#and don’t worry he’s big on discretion what with all the rules and publicity

[syoddeye]

went to a sports thing and now all I can think about is official!reader either making a call that costs them the game or wins them the game, and the fellas proceed accordingly

[yandere-mha]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a poly hawks miruko, is you do poly requests, where they share a darling? Their darling is a selective mute, but they thought that their darling was fully mute until they heard them scream. So now they try everything to get them to talk. Please?

Wow I’ve never thought of this pairing and I just now realized how much I love this. Their needs in a relationship clash a lot so I could see this being a very... chaotic dynamic lmao. 

TW: SMUT, ORAL SEX, ABUSE, ABLEISM, KIDNAPPING, TORTURE, POLY RELATIONSHIPS.

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

Yandere Hawks x Yandere Miruko x selective mute!reader:

Hawks is extremely protective, restrained (usually fakes his nonchalant attitude) and constantly on edge. Miruko can be really aggressive, competitive (superiority complex), and oddly easy going when it comes to restrictions... extreme opposites. 

A big difference between a monogamous yandere Hawks and one with a poly yandere Miruko is that, since she can be so aggressive, his usual mask of warmth and smiles is completely shattered and replaced with an almost constant scowl and cutting eyes almost always directed at Miruko whenever she gets too close to you or talks to you. Hawks has an aura of bloodthirst around him whenever they’re in the same room and his feathers seem to sharpen as he bristles like an angered cat. This is especially true for an s/o who is disabled because he sees you as something helpless he has to protect at all costs no matter how strong you are.

Miruko, who always has something Really Important To Say and can’t focus on anything else, will often not even notice his death glares and just continue to talk to you like nothing’s wrong. If she does happen to spot him though... it can get messy. She sees this non-verbal threat as a challenge and a sadistic smile on her face grows as she asks “What do ya think you’re looking at, chicken? You wanna piece of this? I won’t go easy on ya.”

Hawks doesn’t like to upset you, so he’ll usually just scoff and tell her to watch herself. If he catches her mistreating you, being too rough, or speaking to you too loudly, he immediately points a feather to her throat. If you don’t want one to literally kill the other, you’ll have to intervene which can be hard when you’re mute. Grabbing Hawks’s wrist and guiding his arm back down will usually do the trick though even if Miruko is still looking for any excuse to fight him for a while after, calling him names like “the great dictator”. She doesn’t take well to being told what to do or that giant stick up his ass.

Miruko will absolutely take advantage of the fact that you can’t speak to have very rough sex with you while he’s not there. Though Miruko likes to test Hawks’s boundaries, she likes the setup they have and she doesn’t want to be kicked out, so she tries to look like she’s following his rules... while he’s around. She loves to disobey him and she’s very sneaky about it. This ends up being both good and bad for you because she hurts you while he’s gone but she’s also kinda like the cool parent and lets you do things Hawks wouldn’t like. She may even take you out for lunch dates and on walks whereas Hawks doesn’t want you to leave the house.

Her way of trying to get you to talk would be pain, whether it’s sexual or just plain torture. She cackles when you cry out and says “If you want me to stop, say uncle”. She never goes too far with you though in fear that Hawks would see your bruising and injuries and she always makes sure to be able to cover them up with makeup. She’ll even tell you that if Hawks see your injuries, she’ll kill you. Then she tenderly swipes your hair away from your face and kisses you on the forehead while she nuzzles into your side on your bed. You’d better make sure to hide them well...

To Miruko, being the one to get you to talk first would also be a competition for her of course.

Speaking of Miruko’s competitive streak, she would have the odd relationship of being jealous of you for Hawks’s obvious preference to you and a desire to have her be your favorite. She thinks she can accomplish this by letting you break his rules but when she scares you and you cling to him, she also gets jealous of Hawks whether you actually prefer him or not. She also sees that as a challenge. This causes a weird cycle of resentment and affection with her. She doesn’t even like Hawks much as a person, but she still doesn’t like to be second in anything. She wishes she could be more gentle with you like Hawks but she just can’t control herself. She is only with Hawks as well as you because she has a very high libido that she needs more than one partner to satisfy, but she loves you and the way you let her bully you. The only reason Hawks puts up with her is because he wants someone to be able to watch you while he’s gone, and he’s gone a lot. This seems like a well oiled machine, am I right? (sarcasm)

Hawks’s way of trying to get you to speak is much nicer. He’ll have you sit in his lap and curl his wings around you protectively while he embraces you within his arms. He’ll only ask you to say different things like “I love you”, “I feel safe with you”, and even just his name. He tries to get you to say things he desperately wants to hear from you. As long as it seems like you’re trying to him, he won’t get mad at you if you fail. He has also experimented by pleasuring you with his mouth to get you to say something. Even if it takes him forever he just keeps trying, but he’s only patient if you put in effort too. He’ll definitely lay on the guilt if you don’t.

The reason he instills so many rules with you in this situation is because, now that you already know that he’s not as friendly and kind as his public persona and he doesn’t have to worry about lying to you to make you feel at ease with him, he feels free to let his anxious and suspicious nature be explicitly known. These rules aren’t put into place for control, but more for your own safety. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you and losing you is his worst fear that is constantly weighing on his mind. He’s absolutely paranoid. No one knows him like you do.

If something were to go amiss in this delicate balance of a relationship (like Hawks finding bruises on you or finding out that you’ve been breaking his rules while he’s away), everything would fall down at once like a tower made of cards. At least one of them is going to die tonight and there’s nothing you can do to stop it now. Just hope that whichever kind of treatment you prefer would be the victor.

[power-of-plot]

Iida, Mirio, and Aizawa dating hcs please

Of course! But holy cow apparently this seriously inspired me, i hope this is ok xd

I I D A

Oh yes robot boi. Iida is someone nerdy in every aspect, his language even with close friends like Midoriya is very formal and polite, the same rule would apply when it comes to his significant other. Unlike what some would think, this doesn’t give your conversations a cold touch, on the contrary, it’d make him look chivalrous.

He’s a classic gentleman, he’d be the kind who opens the door and waits for you to walk in first or gives you his jacket when it’s too cold and you don’t have anything to cover yourself with, the second one would happen often in the classroom if you’re sensitive to cold. We are talking about U.A have you seen the measures of the classrooms and the entire area? It’s impossible they don’t have those huge air conditioners.

He highly respects the rules wich means, no PDA, on a certain level, no kisses to be specific. That doesn’t mean he won’t give you any affection, though every gear of his robotic soul is having a bad time working properly inside, he’d hold your hand or put his over your shoulder pulling you close when you’re sitting together. 

He definitely would do that thing of caressing you with his thumb. As you expected it from Tenya, this is a sort of robotic motion, his finger would move like a metronome but that doesn’t make it any less nicer, he is slow and gentle.

Honestly, he’d be nervous most of the time. ALSO! Tenya is very thoughtful, he’d ask (often verbally) if you’re okay with whatever he’d do, as times goes by the questions turn non verbal, for example he’d hold his hand above yours waiting for you to give green light or grasp it. 

“..Can i hold your hand?” “Sure!” “*DEEP INHALE AND BLUSH*” He couldn’t help to blush the first times. Specially on the firsT kiss but how would it be? A clasic scenenario after classes! And after you both have grown comfortable enough to each other’s touch. Seriously, if you like to go slow he's got you.

You two would be walking around in the campus after classes and he feels the tension grow.. he is analyzing every detail, he wants to ask but what if things get extremely awkward, he’s very tall- he’d have to bend down slightly (unless you’re nearly as tall as him) to do it so what if you flinch because it was unexpected.. he stops walking, he simply manages to say your name. You stared into each other's eye and then it happened, a big smile unexplainably forms in his lips complemented by a scarlet color across his whole face, his haircut made his head look like a strawberry.

There are going to be days you don't see him as much as you'd like, Tenya is very comitted to his hero patrols, he certainly would do extra hours from time to time or if the situation called for it. Let him know you like his hero suit! He’s thankful it has a helmet otherwise his flustered face would be exposed. 

Whatever position you cuddle in Iida would wrap his arms around you, not only that, he’d interlock his fingers so he has a nice grip. His cuddles would be the classic spooning or having your head on his shoulder with your arm over his chest and in case you worry about his arm, this guy doesn’t know limb numbness- he literally tenses and holds his arms up every five minutes.

He sends good morning/good night texts often on the weekends since you're practically living together thanks to the dormitory system, they vary depending on the day, some are a reminder to get a proper amount of sleep or! To get done with homework so you can enjoy your free time and maybe ask if he can go over to study *cough spend time together*

He'd send the classic heart emoji, very detailed but easy to comprehend videos explaining any difficult lesson and history related stuff like paint restorations or facts about iconic sculptures. Please don’t send him those videos of people accidentally breaking things on museums, he’s gonna feel like something breaks inside.

M I R I O

This ray of sunshine fell for you? Your luck is so big you’d get jackpot on a slot machine on the first try-. You’re undeniably going to be good friends with Tamaki and Nejire, specially her, expect to get questions one after another without the chance to reply when she finds out you’re Mirio’s significant other, Tamaki would take it way better.

Mirio’s goofyness and confidence combined with his feelings give a unique result: he literally spoke to the boss of mafia himself twice like he was the manager in a store, but, the case is different when you’re around, he’s saying and actually good joke and suddenly.. it goes away, his mind goes blank. “So what happened after Mirio..?” “Ah.. i had practiced a lot, i don’t know what happened haha my bad!”

You’re going to get tons of his jokes and something more “intense” such as the classic “What’s in your shirt?” to make you look down so he can boop your nose with his finger, you should expect some gentle headpats as well. 

If you’re shy he’s cool about it, he knows what do and adaptates to your pace, you’d start off with hand holding or rather pinky holding, he’d interwine his pinky with yours and show a bright smile. His hugs are the warmest, he doesn’t do it half-assesly, when you hug, YOU HUG, he uses both arms and slightly lifts you up! Height or strength are not a problem he’s actually one cm taller than Iida i just found out

He seems like the kind who loses their pen or eraser despite seeing it on their desk just one minute ago, if you happen to be that kind as well you’re both going to lay down your faith on poor Tamaki’s hands, i’m sure he has all his material complete.

He hardly ever gets nervous or scared by anything, things like the first kiss would go pretty smooth, instead of blushing intensely he’d just chuckle with slight disbelief, his mind is racing like “I just did that? woah!”. The biggest trouble for him would be gifts, he wants it to be perfect but asking Nejire for advice is not a good idea, roses are too formal and they don’t last long, going to the movies seems a little cliche.. his first gift would end up being a plushie of your favorite animal and a bamboo.

He’d sneak a kiss or two, specially before the class is begginning a training session, he’d send you a text telling you to go outside the changing rooms and oop! He phases through the wall poking out his head to give you a kiss kiss. If you don’t mind a prank from time to time he’d give a little scare using his quirk.

This guy is the big spoon during cuddles, no arguing! He could switch but as time goes by he’d slowly shift into the big spoon, that’s just the way he is, the most usual position would be where you’re facing each other with your limbs wrapping around the other’s body. Waking up with him would be adorable and attractive, morning and night are the only times of the day when his hair isn’t gelled into his All Might-like hairstyle, those blonde locks would frame his face, a heavenly sight.

Would send you a pic of stray animals he rescued with a “:D!” and Sir. Nighteye 'torturing' Bubble girl (half of his head visibly on a corner of the image). If you longed for a pet badly he would bring a nice dog/cat he finds around! In his hero suit to make the moment more special. 

He uses the smiling emojis and emoticons! And shares videos of animals he finds adorable, if you sent him fails videos he'd laugh as long as the falls don't seem extreme or too severe, small trips on the beach or slips on the snow are fine. Mirio sends gifs i just know.

A I Z A W A

Have you taken a look at him? You must be a big The Walking Dead fan to like him lmao. Aizawa gives me an unexplainable gut feeling that he'd prefer a civilian (perhaps quirkless?) significant other over a hero, he wouldn't want his partner to go into the same dangerous situations he does.

His affection is tired, let me explain, he'd hug you and all that physical stuff but it'd kinda feel like his arms fall limply around you, still, even with his minuscule clingyness he loves you with all his might! He doesn't fall for anyone.

Not very fond of PDA, in public he'd preferr temple/forehead kisses and having your hand on the crook of his arm instead of hand holding (thinking about it Iida would do that too), seems more discret and! you don't let go when his hands are busy. He'd initiates it by gently resting your hand on his arm and sinking his hand into his pocket.

Surprise! He does smile, not that maniactic-looking grin he has sometimes during his shifts at U.A when a student impresses him, this one is less wide but somehow more tender and sweet, he tilts his head and for once his eyes seem relaxed, a relationship would make his cheeks hurt.. either for he's not used to smile so much or he smiles more than he thought he would.

If you give him a cat.. that's a strong blow straight to one of his weakest spots, he'd stare both at you and the kitten with a dumbfounded look before picking it up in his arm like a baby, his hand gravitates towards his it's head giving some nice pets before he shows a rare and somewhat bright smile "Thank you very much." Next time have a camera ready damnit! That smile rarely shows up.

He's practical, he wants his gifts to be nice but useful as well. He’d get you those mugs with candies inside, you get the candy and you can use the mug later for your coffee or tea; a power bank with a nice color or design and in case he choses something smaller: a bamboo, those one don’t wither away. Aizawa is fine with whatever you get for him, big or small he appreciates it. Sweaters, scarfs and blankets would be his favorite thing to get though, he likes to stay warm while working late at night

He’s sneaky, as an underground hero he’s used to work at times when the streets look disolated and the dark crime has more freedom to do as it pleases, he wouldn’t want to wake you up unless you asked him to. He’d leave a note on is pillow with the time he wrote it at and a short loving phrase like “i love you, i’ll be back soon, good morning”, before he leaves he’d always lift the sheet up to your neck or drag it away if you seem to be kicking it off you and give you a small kiss.

You’d find him passed out in his sleeping bag with his laptop besides him at random spots of his appartment, if it wasn’t because of the unatura position he adopts to fit in his sleeping bag he’d give you a death scare ‘cause let’s be honest he doesn’t look one hundred percent alive even when he’s awake. “Shota..? Shota can you hear me?!” “I’m not dead.”

Hibrid of big-small spoon. Most of the times you cuddle he’s asleep and you go snuggle him, his hair is a mess so better prepare to get tickled all night. He pull you close the best way he can when you’re behind him, not very comfortable for his arm but it’s worth it. He’d have you like a pillow over him, his chin over your head and both arms around you.

This man doesn’t bother typing when he can use his voice, the only situations he uses regular text messages are when he’s on shift or with you sleeping next to him. Send him gifs of kittens and a ‘i love you’ it instanstly gives him a good mood! He’d send pics of cats he sees around and gifts he bought you, doesn’t use emojis.

*COLLAPSES ON THE GROUND* Big oof- requests are open.

[nicolewoo]

Please Daddy Part 5

Pairing: Joe Anaoi X Reader (Roman Reigns X Reader)

Warning: Smut including fingering of a girl.

We were on our way to the club when I got a phone call from Ann. “This can’t be good.” I say as I press call button. “Is everything ok?”

Ann’s voice came through the car speakers. “Yes, but I need you to help liaison tonight.” Club meetings were very involved. First the doms and subs met separately to discuss any issues with the other group. The liaisons of the doms and subs met together before the entire club joined for a group meeting. “What’s going on? Why do you need me?” I asked.

Her timid voice answered. “I’d do it myself, but we are voting on a new member that I think is going to interest all the single subs. I’m hoping you can remind the subs of proper behavior with famous members.”

“Really?” My mind flashed back to when I met Henry. There were so many things to remember about protocol. How we had to handle being out in public. “Who are they voting in?”

Ann paused before answering. “Chris Evans.”

“You THINK every sub will be interested?” I said sarcastically.

Ann laughed at the joke, but the grunt that came from Joe wasn’t a laugh. He was displeased. Jealous maybe. I reached my hand over to rest it on his leg reassuringly. I’d have to be careful to let him know he’s the only man I want tonight.

“Since you’re not interested in him, you should be the one who goes over the behavior standards.” Joe perked up after hearing Ann as I breathed a sigh of relief. Ann had easily picked up on Joe’s jealousy and was able to defuse the situation by saying I wasn’t interested. Thank you Ann!!!

“Oh. Sure. I’ll do it.” I volunteered.

___________________________________________________________________

Ann and I stood in front of the subs. Most were female, but we did have a smattering of male subs too. There was a buzz in the air as word of Chris Evans permeated the meeting room. “Calm down everyone.” Ann yelled above the din.

“Is it true?” Kelly yelled above the noise and captured everyone’s attention, the crowd prodding us along to try and get the truth.

I motioned for Ann to sit. I knew she didn’t like public speaking, and I knew that was why she wanted me here. “Everyone sit please.” I said as I took my spot at the podium. The room quieted quickly. “Yes. Chris Evans is here and has asked to join our club. Yes. He looks better in person than he does on the big screen.” I hadn’t even finished my sentences before the whole room broke out into chaos again. Words like “mine” and “dibs” were volleyed about the room. There was also a commotion about if he was straight, gay or bi or something else.  “Subs, the faster we get through this, the faster you all can meet him, but first…..” The subs began to compose themselves again. “First we need to go over some standards for our behaviors.”

Now that I had everyone’s attention, it was time. “It’s been a long while since we’ve had a star of Chris’ magnitude join.” I heard someone mention Henry. “Here’s what you’ll need to remember. First and foremost, he is human. He has wants and desires like the rest of us, but don’t confuse him with the characters he plays in movies. Chris has a reputation for being an upstanding, kind and generous man. This is his PUBLIC persona. In truth, we know nothing about his preferences yet. I’m sure at least one of you will get to find out soon. For all we know, he could be the cruelest dom in the building, so tread lightly. Get to know him before jumping into signing a contract with him.

Second, give him room! I’m certain a lot of you want an opportunity to play with him, but desperation doesn’t look good on anyone. Let Chris approach you. Those of us who are in relationships will assist with introductions where possible.”

The room erupted again. “Attention!” I yelled over the noise, and the room quieted again. “Next, if you and Chris do end up together, there are complications you need to be aware of. He may or may not want your relationship to be public. If so, you’ll be criticized by his fans, and it will be relentless.” I looked to Ann who cringed at the thought of some of the press she got.

“Everyone needs to remember our #1 rule. Discretion! Just as this club is a safe haven for each of us, it needs to be Mr. Evan’s safe haven too.” There were verbal agreements all through the room. As the meeting went on, I was able to get the subs subdued a bit, but there was a palpable energy about the club for sure.  

We arrived at the dom meeting room just as their meeting was breaking up. Henry quickly found Ann and glued himself to her side, but Joe was deep in conversation across the room.

“Have the subs seen Chris yet?” Henry asked.

I chortled, “I think it’s safe to say he’s going to have his choice of the available subs.”

Ann laughed, “We had trouble keeping them calm enough to have the meeting.”

“That’s good to hear.” I turned to find Mr. Evans walking up to us. To me actually. His eyes raked over me like I was prey and he was stalking. “So, when you say I can have my pick of ANY sub...” he sidled up next to me.

Something about his body language must have alerted Joe because he quickly ended his conversation and was storming to me. “You’re very sweet, but I meant the single subs.” Seeing Joe approaching me angry, Henry turned to see why, and I watched as Henry read Chris’ body language too.

Realizing his mistake, Chris started apologizing immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see a cuff...”

Hen interjected. “My bad. I forgot to tell him.” He said it as much to the approaching Joe as to me. “No cuffs here, mate.” He patted Chris’ shoulder. “We don’t use cuffs here. We use necklaces instead.” My hand shot to my necklace a beautiful ruby surrounded by diamonds.

Joe arrived now, pushing between Chris and I and wrapping his arms around me. I could tell by the look on his face that he was irate. “Daddy,” I whispered to try to sooth him.

“I’m so sorry,” Chris held his hands up. “My apologies.”

Joe grumbled and looked down at me. “Are you ok, baby girl?

“I’m perfectly fine.” I said as I leaned into Joe. “Just a misunderstanding.” I was still trying to sooth Joe’s anger.

“I’m so sorry.” Chris dropped his head in a perfectly rehearsed beg for forgiveness. “I didn’t know.”

“Really, it was my fault.” Henry interrupted Chris.

I needed to defuse the situation quickly, but I wasn’t sure how. My brain raced as I tried to figure what might sooth Joe. Blow job face? Yeah… that should do it. I kept my head down and peered my eyes up at Joe with the same look I always gave him when I blew him. In theory, that should distract him. He paused a moment looking at me. He couldn’t help but smile at my obvious ploy to calm him. “No worries.” He extended a hand to Chris. “Just a misunderstanding.” He grabbed my chin and kissed me, like he was marking his territory.

 “I want to thank you.” I told Ann as we relaxed with our friends.

She looked puzzled. “What did I do?”

“Earlier… in the car…” I prodded.

She reached her hand out to pat my hand and smiled big. “I figured Joe was the jealous type.” She winked at me. “Plus, I didn’t say anything that isn’t true. You really don’t like Mr. Evans.”

“I didn’t say that.” I grinned and the women around me laughed.

Ann turned to see our men sitting across the room playing cards. Following her gaze, I turned to see them too. My eyes locked with Joe’s, and a sinful grin lit up his face. “There’s only 1 man for you right now, and even Chris Evans can’t mess that up.” Everyone laughed. Everyone except me. Joe’s gaze burned through me and my body reacted.

“Do you need to go?” Stephanie asked me, turning my attention back to our friends.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what Joe wanted, but just as I began to wonder, he nodded at me as if to say Go on. Have fun, and he focused his attention back on his friends. “No. I’ve got time.” I said with my eyes still locked on Joe.

We stayed for a couple of hours catching up. It wasn’t uncommon after meetings for the doms to keep to themselves and the subs keep to ourselves, but before too long, Henry and Chris made their way over to our group. It didn’t escape my notice that Joe immediately headed my way, almost catching up to Henry and Chris.

As the gentlemen neared, Ben, one of the subs, let out a low grumble of approval followed by “I hope he’s bi.”

As the group of doms approached us, I mused at how ALL of the subs quieted down as if we were all under their spell. Joe’s arm quickly wrapped around my waist as he approached me….. claimed me… marked his territory, and in truth, I was thrilled at his possessiveness. More than a few of the subs looked jealously at me with the giant Samoan. He placed a gentle kiss to my forehead and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Are you having fun?” The sultry tone of his voice immediately turned me on. I took a deep breath in before answering yes. “Do you want to stay here or go home?”

Dammit! He knew what his soft whisper in my ear was doing to me. He’d already begun the scene and we weren’t even alone, but as he towered over me possessively and protectively, I relaxed into his presence and realized it was time to go home even though it was early.

“Henry, Chris.” Joe shook their hands. “It’s time for us to go home.” He kissed my temple as if he was rubbing it in that we were together. Rubbing it in to who though? The dozen or so subs that sat around us? To Henry or Chris? It honestly didn’t matter. If daddy said it’s time then it’s time.

We made our excuses and went to Joe’s car in the parking garage attached to the club. I neared the passenger side door waiting for him to open it as usual. Instead, he reached out putting his hands on the car trapping me between them. “Mine!” he growled as he buried his face in my neck, trailing soft kisses over the hot skin. “Mine.”

“Yours!” I sighed as he continued his seduction on me. He moved an arm long enough to brush my hair off my shoulder to get better access to my neck. My hands clawed at his back as he drove me mad with his teasing.

“Mine!” He looked down at me, locking my stare with his. “Remember that.” His tone was half desperation.

“Yours.” I said sweetly now. “Only yours.” The words seemed to calm him a bit, and he opened the car door allowing me to climb inside before closing the door behind me and coming around the car to the driver’s side.

Once we were on the road, Joe placed his huge, warm hand on my knee, his thumb lazily drawing circles for a minute before he slid his hand up to the hem of my dress. “Pull it up,” he commanded and I quickly did. “Underwear off,” was his next command.

Sliding the silky material down, I held the scant cloth up for him to see. He quickly grabbed it from my hands and tucked it into his pocket. “Mine!” He joked.

I intended to laugh, but his hand shot straight to my pussy, gently running a finger over my slit. When the skin parted and his finger found my moisture, he smiled wide. “Ready for me already?” I felt a little embarrassed at how quickly my body responded to him, so I kept quiet. “Good girl.” He said as he slid his finger up to my clit.

Instantly, he started circling it gently. Damn! He knew exactly how to touch me. In seconds I was already moaning in pleasure. Just when I thought I’d explode from his attention on my clit, he slid a finger inside.

This couldn’t have been safe. He split his attention between driving and getting me off, and as he leaned forward to get a better position to slide 2 fingers deep inside me, I fretted for a second but the pleasure his fingers gave me quelled my fears. Trust him… the first rule.

Closing my eyes and leaning my head against the seat, I surrendered to him.  The bite of the cold winter night nipped at the edges of my consciousness, but the only thing I could focus on was his fingers. They slid in, filling me, out and slid over my clit. In filling me, out sliding over my clit…. It was a beautiful torture.

He built me up until I begged him to stop. “Daddy, please.”

“Please what?” He tried to sound innocent.

I growled in frustration. “Daddy, Stop the car. Pull over… do something. I need to cum.” I whined needily next to him as my hips bucked up to meet his hand.

“Soon baby girl. We’re just a couple of blocks away.” He chuckled. “You can make it.” He teased as he turned onto his street.

I rolled my head back and forth as my hips greedily bucked up toward his hand again. “No. Now, daddy. Please now!”

He quickly removed his fingers, resting them on my leg. Without even taking his eyes off the road he growled out, “Don’t you DARE tell daddy what to do and when to do it.” He acted mad, but when I peeked over at him, he had a devilish smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry daddy.” I hadn’t realized how bratty I was being, but seeing his smirk, I realized he was thoroughly amused. Ok. I can play brat tonight. “I just need to cum.” I sulked in my seat.

He laughed low. “You NEED what I say you need.” His amused tone of voice calmed my overheated body a bit. He pulled into his garage now, coming around to open my door as I pulled my skirt down to cover myself.

Opening the car door, he offered me his hand, and when I stood, I was wedged between the car and him. His presence was overpowering. “Come. Let me show you what you need.” He said.

@mindofasagitarius   @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist

[spine-buster]

the storm before the calm (f. andersen) | 1

A/N: The prologue has 150+ notes...I can’t believe what a positive response it got!  Thank you so much for your support, comments, DMs, likes, reblogs, and tags!  It means the world!  Enjoy the first chapter :)

She could be at Early Mercy.

It was all Frederik could think about as he tried to celebrate Bee McTavish’s birthday.  She could be here.  She could be one of these people that keep looking at us, that keep brushing up against Auston and I trying to get our attention.  She could be one of their friends.  She could be in the washroom.  She could be coming, on her way now to Early Mercy, and she might walk through the door and I’ll see her.  It could happen.

That wasn’t to say that Fred wasn’t present and in the moment; having fun with his friends and celebrating Bee and her 24th year of life by buying drink after drink at the bar; but in the back of his mind, constantly, for the last three months – almost four – was the thought that in a random location in Toronto, in a random building, in a random place, he would lock eyes with the girl he’d seen in the middle of the night at Shopper’s Drug Mart and finally find out who she is, why she was crying, and why he was so devastatingly transfixed by her.

Fred had tried to find out who she was since then, almost obsessively so.  He was a man mesmerized and he needed to know.  He had tried to get the name of the band that performed at the function by contacting the heads of the charity, the head of public relations, the human resources manager, the man who answered the 1-800 call desk, even the poor accounts payroll manager whose email was listed on the charity’s website, but nobody would divulge the information.  He wasn’t allowed to know.  They weren’t under the discretion to divulge that information publicly (even though it was a public event).  He contacted the photographer who ended up uploading photos of the night onto his professional website (not one photo of her uploaded – what a load of shit), who expressed he couldn’t remember the name.  He tried remembering the members of his table that he had to schmooze with who could have picked up the name – nothing.  He scoured Instagram – the hashtags, the other girls that were there, the profiles, the tagged photos, the socialites he didn’t socialize with just to see if they had a picture with her or mentioned her by name.  He asked Brendan Shanahan if he knew.  He asked Kyle Dubas if he knew.  He asked every Leaf that was there that night if they caught the name, if they spoke to any of the members, if they took a picture, if it was in the background of another picture, if they remembered any minute detail that would give him a lead.  

Nothing.

His chest has been permanently tightened for almost four months now.  He needed to know.  He needed to find her.

“Serena’s here,” Auston’s voice interrupted Fred’s thoughts as he slammed his empty glass – his fourth of the night, at least – onto the bar beside Fred.  

“Who?”

“Serena – Serena!” he emphasized.  Fred’s face was still blank.  “Serena DaCosta, dude,” Auston said.  “Remember…we were hooking up a while back…”

“Oh.  Right.”

Auston looked at his friend skeptically.  “Dude, come on.”

“What?”

Fred could see the gears shifting in Auston’s head pulling him in two different directions.  Fred wanted to stop him.  Usually when this happened to Auston, it pulled him into conspiracy theory territory.  “Bro…you…you’re not hung up on Bee, are you?”

“NO!” Fred screamed, a look of disgust on his face.  “Jesus fucking Christ, Auston, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What?!  You can’t blame me for thinking it!” he tried to defend himself.  “Anytime she’s not in sight you look like someone ran over your dog.”

It’s because I’m looking for somebody.  And I can’t do that when the birthday girl is around.  “You’re a fucking lunatic.  And I know that’s the alcohol talking,” Fred shook his head.

“Then why do you look like someone ran over your dog?!” Auston persisted.  “The city’s hottest girls are in this damn club right now practically lining up to hook up with you and you seem to not give a fuck because of…what?  Hmmm?” Auston waited for an answer dramatically, sticking out his head, raising his eyebrows, and pursing his lips slightly.  “You can’t hate me for wondering.”

“Yes, I can.”

“So what’s the reason, then?”

“There’s no reason,” Fred shook his head again, taking a sip from his drink and hoping Auston would just end it.

But of course, that wasn’t the case.  Auston always had to explore the other side of the gears shifting in his brain – the non-conspiracy theory side.  The side that was – unfortunately – usually right.  “Wait a second…” Auston narrowed his eyes.  “Oh…dude.”

“What?”

“You’re not still hung up on that girl, are you?”

The hairs of Fred’s neck stood on end.  “What girl?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Auston said.  “The girl you’ve been obsessed with the last three months.  From the charity event.  That you haven’t been able to find.”

Fred didn’t mean to hesitate – he really didn’t.  But in his simple hesitation and shaking his head and stuttering out a “N – No,” Auston had him, Auston won, and Auston knew he was right.  

“Brooooooo,” Auston threw his head back in disdain for Fred.  “Let.  It.  GO!”

“Fuck off, Auston.”

“Are you honestly going to be hung up on her for the rest of the year?  For the rest of your life?” Auston kept asking.  “It’s already been three months, Fred.  You couldn’t find her.  You can’t find her.  It’s a lost cause.  You can’t let this dictate your life.  You’ve gotta…you’ve gotta move on.  If it was meant to be you would have found her already, and you haven’t.”

“Thanks, Auston,” Fred rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious, man.  Think about it.  You can’t get hung up on this girl when you don’t even know her name.  There’s so many other things you could be spending your time on, so many other girls you can be paying attention to, that can be paying attention to you, but you can’t even see it!”

Before Auston could continue his lecture, the girl Freddie could only presume to be Serena DaCosta appeared behind Auston.  Her long, wavy blonde hair and plump lips spread into a smile enticed Auston automatically.  “Hey,” Auston smirked.

“Heeeeeeyyyyyyy yyyoooouuuuu,” she drawled out flirtingly, giving him an unsolicited and dramatic kiss on the cheek.  “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for a friend’s birthday,” Auston said.

“Anybody I know?” Serena asked.  Fred could see the rest of her group of friends approaching them.  He held his breath.

“No,” he said sharply.  Auston knew better than to mention Bee’s name in front of girls like this, after what happened.  Not that he ever did, though, because Auston was somewhat protective of Bee too and didn’t want these types of girls even knowing about her.  “What are you doing here?”

Serena shrugged her shoulders.  “Just had a feeling that I should be out tonight,” she said, her eyes flashing towards Fred.  “Hey Freddie.”  Fred nodded towards her as he took another sip of his drink.  He didn’t even bother.  When her friends approached them, he clocked out altogether.  Serena got the hint.  “Auston, you remember Jessy and Rachel and Loren?”

“Hey ladies,” Auston winked at them, not remembering them at all.  

“Catch you later,” Fred said quickly into Auston’s ear, attempting to get up from his seat to go and find Bee, Morgan, and Tyler.

Fred saw Auston’s hand come up and hold him down.  “Have you met Loren?”

***

“Are you guys going to take a taxi home?” Bee asked as she clung onto Morgan for dear life.  After dancing the night away at Early Mercy, Fred knew Bee was ready to call it a night.  Auston had tried to convince the manager to keep it open (while Serena hung on his arm, nonetheless), but to no avail.  Special rules couldn’t be made for Auston Matthews.  It was law.  The manager was really sorry.  So everybody decided to call it a night.

“Don’t worry, sweetcheeks,” Tyler fumbled around with Auston’s phone.  “Our Uber’s just down the street.”  He looked towards Auston, another ping coming from his phone.  “That girl just texted you five times in a row.”

“Of course,” Auston rolled his eyes.

“Am I still sleeping over yours?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not cockblocking am I?”

“Far from it.  If you’re over it gives a legitimate reason for her not to follow us home.”

Tyler’s eyes widened.  “I’ll call the cops if I need to.”

“Freddie?” he heard his name called by Bee’s overly sweet voice.  “Freddie how are you getting home?” she asked as she approached him, clinging onto the material of his shirt.  

“I’m grabbing an Uber with Auston and Tyler,” he said, holding her in place so she wouldn’t fall over.  He loved seeing Bee like this, if only because she was so poised and in control of herself 99% of the time.  He loved seeing her let loose. 

“Are you going home?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to be safe?”

Fred giggled at her tone of voice.  “Yes Bee.  I’ll be safe.  I don’t know many people who would jump a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-forty-pound man.  In an Uber.”

“But you always look so expensive,” she said.  He also loved that Bee had no filter.  “You always dress so nice and wear such expensive things and look put together and I once got told by this lady that people look for people who look rich because --”

“Bee --”

“Because it means they have money and did you know that thieves will actually target people who have sleeve tattoos because it means they have a lot of money if it means they can get all that work done?  So Auston has to be careful too.”

Fred couldn’t help but laugh as he saw, in his peripheral vision, their Uber come up along the curb.  Tyler was waving his arms like one of those flag guys on the tarmacs outside of planes.  “I’ll make sure Auston is safe, Bee.”

“Thank you, you big boy.”

“Alright!  Let’s blow this popsicle stand!” Tyler yelled from the car.  Fred gave one last ‘Happy Birthday’ and kiss on the cheek to Bee before shoving himself into the backseat (why, oh why didn’t they order an SUV?  His legs were going to cramp so bad), pulling an almost-drunk Auston in with him, and ordering Tyler to take the front seat (it should have been him taking the front seat, because, you know, leg room.  Tyler was 5’9”.  He could fit in the trunk.) so they could get on with it.  

Because they had ordered the Uber from Auston’s phone, the driver was bringing them to Auston’s address.  Fred made sure to tell him right from the get-go that he would need to make two stops.  The driver complied easily.  

“Did you like any of them?” Auston asked as he leaned awkwardly into the middle section of the backseat, looking at Fred with beady eyes.

“Like any of who?” Fred asked.  He overheard Tyler making awkward conversation with the Uber driver from the front seat, telling him his name was Inigo Montoya a la Princess Bride.

“Loren thought you were hot.”

“Oh for fuck sakes,” Freddie sighed.  “Auston--”

“Get over her,” Auston said authoritatively.  “She’s not gonna appear out of thin air, Fred.  She’s not just gonna appear in a Starbucks while you’re ordering coffee.  Loren is a real person,” he emphasized.  “With lips, and boobs – nice ones – and--”

“Auston.”

“Will you at least just think about it?” Auston asked.  “I hate seeing you so pissy.  You’re Frederik fucking Andersen dude.  You should be having every God damn girl in this city if you wanted.”

On the one hand, Auston had a point.  Fred hated to admit it, but he did.  Maybe he was too hung up on this.  Maybe he was over-the-top about his search, about his constant thinking about her.  Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, and he was just holding onto a dream that didn’t need holding on to; a dream that needed to stay unfulfilled, undone, incomplete.  Maybe he was trying to force fate – the last thing anybody should do.  

Fred took a deep breath as they felt the car pull up to the curb.  Out the window, Fred could see the façade of Auston’s apartment building.  “I’ll think about it.”

Auston smiled mischievously before winking.  “Atta boy,” he pulled himself up, opening the door to the car.  “Her Instagram is at lorenxoxo.  Thank you kindly, sir,” he directed to the Uber driver, saluting him dramatically.  “Slip into her DMs.”

“Goodnight Auston,” Fred dismissed him.  Fred watched as Tyler and Auston stumbled their way into Auston’s building, getting inside safely.  The car had been quiet from a lack of music, but as he saw Tyler open the door, the opening notes of a guitar riff began to play over the stereo.  

Suddenly, Fred heard the back door opposite his side of the car open, and a body slipped into the backseat beside him, closing the door once they were in.  The first thing he noticed was the abundance of thick, luxurious hair, styled in old Hollywood waves, cascading down the back and side profile, obstructing the view of her face.  Then, he noticed the outfit: a loose, spaghetti strap, silk v-neck top, lazily tucked into tight, seamless black pants, and strappy black heels.  

“Take me to Stewart Street, please,” the woman said to the driver.  Her voice was off, somehow, but Fred couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Ma’am – I – I already have a passenger.  I--”

“Stewart Street, please,” she begged, and Fred could hear in her voice that she was crying.

He looked up.

***

Aleida Casillas was crying.  Again.  She felt like she had been crying for months, that her tear ducts were getting their own workout now for how often she used them.  She cried in bed.  She cried in the shower.  She cried in her car.  She cried in her Ubers.  She cried in restaurants.  She cried in restaurant bathrooms.  She cried at her parents’ house.  She cried at her sister’s house.  She cried in her own house.  She cried on her couch.  She cried underneath a blanket.

She cried alone.  

And right now, she needed to get into the privacy of her own home so she could cry there.  But she’d have to cry in the back of an Uber to get there.

As she walked down King Street, she saw an Uber – she knew, thanks to the sticker on the back windshield – pull up and let out two drunken men who scurried into the glass condo building.  She ran towards the car as fast as her heels could carry her before it could drive away.  She opened the backseat door and slipped in, closing it behind her.  

“Take me to Stewart Street, please,” Aleida said to the driver.  She could hear the cracks in her own voice and hoped to God the driver didn’t make some sort of comment about it.  She didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.  She really didn’t think she could sob any harder at the back of an Uber more so than she had been doing the last few months.  Uber drivers in Toronto probably had her on their radar.

“Ma’am – I – I already have a passenger.  I--”

“Stewart Street, please,” she begged, looking down at her feet, her feet in their strappy heels, so she could wipe away her tears before the driver could know she was crying.  She wasn’t really listening to him.  She didn’t really care about what he was saying, truthfully, the other passenger be damned.  Turn it into an UberPool – whatever needed to happen for her to get home.  She’d even pay for the other passenger’s fare.  They could live all the way out in Scarborough.  Mississauga.  Aurora.  Newmarket.  She didn’t care.

“Holy shit.”

She looked up.

***

Fred was going to pass out.  

Her.

It was her.

He was pretty sure that his mouth was gaping open; that he looked like a complete idiot at the other end of the backseat, but his mind couldn’t process what his eyes were seeing fast enough.  The rich, dark brown hair.  The perfectly tanned and contoured skin as smooth and flawless as glass.  The dominant eyebrows that framed her face.  The perfectly cut cheekbones blushed and highlighted.  The lips, full and bow-shaped, painted with a neutral pink instead of the daring red he’d seen so many moons ago.  

Her eyes with their striking hazel irises, were staring directly into his soul.  Again.

She was here.  

In the car.  

Crying again.

“Fred,” his name escaped her lips quietly, the tears immediately stopping.  She was just as shocked as he was, apparently.  Because, really, what were the chances?  To be going home at the same time, to get into the same time…

“It’s you,” he said, not knowing what he was saying.  His brain was still trying to process everything, and it was doing a shit job.  

“It’s me.”

“Ma’am, you’re going to have to leave the vehic--”

“No no, it’s fine,” Fred said quickly, making eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror, waving him off.  “Take her to Stewart Street.”

“You sure?”

“Positive,” Fred said without even looking at him.  Soon, he felt the gear shift into drive and the driver pull away from the curb.

The girl had begun to wipe the tears away from her face delicately, trying to mask her condition.  As if Fred didn’t catch it.  He watched her for a few moments as she stared straight ahead as to not make eye contact with him, not knowing what to say at all.  What could he say?  That he’d been obsessed with her?  That he’d badgered his teammates and strangers about her?  But before he could overthink it, his mind decided to say the one thing that was true.  “I’ve been trying to find you.”

She didn’t bother to look at him, still trying to collect her tears, her emotions.  “You have?  Why?”

He had to be honest.  “Your eyes,” he admitted.  It was at that point that she looked at him again, the hazel irises stabbing him.  “Your eyes are so sad.”

They were both hyperaware of the verb he used.  Are.  Because they definitely were sad then, and they were sad now.  For a moment, however quick it was, there was an acknowledgement on her face; it soon turned to anger – brows furrowed and lips pursed, looking away again.  “That’s none of your business.”

Fred acquiesced.  He knew that.  Maybe that was too forward of him.  “What’s your name, then?  I – I need to know your name.”

She shot him a glance.  Against her better judgement, she answered him.  “Aleida.”

“Aleida what?”

“Aleida.”

“How did you know who I was…am,” he corrected himself.  

Aleida gave him another look.  “Everybody knows who you are, Fred.  Goalie extraordinaire of the Maple Leafs.  Girls in this city would line up outside your bedroom if only you’d let them.”

It was Fred’s turn to give her a look.  That wasn’t true at all.  Well, not to him.  He could still go around some places in the city without getting recognized – especially when he was alone.  He mostly just kept to himself.  When he was with Auston it was a different story, since Auston’s reputation preceded him.  “Why don’t I know who you are?”

“Maybe you just weren’t looking hard enough,” she said.

That was a joke.  If she only knew what he had been up to.  If only she knew.  “Why aren’t you answering my questions?”

“Why do keep asking them?”

“Because I want to know who you are,” Fred hit back, more firmly this time.  Didn’t she get that?  Didn’t she get the reason why the first words out of his mouth were ‘Holy shit’ was because of exactly that?

“Ma’am, we’re here.  Stewart Street,” the driver said from the front seat.  “Wasn’t a log drive.”  He put the car in park and unlocked the doors, the sound dramatically filling the air.

She took once last look at Fred as she opened the door.  “My name is Aleida.  That’s all you will need to know more.”

And then she was gone.

***

Frederik found himself riding the elevator up to the 31st floor of the St. Regis Hotel.  The elevator attendant marveled at his size, trying to hide the fact that he was staring.  The other women in the elevator – four of them – stared too, trying not to giggle to each other.  But Fred could see their eyes.  He could see their eyes dart towards him and then to one another, smirks appearing on their faces, stifled little giggles escaping them as the elevator rushed up.  

When the elevator pinged, and the doors opened, Fred found himself at Louix Louis, the luxurious, gilded bar that had Torontonians salivating at the mouth.  It was the most luxurious of the luxurious.  Lavish.  Opulent.  You name it.  It was everything people loved about indulgence.  Everything people loved about exclusivity; about standing in line and not getting in; about calling for reservations and being denied; about watching people, seeing people, wanting to be seen, waiting to be seen.  

“Hey Fred,” the hostess winked immediately as he approached her podium.  “Auston’s been waiting.”

“Thanks,” he responded shyly as she grabbed a menu from beneath her.

“Follow me, sweetie.”

Fred shook his head and chuckled to himself as she turned her back to him, leading him down the bar and to one of the booths in the back where he could already see Auston waiting.  And of course, like the sky is blue, Auston was wearing a beanie.  He was the only person in Toronto who would wear a beanie in Louix Louis.

“’Bout time,” Auston smiled as Fred shuffled into the opposite side of the booth.  

“Shut up.”

“Serena, Jessy, Rachel, and Loren are on their way,” Auston winked.

“You didn’t,” Fred deadpanned, thinking this was just going to be a quiet night.  He should have known better.  He should have known better to accept an invitation by Auston to go to Louix Louis.  

“Oh, I did,” Auston smiled.  “She’s into you, bro.”

“Who?”

“Loren.”

“Who’s Loren?”

“Oh, fuck off, Fred.”

Fred rolled his eyes.  He couldn’t care less.  He decided to one up Auston; to tell him what he wanted to tell him ever since he agreed to go out with him tonight.  “I found her, by the way.”

“Found who?” Auston sipped at his drink.

“The girl.  Aleida.”

Auston almost spit out his drink.  “What?!”

Fred nodded his head.  “She got into the Uber the night of Bee’s birthday once you and Tyler left.”

“You’re fucking telling me--”

“Aaaaaaustttooooooonnn!” a perky, overzealous voice cut their conversation way too short.  From the opposite end of the bar, where Fred was let in, he saw the same group of girls from Bee’s birthday make their way towards them.  Their designer purses hung on chains against their shoulders as their long hair, perfectly blow-dried at some salon in Yorkville, moved with their scurried movements.  At Louix Louis, you wanted to be seen in the same booth as Auston Matthews.  

“Hey heeeeey,” Auston smiled, scooting over to make room while the four girls entered all on his side.  The girl Fred could only assume was Loren eyed him like a hawk, the waitress approaching the table not long after to get everybody’s drink orders.

Auston exchanged formalities with the ladies as Fred stayed silent, but he could tell that Auston was pressed about the news Fred had just revealed.  For all Auston seemed like he didn’t care about things and was generally aloof, he could be a snoopy bitch.  A really snoopy bitch.  And Fred could tell Auston wanted to talk about it so bad.

Fred thought he would wait.

But he didn’t.  

“Hey girls, can you help me with something?” he preempted quickly.  “Actually, it’s more so helping Fred.”

Fred’s eyes widened.  “N – No--”

“What do you girls know about a girl named Al-ay-da?” he stressed her name – improperly – eyeing Fred quickly.

“Oh my God.”

“Oh my God.”

“Oh my GAWD.”

“Aleida Casillas?!”

“Oh my God, are you joking?” Serena piped up over the other three.  “There is no way Aleida Casillas didn’t bite Fred’s head off if she met him.  That girl is a fucking cannibal.”

“What?  Listen, all I wanna know is the details,” Auston held his hands up innocently.

“What is there to say about Aleida Casillas,” Jessy quipped, and Fred felt like she was going to break out into the Regina George monologue from Mean Girls.  “You know who her mom is, right?” she directed at Auston, but looked between him and Fred.

“No, I obviously don’t.”

“It’s Dr. Casillas – she’s, like, the best plastic surgeon in the city.  The country.”

“Girls who go to her say she does the best work,” Loren contributed.  Fred so desperately wanted to ask if she had gotten anything done for her to say something like that, but he of course decided against it.  “It all looks so natural.”

“And her dad – he’s like, the best cardiologist in the country,” Serena added.  “I’m not exaggerating.  My cousin in med school once watched him perform a quadruple bypass and a ten hour ventricular restoration.  He’s even done heart surgery on a former Prime Minister or whatever.  He’s been honoured for his work all over the world.  It’s insane.”

“Not to mention the family is loaded.  She’s got everything anybody could ever want.  I mean, Aleida thinks she owns the city,” Jessy said.

“Well…she kinda does,” Rachel said something besides oh my God.  “She’s got all the money in the world, she knows everybody worth knowing, but like, she’s friends with them too, and people want her to wear their clothes or whatever, or come to their bars, or attend their charity events.  I mean, it’s mainly because of who her parents are, but still.  She sings, sometimes, I think, but I think mostly she just shows up places--”

“--she’s a model--”

“—she’s a model, and she’s pretty, and people are, like, scared of her, because I heard one time she, like, ruined the career of some up-and-coming influencer – or was it a designer? – but she ruined his career cause that person, like, didn’t dress one of her friends for an event or something and she went ballistic.”

“She’s a cannibal, like I said,” Serena said assertively.  “She’s a huge bitch.  Why would you want to know anything about her?”

Fred was shocked, to say the least.  The person he’d met – if you could even call it that – in the Shopper’s Drug Mart that night, and the person he’d seen in the backseat of the Uber could not have been the same person.  There was no way.  There was no way that crying girl was a ‘cannibal’.  There was no way.  The family stuff could be true, sure – who was he to question that – but the other stuff?  Ruining a career?  Impossible.  It wasn’t that Fred thought they were lying.  But maybe…maybe they had the wrong girl.  How many girls could be named Aleida?  Maybe they were…embellishing.

“Yeah.  Why would you want to know anything about her?” Loren asked, eyeing Fred like a hawk again.

Fred tried not to make it seem like he was physically uncomfortable every time she looked at him, but he was getting physically uncomfortable.  “She just performed at an event we went to,” Fred explained briefly.  

“I wouldn’t even think of like, doing anything,” Serena took charge again.  “She’ll rip your head off.”

Well Fred knew where she stood.

“Enough about Aleida,” Auston held his hands up again, looking past everybody at the waitress that was bringing their drinks to the table.  “What are we up to tonight?” he smirked.

Fred clocked out.  He didn’t care about anything that was being done or said around him – he didn’t care what those girls were saying at all.  He didn’t care.  He didn’t care.  He didn’t care.  

Casillas.

Her last name was Casillas.

He got up abruptly, asking a passing waiter where the washrooms were.  Auston was too entranced by the girls to care, so Fred had no qualms leaving.  As he made his way towards the washrooms, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.  He typed out her name into the Google search bar .  ‘Aleda Casiyas’

‘Do you mean Aleida Casillas?’

Well fine then.  

There she was on his phone screen.  It wasn’t like she had a Wikipedia page or anything, but perhaps even more important, especially in this city, was that she had her own tag on the Toronto Life website.  The Narcity tag was there too, but that wasn’t as important.  He clicked on the Toronto Life link.  

Aleida Casillas, wearing vintage Jean Paul Gaultier, at Soho House, Toronto.

What Aleida Casillas wore to the premier of Guillermo Del Toro’s new film.

Aleida Casillas is the face for emerging Toronto fashion designer Guinevere Jones.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” he heard an all-too-familiar voice behind him.  “Loren’s barely turned 18.”

Fred spun around dramatically.  

There she was behind him.  

He almost couldn’t believe his eyes.  Almost.  But if she could sneak into the backseat of his Uber, she could appear at Louix Louis.  She could appear anywhere.  And of course, she looked flawless.  Makeup flawless, hair flawless, all of it.  If she really was a model, he could see why.  “What are you doing here?” Fred asked.

“Who isn’t at Louix Louis on a Friday night?” she countered.  

Fred’s head whipped back and forth between the direction of the booth and Aleida standing in front of him.  He was willing to ditch this entire scene.  “Are you ready to talk?”

“About what?”

“Why you were crying in a Shopper’s Drug Mart at two in the morning four months ago,” Fred deadpanned.  “And why you were crying before you stole an Uber?”

Aleida’s face dropped.  Whatever confidence she had in her power and persuasion over Fred left her and was replaced with something else – that something else, Fred didn’t know yet.  But it wasn’t confidence, and it wasn’t self-assurance, and it sure wasn’t was the cheekiness she’d displayed in any and all interaction she’d had with him (however brief) up until this point.  “You don’t want to get into it,” she said, her voice soft.  And for the first time, emotional.

“I do.”

She looked at him.  “Fred.”

“Can we get out of here?”

Aleida took a deep breath.  She tugged on the hem of his shirt as she started walking away.  

He followed her.

She made an abrupt stop at the booth.  When Auston saw her, he didn’t think anything of it, but when he saw Fred behind her, his eyes went wide.  All the girls stopped talking and looked like a ghost had just appeared in front of them. 

“Ohmigod Aleida, hi,” Serena said first.  

Aleida smiled at her, but it wasn’t politely.  She focused her attention back to Auston.  “I’m taking Fred.”  She didn’t give him an option.

“Th-that’s cool,” he couldn’t say anything else to her.  

Aleida looked back at the girls, specifically Serena.  “I’m sorry, who are you?”

Serena’s jaw almost dropped from embarrassment.  It was clear to Fred that despite calling her a cannibal a mere ten minutes ago, Serena would butter herself up if it meant Aleida would eat her.  “It’s…it’s me!  Serena Da Costa.”

Aleida’s eyes flashed.  “Oh!  Right!  From my mom’s clinic!” she exclaimed, her surprise feigned and her polite tone just as fake.  She pointed at Serena.  “You came in with…” she went through the girls with her pointed finger, stopping on Loren.  “You!  How was your eighteenth birthday in June?  Looks like your parents allowed you to get the boobs you wanted.”

Loren looked absolutely mortified.  “I--”

“And your new lips,” Aleida focused on Serena again.  “Isn’t my mom just so great?”

Now Serena looked absolutely mortified.  But it was Auston who looked ready to crawl into a hole and die since she mentioned the eighteenth birthday party.  “Uh--”

“Anyways, see you guys later.  I’m sure one of you will want a nose job soon,” she winked at the group before walking off.

***

“So why were you crying?”

Fred was on Aleida’s couch now, after having followed her home by foot, walking for half an hour.  Half an hour along King Street West, illuminated lights and flashing storefronts lighting the way.  Eager clubbers spilling onto the streets tried to do their part to distract Fred or block him from following, but he was like a man possessed.  His eyes were like a hawk’s on her.  There was no way he was losing her again in a crowd full of people on King Street.

They passed the Shopper’s Drug Mart.  

It was when they happened upon a row of expansive, luxurious, modern townhomes, coincidentally just a few blocks from his building that Fred began to realize that maybe the things those girls were saying were right, or at least partly true.  But the other thing he realized made him want to scream.  He had searched for her for months and she was practically just a few steps away from him?  He understood the universe worked in mysterious ways, but this was just plain cruel.  That she had been so close to him, physically, and he had no idea.  It tore him up.  

They’d gone inside.  She took off her heels.  She’d opened a bottle of wine and poured it into two glasses before standing at opposites ends of her expansive kitchen island, staring at each other, waiting for the other to speak.  It was Fred who obviously broke first.  It was Fred who couldn’t wait any longer; who wanted to get to the bottom of why her eyes were – are – so sad that night, and in the Uber, and tonight.  Because behind her façade, he could see her sadness.  Behind the snarky comments she made towards those girls with Auston, Aleida Casillas was profoundly sad.  

She took a deep breath.  “My uh…my old piano instructor – from when I was a kid – she passed away earlier that day,” Aleida revealed, her voice low.

“Were you close?”

“I think I loved her more than I loved my parents when I was a kid.”

Fred was shocked to hear such a statement come out of her mouth.  Considering that he just learned who her parents were, it was…different for him to hear such a thing.  “Why?”

She shrugged her shoulders.  “She listened,” she said simply.  “No-one ever listens.  No-one ever…no-one ever listens.  To me.  But she did.  She listened.  More than anyone.  And she saw me."

“She saw you?”

“She saw me for who I was and not what she wanted me to be,” Aleida continued.  “She was the best.”

There was a moment of silence between them.  Fred was unsure of what to say.  He knew he wanted her to open up to him, but he wasn’t expecting…this.  Truthfully, he was expecting something completely different.  A breakup with a boyfriend, or at least a fight.  A disagreement with a friend.  A lost job opportunity or a firing.  But not a death of a childhood piano teacher.  “I just couldn’t get over your eyes – the sadness in your eyes.  And it’s still there.”

“Listen.  I don’t know what those girls told you about me tonight.  And I didn’t mean to make you scared that night when I called you Fred and knew who you were.  I just…you made it obvious that you didn’t see me in there.  Nobody did.  And that was a stark reminder to me of her being gone.  Anyway…there…there’s a lot going on right now, and nobody cares.”

He could tell she knew she was rambling; that she stopped herself from revealing too much.  He persisted.  “Nobody cares?”

“Nobody fucking cares,” she stressed before taking a long sip of wine.

“Well, can you tell me a bit about yourself?” he asked.  Her eyes flashed at him, her brows furrowing.  “So I can get to know you?  So I can care?”

“I’m sure those girls told you enough about me,” she commented.  “Whatever people say I am, I am.  Isn’t that how all this works?”

“No, and you know that,” he said.  “You apparently know all this information about me and about those girls with Auston, but why don’t I know anything about you?  Just be honest.”

“Well what’d those girls say about me?”

He paused before taking a deep breath.  “Cannibal.”

“Cannibal?”

“Serena said you were a cannibal.  Your parents – doctors.  Your family – loaded.  All the money in the world.  That you’re a model.  A bitch.  That you ruined someone’s career because they wouldn’t dress your friend for an event,” he listed off.

Aleida’s eyes narrowed at the last bit.  Her tone was as assertive as the click of her heels on the sidewalk on the way here.  “That designer attempted to sexually assault one of my best friends, so you’re damn right I ruined his career.  And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

So she was misunderstood.  Or at least her life was.  Fred still didn’t know.  “But what’s the truth?”

“Isn’t there a bit of truth in everything?” she asked rhetorically.  

“You tell me.”

Aleida couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.  “Everything they told you about me is true.  Doctor parents.  Loaded.  All the money in the world.  A bitch.  A cannibal.”

“Yet you cry about your piano teacher dying,” he commented.  Her eyes shot daggers at him at his comment.  For a second, he was sure he was going to die right then and there.  “You’re hiding behind this tough exterior and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude but I think you care more than anyone.”

“Don’t you ever use that against me ever again,” she snapped back at him.  “I do fucking care, okay?  Everybody fucking cares, and if they say they don’t they’re liars.  That’s why Serena was practically salivating at the mouth when she saw me and couldn’t handle it when I pretended not to know who she was.  She’ll call me a cannibal but if I’m the shark she’s that fish that attaches itself and sucks the bacteria off my body.”  Her tone was so scathing, Fred had never heard anything like it.  She paused.  “You want to know the truth?  Here’s your truth.  I’m Cuban-Canadian.  My dad is one of the best cardiologists in the entire world and my mother is the best plastic surgeon in the country.  I’ve got an older sister named Alejandra who’s a plastic surgeon too.  I grew up in Rosedale.  I went to private school.  I received the best education.  I have millions and millions of dollars at my disposal whenever I want it and get to spend it however I want it.  People ask me to model their clothes, to go to their events, to say nice things about them.  They want me to sing and play piano and give this air that their event is high-end and exclusive and luxurious just because I’m there – because my presence apparently means something to a lot of people in the city.  And every single one of those people – my dad, mom, sister, her husband, everybody who wants something from me – they look at me, all the time, but they don’t see me.  And for once in my life…for once in my life, I just want to be seen.”

Fred listened.  It was all he could do as she went into her speech.  There were no words of comfort that could be said to her, no grand gestures that could be done to make her feel better.  He barely knew her – really.  He barely knew her.  He only felt a connection to her; to her and her sad eyes, to her tears, to the image of her cathartic crying at two in the morning in a drugstore neither of them had any business of being in at that hour.  

So instead, he stared at her.  He nodded his head in understanding.  Because he did understand, to some extent – how people in their lives look but they never really see.  It was something that bound them together.  In the vast city of Toronto, from the bright lights of King Street West to the luxurious décor of Louix Louis, to the couch they found themselves sitting on sipping on an expensive wine, it connected them.

He took a deep breath.  “So you play piano then?  And you sing?” he asked.  Aleida nodded her head.  He couldn’t read her emotion as she took another sip of wine.  “Can I hear or see you play sometime?”

“No.”

Fred nodded.  It would take a while for her to open up more.  To show him more of herself, to let her guard and her attitude down.  For her to allow him to see her.

But he’d be there for it.

[bayern-moni]

On the scale of 0-10, how much do you want to kick Madara's ass, Mito?

Mito: It goes between 7/10 in normal circumstances to 1000/10 when he purposely behaves like a scassapalle ( = pain in the ass but not quite that exactly).

Sometimes, I do want to kick his ass because it seems to be the only thing able to stop him from being too unnecessarily contrarious just for the sake of it, in a self-(and others)destructive way. Because, sometimes, Madara isn't able to see his own bullshit if nobody points it out to him, but unfortunately the only way Madara'd let himself listen to others' reason is if that person is able to beat it into him.

So be it, I'm fine with it and he is too. We made this deal and that's the start of our friendship, did you know?

So, I don't really want to kick Madara's ass per se, most of the time, even though he IS aggravating more often than what it's healthy. And grumpy, and rude, jumpy, spiteful, unforgiving, paranoid old-born man. Although his discretion, sarcastic spite and no-bullshit attitude can even be useful and entertaining when directed to the right people (and when you know how to channel him into them to prevent him from spiraling into even more twisted dramatics than those you're trying to run from). The point I'm trying to make is: you learn to handle a fight-or-fight, cornered and blunt cat and you'll know how to deal with Madara. So, I managed to reach a mutually respectful relationship with him, in spite of everything, because when he's not being ... well, himself, he's a very intelligent man and I enjoy our conversations. Although I really did want to kick his ass when I had no choice but to seal the Kyuubi into myself to help Hashirama in the Valley of the End. Because, only because HE thought that bringing a fucking Bijou at the edge of the village in order to fight Hashirama was a good idea, it does not mean that it is one. It wasn't. Not in the least, it was unnecessary and dramatic, even by his standards. I made peace with the fact I'm the first jinchuriki in Konoha early, so it's less of a big deal than it could have been, but still.

Paradoxically, I have to admit that the moments when I find him most annoying are those when he isn't even there. I'm talking about my own husband's apparent obsession with him and the (too many, if you ask me) times he just can't seem to be able to shut up about him. He told me the river story so many times I'm sure I could recite it in my sleep. I'm starting to feel like I'll be better off asking for a divorce and leave Hashirama to him out of spite. I'm sure my sanity would thank me if I did, but unfortunately I love Hashirama very much so I won't. Madara'd send him back to me within a day when the urge to strangle him for his overbearing attitude becomes too much, anyway, so it wouldn't even be a problem. In fact complaining about Hashirama's obnoxious antics with Madara is always funny, when I hear of people thinking that Hashi is a cause of contention/dislike between us I think it's just plain stupid, it's not like that at all. I know that Hashirama loves me, like he loves his brother, even Madara in a sense as well as the village.

But sometimes I feel as if all the years he spent associating his idea of peace with the alliance with the Uchiha, consequently his unwavering conviction that the only way he could achieve both was to necessarily bind Madara, the Uchiha clanhead, back to their old bond whatever it took (because it wasn't broken it was still there no matter what anyone thought it still was a gift from the divine) made him come to unconsciously link in his mind the very village's hopes of stability with Madara's own very ill-balanced stability and good will towards it.

In Hashirama's world, if Madara is pacified and he doesn't disrupt the village's armony for any reason, then the village will be fine, but the opposite is also true. Village is peace, peace is the dream, the village is the(ir?) dream (transitive property is the key here), but there's a sour, dissonant note: that's a very dangerous, unstable line of thinking, for all of us, himself and Madara included.

Because, differently from what Hashirama thinks, in Madara's vision, himself and that dream no longer coincide since when their bond was severed and it awakened his Sharingan at the river as a consequence. Their very definitions of that dream differed at the root. The mechanism stopped working, the gears need to be rearranged, not to be seen as the same as before, in order to keep working together. He's not the same as when they were little anymore and it isn't even only about Izuna's death but Madara himself. In fact it started before that, Izuna's death is one of the aggravating factors, not the trigger. Hashirama deep down knows it but he vehemently insists on ignoring it with all his might and that's what is deepening the fracture between them.

Hashirama refuses to see Madara for what he is but he wants to see only the kid he met at the river, because that kid is the one who gave Hashirama the confidence that his dream was possible. He still, genuinely, stubbornly believes that that kid still exists somewhere, because he must exist, because if Madara still believes in their village and keeps on giving him that confidence (that is, if Madara still behaves with Hashirama like that kid would, even while slowly breaking beyond repair on the inside), then eventually all will be fine and everything will adjust itself given enough time and hope. But when he doesn't, Hashirama becomes nearly paranoid and desperately tries whatever he can think of in the hope of tying Madara to their dream of the village again, this time possibly forever and indefinitely: calling him his brother (as if for Madara their real brothers weren't the only real bond while theirs is a breaking thread next to a fine but now forever severed cloth); nudging him to see Konoha villagers as they were his new family now that he lost his own (well knowing what kind of visceral bond that'd be if it were completed given that Madara is involved); giving him hope that he could be Hokage, a hope Hashirama didn't know it'd be crushed and burned to the roots by such a public humiliation. The worst part is that Hashirama doesn't even seem to be aware of half of these psychological issues of his. However, that's the person Hashirama sees, not the real Madara, never his adult, despairing, fierce-but-borderline-suicidal version. And Madara knows it, he resents it and will keep to silently poison himself with that knowledge in total, stubborn solitude until it will inevitably make him rot to the bone and erase the rest of the world with him. All of this while seeing all the underlying not-yet-born-but-still-there faults in the village's very system and Hashirama's rule! But, instead of just saying it so we can try to limit the damage, he just keeps them for himself as the indisputable proof of how the whole system is doomed to failure. To be honest, I do know why he doesn't talk, though, and that's because nobody'd listen to what is only considered an unstable, belligerent madman's apocalyptic words, no matter how prophetic they'll reveal themselves to be in the years. These are still other big reasons why I want to kick his ass, though, and I suspect that he knows. Count another reason, then.

They are just... Ahrg. Just talk, guys, like the mature people you ARE supposed to be but will never be. You understand that I'm in the middle of that, don't you? It gives me a massive headache on a good day and lately more often than not they make it a shitty day. I'm tired of constantly having to listen to Hashirama complaining about Madara this, Madara that, just because they're not sincere enough to just TALK and settle their differences within the limits of what it's actually possible, and because they don't talk about it (and when they do it seems like they are threading through two or three different discourses at the same time that nothing have to do with the problem at hand) they will never understand each other like they clearly need to and then we have to solve all the problems their bullshit leaves behind.

I'm not saying that they could resolve those problems by just talking, because they are too big for only the two of them and they often involve how something like world peace should be achieved. So, you understand why they'll never see eye to eye on that. But talking could be a start.

Mine feels like a full-time, underpaid and overly frustrating, babysitting job. Sometimes, I just want to kick both of their asses for being purposely (Madara) and unconsciously (Hashirama) difficult.

Sorry for my ramblings, but as a woman, a kunoichi and a wife I needed to vent a bit and too few people ask for my opinion nowadays, our self-appointed author first and foremost.

P. S.: I do want to kick his ass when he steals my hairpins out of spite after I have beaten him and Tobirama at shogi. 8/10, then.

For @dinainwater

It definitely got out of hand in the end 🤣 Rambling has always been a problem for me and rarely I manage to actually restrain myself, but I promise eventual next answers won't be this long. So, I hope it hasn't bored you (?) 😅. But I felt like Mito needed to make her opinion matter, so it was worth!

(If the reasoning explained above seemed twisted and unnecessarily difficult, it's because those two have a deeply unhealthy relationship)

However, thank you for your ask like always and I hope you enjoyed it 😁 whatever other question is always welcomed, don't worry 😊

*

[chalantness]

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (6/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~14,300 (part six) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY HERE! The last part of the mafia 'verse!!

I initially thought this was going to take me 1-1.5 months tops to finish, but in true Chanty fashion, it took twice that long... three months later, and we're finally at the end! I'm excited and a little nervous to get to the big reveals, and I'm warning you now that this is my first genuine attempt at writing action sequences of this kind, but I'm really happy of how this chapter and this whole story turned out and I hope you darlings are, too! I had so much fun with this 'verse, and it's definitely the closest of anything I've written to the kinds of stories I want to tell in my original works. If you liked this story overall (I know there was a lot of room for improvement!) then I think you may like the stories I've got in store as an author!

Thank you darlings for all of your support and enthusiasm!

“I must admit, I was beginning to doubt if I’d ever get the satisfaction of having a Rogers on his knees. Of course,” Anton muses, sliding both hands lazily into his pockets, “I’d always pictured it to be Joseph. Maybe Pietro. But I suppose you look enough like both of them to suffice.”

Steve clenches his jaw, eyes flickering to Wanda kneeling beside him in the middle of what seems to be an empty warehouse. Honestly, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if it’s exactly that. The restaurant he and Wanda had been about to pick up food from is near the harbor, and Steve knows that Howard Stark just bought a few shipment facilities in this area from a business going bankrupt. He mentioned they were about to break ground on this site, too, which means all of the buildings would’ve already been cleaned out and fenced off from the public, and since this place is going to be the new site for another Stark Industries building, it would make sense that Anton would have access to it.

“And you, my dear,” Anton continues, turning to Wanda, and Steve feels his entire body stiffen as Anton reaches down to grasp at Wanda’s throat, forcing her to tip her chin up to meet his stare. Her wrists are tied behind her back, probably just as tightly as Steve’s are, but her arms still wiggle as she struggles against the knot, twisting her body away from Anton as best as she can. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to get rid of you as well. If I thought you would actually stay quiet, I would’ve kept your pretty face for myself.”

Wanda narrows her eyes up at him in a glare. “I would have begged for you to kill me instead.”

“I thought you were smart enough not to show your hand.” Anton releases her throat with a shove, nearly knocking her over, and Steve grits his teeth together. “Since it seems worse than death for you, I might just change my mind. Kill your beloved brother in front of you then keep you out of sight for a while, just for my amusement.”

“I’m all for that plan,” Ivan chimes in, squatting down beside Wanda and brushing her hair from her face, glass shards from the shattered back windshield of the car still threaded through the wild strands. He grasps her chin with his fingers, flashing his teeth in a dangerous smile. “What do you think, princess? Should we have a little fun?”

“That’s enough,” Steve practically growls. “You’re not touching her.”

“Unless it’s over your dead body?” Anton guesses. “Because if that’s what you’re waiting for, it’s about to be arranged.”

“You’re not touching her, period,” Steve snaps, only barely keeping his voice from shaking, every muscle in his body going taut. He’s pissed. He’s fucking pissed, and he knows that Anton can see it in his eyes because there’s a fleeting flash of alarm in his eyes before he blinks, smug once more.

It doesn’t fool Steve, though. Anton might’ve taken his gun, and he might have Steve on his knees with his hands tied, but the man still feels threatened by him.

“You’re not in any position to be making threats,” Ivan spits out at Steve, practically sneering. “But what else would I expect? You Rogers feel like you own the fucking world. Howard barely even blinks in my direction all these years and yet, you step in and he serves his precious niece up to you on a silver platter, just because you’re Joseph’s boy.”

Steve curls his fists even tighter, somehow, almost tight enough that his fingernails practically break through his own skin. “Therein lies your problem,” Steve replies, and some small, selfish part of him relishes in the obvious annoyance flickering in Ivan’s expression at how calm his voice is, almost nonchalant. No doubt the guy thinks it only proves his belief that Steve feels like he’s entitled. “Maybe if you stopped treating women like playthings, he might start to consider you as someone worth acknowledging.”

Ivan half-shoves his hand away from Wanda, just as Anton had, and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt with his fist, hauling him onto his feet as he practically growls in his face.

Steve blinks back at him, jaw ticking, but he manages to keep his expression composed. Which of course only pisses Ivan off even more.

“You think you can just swoop in and take your daddy’s place on top?” Ivan demands. “You think you’ve got everyone fooled?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve hitches his mouth up ever so slightly in a smirk. “I think being head of the Family already speaks for itself. Not that you’d know what that kind of respect is like considering Howard barely considers you one of his soldiers.”

Ivan grits his teeth. “I’m the only one who isn’t too big of a coward to be scared off by Stark’s made up rules. That’s the real reason he doesn’t get in my way.”

“You’re a liability,” Steve counters. “You think my father is the only reason I get any respect? Your father is the only reason you haven’t been cut off.”

A growl rips of Ivan’s throat. “You little—”

“Calm down, boy!” Anton barks, yanking Ivan back by his jacket, and Ivan shoves Steve back before shrugging his father’s hand off of him, still gritting his teeth. “This is why you get sloppy. He’s trying to rile you up and you’re falling for it.”

Steve holds back a grunt of discomfort as his knees hit the ground again, his body very nearly swaying back from the force of Ivan’s shove, but he manages to catch his balance at the last second. Anton is in Ivan’s face now, his words coming out in a low hiss as he says something to Ivan under his breath, and Steve takes the moment of distraction to turn to Wanda once more. He hadn’t wanted to risk more than just a few quick glances, wanting to avoid drawing any more attention onto her. It’s already obvious to Anton and Ivan that the only real advantage they have over Steve is his sister, and likewise for Wanda, but actually showing that weakness is even worse.

He was worried that she might’ve been more banged up from the crash than he initially thought, and now that he has the time to look for any injuries, he notices a fresh scrape on her arm, probably from when Anton dragged her from the wreckage. But it isn’t bleeding, nor does it seem all that deep, so he won’t worry over it right now.

What does worry him, though, is the fact that Wanda is still squirming against her restraints. It’s subtle enough that Ivan and Anton probably won’t notice, but Steve does, and for a moment he thinks that maybe she’s in discomfort because of how tightly the rope could be knotted around her wrists—but then he catches a glimpse of something shifting behind her back. The slim, black metal is hidden by Wanda’s blouse at an awkward angle with the way her wrists are tied together, but he recognizes it in an instant.

Bucky’s knife.

... ...

The hotel that Yuri’s men take her to is one of the few in New York that her uncle hasn’t managed to buy out, which Natasha is willing to bet isn’t a coincidence on their part. That’s likely the only reason they were able to slip under the Family’s radar for so long, though the place itself is by no means modest, and Natasha isn’t surprised when they lead her onto the elevator reserved for the residential suites at the top. And he’d probably booked out the entire top floor, too, not simply for his men but for the sake of discretion as well – and, not for the first time, Natasha knows it’d been the right call to follow Yelena’s advice to not have Tony follow her when she was going to be grabbed.

Judging just from the number of men posted along the hallways on the way to the suite, Natasha knows her family would’ve been outgunned on their own, even with every capo and soldier available on such short notice. Having the entire Family and their men will give them the advantage.

Just as long as Natasha can hold out until they find her.

Yelena has barely glanced in her direction, her composed expression perfectly in place, and Natasha has been careful to keep her own gaze appropriately alarmed considering she was just coerced into the back of a van off of the street without any explanation. If she comes off too unaffected, they may realize that she’d been expecting this; but she can’t come off too affected, either, considering it would be just as suspicious for someone so high up in a mafia to act as if this is her first ever time in this kind of situation.

Which it isn’t, though both other times had been part of her plan, so it really didn’t matter how unaffected she appeared to be when she’d had the upper hand from the beginning. This time is far different, and if Natasha had any less of a poker face, she wouldn’t stand a chance at making Yuri believe she’s entirely in the dark.

Yelena produces a keycard from her pocket as they reach the double doors of the suite, unlocking them, and then two men draw them open from inside, revealing a large sitting room with wide, glass walls overlooking the city.

And, lounging on the couch in the center of the suite, is Yuri Petrovich.

Natasha had already known who he was before Yelena had explained their connection. He may live in a different country, but his mob has associates in New York, so the Family has always kept tabs on them. Even without that reason, her uncle would’ve insisted on it, anyway, simply because of their reputation.

And because of her, she realizes. Just as Yelena had said, whether or not Natasha truly is related to him isn’t relevant; the possibility of it alone would’ve been enough for her and her mother to be on their radar to begin with, and that would’ve been enough for Uncle Howard to view the threat of the Petrovich mob coming after them as real.

“Natasha,” he greets, his smile almost charming, and his men usher her further into the room as they close the doors behind her. “I’m glad that you can join us.”

Her lips curve into the ghosts of a smirk. “I couldn’t exactly decline the invitation.”

He waves her over with two fingers, and she takes a moment to let her gaze slide over the room. Partly to assess where his men are posted throughout the suite, a move he would’ve expected her to pull, but also to take note of where Yelena has come to stand behind the couch Yuri is seated on. Distant enough as to not draw suspicion yet close enough to have an advantage over him from behind, though it also puts her in everyone’s line of fire, so the chances of her actually being able to make the first move are slim.

Not without a distraction, at least.

Natasha walks around the couch opposite of Yuri, perching herself on the cushion, and he leans forward to grab a bottle of vodka out of a bucket of ice on the table. “Care to join me?” he asks, pouring the alcohol into two shot glasses. “I know it’s not a traditional drink to share for first meetings, but I have a feeling you and I have the same taste.”

She lets cautious curiosity flicker in her eyes when he looks at her. “That’s quite an assumption”

“Let’s just say, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one,” he replies, sliding one of the glasses over, and she eyes him skeptically as she picks it up. “After all, we already have quite a lot in common.”

“Because I’m of Russian blood?” she asks. She knows it could be dangerous to try and coax the truth out of him like this, but the secretive, smug edge to his smirk only widens, his eyes flashing, and Natasha can tell that he finds her choice of words more ironic than suspicious. “If you know this about me, you’ll also know I was raised here.”

He hums, lifting his glass instead of replying, and Natasha tips her head back as he does to drain her shot. It’ll take more than this to get her drunk or even buzzed, but she still needs to be careful if he insists on more.

“I do know this,” Yuri finally answers, setting the vodka aside as he stares back at her. “I know quite a bit about you, in fact.”

“And I suppose the reason for that is why you’ve come all the way here to pay me a visit in person,” Natasha muses. “Or is this how you woo all the Russian girls?”

“Woo?” He shakes his head. “No, that would be rather inappropriate, though I don’t suppose Melina Stark has given you a clue as to why.”

Natasha allows her irritation to flit across her expression, her body stiffening in annoyance at his tone, though the satisfied curl of his lips tells her that she’s come off as alarmed as she’d intended. “If we have as much in common as you say, then you’ll know that as adept as I am at playing games, I don’t particularly enjoy them,” Natasha replies, letting her casual tone slip from her voice as she narrows ever so slightly. “I would hardly consider us kindred spirits simply because we’re both of Russian descent.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows slightly, almost seeming impressed by her bluntness. “Perhaps we don’t have everything in common, because I do enjoy a good game of watching others squirm. But since I admire your boldness, I’ll return it: our Russian descent isn’t all that we share, dear sister. We are blood by its very definition.”

She tilts her head, gauging his expression. It’s clear that he believes his words, just as Yelena had said, and she lets anger flit across her face. “And I should take your word?”

“If I had the time, I would’ve brought Melina here to tell you the story herself,” Yuri replies, his smirk widening as he lounges back against the couch. “But since she isn’t with us at the moment, I’ll give you the courtesy that she should’ve given you and tell you exactly why Melina Vostokoff fled to America on your father’s arm. Of course, if I’d been accused of having an affair with my best friend’s husband, I wouldn’t be too keen on sharing that story with my supposed daughter,” he adds with a shake of his head.

“An affair?” Natasha questions.

“I believe you’re intelligent, dear sister, and the talk of you within the underground of New York would support my belief,” Yuri muses. “I know you must have wondered what would’ve compelled your mother to marry a man who had been on vacation and leave her country on such an impulsive whim. Sure, it makes for quite a romantic story, but you know deep down that isn’t the truth.” Yuri leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he holds Natasha’s stare, eyes flashing dangerously. “The reason that Melina acclimated so quickly to her husband’s lifestyle is because she was already familiar with it herself. It was a life she shared with her best friend Alia back in Russia.”

“Which is supposedly your mother,” Natasha guesses, keeping her voice dry and unamused. “Alia Petrovich.”

He flashes his teeth in a wide grin. “Formerly known as Natalia Romanov. Quite similar to your own name, isn’t it, Natasha?”

This time, Natasha’s surprise is genuine as she pulls back slightly. He reaches into his pocket, making Natasha’s body stiffen in alarm, but rather than a weapon, he produces a thin necklace and tosses it in her direction, and she catches it in her palm. The charm is a slim bar, engraved in script—her own name, she realizes.

“When my mother passed, this was found among her possessions. At first, I believed it was simply hers. Natasha is a variant of Natalia, after all.” He shakes his head, and there’s something in his voice, something in his eyes, that has Natasha nearly holding her breath. She isn’t simply feigning ignorance for his sake; she can feel her blood begin to hum in her veins, as if anticipating his next words. “But then I realized that it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for you, my dear sister,” he tells her, and Natasha nearly risks a glance at Yelena, wanting to see if this is a surprise to her as well. Natasha is willing to bet that it is. “Melina never had an affair. Our mother was the one that did.”

... ...

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw, careful to keep his anger in his expression even as he feels relief unfurl in his chest as Wanda finally slices through the knot around her wrists. She catches the rope in her fingers before it can go slack, hand closing tightly around the handle of the slim, black knife. The one that Ivan had evidently missed when he’d patted her down. Considering her arms have been drawn behind her back this whole time, Steve is guessing that she had the holster strapped under her blouse. Bucky’s knife is thin enough that it would have still been decently concealed despite the tapered fit of the material, but also, they’d been lucky that Ivan hadn’t done a thorough check.

He probably thought he hadn’t needed to; Wanda is as adept with a gun as the rest of the Family, but she isn’t typically armed.

It seems that Bucky has taken care of that himself.

“Enough,” Anton finally barks, shaking his head at Ivan before turning back to Steve. “Yet another example of how you Rogers have been a thorn in my side all these years.”

“Considering I didn’t even know who you were until a few months ago, it’s rather an impressive accomplishment to be under your skin for years,” Steve retorts. Anton may not be as reactive as Ivan, but Steve still knows how to piss Anton off. He’s pretty damn full of himself, and considering how long Joseph Rogers has known him, it’d be a definite bruise to Anton’s ego to know he hadn’t been worth mentioning, especially since Steve had already known most of the other Family members when he took his father’s place.

As long as Anton and Ivan are too focused on being pissed at Steve to notice that Wanda’s freed herself, all she’ll have to do is hold off until the right time.

Though Steve doesn’t know how easily that’ll come, if at all. It may just be Anton and Ivan inside the warehouse with them, but Steve knew he’d had a few men with him during the crash. Likely the handful of capos and soldiers loyal to him rather than to Howard, because there’s no way they’d go along with this kind of plan otherwise. It’d put their asses on the line, too, and Steve would hope that they’re sensible enough to know that both Anton and Ivan would throw them under the bus if Howard got wind of it.

Anton’s jaw ticks. “I’ve known you the least, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll get the most enjoyment out of putting a bullet through your head.”

“Because I walked in and took the seat at the head of the Families that you’ve wanted all along?” Steve asks. “Or because I know you were the one stealing from Howard?”

It’s something Steve had a gut feeling about being true when it’d clicked into place in his mind, but the flash in Anton’s eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He manages to school his expression back into annoyance only a second later, but it’s more in vain than anything else. He knows Steve had caught his initial reaction.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t completely deny it like Steve had still been expecting. “And what makes you say that?” Anton asks, still feigning annoyance.

“Howard is a cautious man when it comes to his legitimate businesses, and especially when it comes to Stark Industries,” Steve points out. “I can only imagine how much stricter he was when Stark Industries was getting off of the ground, and operating out of only one small building with a handful of employees should’ve meant he’d have no trouble keeping everything locked up tight. Not unless someone Howard trusted enough to give complete access without his monitoring was the one stealing,” Steve adds.

Anton’s eyes flash. “I’ve known Howard for years. He wouldn’t believe your word over mine.”

“He would if it made sense, which it does,” Steve counters. “Howard’s loyal, but not blindly loyal. And considering your son’s recklessness puts the Family’s ass in some kind of jeopardy almost every day, he’d have no problems cutting both of you out of the picture the second he gets a decent reason. Even if your secret dies with me, he’d still cut you off for trying to get rid of Pietro and Wanda, too.” This time Anton doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise, and in his peripheral, Steve catches his sister flinch, genuinely shocked.

Anton smirks, but the smugness from his eyes is gone. “Those incidents weren’t my doing,” he argues.

“Maybe not directly,” Steve counters. “It was an Asgard car spotted near both of those scenes at the time, and by every one of the Family’s busted deals and shipments, too. But if we dig just a little deeper, it’d be easy to find out that you and Ivan were the ones goading Hela into doing your dirty work.”

“She doesn’t need anyone to help fuel her crazy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve agrees. “Which makes her a convenient person to pin the blame on, especially since the Family knows she has it out for my father. Dad was getting a lot closer to your secret. You knew he’d share his theories with his kids, too, so you needed a quick and permanent fix. Then my dad goes missing and you get your chance.”

Anton narrows his eyes. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” he questions, but there’s no real threat in his voice, and Steve knows his assumptions are right.

Before Steve can respond, though, Ivan snaps, “I’m getting sick of all this talking.” He draws his gun from the pocket inside his jacket, giving Steve a glimpse of his own gun hooked into Ivan’s holster at his hip. “Maybe we should test your theory of this secret dying with you,” he snarls. Steve simply blinks back at him, but then he catches Ivan’s gaze shift back to Wanda and Steve’s shoulders go rigid. Ivan smirks. “Or better yet, maybe we’ll start with your sister first. You won’t feel like such a smug ass then, huh?”

Ivan squats down and grasps Wanda by her neck, forcing her chin to tip up as he starts to dig his fingers into her throat—

And then a screech from outside. It’s muffled but unmistakable, and close. Maybe no more than a few dozen feet away.

Tires.

Ivan and Anton’s heads snap around toward the doors at the other end of the warehouse. “What the hell is that?” Ivan growls out, but Anton lets out a low hiss for him to shut up, one hand already reaching into his jacket for his gun as he takes a few steps closer, as if ready to head outside to check himself.

There are voices being raised from outside; the men Anton kept posted out there to keep watch start to shout over one another, their words muffled but the alarm ringing clear in their tones.

And then two harsh cracks rip through the air – gunshots – right before the sound of metal slamming together, colliding in a hard crash.

“Shit,” Ivan mutters, starting to get up, but then Wanda slips her arms out from behind her almost in a blink, knife in hand, and Ivan lets out a sudden groan as she thrusts the blade into him. He hisses, his hand going slack around his gun as he staggers back, and then Wanda is shoving him forward and sending him stumbling back into Anton as his weight knocks them both over. Another blink, and Wanda is lunging across the small distance, on her knees beside Steve and shoving him over as another shot goes off.

Steve groans, a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder right before his side hits the ground, but he barely has a second to register it before Wanda is down on one knee in front of him, her body half-angled away from him just as Anton has gotten back onto his feet, lifting his gun to aim it in their direction.

For a fleeting second, Steve’s heart slams to stop against his ribcage—

And then Anton’s face twists into a sneer as he spits out, “You’re too much of a princess to pull that trigger,” at Wanda, and Steve’s eyes snap onto his sister. With the way he’d fallen and the way Wanda’s back is turned toward him, he hadn’t noticed the gun in her hand, pointed right back at Anton.

Ivan’s gun, Steve realizes. His gaze slides down and, sure enough, he finds Bucky’s knife still curled tightly in her other hand, only a little bit of blood actually smudged onto the blade from how quickly she’d pulled it out of Ivan’s chest.

“Go ahead, prove me right,” Anton goads. “You don’t have the balls to—”

He’s cut off as another crack rips through the air, and then he’s shouting, staggering down onto one knee, his gun falling from his hand and clattering onto the ground as he clutches at his shoulder with a hiss. Wanda shifts her body, arm swinging toward Ivan as he’s in the middle of staggering back up to his feet, and then another shot goes off and groans out, “fuck!” and clutches at his leg, his body hitting the ground once more. Wanda whirls back toward Steve, bending over him, and though the blade manages to nick his skin in her haste to slice the ropes from around his wrist, he barely notices. After getting grazed with one of Anton’s bullets, a little cut is hardly going to bother him.

Wanda is on her feet before Steve is, gun aimed at Anton once more as she gets her boot on his gun where it fell, sliding it back before he can attempt to retrieve it. Steve half-lunges across the small distance to Ivan, still clutching at his leg where Wanda shot him, and then Steve snatches his gun out of Ivan’s holster and aims it at him.

He turns his head, keeping Ivan in his peripheral as he looks at Wanda with his lips twitching at the corners. “Good aim.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle. “I’m Clint’s best student for a reason,” she replies as the doors at the other end of the warehouse are thrown open, and then both of their gazes are whirling in that direction just as Bucky and Sam and a few officers burst through.

Steve very nearly slackens in relief, but he manages to keep his gun aimed at Ivan until one of the officers reaches him, producing a pair of handcuffs.

Wanda lowers her gun, too, just as Bucky reaches her, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek as his eyes dart over her almost wildly. A moment later, he exhales a breath, the tension ebbing from his body as he seems to confirm for himself that she isn’t hurt, and then he’s reaching down with his other hand to curl his fingers around hers where they’re still gripping the handle of the knife. His knife, stained with Ivan’s blood. His eyes glint. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then he’s drawing her close, slanting his lips over hers. Steve watches as Wanda’s body finally eases in relief, very nearly melting into Bucky as she sways forward, and he hooks an arm around her to keep them both steady.

Steve turns away to give them a moment, and then Sam is beside him, reaching up to touch the frayed line of his jacket where the bullet grazed him.

“Just a scratch?” Sam asks, one eyebrow arched as his lip hitches at the corner, and, despite everything, Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Barely a paper cut,” Steve returns, and Sam just shakes his head. “You guys got here pretty fast.”

Sam nods, gaze shifting onto Anton as two officers are snapping cuffs around his wrists and starting to lead him out of the warehouse. “We’ve had a tracker on Anton’s car for a few days now and we’ve been tailing him at a decent distance. The second it got cut off in the crash, our asses were on the move.”

Steve nods, but there’s something in Sam’s eyes that makes him pause. “What?” he asks, aware of the way Bucky and Wanda pull away from each other in his peripheral as Bucky tugs her closer to Steve’s side, his lips twitching into a grin.

“We’ve got something for you,” Bucky answers, nodding his head toward the doors.

Steve catches his sister’s curious gaze, exchanging a look before Bucky is gently urging her forward with a hand on the small of her back, and Steve follows the two of them out of the warehouse with Sam. There are already several patrol cars parked along the fence that’d been put up by the construction company, officers in the midst of loading Ivan and Anton and their men into the back seats, and what few pedestrians happen to be walking in the area are already starting to pause to try and see what’s happening.

It isn’t until Steve’s gaze finds a familiar car at the end of the fence, though, that he realizes why Sam and Bucky had been grinning so hard.

Dad.

... ...

Our mother.

Natasha’s fingers tighten around the necklace in her hand, so much so that she can feel the charm starting to dig into her palm, but she barely flinches. Her stare stays fixed on Yuri, searching his face for any small shift in his expression, any small twitch or tell that may give away the fact that he’s bluffing—but that smirk sits perfectly in place and the smug gleam in his eyes never wavers. Rationally, she knows that this doesn’t automatically mean he’s telling the truth. She has a pretty damn good poker face, too, and she can count on one hand the number of times someone had picked up on it when she was bluffing. Even then, they hadn’t been entirely sure if she was actually lying or not.

But she can feel her chest tightening, and her instinct tells her that something about his story makes sense.

She’s always found her parents’ story odd, and though Yelena’s explanation would’ve cleared a lot of it, Natasha knew something was still off. Something was missing. Why would her mother join a mob so that she, Joseph, and Alia could keep each other safe and yet sleep with the man her best friend married? The very same one she wanted to protect Alia from? And Natasha knows she looks like her father, like her Uncle Howard and Tony and Peter. It’s been said countless times that she has the Stark stamp to her.

Belatedly, her conversation with Steve comes back to her and how he apologized for getting upset when she hid “Sarah Rogers” from him. He told her he would’ve done the same thing, would’ve waited before telling Natasha something that could upset her because it was about her mother.

I just want to be sure, he told her.

This was what he’d been hesitant to tell her. Maybe he didn’t put together the exact truth, but he’d already suspected that her mother wasn’t her birth mother.

“I suppose you expect me to just take your word for it,” Natasha replies, managing to keep her voice steady despite the way her heart is starting to pound against her ribcage.

Yuri sits up a little straighter, lifting his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should have invited Melina to join us and tell you herself.”

Natasha lets out a light, almost nonchalant him in reply, even as her fist curls even tighter around the necklace still in her hand, and she knows she’s managed to catch him off guard by her lack of reaction to his threat because there’s a fleeting shift of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he blinks and that smug, knowing gleam is back in place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t consider it to begin with, after going through all this trouble to come here to convince me of the truth in person.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Unless, of course, you have another reason for coming to an entirely different country to meet someone who could only supposedly be your family.”

He nearly bares his teeth in a dangerous grin. “You really don’t enjoy games, do you, dear sister?” he drawls. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to rush this along. Of course, if I were you, I would be eager to get to my date tonight as well. With Rogers, correct?” He reaches for the bottle of vodka again and then leans forward to retrieve Natasha’s shot glass, his eyes glinting as he catches her stare. “Like mother, like daughter, after all. I’m told that our mother was quite fond of Joseph Rogers. I’m sure I would’ve heard all about him if not for the way my father got particularly violent whenever Joseph Rogers was ever breathed. It’s quite tragic that he went missing a few months ago, isn’t it?”

Natasha studies his expression for a moment, and, possibly for the first time since he began speaking, she knows he’s bluffing.

His tone is suggestive, and threatening, wanting her to believe he’s in on the secret of how Joseph Rogers had gone missing, or maybe that he’d been involved somehow.

But he wouldn’t be here if he knew the truth. Even if he’s cold enough not to care about someone planning to kill his own father, Ivan dying while Yuri is overseas won’t make it easy for Yuri to take control of the mob if he makes it back to Russia. Not if there are already more than enough people that want him gone.

Maybe she doesn’t need to stall. Maybe she can distract him herself.

“Oh, you don’t expect me to believe that you listen to the rumors,” Natasha counters, letting her voice lilt in amusement—and, sure enough, there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes at her reaction. He slides her shot glass back over and she picks it up, letting a secretive smile curl at her lips. “But I will say this, your acting is quite convincing.”

She downs her shot without waiting for him to finish pouring his, licking her lips, and his jaw ticks. “And here I thought you don’t like playing games.”

Natasha tilts her head, arching an eyebrow. “And what game is it that you think I’m playing?”

Yuri smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “I’m sure it doesn’t do well for your reputation that the head of the Families went missing at all, let alone for this long and without any leads,” he muses. “But there’s no need to keep up pretenses for me.” She simply hums as he sets the bottle of vodka down on the table between them, letting her lips curve into a smug, knowing smirk of her own, not so much as blinking when he holds her stare, and she can see exactly when he realizes that she may not be bluffing.

He blinks twice, working to keep his expression unaffected. “Alright. I’ll humor you, dear sister. If Joseph Rogers hasn’t been missing all this time, where is he?”

Natasha leans in closer to the table between them, nearly perched on the very edge of the couch. “Tell me, baby brother,” she starts, her smirk widening when she catches the way his jaw ticks, “why I should divulge that when you haven’t even admitted that you’ve come here to kill me. I’ve never even stepped foot in Russia and yet, I’m a threat to you, aren’t I?” She leans in even closer, catching the way Yelena draws closer to Yuri from behind, too, as is protective. “If it’s a choice between you and me, I’m the best bet. A mafia princess to the underground and a Stark princess to the world. I can offer them everything, but you and your father are nothing but liabilities they’re eager to cut out.”

A growl nearly rips from Yuri’s throat, his composure quickly slipping through his fingers. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“No,” she replies, her voice dropping to a low, staged whisper. “I only pretend to,” she says, glancing over his shoulder to catch Yelena’s gaze, and the woman gives her a barely discernable nod right before she has her gun up, firing two shots – one each for the two men standing at the doors of the suite.

Natasha doesn’t have to look back to check to see if they hit, nor does she have time to, because just as Yuri starts to turn around, Natasha’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle of vodka and she’s swinging it hard, slamming it up into Yuri’s jaw with as much force as she can muster at such a close range.

Yuri keels over as Natasha is on her feet, twisting her body around as she flings the bottle toward the two men standing to her left. There are also two more men to her right that could have a chance to shoot at her, but as she gets a running start, she catches a glimpse of the two guys that’d been posted behind Yelena dropping to the floor as she whirls around, gun pointed, so Natasha doesn’t worry about what’s behind her as she sprints forward, dropping to the ground right as one of them manages to get their gun up. He gets a shot off, but Natasha is already sliding across the carpet, swiping her legs under the other guy – the one already staggering back from being hit with the bottle of vodka – before spinning back around and onto her feet, and then she grabs the other guy by his jacket, yanking him down and sending his head cracking against her knee.

She swipes one of their guns out of their hands and whirls around, aiming it at where Yuri had been in the same second that Yelena does—

But Yuri is already up and over the couch and bounding out the suite, the doors slamming closed behind him, and Yelena exhales a curse under her breath as she lowers her gun and catches Natasha’s gaze.

“As soon as he caught me, he knew he’d be outnumbered when it came down to the three of us,” Yelena tells her. “But if the others are still in the hallway when we leave this suite, we’ll be outnumbered. If even half of the men stayed, that’s too much heat for us to take, and there’s no other way out of this suite.”

“Well, if he makes it out of this hotel, he’ll come after both of us and my family, too,” Natasha counters.

Yelena rubs her lips together, considering this for a moment, and then she swears under her breath again. “Let’s go,” she says, and Natasha swallows lightly, crossing the room and meeting Yelena at the door. “Any plan?” she asks.

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a humorless laugh. “Try not to die?”

Yelena nearly cracks a smile. “Your plan sucks,” she retorts, and then they’re both tugging at the handles, throwing the doors open and stepping into the hallway, and Natasha whirls around to stand with her back to Yelena’s as she points her gun at—

“Mom,” Natasha breathes out, her heart nearly slamming to a stop against her ribcage as she lowers her gun. Her mother lowers her gun, too, and her composed expression dissolves into relief. Natasha’s eyes flit over her shoulder and down the hallway, her father already lowering his own gun as he makes his way over to them, and then, right in front of the door to the stairwell, Uncle Howard and Nick Fury are watching as Thor and Odin are shoving someone over the threshold and maneuvering him down the stairs.

Yuri.

Natasha nearly sways back on her feet as she feels the relief flood through her, her eyes shifting back to her mother. “You got him?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants to hear it, though.

“Yes,” her mother tells her, her voice soft. “If you had waited a few more minutes, we would’ve saved you from all the excitement.”

“She wouldn’t be our daughter if she preferred less excitement,” her father quips, coming to stand beside them. Natasha exhales a sharp, breathy sort of laugh as her mother reaches for her, drawing her close—and though she and her parents have never been the kind to prefer hugs, it’s almost instant, the way she melts into the embrace.

... ...

Wanda must’ve seen their father a split second before Steve had, because just as Steve’s mind is starting to catch up to the fact that that’s him – that his father is here, after being gone for so months – Wanda lets out a shaky, sharp, breathy sound, and then she starts running, quickly crossing the distance to the gate at the corner of the fence as their father gets it open. She throws herself at him in a hug that quite literally knocks him back a few steps, but his arms go around her, too, as his deep laugh fills the air.

Steve takes his time making his way over, feeling himself smile as he watches his father brushes a kiss to Wanda’s hair, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle and press her face into his shoulder. Then his eyes shift, watching through the fence as Pietro gets out of their father’s car and starts heading toward their father and sister. He catches Steve’s gaze, lifting his hand in a wave, and Steve’s smile widens, relieved his brother doesn’t seem any worse for wear considering he just got out of the hospital.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming!” Pietro calls out, and their father lifts his head, his eyes wrinkling into a brighter smile when they land on Steve.

Wanda turns to look over her shoulder at him, too, her eyelashes dotted with tears she hasn’t quite shed yet. His sister’s smile is small and shaky, but beautiful and relieved and so fucking happy, and then she steps back from their father, practically ducking under his arm to squeeze Pietro in a hug the second he’s within her reach.

“Steve,” his father greets, his voice low and gruff. The two of them had never been particularly affectionate with each other, not in the same way his siblings are, but it was never something Steve held any resentment towards him for. His father raised the twins mostly on his own, while Steve didn’t even meet his father until after high school, and anytime they’ve spent together since then, they’ve had the twins as a buffer. He and his father are closer now, but there had still been some lingering space between them.

Still, somehow Steve isn’t all that surprised when his father doesn’t hesitate to grasp at Steve’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug as well.

Steve blinks, his chest tightening, but he doesn’t miss a beat in returning his father’s embrace. It doesn’t linger quite as long as his hug with Wanda had, but his father still gives him one last sort of squeeze before pulling away, one hand still lingering on Steve’s shoulder.

And this time, Steve is surprised when he catches the cracks in his father’s usually nonchalant expression. Considering who the man is, Steve had always seen his father as formidable and unyielding. Sure, Steve knew firsthand that the man had a soft side for his children, but for the most part, his composure never wavered.

“Welcome home,” Steve tells him, his voice a little rough. “How was your trip?”

His father’s eyes glint. “Good,” he answers simply, and it should be strange, how that one word seems to make the air shift. He turns to Wanda and Pietro as Wanda blinks up at him, her eyes wide and glimmering. “It was really good,” he tells them, the meaning clear in his tone. “But I much prefer to be home.”

“I take it that means you don’t have plans to be anywhere else anytime soon?” Steve asks.

His father squeezes his shoulder firmly, his lips hitching up into a wider smile—and, for a fleeting second, Steve almost sees his own face smiling back at him, making his chest squeeze in a way he hasn’t felt since his mother had passed.

“No,” his father promises, shaking his head once. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, if you ever did decide to take another vacation,” Pietro chimes in, his lips spreading into a wide grin as he glances at Steve, “we can hold down the fort.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh, her smile bright, proud, and when Steve catches his father’s stare once more, he sees the same emotion reflected in his eyes. “I’ve always known that,” he says, and Steve feels his chest squeeze again, his own smile widening because he’s starting to realize that maybe he always had, too.

... ...

Her uncle stays behind at the hotel to handle things with Nick and Odin, and though Uncle Howard asks Natasha if she wants to have a say in what they do with Yuri and his men, she promises her uncle that she won’t come up with something nearly as creative as he can. Besides, she knows that the Family likes to take their time in dealing with anyone that’s threatened one of their own, and Natasha doesn’t want to waste another ounce of her energy on Yuri if she can help it. And she’s willing to bet it will drive him crazy to be told that he’d gone through all of this effort to come after her himself when she doesn’t even want to be there to watch while the Family has their fun with him.

“I know today has been exciting and all, so I thought I’d make one of your favorites,” her father says, and it’s almost instant, the grin that pulls at Natasha’s lips when he slides over a double shot of vodka poured into a wine glass. Part of her wonders if she should find the choice of alcohol ironic, all things considered, but as she picks up the glass, swirling it around as if it were actually wine, she doesn’t think of sharing shots of vodka with Yuri in that hotel suite. Instead, she thinks about the first ever time her father had poured her vodka in a wine glass just like this, when she first moved into this apartment out of college and her parents had come over to help her get settled in.

He’d joked about it being a celebration of both of her heritages, when in reality, they simply hadn’t wanted to open every box until they found her shot glasses.

“How sentimental,” her mother notes, amusement pulling at her own smile.

Her father tips his head, considering this. “I have my moments,” he admits, reaching into his pocket, and Natasha watches as he pulls out the thin, silver necklace that she’d held earlier that night, setting it carefully on the kitchen island between them, his expression softening.

Melina picks it up gently, threading the chain through her fingers and lifting it to let the engraved bar dangle for her to read.

Natasha watches her mother, remembering the way she and Alia—Natalia—had looked in that photograph she and Steve had found among his father’s things. It had to have been taken after Joseph Rogers, Alia, and her mother had joined the mob since Alexi was in the photo, too, and yet, Alia looked content. She looked happy because she was with the people she loved most, and that was enough to make her feel as carefree as she’d looked in that photo, even if her life had been anything but that because of Ivan.

“Is there any truth to that?” Natasha asks gently, nodding at the necklace in her mother’s hand, though it’s not really a question. The expression on both of her parents’ faces is more than enough proof.

Her mother catches her gaze, her smile soft. “Yes,” she answers simply, reaching over to tuck some of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “You’re my last piece of her.”

Natasha feels something warm tug at her chest, and then she turns to her father. “How did you all meet?”

“Because of Joseph,” her father replies. Natasha lifts her eyebrows slightly in surprise; she hadn’t expected that. “By now, I assume you and Steve both know the truth about him and Alia and your mother?” her father asks.

She nods, glancing at her mother. “We found an old picture of you with some of his things.”

Her mother’s smile widens just a little as she sets the necklace back down, untangling the chain from her fingers. “The three of us had known each other since childhood,” her mother explains. “Alia had the biggest heart and wore it on her sleeve, but that was a dangerous thing in our world. Ivan wanted her the moment he saw her, but it was clear to everyone that Joseph and I were the only ones she cared for. She always blamed herself for Ivan wanting to get rid of Joseph, and she was never the same after he left.”

“Joseph was the reason your uncle and I went to Russia in the first place,” her father adds. “He couldn’t risk going back, but when Howard and Maria were having problems and needed space, Joseph asked Howard and I to go to Russia just to check on his old friends. He never stopped worrying about them, but also, he could tell that Howard needed some objective to keep his mind busy.” Her father’s eyes shift to her mother’s, his lips quirking. “Your mother was actually the one to introduce me to Alia,” he says.

Natasha turns to her mother, her own amusement tugging at her lips. “Really?”

Her mother chuckles. “He and your uncle didn’t quite do a good job at hiding how they studied us at the bar,” her mother tells her. “I didn’t know at the time it was because of Joseph. I just knew that Alia had been having a particularly hard time lately and could use a charming stranger to comfort her.”

“We actually left Russia shortly after, but your mother tracked us down when Alia found out she was pregnant,” her father continues. “She hadn’t been engaged to Ivan by then, and your uncle and I snuck the two of them away. But Ivan was far too possessive to let Alia go, and Howard and I hadn’t been prepared to handle this kind of threat away from home.” His eyebrows furrow, the frustration of the memory flashing in his eyes. “Alexi was able to warn us that Ivan finally found her after Alia had given birth.”

“She wanted your father to take you to keep you safe.” Her mother gives her a small, wry sort of smile. “She wanted me to go with him. Ivan only wanted her. He stopped searching for Joseph because he was no longer in his way, and he wouldn’t care if I was gone, either. If she had come with us, he would’ve stopped at nothing to find her and drag her back. She didn’t want to put anyone through that, and she absolutely didn’t want you to be raised like that, always on the run, hiding. She begged us to save you.”

“The moment we brought you home, Joseph recognized her in your face,” her father says, voice soft. “Everyone says how much you look like me, but you look like her, too. You just have to know where to find it.”

Natasha feels herself smile, feels a warmth fluttering in her chest as she thinks back to the photograph they’d found among Joseph’s things. It’s a little odd to think that she hadn’t recognized her own face in Alia, even when Alia had been so much younger in that picture, but part of her liked that it hadn’t been something so obvious. Her likeness to her birth mother, just like the secret itself, was something you have to know to see—something that makes a difference but doesn’t change everything about Natasha’s life.

It doesn’t change who her mother is. It simply gives her another woman to admire.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Natasha says quietly, and her father comes around the island, cups the back of Natasha’s neck as he brushes a kiss to her forehead.

He doesn’t say the words – neither of her parents do – but Natasha knows the feeling is mutual. She also knows that there wouldn’t have been a way for that to happen, even if Alia was still alive. Not as long as Ivan was alive, too.

A knock at the door makes her father draw away slightly, glancing at Natasha, and, despite everything, she feels her lips twitch in a grin. The only people other than her parents who have ever had her codes to the apartment before are Uncle Howard and Tony, and neither of them would’ve let themselves in at the lobby only to knock on her front door. Then her father blinks, amusement glinting in his eyes as he realizes who it could be, and she rubs her lips together to fight off a smile as he goes to answer it.

And no, she’s not at all surprised when Steve is in her kitchen a moment later, his gaze finding hers within seconds.

“Nat,” he breathes as he crosses the distance to her in a few steps, cupping her face with his hands as his eyes flit over her, checking for himself to see that she’s alright.

Then he exhales a sharp breath, his body easing in relief, and Natasha feels herself smiling as he slants his mouth over hers. The kiss is hard and deep in an instant, and she almost feels herself swaying back atop the barstool with the force of it. He sucks on her bottom lip, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, down the line of her jaw, drawing a soft noise from her throat, and then she hears someone (likely her father) clearing their throat. Steve chuckles as he eases his lips off of hers, parting their kiss and pulling back.

“I’m alright,” she reassures softly, reaching up to wrap her hands around his wrists, giving him a gentle squeeze as if in emphasis.

Over his shoulder, she catches her mother getting up from her barstool, walking toward the threshold of the kitchen – and that’s when she notices Joseph Rogers filling the doorway, reaching for her mother and pulling her into his arms in a hug.

Natasha feels her chest flutter, the warmth of relief at seeing Joseph Rogers alive and home mixing with the bittersweet twinge of knowing what he and her mother are offering each other comfort for. Natasha’s throat tightens a little, her chest tightening, and then Steve is stroking his thumbs over her cheeks in slow, soothing strokes, and her eyes flit up to his. She doesn’t have to ask to know that his father must’ve filled him in on the truth of her and Alia because she can see it in his eyes, just as she knows that the empathy there isn’t just for her. It’s for his father and for her parents, and for Alia, for the hope that they could’ve reunited one day, no matter how slim the chance.

“Come here,” Steve murmurs, pulling his hands from her face so he can wrap his arms around her, drawing her close—and she doesn’t quite realize how overwhelmed she is until her eyes are closed and her face is pressed against his chest, blocking everything else out other than his steady breaths and the soothing circles he rubs over her back.

... ...

It’s late by the time they make it back to his place, but he’s still wide awake as he lays next to Nat in bed. She’d come back with him rather than the two of them crashing at her apartment since they were already there, and he knows it’s because she wanted him to be close to Pietro, just in case. His brother is supposed to be watched for the next few days, anyway, and since Wanda and Pietro had already taken to sleeping at his brownstone rather than their own apartments for the last few days, Steve doesn’t see a point in switching things up. It’s hardly a bother to have them under his roof, and after having the place all to himself for so long, he likes that it feels less empty these days.

He starts to slip out of bed when he feels Natasha reach for him, her fingers curling around his forearm as he’s sitting up, and he smiles down at her in the dark. Even though he’s not tired, he knows she is, because she’d passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Still, part of him had expected her to wake up as soon as he moved.

She’s always been attuned to him like that.

“I’m just going to drink something warm to help me sleep,” he tells her softly, leaning over to brush his lips to her cheek, running a hand over her side through the duvet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, her voice heavy and a little raspy with sleep, and he feels his smile widen as he peers down at her in the dark. She’s practically still half asleep, but he’s not surprised at all that she still offers to get up with him. He knows she had quite a day, but she knows he did, too.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, sliding his lips lower, pressing a kiss to the spot along her jaw that always, always makes her shiver, and she makes this little noise from the back of her throat. “Sleep,” he murmurs against her skin, and she chuckles softly, barely above a whisper, as she curls into herself a little more and hums in reply.

He clicks his door shut softly behind him when he steps out into the hallway, quietly padding past Wanda and Pietro’s doors as he heads downstairs. He can see that the kitchen light is already on, which likely means his father is still up, and, sure enough, Steve finds him sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of tea sitting on the counter in front of him. His father has his head bent over his phone in front of him, but considering the screen is off when he lifts his head to look at Steve, he was probably just lost in thought. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s probably the reason the man is up at all, just as Steve is, which is likely why his father doesn’t seem surprised to see him up, too.

The kettle is still hot when Steve picks it up, so he pours some in a mug and grabs a packet of chamomile tea from the box that Wanda keeps stocked in his pantry.

“So, you and Nat, huh?” his father asks once Steve is sitting in the barstool next to his, and a laugh bursts from Steve as he tears at the packet, dunking the tea bag into his mug. His father chuckles, too, shaking his head a little at himself, and maybe also at the strangeness of the moment. Not because it’s the two of them talking alone, when that hasn’t really happened much before, but because, out of all the things he could’ve asked about after the last few hours – hell, after the last few months – this is what he picks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and maybe he should feel like an idiot for smiling so widely, but he honestly doesn’t care and he knows his father doesn’t, either.

In fact, his father’s mouth hitches as his smile widens a little, too. But his eyes soften a little as he asks, “How’s she holding up?”

Steve pauses as he considers this, toying with the string of the tea bag hanging over the rim of his mug. He thinks about the way Natasha had held onto him in her kitchen when he’d pulled her against his chest, squeezing him close but yet not quite clinging to him, either. “I think maybe it hasn’t entirely hit her just yet,” he admits, because he thinks that’s the truth. She hadn’t seemed particularly shocked when they had dinner at her apartment with their parents; she simply seemed tired, and maybe a little distracted, like she couldn’t help her thoughts pulling her away from the conversation every now and then. “But I don’t think her entire world has been knocked out of place.”

His father nods at this. Considering he’s known Natasha her whole life, he’d probably know how to interpret her reactions pretty damn well, too.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would be,” his father tells him, rubbing a hand over his hair. “But we didn’t want to minimize how big of a secret it was to keep from her, either.”

We. As in, him and Melina and Edward, maybe even Howard and Maria, too, since Steve doubts Howard would’ve kept this from his wife this entire time.

“Why did you and Melina pretend not to have known each other from before?” Steve asks. It’s not an accusation, and he knows his father won’t take it as one, and though Steve already has an idea of the answer, he figures he might as well ask, anyway, now that all of this is out in the open.

“I think it was instinct, mostly.” His father’s smile turns a little wry as he looks at Steve. “We’d gotten pretty good at downplaying how close we were with each other and with Alia back in Russia, even before Ivan started actively threatening me. When Edward brought her to New York and I saw her again after all those years, it was like a reflex. I’d missed her—missed both of them—but there really wouldn’t be a reason for me to have known a woman who’d never stepped foot in the States before. The Family knew I was adopted, but not from where. Your grandparents kept it under lock and key because Ivan was on a manhunt, and even after he’d stopped, we didn’t want to risk any slip ups.”

Steve nods at this. “Did you ever plan on telling her, or any of us?”

“We debated on it for years,” his father admits with an exhale. “It made sense not to when you were all younger, but there were several times later on that could’ve been right that we just didn’t say anything. I don’t think it was any one thing or any one reason. But it was more about how we felt about it and about bringing it up. You all had the right to know the truth, especially when it could’ve put you in danger, just like Natasha had been today. That’s on us,” his father adds, swallowing roughly with a shake of his head.

“Dad,” Steve says, his voice low and a little rough, too. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

He’s not just saying that to comfort his father, but because Steve genuinely believes it. Yeah, his father had a point; if he’d never sent Yelena to warn them before Yuri got to New York, they wouldn’t have had an edge over him.

But the truth had come out when they needed it, not when it was too late to help anyone, and it was so much more than just keeping Natasha’s birth mother or keeping his father’s past a secret from their own children. His father had to flee the only home and the only family he’d ever known at only thirteen because a man almost twice his age was threatened by his friendship with the girl he wanted, and Melina had to leave her best friend behind, knowing she would’ve likely been dead once Ivan found her. And it wasn’t just that, either. Melina must’ve been terrified of what Ivan would do to Alia for running in the first place, but Alia begged her to keep her daughter safe, and so Melina honored her plea. Even Edward, who had only known Alia for a short while, had to have been affected at leaving the mother of his child behind right after she’d given birth.

If telling the truth meant having to relive those memories, Steve would’ve been incredibly hesitant of it, too. That’s not something he or Nat, or Wanda or Pietro, would hold against their parents.

“Your mother knew, though,” his father adds after a moment, and Steve feels his heart trip in his chest as he stares back at his father. “She was the first to meet Melina.”

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow at this. He’s a few years older than Natasha, but not by much, which meant… “I thought you’d stopped seeing me and Mom by then?”

His father nods. “I had. We thought it would be safer, not just because of the Family, but also because I never knew for sure if Ivan was still looking for me. I also knew it was a lot for your mother to take in general, even if she’d never say it. She never would’ve asked to keep you away from me, but I knew she needed it to be that way, at least for a little while.” He rubs his lips together, looking Steve in the eyes as he adds, “I know that wasn’t a choice I should’ve made for her, for you. And to this day, I still wonder if it was the wrong one. I knew your mother was a tough person, tougher than both of us, but maybe I’d underestimated what she was willing to bear for me,” he admits quietly.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it comes out in a sharp exhale. “You thought she wouldn’t want to handle this life?” Steve asks.

His father rubs at his jaw, seeming to contemplate this. “I wondered a lot of things. Your mother was too good for this world from the beginning, but she’d also known who I was when we met. She’d chosen to trust me, and I respected her and her choice. I loved her. But I knew it all bothered her to some extent, especially when you came along.”

Steve swallows lightly. He’d like to believe his mother could’ve handled anything, but he also knows firsthand that this world is a lot at first glance. It’s still a lot once you’re on the inside, too, but his mother had been young and had her child to think of. She genuinely loved his father, but that didn’t mean she had to love his lifestyle, too.

And he knows his mother. If she let his father convince her that keeping Steve and herself from him and the Family was for the best, it was because part of her had believed it, too. If she wanted to raise Steve in this lifestyle for whatever reason that may have been, she would’ve fought her father like hell to stay and she would’ve won, too.

Like he said: she was tougher than both of them.

“How did she meet Melina, then?” Steve asks after a moment, already feeling a smile tug at his lips. He knows without a doubt his mother probably loved Melina.

She would’ve loved Natasha, too.

“By pure chance, actually,” his father answers, his own smile widening, too, as he glances down into his tea at the memory. “Your mother recognized Melina from the photograph I had and knew of her from the stories I told her, and we happened to run into each other in Brooklyn. It was the one and only time your mother and I had approached each other since we agreed to keep our distance. And they loved each other, of course, but I knew they would. You’d think they were the childhood friends.”

Steve chuckles at this, feeling a warmth squeeze at his chest. Somehow, he could almost picture the memory perfectly.

“Your mother and Alia would’ve loved each other, too,” his father adds, his smile softening as Steve stares back at him. “And Alia would’ve loved you.”

Steve reaches over, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, and his father lifts his hand to grip Steve’s. “I would’ve loved her, too,” Steve says, giving him a squeeze, and his father lets out a breathy laugh as he nods.

... ...

She can feel Steve’s hand at her hip, his fingers calloused yet gentle and teasing as they toy with the hem of his shirt on her. Natasha had rolled onto her back sometime during the night, her shoulder practically pressing against Steve’s chest, and she feels her lips pull into a soft smile as he inches her shirt higher up her body, making her stomach flutter just under his palm when he splays his fingers over her skin. Then he dips his head to press a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, the column of her neck, feeling her pulse thrum under his lips, and she makes a soft noise when he hand dips down, fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over one hip.

“Steve,” she breathes, feeling his mouth curve into a grin against her collarbone, and then his fingers hook under the other side of her panties, too, pulling them down her legs and then off entirely.

“Good morning,” he says into her skin, and she feels her smile widen, feels him nudge her legs open as his body slides down hers. He pushes her shirt up a little higher, kisses over one of her ribs, brushes his lips against an old scar on her other hip, and then his face is pressed against the inside of one of her thighs, lips quirking into a smile.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she lifts herself up on her elbows, glancing down to where Steve is settled between her legs, pressing one into the mattress as he pulls the other over his shoulders. She can already feel her breaths coming in a little shorter and shallower, feel her heart beating a little faster, even as a slow, almost lazy sort of smirk pulls at her lips as she meets his gaze. His mouth is hitched in that crooked, boyish sort of smile she’s come to love, but there’s nothing teasing about the heavy look in his eyes.

Under the darkening arousal, she can see the pure adoration in his gaze, reflecting her own. She knows, realistically, it’s only been a few days—but she can’t really remember what it was like to wake up without Steve beside her, to fall asleep to his large, warm body curling over hers, and she doesn’t want to remember, either.

“Good morning,” she breathes, reaching down to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb against the corner of his mouth as it widens just a little more.

Then he’s dipping down, licking into where she’s warm and already a little wet for him, and she sucks in a breath, trapping it in her chest as her eyelashes flutter. She keeps her hand on his jaw, rubbing the budding stubble there, feeling it flex with every pass of his tongue against her, every little groan and lick and nibble, and it almost makes it feel heightened, somehow. She’s not quite holding onto him, but still, it feels as if he presses in closer at the exact moment her fingers twitch to drag him in, feels as if his licks linger when his tongue slides over a particularly sensitive spot that has her hand trembling to twist into his hair. She keeps her gaze on him as her vision grows blurry and her eyelids grow heavy, and then his eyes lick up to hers, sucking at her little bundle of nerves, and her head almost falls back as her body gently arches off of the bed.

He sucks at it again, her elbow nearly sliding out from under her, and then his tongue dips down and into her, and her lips part in a soft moan. And then his lips slide back up before she can find a rhythm, teasing her, tongue flicking against her hard bud right before he sucks it again, and she twists her neck to press her face into the pillow.

Again, and again, and again he works his mouth over her, groaning with her every little shift, sending delicious vibrations everywhere as she arches and rolls her hips—

And she doesn’t know if this morning feels different because of what happened yesterday, or if they feel different, but already it feels like too much, too fast, and she practically smothers herself with his pillow to muffle her voice as she bursts apart at the seams. White-hot pleasure crashes over her, rushing through her as he holds her to him, and she twists one hand into his sheets, the other braced against his headboard as she rides out her high and he coaxes every last drop of it out of her with a long groan.

Then he eases his mouth off of her, sliding his hands gently up and down her thighs, over her hips, almost soothing her as she shudders delicately from the pleasure. He kisses up her flushed skin, his lips brushing against almost every inch of it along the way, letting her catch her breath as he settles back over her.

He presses his face into her neck as she wraps her arms around his torso, kissing her there, too, and she lightly digs her nails into the muscles in his back.

“Good morning,” he says again, drawing a breathy chuckle from her that quickly dissolves into moan as she feels him between their bodies, hard and pressing right against her little bundle of nerves. His hand curves over her hip, gripping as he presses at her entrance, and then her body arches as best as it can under his as he slides in. She sinks her nails into his back a little harder as he sinks into her a little deeper, pausing as he slips all the way, and then his other hand is braced against the mattress, his mouth slanting over hers as he starts to move, and she very nearly whimpers into the kiss as he sweeps his tongue into her mouth at the same second he snaps his hips harder against hers.

They try to be slow at first, to savor it, but within seconds their kiss quickens, and then so do their bodies as they move against each other. Her chest squeezes, her lungs starting to sting just a little bit because she needs to take a breath, but she doesn’t pull away, not yet.

Not until a few moments later, when her second orgasm bursts through her, almost taking her by surprise as she twists her lips away from his to suck in a shaky breath. Pleasure rushes through her again, a little harder and a little faster now, her lips parting in a moan that seems trapped in her chest as she shudders under the white-hot waves crashing over her. He kisses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, groaning words into her skin that she can’t quite hear over the blood pounding in her ears, but then she feels his body growing taut above hers, his hips growing more urgent, until he stiffens and buries his face into her neck, teeth sinking into her skin as his groans out in his release.

It’s a long, few moments before Natasha feels her breaths finally start to even out, feels his body finally start to ease above her, and then his tongue darts out, licking at the indent of his teeth in her skin before he lifts his head to peer down at her.

“A girl could get used to a wake-up call like that,” she breathes out, and even though her voice is light and teasing, she knows there’s something more in her own words.

And she knows that Steve can hear it, too, because the warmth fluttering in her chest is reflected in his eyes as he smiles down at her. He replies with a teasing, “I’ll keep that in mind,” but she can hear the promise in his voice, and she’s smiling when he dips his head down to kiss her.

... ...

“Hey, soldier,” a voice whispers in his ear, warm and teasing, and Steve feels his lips twitch into a grin as Natasha slides onto the stool beside his, setting an empty glass on the bar counter. He spins his barstool to face her, rubs his lips together in vain to hide his amusement, but even if he could manage a poker face around Nat, she’d still see it in his eyes that he doesn’t find her new little joke as annoying as he sometimes pretends. Somehow, she’d decided that his father being back to take over as head of the Family meant that Steve was no more than a soldier now, or less, considering he wasn’t technically a “made” man, and honestly? Steve is far more amused by how much delight Natasha takes in her own joke than the actual joke itself. “Can I buy a man a drink?” she asks, setting her hands atop his knees to lean in and brush a kiss to his lips.

“The drinks are free,” Steve points out, arching an eyebrow, and Natasha smirks, her eyes bright with amusement.

He remembers how she’d had that same twinkle in her eyes when they first met right in this restaurant, almost at this very spot at the bar just a few months ago. The place had been closed that day, too, though rather than catching it between the lunch and dinner rush, the restaurant is closed for the rest of the night.

And technically speaking, it’s closed for them, though Steve is starting to realize that the Family will find any and every excuse to gather together and celebrate.

“Shouldn’t you two be over there?” Pietro chimes in from behind the bar, pouring more water into Natasha’s empty glass before gesturing at the dining room filled with the rest of the Family, loud with excited chatter and the sound of the kids screaming. “Of course, if Howard is retelling how he kicked Anton’s ass, I’d be hiding here, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh. Over a month later and both Howard and Tony still manage to bring up the story of officially kicking Anton and Ivan out of the state—hell, damn near out of the country—but then again, considering Anton had been a fundamental part of Stark Industries from the ground up, Steve doubts Howard will get over it anytime soon, or ever. Even if Howard had only really tolerated Anton these last few years, knowing that he had been betrayed for so long was a hard thing to get over. Howard may be more pissed than anything else right now, but some part of him is upset, too, just as Odin and Frigga must have been upset that Hela had been behind all the ambushes.

Steve half-expected Odin to argue against banning Hela from New York, but he had practically demanded to do it himself. Odin had been furious with his daughter, but at the end of the day, she’s still his daughter, and it’s probably easier for Odin to focus on her betrayal and her recklessness more than anything else.

“It’s a good story,” Sam comments, dropping into the stool on the other side of Nat, pulling Maria between his knees as she sips on the tumbler of rum in her hand.

“You only like it because you’re in it,” Maria retorts, and Sam hides his grin against her shoulder as she rolls her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in a smirk. “Although, it does make for quite a tale. Two cops joining in on an old-fashioned mafia shakedown and chase? I still say you should let me publish an anonymous article on it.”

Sam just chuckles, knowing there’s no genuine threat behind her words, and then something catches his eye that makes him sit up a little straighter, flashing his teeth in a smile as he asks, “And where might you two be coming from?”

Steve turns to look over his shoulder as Wanda and Bucky step out from the kitchen, his sister tucked under his best friend’s arm. He has his head bent close to hers, likely to whisper something in her ear, but he straightens up at Sam’s comment, pressing his lips together as he shakes his head. Wanda’s cheeks are flushed, and yes, maybe Steve would feel wary about that, except he already has a pretty good idea on why Bucky might’ve wanted to steal Wanda away for a little while. He’d come to Steve and his father earlier that week about wanting Wanda to move in with him, not because he had been asking for permission or anything, because in the end, whatever she wanted was what he was going to give her, even if her father and brother were wary of it. But he’d wanted their honest opinion on whether they thought it would be too much, too fast for her.

Had it been a few weeks before, maybe it would have been. Steve still remembers how his sister sat in his kitchen and admitted that she didn’t see things going further between them. Even if he didn’t care about her being a mafia princess, she’d been worried about the Family never quite accepting him. But if Sam and Bucky helping to protect Wanda hadn’t been enough to earn the Family’s good graces, the evidence that they gathered against Anton, Ivan, and Hela to prove their betrayal would have.

“Pay attention to your own girl, Wilson,” Bucky counters, brushing a kiss to Wanda’s hair as she giggles. She pauses their stride as she turns to them, stretching on her toes to whisper in his ear, and he dips his head to kiss her, quick and hard, earning a half-hearted noise of protest from Pietro that has Wanda pulling away with another giggle.

Then she glides over to Natasha, taking her hand and giving it a tug. “They’re about to start slicing and serving cake, which means we need to do a toast!”

Natasha catches Steve’s gaze as Wanda starts to pull her onto her feet, her eyes sparkling, and Steve gives her a grin, grabbing their glasses as they all head back into the main dining room. It’s louder and warmer, and little Morgan Stark and Nathaniel Barton nearly trip him over as they run by, but it only makes Steve’s grin widen.

He joins Natasha where she’s standing at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, a few dozen faces staring back at them as they take their seats. He peers down at Nat as he hands over her glass, catching the way his mother’s ring twinkles on her finger under the bright glow of the chandeliers. Then he glances around the room, finding his father sitting further down the table, smiling at him from his seat between Howard and Melina. Across from them, Peter nudges Bucky with his elbow as he and Wanda sit with him, Peter whispering something that makes Bucky hide his laugh with a cough, and on his other side, Pepper and Tony laugh as Morgan practically climbs into Sam’s lap.

It quiets down as Steve lifts his glass, curving his hand over Nat’s hip and drawing her close as he thanks them for celebrating with them tonight, asking them to raise their glass in a toast to his father coming home safe, to Pietro’s quick recovery, and to his and Nat’s engagement.

“And to Family,” he finishes, peering down at Natasha.

“To Family,” she echoes, and there are cheers and clinks of utensils against glasses of wine right before his mouth slants against hers in a kiss. Then he feels Natasha smile against his mouth just as she parts their kiss a moment later, turning his head to bring her lips near his ear. “And when exactly do you want to tell them the Family is about to get a little bigger?” she whispers, and Steve breathes out a chuckle, pressing a kiss against her neck. If he thought he could get away with touching her stomach, he would’ve.

“This is the Family we’re talking about, Nat,” he points out, drawing back to catch her bright eyes, a warmth squeezing at his chest. “They probably found out a week ago.”

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

For months now, President Trump has carefully planted the seed that he might not leave the office of the presidency willingly if he loses.

Whether it’s tweeting that the election should be delayed as it “will be the most inaccurate and fraudulent election in history” or that there will be widespread voter fraud because of the expected uptick in mail ballots due to the coronavirus, Trump seems intent on undermining the electoral process.

This, in turn, raises a rather thorny and unprecedented question: What happens if Trump won’t go? The answer is bleak. Experts tell me that the president actually has a lot of power at his discretion to contest the election, and some of the scenarios that could bring us to the edge of a crisis are actually very plausible.

Consider this one: It’s late on Election Day, and hundreds of thousands of votes in key battleground states still have to be counted due to the increased use of mail and absentee voting because of the pandemic. As a result, media outlets have largely avoided calling the race, but based on the votes that have been counted, Trump leads in enough states to reach at least 270 electoral votes, which would be enough to win the election if his election-night lead holds. Trump claims victory, but because Democrats were much more likely to vote by mail than Republicans, Joe Biden eventually pulls ahead because of the Democratic lean of the remaining votes — a phenomenon known as the “blue shift.”

That’s just one of the many scenarios the Transition Integrity Project, a bipartisan collection of over 100 experts, explored this summer while researching how a possible election crisis could unfold.

Rosa Brooks, a professor at Georgetown University Law School who co-founded the Transition Integrity Project, told me she and her colleagues weren’t interested in predicting the likelihood of any one scenario they looked at, but more so in understanding the range of possibilities. Ultimately, they don’t know to what extent this year’s election result will be contested — would Trump deploy federal agents from the Department of Justice to secure vote counting sites or would he just take to Twitter to bemoan the results? — but Brooks told me they do think the election will be contested at least on some level. So the question they’re asking is: How much?

One big takeaway from the Transition Integrity Project’s simulations was just how much power Trump has at his disposal should he choose to contest the election. “You have just a tremendous differential between the president of the United States of America, who has just awesome coercive powers at his disposal, and a challenger who really has no power whatsoever in our system,” said Brooks. “Joe Biden can call a press conference; Donald Trump could call on the 82nd Airborne.”

This, of course, would be a doomsday scenario, and one reason why so much of this is hard to fathom. A cornerstone of American elections has been the peaceful transition of power, but as research from the Transition Integrity Project and others underscores, there are multiple ways to contest an election. And it’s not limited to just Trump either. It’s very possible were Trump to win in the Electoral College, where he has an advantage, but lose the popular vote to Biden, that Democrats would dismiss the election as unfair.

We, of course, do not have to look too far back in our electoral history to know that Americans have survived a disputed election before — see the 2000 presidential race. But experts I talked to were worried, given Trump’s inflammatory rhetoric around the election and his own track record of openly flouting democratic norms, that the country wouldn’t be able to handle another full-throttle election dispute. Take how low the public’s trust in the election already is. Last week, an NBC News/SurveyMonkey poll found that 59 percent of Americans were not too confident or not confident at all that the election would be conducted in a free and equal way, in line with its polling since early August on this question.

It might be hard to remember now, but in the 2000 presidential election, Florida’s GOP-controlled state legislature was on the verge of appointing a new slate of electors to vote for George W. Bush had a court-ordered manual recount imposed by the Florida Supreme Court dragged on. Of course, it ultimately didn’t come to that because the U.S. Supreme Court stepped in and halted Florida’s recount, famously deciding in a 5-4 decision that the state Supreme Court had overstepped its bounds and that a recount could not be held in time to meet the federal deadline for the selection of presidential electors.

Edward Foley of Ohio State University’s Moritz College of Law thinks something similar could happen this year if the president and his backers contest the results in the Electoral College.

In Foley’s scenario, Trump leads in the tipping-point state of Pennsylvania on election night, but because of Democratic gains in ballots counted in the following days, Biden pulls ahead by a few thousand votes. What happens next quickly devolves into a partisan dispute. Democratic Gov. Tom Wolf signs Pennsylvania’s certificate of ascertainment, confirming Biden’s victory by listing the Democratic electors as the state’s official slate for the Electoral College, while the Republican-controlled Pennsylvania legislature appoints a different set of electors at Trump’s behest as he has claimed there was widespread election fraud.

This, were it to happen, would likely be met immediately with legal challenges in state and federal court, perhaps followed by another intervention by the U.S. Supreme Court. But the significance is that even if a court ruled against the validity of one set of electors, Congress still has the power to consider both sets of electors as long as they have in hand the certificate naming them.

The Electoral Count Act of 1887, which governs the electoral vote counting process, was designed to help Congress decide how to handle such a situation. But it is especially ambiguous on what would happen if the Senate and House disagree on which set of electors should count, which could happen if the GOP retains control of the Senate and Democrats keep the House.

In Foley’s scenario, Vice President Mike Pence — as president of the Senate, he would oversee the count in Congress — follows one interpretation of the law, arguing that neither set of electors should count because they conflict. That removes Pennsylvania’s votes from the total number of electors and gives Trump a majority based on the remaining 518 electoral votes.1 Democrats, however, counter, claiming the certificate bearing the governor’s seal, which supports Biden, is given preference by the law.

Ultimately, though, neither side finds a compromise and we find ourselves in the midst of a full-blown constitutional crisis. In this scenario, the Supreme Court could become involved if, for instance, Democrats seek an injunction to stop Pence from not counting Pennsylvania’s votes. But it’s also possible the court would try to avoid making a ruling on the counting dispute, in keeping with a dissent from Bush v. Gore that argued neither the Constitution nor the Electoral Count Act provided a role for the judiciary in this process.

Under the 20th Amendment, we know someone must take office on Jan. 20 as president, yet the amendment is curiously silent on how to deal with a dispute over whether someone has actually qualified to take office. “The thing that we know for sure is the current term ends,” said Foley, but he added that doesn’t mean it would be straightforward to figure out who should take office next if there’s a disagreement.

In fact, it’s possible that House Speaker Nancy Pelosi could claim that under the Presidential Succession Act, she is next in line to become president and that she would be willing to resign her House seat to serve as president until Biden is ruled the election winner. But if Republicans claimed Trump had won reelection, they very well might object to Pelosi being sworn in. Given a crisis on this scale, it’s hard to unpack what exactly might happen, but it’s very likely things would spiral out of control, and the resulting uncertainty could spark unrest and protests that could very well lead to violence.

Gaming out these different scenarios demonstrates that, should Trump dispute the result, a key factor will be the extent to which leading Republican officials at the federal and state level cooperate with him. Brooks pointed out that while Trump has significant power to contest the results as president, he can ultimately only go so far if supporters don’t follow his lead.

For instance, in one of its simulations, the Transition Integrity Project found that GOP leaders might support some of Trump’s claims of fraud or maneuvers to manipulate the vote count, but that didn’t mean they’d go along with every move he tried. For instance, it found many Republicans might oppose an attempt to federalize and deploy the National Guard. And in Foley’s scenario, much hinged on what Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell and other Republicans — including Pence — chose to do when it came to deciding which Pennsylvania electors should count.

The relative closeness of the election is a factor here, too. In a different simulation the Transition Integrity Project looked at that put Biden in a stronger position on election night, Trump attracted less support from Republican leaders and Biden’s campaign was able to get some degree of bipartisan cooperation so that the country didn’t slide into a full-blown electoral crisis. Still, throughout its different scenarios, the project found it likely that the Trump campaign would try to raise enough doubts about the vote so as to undermine what might even seem like a clear result. Considering Trump claimed millions of people illegally voted when he won in 2016, it doesn’t take much to imagine he’d do the same this year if he thought it would improve his chances of winning a contested election. That’s one reason researchers at the Transition Integrity Project rank Trump’s allegations of voter fraud among the most dangerous threats currently facing the election.

Of course, considering how high the existential stakes seem to be in this election, it’s not out of the question that Biden might be the one who disputes the result. Tellingly, in another simulation the Transition Integrity Project played out, a crisis unfolded after Trump won in the Electoral College but lost the national popular vote by 5 points. Trump claimed it was fraud that explained Biden’s popular vote edge, but Biden retracted an election night concession and pushed Democratic governors in Michigan and Wisconsin to send appointed slates of electors to Congress, in conflict with the elected ones backing Trump. In his work, Foley also explored an alternate scenario in which Arizona was the tipping-point state and Republican Gov. Doug Ducey refused to certify the results to give Biden the state’s electors. During Congress’s counting, congressional Democrats argued that Arizona’s electors should be disqualified to give Biden the victory — the same argument Pence made in the Pennsylvania scenario to claim Trump had won.

The scenarios laid out by the Transition Integrity Project and Foley shouldn’t be taken as definite outcomes, but they do make clear that the rickety apparatus governing our electoral process could collapse if key actors decide to push against it.

Worryingly, the public may be especially vulnerable to attempts to delegitimize the election, too. Faith in the Electoral College is already shaky because of the possibility of a popular vote-electoral vote split like in 2000 and 2016, and worse yet, support for the Electoral College is increasingly polarized by party. A conflict over which electors should count would only exacerbate those concerns. And because many Americans still expect to know who won on election night, this could create a situation where much of the public isn’t ready for — or is ready to reject — sizable shifts in the vote after Election Day, which could make it easier to cast doubt on the outcome.

But even if the worst scenarios don’t come to pass, the fact that we lack a neutral electoral arbiter is surely a ticking time bomb for our democracy. Such an institution may sound difficult to create, but many individual states have used judicial panels to successfully sort through close elections, and other democratic nations have far better laws to adjudicate contested elections. For now, though, in the absence of such measures, the peaceful transfer of power hinges on the expectation that that is how American elections work, but that may be increasingly hanging in the balance, as anyone living in this incredibly polarized era of U.S. politics will tell you.

[innerpostmentality]

Arcana Unbound - Picnic prep, or The Truth About Strawberries

Four thousand years ago gods and magic shaped and ruled and were plentiful in the world. Man and the creatures were shaped and marked by it. Then things began to change. Gradually all magic diminished and the things of science took precedence until magic became a myth tucked away safely in children’s fairy tales and skilled entertainer’s parlor tricks. It’s been a thousand years of progress unmarked by true magic.                     Things are about to change.   This fic is part of a collaborative AU created by my talented friend @tornbetween2loves, and myself. This part was written 50/50 by myself and @tornbetween2loves. It is set immediately following ‘All it took was A Moment’ Many thanks to our betas, @stopforamoment, @kennaxval, and @hopefulmoonobject who give us much needed encouragement and feedback!

Disclaimer: all original TRR characters and references belong to Pixelberry, however we are claiming their beautiful children as our own creations. Word count: 3400 + Warnings: still pretty PG-13 for this part. Some future parts will be erotic and deal with some serious problems and adult themes.  Tags: @darley1101 @gardeningourmet @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @bobasheebaby @carabeth @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @riseandshinelittleblossom @kennaxval @stopforamoment @teamtomsato @furiousherringoperatortoad @indiacater @sirbeepsalot @alesana45 @strangerofbraidwood @museofbooks @furryperfectionlover @ao719 @blackcatkita  

  Calais sketched on her phone while she sat on Sarissa's bed. She had a little stylus and was concentrating, worrying her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue when Sarissa got back from checking on Xiphos.

  Sarissa had a puzzled look on her face when she returned to her room. “Odd. He’s not there. It’s way too early for him to be up even on a normal day when he didn’t have a late night the night before.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and sent him a quick text.

    Calais looked up her eyes going wide before she laughed weakly, "One night with wine face and he’s setting track records waking up early to escape." She dropped her eyes to her phone already knowing there was nothing there to find. She just sat there and looked at her phone as her heart constricted with pain. .

 Sarissa glared at her friend. “That’s not funny Calais. I’m sure there’s an explanation. He’s got to be somewhere.” Just then Sarissa’s phone pinged. It was Xiphos.

  Sarissa raised an eyebrow at Calais. “He’s on his way home now. From the palace.”

  She flushed embarrassed as a tear escaped. "I'm sorry. I... Maybe..." She frowned and took deep breaths. "Xiphos deserves someone stronger. I don't know if I can do this Sarissa. I love him. I do. I'm just so broken. So damn broken. And angry."

  Sarissa wrapped an arm around her friend. “Calais, you are strong. You don’t give yourself enough credit. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let the people who love you be your strength. Let Xiphos be your strength.” She wrapped her friend in a big hug. “One thing I can say about my brother is he is very determined. When he wants something, he goes after it relentlessly until he has it. If he wants you, he won’t allow you to give up on him that easily.”

  She sighed then looked puzzled. "Wait... He was at the palace?"

  Sarissa nodded and grinned slowly. “That’s what he said. Maybe he was there looking for you?” Sarissa suddenly snapped her head up and sat up straight. “No! I bet I know why he was there.” She gave Calais a mischievous look.

  Calais looked at Sarissa. "You think he was talking with my dad? Like he and Aeneas were in some sort of alliance?" She laughed.

  Sarissa smiled wide. “I’ll bet he was asking your father’s permission to court you. I mean, you can’t really be seen in public with a princess without the King’s permission. Xiphos seems dense but he knows the rules of the court.”

  She grimaced. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't you know." She shook her head and looked out the window and laughed. "All those little girls out there who dream of being a princess. I'm certain it's a lot better in dreams." Then her expression changed and she blushed. "Your brother... I like the waking version best.." She giggled.   "God, Sarissa I feel all over the place this morning. I’m sorry. It’s like I've been holding my breath... "

  Sarissa smiled at her friend’s giddiness. She knew exactly how she felt because she felt the same way. “It thrills me to see you so happy.” She giggled like a school girl. “I know how you feel; I feel the same way about your brother.”

  "I think we should plan a camping trip. Or maybe spend a day out on the yacht? Dad and Uncle Drake used to go camping when they were our age." She shook her head. "God …. How am I going to finish my pieces in time?  I’ve only got a year before the exhibition at the Louvre. It already made me nauseated when I would think about it.” She shook her head grinning. “Now your brother is the only thing in my head. He gives me different feelings in my stomach... " She laughed. "He said I could sculpt him. And I want to. I'm not sure he's going to think the same when he's trapped posing."

  Sarissa raised an eyebrow at Calais. “I think camping sounds like a blast. We could hatch plots to ditch the security details.” She broke into a fit of giggles and her cheeks flushed pink at her next thought. “Perhaps I can deflower your brother underneath the stars? How romantic!”

  Calais eyes got wide and she giggled so hard she snorted. "I can't believe you just suggested we ditch our security details..." "Honestly I think security was always along... just not right in the camp with them..." "Hey you're the expert. What do they tell you about if the royal you are guarding is getting intimate? I want to see that class? Who even teaches that protocol?"

  Sarissa giggled. “Actually, they teach us to blend in to the surroundings. Tune it out. And, of course always have the utmost discretion.” Her eyes went wide as she suddenly stopped giggling. “Oh my god, can you imagine the things my dad has seen? He should probably be the one teaching that class.” They both locked eyes for a moment, then burst out in laughter. After a few moments they were interrupted by a deep voice from the doorway. “What’s so funny? Glad to see you two are getting along.” The girls spun around to see Xiphos standing in the doorway, all dressed up, humor sparkling in his emerald eyes. “My, you look nice. Why are you so dressed up?” Sarissa moved toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck.   Xiphos wrapped his arms around his sister, but his eyes glanced over her shoulder and locked with Calais’. “Well, typically people dress up when they are having breakfast with the King and Queen.”

  Calais blushed scarlet and felt his voice go through her. "Oh." Was all that came out as a strange squeak. She cleared her throat. Took a couple of deep breaths to try to offset the dizziness she was feeling. "We were about going out talking... Talking about it. Hi." She was pretty sure she was about to fall off the bed. If she did she thought she might wake up. There should be laws about men being that good looking. It was dangerous.

  Xiphos giggled as he released his sister and moved toward Calais. He leaned over her and gave her a soft peck on her pink cheek. “Good morning, Beautiful.” He cupped her cheek gently, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.   Sarissa rolled her eyes as they made googly eyes at each other. “God, get a room you two! A room that’s not mine!”

  Lost in the emerald depths of his eyes Calais was just smiling besottedly at him not even really trying to focus. "Mumm," she murmured locked in his gaze. "Sarissa's not mad at me anymore. We rode over here. And your dad was grumpy. But said we could ride on the beach later but you have to come with us. But we only brought two horses so we might have to share…. If you want to?"

  Xiphos smiled lovingly at her, entranced by her beauty as he gently stroked her cheek. “I would love to come with you. You and my sister should not go anywhere alone.” He took her hand in his, gently rubbing circles across her knuckles with his thumb, never breaking eye contact. Sarissa rolled her eyes again. “It’s like I’m not even here. Is this what it’s like when Aeneas and I are together?”

  Sarissa's phone pinged with an incoming text.

Then there was short video of him with about 10 kids in hospital gowns holding stuffed toys as they waved and yelled, "Hi Lady Sarissa!" It cut out and then:    

  Sarissa couldn’t keep the grin from spreading across her face as she watched the video. How sweet! She texted back   

She still had the goofy grin on her face when she looked up to see Xiphos and Calais looking at her. “What? Do I have something on my face or what?”

  Calais and Xiphos looked at each other and giggled and chimed in unison. "Definitely." Then Calais' stomach growled loudly enough they all could hear it. She blushed. "Um, I might need something to eat. In our escape from the palace I didn't get any breakfast. Maybe we could grab something and have a picnic on the beach?"

 “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”   Xiphos turned to Sarissa. “What do you think sis? Sis?” Sarissa was smiling at her phone, completely engrossed. Xiphos snapped his fingers in front of Sarissa’s phone. “Hey! Have you heard a word we’ve said?”   Sarissa blushed and swept her brother’s hands from in front of her face. “Yes a picnic sounds great. Why don’t you two see what you can find in the kitchen and I’ll be down in a minute?”

  Sarissa typed a message to Aeneas:

   The text came back almost immediately: 

  Sarissa responded: 

   When they stepped out of Sarissa's room Calais was smiling. "I feel like my fairy godmother showed up or something." She blushed. "Thank you for talking with my parents. I know that had to be hard. Especially so early in the morning."  Xiphos laced his fingers through Calais’ and brought her hand to his lips, sweeping his lips across her knuckles softly. “Are you saying I’m your Prince Charming, Beautiful?” He smiled at her. “And your parents are remarkably easy to talk to. Which is surprising since they are the king and queen. They are both very normal.”

 "Are you volunteering for the position?" She grinned at him. "I'm glad they like you. Daddy has a dungeon you know." She giggled. Her stomach growled and she blushed. "And I'm sorry you seem to have gotten stuck with Princess Growling Tummy."   It took everything she had to keep from throwing herself in his arms and kissing him until she lost consciousness. She stopped before they went in the hall to the kitchen where she last saw Bastien. "Um... I might have told your dad when we got here that I was in love. He said I looked happier than the last time he saw me and I told him I was in love. I didn't tell him who. But...” She shrugs. "He's really observant and so I'm sorry if this is going to be awkward."

  Xiphos grinned. “I am most definitely volunteering to be Prince Charming for Princess Growling Tummy.” He chuckled and tickled her belly lightly. “And don’t worry about dad. He already knows about us.” Calais lifted an eyebrow at him. Xiphos grinned slyly and winked. “How do you think I was able to get an early morning breakfast appointment with the King and Queen? I got connections.”

    Sarissa's phone pinged. 

  Sarissa squealed with excitement as she quickly typed a response. 

Then she headed toward the kitchen.  He stopped outside the kitchen and pulled her into his arms as they pressed their bodies flush. He kissed her softly, then deepened the kiss to match his growing need.

 She mewled her need for him softly, welcoming his tongue. And when their kiss finally broke her voice was soft as velvet. "I love you. I loved waking up and still feeling the warm ache of our lovemaking." She looked in his eyes vulnerable and wanting.  “I love you too. I could barely sleep last night from thoughts of you. And when I did sleep you were in my dreams. You’re the girl of my dreams, Calais.” He softly stroked her cheek as he gazed into her dark eyes with need and longing.   Calais stood there in his arms cocooned by his warmth and embrace oblivious to the world that moved outside the emerald beauty of his gaze. "I dreamt of you too." her voice was a low purr and stroked his desire. "You are better than my dream." She delicately traced his bottom lip with her callused fingertip. "I wish that you could just carry me off...."

  "Ahh hem...." Sarissa stood there looking at the two of them.

  Xiphos backed away a bit from Calais, his face flushed. He turned his back to his sister to hide his arousal. Calais smiled sweetly at Sarissa and mumbled “sorry.”   Sarissa raised an eyebrow at them both. “Xiphos are you really gonna go horseback riding dressed like that?”   He stammered as he stared at the floor. “Ummmm....” He realized he was still wearing his dress clothes from breakfast. He looked over his shoulder at Sarissa. “Why don’t you ladies pack lunch while I go change?”   Calais grabbed Sarissa’s hand and pulled her into the kitchen while Xiphos made a bee line for his room.   Flushed and happy Calais grinned at Sarissa. "Have you always had a knack for catching your brother or is this part of your guard training?" She chuckled amused by the number of times she and Xiphos had been walked in on in intimate moments in the last 24 hours. "And what are we fixing for the picnic? I find myself with two things on my mind at the moment. One of them is food." She smirked.

  Sarissa giggled as she headed into the kitchen and peered in the fridge. “I am pretty stealthy, Xiphos is too, and no, I haven’t caught him before. He’s apparently way too distracted to notice his surroundings when he’s with you.” Sarissa winked at her friend. “So we could do a cheese and cracker tray with some fruit. Or chicken salad sandwiches. And we can raid the wine cellar too if you’d like.” She raised an eyebrow at Calais. Her cheeks flushed as her face broke into a wide smile. “Aeneas may join us as well. I told him we’d go to the private beach by the palace.”

  Calais texted Aeneas:

  Sarissa opened a cupboard and grabbed a to go coffee cup and handed it to Calais. She gestured to the coffeemaker with half a pot of coffee sitting on it. “Help yourself. There’s cream and sugar there next to it. Dad always makes a pot of coffee for mom around this time so it should be fresh.” She took some cheese and pepperoni out of the fridge along with a tray of sliced apples, grapes and strawberries. She opened a door leading into a pantry and returned with a large picnic basket. 

  Calais poured herself a cup and sipped it. Then put the top on the cup leaving it black. "What do you think, crackers or bread? This looks great. What are the rest of you going to be having?" She giggled and swiped a strawberry. She looked at the strawberry... and blushed as her mind fell into the gutter as she thought about Xiphos.

  Sarissa laughed at her friend. “I’m gonna take both crackers and bread, and some of this chicken salad. I’m kind of hungry too.” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you thinking about feeding strawberries to my brother?

  She shook her head turning completely scarlet. "Hold a strawberry and look down at it...." She watched Sarissa for the moment when she saw the resemblance.

  Sarissa’s cheeks burned hot as she realized what her friend meant. “Oh my god! It looks just like....” she started giggling uncontrollably. “What does it look like?” Xiphos was standing in the doorway, smiling at the sight of the two girls giggling and red-faced. Sarissa took a bite of the strawberry and shrugged, unable to control her laughter any longer.

  Calais was still giggling as she lifted a brow and handed him a strawberry. She took a deep breath to calm herself then she took his hand holding the strawberry and slipped her mouth over the berry before she bit it. She looked in his eyes and grinned. She blinked and cleared her throat. "So, we have bread, crackers, cheese, chicken salad, pepperoni, and sliced apples, grapes, and strawberries." She smiled innocently. "Is there anything else you can think of we need for a beach feast?"

  Xiphos’ mouth went dry as he watched her lips wrap around the tip of the strawberry. His eyes grew dark with lust. He shook his head to bring him out of the lusty haze then smiled. “How about a bottle of wine? Or maybe two if Aeneas joins us.”   Sarissa grinned. “Why don’t you two go grab a couple bottles from the wine cellar while I finish packing this stuff up? But I’m warning you, I’ll be sending dad down after you if you take too long.”

  Calais pouted at Sarissa, "You wouldn't" Then looked at Xiphos, "She would." "Oh we need blankets too." She giggled and grabbed his hand to drag him down to the wine cellar.

  Xiphos followed Calais down to the wine cellar. They crashed their lips together as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs. A low guttural moan came from deep in Xiphos’ throat as he pressed his pelvis into hers. His voice was soft and hoarse and filled with need. “Calais, you are so beautiful. You don’t know what you do to me.”

  Her voice was low. "I know what you do to me. I want you so much right now." She gasped as his hand slipped under her sweater caressing her. Then she shook her head. "Love... we can't." She moaned as she kissed him again arching into him then broke the kiss panting.   "Sarissa will come and get us. She wants to get to Aeneas and the beach." She looked at him with smoky lust filled eyes. "If I were in her place and she was down here with Aeneas and you were going to meet us at the beach..."Calais giggled... "I would have known better than to send us down here in the first place!"

  Xiphos chuckled. “You’re right. Of course.” He sighed deeply and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He looked around the wine cellar kind of clueless. “So, I’m not really a wine connoisseur. What pairs well with cheese and crackers at the beach?

  She lifted a brow and looked at him. "Are you certain Olivia Nevrakis-Lykel is your mother?" She chuckled. "I promise I'll never tell." She browsed through the racks casting occasional flirty glances over her shoulder as she looked at the labels. "The correct answer depends on the season, the cheese, and what you are wanting to accomplish." She pulled a bottle of Chardonnay out. "Now this would be lovely. It's a little on the light, fruity, side. It will go well with everything we are taking. If our parents were joining us. I'd pick this." She walked farther along the racks, looking intently and finally pulled another bottle. "Now this on the other hand..." She looked intently at him. "This is more for after the food. It's a fortified wine. Which means that brandy was added to the rose' It'll loosen your inhibitions and warm you up. I suspect this is more in the order of what your sister would like to serve to Aeneas." She smirked. "So I think we take a couple of bottles of the Chardonnay and slip this bottle of Madeira in for after we eat and it gets dark."

  Xiphos grinned. “Sounds good. Let’s go before Sarissa comes down here after us.” He leaned down and kissed her softly as he looked into her eyes with longing one last time before he followed her up the stairs.

[blue-eyed-devils]

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME: Since I did Adrian/Lucas, you got Kent/Jack

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME!

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship!

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs [I think I’ll ship it more once we get it cooking]

How long will they last? -   Good question

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Lust at first sight, but love will sneak up on them when they’re not looking.

How was their first kiss? - An extra serving of steamed buns.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Jack’s the big romantic. 

Who is the best man/men? - Richie, Kent’s family.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Jack’s bestie

Who did the most planning? -

Who stressed the most? - Jack

How fancy was the ceremony? -Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.  Jack would want it super discrete and lowkey at a registry office/etc. But if he was out publicly by this point, he’d want a big showy wedding.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? -  Their exes.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Kent 90%, Jack 10% though Jack would take 30% if he could

Who is the one to instigate things? - Evenly split.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now.  They’re the type who meet on lunchbreaks for a quickie.

How kinky are they? -Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head   Kent’s pretty sexual but Jack’s tastes barely past vanilla so its a compromise..

How long do they normally last? - 20mins to all nighters.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Jack’s pretty greedy so Kent might be cumming more often than himself.

How rough are they in bed? -Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.  They broke their bed a few times. Kent treats it like a workout.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.  More affectionate at home than in public.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Ahaha! No.

How many children will they adopt? -  Jack would want just one, Kent would want a few to have a full team.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Kent. Jack’s not the most practical.

Who is the stricter parent? - Kent, coz Jack’s too kind. Except when it comes to food.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Jack, because he’s worried about scars and permanent injuries.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Jack, because he’s obsessed with nutrition.

Who is the more loved parent? - Jack’s a big goofball with them but Kent’s at all the games & matches.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Jack’s better at schmoozing. 

Who cried the most at graduation? - Jack. Drama queen.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Kent.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Jack, coz those abs aren’t painted on.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Kent, because those weird foods from those strange cultures Jack’s always trying to feed him. 

Who does the grocery shopping? - They both do. Kent always try to sneak in some chocolate into the cart

How often do they bake desserts? - Regularly. But they’re healthy ones, not fun. :(

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Something they bicker about.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Kent. He pretends to have forgotten, only to have been planning something for months.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Jack’s the one with all the event invites.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Kent. Too distracted by the game on tv. 

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Kent, coz Jack is used to having a maid.

Who is really against chores? - Jack, who wants to have a maid but Kent won’t let him. 

Who cleans up after the pets? - Jack

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Jack. He doesn’t like confrontation.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Kent because they’re usually Jack’s weird hollywood friends.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Kent.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Kent, because he’s sore from working out or Jack’s decided to join him.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Jack would take him for a jog.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - All the time. Jack’s very festive.

What are their goals for the relationship? - ‘Lock this hottie down’  ‘Don’t ruin a good thing’ ‘Reveal the big softie i see hidden there’

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Both of them, coz they work late or tired from sex marathon. 

Who plays the most pranks? Jack likes to mess with Kent while he’s sleeping and Kent will do things to him when Jack’s on the phone.

[0100100100101101]

The era of police hiding behind bushes and catching drivers who exceed 30 miles per hour may be coming to an end. In years, maybe decades, the young officer with a quota could be replaced by a robotic cop car.

Unsympathetic to excuses and invulnerable to flirtation, the robot will flash its lights to pull you over. It will scan your driver’s license, decide whether to issue a warning or ticket, and inform you of its decision before letting you drive off.

The concept is outlined in a Ford patent filing for a self-driving cop car capable of using artificial intelligence "to find good hiding spots to catch violators of traffic laws." An optional human passenger could override settings that prevent the car from breaking traffic laws itself.

It’s unclear how far along the idea is in development, but experts and policymakers are grappling with the concept that was quietly filed with the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office more than a year ago before recently attracting widespread attention after a blogger noticed it.

The idea's public airing comes as self-driving technology hits its stride, transitioning from testing to broader deployment for everyday use.

Uber has dispatched driverless cars to cities such as Pittsburgh, with more than 2 million miles driven. Waymo, a self-driving car company owned by Google’s parent firm, has 4 million test miles and plans to start its own ride-hailing service in Phoenix this year. It’s buying thousands of self-driving Chrysler Fiat-built minivans for rapid U.S. expansion.

Many companies have joined the rush. Tesla and Mercedes-Benz are unveiling partially self-driving cars, and General Motors plans to release a fully autonomous car without a steering wheel next year.

Ford, the robot-cop patent-filer, invested $1 billion in the firm Argo AI last year to develop self-driving technology as part of a five-year plan to make thousands of vehicles available for car-sharing and ride-hailing services.

Right now, self-driving carmakers have a fairly free hand. State laws create a patchwork of rules, but may soon be swept away by overriding federal regulation. Congressional lawmakers are debating bills that would expressly allow the vehicles and give the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration regulatory power over design and safety. For now, voluntary NHTSA guidance seeks to foster both innovation and safety.

Ford declined to comment on the cop car beyond a statement from Alan Hall, communications manager for autonomous and electric vehicles, who said: “We submit patents on innovative ideas as a normal course of business. Patent applications are intended to protect new ideas but aren’t necessarily an indication of new business or product plans.”

Amid technological advances, however, some experts believe real-world adoption of the concept is an almost inevitable.

“A widely-distributed, autonomous police presence is not hard to imagine. We have to ask: Do we want to live in a world blanketed with autonomous police cars?” asked Ed Walters, who teaches at Georgetown University’s law school and at Cornell Tech.

Why fear the robocop?

Privacy concerns, uncertainty about the effect of automation on police jobs, and doubt about robot performance are among the biggest issues raised by people who take a dim view of the conceptual cop car.

The skeptics include Rep. Val Demings, D-Fla., a former chief of the Orlando Police Department and one of the few former law enforcement officers serving in Congress.

"One of the greatest gifts a law enforcement officer has is his or her ability to use discretion,” Demings said. “Automation has its place, but it could never replace the wisdom, courage, and compassion found in an officer's heart and soul.”

Candace Lightner, the founder of Mothers Against Drunk Driving, said she’s outright opposed to the car, which the patent application describes as being able to use artificial intelligence to detect impaired driving.

“It kind of reminds me of a police state when all of a sudden you could be pulled over for non-dangerous driving behaviors,” said Lightner, who now leads the traffic safety group We Save Lives.

“What if I’m driving along and all of a sudden a dog runs out and I stop? I’m going to get pulled over by a police state vehicle that can’t see what’s going on? I don’t like it at all,” she said.

The Ford patent application says the car “may, through machine learning” recognize impaired driving, including through observation of a “sudden stop, meandering movement, abnormal lane changes or the like.” An optional passenger officer could arrest the driver.

Lightner said she believes police would grow complacent and defer to the technology. That could lead to the false arrest of people who are not intoxicated, the non-arrest of others who are, and a go-to argument against conviction for defense attorneys.

Dave Maass, a researcher at the Electronic Frontier Foundation, said such a car operating as a “Roomba of the roadway” — a reference to the automatic vacuum cleaner — would amplify privacy and data-security concerns already debated with police use of license plate readers.

Maass, an advocate for California legislation that would allow covering the license plates of parked cars, said plate readers generally are stationary or on police cruisers, but self-driving cars could collect much greater amounts of data.

Police have put license plate readers near gun shows and mosques, Maass noted, and can use records to reconstruct the routines of people not suspected of a crime.

Offering an example of how automated cop cars might be used, Maass pointed to local police departments in Texas that use plate readers provided for free by the company Vigilant Solutions. The scanners find people with unpaid court fines, and cops give pulled-over drivers a choice: jail or roadside payment, with a 25 percent fee for the company.

“It may result in a lot more prosecution,” Maass added, saying that in the more distant future he worries "that we will get to the point where facial recognition is good enough that faces become like license plates ... and companies track your location based on your bare face. So you take this vehicle — an automated police vehicle — that’s just driving around and grabbing the faces of everyone.”

One hurdle to broad deployment is local laws that require police departments to win approval from elected officials for new surveillance technologies. A campaign led by the American Civil Liberties Union has seen the policy adopted in many areas, including Seattle and Nashville.

“I don’t think it’s inevitable; I think people can make noise about it and let their representatives know,” Maass said.

The libertarians' take

Despite talk of frightening consequences, the idea of robotic policing does have supporters, perhaps surprisingly among some civil libertarians.

Ian Adams, associate vice president of state affairs at the free-market R Street Institute, said “predictability from within policing cuts both ways, but likely cuts favorably overall.”

“You will have fewer pretextual stops,” he said. “Once expectations are adjusted, you will have fewer issues with cops pulling over a car because they don't look like they fit [in a neighborhood] or tailing a car for miles waiting for them to do something nominally wrong.”

In addition to reducing the potential for racial bias, Adams said a recent experience with a self-driving Uber vehicle in Pittsburgh made him realize “public policy will have to evolve” alongside the rise of automated vehicles.

Adams recalls going about 35 miles per hour over a bridge where cars with human drivers were accustomed to driving more than 50 miles per hour.

“You will see reasonability standards put into black-and-white traffic laws,” he predicted, such as a more flexible definition of stopping and a possible deviation from “bright line speed limits.” He believes increased civilian use of self-driving cars over the next few years will force changes in traffic laws before police broadly deploy their own autonomous cars.

Adams, who was involved in California’s legislative process of adopting self-driving rules, also anticipates new rules for data protection. “It’s going to be so much easier to collect massive amounts of information from these platforms,” he said. “But I tend to be less concerned about collection than use.”

Julian Sanchez, a senior fellow at the libertarian Cato Institute, said the vehicles could offer a dramatic improvement over current policing practices.

“This actually seems like an improvement on traffic cameras in one respect, assuming they can make it practical in the field, in that the patent has a mechanism for scanning a driver’s license,” he said. “Traffic cameras typically have to assume that the driver of the car — and thus the person liable for fines or penalties detected by the camera — is always the registered owner.”

Sanchez said, “There are also potentially big benefits for equity, privacy, and safety — for both police and drivers.”

“Having trained police officers who spend their time handing out traffic tickets is a pretty bad use of resources,” he said. “If we can offload the decision about who gets pulled over to an algorithm that only sees data about driving behavior, that’s a simple way to radically reduce both the reality and the perception of ‘driving while black’ stops. For similar reasons, it should cut down on pretextual stops where some minor, possibly imaginary infraction is used as an excuse to detain someone and poke around their car for other reasons.”

Sanchez predicts more safety for the public and for officers. Cops would not have to fear violence from drivers during routine traffic stops, as robots would handle them, and drivers would no longer have to fear “the sort of cop who seems to get a thrill out of behaving like a bully” or “a jittery cop shoots someone during a traffic stop for no real reason,” he said.

“It would probably be better for police-community relations generally if the awkward process of being punished for minor infractions weren’t the most common personal interaction many people have with police officers,” Sanchez said. “On net, this sounds like a good thing on many levels.”

Ford, of course, may not be the only company interested in making a robotic cop car.

“I'm skeptical that this idea satisfies the patentability requirements of novelty and nonobviousness,” said Bryant Walker Smith, a professor of law and engineering at the University of South Carolina and an affiliate scholar at the Center for Internet and Society at Stanford Law School.

Regardless, Smith said, the idea’s likely to be one part of a larger shift.

“In the future,” Smith said, “the placement of all kinds of inward and outward facing sensors on motor vehicles, aerial drones, and infrastructure — plus the connection of these sensors to the cloud — will enable far more aggressive public and private enforcement.”

[lubdubsworld]

Losing to You.

Warning : this is Mpreg. Now, I've never written Mpreg but I got a request for it and i realized a lot of people find it disturbing (??)

 ( honestly that baffles me considering that people are okay with hybrids, werewolves and incubus. Is pregnancy freakier than having a bushy tail?? ...i don’t get you people ...) 

Anyways, this is sort of an Alternate Universe where not all men can get pregnant. Some men can. They’re called carriers. Carriers are extremely rare and there’s not a lot of study done on them. But they’re generally looked down on because of the traits associated with them ( something like omegas, you could say .) 

So if a male getting pregnant is not your thing you can leave.  But honestly, it’s not graphic or anything . i thought it was a really cute idea , taehyung with a baby bump being pampered by a whipped jung kook.

Part 1/?

"Taehyung, I'm sorry."

Taehyung sighed, staring at the man in front of him and managing a weak smile. Everyone was apologizing to him these days. The milk man who couldn't extend his credit, the apartment's land-lord who served him the eviction notice, the school chairman who wants him to withdraw both Taejoon and Taemin from the classes because he hadn't paid the fees and now Seokjin, the owner of the cafe he worked at. But rules were rules and male carriers who were more than four months pregnant weren't allowed to work in commercial institutions. Which meant that Taehyung had to find a way to get money or starve to daeth with his kid brothers.

He thought of the envelope in his pocket, heavy and hot like heated iron. He really didn't want to have anything to do with the Jeon family. He hated everything they stood for. The oppessive power , the wealth that they threw at everyone's face, the belief that just because they had money they could treat people like Taehyung like  objects.  Everything made his skin crawl and his heart pound in anger. But he had two kids to take care of with a third on the way.

It wasn't like he even had an option.

"It's okay hyung. " He managed a brave smile and lightly gripped the curve of his belly , the firm thickness so foreign and jarring. He had been skinny all his life, the curve to his stomach non existent. But now, it pressed out, drawing attention when he came out without his jacket. 

Even the oversized sweater couldn't hide the very obvious evidence of his biggest regret. Taehyung kept a palm on his side, taking care not to bump his belly against any of the sharp edges of the tables in the cafe as he made his way out. 

The last time that had happened,  he'd been in pain for two whole days. 

He tried not to let the exhaustion take over as he slowly made his way down the sidewalk, mind now immune to the judgmental stares. Taemin and Taejoon were at the daycare with Hoseok and he didn't want to pick them up just now.

He moved to the small phone booth at the corner of the street and slowly slotted in the coins before making the call.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"If he goes to the police , we're screwed. " Mr. Jeon said briskly, sweating through his shirt. Mrs . Jeon tried to soothe her husband, hand rubbing circles on his back.

"He won't. He has his brothers and the baby to think about."

"But, what if he refuses?" Mr. Jeon said with a look of anguish on his face. Mrs. Jeon felt her heart ache for the man.

"He won't... I'm more worried about how Kookie will react to this..." She said biting her lips. " He's almost engaged to that girlfriend of his. Eunha.. or whatever."

"He will listen to me, is what he'll do." Mr. Jeon gritted out. " I have the worst, most troublesome boys on the planet and I'll be damned if that little brat tries to go against my words."

Mrs. Jeon who had always had a soft spot for her youngest, grimaced a bit.

"We can hardly expect him to give up his girlfriend... perhaps we can make an arrangement with Taehyung ssi about the nature of the marriage..." She tried softly.  Mr. Jeon scoffed.

"Really? What, tell him he can continue his relationship with his girlfriend while being publicly married to another man? Just how much shame do you want to bring on my family name, woman?" He snarled.

Mrs. Jeon flinched a little.

"If he's discrete..."

"If he gets caught, I'll fucking disown him . that's what I'll do." Mr. Jeon said calmly.

Mrs. Jeon didn't reply, she already had a plan.

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

"Thank you for meeting me."

Taehyung smiled at the woman in front of him. Mrs. Jeon was lovely, middle aged but still well groomed and polite. She stared at him with genuine fondness.

"You're a very beautiful young man." She commented genuinely and Taehyung didn't react. He'd heard that phrase all his life and like the apologies it was meaningless. He was beautiful. So what? He was still treated like crap for something that was never his fault. He had never  asked  to be born as a carrier. He had never asked to be fucking  raped in a storage closet by an inebriated  fucktard in the middle of some office party..

" I'll be willing to marry Jung Kook ssi." He said blankly. Mrs. Jeon looked a little taken aback by his bluntness and quickly smiled to cover it up.

"Of course. of course , our son is really lucky to have suck a pretty..."

"I want a trust fund for my brothers and the baby." He said firmly, ignoring her entirely.

Mrs. Jeon blinked but nodded.

"Of course. Anything you want..."

"And in case anything happens to me, the children go to my best friend, Jung Hoseok and his partner Min Yoongi. Jeon Jung Kook does not have any claim on the baby, or my brothers." He said casually.

Mrs. Jeon frowned.

"But the baby is..."

"Mine. The baby is mine and I'll decide what happens to him or her. " He spat out, voice shaking.

Mrs. Jeon went parchment pale.

"Taehyung ... There's no reason anything will happen to you.  Jung Kook is a good man. He won't hurt you. He'll take good care of you, i promise that.  " She whispered.

Taehyung shut his eyes in despair.

"I don't know him. I can't agree or disagree with you. All I know is that I can't trust my baby with someone I don't know. " His voice was starting to shake and he gripped the edge of the table as the baby moved , the muscles tightening instinctively from the foreign sensation.

"Are you alright, honey?" Mrs. Jeon moved closer, lightly gripping his arm , moving to give him a sip of water and he swallowed, taking a hasty gulp and trying to bring his body under control.

"I... I'm fine. "

Mrs. Jeon sighed.

"There's something you need to promise in return. Jung Kook doesn't know about the assault. Or about the baby's parentage. We would like you to tell anyone who asks that he is indeed the father of the baby. " She said softly.

Taehyung hesitated..

"Fine. " He sighed finally.

"And the marriage. It will be in name only. My son he's... more attracted to women than..."

"I don't care if he's attracted to trees. I'm not looking for a relationship either. " He said flatly, ignoring the rebellious pang in his heart. He had grown up aching and longing for love. The chance to have  family. The chance to have someone to love and cherish. Someone who would see beyond his unfortunate biology and accept him for his heart, his soul and just..  him.

He had painted a dream for himself , a big house a sprawling lawn. a husband who loved him, a handful of children.

But all that was impossible now.  It was unimportant because Taehyung wasn't foolish or delusional. He wouldn't chase after something that wasn't there and lose something that was... Taejoon and Taemin were real. they needed him. And he was brave enough to  to give up an imaginary dream for the sake of his little brothers.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"A man... A fucking carrier?? !! Dad, I don't even want to know what kind of diseases that thing carries!!" Jung Kook spat out and Mr. Jeon hissed in annoyance.

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat and listen to me!! Taehyung is a respected young man with two little brothers!! He's pregnant and I will not have you hurting him with your thoughtless words! You will treat him with the respect due to a Jeon son-in-law or I swear to God, I'll fire you."

Jung Kook gaped.

"I'm the fucking MD!! You can't just fire me , you-"

"Try me. Just try me. "

Jung Kook shut his mouth, glaring fiercely.

"And what about Eun Ha? How am I supposed to explain this to my girlfriend?" He sneered.

Mr. Jeon rolled his eyes.

"Don't act like she isn't going to be married off to someone else as well. Her father will never let her marry a Jeon. " He said calmly and Jung Kook clenched his fists.

"What are we in? The middle ages? Since when do you guys get to decide who we will marry?"

"Since we pay for your fucking Bugatti Veyron , Gucci and all that Armani you flaunt. Jeon Jung Kook there's a reason you wear 20 million dollars on your body everyday and that reason is me. So don't give me that independent crap, you little shit." His father snapped and Jung Kook groaned.

"Dad, I'm not gay... I'm not." He whined, miserable.

"Really? Could have fooled me with all those spring break photos of you and Yugyeom in the Caribbean. My staff told me you two didn't leave that suite for three days. Are you telling me you were playing board games in there?" He scoffed.

Jung Kook went beet red.

"That was eight fucking years ago. I was twenty and in college!" He muttered.

Mr. Jeon waved it off impatiently.

"I couldn't care less, who you take into your bed. But this marriage will be a public affair. You will respect Taehyung and you will honor the Jeon name by being faithful, at least in public. If I get tabloid pics of you going into some hotel with Eun Ha, I'll kick you out of my will. " He said casually.

Jung Kook stared casually at his father.

"Wow, dad. You must have screwed up pretty badly with Taehyung. Tell me, what hold does the guy have on you that you're bending to his every whim."

Mr. Jeon smiled at that.

"Taehyung is going to be your husband. And as such , he should be the most important man in your life. Keep that in mind when you deal with him." He said casually before walking out of the door.

Jung Kook stared after his father , feeling misery soak into him like a deadly venom. Everyone knew that carriers were abominations. They went against the laws of nature. A man who could have a baby? The thought made Jung kook sick. He had seen carriers in brothels . Some men liked that, pregnant men with bulging bellies and leaking breasts but Jung Kook had found it revolting. A man was supposed to be strong and masculine.

He felt sick at the thought of being married to one.

Who the hell was this Kim Taehyung?? Why did his father want him happy ?

He felt his fingers tremble. He wanted a wife and kids. He wanted his son to be  his. Not some whoring slut's bastard child. The very idea of someone like Taehyung tainting the Jeon blood with his filthy bloodline made him want to retch. But he was more worried about Eun Ha. Would his girlfriend actually leave him over this? They'd been having a strained relationship the past few weeks and he knew that if there was anything that would tip her over the edge and prompt her to leave him, it would be this.

He groaned.

He couldn't lose her.

He just couldn't.

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

"Hi, hyung. Look what uncle Jeon bought us!!" Taemin and Taejoon jumped up and down clutching a new set of Doraemon School supplies, notebooks, bags, water bottles, lunch boxes and shoes and uniforms. Taehyung was filling up the admission form to the most prestigious school in the entire country, the school where Joon and Min would be studying thanks to his father-in-law's generous donation and recommendation. it was hard to hate him when he had secured his brothers' future with this.

He struggled a bit to fill the form, wary of his baby bump as it dug into the edge of the table, every time he reached to examine the form better. Next to the form was the small file with dozens of pamphlets from his first and only visit to the hospital. They carried a ton of information about his pregnancy but the general consensus was that it was rare for both him and the baby to come out of this experience alive. The infant mortality rate for male pregnancy was high and while it was unlikely that Taehyung would be physically harmed, the baby's chance of survival were pretty slim if he didn't take exceptional care of himself.

Taehyung sighed.

Taking care of himself was such a foreign concept to him. But he knew that it wasn't about him anymore. He pushed the pamphlets away and grabbed the small business card , staring at the silver embossed edges and the glossy finish. Flowery calligraphy adorned the card, declaring his name in vibrant black strokes.

                    Jeon Jungkook

Managing Director , Jeon Inc.

Taehyung stared at the name for a long time. He tried to attach a face to the name and it was vague. Tall. Handsome. Very Very handsome actually. The guy was supposedly gorgeous. That was all the information he was given. Apparently, Jung Kook stayed away from the public eye. Not a party person by any means. Taehyung hummed at that thought. It suited him perfectly. He didn't ;ike going out. Plus he would have to take care of Taejoon and Taemin and the baby so a social life would be hard to juggle. He could imagine staying at home, taking care of his brothers and his husband. A civil relationship would be enopugh for him. He wouldn't demand anything more from Jung Kook.

Both Joon and Min were excited for the wedding and Taehyung had managed to contact Jung Kook's secretary and secure an appointment with the male. Taehyung wasn't nervous as much as he was terrified. Terrified that Jung kook wouldn't accept him and his brothers. It was important to him that Jung kook like him, not because he didn't have a choice but because he genuinely found Taehyung nice.

It was complicated. And no doubt his messed up hormones had something to do with all these mixed feelings.

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

"Would you like something to drink?" Jung Kook said curtly, eyes trained on him like a hawk, while Taehyung struggled to keep a firm grip on both Joon and Min who looked like they wanted to jump around the immaculate office and  wreck it.  

Taehyung swallowed and nodded. He had brought the kids along so Jung kook could understand that they were a package. So far , though,  he had shown zero interest in the kids, his gaze fully fixed on Taehyung.

"Some water would be fine." He croaked, his mind having been rendered useless because of how breathtaking his supposed fiancee was. Taehyung wasn't used to handsome people. And Jung Kook went far beyond the spectrum of beautiful. He looked absolutely flawless, every feature sculpted to perfection and a body that made Taehyung's toes curl and his thighs clench. 

Saliva pooled at the back of his throat and he couldn't help but envision those pale long fingers on his naked body, exploring, stroking . That adorable bunny like over bite , sinking into his skin and marking him up. It was so unlike him to fantasize about people he'd just met, much less right in front of them, but Jung kook looked like a walking wet dream and Taehyung had to bite his lips just to stop himself from accidentally  whimpering.

"Okay. How far along are you?" Jung Kook raised an eyebrow, pouring him a glass of water and sliding it across the table.

Taehyung trembled a little at the way the man stared at him, his scrutiny intrusive and almost violent.

" Almost five months."

"Is that accurate? You look pretty big."

Taehyung hesitated. He felt like he’d been insulted but he wasn’t entirely sure. 

"4 months, three weeks and five days." Taehyung said without thinking, the words slipping out in a rush.

Jung Kook raised an eyebrow but didn't press the subject.

"I'm not gay." He said suddenly and Taehyung nodded.

"I'm aware. It's not... It doesn't make a difference to me."

"Really? Are you that desperate for my money?"

It's rude, uncalled for and it stuns him because his little brothers are in the room, old enough to understand.  

"What?" He choked out.

"I feel like the loser here. A bastard child and a gold digger husband. You'll forgive me for not jumping for joy, won't you?" Jung kook said calmly, and Taehyung has had enough.

"You're..." He stopped, aware of both his brothers, mindful of using the wrong words.

"I'm..what? smart enough to see through that flower boy act you've got going? Do you even know who's the father ?!" Jung Kook growled and Taehyung laughed in disbelief.

"I'll come back when you've learned how to talk in front of children, Jeon Jung Kook ssi." He snapped, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the office.

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

"Taehyung, are you sure? i mean... we don't mind, of course. We'd love to take care of the imps but you're so attached to them." Hobi said worriedly, while Yoongi bought ice cream for the two kids.

Taehyung fought tears.

"I just... Jung kook is a bit... antagonistic, right now hyung. I really don't want his attitude to affect the kids. They'll likely rub him the wrong way and I don't want then to get hurt. I'll pay you for their upkeep of course. I'll be visiting their school tomorrow so I'll arrange for the bus to pick them up from here. " He whispered, his heart aching. 

After his parents death he had never let the twins out of his sight for even a day , let alone indefinitely. But today had been a nightmare. He was lucky the kids had been distracted by all the shiny things in the office and not paid any attention to the man's words.

But after the marriage he may not be so lucky. And something told him that Jung kook's cruelty went far beyond a few harsh words. He'd be damned if he let his little brothers become collateral damage to the man's arrogance.

"We'll bring them over to visit you when he isn't around." Hobi said , sadly and Taehyung managed a weak smile.

"That would be fine , hyung. " He whispered.

"Are you okay, Tae?"

Taehyung swallowed.

"I'll be fine hyung. "

~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Comments are welcome.

[feed-our-souls-too]

Art, Film, Faith (part 2)

This is post 2 of 3 from a friend and fellow artist (find her Instagram here). She took a class on faith and film and we both found that the journalling and conversations that resulted from it were thought-provoking and, as such, worth sharing here. ~Julie (The Hopeful Raincoat)

Entry 3

In the class, there has been a lot of commentary about having discretion and understanding the perspective from which we view movies, but not very much about being a ‘glutton’, or the risks that might lead to it. In Through a Screen Darkly, Overstreet comments about a time when he was employed at a video store and had viewing access to a wide variety of films. “I wasn’t thinking about whether my intake of mediocrity and cinematic junk food was doing any damage or dulling my intellect,” then later, “I might have become an addict, hooked on something unhealthy that would slowly corrode my imagination.” This made me think about one of my concerns with striving to find what was underneath a movie to discover meaning, intention, and spots of light in a dark world. I feel like there is a point when the excitement to find these things might lead to shoving them into the narrative in order to justify watching the movie – a symptom of addiction.

The book implies being an addict is mindlessly watching movies for superficially interesting content. However, for Christians well aware of the standard their peers want them to hold to – whatever is pure – their symptom of addiction might be to shove in whatever is pure without much consideration. When I discovered comics in the Seattle Public Library, I ate them up, because I loved and knew the characters from the movies but had never had access to comics before. (It was probably a similar situation to working in a video store – unlimited access all of a sudden.) For the most part, I watched out for content that is corrupting and harmful, but if I could find just one little thing that related to a moral, or a ‘Christian’ value, I probably read it at face value, and was inconsiderate of any other impact it might have had on my thinking.

In the film Wings of Desire, the angel Damiel sees Marion take off her acrobat uniform and then gently touches her neck. An argument is made in the reading that says this is not intended to be a ‘celebration of lust,’ but a moment of admiration for physical beauty. There is merit to this, as Damiel may primarily see her as a creation of God with a unique experience, Marion is a ‘fine sculpture’. I sometimes worry that these kinds of arguments are a mere justification to watch the film without regard for the potential of negative implications. In the case of Wings of Desire, if the argument had stopped at, “It only showed her back,” that may be a sign of addiction because that is an excuse. It is a minor justification using face value without any thought about the significance of the moment.

LATER EDIT: Christians must have personal discretion for everything that they interact with, we must be critical thinkers. We must not be flippant, positively or negatively, with the content we interact with, whether it is the latest adaptation of a Steven King novel or the most innocent children’s television.

 Entry 4

I am still not satisfied with my questions from the last journal entry – when does film become just another piece of entertainment with a ‘fulfilling’ excuse? In Braveheart, fans might excuse the long, drawn-out battles because it is retaliation against oppression. The main character’s violent actions in The Patriot were justified for a similar reason. I remember my brother was pretty excited about the patriot’s original commitment to nonviolence. It might be because avoiding war is not the big picture most Americans think about when reflecting on the American Revolution, so this plot feels like a unique twist, which is a strategy that writers use for building viewer interest. However, I wouldn’t say we watched the entire movie just because the patriot wanted to avoid war in the first twenty minutes.

In the discussion of heroes and characters viewers admire (chapter five of Through a Screen Darkly), The Lord of the Rings was given credit for being a “meaningful mythology of longsuffering, sacrifice, and hope.” I totally agree. But I tend to be skeptic about the next sentence. “Somehow, Tolkien’s “Catholic work” resonated with viewers who flinch at the word religion.” Did it? I’m not sure – I do not really know people’s minds when they watch movies. What kind of response was it? What did they ‘resonate’ with? What is resonance anyway, does it come on a scale from one to ten? Does seven qualify as ‘adequate resonance to be considered a moving experience’ and therefore acceptable content? The success of The Lord of the Rings might demonstrate that the series is an exceptional work of art, meaning that it was ‘moving’ for the majority of those exposed to it. However, the films are not without the mindless entertainment of intense action that draws theater crowds in droves for other movies. The craftsmanship of the film is top notch, a fantasy world brought to life with outstanding realism, truly a spectacle to see. How can we be sure when art has moved beyond that?

Something that comes to mind is conversations with random people. Is it not the small, unexpected conversations with random people that have exponential value? It is highly unrealistic, perhaps outright false, to expect that sharing God’s love with those around us will bring in “results” every single time, or even ninety percent, eighty percent, fifty percent. Why should I expect that standard from art, even if it is exceptional? In light of this, I was actually a little bit comforted that even Gladiator, with a similar surface value as Braveheart and The Patriot, has some sort of undercurrent value that can be read into, and apparently people occasionally see that. But alas - another question surfaces - is the risk of becoming numbed to violence and caught up in the frenzy worth a sliver of a chance to experience something meaningful? If the film challenges itself in regard to violence, acknowledging the moral conflict and implications as in Munich or Unforgiven, (films that were discussed in Through a Screen Darkly, but I have not seen them) perhaps yes.

Entry 5

One of the lines from Through a Screen Darkly in a chapter on humor and comedy that stood out to me was, “It takes humility to accept such a public critique.” This was in the context of laughing at the mistakes that humans make, including the mistakes we make ourselves. It made me think about learning to take jabs – basically my dad telling me to tough it up when my older brother name called. The resolving family policy ended up being if you can’t take it, don’t give it. Our inter-sibling relationship now looks dangerously similar to Ruffnut and Tuffnut from How to Train Your Dragon (the ‘nut’ relationship is much more refined in the Netflix series), and I love it. My little brother and I in particular are willing to take the brunt of a joke just to generate a good laugh. I think that I had that mindset even for political jokes when I first came to Seattle from Montana, laughing along to jabs about Republicans that my classmates, professors, and even church leaders made. It’s a joke, it’s supposed to be funny, I can see why they think it is, I was willing to accept that. However, I think I stopped chuckling when I realized there was no reciprocal (which is also true of my hometown…) and it was not going to stop. Ever.

Receiving a joke from film is different than in-person interactions, whether it is about Christian beliefs and/or hypocrisy, or something else I relate to. It is a lot harder to be humble when there is distance between viewer and director (a growing problem in our media-directed world), and it is easy for a viewer to think that a director is trying to be degrading. Generally, I trust that people willing to make jokes about me to my face do so out of good humor. I am not sure if I can say the same about filmmakers, I do not know them. After some consideration, even if I do not find the jokes humorous, it can still be an opportunity for reflection on why the director thought it would be funny, which could be revealing in itself. If humor is acknowledging an err (a concept that Overstreet develops in his book, and a definition of humor I find to be very accurate), then there might be an err the viewer has not recognized.

The other portion of this reading that I was troubled with was the contrast of fools in real life and film. It seems like a narrative tactic to give a character who behaves against common unspoken (maybe even spoken) rule, opportunity to reveal something great. People do not expect this in real life, so it a surprising twist in a story and adds contrast. A fool in a story can be crafted and designed. But what about the Parry’s (Parry is a character from a film Overstreet mentions, I do not recall what movie he is from, only that he is homeless and seemingly a lunatic) that might cross our paths while we are visiting the downtown cinema? People usually avoid them. There are a lot of different issues in this situation (such as personal safety), but I find it ironic that people let fools inform us in film, but not on the street. Human interactions are supposed to be more effective than electronic ones.

[ofsilverevents-blog]

     The murmurs from those both red and silver alike seem to circulate around the same topic — something has changed. Everyone can see by the look of the king that he has been hiding something from them all. The weight that his shoulders bear weakening with each passing day, and it wasn’t until after the sudden display in the form of a cirque-themed ball that the murmurs rose in volume.

     “I no longer see King Calore as someone we can trust. We have to push him for what he is keeping from us. Why does he keep leaving suddenly to go to the Choke?” Someone in the shadows whispers to another that then passes the message along until it reaches the ear of Lord Osanos.

     There is no hesitation as he soon meets with the king with word of a potential rebellion against him, and it is revealed behind closed doors that he is indeed doing exactly what everyone expected. The picture is painted suddenly for Emory as Orion soon explains the revelation of new bloods. He recites the moments in Isla’s shop and how desperately he wanted to tell him. However, there is the growing tension between them as secrets are something they swore they would never have, but there is no timed for a pained lover as the kingdom is on the verge of collapse.

     “It is time for the Calore reign to end. We need someone that respects the silvers and reds. King Calore does no such thing as that.” More whispers within the shadows are enough to shake the foundation of Norta as drums echo from the King’s tower that soon draw everyone in. “Don’t let the words of the king trick you all! He is not to be trusted.” The shadowed figure says again before disappearing back to their place of residence. No one knows the true identity of the person, but that is something to be revealed at a later date as the king is garnering the attention for now.

     Everyone pours back into the courtyard with hesitance as blood once stained the cobblestone ground as the ringing of a bomb was left in their ears. Luckily for us all, the courtyard will be at peace when it comes to the destruction of bodies, but the king is surely to cause more than enough chaos with his words to make up for the lack of bloodshed. The formalities go on for what seems like forever until he is finally introduced to his people with a light applause. No one wants to clap for a man that could potentially destroy their kingdom at any moment.

     It is the clearing of his throat that is first heard before his normal greeting that seems to be well rehearsed comes next. “Citizens of Norta, it is such a great day to be here in front of you all with news that has been a long time coming. Through the whispers in the streets, I bring you great news to share. News that will change this kingdom forever!” The excitement alone in his voice is already creating a stir of clapping and laughter among those beneath him, but it is soon that the streets mixed with silver and red will surely divide again.

     “After deliberation with my council, we have decided to reveal something no one could expect! There is no longer just silver and red within the streets of Norta. The age has come! There is new bloods among us.” Everyone goes from excitement to confusion as they stare up at the king waiting for more to be revealed. Instead of words, he directs his hand to the back of the crowd where two figures wait in the shadows. Soon enough, Alura and Corban Voss step out to have everyone stare at them as if questioning what they have to do with anything.

     It was the night before that the King had called in both Voss siblings to discuss their participation in the events that are no unfolding in front of the entire kingdom. Neither of them wanted to be apart of it, but it was after a direct command from the Scarlet Guard that they obliged. Now as they stood with their hands clasped together, there might have been the smallest amount of regret boiling beneath the surface.

     “Meet two of the new bloods in our kingdom, citizens! Watch them closely.” Just as the words left his lips, their hands dropped to their sides with a burst of air sending Corban into the sky. He hovered above the crowd as awes and gasp could be heard from all. Some of the silvers even showed a bit of fear as he soon made his way to King Calore, slowly descending to stand beside him. “Watch the girl!” The King echoed again as they quickly turned to barely catch sight of the blurred image of a girl that flashed and disappeared. “Here she is, citizens! Do you see what I am talking about now?” Everyone was redirected to the king as they soon realized where the girl had gone. “There are more than just these two! There are…” At this point, he listed every known new blood to the crowd, potentially signing their death certificates with such news.

     Everyone still questioned why this was such a big deal until a knife was presented to the king and a slice was soon given to Corban’s hand. As red blood poured from the wound, it was finally then that the crowd began to split into two at the silvers discretion as they backed away from those of red blood, fearing who out of the crowd also exhibited such skills.

     “There is nothing to fear citizens! There is nothing to worry about as this is just another moment in history happening. We have been given the chance to be apart of something new. We have already started the healing between silvers and reds alike! This is what we needed to fully come together. As your king, I hereby state a new ruling among the kingdom. There are no longer just reds and silvers. There will no longer be exclusive ruling by silver houses. We must show that we have the ability for equality. It is apparent that there is more to reds than they have been given credit for. Therefore, all reds are of equal standing to all silvers alike from this point forward.”

     He waited for some type of reaction, but all he received was the shocked expressions from everyone within the crowd. Everyone seemed to be comprehending what had just been spoken to them all. It was as he stepped forward with his hands clasped tightly together that more news was still to come.

     “As you all know, my beloved sister will be vowing herself to Calder Gliacon at the week’s end as their marriage is one for the ages. I am pleased to finally announce that at the reception that not only will the kingdom cheer and celebrate such love — My Queen or King will be announced as well. This is a week for the history books. This week will be unforgettable.”

                                       — IN-GAME DATES —

PART I — APRIL 23RD — King Calore’s Speech / New Blood Reveal

This part of the event was written above. It can be expanded upon within self-paras to reveal your character’s thought process during the king’s speech. This is not necessary, but it would be good for character development. There is also a good chunk of time after the speech to have your character process what just happened.

PART I — APRIL 24TH — Free Day to Process the King’s Speech

This day will be for those that want to interact outside of the heavy plot week and have their character react to the king’s speech. As King Calore did reveal the list of currently known new bloods, a lot of current new bloods taken will have a lot of opportunity for interesting interactions this week.

PART II — APRIL 25TH — Ballet Recital in Dedication of Princess Calore — Chatstep optional.

Since we are transitioning back to canon, I wanted to give the most structured event for everyone as I know that it can be hard to find your muse again in their actual canon. Therefore, I created different mini events within the big one. The first of these will be the ballet recital. This would be a semi-formal event that would allow your character to enjoy cocktails before and after the performance along with face-to-face conversations with the princess herself.

PART III — APRIL 26TH — Red Votes Revealed to the Public —  Chatstep optional.

After a night of celebrating the princess, the votes that have been collected over the last few weeks will be revealed to the public, which will give the smallest bit of insight into who might be the next ruler alongside the king. This event will take place in the Garden of the palace and will mimic a picnic of sorts.

PART IV — APRIL 27TH — Special Feats in Dedication of Calder Gliacon — Chatstep optional.

The night before the wedding of the year we will have a special feats for Calder Gliacon. This will be the time where the king gives new bloods the option of joining in. This will be a very vital moment into how the silvers accept this new revelation of others with powers. We will potentially host Crownstrial-esche rounds of fighting if multiple people are interested in doing this.

PART V — APRIL 28TH — Calore-Gliacon Wedding —  Chatstep event.

There is no need for a description here as there will be a bigger event posted in regards to the details of this. I am looking forward to getting to this point of the event, so I hope you guys are ready for it!

PART V — APRIL 29TH — Wedding Reception / Next Ruler Announced

Along with the day/night above, this will also have an additional event posted for it. We are not sure how long it will take to reach this point of the event, but we promise that we will get there!

                 — OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION —

     As you can see from above, this is an entire week of in-game things that will be happening in parts. This will potentially take a week or two to write out fully, so this is where activity will come in. We will be doing our first activity check since things went a bit hectic for the admins today. At which point, we are hoping that this event will increase everyone’s activity and give some direction. We have also listed a few Chatzy options for the above events to even speed the event up more. This is super heavy plot stuff going on, but it is exactly what was voted for with the Calore-Gliacon Wedding / Kingdom Attack coming behind at a close tied-second place. I opted for the happier option between the two tied events to mash these into one!

     This is the part where a bit of instructions will be given out. Since we have structured the events with parts, we will be doing small event posts in regards to each part. The first of which is simply reacting to the king’s speech and trying to figure out your thoughts on the matter. Everything at this time is simply conversations reacting to that and potentially reaching out the new bloods. There will be no additional post for PART I of this event, but we will be doing so for the ones that follow. We hope you enjoy this first event of many to come!

[trinhhungthin]

Deliver Order Bride-to-be FAQ

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The moment Family Members Hesitate To Each Other

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How To Find Ideal Mail Buy Groom

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The post Deliver Order Bride-to-be FAQ appeared first on LUẬT NHÀ ĐẤT.

[maxwellyjordan]

Argument analysis: Justices skeptical of robocall law, but appear to want to keep it

The Supreme Court heard oral argument yesterday in Barr v. American Association of Political Consultants. The case is one of a handful this spring that, because of the pandemic, the court is hearing by telephone with the public listening in.

That’s perhaps fitting because the case is itself about phone calls—cellphone robocalls in particular.

The question before the justices yesterday was whether the 1991 Telephone Consumer Protection Act’s ban on robocalls to cellphones, or an exception added to it in 2015, violates the First Amendment’s free speech clause. And, if so, whether the proper remedy is to sever the 2015 exception—which allows robocalls to collect government-backed debts— from the act and strike down that provision, or to invalidate the entire robocall ban.

After over an hour of argument, most justices appeared convinced that the law was “content based”—a First Amendment term of art that refers to a law that applies differently depending on the content of the expression and is strictly scrutinized by courts—and likely unconstitutional. But the justices also appeared about as thrilled as the rest of us at the prospect of endless robocalls to our cellphones. Their questions largely focused on severability, suggesting that the harder question is not whether the law is unconstitutional, but what the correct remedy is.

The outcome of the case could have a significant impact on political advertising in the run-up to the 2020 election. Depending on how the justices write the opinion, the case could also have ripple effects well beyond robocalls, including on the constitutional rules surrounding commercial advertising and economic regulation. It may also bear on the proper remedy for laws found unconstitutional under the First Amendment on the ground that they are content based.

With thousands tuning in, Chief Justice John Roberts called the case and reminded everyone, perhaps with some humor, to turn off their cellphones.

Arguing on behalf of the government, long-time Deputy Solicitor General Malcolm Stewart opened by noting the conflict between the parties about whether the challenge is to the 2015 government-debt exception or the cellphone robocall ban itself. Either way you look at the case, the consultants lose, he began.

Stewart did not make much headway with that tack. The chief justice probed the government’s central argument that the robocall ban applies based on the economic relationship of the parties, not the content of a call. He said, “I don’t see how that gets you out of the content category” under Reed v. Town of Gilbert. (Reed issued an arguably new standard for when a law is content based. To prevail, the government needs the court to adopt a narrow reading of Reed.)

Stewart distinguished Reed as involving a law with myriad content-based distinctions, whereas the TCPA applies the same rule to the vast majority of robocalls. That response didn’t appear to satisfy the chief justice, who quickly turned—as many justices did—to the question of severability.

Normally, the chief justice noted, the court strikes down a provision when it is illegal. But the 2015 exception to the TCPA’s robocall ban isn’t itself illegal; it renders the whole law vulnerable. In that case, why shouldn’t the court strike down the entire law? Stewart offered two responses. First, the robocall ban was passed in 1991 and the exception was added much later. Second, the touchstone of severability is congressional intent. It would make the tail wag the dog to prioritize the later-added government-debt exception “over Congress’s desire to protect all consumers from all other automated calls.” Later, in response to Justice Brett Kavanaugh, Stewart added a third argument: There is a severability clause in the act that instructs that if one clause is found to be unconstitutional, only it should be cut.

Up next, Justice Clarence Thomas, too, focused on severability. If we strike down only the exception, he said, the consultants don’t get any more speech; rather, someone who is not a party to the case gets less. Stewart responded that severability focuses on congressional intent. It is not unusual for a plaintiff to win on one but not the other of two issues that are essential to the sought-after result. Thomas additionally questioned the government’s interest in cellphone privacy. Stewart responded practically: Cell phones are ubiquitous and people carry their phones with them all the time. Robocalls to cell phones would not only disturb people at home but also at work or anywhere.

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, calling in from Johns Hopkins Hospital the morning after being hospitalized for a minor gallbladder treatment, also appeared to find the law content-based. “I don’t see how you can escape a content-based distinction,” she began. She, too, turned to severability. Why bother challenging a content-based law if you don’t get meaningful relief? she pressed.

Justices Samuel Alito and Neil Gorsuch sounded related tunes. Both questioned Stewart on severability. In response, Stewart drew a parallel between the court’s equal protection jurisprudence, in which a plaintiff may not get any remedy if the court “levels down” by denying an unequally distributed benefit to everyone rather than “leveling up” by extending the benefit beyond the favored group. Both justices appeared skeptical that the same rule should apply in First Amendment cases.

Justice Elena Kagan, by contrast, pushed Stewart on whether the court should view the case as one about the robocall ban, which is the only thing prohibiting speech, or about the 2015 exception, which is the only thing that creates a constitutional issue. Kavanaugh pursued a similar line of questioning. He noted that because, in his view, the exception is content based and the government maintains that the ban, but not the exception, can survive strict scrutiny, “this for me at least is case about severability and leveling up or leveling down.” He wondered how the court should consider evidence that the robocall ban is popular.

Justice Stephen Breyer asked a “somewhat philosophical question.” Given the pervasiveness of speech and content distinctions, he asked, how should the court distinguish between economic regulation and content discrimination for First Amendment purposes? Breyer’s question gets at how to interpret Reed, parts of which could be read as inconsistent with other parts of First Amendment law. Under long-standing law, both commercial speech and economic regulation may be content based without triggering strict scrutiny under the First Amendment. A law, for example, may treat optometrists and ophthalmologists (or government-backed versus private-backed debts) differently, or it may regulate the advertising of cigarettes, say, but not ads for toys, without triggering strict scrutiny. Did Reed change that? Stewart responded, essentially “no.” If you can tell from the content of the message whether a law applies, it’s almost certainly content based. The TCPA, he argued, is not. If the law is limited to speech “used in a particular economic activity,” that does not trigger strict scrutiny.

Representing political consultants challenging the law, Roman Martinez opened by emphasizing that his clients want to engage in political speech at the core of the First Amendment and that the TCPA bars them from using some of the most effective communications tools available: automated text messages and calls to cell phones. The TCPA arbitrarily favors certain debt-collecting calls—the sort of calls consumers hate the most—over core political speech. The exception undermines the government’s interest in privacy, he argued, and the court cannot fix First Amendment violations by making more speech illegal.

Again, the court focused principally on severability. The chief captured the spirit of that questioning: “Congress had this law for 25 years and then” added this “pretty discrete exception.” “It seems pretty obvious that the way they would solve it is get rid of this exception. It’s an extremely popular law. Nobody wants to get robocalls on their cell phone.”

Martinez responded that the exception makes the ban itself unconstitutional by undermining the government’s interest in privacy. If government-debt calls are allowed, there must not be such a great privacy interest, he argued. Because the ban is unconstitutional, the court shouldn’t reach the question of severability.

Both Thomas and Kavanaugh questioned Martinez on whether the ban would be constitutional without the 2015 exception. Martinez responded that the statute would no longer be content based, so less stringent intermediate scrutiny would apply. But even then, he contended, the law would fail because Congress allows political robocalls to home phones, indicating that there is no great privacy interest in political robocalls to cellphones.

Alito pressed Martinez to go farther, asking whether a ban with an exception for a robocall on July 4 saying “Happy birthday, America” would be unconstitutional. Martinez responded that if the exception were big enough to undermine the statute, the entire ban should fall. Alito worried that this would make congressional intent “irrelevant.”

In response to Justice Sonia Sotomayor, Martinez explained that many robocall bans would be constitutional, including a ban on commercial telemarketing calls. Why not then limit the remedy here to the type of political speech the consultants want to engage in? she questioned. The best thing to do, Martinez responded, would be to strike down the entire statute and let Congress pass a new law.

Ginsburg, Breyer and Kagan took a slightly different approach. Ginsburg asked whether the law shouldn’t be understood as a regulation of the manner of calling—the use of a certain technology—not of a type of message. And Breyer, following up on his conversation with Stewart, asked Martinez to ignore Reed and locate the line between when something is an economic regulation or is content based. Martinez responded essentially as Stewart had, that commercial regulations of speech receive at most intermediate scrutiny, regardless of whether they are content based.

Kagan wondered why strict scrutiny should apply when the law “doesn’t raise any real concerns about government censorship, about the suppression of ideas, about a distorted marketplace of ideas.” Why is strict scrutiny appropriate when “what the legislation is trying to get at is an economic relationship?” Martinez responded that the test for content-based restrictions in Reed makes it harder for Congress to enact broad speech bans while carving out special exemptions for favored groups.

Kavanaugh closed the questioning by pointing Martinez to evidence that in “the real world,” “this is one of the more popular laws on the books because people don’t like cell phone robocalls. That seems just common sense.” He pressed Martinez, “Do you want to argue against that common sense?” The law may be popular, Martinez responded, but the First Amendment protects not just speech people like, but speech that is offensive or annoying.

In his rebuttal, Stewart focused on Martinez’s concession that if the law were a restriction on calls to collect government-backed debt, it would only receive intermediate scrutiny. Here, the consultants want the law reviewed more stringently because it exempts that speech from regulation, but this position contradicts “the usual understanding that the First Amendment exists to foster speech.”

Based on the justices’ questions, it seems that they are likely to find the law content based, but it’s less clear whether they agree on how to remedy that problem. Because of COVID-19 and the postponement of the March and April oral arguments, we do not know whether the justices will issue their decision by the end of June as usual.

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