, Sad sacks. Let’s take a walk in this Christmas snow. Forget the film...” She gestured back towards the halls of hotel room doors. “And let’s go buy those batteries I need from Walgreen's or something.” She shrugged and helped Bill hop off the bar. 

“You still haven’t bought those damn things? What has your remote been dead for two weeks now, Audra?” He chuckled, taking her arm in arm as they strolled out of the fancy building. 

“I haven’t watched television since! I keep forgetting.” 

They laughed into the night. Audra’s warm giggle was enough to blanket the freezing air for a little while. 

                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The convenience store was littered with glittering Christmas bulbs, string-lights and wonderfully home-made crafted wooden Santas. 

Audra waited patiently for Bill’s return and flirted with purchasing a particularly adorable blushing Santa Claus while the hot chocolate in her hands kept her warm. 

Elvis was singing of those classic Silver Bells that she ached to hear over the loudspeaker. It was enough to make the girl want to move on over to stand right under it which she did...only there was a minor bump on the way who ended up being a man. 

She chuckled nervously. “I’m so sorry...I should watch where I’m going, shouldn’t I? Oh my, I got this all over you!?” Audra barely made eye-contact and hovered her hand close to where her hot chocolate had become stains on the guys shirt. 

His hand came to block her view and she first noticed the little pinky ring he sported and then she finally picked her head up to find his face. “It’s fine-don’t worry about it. A little hot, is all. But no big deal.” The man sounded a little frustrated as he fanned his shirt away from his chest a little but Audra could tell he wasn’t about to have a fit over it. “If I wore that sweater like my girlfriend had begged me, the cable-knit might’ve soaked up all the chocolate before it even got to touch me, huh?” He was kind of mumbling that more to himself but Audra giggled anyway. 

“Maybe so. A free drink for those knitted Reindeer...” She chuckled awkwardly at the sad attempt for a joke but the man genuinely giggled. 

“Actually, no deer. Just some snow-flakes...she knitted it herself. Took a class every Tuesday & Thursday’s for a while before she got homesick.” He laughed again and his smile was handsome and kinda dopey but in the cutest way. Audra tilted her head and got a picture of that Norman Bates fellow from that ‘Psycho’ film. She hummed. 

“You sure-?” 

“Yeah-yes. You’re totally fine. It’s just a shirt.” The man pulled his jacket over the shirt and zipped it tightly as if to display this opinion. Audra nodded with a kind grin before turning back and finding Bill standing at the counter without the new prize of candy bars she’d collected. 

“I’ll be off then, thanks for the kindness.” She patted his arm and with his nod of understanding, she took off for Bill once again. 

                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“In that small-town of yours...?” Audra started, standing in scary waters as Bill took on a curious eye. “Do you remember having any friends? Or was it...that bad?” She blinked, not sure why she was asking but she didn’t like to think her good friend was just so lonely in a place that reduced him to tears just some time ago.

Bill pursed his lips. “I think-...yes. Yes I did.” He didn’t sound too sure about it which she found odd but decided to let that pass until he brought that up for himself, if ever. “I ran with a group. I can’t give names but I can feel it sometimes. Those summer days and shit.” He chuckled. “Jesus, they must have been my best friends in this shitty world...-Pardon my French if you’re a religious man.” He laughed in an eerie way that time. 

“Can you miss people you barely remember?” 

“I should think so.” Audra rubbed up and down his arm. “If they were as amazing as you make it sound...then of course. Life passes us by and takes some of our memories but not our feelings.” Audra didn’t want to glance up...in fear that small-town was back in Bill’s stare. 

“Eddie....” Bill mumbled, kicking a pebble down the street like it would be their map. Wherever it rolled, whichever street, the two of them would follow it. “I remember-...him. A bit. 

Audra nodded, letting him have his map. 

“We were gonna build a dam or....I dunno.” Bill sniffled, letting the memory go. “I remember a bike ride where I could barely see through a film of tears...-” He broke to laugh though it wasn’t very funny. “But that might’ve been Richie...? Seemed to me that he might’ve looked at Ed’s the way I look at you.” He shook his head with a grin and kicked his little Eddie memory pebble. They took the next street in which it had rolled.

                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Audra and Bill were giggling messes as they took on the Hotel’s stairs and flung themselves through the revolving doors. It was the most euphoric sense of relief either of them had experienced in a long time. 

Her fingernails picked at the wrapper hanging over her fist which was curled around half a chocolate bar. They went back to silence as they strolled back to the bar and listened to the distant cries of Christmas tunes. 

“You gonna be alright to sleep? Or are you going to stay up writing?” Audra poked his arm and Bill shrugged. It didn’t seem to be the confident answer of ‘sleeping sounds good’ that she wanted so Bill poked her back gently. 

“I’ll be fine, Audra. Thank you...you know for...” He gestured and his gal nodded to her man. 

“No thanks needed.” She leaned against his arm briefly, kissed his cheek and started on her way back to her room. Both of them felt the gentle idea of asking the other to their room but neither had the courage to ask. Instead, Bill watched her walk off with a blushing wave and Audra stole quick glances of him as she left him in that lobby. 

[moonlightchess]

On Lesser Ghosts, my perpetually in-progress novel, a cast of current characters:

Brandon Graham: 30 years old, police investigator for the Dorset Police Department of Dorset, Vermont. The sole survivor of serial killer Seth Morgan, active throughout the bulk of the 90s and all the way through 2003, when he was captured shortly after a 15-year-old Brandon escaped his nightmarish year of captivity in the Morgan house. Casually alcoholic, gay, entirely jaded and weary of the world, but stronger than he appears at first glance. Recently assigned to the case of Cora Tycho, a promising young physics student from the Lower Prince area of Vermont who has gone missing.

Dr. Casey Tycho: 30 years old, and Dorset PD’s newest medical examiner. A British expatriate originally hailing from north London, Casey is the antithesis to the human disaster of Brandon. Sharp, extensively educated, responsible and diligent, he wears silk-lined suit vests and ties to work and has been sleeping with Brandon for six months in an arrangement that Brandon refuses to acknowledge as any sort of relationship. He’s quietly accepted this, both out of respect for Brandon’s boundaries and because being black and openly gay in a small Vermont town may not be the most desirable situation. His sister Cora has gone missing, and he hates how little he wants Brandon on the case, but he knows better than anyone how unstable the man can be.

Sara Graham: Brandon’s younger sister at 27 years old, a folk musician and “crafty mess” by her own admission. Bright, curious, extroverted and warm, much of her life has been dedicated to worrying about her brother. She makes beaded jewelry and pottery on the weekends, collects coffee mugs, and is a driving force in Brandon’s life, though he occasionally wonders if she doesn’t resent him at least a little for the way his kidnapping and subsequent fame as Seth Morgan’s sole surviving victim dominated her younger years. The two are very close, and she’s determined to not allow him to lie down and give up on the Cora Tycho case, no matter how much tension and distance it’s created between he and Casey.

Sasha Prescott: Brandon’s boss, police chief of the DPD. Tough as nails, but she harbors a soft spot for Brandon in spite of his sporadic displays of instability and recklessness in the past. Especially protective of Casey, having long since come to the conclusion that Dorset’s black community is small at best and they have to stick together - the disappearance of Cora, a young black woman in her town, has been keeping her up at night. Her hawk’s stare and firm hand keep the entire department in line, but this also means that she has a constant target on her back.

Kris Alden: A mystery. Was with Cora Tycho on the night she went missing during a camping trip in the woods. Claims he went home early, a result of stomach problems. Not much intel on him yet.

Audrey and Stephen: The forensic lab techs, working directly under Casey. Odd, dreamy types, ensconced in their own little world much of the time. May know more than they’re letting on.

Read the first few pages below!

                                                   🔍🔍🔍

09.12.19:

A burning and industrious early-morning sun insisted upon bullying the pleasant warmth of Casey’s skin into something too harsh to ignore as Brandon groaned, rolling over onto his stomach in bed.  Beside him, Casey stretched, languid as an enormous cat, his sleep likely having been far more restful. Still, his smile was tender as he reached for him, and the scent of coffee brewing from the kitchen suggested that he’d already been up once to make it for him. The sweetness of the gesture hurt, and he curled away from his touch. “Too fucking hot.”

“It’s only going to be about seventy today.” Because of course Casey knew the day’s predicted weather already, of course he was as on top of it as he was everything else in his life. Casey, with his autumn-brown skin and gentle, fox-gold eyes like candlelit amber, of course he was ready with coffee brewing and the forecast on his phone. They were the same age, thirty, but Casey was one of those rare people who had been an adult since twelve. He’d probably delighted in collecting school supplies for a new year when none of his friends gave a shit, he was the type of person who always knew where his keys were. He had a set-in-stone laundry day, which had blown Brandon’s mind when he’d first learned of it. Even now, at six AM, he smelled like fresh fucking bread. Literally the worst human, Brandon had long since concluded, but the sex was fantastic.

Wordlessly, he rolled over for his first cigarette of the day, ignoring Casey’s softly disapproving sound behind him. He briefly considered reminding him of his total lack of access into his personal life, that whatever happened between them sexually meant ten kinds of nothing outside the bedroom, but Casey had never pushed or questioned his boundaries. He kept his distance as Brandon rolled naked out of bed, ambling to the window to shove it open before disappearing into the bathroom without further comment. He gave him time to shower before following, tapping his fingertips against the glass shower door with a quiet, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Want company?”

“Oh, uh. No.”

There was a pause, and then Casey’s silhouette nodding silently, turning to go. He was unique in that Brandon never felt so much as a semblance of guilt about bluntly rejecting the affections of anyone but him, and now it felt sharp. The hot spray of water went needle-harsh against his skin, but he still ignored the coffee Casey had left on the counter for him, as well as the text blinking on his phone. Eat something. Don’t be too late for work, Sasha will have your ass. Even now, he did his best to take care of him as much as Brandon would allow, but he rationalized that he’d never promised the man a damn thing. In fact, he’d made his limitations abundantly clear on the first night they’d tumbled, panting, into bed together, roughly six months ago. The problem was, there was another man. He was persistent and jealous, and he was always around. He was sitting on the edge of his bed right now, in fact. Late forties, moon-pale skin and sleek, ink-black hair, his deceptive youthfulness undercut by the coldness lingering in his dark eyes.

Seth waited, silent, watching Brandon dress. The most attention he ever paid to his honey-blonde mess of hair was a quick tugging of his brush, and the woodsmoke cologne his sister had given him for Christmas last year was left mostly unused on the dresser. His morning routine had long since boiled down to a quick shower, shave, and brushing of teeth and hair before throwing on whatever happened to be clean regardless of its fashionable implications. Today, Seth watched him button up a loose black Oxford over a pair of battered jeans, before embarking upon a ten-minute search for his keys because he wasn’t Casey and never would be.

A light drizzle began to dissolve the heat of the day like sugar in warm coffee once he was on the road, clouds going dense and dark with the sweet threat of a proper rain. Sasha had already texted him - 9:10, Graham. Late again. Casey had tried to warn him, but then he always did, and Brandon never listened. Elgar helped to swallow Sasha’s nearly tangible contempt for his time management skills as he drove, and beside him, Seth settled into the passenger’s seat to stare thoughtfully out at the increasingly heavy rain.

10.4.2003:

This far north into Vermont, where Seth’s house teetered on the border into Canada, winters descended early and lingered long. The ceiling-to-floor steel and rebar support pipe Brandon had been handcuffed to by the wrists for the past two weeks had absorbed the seeping chill, and Seth had only dressed him in a filthy, tattered wifebeater and a pair of old blue flannel pajama pants that smelled suffocatingly of mothballs. He woke every few hours with numb, stinging toes, shivering and dripping. The handcuffs Seth had restrained him with had to have been ordered from somewhere - there was no soft pink fur lining to suggest an intended use of foreplay, and instead they were solid in a deadly way, a way that thunked every time he slid them locked with a firm sense of finality. 

A fever burned through his bones overnight near the middle of October, and finally some part of Seth seemed to awaken to his basic human needs. He was provided a deeply itchy wool blanket that felt woven from canvas and sandpaper, but it did the job of keeping him warm. Every few nights, his worn boots would thud down the basement steps to offer him a plate of cold, congealed noodles that he’d clearly been keeping in the fridge. His wrists went raw and scabbed with the endless scrape of the cuffs, his knees cramping in their bent position. Stretching his legs was possible, but uncomfortable. The days began to melt together, the constant darkness of the basement transforming time into a static thing. He slept when the wave of exhaustion became too much to fight, he woke and watched the shadows when sleep eluded him. He lost all sense of night or day, the passage of hours.

Three weeks deep, the frantic hope that he’d be found began to fade. The basement began to feel like his place, and he began to forget what it felt like to not fall asleep hugging a metal pipe. Seth was strangely reassuring, an exponential effect that seemed to correlate with his slow acceptance of his situation. As time dissolved and desperation waned, Seth’s approval bloomed. Sometimes, now, the noodles were warm and slick from boiling water, fresh. His blanket was replaced with a less abrasive one, albeit filthy. At fourteen years old, Brandon learned that life began and ended here in his cold, dark basement. The memory of the day he’d been taken seemed irrelevant now, the faces of his parents to whom he’d clung so desperately in those early days.

“I know that you don’t understand.” Seth’s voice was soft, gentle more often than not, sedately erudite like a classics professor on vacation in the woods for the holidays. He was quite articulate, expressing himself fairly eloquently whenever he came into the basement to speak to him. “It sounds trite, like something Keats might have written, but believe me when I say that this is your chrysalis phase, Brandon. It’s tight and uncomfortable and emerging will be a painful struggle, but I want you to trust me. I know it’s asking a lot of you right now, but I also know that your eyes are open and you’ll get there. I trust you already.”

He wore a lot of high-collared fleece sweaters in earth tones and he kept his silky hair longish, framing his face in a soft sort of way that left him mild and relaxed to the eye. Brandon learned to crave him, the only human voice, presence, that he’d experienced in a month as the end of October approached. He couldn’t express this yet, but Seth would smile down at him, bending at the knees to wrap him in a new blanket or to offer him the day’s plate of noodles. Sometimes the blankets were splattered with fresh bloodstains and sometimes the noodles were wrapped around bullets of sausage that tasted blandly wrong, but he was there.

Once, shortly before Halloween, the burgeoning bond between them inspired him to blurt, “I wouldn’t say anything, you know. You could just let me go, you wouldn’t even have to drive me home. I’d never tell anyone, I understand your work here--” because Seth had often referenced his cryptic “work” without elaborating. “I won’t try to stop you, you could just--”

Seth’s open hand slammed into the side of his head, smacking his skull into the metal pipe with a gut-churning clang. The world exploded into white fire, his vision briefly going dark as his brain struggled to retain consciousness. A thick, hot ooze of dark blood began to gush from his nostrils, but he was too resigned at that point to so much as scream. Instead, he moaned softly, sagging forward as his head began to throb in time with his heartbeat. The agony was blinding, but he didn’t pass out, which came as something of a disappointment.

A month and a week passed.

09.12.19:

Dorset’s PD’s station was one of the lingering bastions of old-school police architecture, all museum-high ceilings and wooden desks arranged in rows. Brandon wove his way between them on his way to Sasha’s office, set high above the ground floor grunts and their ancient desktop computers. He’d always respected the way she’d left the glass panels that made up the front wall of her office intact, leaving her visible to her officers and techs alike. She was typing on her own laptop when he tapped his fingers against said glass, waving him inside. A still-steaming paper cup of Two Brews sat on her desk, littered with loose papers that themselves were littered with her scribbled notes. My office, whenever you decide to show up, she’d texted him.

Sasha Prescott was forty-four years old with dense, dark curls clipped short and precise. With her high cheekbones, full lips and velvet-dark skin, she could easily have been a model even in her middle age, dominating an industry obsessed with youth. And dominate it she would have - there was a carefully cultivated air of laser focus that she wore like armor wrapped around her, her narrow, jewel-black eyes piercing through lies and alibis like a hot knife through butter. She and Brandon’s mutual respect had led to a highly efficient and successful working relationship over the years, and they both appreciated that neither was in any way interested in developing any sort of personal friendship outside of work.

Now, he dropped into the Quaker chair in front of her desk and considered making an attempt for her coffee, which she didn’t appear to have started drinking yet. Her signature plum lipstick had not yet stained the rim, but she zeroed in on his intent with her standard razor perception and shook her head. “I will literally stab you,” she said casually, and he let his hand fall to his knee instead.

“What’s up?”

“First off, roll in here late again and I’ll write your ass up. Secondly, we have a delicate situation in our laps right now and I want some input on how to deal with it.”

Arching an eyebrow, Brandon kept his tone as nonplussed as possible. Too much visible interest might have convinced Sasha to change her mind, one of her stranger quirks. “I’m listening.”

“Cora Tycho is missing, as of somewhere around midnight last night.”

He nearly rose to his feet despite his resolve, an icy fist punching straight through his ribcage to seize his heart. “Casey’s sister?”

Sasha confirmed this with a short nod, her lips pressed tight. “She was out camping with a friend near the Lower Prince quarry. Her friend, Kris Alden, fell ill shortly after they ate dinner and decided to go home. Cora wanted to drive him, but there was no one available to take her back once he was home and he claims he felt guilty about making her miss some super-moon or whatever the hell it is, told her he could make it home on his own. She never came back from the woods, the Alden kid shared a class with her that she skipped this morning and no one has been able to reach her via call or text. It’s not enough to assume that she’s officially a ten-fifty-seven just yet, but people are starting to worry. She’s never been someone to just bail on everything like this, Kris described her as very thoughtful and responsible.”

“You’ve already sent someone out to talk to him? Does Casey know?”

“Not yet. That’s actually what I wanted your input on - obviously he’s not getting anywhere near this case, but given the personal nature of your relationship with him what are your thoughts on his capability to handle the work environment in general as it’s investigated? Should I just send him on a vacation until this is cleared, or is he frosty enough to stay professional here at the station while his sister is missing? You know him better than any of us.”

Brandon’s brain reeled. “Personal nature? I don’t know what sort of relationship any of you are under the impression that we--not that any of you should have any impression of our relationship, I mean. Shit. We’re not in a relationship! I barely know him!” His voice was raising in pitch while he remained completely unaware, his knuckles going white around the armrests of the Quaker chair. Sasha exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Jesus. Do I need to send you on a vacation too? Get your shit together.”

“Fuck. Okay.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he exhaled. “Casey is one hundred percent able to handle working while this is being solved, but that doesn’t mean he should. I doubt he’ll let you send him on a vacation, but try anyway. He doesn’t deserve to be here all day, trying to focus on other shit while half of Dorset is trying to figure out if his sister’s body is rotting in the woods somewhere. He should be with his family.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m giving this girl until tonight to turn up, and then I’m issuing a gloves-off ten-fifty-seven.” Sasha’s voice went to iron, and it occurred to Brandon that she cared for Casey as much as anyone at the DPD did. He was the lifeblood of the forensics labs, their unflappable new medical examiner whose lingering British accent left over from a youth spent in west London had a way of soothing even the most panicked and horrified relative of one of his corpses. 

“I need you to go into far more detail about the supposed “nature” of my relationship with Casey, up to and including just how the hell you even knew about it at all. Not that it’s anything. At all.”

“Would you kindly climb off my dick, Graham? I’ve got enough shit on my plate right now.”

“Sasha.”

“Settle down. No one else knows anything, even though according to you there’s nothing to know. It’s just that a lifetime of police investigation have left me a highly observant person--��

“A lifetime? You’re in your forties, don’t start writing your memoirs yet you drama queen.”

“...And as such, I’ve noticed you two leaving work together occasionally, showing up around the same time in very deliberately separate cars but sometimes accidentally wearing each other’s shirts, things like that. Things only I would ever notice, I promise. No one else has mentioned anything to me, and you know they would if the rumor mill was running about it.”

“Fine. Whatever. Any more intel on Cora?”

Wordlessly, Sasha slid a manila envelope across her stately desk. Opening it, Brandon was confronted with a glossy photo of a beautiful young woman, all sparkling honey eyes and rich dark skin like a sunset’s sweet glow, thick black hair meticulously oiled and wrapped and beaded into immaculate dreadlocks that she’d pulled back with a sky-blue silk scarf for her senior high school photo, Cora wore her brother’s beauty as elegantly as he did. They shared the same royally rounded nose and high cheekbones, full lips and dimples. His chest ached, and he brushed his fingertips against the photo thoughtfully without realizing he was doing it. Sasha had compiled everything - her academic records, notes on her hobbies and habits, her generally expected whereabouts on any given day. She had no legal record to speak of, her profile speaking to a bright, clean-cut girl with a gleaming future in physics.

“She was a student at NVU,” Sasha supplied. “Is a student. Solid grades, a quiet type, well-liked by her peers but not known to be a partier. Close with her family, especially our Casey. Loved to cook, according to reports. She entered several baking competitions last year, even won a couple. Played the violin all throughout high school, but turned down a suggested spot on NVU’s student orchestra. Said she didn’t want it to interfere with her study time, according to the orchestra leader I called. She seemed laser-focused on her goal of working for NASA someday, had a whole vision board about it on Pinterest.”

“I’ll start with Kris Alden. I’ll head out to his place today.”

“Start with Casey. I don’t want him to hear about this on the news, and my official statement on the case is going live tomorrow morning.”

“Shit. Okay.” Scooping the file up under his arm, he rose to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him, he down in the forensics lab?”

“With Audrey and Stephen. See if you can get him alone, he won’t like his techs seeing him break down in front of them if he reacts poorly.”

“How the hell else do you expect him to react to the news that his sister is missing?”

“I’m just saying, let’s be conscious of how difficult this is going to be for him. You’re not exactly known for your tact, but you have the best shot at holding him together here. You know as well as I do that the longer we go without finding this girl, the less of a chance we have.”

Brandon paused at her office door. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Took me a year to get out of that basement.”

He hated the way her gaze softened, and so he made his way out without a goodbye to make a point, ignoring the irritating hiss of her compressed-air door mechanism that refused to let him leave with a satisfying slam. The forensics lab and department morgue was located in the basement of the station for obvious reasons, a narrow elevator depositing him into the DPD’s underground two minutes later. The temperature dropped by a few degrees once the doors slid open, the stone all around them cooling the air. He couldn’t hear the rain anymore, down here, and he found Audrey and Stephen hunched over a severed hand on a sleek chrome examination tray in the lab.

Audrey was tall and willowy, twenty-six with ice-blonde hair wound into a messy braid that she’d draped over one shoulder, so pale and slim that there was something ghostly about her, especially when taking into consideration her gray eyes so light and translucent they were nearly colorless, like a mirror or a deep-sea creature. She wore a white lab coat over a pair of black jeans and a loose, baggy gray sweater - she wore a lot of gray, black and white, and she always looked like a spectre, an overcast ocean. The selkies would have accepted her as one of theirs upon sight. Stephen was only barely as tall as her, with a much friendlier face, soft freckled cheeks and tanned skin suggesting a childhood spent outdoors working off baby fat. He had peanut-brown curls tumbling over his forehead and round, intelligent hazel eyes, a sharply defined mouth and an easily cheery demeanor. Oddly enough, he and Audrey were quite close.

“Hey guys. Anyone seen Casey?”

“Down in the morgue.” Audrey pointed to her feet, indicating the sub-level beneath them. “He left this hand with us and told us to collect data samples and disappeared. He’s been down there all morning.”

“Do you know whose hand it is?”

“Pretty sure it belongs to that wheat farmer who turned up in the hospital last week missing one. I mean, how many hands could there be unaccounted for in Vermont right now?” Stephen grinned, snapping his gum. He took a kind of morbid glee in his work, something Brandon had always suspected Audrey shared with him.

“Left hands, to boot,” Audrey added, shrugging. “How are you, Brandon?”

“I’m fine. I’d love to stay and um, look at the hand with you guys, but I’ve got to talk to Casey. Have...fun?”

Stephen’s grin widened. “Oh, we will, friend.”

“I hate the way you say things.”

Stephen’s laughter followed him back into the elevator, which delivered him to the bottomost floor of the DPD headquarters. Casey was there, bent over his own work, having forgone his stiff lab coat in favor of his neatly tucked-in dove-gray button-down, black silk tie, charcoal dress vest and matching creased slacks. His leftover British sensibilities were evident in his crisply classic style, always semi-formal and expensive even when he dressed “down” in Burberry cashmere sweaters and custom-tailored jeans. He looked so unflappable that Brandon’s faith in him was stirred anew, and he approached with more tenderness than was normal for him. His aura alerted Casey to something amiss upon impact, and he narrowed his eyes at him before saying a word. “Don’t see you down here often, love.” The last word slipped out before he could stop it, and Brandon watched him flinch minutely, almost imperceptibly.