#and given the fact he's met with DICTATORS IN THE LAST COUPLE OF WEEKS?? This guy is a THREAT to the american populace and THE WORLD!!!
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So I saw on Twitter trending (Thanks for not covering this Media but let's go after Joe Biden's age! Pieces of shit) about Trump saying there will be no more elections after this one and it'll be fixed so you don't have to vote:
Coupled with PREVIOUS statements of him praising the MURDEROUS DICTATOR Kim Jong Un and saying how he LITERALLY wants us at attention like they do over there:
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Him wanting a MILITARY PARADE LIKE JONG UN GETS that was THANKFULLY REFUSED:
And him wanting ot be a "Dictator only on Day One"....
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Yeah let's all not vote/vote third party and potentially get this fool BACK into office! 🙄
I'm glad I see LESS AND LESS not voting posts but I have seen an uprising in bots wanting people to vote Third Party/Jill Stein/Cornel West and RFK Jr. NO.
People IGNORE THOSE POSTS AND BLOCK THE ACCOUNTS since they're MOST LIKELY the same bots that cost us the 2016 election and tried fucking over the 2020 election.
PLEASE VOTE Blue/Harris ALL THE WAY DOWN THE BOARD!
(P.S: Kamala Harris is NOT a Zionist 😉)
#anti trump#fuck trump#fuck maga#anti maga#kamala harris#kamala harris for president#pro harris#pro kamala harris#vote blue#vote harris#get out the vote#election 2024#go vote#voting#us elections#please vote#vote democrat#voting matters#voting is important#and given the fact he's met with DICTATORS IN THE LAST COUPLE OF WEEKS?? This guy is a THREAT to the american populace and THE WORLD!!!#Youtube
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Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt "flood"
They heard word from the upstream towns two days before the sky cracked open like an egg and brought forth the first rains of the season. It came late that year — they saw the first days of June before the water —but it came, sure as the sun rising at dawn.
The Old River was benevolent, and all who lived beside it had learned its language, knew what it meant when it whispered a soothing flow, when it raged a furious current. And they knew that the slow swelling of the waters, and word from upstream towns, was how its floods announced themselves.
Harry had lived in that town for many, many years — not all his 20, but enough of them to not know any other sky — and it was second nature by then, to carry his and his parents belongings to the lofted planks in their home as soon as the river raised its voice.
Once or twice a year they went through the routine, could sit comfortably beside their furniture on the garret for a night, until the morning sun came to lift the waters from the streets and from their homes, and life resumed its rhythm, allowed him and his parents back into their bakery.
It was different that year.
That first morning of rain, of the river’s song, his father looked up at the graying sky and told him, “It’s going to be big, son.” Told him, “My father’s father once told me that when he was very young, the river grew claws and they didn’t see the ground for a week.”
“I’ll load the garret.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough.”
It became clear once the sky joined the river in its cry, with a deep, rumbling voice made of thunder. They had a couple hours, at most, to figure out where they were going to seek refuge before the water flushed them out.
“The Colonel’s hotel,” his mother said, in a tone that allowed no argument. When his father tried, she added, “I know how you feel about him. It’s also the tallest building in town.”
She was right. His mother was always right, he had learned. And so they packed a small parcel of clothes and headed downtown, walked the two miles that separated them from the centric hotel. Far as it was from the river, the center was bustling with activity, families rushing to protect their furniture from Tláloc’s hands. Everyone could recognize what the skies foretold.
The hotel itself was four stories high, the tallest building Harry had seen in his life. The owner, Colonel Malfoy, was the stoic man appointed by General Díaz as the town mayor.
If his father was to be believed, the Colonel had voted in favor of the bill that dictated that people from across the river could not live in their town, should be cast away. People like Harry’s mother, like Harry himself, with the green eyes of the Otatlies. The proposal had not been approved by the General, but the fact remained, and Harry’s father held his distrust for the man close to his chest, ready to protect his wife, his son.
It wounded his pride to knock on his door, but it was the lesser of two evils, the known one.
The wife of the Colonel answered, let them in without questions after getting one look at them. The first drops of rain were already dripping from the tips of Harry’s hair.
They were led into a parlor, where the families of the four other members of the council awaited, seated by the Colonel’s chair.
“The bakers,” the Colonel said once he spotted them, no inflection, devoid of emotion. He was a regal man, had the unblemished skin of those who had never burnt underneath the unforgiving August sun in the plantain fields, the smooth voice of those who had never leaned over the smoke of the oven season after season. Harry disliked him on sight. “Take a seat.”
His mother walked into the room first, defiant, unafraid, and Harry followed. They took the table and chairs near a window, where they could look out at the curtain of rain, and, if they tried hard enough, find the chimney of their bakery.
There was silence in the parlor, the families reading books, the beat of the rain against the ceiling like white noise, a backdrop for the passing of the pages. Harry could read, his mother had taught him when he was a boy, but the Colonel’s wife must have assumed the contrary, for she didn’t offer him a book.
That was fine. Harry had time to think, and in his wondering, he opened up the untouched box inside his head that held the question he had been avoiding since stepping foot inside the hotel, the one that twisted his insides like a knife.
Where is he?
The Colonel had a son. Harry knew him, had met him at the bakery once, a year before, and been enthralled by his curious eyes, the lovely sound of his voice. It had been evident, back then, that he was not allowed to venture into the shops, likely had servants to fetch his bread when he so desired, yet there he was, underneath a hooded cloak, looking at Harry, looking at Harry, even as he bought cheese cigars and three milk cake from his mother.
They had met again at the market, weeks later, the Colonel’s son in the same cloak, buying tostones, the twice-friend plantains sold in every stall. Harry’s heart had stopped when he had realized it was him, that dazzling man from the bakery. He hadn’t been able to help himself, had talked to him for a moment without concern for propriety, given him the mammee paste he had bought for himself a few minutes earlier, and told him he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, told him that that thought had been running laps around his mind since he had first laid eyes on him at the bakery.
The Colonel’s son hadn’t said anything, and Harry understood, he was highborn and thus should not be entertaining the chatter of a charmed, poor baker. But the brightness of his cheeks told a different story.
The third time they had met, it had been at the park. The Colonel’s son walked arm in arm with the Lieutenant’s daughter, unhidden, immaculately dressed. Harry, with the basket of bread he’d been selling that day over one shoulder, had stared at him, his heart in his throat.
Once more, he had seen him at the market. The Colonel’s son had talked to him then, said, “those sweets you gave me last time tasted like a dream,” with downcast eyes, before walking in a different direction.
Harry’s heart still pounded when he thought about that.
Where is he?
Talking to him was an impossibility. He was only a baker. But a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if they could perhaps find a moment to exchange a few words, now that they would be trapped together for a few days.
He knew what he wanted to say to him.
I’ll show you the market. I’ll show you the bakery. Where else do you want to go? I will show you how to pick the ripest plantains, I will teach you how to cross the river to buy marquee bread from the next town, I will introduce you to the other shopkeeps, if you want to come with me.
He would show him anything he wanted to see but hadn’t been allowed to. He would show him every inch of their town, of the next, the language of the river, if the Colonel’s son said yes.
But he didn’t see him that first night he spent in the chair by the window, surrounded by the wealthiest families in town, attempting not to feel weighed down by their eyes on him and his parents.
Dawn of the second day found the water up to the first floor windows, and the rain still pounding, ever-falling.
Harry and his parents were given a room on the third floor, which was were the kitchens were located. He ventured in around mid-morning, thought perhaps he would find a familiar face from town working there.
He nearly fell backwards when he saw the Colonel’s son, sitting on the counter, propriety to the wind as he asked the chef question after question about … about bread, it seemed.
“Puff pastry?”
“Yes,” the chef was saying. “The folding depends on the method, and the goal. I truly don’t know much about this, you should find one of the Potters once this is over, their bakery has been running for decades.”
Harry saw the Colonel’s son’s cheeks color, once again. His breath came faster.
“Um,” he said from the door, clammy hands in the pockets of his trousers. The Colonel’s son turned to look right at him, grey eyes wide. Harry forced himself to continue. “Y-yes. We fold thrice, butter two layers.”
The Colonel’s son swallowed. “Oh.”
“I can tell you about it if you want.”
“Oh.”
A flood, it had taken.
“I’m Harry.”
“Draco.”
Harry looked at him, at the grey eyes he had found so enthralling. He was only a baker. This was the Colonel’s son. It was daunting.
Harry was dauntless.
“I’ll show you. I can teach you. And then … I can take you to the market.”
Draco’s smile lit up his eyes.
#in today's episode we have: ambiguous references to riverside life in very small mexican towns in like the 1900's#this is how my grandparents met#drarry#drarry microfic#drarrymicrofic#drarry fic#draco malfoy#harry potter#mine#mywriting
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MEETING THE PARENTS | WILL & LEO FOR @theasteriae
LEO
“You didn’t tell me he was going to be here,” Leo said out of the side of his mouth.
“Because I didn’t know.” He could see the tension in Bash’s neck and shoulders as he tried to avoid looking in their father’s direction. He’d have to speak to him eventually, of course—Sebastian was the whole reason everyone was here tonight—but the longer either of them could put that off, the better.
It didn’t help that Leo was already anxious. Not restless like his brother, who’d always had too much energy, absent, but rather the opposite. Hyperfocused on his phone.
Will was in London, filming. He’d be getting a taxi, then a train, and would be home well after this evening was over, and Leo knew his phone had to be turned off on set, but even the knowledge that Will would be travelling sometime that evening made him nervous. He needed to know when he was leaving, when he was onboard, what time he was due in. Not keeping tabs, but so he knew he was safe.
Leo had been in the back of an armoured truck when it was attacked. Even the thought of small journeys made him sweat, sometimes.
He glanced up from his screen ( no new messages ) to see Augustus shaking hands with the party member who’d waylaid him and moving across the room towards them.
“Shit, is that—? Better go before Percy destroys the entire drinks table,” Bash said, dashing off. Leo looked around. His nephew was nowhere near the table of delicate champagne glasses. Fucking traitor.
Still, he fixed a smile on his face and prayed this conversation would be quickly over. Surely, Bash was worthy of more attention than him tonight?
WILL
Will still had his suit on. Very luckily, wardrobe said he could messenger it back once they found out he was planning to surprise Leo. It didn’t take much convincing, chatting to a couple of the girls about how incredible his fiancé was had done wonders. It fit like a glove, slim and a beautiful blue colour that stood out from the black ones drifting around in the already crowded room.
As soon as he spotted Leo, he awkwardly sped over to him, grabbing him by the waist with the intention to show him just how much Will had missed him. It hadn’t been so long this time, three days in London versus the weeks to months they were used to. But it never got easier. “Hey Baby-“
He wanted to hold him, shower him in love to cover up for the fact he would get a small telling off for show. But something was off...
LEO
Leo was in the middle of a sentence, answering Augustus's question about work--Why did you give up an active role in the army for a desk job in Manchester of all places? Sounding more accusative than concerned, even though Leo's injuries might have made touring legitimately too much for him, as time went on--when arms around his waist cut him off.
He knew that touch, knew that voice in his ear, and for a second, he felt all the things he should have felt ( joy, exasperation, love, desire ), but then all those emotions were overtaken by a heavy feeling in his stomach. Fear. His father's blue eyes were boring into him, and Leo felt that familiar wave of panic and nausea come over him.
He scrambled to push Will's hands off, turning over his shoulder with wide eyes and a minute shake of his head. He wanted to say, Hey, baby, back. What are you doing here, you bastard? Give me a kiss. But all that actually came out was, "Will, this is--This is my father. Can you--?" Not. Thanks.
WILL
His chest was swollen with pride, but his brows knotted together as Leo shoved his hands away. This wasn’t right. The full sense of fear on his face was easy to read but didn’t make any sense. Will didn’t see the small shake, instead going for a kiss on the cheek once he had his fiancé in front of him. He pressed his body against Leo’s, trying to set a hand on the back of his neck and totally missing these cues.
At the start it had been Will who was the one to dictate what they acted like in public, so even now he set the pace. He had missed Leo more than anything. Only then did the words sink in, Will glancing back over Leo’s shoulder at the older man. “W-what? Wait, this is who?”
LEO
"My father," Leo repeated, taking a step back to avoid the kiss and the reach of Will's hand. He so badly wanted to lean into them, into him, and let all of this go, but he froze up as soon as he thought about it. "Dad, this is Will. He's a--friend--of mine, from--"
"--Yes. Very friendly, by the looks of things," Augustus said, cutting across him disapprovingly. "A handshake will suffice for me, thank you." His eyes were glacial as he held out his right hand towards Will. "You served together in Afghanistan, did you?"
WILL
Will’s eyes moved from Leo, to Augustus, and back again. Right. That father. The father who pushed him too far and had him feeling so small. Now he really looked at his boyfriend, Leo wasn’t carrying himself right. His shoulders weren’t so broad, and his eyes...
His jaw tightened visibly at Augustus’s remark. But he blinked, and smiled all the same. “Not together, no.” He didn’t extend a hand to Augustus, preferring instead to try and thread his fingers through Leo’s. He looked like he needed it. And Will didn’t need the disapproving look of shock the sight of his hand would earn.
“I was with a different branch, also got blown up. Turns out it’s way more common than you’d think.”
He turned back to Leo, more focused on him. “You alright? You want a drink or something? I can-“
LEO
Leo wasn't as tall as his father or his brothers ( even Bella had two inches on him ), but the way he held himself usually made him look taller. Head up, shoulders back, back straight. But in front of Augustus he seemed to have shrunk. Hunched in on himself, like he was ashamed to be standing there. And no wonder.
"Stand up straight. I can't believe you'd get away with that on the parade square." Augustus let his hand linger for another couple of seconds before dropping it with an unimpressed hum. "So you met where?"
"In the rehab centre," Leo explained. "Yeah--yes--a drink would be--" He managed a small smile. "--Great." He put a hand on Will's arm and gave it a quick squeeze. "Why don't I catch up with you in a bit?"
But Augustus wasn't going to let him go so easily. "No," he said. "Stay. I'd be very interested to hear more." Specifically about his relationship with his youngest son.
WILL
It was hard not to cover his neck in kisses, anything to give be Leo his pride back. But Will tried to read his other half better, pick up on the cues. Augustus was only interested in taking a chunk out of him. “It’s Major now, if you want to address him properly.”
Normally the story of how they met was accompanied with awkward laughter. Nervous and a little hesitant but Leo told it so well. But Will stood fully confused, the ring he had given Leo still visible on his finger. The friend comment he could understand, but the fact Leo’s parents seemed totally clueless? That stung.
He placed his undamaged hand on Leo’s, giving it a small squeeze too. “What do you want me to do?” He was fully ignoring Augustus until he turned back to the old man.
“What do you want to know?”
LEO
"And it's Lord," Augustus countered, "If you wish to address me properly." His cold stare moved from Will to Leo and back again. "I want to know why you're here. This is event is for party and family members only, as I understood it."
Leo's fingers curled around Will's, not letting him go. He didn't want to do this, not here, not now--not ever, if he was honest--but he also didn't want to be left alone with Augustus. He looked around for Bash again, but he'd made himself very scarce, the bastard. "Stay," he said. "Please. Will's here because I invited him, Dad."
"Why?" A sandy eyebrow was raised towards his whitening hairline.
"Because like you said, this thing is for family. And Will is my family now."
WILL
It took a second for him to bite back the retort of I don’t. as he felt Leo hold his hand too. It was a start. He was stood on Leo’s right, fighting the urge to lean against him for support like he always did. It had been a long day and he had expected a nice evening with the person he loved most in the world, not this.
Will have his hand a small squeeze with his two good fingers. “You sure?” His voice was so low it was only designed for Leo to hear. “We can go, you don’t have to be here.”
LEO
Leo bit down on the inside of his lip ( best not to show any outward signs of weakness in front of Augustus ) as he watched Will lean his weight more on his right foot. He was tired, off balance, and all Leo wanted to do was wrap an arm around his middle, kiss his cheek, and hold him close.
But he had to settle for keeping hold of his hand.
“Yeah. I promised Sebastian I’d stay to see his speech and—“
“—Where is your brother, Leopold? We’re all here for him, and he’s not even shown his face yet.”
Good question, Leo thought. “I think he had to take a phone call. Do you want me to go and—?”
“—No.” Apparently Augustus was incapable of letting his son finish a sentence. “I’ll go. Thank you. Make sure you stop and say hello to your mother, she worries about you. But don’t go too far. I’m not finished with you yet.”
WILL
Again, Will ignored Augustus completely. “I’ll make excuses. Blame me if you want, we can get out of here and-“
Augustus was hitting every last nerve he had. At once. He was gripping Leo’s hand just a little too tight.
“Do you want to see your mum?”
LEO
“No,” Leo said, letting go of a long breath as Augustus turned and walked away from them. His shoulders dropped a little way, but his chest seemed to be caving in in the centre. “I mean—Not yet. I just need a minute.”
He slipped an arm around Will’s middle, selfishly looking for support as much as he was now supporting his fiancé. “We should sit down, you must be exhausted. Have you come straight from the studio? I thought you weren’t going to be done in time.”
WILL
The very second Augustus was out of earshot, Will felt Leo change. “What the fuck was his problem?” He muttered, half under his breath and half through gritted teeth. But Leo pulled him close, propped him up so it was easier to take some weight off. He leaned into him, but nothing more to show any real affection.
“You said friend, to your dad. You said we were friends.”
That had been playing over and over in his mind, a little eased by the fact Leo had also called him family.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I’m sorry I couldn’t text on the road, my phone was dead.”
LEO
“What?” Leo’s mind was elsewhere, in work mode, looking for exits; it took him a minute to catch up with what Will was saying. “Oh, yeah, look … Can we go outside a second? It’s a bit hot in here. Crowded.” He still felt like Augustus’s eyes were boring into his back.
They started moving towards the door. There were gardens out the back of the hotel, places for them to sit, for Will to take the weight off his leg. Leo didn’t speak again till he’d dropped down onto a bench, face hidden in his hands. “The thing is, my dad doesn’t exactly—know that I’m out? And I didn’t know how to tell him here. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going to be here. Didn’t know you were going to be here. But I’m so glad to see you, baby, please …”
And finally, Leo leaned in for a kiss.
WILL
Will nodded, following behind Leo with his usual awkward gait. He was a little more stiff than he was letting on, a downside from being on his feet all day. It would be fine when he had a chance to settle. Will say down next to Leo, an arm immediately draping back over where his shoulders should be, an invitation to lean on him now.
But the words caught him off guard. Will pulled back, dodging the kiss himself this time. “What? What do you mean he didn’t know?”
He was a bit in shock at that. They had been talking marriage and babies, a real future together. And somehow this felt like the kind of important thing he should have known. “Does he know anything about us?”
LEO
Leo loved the spot where Will’s shoulder met his neck; it was the perfect place for him to lay his head, with plenty of access to Will’s throat, which was often as bruised as his own. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to do just that, get in nice and close, but Will pulled away from him, looking at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head or something.
“I mean,” Leo said heavily, slumping further into his seat. Augustus wasn’t even here now, and he was still making Leo look small. “He doesn’t know. Well, he probably does now, but—I’ve never talked to him about it. Mum knew. She knows all about you. She doesn’t mention it. But she knows I’m in love with and engaged to the most amazing man I have ever met and will ever meet, and I hope she can find it in herself to come to the wedding. But Dad—“ He winced.
“—I knew he wouldn’t like it. There were so many times I went to tell him, but he has this way of looking at you and just—making you freeze up. So, I haven’t yet, and I’m sorry. But I meant what I said in there. You’re my family, and I love you, I’m just—I’m a fucking coward is what I am.”
WILL
His hand slipped slowly from the back of the bench up Leo’s spine, drifting softly over the back of his blazer. This was a lot to take in, especially here and now. They had been together almost a decade, and seeing how Leo seized up when it came to talking about his parents they just... didn’t come up. But Will assumed they knew about him in the very least.
“Right. So you’ve not done that conversation. Does he know you’re getting married? What does he think is going on?”
Maybe ignorance was bliss. But Will was wound tight now, and frustrated at this whole situation. He swallowed the worst of his hurt at being kept in the dark to try and make the best of a bad batch.
“No, you’re not a coward. Don’t say that. Just... you see how this looks to me, right? We’ve been together almost a bloody decade.”
LEO
“No.” Leo’s left hand suddenly felt very heavy, the ring Will had given him weighing it down like it never had done before. “He doesn’t know anything.” He started fiddling with it, twisting it round and round on his finger. “We don’t talk about this kind of thing. Feelings. He doesn’t care how we feel, just as long as we’re doing something that makes him look good.”
He was breathing heavily, but the hand on his back helped a bit. It would have been more grounding if Will had been less tense, but, Leo reasoned, he had every right to be standoffish with him. “I know, I get it, I do. If our positions were reversed …” He shook his head. “… But just because I didn’t tell one person, Will, that doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I’m not ashamed of you, I was trying to protect you.”
WILL
“What about your brothers? Your aunt and uncle? Did you ask them not to say anything?” His thumb moved in small circles, trying to encourage Leo to take deep breaths. But he was too focused right now to be loving, this was almost the version of him that had been in the army. Information gathering, listening intently, listing off everything he could to help.
It was the same with racing now. In a way. Yet it was so different from the calm and switched off person he usually was.
“It’s not one person Leo, it’s you dad. And you know that. I’m a grown man, you don’t need to protect me.”
LEO
He gave another shake of his head. “Of course not. I didn’t lie, and I didn’t ask any of them to lie for me either. Bash and August don’t talk to him if they can avoid it, and Uncle Thomas, well, him and Dad work together, but they’re on opposite sides of the fence, and they’re about as friendly as cats and dogs, you know?” Leo’s eyes fluttered closed. He rested his forehead against Will’s cheek.
“Maybe I was trying to protect myself too.”
WILL
Leo leaned into him and Will melted just a little. He couldn’t stay angry, it didn’t feel fair. And whatever he tried to say now wasn’t going to help at all. He moved his arm to hold Leo against his chest, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he settled. “Does he know about August and Bucky?” The last thing Will wanted to do was cause more problems.
He sighed, thinking for just a moment and enjoying the feeling of Leo in his arms. “Do you want me to go?”
LEO
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” The kiss made him smile. At last, something felt normal between them. The gap Leo had felt opening up got just a little bit smaller.
But when Will asked if he wanted him to go … Leo sat up again, eyes blown wide. “No, please.” His hands fumbled to find Will’s in the dark. “I mean, if you want to go, I understand, but—if I can still ask you to stay? Otherwise, I’ll come with you, we’ll go home. If you’ll still have me, partner.”
WILL
“If you want me here, then I’m not going anywhere.” Will lent forwards, hands cupping Leo’s face as their lips finally met for the first time this evening. Maybe he should have asked, maybe he should have checked if anyone was coming to make Leo feel better but it had been on his mind even throughout the rollercoaster of meeting Augustus. It was slow and soft, gentle when compared to the usual level of desperate kisses they shared. It always felt like it was going to be too long till they could kiss again.
He paused only to murmur against Leo’s lips, his voice practically a purr. “Forever and beyond, baby. I missed you.”
But there was the very real question of what to do next. Making out with the love of his life was sure to get Augustus asking more questions, it had just been so long since he hadn’t felt comfortable in a room with Leo. His whole life had changed in the last ten years.
“He’s going to know. You’re wearing your ring, and I tried to practically tackle you in there. What do you want to do?”
LEO
Leo felt lost without Will’s hands wrapped around his, but he didn’t have to wait long until they were holding either side of his face, drawing him closer, and Leo gave into the kiss gratefully. It was slow and soft, reassuring, but after a couple of seconds, Leo needed more. He opened his mouth, sliding his tongue up against Will’s.
He’d missed him too.
He wanted to stay in this little outside bubble, under the umbrella, and not think about what came next, but Will was right. Even if Augustus couldn’t see them right now, he was going to find out. He had probably already figured that there was more to their relationship than ‘friends’, which was why he’d started needling them.
“I want to tell him,” Leo said in a small voice. “I hate that he doesn’t know. But here’s not exactly the place, not exactly the time. It’s so public. But maybe that will make him behave a bit better?” It was a long shot, but it might work, he supposed.
WILL
Without thinking, without even really registering, Will let a small moan escape from his mouth as Leo deepened the kiss. He wanted another one, and another one, and to not think about the rest of the evening at all. This was his happy place, right here. His hands moved to Leo’s waist, pulling him as close as the awkward bench would allow. He stopped thinking about appearances entirely. Just one more kiss and maybe it would fade away completely.
“I love you.” He wanted to say it. He wanted Leo to know that no matter what he felt was right, it didn’t change anything. Will was going to be there to support him, to bolster him, to hold him tight. “I love you, I mean it.”
He let his forehead press against Leo’s, not moving away further away than he had to in order to catch his breath.
LEO
"I love you too." Leo's hands had found their way up to Will's face, thumbs brushing over jawbones. His movements were clumsy, desperate, he thought for a moment about climbing into Will's lap. Then he remembered Will was in pain with his leg and thought better of it.
He was as close to him as he could get, though, knees touching, hands touching, mouths touching, until Will pulled away. Even then, he didn't go far. Leo breathed out, tightened his fingers on Will's cheeks. "I love you so much, I--"
Footsteps on the path, frost crunching underfoot. A woman's footsteps, judging by the click of her heels, but still Leo shuffled back slightly.
"Mum," he said.
"Darling." Vivienne was a tall woman with dark hair, like Leo's. She had a fur wrap around her shoulders, pulling it tighter as the wind blew past them again. "Someone said they saw you coming out here, and I was worried; the weather's not very nice. Why don't you come in?" Her smile was vague as she looked from her favourite son to his companion, but there was something sharp about the eyes. "Is this your--Is this him? It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Morrissey, but you must stop monopolising Leo. None of us have seen him for months, and his father's looking for him, you know."
WILL
Will was about to kiss him again, hands ready to pull Leo onto his lap and forget where they were altogether. There was the hotel room upstairs too, with rose petals on the bed and champagne in the fridge. He had really gone all out, because they hadn’t really had a chance to take a breather since getting engaged. Sure, they’d both furiously proposed in what was a hilarious mix up at the airport and then proceeded to celebrate in the car, in the flat, in the hallway... but it wasn’t the same. He wanted it to be a treat, and had really thought this one through. He wanted Leo to know he cared, and that he was here for the long haul.
The grip on his cheeks had Will reaching forwards again in search of his lips before the sound of someone approaching cut him off. Leo loved away, and Wills hands did too. He was going to do better at following cues this time.
Will swallowed and nodded. “Yes.” He didn’t want to say it was nice to meet her. He didn’t really want to lie. He looked from her to Leo to check in. “Do you need some more air? We’re not in a rush.”
LEO
Leo put a hand on Will's knee and gave it a squeeze. He wasn't ready--really, he didn't care if he froze to death if he and Will could just stay out here, uninterrupted--but he knew if he didn't go in now, he wouldn't go back in at all, and he'd feel worse about that in the morning. A coward, even if Will said he wasn't one.
"I'm all right. Could do with a drink, actually, so shall we go back in, make the most of the free bar?" He grinned and got up, offering Will his hand. This time, he was determined not to let go of it. "Mum, here ..." He offered Vivienne his other arm, so she did not slip on the ice as they made their way back inside the hotel. "How was your trip down?"
WILL
Will took the hand, awkwardly shifting his weight as he got up. As always, he was on Leo’s right. But he nodded, staying quiet to listen to Leo speak to his mother. He didn’t really have anything to add, and he wanted to get a good reads on the woman.
LEO
"Hey, all right?" Leo stopped to make sure Will had his balance once, then again going down the stone steps, and across the threshold of the room. There was a blast of warm air, some smalltalk between mother and son that gave nothing away. Like Leo said, Vivienne did not even entertain topics she considered to be 'problematic'.
She promised to save seats at the big table by the window, but before Leo could make good on that drink, they were all being ushered to sit down, as food was being brought out. They had to get an extra chair and place setting made up for Will, who hadn't been expected.
Leo sat between him and his mother. Will had Augustus on his other side.
"Sorry to lean over you," Leo said with a small smile. He was still holding Will's hand underneath the table. "I wanted to make the proper introductions. Dad, this is Will Morrissey, and he's my fiancé."
On Leo's other side, Vivienne's lips grew thin. "Leopold," she hissed. "This is not appropriate here."
WILL
Will nodded again, but he shuffled awkwardly on the step and had to hang onto the rail. He was so much more graceful on wheels than on his feet. He moved into his seat awkwardly too, wondering if he should have spoken to Bash about showing up. He had just assumed it would work itself out, he wasn’t close with Leo’s oldest brother but they seemed to get on well enough.
Will squeezed the hand in his, rubbing his thumb over Leo’s knuckles. He could read was was going to happen, lowering his voice again to put his boyfriend at ease. “It’s okay, you-“ he didn’t want to force it, he didn’t want Leo to feel like he had no choice. It was fine, he’d be fine. But there it was.
The first time Will had heard him use the word Fiancé.
He should have been ready, but it caught him off guard. He smiled wide, his grin beaming back at Leo. Who he wanted to kiss then and there. Another hand squeeze would have to suffice. “Yeah- thats me. Hi.”
LEO
Leo's answering smile was wobbly as he waited for his father's response. That word, fiancé, was like a hot air balloon; it made his chest swell and filled his belly with warmth. The problem was, Augustus's attitude was likely to bring all that crashing to the ground. His words could make Leo feel deflated at the best of times, and while he was happy with Will, this situation wasn't ideal.
He did have to see it through, though. He owed Will that much. And he owed it to himself to be honest.
Augustus did not say anything for a long time, and when he finally did, it was to his wife. "You knew about this?" That was his first concern. "And what about the people at your work, Leopold--do they know too? Because I'm telling you, if anyone gets a whiff of this, you can kiss any further promotions goodbye."
He didn't look at Will once.
WILL
“Your son has been promoted in the last year, remember?” Will could take insults. He’d heard them before, muttered under people’s breath when they saw him and Leo together from time to time. It was a feeling, like hair up on the back of his neck that just told him he was unwanted. And he was okay with it.
What he couldn’t take was being ignored. “Leo is a brilliant leader, and he’s so patient. With recruits. With me. He’s a real credit to the army and his family.”
He wanted to carry on singing Leo’s praises, or maybe just kiss him instead. But instead he raised his good hand to lean across and put on Leo’s knee beneath the table, turning to face him more.
“You amaze me every day.” Baby. He was careful not to say it, but Leo would know it was there.
LEO
“My son can speak for himself,” Augustus said coldly. Never mind the way he’d interrupted Leo earlier. “Do they know, Leopold?”
“Yes, and they don’t care.” He said this a little more sharply than he’d intended to. How many times had he had to defend his relationship to people, family and strangers alike? He was tired of it. “Because I’m damn good at my job.”
Vivienne made a little noise of protest, but he ignored her, Will’s words making him smile. He put his hand over Will’s on his knee and looked up at him, blue eyes under dark lashes. “I’m not as amazing as you.”
He turned back to his family with renewed courage and conviction. “Will is an incredible man, and I’m so lucky to be his.”
At the top table, Sebastian stood up, lying a hand on Cee’s arm and bending back down to say something to her, smiling, before he took the microphone that was offered to him. “If I could just have a couple of minutes of your attention before we all eat, thank you …”
Augustus turned over his shoulder to look at his eldest son before facing forwards again, eyeballing Leo unpleasantly. “This is not the man I raised you to be. I don’t think disappointment is a strong enough word.”
WILL
“Your right, he can. So why don’t you let him?” Will couldn’t let that one go. It very much ground in his gears that Augustus was so selective. And he was so willing to argue back that Leo was the better of the two of them until his boyfriend found his words. He just needed confidence.
He let Leo speak, his soft smile spreading as he did. He completely missed the fuss at the top table, lost in the earnest blue eyes. But Augustus once again tried to put Leo down.
“Disappointed in what?” Will’s grip tightened, the loving look lost as he seemed to switch in an instant. “Disappointed at the fact he was willing to risk his life for his country? Disappointed he managed to work through recovery and chose to put himself in harms way over and over again? I meant what I said, he’s a credit to his family. But none of that is thanks to you. If anything, it’s in spite of you.”
His mouth was running away with him, and he needed to stop. He had said he would behave after all. Will turned back to Leo, leaning in to make it clear he wasn’t interested in what Augustus had to say in return. “We don’t have to stay, you shouldn’t have to put yourself through this. We can go, if you want. I’m sorry I made such a big deal baby, it’s really not important to me-“
LEO
Leo was quiet for a moment, one half of his face red with shame and rage. When he spoke, his voice started off low, but it grew louder and more passionate as he got into his stride. "You're right." Barely audible. "No, you're both right. This isn't the man you raised. The way you brought me up--or had me brought up, might be more accurate--taught me to be strong, to stand up for myself and for what I thought was right. That last bit definitely came more from Uncle Thomas. But while I sit here and let you go on at me without talking back, I'm just giving you more ammunition. I'm gay--gay as in I like to sleep with men--just one man these days--and gay as in happy because of that one man--and the only thing that's disappointing about that is that you can't accept it."
He didn't realise he had stood up until he was on his feet and his chair had crashed to the floor behind him. Bash paused and looked at him, aghast, but Leo didn't even notice. "I'm changing my name, I'm making a new family with Will, and you can be a part of that, if you want, but it's got to come from you now. I'm done trying to please you, when nothing I do will ever be good enough. Bash is going to be the next Prime Minister, for God's sake, and you still pick faults with him."
Finally, a glance up at the top table. Leo and Bash looked at each other--Bash white in the face--and Leo cringed apologetically. "So, yeah--" Voice loud enough for the whole room to here. "--To summarise, vote for Sebastian, and--call me, Dad, if you can find it in yourself to change your mind. Mum," he turned to look at her and gave half a shrug. "Call me, please."
Then he turned on his heel, a perfect military manoeuvre, and marched out of the room.
WILL
Will watched the whole thing rather than really living it. He was seeing it unfold with nothing but concern and care. He knew Leo was incredibly brave, and that he would choose his moment to find his voice. And Will wanted nothing more than to pick up the glass of champagne in front of him, down it and cheers to the room in celebration. Because it had been incredible.
Yet the look between Bash and Leo set him back down to reality. Will stood awkwardly, hurriedly following Leo as fast as he could and not caring at the eyes on him. He bolted through the double doors, only stopping when he had hold of Leo’s cheeks in his hands. He was standing between Leo and the exit, and he wanted to pull him close then and there. And he put Leo first.
“Hey— hey look at me. What do you want to do? You said you wanted to hear Bash speak? I’ll go back in there with you, I’ll get the train home. I have a hotel room upstairs I don’t care just...” he could hear confused talking from inside, as voices raised a little. But his own eyes never left Leo for a second. “How can I help you right now? Tell me what you need.”
LEO
“You.” It was that simple: Will was everyone and everything Leo would ever want or need again. Fuck his father’s prejudice, his mother’s subservient nature, even Bash’s anger at him stealing the spotlight on tonight of all nights, Leo. If none of them spoke to him again, what did he care? He had Will. And they were all as bad as each other.
His hands sprang up hold Will’s face, pulling him into a rough kiss. “Bash won’t miss me,” he insisted raggedly when he moved on to mouthing at Will’s neck. “A room? I might make it to the lift. This is a fancy place, might even have mirrors, what do you say? Think we can hold it up for a little while, baby?”
WILL
He returns the kiss without thinking, all passion and desire. All the things Augustus would curse them for. It didn’t matter, because his heart swelled in his chest. And then there was Leo’s lips on his neck, hands and his back, instantly irresistible. But Will pushed him back, putting space between them so that he could get a full look at the man he loved. God he wanted to give in now be pressed up against the glass.
“Leo, Leo look at me. I need you to be sure, alright? We can have a conversation if you want, I’m sure Sebastian will understand...” he wasn’t going to let Leo live to regret this. He was so justified, so in the right but family... family wasn’t so easy to settle. “I will do whatever you want but I’m here. I promise.”
LEO
Leo didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think, but Will’s strong hands forced him to, just for a minute. He stood, held at arm’s length, breathing heavily, but the command helped. Look at me. After what felt like a lifetime in the army, he was quick to do as he was told.
Blue eyes raised, hands gripping Will’s wrists. “I’m sure,” he said, almost pleadingly. “I’m sure. I just want to pretend tonight went exactly as you planned, and then we can deal with anything else tomorrow. Please, Will, you asked me what I needed, I need you. I need you.”
WILL
That was all the confirmation Will needed. His hands slipped from Leo’s face to his collar, pulling him in again. Drinking him in, pressing messy kiss after messy kiss against him. Every few heavy breaths he found enough space to whisper I love you so softly only Leo would hear him. Someone pushed aside the door to the ballroom, and the stir inside pulled his attention for just a moment.
“Upstairs. Come on.” His grin was back firmly in place, knowing in his heart this was too good to be true. The illusion would shatter at some point, be in minutes or hours from now. But if Leo wanted to live in this moment, Will wasn’t going to be the one to break the spell. He wrapped his arm around Leo’s, leading him towards the lifts. “If you rip this suit the girls from wardrobe are going to kill me.”
LEO
"I love you. I love you. I love you." Leo's voice was low and yearning as he repeated it back to him, hands splayed across Will's cheeks, nails and the edge of his ring digging into skin.
He was still trying to kiss Will as he steered them towards the lifts. "Better wait till we get upstairs then," he muttered against his mouth. He didn't have the patience for buttons or zips right now. Would very happily have just torn it off him.
It ended up crumpled on a chair, Will having as little time for finesse as Leo, it seemed. Leo could see it when he opened his eyes. His head was pillowed on Will’s chest, somewhere between asleep and awake. “You’ve worn me out, Moz.” But the complaint was half-hearted at best. “How was that? One for the highlights reel?”
#homophobia tw#this si very much a coming out story just so you know what you're getting in for#i don't have any will tags but tada#lou made him a thing now
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name: wildheart specise: fire element draco-morphiad (explained below) pronouns: she/her
specise info: draco-morphiads are, basically, a specise of sexless magic cat furries. each one of them controls one of twelve elements (although two of them are special); fire (fire elements are also able to control one type of igneous rock, differing depending on the individual), water, earth, air, plant, plague, void (this void being concentrated everythingness and named for its pitch black color, there may only be one void element at a time and only two have ever been recorded), quantum strings (this has been proven to be possible, but never recorded), gemstone, metal, sound and light. draco-morphiads have a unique internal anatomy, their body cavity is filled entirely with liquid magic. this magic contains their consiousness and, when needed, forms organs to keep the draco-morphiad alive. draco-morphiads also have whats known as elemental bits, an extra part of their body made from their element or regular body part modified by it. draco eye color is also generally dictated by their element. just a draco-morphiad generation (they live tens of thousands of years) ago, they had an expansive interdimensional (this takes place in a multiverse) empire. but for reasons now lost to time, it fell. the specise took heavy casualties, although it was nowhere close to extinction. theyre rarer now, and... scattered, to say the least. their natural ability to create interdimensional portals doesnt help that. given that draco-morphiads are sexless, their native language's pronouns were dependant on element, but wildheart was raised by a sexed specise tens of thousands of years after the near extinction of the language (plus draco-morphiads were invented to explain her so i think she should get to keep her pronouns).
apperance: wildheart has brown fur, which turns abruptly black (like, theres a straight, non-gradiant divide between the back and brown) at the waist, so approximately half of her is black and half is brown . she has blood red eyes. fire element eyes are usually orange, but this is explained. she has a pair of half-crescent obsidian wings coming out of her shoulderblades, each one flanked by three floating obsidian triangles. embedded in her chest is a peice of obsidian shaped like a broken heart, and her claws are obsidian as well. she has a couple notches in each ear and a scar over her eye.
story: wildheart is born on a remote planet in a remote universe. save for her and her littermate, their parents and their older sibling squirreltail. soon after the two's birth, their parents die of reasons. unprepared to take care of them, squirreltail opens two portals to random inhabited parts of the multiverse and sends them through, hoping each will be picked up by someone responsible and more able than him.wildheart ends up being adopted by a family of goatlike skeleton monsters, where she stays for the first 13 years of her life (draco-mophiads age like humans up until about their 20th birthday). during this time she becomes incredibly close with her adopted brother, [edit with name later, i forgot it]. shortly after her 13th birthday, wildheart discovered her ability to make portals. with their parents permission, she and her brother went out to explore the multiverse a little.on their little jaunt, the two encountered a creature totally alien to them, and wildheart dared her brother to go poke it with a stick. unfortunately, the creature turned out to be a bear-esque superpreadator and ripped wildheart's brother to shreds while she watched.wildheart opened a portal to nowhere in particular, landing her at a market in the interdimensional void (my imagining of the multiverse is, like space, mostly empty. universes take the shape of enormous white orbs with the texture of frosted lightbulbs. their glow is soft, yet can be seen from light centuries away). scared to go back home, she wandered.and wildheart never stopped wandering. she quickly exanded her scope to universe hopping, trying her best to repress the memories and emotions from her brother's death.during the next eleven years, wildheart developed a routine. explore and universe hop, break gear, plunder something ancient for rare stuff, sell it at the interdimensional market, get new gear, repeat. in ancient tombs and temples, wildheart saw one thing over and over again. carvings of things that looked like her, had the same powers as her. naturally, she assumed she was the last.on the eve of her 24th birthday, wildheart was traveling through the market, looking for something special to get herself. wherever she went, the vendors all talked about one thing. the nearby combat arena had a new champion, a catlike (cats are p much a multiversal constant) calling herself reaper. knowing wildheart, many suggested she challenge her.wildheart was confident in her abilities, both physical and magical, so she decided that a championship would be the perfect gift to herself.
she actually proved a pretty even match for reaper, but in the end the champion won. though wildheart's energy seemed boundless, reapers patience and tactical skill were ultimately able to exhaust her.
after the fight, the two met by chance somewhere in/around the market. they got to talking, reaper asking what wildheart does for a living. finding the prospect of universe-hopping more interesting than beating the shit out of people, reaper asked to join wildheart.
reaper was a tall (for a draco) draco-morphiad with black fur, white patterns outlining the shape of her skeleton (or what it would be if draco-morphiads had those). she wore a grey hoodie. her wings, skeletal things composed entirely of ice, marked her as a water element, though her eyes seemed to contradict that (although wildheart didnt really know that). instead of the slightly desaturated off-teal you would expect from a water element, reapers eyes were pich black with pupils colored a deep, beautiful blue.
anyway, after a few weeks of traveling the multiverse together, the two encountered something strange. a universe with no glow, just a dull grey orb.
portaling inside (and quickly leaving), the two found that the universe was empty. it had experienced a heat death, something totally unnatural in this setting.
wildheart and reaper agreed that they had to find and kill whoever did this.
idk how, exactly, they found him, but that person turned out to be a being calling himself entropy, the incarnation of the void, the nothingness that came before the multiverse. while he was monolouging about a pair of beings called 'chaos' and 'order', wildheart and reaper tried to jump entropy. entropy did not like this. he used some sort of attack that sent the pair into a strange voidspace.
sat in this voidspace was a pair of beings. a scribbled dragon, with eyes of wildheart's blood red, and a hyperrealistic marble statue of a woman with a buzzcut in a dress, with gemstone eyes of reapers deep, beautiful blue. the two were enormous, the tip of the dragons talon bigger than wildheart's entire body. they were playing chess on a table of equal proportions.
"you're back early." remarked the dragon "did something happen?"
after a bit of confusion, it became understood that wildheart and reaper had no idea who these people were or where they were.
the two giants explained that they were chaos (the scribbled dragon) and order, demiurges of the multiverse.
many googols (a number with a hundred zeroes) of googols of eons ago, there was nothing. out of that nothing arose chaos, pure unbridled creation. but without filter, chaos could not create or take any definite form. and so, it (chaos is they/it) sat as a sort of existance soup for not even they know how long. until, at some point, order arose from the void. order was filter, what chaos needed to truly create. she (order is she/it) could not create by itself either, each dependant on the other to do something they instinctually longed for. order's form was also much different from her current day form, either a ball of quantum strings or a colorless cube of indeterminate material (i havent decided). so, the two came together and created. one of the first things the two created was a pair of souls, one blood red and the other a deep, beautiful blue. each one carved their true name into the corresponding soul in the first language, marking them as the incarnations of chaos and order.t hey were to be sent out into the multiverse together every once in a while, when the multiverse needed saving or just spicing up. of course the current incarnations were wildheart, incarnation of chaos and reaper, incarnation of order. they had been sent out this time for the purpose of killing entropy, whose trail of destruction included countless universes. but for reasons i dont know yet but were probably a mistake on chaos and orders part, they couldnt do it by themselves. they needed two more of their kind (chaos was vague about what 'their kind' was because i want it to be revealed in the narrative later). idk if its the two specific dracos they meet later or just any.
theyre currently in the place behind existance, chaos and order's personal voidspace.
chaos also reveals when talking to order that wildheart and reaper are siblings, before promptly sending them back out into the multiverse. entropy has long moved on, assuming he killed the two siblings.
the story isnt too well planned from here but
after some freaking out/contemplating/whatever over the fact that theyre siblings, wildheart and reaper continue on.
eventually, they encounter Six Of Spades, child of the last draco-morphiad monarch. saen (six of spades uses saen/trah pronouns, the traditional draco neutral/no-element pronouns) is a no-element, a semi-rare mutant with, you guessed it, no element. six of spades percives this as a fault of some sort, and overcompensates for it by playing up the ‘last heir to the draco-morphiad throne’ thing. Technically, saens cousin would have inherited the throne, but saen has no cousins saens aware of. six of spades would actually make a good monarch, if not for saens general neurosis and feeling of being (mostly) superior to those around trah.
six of spades watched saens parent die in front of saen to poachers, who wanted monarch eris (six of spades's parent)'s teeth. the teeth are the only part of a draco-morphiads pure magic core that doesnt simply dissipate after death. theyre an extremely potent source of magic, thus why draco-morphiads were killed for them shortly after the fall of the empire.
apperance wise, six of spades is an average sized (about 4 feet tall) grey draco-morphiad. saen has medium-grey fur down to saens waist, where its abruptly replaced by light grey scales. saen has ear fins like a dragon, and spikes going down saens back that may or may not start with the scales. six of spades has a lizard like tail and long, angular talons. save for color scheme (monarch eris was green), the spitting image of saens parent. six of spades also wears a worn gold crown and carries a worn gold staff with a magic gemstone orb, both posessions of monarch eris
wldheart and reaper convince six of spades to come with them.
eventually, they encounter a young (about 13 year old)
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[Coco] Best Man
Title: Best Man Summary: Ernesto couldn't understand what was it about Imelda that his best friend found so amazing. By the time he could, it was too late. [Modern setting, written for @appatary8523] Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Imelda Rivera, Héctor Rivera. Imector, onesided Ernesto/Imelda. Rating: K
A/N: Appa asked for a serving of one-sided pining with some she's-about-to-marry-my-best-friend sprinkled on top, and I complied. Had a lot of fun with it, too.
***
“Food poisoning.”
“Yes, I heard you the first seven times. I was actually the one who told you--”
“One time you go out of town on your own since last year, one time, and my husband winds up in the hospital with food poisoning!”
“Look, I tried to tell him that chorizo didn’t look all that great, but he was hungry and--”
“And so you just let him eat it while you steered well clear of it!”
“What, since when is it my responsibility to watch what he eats?” Ernesto huffs, throwing up his arms with dramatic flair. A guy sitting on the other end of the waiting room blinks blearily at him, clearly hungover. “Am I my brother's keeper?”
Imelda rolls her eyes, but her lips curl upwards for the briefest moment, and Ernesto mentally marks it as a victory. “I’m not sure what made you think quoting Cain would come off as perfectly innocent.”
“All right, you got me. I tried to poison him. My plan was to leave him in a ditch and run off with his iPad and all the songs in it. So I could make it big, be a star, never think of him again.”
“Very funny.” A pause. “... Do you have it? The iPad? Because the last thing Héctor is gonna need is getting out of here to find out it’s gone.”
“Yes, yes, I have it. And the guitar. All in the car. Which might have a couple of new bumps...”
“What?”
“He was all green in the face, I panicked that he’d throw up again and hurried to the hospital.”
“Like cleaning our car would have been your problem.”
“No, but if he’d thrown up then I would have thrown up and probably crashed.”
“... Fair,” Imelda condedes with a sigh, and leans back on her seat. Ernesto leans back on his own, reaching up to fix his hair with a hand, turning to glance at the mute TV screen in the corner - anything to avoid looking at her.
It’s better this way.
***
When he and Imelda met, Ernesto took slightly less than two minutes and a half to decide she was a dumb girl and he didn’t like her.
To be fair, at age twelve he still found all girls to be dumb girls he didn’t like. That would partly change in the next several years - some girls were dumb, he’d declare then, but not in their face he did like them very much - but right there and then, there was nothing about Imelda he liked. And that was, he’d insist, in no way related to the fact she’d shown up out of nowhere, three years younger, and shattered his record by making a rock skip across the stream sixteen times.
The look of pure wonder Héctor had given her, the one that was usually reserved to him when he pulled out something, had been the last straw. Ernesto had immediately declared her a dumb girl and made sure Héctor promised not to talk to her, ever, lest he wanted to catch dumb girl cooties. His friend, who was eight and not especially bright - Ernesto would deny thinking that later on - had seemed a bit saddened, but he hadn’t argued, because he never argued with him.
And, at least officially, he’d kept his word for a few years, until they were all older and even Ernesto had to grudgingly concede that it was a stupid promise and dumb girls cooties were not a thing. In truth, he’d actually been talking with her without him knowing, because he found her amazing for some reason Ernesto couldn’t comprehend.
By the time he could, it was too late.
***
“Ay, Imelda, mi amor, mi vida. Come close to hear my last words--”
“Your next words had better be ‘sorry for being that idiota who gets food poisoning a week before the wedding, I will be back on my feet by then’.”
On the hospital bed, his skin still a rather unhealthy ashen shade, Héctor grins like a boy caught with his fingers in the cookie jar. “I’ll marry on my deathbed if I must.”
A roll of her eyes, a smile she can barely hide. “Ay, you’re so dramatic.”
“Ernesto’s fault,” Héctor’s declares, causing Ernesto, still standing in the doorway - he let Imelda have the chair beside the bed, ever the gentleman - to protest.
“Wait, what?”
“You rubbed off me!” Héctor declares, dramatically.
Ernesto throws up his arms. Dramatically. “Oh, sure. Blame me for everything, why don’t you,” he huffs. “Maybe I’m too dramatic to be your best man, too.”
Héctor laughs. “Ah, never. There is no one else I’d ever pick to be my best man at the wedding.”
Lucky me.
The thought is bitter as bile and maybe something shows on his face; Héctor’s expression doesn’t change, but Imelda’s does. She doesn’t quite scowl, but her gaze is more attentive, and it is enough to make Ernesto feel like he’s under a spotlight… and not the kind he enjoys.
“... I’ll go get a drink,” he mutters, leaving quickly and realizing just a bit too late that a hospital is not the right place to go looking for alcohol. At least, not the kind you’re supposed to drink.
All right then, coffee. Coffee it is.
There is a café at least, and the coffee is halfway decent. He sits, takes out his phone, checks his emails and notifications-- ah, looks like a few people showed interest in his profile across a couple of dating apps. Three women, one man. Not bad at all when what you need is a boost to your ego. Two are nothing to write home about, the other two are… worth considering. Maybe later, after the end of next week once the wedding is done, Héctor and Imelda will be off to their honeymoon in Guatemala, and he will probably need some pleasurable company. And alcohol.
Large amounts of it.
***
“I really don’t get what you see in her.”
Ernesto’s grumble was met with a dreamy smile, a slow strum of a guitar’s strings. “Well, first of all, she-- hey!” he yelped when a tangerine smacked against his forehead and then fell back down on the floor with a sound that was more like a splat then a thud.
“That wasn’t a real question, cabrón,” Ernesto grumbled again. He sat back against an empty crate, watching as the vendors began to dismantle around them, another market day over. Soon enough the plaza would be mostly empty, before it filled again with people after dark. “And anyway, she’s not your type.”
“She is exactly my type!”
“And what is, pray tell, your type?”
The question caused Héctor to turn deep red and stammer, as though entirely out of words despite the fact he could always find all the right ones when sitting alone in a quiet room, a blank piece of paper in front of him. “W-well… she is smart, and… and beautiful…”
“That’s everyone’s type,” Ernesto snorted. “No one likes women dumb and ugly. Just dumb, maybe, but not ugly, unless you’re really that desperate and the lights are out...”
“That’s not-- ugh. If Sofía could hear you, she’d smack you over the head and you’d deserve it.”
“I’m just telling it how it is.”
“She’s… not like other girls!”
Ernesto made a face. “That line, really? Now you’re the one who’d be getting a smacking while being asked what’s wrong with other girls.”
Héctor’s face flushed crimson. “That’s not what I meant! I-- all right, that was-- not what I meant,” he repeated lamely. “She’s not like… anyone else. To me.”
“Oh?”
“She has this thing, like a… a spark, like--”
“Drive,” Ernesto muttered, without thinking. His fingers went to better tune his guitar, while Héctor nodded, brightening up.
“Yes, exactly! She wants to accomplish something - start her own business someday - and she’s ready to work for it, and--”
And she won’t let anyone tell her she can’t do it.
“-- and I’m sure she can do anything she wants to do, she’s just like that, you know?”
“... Guess I know someone a bit like that,” Ernesto conceded, and tuned out any further gushing from Héctor’s part. All right, so maybe he could sort of see Héctor’s point with Imelda; she had ambition and drive and wouldn’t let anybody dictate what she could or could not do, and he could admire that. Plus she had turned out beautiful, which in his not-so-humble opinion helped.
There was hardly any pretty girl in Santa Cecilia Ernesto hadn’t hit on, often with some success, but not her. He had the uncomfortable feeling it would result in rejection; while he’d been rejected before, it was never a big deal because to each their own and some just have no taste.
With Imelda, he suspected it might be different. He suspected it might actually hurt, and maybe it would be best to just… not find out whether or not it would be the case.
It was just stupid. He would make a point to ignore her until it went away, that was all. Not that Héctor behaving like a crushing puppy helped, but that would pass, too; she was not his type. He’d either let go of his crush, or be burned, whine a little, and then move on. Simple as that.
Héctor couldn’t possibly be her type.
***
“What’s eating you?”
“Gah!”
Ernesto recoils, the phone flying out of his hands. It slides across the table, and Imelda catches it before it falls off. Ernesto has precisely half a second to hope she didn’t get a look at the screen before she hands it back to him, an eyebrow raised.
“Who’s María del Carmen?”
“A potential date,” Ernesto mutters, snatching the phone from her hand. He hopes Imelda isn’t going to press the matter, but of course she does.
“You can invite her to the wedding. You can still pick a guest to come with you.”
Yes, great first date idea. Sitting there with a stranger to watch you marry my best friend.
The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but Ernesto manages to fake a laugh convincingly enough. “Hah! Not my idea of a first date,” he says, swiping left as discreetly as possible before he locks the screen. “How’s Héctor?”
“Better, I think. Contrite enough. They’re keeping him under observation for the night.”
“Ugh. Here goes the plan to drive back this evening.” Ernesto makes a face. “How did you get here, anyway? We had the car.”
“I got a taxi.”
“How much did it cost--”
“Don’t ask. I’m doing my best not to think of that,” Imelda says, and they both chuckle.
“Heh. Fair,” Ernesto concedes. “There is a motel right by. I’ll pay for two rooms. Before we go, can I offer you a--” he pauses, and turns to glance at what the small café has to offer. He makes a face. “... A coke, I guess?”
“I’d like that. With ice and lemon, thanks,” Imelda says, then leans forward. “Are you all right? You looked odd back there. Not food poisoning odd, but--”
“I’m fine,” Ernesto says, waving his hand dismissively. “Worried about the idiota I got myself as my best friend, I guess. I’ll get you that coke, and then we go get some sleep.”
They drink their cokes under the franky depressing neon lights of the hospital’s café, making small talk about the weather and music and whatnot; to Ernesto’s relief, no mention is made of the upcoming wedding. They drive-- well, Imelda drives them to the motel, all without incident.
Then, of course, the universe just has to make a big fat joke at his expense.
“Only one room left, I’m afraid.”
Ah, for fuck’s sake.
“I’ll take that for her. I’ll go sleep in the car,” he adds, holding out his hand for the key. She hesitates, glancing at guy behind the desk.
“No other rooms at all?”
“I’m afraid not. But it does have twin beds, if that suits you…?”
“Absolutely not,” Ernesto snaps at him. “The keys. I’ll sleep on the backseat, plenty of space.”
“It’s two separate beds, I think I can put up with it for a few hour--”
Well, I can’t. Not for one minute.
“Share a room with the future bride of my best friend?” Ernesto tries to grin like he finds the thought funny. “No can do, señorita. That’s a recipe for disaster.”
“Oh, come on,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You’ve seen too many movies. Héctor wouldn’t think for a second anything unbecoming happened.”
I know. That makes it worse.
“I’d really rather sleep in the car,” Ernesto insists. “Good form, no?”
A sigh, but she eventually relents and hands him the keys. “If you insist. But I won’t sit through endless complaints about your aching back during the drive back to Santa Cecilia, am I clear?”
“Crystal,” Ernesto says; somehow he manages to keep up the smile. He puts his card down to pay for the room and after a quick ‘goodnight’ he heads outside, breathing in the cool night air.
There is a bottle of beer beneath the passenger seat, much too warm to be really enjoyable, but he opens it and gulps it all down anyway, sprawled on the backseat of Héctor’s car. Within a week, the car will take the bride to church - bumps and scrapes and all - and then drive off the newlyweds towards their honeymoon, leaving him behind to watch them go. They will be back, eventually, but they will be man and wife and Ernesto will need to live with that.
They’ve been an item for years. He ought to be used to it. It shouldn’t keep him awake.
We would never work, he thinks, we'd drive each other insane within months.
That's probably true, he knows, and thinking like that usually helps. Not tonight.
He wishes he had another beer or two or twenty at hand.
***
“Are you drunk?”
“Drunk with happiness, yes!”
“A date, you.”
“Yes!”
“With Imelda.”
“Yes!!”
Ignoring the sting of what he refused to identify as jealousy, Ernesto frowned. “You’re joking.”
“I would never!” Héctor laughed and did a half-twirl that almost ended in a tumble. “On Saturday! There is this movie that came out on Día de los Muertos, according to the critics Hollywood didn’t butcher the whole thing too much, and she wants to see it and I want to see it and so--”
“I wanted to see it too! You said we’d--” Ernesto tried to protest, despite the fact no such thing was discussed and he wasn’t very interested in the movie anyway. But this time, maybe for the very first time, Héctor entirely ignored Ernesto’s words.
In the end, Ernesto just zoned out, telling himself it would be their only date, anyway. It would not last. It couldn’t last, and Ernesto would just let it run his course, only showing up at the end to help Héctor with his heartbreak, as any good amigo would do.
It was not their only date. Many more dates followed, then a relationship that, despite all the ups and downs, never caused the heartbreak Ernesto had expected. When Héctor decided to propose, his advice to wait fell to deaf ears; when he returned with a smile from ear to ear to let him know she had said yes, his words of congratulations and jabs about marriage being the end of carefree life sounded dull to his own ears.
But he said them anyway and, when Héctor asked him to be his best man, he immediately accepted. He had to.
It was what any good amigo would do.
***
“I think I’ll write a song about the past two days.”
“Oh?”
“El Chorizo Envenenado!”
“It doesn’t sound especially promising.”
Sitting on the couch with a book in his hands while Ernesto stays sprawled on the armchair - his back is killing him and he’s exhausted after barely sleeping, so he’ll take some time to recover at Héctor’s place before he goes home - Héctor pouts.
“And that is why I’m the songwriter,” he mutters, gaining himself a scoff and little else. Ernesto is half-considering a nap when the door opens and Imelda walks in, fresh out of the shower, wet hair covered with a towel and wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe that is too large to belong to anyone but Héctor. It should be the most unflattering attire imaginable, but she looks beautiful in it because of course she does.
It would be a good time to leave, but Ernesto finds he cannot tear his eyes away as she sits next to his best friend - the love of her life, he can see it so clearly now, in the soft look she gives him and the way she rests her head on his shoulder.
“What are you reading?”
“Marriage for dummies,” Héctor replies, and she laughs softly, a sound Ernesto cannot quite recall hearing before. Héctor must have heard it many times, will hear it many more times.
This is meant to last, he can tell it now. His best friend, and the woman he finds himself loving against all good judgment. And he’ll keep a smile on, be his best man and toast to their union, because that’s what a good amigo does and the show must go on even if something in his chest hurts so much he fears it might break. But he stays, pretending to be snoozing, watching them through eyelids barely cracked open, an intruder trying to get a glimpse of that beauty, to hear more of that secret laugh.
Maybe he should have tried, Ernesto thinks, seized his moment and asked her out first - but a voice in the back of his mind, much more practical, reminds him it would have made no difference; that even if he’d tried, the almost certain outcome would have been a no. There was never a moment to seize, and he isn’t sure whether that is supposed to make him feel better or hurt worse.
Somehow, it cuts both ways.
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I Only Call My Husband Baby Because I Love The Word || Cornny
@mrrcbinson
Word Count: 3420
Date: July 26th, 2020
TW: discussion of miscarriage
Title
FRANNY:
The facts were these: Franny Robinson was forty years old, her only son was almost an adult, and she’d given up on ever being a mom again when she was thirty-seven and she’d missed three periods in a row and the pregnancy test, the last of perhaps hundreds she’d taken, came back negative.
Oh, and she was pregnant.
And now after knowing she was pregnant for about twenty-four hours, she had to tell her husband. A part of her said ‘hide it.’ She was forty. If her pregnancies in her 20s and 30s all resulted in miscarriages then she shouldn’t be so stupid to assume now would be any different, and was it worth it, to get Cornelius’s hopes up and break his heart again? She took each previous miscarriage as a personal failing on her part, as if it was something she actively did as opposed to a cruel trick of nature.
It was by chance she’d found out after only one missed period she was pregnant this time; she had never been regular, for the same medical reasons it was hard for her to get and stay pregnant, she could never tell if she was. A routine blood test that had her doctor calling her “um, you know you’re pregnant, right? You said you weren’t on the questionnaire.”
Franny had tried to tell Cornelius five times today but each time the words died on her tongue. He’d looked too tired when she poked her head into his study to bring him a glass of water, with her classic “hydrate or diedrate” joke to tack that onto it. She chickened out of bothering him a second time, a third time. Before family dinner she pulled him aside and then said ‘fuck, I forgot what was going to say.’ She almost said something when they were cleaning up after dinner but Bud and Lucille were helping too and she wanted to tell Cornelius alone.
She almost hoped that Cornelius would retreat back to his study after dinner and stay there until long after she’d gone to bed so she could have an excuse not to talk to him. But she had to tonight, no matter what. Tomorrow, he had meetings all day and Franny wouldn’t see him at all, and it’s one thing to take a day but waiting almost four to tell your husband you’re pregnant...ah.
It was like keeping a terrible secret, even though this should be anything but. For most of their marriage it would have been welcome but now? She wasn’t so sure how he’d feel.
He didn’t stay in his study the entire night. Franny was just washing the makeup off her face when the bedroom door opened and she poked her head out of the bathroom as she patted her face dry with a towel.
“You’re early,” Franny joked, switching the bathroom light off and quickly catching Cornelius in a hug and hopping up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
She pulled away and smiled up at him with that calm smile people give when they don’t want you to worry but something serious is coming. “Good. Because I need to talk to you about something.”
CORNELIUS:
Phineas had been a blessing. Normally, Cornelius would be up until the sun rose on nights like these. Where the work was too good to say goodbye to. He’d lose track of time, get caught up in his notes, talking to Doris so he can also have a verbal record of his thought process. But, with Phineas, he had a schedule to keep. A strict one dictated by school, family dinners, and the like.
It had caught Cornelius off guard when the alarm went off and Phineas said he had to go. It reminded Cornelius that he should probably retreat to bed as well. He had a busy day tomorrow. Though, when didn’t he have a busy day the next day.
Making the long, tired walk up to his room, he thought back on the couple of hours he had to discuss the current projects he had with Phineas. He was so lost in thought that as he entered the bedroom, he hadn’t even noticedFranny until the kiss planted on his cheek. He blinked, looked at her, and smiled tiredly as he took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Evening...Phineas actually reminded me what time it was. You should thank him next time you see him.”
He gave a yawn and stretched before putting his glasses back on and looked to his wife. Then stopped. His brows came together as he took in not just her words but her expression as well. Even if it was a calm look, he knew what it meant.
“What’s wrong?”
FRANNY:
“Nothing’s wrong.” She said, and it wasn’t quite a lie but it wasn’t quite the truth either. The sense of hopefulness that had come with her other five brief pregnancies in her marriage was not present, but neither was the fear and dread of the pregnancy she’d ultimately terminated in high school.
This was just something that was happening, like a mundane event, not positive or negative but neutral. Until she could gauge how her husband would react she wouldn’t let herself be tempted to feel joy about this. She was still too numb with shock to feel anything other than confusion.
Granted, should she really be so surprised? They haven’t used contraception since they’d gotten married and just because they were not actively trying to get pregnant didn’t mean that it wouldn’t maybe happen. Except for Franny, she was sure it wouldn’t ever happen for her again. It was difficult to make happen intentionally for her body let alone a surprise like this.
“I just—” Franny bit her lip and sighed, gathering a bunch of her hair in one of her fists, releasing it with a little bobble of her head. “Need to talk about…”
Okay, acting all cagey was just going to worry him. It wasn’t like her to not be confident and direct.
“Right so, uh, sex has been happening. A lot lately. Which is great, always a fan, except now I’m sort of kind of accidentally pregnant? Wait, why was that a question? It's not a question. I’m pregnant, Dr. Bradley said so.”
CORNELIUS:
Pregnant.
Cornelius wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to hear. Something about Wilbur, most likely. Something about her music, even more likely. Or her mother. Or her classes. Or - anything but that. Especially now, after all these years, with Wilbur on the cusp of being eighteen.
“What?” He blinked finally, having been shocked into silence at first. His brain, which was starting to lull for the night, immediately kicked back to high speed with so many questions. He grabbed her hands, being as gentle as ever. “When did you find out? How far along? How do you feel?”
All it took was for one simple word for him to begin to unravel in a way. He knew their luck. He knew how much it hurt Franny to suffer from each loss they’ve had over the years. And now, of all times, now she was pregnant again?
It felt like a cruel joke, but he knew it wasn’t. This was something she’d never joke about - and he didn’t know quite how to feel yet until all his questions were all answered.
FRANNY:
Cornelius took her hands in his and a good thirty percent of her anxiety melted away as it always did. For each of Franny’s moments when she felt second fiddle to his work, there were twenty moments like this, where her shy, gentle husband made her feel like she could never be safer than wherever he was. Nobody could love her as perfectly as he did and that was never more clear to her than right now.
He was probably surprised and worried too, but his first thought, always, was about her. She loved this man and it was only a shame she hadn’t met him a couple years earlier, so she could have had him even longer.
“Yesterday; Dr. Bradley chewed me out - lovingly - for having to find out from a routine blood test. I marked I wasn’t currently pregnant on the little sheet because, you know, I didn’t think I was. My cycle has never been regular, you know, so I can’t go by that.”
How far along? Well she wasn’t entirely sure. Cornelius had been away for business a little bit in June, which is when it had to have happened. So one of the days he was here and they actually had sex…
“About seven weeks. I feel fine, like I didn’t even notice, obviously. I just— how are you? You’re not annoyed or mad or something are you?”
Wilbur was almost all grown up. Cornelius probably didn’t want to do this all over again. Assuming she could even manage to stay pregnant this time.
CORNELIUS:
Seven weeks.
Seven weeks ago, without even thinking about it they -
Human life always amazed him. Between how fragile yet resilient it could be all at the same time. Sometimes it could be so hard to produce. Yet, so easy for others, you didn’t even realize. And that’s what happened to them.
“I...I’m amazed. Shocked,” He started slowly, his brain still trying to wrap around this new development. The development of life. They’ve had these moments many times before, each time growing more anxious. But now - the surprise overruled any other emotion.
Still, his eyes softened, and his grip on her hands tightened just the slightest. “Franny, why in the world would I be annoyed? Or angry?”
FRANNY:
Here, Franny felt a little stupid. Of course Cornelius wouldn’t have been upset with her, and she knew that, but the possibility lived at the very back of her mind. Most couples couldn’t wait for your youngest to turn eighteen, couldn’t wait to get them out of the house. Franny always wanted more children, was always aching for the chance to raise more babies with Cornelius; and Cornelius would never once entertain the thought of being glad to have Wilbur move out.
Family was too important to him and even if his work-life balance could use some work, nothing mattered more to him. Still, a newborn baby at their age. Cornelius would be forty-four by the time the baby would be born. She’d be forty-one.
“I just thought — I was worried you’d be upset to have to do this again, with Wilbur almost an adult. I realize that was stupid. I was just-” she shook her head and leapt at him to hug him. “I should have known better. You’re you.”
A beat.
“Do you think it’s too soon to get excited?” She wanted to be. But with their history, it was so hard to trust that it wasn’t just another trick.
CORNELIUS:
A smile grew on his face. Though, Cornelius didn’t let it get too big. “I’d love to do this again,” He said, taking her into his weak arms as she launched herself forward. “This is amazing, Franny.”
He’d wanted more children too, you know. But, with the way the company was taking off more and more with each passing year when they first adopted Wilbur, it’d kept getting pushed off. He wanted to be there, after all. And he was already missing so much for Wilbur. Part of him felt it would be selfish to bring another kid in.
And now, here they were, never knowing when to take a break to adopt once more.
Still, the universe had other plans for them it seemed.
Hesitantly, he tried to choose his words carefully. “I...think we should keep it between us for now, you know? Until we’re out of the red, if you know what I mean?”
FRANNY:
“It is?” She said quietly, her voice soft and wet as she stayed wrapped up in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder.
Her entire marriage she’d wanted nothing half as badly as she wanted to have a big family with her husband. It killed her that she only got to be a mom once — of course, she was very grateful for Wilbur. She’d accepted Wilbur would likely be her only child, and had even accepted he surely would be a few years ago. But that wasn’t the plan. Neither of them wanted to raise an only child; they wanted to give Wilbur siblings, like Franny had and Cornelius didn’t get to have.
If this wasn’t just another cruel trick of nature, if her body would finally let her create life, this would be perfect. Yes, her children would be seventeen years apart in age, but both of her children would have come to her when she needed them most and that was beautiful. Sometimes the universe knows what it’s doing.
“I think so too.” Franny said, her eyes watering because god, she was so happy. “Cornelius, I — I’m sorry I haven’t been able to do this for you yet. I wanted to, I tried for so long. I just hope this time I can- that I don’t break your heart again.”
CORNELIUS:
Wilbur was enough for Cornelius. He would always be enough. He wasn’t his blood, but he had no blood family anyway. All of his family was found, and it only made sense to him that his children were as well. He never had a set number of people he wanted in his family - if he would ever get one. But now, he had a big one, that stretched across the world, on different continents.
Not everyone could say that. And he was incredibly lucky.
But, there was the desire to raise more. Especially sooner. Around Wilbur’s age preferably. And this may not be ideal, but it was still amazing.
“Franny…” He started, reaching down and wiping away a rogue tear from her cheek. “Don’t think that for a second I think less of you because of what all has happened. We have Wilbur. And if we were only meant to have Wilbur, I’d be okay with that. No matter what happens with this, we’ll always have each other.”
FRANNY:
If life went perfectly according to Franny, she’d have one biological child and something like five adopted children by now. Her desire for several children was always contingent upon mostly adopted children; her husband had been an orphan, Franny’s step-father adopted her after marrying her mother, blood didn’t make a family and she believed that. There were plenty of children that needed families so why give birth to more than one herself when she could just give love to already born children that needed love?
She did, however, want just once to experience pregnancy and childbirth like her mother did with her. Sophie always made it sound like such a terrifying, humbling, magical, and powerful experience. And Franny wanted that once. What was so wrong about it that she had to keep getting her heart broken?
“I just wanted to be the perfect wife, who could give you everything you wanted. You deserve everything.” She said, pulling away from him enough to wipe at her eyes. “I promise I’m -- I’m crying because I’m happy, I just...love you so much. And don’t want to disappoint you again - disappoint myself.”
Because Cornelius could swear up and down that Franny was nothing less than perfect but Franny hated her body for what it just didn’t seem capable of doing. And yet it teased her, over and over. Their previous losses were hard on her, sure, but she wondered how he always managed to be so strong for her through it all. She cried to him, who did he cry to? Doris? Lucille perhaps, but Lucille also held Franny when she cried and Cornelius wasn’t home. Poor Lucille had double duty, didn’t she?
“I don’t think I can handle it again.” Franny said. “And I certainly can’t handle Wilbur being disappointed again- he had such a hard time the last couple times. Keeping it between us for now is perfect. I don’t want to...jinx us.”
“Anyway.” Her nervous smile grew to a grin. “Dr. Bradley says I’ll need weekly ultrasounds to keep an eye on the baby, because with my age and history I’m considered high risk. So you’ll have the most detailed updates even if you’re in New York, Wellington, or wherever.”
CORNELIUS:
Cornelius hugged her close to his chest as she cried and rubbed her back. “I already have everything I want...everything I could ever need. You don’t owe me anything, Franny.”
It was true. He never felt like he was entitled to anything from her in their marriage or even before. Much less demand a blood child. And he never understood the guilt. Not fully. But he knew it was a different pain for her. For her, it was all happening to her. Inside her body, small changes and all.
For him, he felt like he was more or less along for the ride during those times. Sure, he was excited. Loved the unborn baby. But - miscarriages just affect women differently. It was a completely different pain than he’d experienced over it. A pain that brought on shame and guilt. At least, he’d seen this in Franny’s case.
And when it came to Wilbur...well, he wasn’t actually sure how his son felt. He was still young. And children don’t quite understand stuff like that. How would he even react now? That was a bridge they’d cross at a later time though.
When she smiled again, sounding more hopeful, he pulled back to look at her and nod. “I can’t wait to hear all about it. Just - keep positive. And don’t stress. You know this. I’m sure the doctor has told you as well.”
FRANNY:
Franny felt differently.
Her husband had been through so much before he found his parents and Franny just wanted to give him love, to surround him with it. She wanted to give him a bunch of kids who would wrestle for his attention when he was home and demand storytime over the phone when he was away. It killed her to not be able to be that kind of wife for him, it felt like she hadn’t lived up to the role she’d taken on.
She sometimes wondered after her first couple miscarriages, if Cornelius felt cheated at all, marrying her. Even with adopting Wilbur and only Wilbur — did he blame her for never putting her foot down and saying now was the time to adopt again? Had she been too selfish in not wanting to pause her career all over again to adjust a new child into their home? Sometimes she thinks she should have just bitten the bullet and chosen motherhood over her career entirely, instead of trying to have both.
She nestled back into his arms, her cheek pressed against his chest, her nerves not settling by much but now right next to those nerves was pure joy. Cornelius wasn’t angry. He was good surprised, not bad surprised.
“I’ll try. And I’m not just trying to shut you up, I mean it.” Franny said, her smile evident in his voice, though it still came a little wet with her happy tears. “I love you. I think we’ve been through enough— we deserve this, right? We’re...we’re good people.”
She gave a tired little yawn and angled her head to press a kiss to his jawline. There was a comment about how he could always just see everything for himself and not have to hear it all secondhand from her, but she knew that wasn’t fair.
CORNELIUS:
Cornelius nodded in agreement. He liked to think he was a good person. With Robinsons Industries, he thought he was doing good things and even trying to be a part of more good outside of that. But it was hard to balance all that and being a husband and father. But he was trying, and his family didn’t seem to mind. They were very supportive.
So, he nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead as well. “We are...just stay positive,” He said. “Like I always say - keep moving forward. Don’t let the past stop you.”
He understood it was easier said than done, but there was a reason it was a company motto. He stood behind that statement fully. They had to just - look to the future and hope for the best right now.
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Our First Kiss
Part 1
Other Harry Potter fics:
Somewhere to Start (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10)
Slytherin!Hermione AU (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8)
The Deal (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)
The Polaroids The Sixth and Seventh Polaroids
Memories of a Survivor
Words: 2005
Hermione and Fred hadn't talked about what had happened to the World Cup and, to be honest, they hadn't spoken in general: at the beginning it was the twins’ crazy idea to participate in the Tournament even though they weren't old enough and the SPEW, then the fight between Harry and Ron and finally Rita Skeeter’s article where she said that Harry and Hermione had an affair but by now the first task was approaching and with it also that year’s first trip to Hogsmeade, so Hermione decided that the time had come to put an end to that farce and faced him Saturday morning as he went to the Great Hall for breakfast.
"But, what about Harry?" asked Fred when she asked if they could go together and after George and Lee had gone away. "Don't you want to go with him?"
"How many times do I have to tell you that there’s nothing between me and Harry?" she asked, trying not to blush. It was with someone else that she would’ve liked to have an affair and she was astonished by the fact that the smartest Weasley hadn't noticed it yet.
"So why would Rita Skeeter have to write it in her article?" he asked sharply.
"Don't be stupid, did you see who her source was?"
That was Fred's turn to blush.
"So? Can we go together?" she insisted. She didn't want to spend the afternoon with Harry hidden under the Invisibility Cloak and besides, that seemed like a good way to finally have some time alone. Not that she expected to talk about what had happened during the World Cup: probably that was just a gesture dictated by the adrenaline of the moment, and even if it had been something more it was probably past, judging by all the time they had spent separated.
"Sure!" he hastened to answer. "I have to do something with George now, but I'll see you later, okay?"
Hermione smiled enthusiastically, trying to keep looking at him and not at the girls lurking in the Common Room, who were starting to giggle and make the thumb up to encourage her.
"Perfect." she answered, and as soon as the boy left she hopped to her friends.
"If Rita is at Hogsmeade this should be enough to make her correct the article, right?" asked Ginny, who had a crush on Harry since she'd met him, maybe even before, and that had already received a couple of letters from her mother, although she hadn't wanted to tell her what the contents were, though Hermione could vaguely imagine it, given Mrs. Weasley's intolerance for her. Surely it was what Hermione also hoped: maybe that plan would fix things and that damned journalist wouldn't be able to ruin what could be born between her and Fred.
After the day at Hogsmeade that Fred refused to call a date because she had asked him out and he, for once, wanted to do things right, although George kept telling him it couldn’t be otherwise since he had brought her favourite chocolates at Honeydukes and he even paid her Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, he and Hermione spent much more time together: they studied, ate and even watched the first task together, but Fred seemed unable to actually ask her out. So the time passed, and McGonagall announced that the Yule Ball would be held on Christmas night.
"It's your chance, don’t waste it" said George, who didn't seem to realize that suddenly Hermione had been swallowed up by a pack of girls who kept whispering and giggling to each other. In addition, there were a few girls who wanted to go to the Ball with them, so Lee and George had to hurry to invite Leanna and Katie not to be overwhelmed by the young admirers who worshiped their jokes. The last week of the quarter became even more turbulent: everywhere there were rumors about the Ball, which didn’t reassure Fred, and although some of the professor gave up teaching them much when their minds were so obviously elsewhere others didn’t let a little thing like Christmas take them away from their duty, so he also found himself burdened with homework, especially from professor Snape. The only positive thing was that the Hogwarts staff, in the constant effort to impress the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang visitors, seemed determined to show the castle at its best for Christmas, and the decorations, the most extraordinary he had seen at school, helped a lot to create the atmosphere with which he wanted to ask Hermione to the Ball, occasion that presented itself sooner than expected: he had been spying on her all day, first at the break, then at lunch and finally when she was going to the bathroom, but she was always surrounded by friends, only he didn't realize that it wasn't a problem because he just needed to ask her to talk in private, if he didn’t wanted to look like a fool in front of all the girls in the school, who, after the Daily Prophets’ article suddenly seemed to wanting to be friends with the once bookworm.
"See you at dinner," he said to George, and he ran down the stairs, crossing the corridors crowded due to the end of classes, finding her at the end of the stairs that led to the Potions classroom. So, just as he had imagined, he asked her if they could talk in private and invited her, but unlike what he had thought, she apologized saying she had already been invited by someone else.
"Who are you going with?" he asked, before fleeing like a coward.
"Oh... with Viktor" she replied "Viktor Krum."
Despite the enormous quantity of homework, Hermione, which was usually extremely loyal to the duty, wasn’t in the mood to lean over books at the end of the quarter, and she spent the week before Christmas trying to have as much fun as she could with everyone else. The Gryffindor Tower was slightly less crowded than during the school year and sometimes it seemed that it had even shrunk, since its occupants were much more impetuous than usual, unlike her and Ginny, who sometimes wandered looking distraught as Fred, who had invited Angelina, and George continued to sell profusely their Canary Cream and Harry, who had invited Padma Patil, and Ron, spent their days playing chess and eating sweets.
"Why didn't he invited me earlier? Your brother is a real idiot!" exclaimed Hermione, turning to Ginny while they were having breakfast on Christmas day. She was one of the few who knew that Krum had invited her to the Ball and had made her swear not to tell anyone, because, in case she changed her mind, she didn't want Viktor to look like a fool. Obviously she too had been a fool not to accept Fred’s proposal, especially because she had studied that plan just in case he had invited her after she agreed to go with Viktor, yet last moment she had failed to disappoint her partner and perhaps she even wanted to make him go to the Ball alone, as a lesson, instead he had invited Angelina, who was beautiful, talented, funny and at least another dozen adjectives that Hermione would’ve never used to describe herself.
"Do you think they'll start to date?" Ginny asked, and although Hermione didn't know if she was referring to Fred and Angelina or Harry and Padma, the answer was still no, or at least she hoped.
"What if they kiss?" Ginny asked in horror. Hermione didn't even want to think about it. She could hardly not relive the World Cup’s event before going to bed, she couldn’t believe he could do the same with another girl.
"You all know that I would’ve preferred if George had invited me, right?" Angeina had said during the sumptuous lunch, surprising everyone except Alicia. No, Hermione had never suspected that outgoing-Angie might like the quieter twin, but now that she knew it she couldn't believe she didn't realize it sooner. In the afternoon the four girls went out with the twins, Harry and Ron to play snowball, even if Hermione had never done it before, although it wasn't as strange as they wanted it to look, since she had no siblings, unlike Ginny and Ron, and physical violence didn’t suit her, though the same couldn’t be said by those who played Quidditch. So they split into two apparently fair teams, made up by the twins, who choose Hermione and Angelina, while Harry and Ron had to settle for Ginny and Alicia. She wasn’t aware the fight had started until something wet and cold hit the back of her head and slid down into her cloak’s collar. She scooped up a handful of snow but she had no time to transform it into a ball that her target had already disappeared among the trees, although Fred avenged her a moment later, throwing another snowball that disappeared with a wet splat and a muffled curse, revealing that her attacker had been Ron. Ginny popped out from behind another tree, grinning broadly as she hit George before disappearing again.
“Is magic allowed?” Hermione asked, searching for her wand.
“Of course!” exclaimed Fred, waving his, and a few snowballs began to lob themselves at Harry. When the boy tried to fight back, Hermione also waved her wand and the snow in front of them formed a small wall that protected them from all the attacks. Fred's jaw dropped but he quickly lowered behind the wall to shelter himself from Alicia's deadly attacks.
"That's it, Spinnet, you’re going down!" Angelina exclaimed, aiming her wand at the trees. The snow that fell as easily as if she had shook them herself transfigured into at least ten ball, but the other girl countered directing them at her friend, that tried to dodge them with extreme agility, though she was hit enough times to get her hair wet.
"I withdraw!" she exclaimed, and so did Ginny and Alicia. Hermione, on the other hand, was enjoying herself too much to leave right now, so she moved into Harry’s team and they started all over again. The snowball struck her on her left shoulder, sending up a white spray onto her face. She blinked the worst of it out of her eyes and whirled to see Fred grinning cheekily at her from a good twenty yards away across the courtyard.
"Oh no you don't," she called out, scooping up her own handful of snow to hurl back at him. The boy dodged and made fun of her for having missed him. Their fight took them more toward the lake, as they run and jumped and weaved to avoid each other’s snowy missiles. Breathless with laughter and exertion, Hermione had almost caught up to Fred and was about to hurl her next snowball when he turned and hit her on the nose. With a muffled yell she slipped, lost her footing, and fell over.
"You all right?" Fred asked, running up, looking concerned. Using the hand on the opposite side from him, she scooped up some snow, and before he could run away, she washed his face with it. Fred spluttered and protested jokingly and Hermione, on pure impulse, kissed him. She didn't care that from there the whole Durmstrang delegation could see her, nor that she would be late for the Ball if she didn't hurry to get ready: the only thing that upset her was the possibility that Fred was no longer interested in her, that he had considered what had almost happened at the World Cup a mistake. So she pulled away quickly, fearing to see shock or even disgust on his face, but instead met a pair of pleased and a little surprised eyes. Then Fred pulled her down again and kissed her back, before letting go with an embarrassed sort of laugh.
"I've wanted to do that for ages."
Hermione laughed a little as well. "Me too."
#our first kiss#fremione#hermione granger#fred weasley#harry potter#ginny weasley#molly weasley#rita skeeter#george weasley#lee jordan#katie bell#angelina johnson#alicia spinnet#viktor krum#minerva mcgonagall#ron weasley#padma patil
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Can i request any member of your choice being paranoid of their SO cheating on them. Whether the SO is actually cheating or not depends on you
Never Let Me Go
Admin: kimseokmomjins
Word count: 2k
Warnings: sexual dysphoria, cheating, lots of angst
“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind
•·················•·················•
Monday was your favorite day of the week.
While most of society often looked forward to Fridays, you looked forward to Monday mornings: when Hoseok’s duties as rapper J-Hope mandated that he show up at BigHit promptly at 6am. Mondays meant you could finally breathe. Mondays meant that you wouldn’t see Hoseok until late Friday evening, or possibly even Saturday morning, granting you enough time to be yourself— to be your own person. Free from the burden of a relationship, free from overbearing tendencies that drove you insane, free from the lingering touches that made your skin crawl.
It wasn’t always like this, your relationship with Hoseok. You’d begun dating during your final year of high school, when his career as an idol had just begun to kick off. Soon, Bangtan Sonyeondan had become a household name, and the subsequent fame and fortune meant Hoseok was quickly able to pay off all his debts and then some. The two of you had been a couple for a little over two years at that point, and it was then that Hoseok offered to support you financially, stating that any fan could find out where you worked and harass you. His worries were valid, as his parents home was constantly swarmed with teenage fans, so you graciously accepted Hoseok’s kind offer.
But the underneath the generosity and kind-heartedness that initially appealed to you, a toxic possessiveness soon began to rear its ugly head. Not long after moving into the joint condo in the heart of Seoul, Hoseok began to dictate who you could and couldn’t interact with. Each time that you proposed hanging out with someone, Hoseok was quick to plant seeds of distrust within yourself. He argued that any new friends you made only wanted to use you for fame and fortune, or that a crazy sasaeng could try to kidnap you for ransom. Hoseok’s excuses, while initially sensible, soon became more outrageous.
Pretty soon, Hoseok wouldn’t even “allow” you to interact with any members of Bangtan, alleging that the younger members often made sexual remarks about you and that he’d worry that your loyalty would stray. At first, it upset you that Hoseok even considered that fact that you would cheat on him, but soon you found yourself loving him less and less. He was no longer your hope, your sunshine, your fun-loving Hobi. He was domineering and overbearing, both financially and emotionally.
While each passing day seemed banaler than the last, to you, Mondays were the brightest days of the week. Mondays meant that you could see her.
Much like her brother, she was an icon to many. She had the same hardworking tendencies, having created a successful clothing line from a young age. The charisma she possessed was similar as well, but unlike her brother, she was not the sun— she was the moon. Gentle and tender, like the sweet scent of camellias. She was patient, understanding, and sincerely cared for you as a Friend. A Friend, with a capital F, because that’s all she would ever see you as. You were her younger brother’s girlfriend of course. There were lines that could never be crossed.
And yet, here you found yourself: your lips slanted against Dawon’s as she cradled your cheeks as if she held the world in the palm of her hands. While Hoseok’s lips were soft and tasted like his cherry lip tint, Dawon’s were slightly chapped. But they felt— tasted— so real, so natural and gritty. Like she was the oasis that sated your unquenchable thirst. That touchable boundary existed no longer; the taboo had been committed, and yet it felt so right.
After her braces accidentally nicked your lower lip, the two of you parted, although neither of you moved to disentangle yourselves from your embrace. The two of you giggled, not out of nervousness, but sheer giddiness. Never before had something wrong felt so damn right.
“I love you,” she murmured, and it was like the world had been tipped off its axis, like color had been returned to your monochromatic life. “You know I love you, Y/N. Please run away with me.” It wasn’t a question, nor a confession— it was a promise.
You brought your cheek to Dawon’s, pulling her closer to your heart. Could she feel how fast yours was beating?
“I’m scared.”
“I know,” she replied, her fingers lacing with yours. “I am too. But I’ll make you happy. We can be ourselves, free from judgment.” Dawon’s thumb rubbed soothing circles across yours, the intimacy comforting you instantly. You exhaled, “Ya-Yeah, let’s do it.”
Dawon grinned, her eyes cresting into two half-moons. “Meet me Sunday at 11pm outside of Seoul Station. Don’t worry about Hoseok, my brother should have afterparty interviews and a group Vlive, so you’ll be able to sneak away, okay?” You nodded before bringing your lips to hers once again, relishing in the tingling of each kiss.
You wished this moment— this regular, ordinary Monday— would never end.
•·················•·················•
It was Sunday evening. But this Sunday was unlike any other: it was the final day of the MAMAs, and Hoseok was emceeing. You reminded yourself that could do this— if you could last through the rest of the evening then you could finally be yourself with the person you loved. As for right now, all you needed to do was smile and look pretty.
You watched Hoseok’s muscles ripple as he put on his dress shirt, the crisp, white linen in stark contrast with his olive skin. The starched collar reminded you of a time when you couldn’t keep your hands off of Hoseok, and his shirt collars were constantly stained with lipstick. But now, they remained spotless.
“You know it’s funny,” Hoseok said, chuckling mirthlessly, eyes locked on his reflection in the vanity mirror. “It’s absolutely hilarious how you think I don’t notice.” You pulled your focus away from your hands and met his gaze through the mirror, feigning innocence, “What’s funny?”
“You think that I don’t know you’re cheating on me.”
It wasn’t an accusation, but a declaration. Jung Hoseok was no fool, he could tell just by the lackluster way you’d responded to his text messages, avoiding eye-contact, and your general skittish demeanor that you were harboring a secret. The final nail in the coffin was the packed duffle bag he found stashed under the bed. He had to give you props— you were gutsy to defy the man who had given you everything you could ever want or need.
Your breath hitched, “H-Hobi, why would you…” The sentence couldn’t even be finished, because you had no excuse, no defense. He had caught you red-handed.
Hoseok studied your conflicted state, his smugness mocking you in the form of a smirk. “Got anything to say for yourself, Y/N?” You dropped your eyes in shame, words seemingly escaping you. Hoseok straightened his back as he fastened his bowtie, examining himself with an intensity that had you nearly cowering in fear. “Well?” He turned towards you, and the coolness his demeanor radiated caused you to flinch. “I’m- I’m sorry, Hoseok.” He made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh, “I’m sure you are.”
“I mean it,” you continued, hot, fat tears streaming down your face, ruining your makeup. “I couldn’t stop it.” Hoseok cooed at your distraught appearance, swiping his knuckles across your cheekbones, effectively catching your mascara-stained tears in the process. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I know you didn’t mean to.” Once your cries had subsided into faint hiccups, he pulled away, straightening the lapels of his suit jacket before smiling his brilliant toothy smile— the same smile that you loved so much on Dawon.
“Well, how about we put this all behind us, okay babe? Let’s not let this sour such an important evening.” The subtle implication of his words completely evaded you, assuming he was taking his debut as an emcee. Hoseok simply offered you his arm, which you accepted reluctantly, unaware of the velveteen box stashed inside his pants pocket. The shackle that would keep you bound to him as a prisoner.
•·················•·················•
A sea of bright lights surrounded the stage as all the participating idols gathered together for the closing ceremony of the awards show. Hoseok and his co-host stood before the crowd, wishing the audience a happy New Year.
“Ah, there’s one more announcement I’d like to make,” Hoseok said, bowing politely at a nearby camera. The lights on the stage dimmed, with only a sole spotlight illuminating Hoseok. He scanned the audience, focusing his attention in your general direction, as your private table was far from the stage. Hoseok cleared his throat, “Y/N, the beautiful, sweet, love of my life.” His words triggered a cacophony of ‘aww’ from the audience, with a few idols on stage playfully clutching their hearts in mock pain.
“I’m so happy to have found such a wonderful woman to stand by my side for the last five years. You’ve been nothing but supportive and loyal through it all.” Despite Hoseok’s words sounding romantic superficially, to you, they carried a heavy insinuation. “I couldn’t think of a better woman to spend the rest of my life with,” he continued as he crouched down on one knee. “I want everyone to know how much you mean to me, so will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Suddenly, a blinding light burned your retinas as countless sets of eyes stared at you expectantly. Dozens of cameras from different television companies and streaming services focused on you, televising Hoseok’s proposal to nearly all of Korea. Millions were watching in rapt attention as they awaited your decision— a decision that had already been decided for you the moment Hoseok got down on one knee. There was no chance of you rejecting such a public proposal, not after he had poured his heart and soul into such a passionate display of affection. No, Hoseok knew you wouldn’t dare reject a proposal from Korea’s Sunshine J-Hope. Not only would fans be furious at you, but BTS’s reputation would suffer as well. You both knew the only proper response was a yes.
You should be happy: you were experiencing what any ARMY could ever hope and dream of. But instead of happiness, you only felt dread weighing in your gut like lead. You didn’t want a life with Hoseok, not anymore. You wanted lazy Sundays in bed with Dawon, you wanted to run your fingers through her hair as you wove it into plaits. You wanted normalcy, you wanted love.
But you were a coward; so you tearfully accepted Hoseok’s proposal as you silently bid goodbye to love you so desperately craved. As you walked down the aisle towards the stage, you fruitlessly tried to quell the thunderous beating of your heart. All you could think about was Dawon and how you had promised to meet her. Where was she? Was she at home, packing her stuff? Or was she already at the station waiting for you to arrive? Maybe she was eating ramen at her favorite late-night restaurant, and maybe— just maybe— she picked up a to-go container of your favorite as well.
Either way, you knew Dawon would be incredibly hurt. And it was all your fault.
You reached the stage, Hoseok pulling you into a tight embrace before twirling you around wildly. His group mates tearfully watched on as he slid the engagement ring onto your finger, proud that their brother had matured enough to ask for your hand. Hoseok leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I hope those are tears of happiness babe,” he whispered before planting a kiss on the apple of your cheek. You looked down at your ringed hand in embarrassment— or maybe it was self-loathing— and gazed at the spaces in between your fingers.
You wished you had never let her go.
•·················•·················•
And somewhere in Seoul, sat Jung Dawon, alone in a train station. Her tears dotted the phone screen, the live stream confirming the MAMA attendees were celebrating your engagement with pomp and circumstance. Dawon looked at the spaces between her fingers, remembering the ghost of your hand as it rested in hers. She waved the memory away as she tucked her head in her hands and cried. She cried for herself, she cried for you, but most importantly, she cried because she wished she had never let you go.
((A/N: Happy pride month everyone! I know this may not have been exactly what was requested, but I wanted to take some artistic liberties and represent bisexual/queer women in fanfiction, because I feel like they’re often misrepresented. Have a lovely June, everyone!))
#yandere fanfic#yandere imagines#bts yandere fanfiction#bts yandere#yandere hoseok#yandere jhope#bts x reader#hoseok x reader#hoseok fanfiction#bts x queer reader#bts x bisexual reader#hoseok x bisexual reader#jhope x bisexual reader
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because going back and adding these to the previous q & a’s would be a pain ... beneath the cut , you’ll find all of brynn’s information !
𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝟎𝟎𝟎𝟎. › brunnhilde brynn naoimh friar.
► species ➔ kelpie. ► biological age ➔ 1,803. ► weight ➔ 130 lbs. ► height ➔ 5′9″. ► build ➔ very thin with a bit of muscle! though, fun fact: if she is trying to lure in someone who prefers a bigger or smaller girl, that is what they will see! because kelpie aren’t actually human anyway, her human form only serves to draw others in, so they appear as the most appealing form, according to those around them. she looked a lot bigger when she lived in france and weight was in style, but she’s much thinner these days. she doesn’t understand humans, she doesn’t like this. ► disabilities ➔ none! ► weapon(s) of choice ➔ in an every day situation, her fists! she does not fight often (anymore), but she is very capable of solving those fights via human means. if a battle requires more than that, well... kelpies have no problem dragging someone down to the depths of the sea and eating them. ► skills ➔ see above. in addendum to the dragging someone to the depths of the sea thing, she can trap someone in her arms so they can’t escape her. works best when she’s in water, but she could make it work on land. also, she has a weather-sense! usually only matters when storms are coming, because she can feel when the waters get restless. she can summon a storm herself, but dear gods, the amount of effort that takes. she’s done it once in her near two thousand years of existence and has elected to never do it again. finally, she can actually turn into the horse spirit when she’s underwater. it looks... a little more mermaid-ish than one would think, but it’s a horse, okay. in her horse form, she’s ten times faster and stronger than a normal horse and... y’know, she can drag someone to the bottom of the sea and eat them. notably, if she is shifted on land, she appears like a regular black horse! maybe a little bigger than normal, slightly monstrous snout, but you’d have to look really closely to notice that. ► weaknesses ➔ her bridle. anyone gets their hands on it, they have control over her, which... is extremely terrifying, considering what she can do. so she keeps that thing hidden where no one has a chance of finding it or taking it from her. ► worst habits ➔ unfortunately, she falls in love very easily. after all of this time, she’s still a wide-eyed romantic. she also trusts entirely too easily. you would think she would know better, but? no? ► nervous tics ➔ she plays with seashells! talking to the sea is very much a mermaid thing, yes, but mermaids and kelpies are close relatives, and they all need a bit of water comfort. so when brynn’s feeling a little nervy, she’ll toy with a seashell or pearl, maybe have a quiet and awkward conversation with the nearest sea. ► sexuality ➔ what a silly concept. ► are they single? ➔ at the moment, yes. ► are they happy? ➔ literally always. ► are they angry? ➔ sometimes. really depends on the situation. ► are their parents still married? ➔ she doesn’t have parents! kelpies are independent spirits and they aren’t exactly born the way humans and other beings are. she simply came into existence, exactly the way she is. she’s been “adopted” many times, taken in by loving couples who hated to see such a young thing on her own in the world. but as far as biology goes, she has no parents to speak of. ► happiest memory? ➔ meeting iliana khepri! and, in addition, meeting her sons when they were turned! brynn doesn’t have many friends who’ve lasted throughout the years, as most people eventually die of old age, if nothing else. but having such beautifully-spirited friends who are as eternal as she is is a gift that she can never overlook. ► worst memory? ➔ the moment she, rohan and iliana found elliot the night of his wedding. certainly, there are worse things that she has lived through, long before this child was born, married and broken. but this horror is the freshest and it hurts the most. he had been so excited to tell them of his wedding and he simply wasn’t the same after it all. elliot may be nearly two hundred years old, but he’s still a baby, as far as she’s concerned? and he’s already been hurt in a way that even she’s managed to avoid so far. being there to witness it and being unable to stop it... yeah. she should have eaten that man. ► biggest regret? ➔ trusting a djinn with her bridle. she’d been friends with the woman and had been so certain that it would be the right move. wrong! anyway, brynn ate her. ► best thing they’ve ever done? ➔ saved quite a few travelers and tourists from storms and people with ill-intentions. ate a few dictators. ► worst thing they’ve ever done? ➔ in her “youth,” she ate people indiscriminately. she didn’t quite learn to control herself until she met iliana and had a reason to be kind. so she’s eaten quite a few children, her fair share of families, etc... she’s not proud of it. ► worst thing that’s ever been done to them? ➔ remember that djinn from earlier? yeah, she accused brynn of being a witch... during the witch trials. and given that brynn didn’t have her own bridle, she couldn’t even save herself. and she wasn’t one of the ones who had to drown to prove her innocence; no, that would have bene a mercy. she was burned. do you know what happens when you put a water spirit in flames? ► what scares them the most? ➔ the thought of someone getting their hands on her bridle again. she’s a full romantic, loves and trusts wholeheartedly, but she’s not sure she’ll ever trust that much ever again. ► who have they left behind? ➔ honestly, no one! though she’s been to many places and has met many people, she has rarely gotten attached to people, only to leave them behind. you could say she left iliana, rohan and elliot behind, but even then... not really? she’s kept in contact with them over the years, calling them ever so often to make sure they are doing well. elliot has recently taught her about facetime! ...she does not understand it. ► who would they kill for? ➔ anyone who needs it. this comes with the understanding that not every situation calls for death. some people just need a good curb-stomp and the problem is solved. but if someone truly needed her to kill, then she will do so. ► who has hurt them the most? ➔ the aforementioned djinn. that was a few hundred years ago, so you would think she would be over it? but no! absolutely the worst thing she’s ever experienced! ► who have they hurt the most? ➔ she would be hard pressed to say. she hasn’t hurt anyone she’s cared about. and when considering those that she’s eaten, no one person matters more than the others. ► who scares them the most? ➔ no one. ► if they could say one thing to their family right now, what would it be? ➔ “i have an ipad! ...what do i do with it?” SEVEN FACTS ► ‘birth’ place ➔ the north sea. ► hair color ➔ currently, blonde. it has been a number of colors over the years, due to beauty trends and hair dye. she was born with brown hair, a little lighter than her horse mane, but prefers the blonde. ► eye color ➔ blue. ► birthday ➔ september 30, 216. ► gender ➔ all kelpies are female. ► summer or winter ➔ summer. ► morning or afternoon ➔ morning. EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE ► are they in love? ➔ no. ► do they believe in love at first sight? ➔ absolutely! ► who ended their last relationship? ➔ she did. ► have they ever broken someone’s heart? ➔ yep. ► are they afraid of commitments? ➔ not at all! ► have they hugged someone within the last week? ➔ no, which is a shame. ► have they ever had a secret admirer? ➔ probably? ► have they ever broken their own heart? ➔ yes. SIX CHOICES ► love or lust ➔ love. ► lemonade or iced tea ➔ lemonade. ► cats or dogs ➔ dogs! ► a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ depends? with a life like hers, she needs both. ► wild night out or romantic night in ➔ romantic night in. ► day or night ➔ day. FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS ► been caught sneaking out? ➔ no. ► fallen down/up the stairs ➔ yes. ► wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ yes. ► wanted to disappear? ➔ no. FAMILY ► do they and their family get along? ➔ she doesn’t have a family! ► would they say they have a “messed up life”? ➔ no. ► have they ever ran away from home? ➔ yes. ► have they ever gotten kicked out? ➔ no. FRIENDS ► do they secretly hate one of their friends? ➔ no! ► do they consider all of their friends good friends? ➔ yes! ► who is their best friend? ➔ iliana khepri. ► who knows everything about them? ➔ see above, plus rohan laghari and elliot aldridge. ► pack mate they’re closest to? ➔ prediction-wise, she’ll get close to theo, megan, alicia and nico, so as to help them not eat people, but especially theo and megan. (brynn shows up and adopts two cannibal kids on sight... as she should!) also kali, on account of her living with the vampires and being rohan’s baby sister. but of course, she will always be closest to iliana and her boys. ► pack mate they’ve fought the most? ➔ she is not a fighter! ► if forced to choose between their life and that of their closest pack mate, who would they save? ➔ martyrdom leaves no winners. she and iliana have always saved themselves and she doesn’t see why that would change.
► hobbies ➔ professionally, she’s a marine archeologist, but that started out as a hobby, as well! other than that, she likes taking dives and swimming with dolphins, whales and sharks. make no mistake, she is not the apex predator in that situation. but kelpies are repulsive to sea creatures, so as to prevent them from being eaten. so swimming with them is always safe, thankfully. and though she will not admit it under extreme torture, she does like roaming around in her horse form. she’s given quite a few horseback rides to children, because their happiness is all she could ever ask for. ► social media handles ➔ social what now? ► conventional or creative contact ids ➔ conventional. it’s a good day if she can figure out how to put a number in her contacts as it is, no need to get creative. ► favorite color ➔ sea blue. ► favorite video game ➔ she has tried video games before and just cannot understand them. every time someone mentions a new one, it’s a different console? the controller has a new design? how does anyone keep up? ► favorite song ➔ modern love by david bowie. ► favorite scent ➔ incense! ► favorite band/artist ➔ julie d'aubigny was one of a kind. ► favorite place to be ➔ not to be cliché, but... the beach. the sand, the ocean, the rocks... she lives for that kinda vibe. ► favorite season ➔ summer! she can get into the water as much as she wants without people looking at her strange. ► favorite word ➔ alacrity. ► favorite meme ➔ i pretend i do not see it. (elliot taught her this one and he’s very proud of her for remembering it.) ► if they were an animal ➔ i... horse. ► if they were a color ➔ blue, in all of its forms. ► if they were a vine/tiktok ➔ literally any of those tiktoks with the audio that goes: fuck, i.. i... i love you ! no, that’s too soon, you met this girl this afternoon ! okay, FUCK. she’s looking scared, maybe, like, should’ve came prepared with a poem, a haiku, maybe a hug, y’know ––– i could’ve killed you & hidden you with a rug, WHAT THE FUCK ? did you just say that, you fucking psychotic maniac –––– ?! ► if they were a taylor swift song ➔ blank space. ► aesthetic ➔ blood-stained seashells, clam shells pried open with shaking hands, blonde hair tied back into a peppy ponytail, blonde then red then pink then ombre but never brown never again, the ocean lapping at pale feet, calling the lost souls back home. ► motto ➔ “this isn’t the first ending i’ve survived and it won’t be the last.” ► theme song ➔ in for the kill by la roux.
► medical issues ➔ none. ► knows far too much about ➔ worldwide theologies. she doesn’t subscribe to any particular religion herself, but she has always been fascinated by the existence of higher beings, so she chooses to believe in all of them! ► fears death via ➔ fire. ► chances of being “evil” ➔ eh, pretty slim. she’s malevolent by nature, but has no interest in going all dark side again. she’s been there and she’s not impressed!
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Fraternization
a Clauses and Contracts story
Chapter One
TW: Adult situations, implied nudity
~☆~
Warm morning sun streamed through the window, pulling Duchess from deep slumber. She shifted slowly, stretching as far as her muscles could reach to clear the morning mental fog from her mind. Crisp spearmint wafted through the air on steaming puffs from the nearby bathroom accompanied by the familiar sound of a running shower. The mirror fogged slightly but the open door prevented full cloud coverage.
Duchess sat up to finish her morning stretch when a metallic squeak rang out, signaling the shower’s occupant exiting the stream and stepping into full view of the mirror.
Oh… Good morning to you too!
Her brain raced to remember the name of the honey-eyed best man that could very well put Adonis to shame should the famed god ever wish to experience the sting of failure. Many things from last night crossed her memory; the two glasses of champagne she nursed to keep her wits about her, the dimly lit dance floor of the reception hall, the warm arms she allowed to guide through dances. Those same arms being the ones she spent the night in.
But, damn, what was his name?!
“Like what you see, Duchess?”
A flash of heat crossed her cheeks at the realization she had been caught staring, averting her gaze immediately to the floor. “Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean-- I was just--”
His warm laughter at her flubbering was oddly soothing. “It's ok, otherwise I wouldn't have left the door open.”
It was her turn to laugh at her own awkwardness. “I should probably be getting up. I need to sneak back to my room to get ready to see the happy couple off on their honeymoon.”
“You don't have to do that. You can get started here and I’ll get your luggage.” He dressed quickly in fresh clothing and was out the door in the next instant with her key card in hand, but not before twirling a lock of her hair on his way out and motioning toward a covered breakfast.
Certainly know how to treat a girl, don't you, Hideyoshi?
Hideyoshi! That's his name!
She rushed through the fastest shower on her personal record once the door clicked behind him, utilizing the complimentary toiletries provided by the hotel and stepping out just as Hideyoshi returned with her overnight bag. Pointedly focusing on her own reflection, she couldn't help the slight tilt of her lips as she saw him freeze in his tracks through the mirror at the same vision he had given her moments ago.
“Like what you see, Hideyoshi?”
Okay, so maybe he hadn't purred her name like she just did his but the pink coloring his features was definitely worth the effort.
“You might want to text Princess.”
“Why?” Her brows knit in confusion for only the second it took him to cross the distance separating the two of them.
“We're going to be late seeing them off.”
~*~
They weren't terribly late to the departure party. Princess and Nobunaga hadn't even shown up yet by the time Hideyoshi turned in his room key to the receptionist. After their morning interlude, Duchess had agreed it wouldn't be ideal if they arrived together and made her way to the lobby ahead of him. She’d already made herself comfortable in the sunny waiting lounge with a prepared coffee in hand, engaged in lively chatter with the other two bridesmaids as well as Mitsuhide and Masamune-- who was currently taking up the whole couch with his legs dangling off the other end and head rested in the fair haired bridesmaid lap.
“Really, Masa?” Hideyoshi scolded as he halfheartedly kicked Masa’s boots off the edge.
“Really, Hide?” Masa mocked as he resettled in place, tucking the woman under his arm and resting his head on top of hers.
Hideyoshi arched an eyebrow at the duo but kept his thoughts to himself as he sat across from Duchess. She had also noticed the closeness of their friends but continued to sip her coffee with indifference before sitting up and continuing the conversation. “So, what all do you guys do for a living? Princess hasn't said much other than Nobu being a business CEO she met while tailoring his suits.”
“Yes,” Mitsuhide answered. “Of a technologies corporation.”
Duchess sat straighter and her eyebrows arched with new interest. “What kind?”
Mitsuhide simply smirked. “A little bit of everything. Ieyasu is head of a med-tech firm, Masamune is in charge of military research, and I control the communications and security properties.”
A laugh escaped the second bridesmaid who had remained silent until now. “So let me get this straight… Nobu is CEO of a corporation involved in medical, military, and security advancement. Is he trying to be the next Batman?”
Amicable laughter rang through the group a moment and then Duchess’s smiling emerald eyes fell back to Hideyoshi. “What about you?”
“Vice President,” Hideyoshi sat a little taller as he boasted his own title with a grin.
“Don't be shy,” Mitsuhide sneered. “Mother Dearest here doubles as head of Human Resources. As well as meddling in all of our own work.”
A crumpled napkin flew across the open space, pelting the silver haired kitsune between the eyes. “If you kept me updated, like you're supposed to, then I wouldn't have to meddle.”
A familiar chuckle resonated from the other side of the lobby, alerting the group to the newlyweds’ arrival. “Should have known the lot of you couldn't go long without discussing work.”
“Duchess!” Princess scowled down at her friend. “I thought I told you no business talk.”
“We're not discussing my work.” Her emerald depths glittered with such mischief, Hideyoshi could have thought she were related to Masamune in that moment and that edge of challenge was back in her voice. The same one that reignited last night’s flames within him when she purred his name that morning.
“Close enough,” Princess huffed. “I would like everyone to relax and avoid anything business related.”
“You do realize you're talking to Duchess, right?” This from the friend sitting next to Masamune. “You know, borderline workaholic? I'm surprised she's survived this long without checking in at work.”
“Baroness, you know well why I do...”
“Yes, and I also know there are two capable VPs to handle things should the ice queen himself refuse to emerge from his frigid fortress.”
“Eh… ‘capable’ may be a questionable term right now with everything.”
“Anyway!” Princess butted back into the conversation. “It's getting late in the morning and our driver will be here soon so let's get some final pictures done!”
The receptionist was more than capable of taking a few group shots before the gathered bunch split to finally wish the couple well on their honeymoon.
“Hideyoshi, be sure to send me the minutes from the shareholder--” Nobunaga attempted one last order but Princess was quick to shut it down by covering his mouth her hand.
“No. You. Don't. The company will be fine without you for a short time.”
Light hearted laughter echoed through the car drop off. Masamune clapped Nobunaga on the back. “Don't worry, Devil King, it will take more than two weeks to bring down Oda Tech.”
Baroness and Countess gasped sharply at that just as Princess cowarded behind her husband. Duchess froze stock still, all color draining from her face.
“O-oda Tech?” She blinked twice before her thoughts seemed to catch up with her, breaking the spell as hysteria laced giggles bubbled from within. “I am so fired!”
“They can't dictate what you do on your own time!” Princess squeaked from her behind Nobunaga's shoulder.
“I have a competitors fraternization clause, they most certainly can! Oda Tech is listed by name. I have no idea what they did to my boss but that man hates Oda and-- oh God.” All the fury left her as suddenly as it came, freezing her in place with an emotionless mask. “I won't even be eligible for severance… I--I have to go.”
Turning again on her heel, Duchess snatched her bag off the ground and started toward her car before marching back when she realized her mistake. She pulled Princess into a tight hug despite the wrinkle still etched into her forehead. “Have fun! I love you. I'm upset with you right now, but I love you. I have to go. I have to call the photographers to make sure they don't post any pictures yet. Ah, hell! Social media!”
The frazzled ball of nerves continued muttering to herself as she settled into her car and drove from the parking lot. A heavy silence surrounded the three remaining women as they gazed after the tail lights of their friend while the men glanced to one other, each failing to make sense of the scene they had witnessed until Nobunaga finally addressed his new wife.
“Princess, mon amour, would you like to explain and translate what just happened?”
“Uh, no. Not really.”
The fair haired bridesmaid known as Baroness rolled her eyes. “Duchess is a higher-up at one of your rival companies.”
“And Princess thought it a good idea to keep that fact from everyone.” Countess finished.
“Shame,” Mitsuhide smirked. “I do so enjoy networking… from whence does she hail then? What does she do?”
Countess and Baroness pointedly glanced to Princess with tilted heads and strained smiles, preventing her from escaping the topic.
“I was just trying to avoid any awkwardness and, personally, I feel I succeeded. But, if you must know, Duchess is an Executive Assistant.”
“To who?” Nobunaga persisted.
The forced innocence of her smile faltered as she realized avoidance was no longer an option, releasing a single name on a defeated sigh. “Takeda Shingen.”
Hideyoshi had been mid sip of his own coffee when the name choked him, causing him to double over in a coughing fit to push the liquid back out of his lungs.
“Oh?” Mitsuhide’s eyebrow rose with the corner of his smirk. “Looks like one of us networked quite well after all.”
~☆~
❤💕Tag List💕❤
@notsafefortum-blr @pseudofaux @jennacat84 @lulis-dungeon @valfraeyja @captdrobvious @refrigerated-bread @sevenswifey @starry-wei @sengokuotaku82 @kaisimplerandomness @pirateprincessyuki @kitsune-mana @aromantic-misguide-to-romance
P.s.: Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list❤
~☆~
Prologue
Master List // Ao3 // Ko-Fi
Bookmark Fraternization on Ao3!
#fraternization#my writing#ikemen sengoku#ikesen hideyoshi#ikesen masamune#ikesen mitsuhide#ikesen nobunaga#ikesen shingen#clauses and contracts#cc#tw: adult theme#tw: implied nudity
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distraction: three
A/N: Another update! Yay! I’m really inspired for this story so I’ve been writing nonstop for it. I’m trying to crank out an update for Things You Never Knew before updating this again. Hope you all enjoy this update!
And just for a little visual, this is Emerson and Elijah! :)
=============================
Emerson looked down at her phone for the umpteenth time, swiping to ignore the notification. It was her mother’s birthday soon and her siblings have been requesting for her presence. Different year, same old shit. They watched their father kick her out, but now they decided they should be siblings.
“Is that Elijah?” Letty has met him a few times and she was enamored with Elijah Sommers to say the least. Not only was Elijah a gentleman, but he seemed to be so genuinely interested on talking to her. She’s had her fair share of encounters with men and besides the MC, she didn’t trust anyone. But Elijah just made her feel so at ease. Maybe he was just a good people person, regardless, she was enamored.
“No,” Emerson looked at the young woman before her and laughed. “Do you have a little crush on Elijah?”
“No,” Letty blushed. She didn’t exactly have a crush on Elijah. He was just different from what she was used to. Dressed as prim and proper as Miguel Galindo, but he didn’t have the same aura as Miguel. Elijah exuded a positive energy she couldn’t describe. She didn’t know him well. He could be as sinister as Miguel Galindo, but she doubt that. “I just like him for you, you guys make a great couple. Both good people and good looking as well.”
Emerson smiled at that. “You know, that’s not the only thing that makes people compatible.” On paper, she just seems like the perfect match with Elijah. And as she had told Miguel, she did weigh out her options, she seemed like an idiot to even not consider Elijah. But it just never clicked for her.
“True, but you’re not a bad match up.”
“That’s fair, but you know, Elijah and I just don’t click. Maybe you’re too young, but when you meet a person, there’s just a spark.”
“You don’t have that with Elijah?”
“Unfortunately, she didn’t feel that spark with me.” Elijah joined the conversation, surprising Letty.
“Eli!” She called out happily.
“Hey Letty,” Elijah greeted as he walked up to the back of Emerson’s chair. He placed a kiss on top of Emerson’s head. “How are you doing, mi amor?”
“I’m good Eli, I didn’t expect you till next week. I thought you were in France?”
“Decided to come back early,” he shrugged. He placed a few bags on the table before he pulled up a chair and sat beside Emerson. “I brought you something as well Leticia.”
“Can I guess?” Letty wasn’t used to people, especially men, giving her gifts without wanting something in return. But after she met Elijah, he always brought her gifts from wherever he went. It became their little routine.
“Isn’t that our thing?” Elijah smirked as he draped an around over Emerson’s chair. “3 guesses as always.”
“Is it edible?”
“Not this time.”
“Hmm,” Letty bit her lower lip, slightly tilting her head. “This better not be one of those weird hats you were talking to me about.”
Elijah laughed. “No, though, that’s not a bad idea.” He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at her. “One left, if you don’t guess it right you don’t get to have it.” It was a silly stipulation since Elijah always made sure she got the answer correct. After all, he didn’t get that present for anyone else but her. “Clue, as I always do, it’s something to use for when it’s cold. If you say heater, we’re done.”
Emerson fondly watched the interaction between Elijah and Letty. She always admired how well Elijah controlled a room, more importantly, how he interacted with children. Elijah was the eldest of 3. He had a younger brother and a younger sister, whom he dotted over when they were younger. Letty most likely reminded her of his younger sister, who unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Emerson didn’t remember anything about his sister’s passing, but she shed a few tears when Elijah broke the news to her.
“Okay, cause it’s you and you’re well, predictable, you got me the denim jacket I’ve been wanting.” Letty smirked victoriously.
“Ooh, you’re good,” Elijah took out a bag that he dropped beside Emerson’s chair, handing it over to Letty. “But it’s not one of those low brand stores, a little pricier, but it’ll last longer.” He wasn’t exactly sure how Coco felt about him giving his kid gifts, but he was sure that Coco didn’t mind.
“Stop being such a rich prick,” Emerson smacked him on his chest. “You’re such a name brand dick.”
Elijah shrugged. “It’s what I know,” he smirked. “You used to be the exact same way.”
“Yes, well, I’ve changed,” Emerson was a rich kid, she was spoiled and once upon a time, she valued materialistic items. But now, it wasn’t like that anymore. She still enjoyed the vintage handbags her grandmother had given to her before she passed. But otherwise, that didn’t matter to her anymore. All she cared about was the bakery and well, Leticia.
It was weird for Emerson. Maybe Leticia, along with the MC, became some sort of family for her. When her father kicked her out, it was painful, but at the same time she was relieved. The whole time she was home, she felt as if her family was tiptoeing around her, that they were hiding something from her. If she was honest, it felt as if her family, mostly her father, did not want her to remember whatever memory she lost 5 years ago. Her father paid for the therapy, but whenever she asked her father about her the years she lost, he would just give her the most vague information. It got to the point that she got over it and didn’t want to remember anymore.
The last thing she remembered was graduating from high school and the next thing she knew, she was 24 years old, with no recollection of the last 6 years.
“You definitely have,” Elijah nodded his head. “Alright Letty, try on the jacket and let me see how it looks.”
Letty slightly felt bad accepting the gift, but at the same time, it would be rude to decline his gift. It’s not like she expected for him to give the gifts to her, he just always brought her something since he brought Emerson something. She never actually told her dad that the gifts were from Elijah. She always told him that Emerson bought it for her. For some reason, she didn’t think her father would be okay with Elijah buying her gifts.
She put the jacket on, just loved how it fit her. Turning to face Elijah and Emerson, they clapped and hooted.
“Look at my girl looking good!” Elijah proudly stated.
“Don’t be weird,” Letty blushed, playfully pushed Elijah on his shoulder.
Emerson chuckled. “Yeah don’t be a creep, she’s like 20 years younger than you.”
“Hey!” Elijah pushed Emerson. “I’m 15 years older than her, get your facts straight.”
“Oh, because that’s so much better.” Emerson laughed harder.
“You’re just jealous because I like Letty better than you.”
“Oh, extremely jealous.” Emerson shook her head, a small amount of laughter still coming out of her lips. “Finish your homework, one of the boys are going to be here soon.”
Letty thanked Elijah and hugged him one more time before she went to the back to grab her stuff.
“The Mayans are still around you?” At first, he did not like that thought of any of the Mayans being near Emerson. They were an outlaw biker gang, and as cliche as it sounded, he knew what they did during their past time: drugs, violence, women and liquor. He didn’t judge them, it just wasn’t his way of life. And he definitely did not want that around Emerson.
“Yes, is that a problem?” Emerson didn’t like Elijah’s tone. He had a habit of being controlling, but he never tried to impose it on her. After all, they weren’t together and she didn’t work for him, he didn’t get to order her around.
“No, simply curious,” Elijah knew Emerson was protective of her relationship with the Mayans due to Leticia. But Leticia wasn’t part of the gang, regardless of who her father was. “Your siblings have been bombarding my cell phone, have you not answered them.”
“I don’t see why that’s any of your business. Besides I hardly speak to them as it is, they don’t get to dictate when I talk to them when they’re the ones who turned their backs on me.” Emerson knew how to hold a grudge, Elijah knew that. It was the reason he never pushed for a reconciliation between Emerson and her family. For the most part, she replied to birthday text messages from her siblings or holiday greetings. But when they try to initiate a conversation, she shuts down.
“Emmy, your mother really wants to see you.” Elijah knew he shouldn’t push, but Emerson’s mother pleaded for him to talk to her eldest daughter.
“She had a birthday last year, she wasn’t this persistent about seeing me.” Emerson pointed out.
“Your grandfather is dying and your mother wants you to come to New York and see him.”
It wasn’t Elijah who helped her with her shop, at least not entirely. Her grandfather was the one who helped her. For a second, her heart stopped as Elijah’s words registered in her head, but then she realized that that was a lie. She just spoke to her grandfather and if he was sick, he would have told her.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I? Why would I lie about that?”
“I spoke to my grandfather 2 days ago and he mentioned nothing of this sickness you speak of,” Emerson was slightly irked with Elijah. He was trying to play a card that he knew he should never play with her.
“Emerson, I have no reason to lie to you.”
“You have plenty of reasons to lie to me.” She said to him with through gritted teeth.
As Elijah responded to her, Emerson felt as if Elijah was far away, that his voice was coming from a distance. She blinked a few times and her vision became blurry, Elijah’s worried face appearing in front of her.
She felt a sense of deja vu as her words repeated in her head.
“Emerson,” he called out, as she dropped the plate in her hand.
Letty ran out of the kitchen, her bag on her back. “What’s wrong?” She watched as Emerson fell onto Elijah’s arms.
“Emmy!” Another voice call out.
Angel made his way to the store, already in fight mode seeing Elijah and Emerson talking. But when he saw how Emerson’s face contorted to show her displeasement to whatever Elijah was saying, his fight mode grew stronger. As he opened the door, Emerson began to look pale and looked as if she was going to pass out.
“Move,” Angel took Emerson from Elijah’s arms, surprising him and Emerson, who never passed out.
“Angel,” she softly called out.
“Hey queirda, you okay?” He softly brushed away the hair from her face.
Emerson couldn’t even reply as she became lost in Angel’s eyes. She managed to nod her head as Emerson moved away from him.
Angel noticed how her wall immediately went up and how she moved over towards Elijah. It stung to see that. Elijah wrapped an arm around her, placing a kiss on the top of her head as his eyes locked with Angel’s.
“Leticia, Emmy is fine, she’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Elijah turned to Letty who was checking on Emerson.
“I’m fine Letty, I just get these spells every once in a while.” Emerson assured her. “Go with Angel.”
“Okay,” Letty frowned but understood. She walked over to Angel whose eyes were still on Elijah and Emerson. She noticed just how angry Angel looked. There were a few times that she saw that look coming from Angel. One time, it was directed to EZ and she never questioned why. But this was of pure hatred. She could tell that Elijah wasn’t too fond of Angel either. “Come on Angel, let’s go.”
“No, we’re not leaving till Emerson comes with us.” Angel wasn’t going to let this dick win.
“Angel,” Letty pulled on his kute. She didn’t understand why Angel was so protective of Emerson at times. He didn’t even know her well enough to be this protective over her.
“Leticia, not right now.”
She knew Angel wasn’t playing games, especially when he used her whole name. Looking over at Emerson, she mirrored the confused look on Letty’s face.
“Who are you to Emerson to even demand such a thing?” Elijah questioned, putting himself in front of Emerson and further pissing off Angel.
Angel took a step forward but the opening of a door caught their attention. They all looked towards the door and found EZ walking in. Letty has never been so relieved to see EZ.
“What’s going on? Bishop wants us at the clubhouse.” EZ could feel the tension. He noticed everything from the car but wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. He decided to come in just in case something went down.
Angel muttered under his breath before looking over at Emerson. “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just go.”
With one last look, Angel just nodded and narrowed his eyes at Elijah. He turned around, calling for Letty to follow him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow Em.” She gave her a quick hug once Elijah moved out of the way and ran after Angel.
The two watched as the Reyes brothers drove off with Letty. Elijah turned back to Emerson, cupping her face in his hands.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Elijah softly stroke one of her cheeks with his thumb. “Have you been eating?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It just felt weird when I told you that you have plenty of reasons to lie to me.”
“Well, seems like your brain doesn’t agree since it almost made you blackout.” Elijah teased trying to lighten the situation.
“Such a prick,” she pushed him away, a small smile spreading across her face.
“So, you’ve remembered a few things.” Elijah was worried at what Emerson remembered. He was confident that everything was fine, but he wasn’t exactly a saint. They had their fair share of arguments, but there were certain things he hoped she wouldn’t remember.
“Yeah, it’s fragments really, but I’ve remembered a few things.”
“What have you remembered?”
“It’s weird, it’s kind of blurry. Like I see someone there but I don’t recognize them.”
“How about the voice?” Elijah wanted her to remember to some extent, but he wasn’t sure just how much he wanted her to remember. Once she remembered everything, he would be pushed to the back burner again.
“I don’t know,” Elijah could tell that Emerson was closing him off. She was beginning to get this look on her place, where it was voice of emotions and you can clearly tell she was upset. He was almost certain that her answer from here on out would be ‘I don’t know’.
“Don’t do that, don’t start closing me off just because I want to help you.”
“I’m not closing you off, I just don’t know.” Emerson always loved having Elijah around but at the same time, she knew it had its cons when he came. She understood that he was trying to help, but she didn’t want any help. For 2 years, her father had her go see a therapist to help her out with her memories and Elijah would be there for her every step of the way. But she grew frustrated and stopped going. She was totally fine with living her life not knowing what she lost. Well, at first, but then the feeling of finding her past became strong when she became engaged to Elijah. It just didn’t feel right.
It was during her wedding dress fitting that she realized how wrong it was. She was sick to her stomach. After that day, Elijah noticed the difference and she was honest with him. He agreed that they shouldn’t get married if she didn’t want to marry him regardless of what arrangement their parents made.
This infuriated her father and she would never forget what he told her.
“You are no longer an Andres, I refused to acknowledge a daughter who has no respect for her parents wishes.”
And just like that, she left her home. The eerie thing was, her father’s words sounded familiar. Like it wasn’t the first time he had disowned her. But that couldn’t be possible.
What broke her was how close she was with her father. She adored her father, much more than her mother. But for some reason, she felt that there was something hanging over her and her father. There was something she wasn’t telling him and she never really pushed for it. She was so confused and didn’t even know what to focus on.
“I went to Stanford.”
“Yes, you went to Stanford and graduated with a business degree.”
“Business,” she scoffed. “Bet father dearest had something to do with that.”
“Perhaps, but we both know that you were always interested in business. Come on Emmy, you have such a great mind for business.” Elijah always thought that if anyone should take over the Andres empire it should be Emerson. Her older brother was good, but was easily side tracked and had far too many ideas for his own good. Her younger sister, well, someone had to be the rich spoiled child. “That’s why our marriage would have been perfect, having you by my side would have elevated my family’s company.”
“Very nice to know what our marriage would have been like.” She knew he didn’t mean anything by it. They were always good business partners whenever she helped Elijah with a plan to present to his father about the newest real estate development they should venture.
“I would have given you the world.”
“I don’t need the world.”
“No, you don’t,” Elijah gave her a small smile. Ever since Emerson had gone to Stanford, she changed. Gone was the young girl who valued materialistic items. Gone was the young girl who enjoyed all the luxuries her parents handed to her. She began to work for her money, wanting to prove that she didn’t need her parents. It wasn’t a statement, Emerson just realized that working hard for something gave such a great sense of accomplishment that she began to do things for herself. Emerson was never the worst out of her siblings, he was almost certain she was the least stuck up. She still had her moments, but she was much more approachable than her sister.
And it was all thanks to Ezekiel Reyes.
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something in the water, part 1
Summary: Emma is sent to investigate a supposed sea monster appearance in her hometown. Thankfully, her family there knows her secret: that at night, she transforms into a swan. And she knows that whoever the universe thinks her soulmate is, as dictated by the tattoo on her side, won't be there. Though maybe she was wrong to assume that. And when did a merman start hanging out in the ocean near Storybrooke?
rated M (eventually) | 5.5k | AO3
A/N: Here it finally is—my story for @cssns!! I came up with the idea ages ago but never really found time to write until this event came up. It should be about 7 chapters, but of course I was silly and signed up to post on the first day of band camp, so the next chapter won’t go up until next week, and probably once a week from there on. Hope you like it, and thanks to @kmomof4 for organizing this! I’ll be posting accompanying art as well!
When it came to belief systems, Emma Nolan wasn't what most people would call normal. (Actually, in most regards, she wasn't.)
She didn't place much stock in things like having luck or wishing on stars. Neither had ever really been on her side.
She hadn't quite made up her mind on God (or gods, or goddesses, or whatever). She took care of herself just fine.
The supernatural, though—vampires, zombies, magic, et cetera? There wasn’t much choice when it came to her belief in that, given the way her life had gone and the people she tended to hang out with—even if society as a whole still thought it was all fiction.
But the one thing that everyone believed in—and that Emma remained skeptical on, despite all the proof she'd seen—was soulmates. The idea of a predestined love dictated by some higher being before you were born and only verified by a random, tattoo-like birthmark seemed forced at best and unreliable at worst. It's not like the marks spelled it out—there was plenty of room for interpretation of the symbolism of each soulmark, which also meant plenty of room to have a heart broken.
She had trusted in them, once upon a time, when she met a guy named Neal who’d spent a great deal of his childhood on a ship. The mark splashed across her ribcage made sense with that, and his—of what looked like a feather on his bicep—seemed appropriate for someone like her, and with a secret like hers.
But then he found out what she was hiding, and things got awkward. And then he met Tamara and the feather turned out to be a palm leaf (apparently, that’s what that name means or something). And then things were said—tame things like, “it’s not you, it’s me and my destiny and blah-blah,” and hurtful things like “I couldn’t love someone like you anyways. Who could?”
Which meant Emma was the one left with the broken heart.
So what she’d once thought was a curse actually helped keep her heart safe, and since not everyone had a soulmark, it was easy to pretend she didn’t either.
And like he said, who could love someone like her, anyways?
Actually, she lied; there was one more thing she didn’t believe in, as presented to her by her boss one quiet Thursday afternoon.
“A sea monster? You can’t be serious, Regina.”
“Hey, I didn’t come up with it. I’m just the one who took the call.”
“Well, did you do a sanity check on the caller?”
“I didn’t have to; I know she’s insane. It’s Cruella Feinberg.”
“As in Crazy Cruella from back home? The one obsessed with dogs?” Emma and Regina both hailed from the tiny Maine town of Storybrooke—the definition of quaint. It was really no wonder they’d both escaped to Boston as soon as they could.
“The very one. And while she may have lost touch with reality, her money certainly has not.”
Emma sighed and leaned back in her desk chair. “How much?”
From where she was perched on the corner of Emma’s desk in the office of their bail bonds-slash-private investigation firm, Regina slid a folded up sheet of paper to her. Emma quirked an eyebrow with curiosity; Regina wasn’t typically one to keep things on the down-low like this, unless it was an exceptionally large payout. And this did not seem like the kind of case with one of those; usually, the people who hired them for this kind of situation were broke and/or not mentally sound, so they just played Ghostbuster—convinced the banshee or whatever it was to quit being weird, and charged the client only half of the original amount.
Emma picked up the slip and opened it. Boy, was she wrong this time. “Holy shit!” She exclaimed at the almost-six-figure sum. “This can’t possibly be real.”
“It is; I made her put up half up front to make sure she wasn’t joking. She did it without batting a heavily lined eye.”
Emma checked her desk calendar—was it April Fools or something? “What’s the catch here? This is too good to be true.”
“No catch. Unless me forcing you to take some paid time off counts.”
She scoffed. “This hardly seems like something to use my vacation time on.”
“It’s not. But it’s a two-week assignment in Storybrooke, and I’m not expecting this to take much effort on your end. Actually, I think it will end up being kind of perfect for you. Plus: you deserve it, Emma.”
She crossed her arms and leaned back in her desk chair, huffing; there was a reason she threw herself into work. It left less time for thinking, or being social, or any of those other things that tended to put Emma outside her comfort zone or onto things she’d rather not focus on.
It had been a while since she’d been home, though, and it might be nice to see her brother and sister-in-law...but it also seemed like she was taking advantage of the situation. “Are you sure, Regina? I know you’ve been busy with the Gold case; don’t you want me to stay and help with that?”
For the past several months, Regina had been investigating the disappearances of various supernatural beings—occasionally, they did get hired on legit cases from within their hidden community—with the most recent being an acquaintance of theirs, Tinkerbell, a fairy. A surprising number of her kind had gone missing, along with a werebear named Merida, a couple vampires, and a jeweler with a Midas-like touch. They had yet to find any solid leads, but all of the cases seemed to have a tie to the mysterious Mr. Gold. Emma had never met him herself, but his reputation alone had her worried for Regina’s safety whenever they met; there was no telling when a witch as gifted with magic as Regina was would be next.
(Having a boss that was also a member of the more mythical side of society—and aware of any potential limitations that might put on one’s available working hours—was certainly a perk to this job on its own, odd cases like the one currently in front of her notwithstanding.)
“I’ve got no leads right now, so there’s not much to help with,” Regina answered with a shrug. “Seriously, go spend some time with your family; have a girls night or two with Ruby; air out your feathers a bit.”
Emma gave a hard side-eye at that last comment—Regina could never resist a good bird reference around her—but she was out of arguments against taking the assignment.
She chewed on her bottom lip a bit before saying, “Promise you’ll call me if you need me back here?”
“Promise,” Regina answered, going so far as to draw an x over her heart with her finger. For Regina, that meant business.
“Then I guess I’m off to Storybrooke.”
After a quick call to her sister-in-law Snow, a fleeting trip to her apartment for some clothes and necessities hastily shoved in a threadbare duffel bag, and a stop at the gas station to fill up the tank of her 1972 yellow VW Bug, Emma was off on the 5-ish-hour drive up the coast. It wasn’t quite tourist season yet, but the snow had melted, so she opted for the slower route that kept her closer to the ocean, enjoying the panoramic views of the Atlantic as she drove.
The sign by the side of the road informing drivers that they were “Now Entering Storybrooke” eventually greeted her warmly as it had so many times before, crisp white on kelly green.
Before heading into town, she detoured down a dirt road to Cruella’s place. The Feinberg mansion was certainly more ostentatious than any other house on the road, towering over the smaller coastal cottages, but wasn’t the ridiculous display of wealth Emma had expected—it was more like an oversized bungalow made of light-colored brick.
Dogs started barking as soon as she rang the doorbell, and a shrill voice called at them to “shut it!” before the door swung open. Cruella looked much the same as she did in Emma’s memory, just with a bit more Botox: dramatic two-toned hair, a zealous amount of dark eyeshadow, and clothes just a touch too revealing.
“Oh, Emma darling, thank you so much for coming! I was thrilled when Regina told me you’d taken the case; none of those city types would ever believe me!” Cruella shouted, pulling Emma into a tight hug despite the fact that they’d hardly ever exchanged more than a few words (and that Emma had totally TP’d her house once with Ruby, but they had never been caught).
“Glad to...help…” Emma stammered, stunned at the contact. She had to take a deep breath once Cruella released her, before continuing, “So, can you tell me anything about what you’ve been seeing?”
“Oh, yes, yes—right this way!” The eccentric older woman turned on a dime and led Emma through her house, past the large painting of her now-dead husband (whose death had only been mildly suspicious), through the kitchen, and out to the massive deck that overlooked a semi-secluded cove.
“I see it almost every night when I’m having a nightcap, but only at night, so I think it’s nocturnal,” Cruella started explaining, gesturing dramatically toward the water. “It seems to be dark-colored, but it’s so hard to tell when there’s only a bit of moonlight.”
Emma wondered how strong those nightcaps were mixed, but continued on with a few more questions: how big was it (“Hmm, bigger than a dolphin, but smaller than a whale—but it has a tail like both of them.”), how long had she been seeing it (“A few months, give or take”), and why she’d hired them to investigate (“Well, I need to know what it is so I can be a hospitable host should it ever come ashore! I’m sure my friends would love to meet it!”).
None of it did anything to convince Emma that Cruella wasn’t still a few olives short of a martini, but she assured the widow that she’d get right on it.
“Let me know if I can help at all, and my property is certainly available to your use. I’m always open to some evening company,” Cruella added as Emma headed out.
“I think I’ll be okay, but thanks,” she answered, kind of quickly. “I’ll be in touch.”
She endured one more too-tight hug before hopping back in her car and starting the drive into town. Something told her it was all just the gin-fueled hallucination of a lonely old lady, but Regina was right—this case would probably work out perfectly for her, whether she found anything or not. She already spent most of her nights on the water; might was well get paid for it.
She’d get back to that later, though; now, it was time to see if the town rumor mill still worked like it used to—or at least to see how many people Snow had told of her arrival. Her old bedroom was already waiting for her, based on the last text she received, but it pretty much always was.
First things first, though: food. She easily navigated the all-too-familiar backroads and side streets that led to the center of town, one of the tiniest and most stereotypical little seaside villages known to man. Finding the diner was second nature, and her Bug looked right at home parked in front of it, almost like she’d never left. She actually recognized most of the cars nearby, but especially the two she’d parked in between; she smirked at knowing what—or rather, who—was likely waiting for her inside.
The same old bell rang against the door as she pulled it open, but was quickly drowned out by a high-pitched yelp—the only warning Emma had before being engulfed in another massive hug, but she was expecting this one. Still, she hadn’t quite braced herself enough.
“Ah, Emma! It’s really you; you’re HERE!” her best friend, Ruby Lucas, was shouting in her ear while proceeding to squeeze the life out of her.
“Let her breathe, Ruby!” a gruff voice barked from behind the counter. Despite the asphyxiation, Emma smiled at how little things ever changed.
“Sorry, sorry!” Ruby apologized as she let go; she always forgot her own strength, and now that Emma was free, she could see Granny behind them, hands on her hips and shaking her head at her granddaughter’s energy. “You know how I get around the full moon,” Ruby added quietly.
“It’s fine,” Emma assured her, even though her voice was slightly strained. Despite her friend’s lithe form, few would guess that both she and her grandmother were members of the local pack of apex predators: werewolves.
(To say Emma had grown up around the supernatural was an understatement. Maybe that was why the two of them got on so well, even if they probably shouldn’t have.)
“But once that’s past, we HAVE to have a girls’ night, okay?” she continued, gushing and taking Emma’s hands in hers. “Oh, I’m just so glad you’re here!”
“Ruby, I’m not paying ya to block the door from the paying customers!” Granny shouted before Emma could reply.
“Granny, we both know you won’t let me pay,” Emma threw back, teasing.
“Well, maybe this is the day I do!” The old lady was known for her fierce temper and penchant for orneriness; but just like any she-wolf, she was also fiercely protective of those in her pack, both the ones who actually were and the ones she’d decided were.
Emma and Ruby both just rolled their eyes, still holding hands in the entryway, when she heard the clearing of a familiar voice.
“Ruby, are you trying to hog my sister?” David, ever the big brother, was standing there with his arms crossed, trying to give a stern look that they all knew was forced.
“Yup,” Ruby threw back without missing a beat. “I’m taking her home and locking her in my house, so she’ll be all mine!”
“That’s creepy, Rubes,” Emma protested, but David spoke over her.
“Oh? And what would your new girlfriend say about that?”
Emma’s jaw dropped and Ruby looked ironically sheepish. “Ruby! You didn’t tell me!” Emma scolded, lightly shoving her friend’s shoulder.
“I was getting there…” she answered. “It’s not the sort of thing you say over text!”
Emma was going to challenge that, but Granny cut them all off. “Ruby! Let that poor girl sit down and make her some food!”
“I’ll tell you later,” she said quickly, then dashed to the kitchen in her impractical red high heels.
“Aha, my plan worked; I have you all to myself!” David proclaimed, tugging Emma into a headlock.
“Seriously?” Emma complained, though it was muffled by her brother’s ridiculously muscled arm, covered as always in plaid flannel (today, it was blue; she was pretty sure he owned the full spectrum). “Aren’t we too old for this?”
“Never!” he answered, and started tugging her farther into the diner. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
“You’re gonna have to let go of me, you know.”
“Nah.”
She could at least tell that they were near the end of the counter, where she and David almost always sat. She still couldn’t see a damn thing and the way David was pulling her was starting to put a strain in her side, but he didn’t seem to care.
“Emma, meet Killian; he’s new in town. Killian, this is my sister, Emma.”
Blindly, Emma held out her hand, hoping the yet-to-be-seen stranger would take it. “Nice to meet you!” she called out from the confines of her brother’s grip.
Moments later, warm, rough fingers lightly gripped hers, followed by the sound of a sinfully accented voice. “The pleasure is all mine, milady.” And then she felt soft lips on the back of her hand.
Holy crap, who was this guy? Did David tear him out of a Jane Austen novel or something? Granted, that wasn’t a power she was aware of anyone wielding, let alone her brother, but damn.
(Another question would be, “why do you even care about a guy you haven’t even seen?”, but Emma was really too stunned by their thus-far incredibly brief interaction to give that much thought.)
Enough was enough; she couldn’t breathe and David’s shirt smelled like the vet office he worked in. And she was also kind of super curious to see what this guy looked like.
Thankfully, David didn’t put up a fight when she pulled his arms off of her, and only whined a little bit when she smacked him in the chest. Then she turned to this Killian guy, and it was like time stood still.
Killian was easily the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. High cheekbones and long, thick lashes framed the bluest eyes she'd encountered, and gingery scruff canvassed a jaw chiseled from stone; a dark thatch of chest hair teased from the unbuttoned vee of a shirt just tight enough that little was hidden of his built upper body; and tousled dark hair hung artfully in his face while his perfect full lips smirked at her, cutting a dimple into his cheek.
The only thing she could think was that there was no way someone so attractive was human. (But she found herself eagerly hoping he was.)
“Emma; earth to Emma.” Suddenly, a hand was being waved in front of her face, pulling her out of her gaping—oh, crap, she was actually, full-on open-mouthed gaping at Killian. David was chuckling as she slammed her mouth shut, and she could feel heat rising on her cheeks, making them as bright red as the streaks in Ruby’s hair.
“I think she likes you,” David whisper-yelled to Killian as he took a seat next to him on the last stool.
“I tend to have that effect on people,” Killian answered in the same manner, throwing a poor excuse for a wink her way (but it still made her blush even harder).
Wait—what the hell was going on? She never got her feathers ruffled by a pretty face like this, and David never encouraged it. Regardless of her reaction, this was a setup if she ever saw one, and she wasn’t going to take the bait.
Trying to look cool (and probably failing but whatever), she brushed her hair behind her ears, smoothed her red leather jacket, and slid onto the empty stool next to Killian’s. “So, how the hell did you end up in Storybrooke? There really isn’t much here.”
“Well, there was a job,” he started, with a shrug and a chuckle—a deep, light thing that vibrated through her; she shivered involuntarily. “England didn’t have anything for me anymore and...this seemed like the place to start anew.” His smile didn’t fade, but his eyes softened a bit; she could tell that there was more to it than that, but she was the last person (or whatever she was) on earth to pry. So she kept it light.
“Really? You came here to start over? The US has so many problems right now.”
“So does the UK. Brexit and all.”
“Trump, though.”
“True. You might have that one.”
She was about to ask about his job (and was a little surprised at how quickly they fell into banter) when Ruby was in front of her, with her usual order and a wolfish grin.
“Don’t mind me; just dropping this off and I’ll get out of your feathers.” She cast a glance over at Killian, licked her lips at Emma, and then slunk away nearly as quickly as she’d shown up.
Emma just shook her head; seriously? Five minutes in town and everyone was already shipping her and the new guy? It was almost painful, but then again, that was Storybrooke.
Actually, something was kind of painful—her side. After her first (delicious) bite of grilled cheese, she set it down to stretch out, holding her arm over her head as she did.
“Are you taking up ballet now?” David teased. “Trying to learn some grace, finally?” Sometimes, he was such a big brother.
“Ha ha. No. We both know that's not possible,” Emma scoffed back. It really was ironic how clumsy she was, all things considered, but she didn’t think that had anything to do with this. “I think you pulled one of my muscles when you decided to drag me halfway across the diner. Thanks,” she deadpanned, then turned to Killian. “Sorry that you’re caught in the middle of this.”
He waved it off. “I had a brother; I know what it’s like.”
She didn’t linger on the fact that he used past tense, but still asked, “Was he as much of a ridiculous jerk as this guy?”
“Probably worse.”
The three of them fell into a combination of teasing and actual conversation over their meals. They discussed the differences between where he’d lived on the English coast and life here on the other side of the Atlantic. He explained that the proximity to the ocean was part of what drew him to their quiet little seaside town. For a moment, the mention of the sea sent up some Neal-related red flags, but then the conversation drifted into books and she forgot about it. That was his job—he’d taken the assistant librarian position in town, and was training to run things while the head librarian, Belle, went on a sabbatical to travel. And she catalogued the impressed, almost aroused way he arched an eyebrow when he found out she was a bounty hunter.
“You certainly strike me as a tough lass,” he observed, smirking wryly. “Remind me not to cross you.”
“Don’t skip your bail and we’ll be fine,” she teased back. “I’d hate to have to press that pretty face against the wall as I’m cuffing you.” She immediately blushed; she only ever flirted like that when she actually was trying to nab a skip—it had been years since she meant it.
He grinned, a devilish thing. “If you want to get close to me, you only have to ask. No need to use a hypothetical crime as an excuse.”
“Guys, I’m right here,” David protested, but his immediate smirk in Ruby’s direction told her that he really didn’t mind that much. (And honestly, it was kind of payback for all the sickeningly sweet scenes she’d been forced to witness between him and Snow over the years.)
Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t hold back the smile that took over her features. She attempted to hide it in her last onion ring, but caught Ruby grinning at her from the kitchen. So she hid behind a napkin instead, clearing her face of any potential crumbs and—wait, why did she care? It wasn’t like she was looking to date him or anything….right?
Oh, but it was so fun flirting with him.
He’d returned his focus to the few remaining fries on his plate (“chips,” he called them), and she noticed his brow furrow as he rubbed at his chest.
“Oh, I should have warned you; Granny’s will give you heartburn if you’re not careful.”
“I heard that!” Granny shouted from the far back of the kitchen; of course she did, wolf hearing and all.
He chuckled. “I’ll remember that next time.” The weight of “next time” hung over them as they shared somewhat coy half-smiles; normally, she’d refute anything further, but something told her she couldn’t avoid Killian if she tried.
Just when she’d worked up the nerve to give Killian her number—even though something told her David had already put it in his phone—said older, annoying brother broke the moment. “Killian, don’t you have to get back to work?”
His eyes grew wide and flashed to the clock on the wall. “Oh, bloody hell, yeah,” he cursed, jumping up off the stool. He tugged some cash out of his back pocket (which Emma couldn’t help but watch; it turned out that he had an incredibly attractive back pocket), threw it on the counter, and grabbed a black leather jacket from where it had fallen on the floor.
“It truly was a pleasure, Emma,” he said as he slipped it on, giving her a genuine smile. “Until next time.”
“You too,” she replied, almost breathlessly, and then watched as he said “Later, mate,” to Dave and headed out the door. (She may have once again taken the opportunity to admire his back pockets, and everything they held.)
Once he was gone, she swiveled around on her stool to glare at David. “What the hell was that?” she demanded, but David answered by taking a massive bite of his tuna melt and studying the ceiling tiles.
She knew this game, though, and continued to stare at him while she munched on her onion rings. No way was he getting out of this conversation.
Dramatically, he swallowed and then feigned looking at his watch. “Oh, man, the time. That’s my lunch break; I better—”
“You better explain why you were simultaneously trying to set me up,” she commanded, putting her hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, and then added with a confused tilt of her head, “but also not?”
“You noticed that, huh?” he replied, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously.
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?”
“Think, no; hope—maybe?”
She just shook her head. “God, you sound just like—”
“Emma!” Speak of the devil, there she was; the shout of her name pulled her attention to the door, where David’s wife Snow had just arrived. Although, there was absolutely nothing satanic about Snow—in fact, she was quite the opposite: in addition to her pure-sounding name (her parents were definitely hippies), she practically exuded rainbows, unicorns, and all things angelic. (As far as Emma knew, she wasn’t actually an angel, but she wouldn’t be surprised to be proven wrong.)
Even the sun behind her made a halo in Snow’s pixie-cut hair as she practically ran across the diner. “Ah, I’m so glad you made it!” she basically shouted in Emma’s ear as she attacked her with a hug. “You’re supposed to text me these things, you know?”
“Yes, I know, Mom,” she answered, putting emphasis on the title; Snow might be her sister-in-law, but half the time, she acted more like a parent. But a parent you could get drunk with. “I was going to, but I went to Cruella’s first to find out about the job, and then got distracted here by a couple of fledgling matchmakers.”
Snow pulled back wearing a look of recognition, and turned to David. “Oh, was Killian here?”
“Ugh, I should have known you were in on it, too,” Emma grumbled, leaning back against the counter. “I expect this from you; but now you’re dragging David into it?”
“It was his idea!” Snow protested.
“Seriously?” Emma complained, and both ladies turned to him, but he was once again conveniently too interested in his meal to answer.
So Snow launched into an explanation. “A few weeks ago, he said, and I quote, ‘Don’t you think Emma and Killian would make a cute couple?’ I told him that neither of you would really appreciate being set up, but agreed that I could totally see it. And several times since then, he’s said he can’t wait for your next visit so he can introduce you two and, again, I quote, ‘watch the sparks fly’.”
David choked down his sandwich to throw back at Snow, “Okay, but you’re the one who said they’d have pretty babies.”
Now Snow was the one acting embarrassed. “It was just a hypothetical!”
Ruby was surreptitiously taking away her empty plate, but Emma always had a sixth sense where she was concerned, probably because of Ruby’s predator status. “And what’s your excuse?” she enquired.
“I just think you need to get laid, and Killian is sex on legs, so you better effing tap that.” She didn’t even bat an eye, giving her confident response and then taking the dishes back to the kitchen.
“You guys, seriously,” Emma whined, physically facepalming. She knew they meant well and just wanted to see her happy with someone. But they also all knew why she wasn’t keen on that idea, given what had happened with Neal. At least no one had brought up the “S” word; soulmates were a big deal to Snow, since she and David were, but she’d long since stopped trying to sign Emma up for a soulmate-finder service.
(She’d never admit it, but sometimes, when she watched her brother and sister-in-law’s relationship and thought of their matching marks—his a snowflake, hers a shepherd’s crook—she did truly long for the kind of companionship and support that they gave each other.
But then Neal’s words—Who could love someone like you?—would trickle back in, and she’d quickly give up that line of thinking.)
Her complaints apparently didn’t stop Snow from whispering to Dave, “So, how did it go?”
“Answer that and die,” Emma interrupted, still holding her face in her hand.
She could almost hear Snow’s grin. “That’s all the answer I need, I think.” Emma just groaned and pushed herself off the counter to standing.
“Well, I’m gonna head out before you start wasting your time planning a wedding that will never happen.” Snow looked like she was about to protest, so Emma cut her off. “I’ve gotta do some reconnaissance for my job, but then I’ll be back at your place by dinner, okay?”
“Okay,” Snow conceded, sounding almost defeated. Emma hated doing that to her but her friend had an overactive imagination; it was always best to put a stop to things before her dreams regarding Emma’s love life got out of hand.
“Alright; see you later.”
Later that evening, Emma was curled up on the bed in her childhood room. David had inherited the house and the sheep farm that they grew up on after his mother (and Emma’s adoptive mother) passed away, so she always had a place when she came to Storybrooke. Despite what it may have seemed based on the warm reception earlier, she did actually make it home fairly regularly; this trip was just a bit out of her typical once-every-few-months schedule.
After figuring out where she’d best be able to do surveillance out by Cruella’s—in other words, where she could park near the water and not get noticed or caught in the tide—she’d headed back here for dinner and some Netflixing before they all went to bed. Emma wasn’t all that tired yet, though, so she was reading an old, worn out collection of fairy tales. Even if her life would never be one, she always enjoyed the stories and guessing at which ones were real. Though with this specific book—by Hans Christian Anderson—she’d never been able to decide.
The alarm on her phone went off at 10:50, startling her from her reading (and her musings on just how much of her life resembled The Ugly Duckling). The familiar tune of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake played out of the tiny iPhone speaker, letting her know, like it always did, that she had 10 minutes to figure things out. A quick glance at her weather app told her it was supposed to be a dry, if cool, night; but she’d be fine out there.
Quietly, she headed outside and down the well-worn path to the pond on the farm. Her phone read 10:55, so she walked a bit quicker to get there on time.
An ancient-looking but incredibly solid dock jutted out into the pond, and at the end, a less-old but still worn box was built in. Emma’s footsteps thudded as she hurried to it, and she flipped open the makeshift cabinet. As quickly as she could, she pulled off everything she wore (eternally grateful for the relative privacy of the farm) and threw it in, dropping her phone on top of the pile. 10:59.
She’d just closed the lid and stood up straight when she felt it: the familiar tingle that started in her spine and spread. In the near-full moon, the merman-shaped mark on her right side stood in stark contrast to her pale skin. Her hand pressed down on it; she never really paid it much thought nowadays, but it was odd that the muscle she’d strained earlier was directly beneath it.
The tingling feeling intensified, just like it did every night; by now, she had this whole thing down exactly.
Her lone graceful move was this: she raised her arms overhead as feathers covered her skin and flowed down from her limbs to make wings. Then, she took a running leap off the end of the dock, gliding on those wings for a brief moment as her neck lengthened, her legs shortened, her nose and mouth became a beak, and her whole body rearranged itself.
When it was done and that tingling feeling stopped, she smoothly landed on the surface of the water—as a swan.
Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more, and let me know what you thought! Tagging some friends who might like it: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @selfie-wench @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @stubble-sandwich @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @flipperbrain @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @jackieorioncat
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A Social Call
(Another short story in the manner of Rex Stout, featuring Nero Wolfe.)
“I’m afraid that would be impossible.”
“I agree entirely. And it’s been my experience that when things are impossible, they don’t happen. Which means that we should just forget about this.”
She laughed.
“But that would be impossible as well.”
“I assure you it wouldn’t, Ms. Harris—nor, in fact, is it. If you understood what you are asking of me, you’d understand.”
I couldn’t help laughing myself. The notion of me getting Wolfe’s 4,000 ounces on an airplane—a device that actually left the ground and flew through the air like a bird—well, the idea was unimaginable and irresistible at the same time.
“You think well of yourself, don’t you, Mr. Goodwin?”
I laughed again. I was a riot, and so was she.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Harris. I’m enjoying this conversation for many reasons. But I couldn’t get my boss to hear Mr. Zauberberg out if he came to this office himself. Mr. Wolfe made so much money last year he’s taking this one off to translate Montaigne’s Essays into Serbian and Hungarian. As a result, he’s even less interested in running errands for twenty-something billionaires than usual.”
“Mr. Zauberberg is 32, and he is not requesting an errand. He is seeking the assistance of a man known for his devotion to the cause of freedom of speech.”
“Those are kind words, and Mr. Wolfe will appreciate them when I convey them to him. But the deal is still off. Mr. Wolfe is not working for Mr. Zauberberg or any one else, and he is certainly not getting on a plane. Now, I’m sure your boss isn’t used to taking ‘no’ for an answer. If you like, tell him that you found me irascible and unpleasant.”
There was silence for a beat. Then she came back at me.
“Mr. Zauberberg only speaks with principals.”
“Of course he does. I’m sorry, Ms. Harris, I don’t like to be rude, but sometimes that’s my job. I think you can understand that pretty well.”
There was another pause.
“I’ll get back to you, Mr. Goodwin,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you as well.”
I wished I could have done more for Ms. Harris—or Joan, as I could have called her—because I was looking at her FacetoFace page. She was three years out of Stanford, and, judging from her picture as the co-captain of the varsity tennis team, she had the best legs of any applied statistician I’d ever seen. The entire time we had been talking I’d been trying to figure out a way to suggest to her that if she and Mark could make their way to the brownstone and confront Wolfe in person things might go better, but there was just no way I could square that circle, because Wolfe really wasn’t working any more
Eight years ago, back in 2009, the SEC sued half the banks on Wall Street on charges of money laundering for the Russian mob. That’s not what the SEC called it, but that’s how the Gazette reported it. After three years, the government brought a proposed settlement before the judge with no criminal charges and no admission of wrong doing. She threw it back in their faces and said they’d been wasting her time and that of the people of the United States. A week later, a couple of government lawyers showed up at Wolfe’s door at one in the morning with 10,000 pages of transcripts and documents. Wolfe spent two months reading them and two weeks dictating a list of 250 questions for the SEC to ask. Once the SEC started asking those questions the banks put together a new settlement proposal, acknowledging what they called “serious errors in judgment and a pattern of culpable behavior,” and coughing up a billion each to prove they were sorry. Naturally, the award in the case was batted up to the Supreme Court and down again, twice, but when the dust finally cleared Wolfe’s share of the take was on the upside of $17 million. Wolfe threw a little party to celebrate, to which the SEC was not invited. Fritz hired three assistants and gave us a meal that he said duplicated the coronation dinner for Edward VII in 1901, which I appreciated, since I’d missed the first one.
At the dinner Wolfe told us that he’d be taking a leave of absence from the detecting business.
“I have profited from the excesses of Mammon, and now I must address the madness it has provoked. I may not prove more efficacious than Diogenes, but I shall be more industrious. And Montaigne shall be my barrel.”
It took me a week to unravel that one, but fortunately a professor I met at one of Lily Rowan’s parties explained it all to me. Diogenes was a philosopher living in ancient Athens, who it appears took an even dimmer view of society than Wolfe. But when Athens was threatened with invasion, Diogenes felt he had to do something, so he rolled around the streets in a barrel. As it turned out, Wolfe wanted to discourage what he called “feral recrudescence” by translating Montaigne into as many languages as he could. Serbian and Hungarian he could handle himself, and he wanted to hire someone to handle Arabic and Farsi.
“You would have been proud of me,” I told him, when he arrived at six on the dot, waiting until he had settled in the one chair that suits him and rung for beer.
“Indeed.”
“Yes. I informed Mark Zauberberg’s personal assistant that you would not be flying to San Francisco tomorrow morning to promote the cause of freedom of speech.”
Wolfe chuckled.
“If his billions cannot save him then no one can. Have you prepared my revisions?”
I handed him the pages and watched him open one of the half dozen dictionaries he had on his desk. I wanted to needle him, as I had in the old days, but there was nothing doing. In his own mind, he was working harder than he ever had, and who was I to disagree with him? I turned back to my computer—I could catch the second half of a double header between the Yanks and the Red Sox with my headphones until dinner.
Fritz started us off with celery consommé while Wolfe filled me in on the what he called the radical incongruities of spoken and written Hungarian. I tried to change the subject to Zauberberg, and the congressional hearing he was facing in two weeks, but Wolfe refused to be goaded. When Fritz brought in the shad roe with cream sauce and roasted vegetables, he slowed down a little until he had finished his third helping, but then he started in again and didn’t slow down much at all through the broiled grapefruit halves basted with wild thyme honey and cognac that Fritz gave us for dessert.
When we finished our grapefruit we adjourned to the office for some brandy and coffee, Wolfe still lecturing me on Hungarian lingo—the more he talked the further back in time he went—when the doorbell rang. I got erect and walked down the hall. I squinted through the peephole and walked back to the office.
“It’s him,” I said. “Shall I let him in?”
“Confound it,” he said. “Yes. A man without curiosity is no longer alive. I desire to look on his billions.”
The way Zauberberg bounded inside when I opened the door, if I hadn’t known he was in his early thirties, I would have guessed seventeen. He seemed that much of a kid. Fortunately for me, Joan was along for a ride as well, looking tall and fresh and outdoorsy and making me wish I had been working on my tan.
“I thought you were in San Francisco,” I said.
“I was,” she said.
Zauberberg made a bee-line for the big red chair in front of Wolfe’s desk like an Irish setter heading for a beefsteak, although naturally he went first to Wolfe’s desk to shake Wolfe’s hand.
“Nero Wolfe! You’re not easy to get a hold of!”
“You certainly have had no difficulty,” snapped Wolfe. “Please have a seat. I prefer eyes at a level. And your assistant as well, although I see Mr. Goodwin is attending to her.”
It was a cheap shot, of course, but I had to take it. I positioned one of the yellow chairs for Joan, so I could keep an eye on all three of them at once.
“Thank you,” Wolfe said, once Zauberberg had taken his seat. “Mr. Zauberberg, I bow before your wealth, but I warn you in advance that I am not available for hire, under any circumstances.”
I could gauge just how much Zauberberg wanted Wolfe’s services that he let Wolfe get the first word, sitting there in the big red chair and gripping the armrests like a little kid trying to wait for Christmas.
“But it’s crazy!” he exploded at last. “Congress! They make IBM look good! Those questions would have been dumb five years ago!”
“I am sure,” said Wolfe. “I pity anyone who must face a congressional committee. A pack of ululating jackals would display more courtesy, and more intelligence.”
“Yeah, well, jackals don’t really hunt in packs,” Zauberberg said. “I mean, opportunistic predation is an optimal strategy in a lot of cases.”
“If you view the world in Darwinist terms, then perhaps you should neither be surprised nor offended when these creatures seek to feed on you.”
“Okay, fine, I have a problem. And you make problems go away.”
“Indeed, I do not. I deal exclusively with those problems that do not go away. And, as I believe you have already been informed, my services are unavailable for at least one year.”
“Yeah. About that.”
As he spoke, Joan opened the leather briefcase she had with her and took out a sheaf of paper, which she passed to Zauberberg.
“Montaigne’s last two essays,” he said, handing them to Wolfe, “in damned good Hungarian.”
“I shall be the judge of that, of course,” said Wolfe.
Wolfe held open the old, leather-bound volume of Montaigne that he consulted and I watched his eyes jump back and forth between the French and the pages Zauberberg had given him.
“This is passable,” he allowed, “even competent. But it lacks élan.”
“Which you can supply,” said Joan, speaking for the first time.
“Ah, you are in charge of manners, I see. And your name, Miss?”
“Harris. Joan Harris.”
“Very good. And now, Mr. Zauberberg, explain your gift. There is no translation program that works at this level.”
Zauberberg was starting to get excited.
“Those assholes!” he exclaimed. ”Ogle is so full of shit. I mean, it’s Bayes meets Chomsky and you’re home. Well, pretty much. And you need a 250 K array.”
“Mr. Zauberberg is referring to an array of 250,000 linked high-speed parallel processors,” Joan explained, something I gather she did a lot. “We’ve been developing that array to replace our current system.”
“And we need to break it in,” Zauberberg interrupted. “I chose Hungarian because it’s tough, but we can do anything. We’ve got the data.”
“Really?” said Wolfe, raising his eyebrows. “How about Arabic and Farsi?”
“Sure. I mean, Arabic’s easier, except you have all those dialects. But sure. Sure. You help me, I help you. And this could be ongoing. We’ll always have downtime. Make a list. The sky’s the limit.”
Wolfe’s eyebrows stayed up. He was ready to bring Montaigne to the whole planet.
“So you say. Until you have a crisis, which you undoubtedly will. With all your billions, your soul is not your own, but rather your shareholders.”
“I believe,” said Joan, with surprising authority, “that when you are in full understanding of the matter, you will see that Mr. Zauberberg will have every reason to maintain his end of the bargain for the foreseeable future.”
Wolfe allowed himself a slight smile.
“Then are you going to apprise me of them without insisting on my prior commitment?” he asked.
“We rely on your discretion, of course,” said Joan, which amazed me. Zauberberg not only trusted her to do the talking, he could actually make himself shut up. So he must have really wanted it.
“I suppose with this bait I could offer it,” Wolfe said. “I try to value other’s privacy as I value my own. Whether you, Mr. Zauberberg are similarly generous I can reserve my opinion. But please give me no reason to regret my generosity.”
“Yeah, well,” Zauberberg began, “this isn’t really that big a deal,” though the way he said it didn’t convince me.
He hesitated again, and looked at Joan, but she kept a straight face, so he had to begin all on his own.
“Again, as I say, it’s not a big deal, but it’s the sort of thing that people would make into a big deal. Well, I’m married now, but I wasn’t, ten years ago, so I was in San Francisco. Well, I met this chick who did porno. I guess, anyway, well, I guess people are going to say that was wrong.”
“This is not confession, Mr. Zauberberg. Unless this youthful interlude can have real world consequences I desire to hear nothing more, and regret the little I have.”
“There’s no video,” said Zauberberg, “well, not of me. Just some photographs. You know, we were on a boat. People like to take pictures on a boat. It’s an interesting thing. People get out on the water and they lose all sense ….”
He pulled himself in.
“Anyway, what’s important is the Russian connection. See, that’s the big deal with Congress, the whole Russian thing, and that’s got the Democrats breathing down my neck. And the thing is, I’ve never had any dealing with the Russians, ever! I mean, there was that thing five years ago, some Canadian outfit was fronting for them, and there was real money involved, I admit that, but as soon as the link was publicized, nothing! It vanished like that!”
He snapped his fingers.
“And after that, nothing again. And I’ve always had great relations with the Democrats. But now, you know, they need a target, and they think I’m it. And now she’s, she’s resurfaced.”
“You never heard from her until now?”
“No.”
“And what does she want? I assume that mere money could be no object.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not sure what she wants. I’m not sure she’s sure what she wants. She says she wants what’s coming to her, but she goes back and forth. Sometimes it’s cash, sometimes she says she just wants to tell her story, that she doesn’t need me, that if she tells her story she’ll have all the cash she needs.”
“And what is her story? That you two had an affair ten years ago? Embarrassing, to be sure, but did you fly across the country to be here merely on this issue?”
“No. No. The thing is, like I said, the Russian connection. She had an affair, another affair, a longer affair, with this guy Dimitry Voroshilov, the one who set up most of the fake sites that ran on FacetoFace. So it’s going to look like, like I knew what was going on, that I was partying with the Russians, that I was taking money from them, like a lot of things.”
“And do you know him? Did you know him? Or anyone connected to him?”
“No! I’ve never met him! That’s solid!”
“What about this Canadian affair you alluded to. Some one was attempting to take control of FacetoFace?”
“Well, they were juicing the Van Winkles like nobody’s business. They never had a handle on that kind of cash. I mean, they were spending more than they were suing me for. So you explain that one. It was well coordinated, I’ll say that much. But there was no Dimitry involved. Really, it was very well hidden, in Cyprus, the Caymans, that sort of thing. And, of course, it just vanished overnight. Nothing, and nothing since.”
“Were there any Russians on this boat?”
“No! She—well, anyway, there is nothing, nothing that can connect me with this Dimitry guy. Except her. Well, the deal is, she wants to meet me. She wants to have it out, that’s what she keeps saying. What does that even mean?”
“Indeed. Perhaps she intends to assess your vulnerability.”
“Well, I’m plenty vulnerable. I can write a check bigger than she could cash, but she’s so vague. I’ve talked to her twice, and she just goes back and forth, like she says she could go on all the talk shows and then have her own talk show. She seems to like that idea.”
“Indeed.”
“But she says she has to see me. Which I think would be a terrible idea.”
“It is a terrible idea,” said Joan.
“No doubt,” said Wolfe. “So you wish me to intercede, to determine her price.”
“Determine it and pay it! I give you carte blanche.”
“The real thing is, Mr. Wolfe,” Joan interjected, “is to reach an agreement that will ensure she’ll stick to it.”
“That is the rub. She is in San Francisco?”
“No. New York. That was one reason why I wanted you to come to me.”
“A reasonable precaution. Mr. Zauberberg. Is there anything in particular I need to know about Miss, Miss …?
“She goes by the name of Sexy Caboose.”
“Of course she does. As if my digestion had not already endured sufficient distress. What is her real name?”
“That is her legal name, unfortunately,” said Joan.
“I see.”
“Her given name was Mary Hopkins.”
“That is helpful to know. Very well. It would be possible, no doubt, Mr. Goodwin will contact this woman and, if at all feasible, I shall determine her true motivation and contrive an arrangement to gratify it on terms congruent with your interests.”
“Terrific!” exclaimed Zauberberg, leaping out of his chair as though the whole thing were settled.
Wolfe raised a hand.
“I say it would be possible, not that it will happen. Even if the issues and circumstances at hand were vastly different, Mr. Zauberberg, I would be reluctant to enter into a contractual relation with you. Many men sell their souls. You have contrived to sell those of others.”
“We’re not selling! We’re, we’re bringing people together!”
At this point he was half out of his chair, waving his arms.
“Indeed,” said Wolfe. “Please restrain yourself. You did not garner your billions through altruism. My point is, if you will allow me to make it, that in order for us to reach an agreement you must first convince me that you will honor that agreement with exceptional fidelity. I often do business with men of limited virtue, as long as I have assurance that the balance is largely in my favor.”
“We need this,” said Zauberberg earnestly, gesturing with his hand. “I can’t let this, this, this …”
He gave up, in mid speech and mid gesture, not daring to put a label on whatever “this” was, as if that would make it too real.
“Your apprehension of your plight is real enough,” grunted Wolfe.
“We can license the software,” said Zauberberg abruptly, almost shouting. “We can make a contract for the availability of the hardware. Isn’t that enough?”
“You do business quickly. We must allow lawyers into the matter, and I must warn you I cannot guarantee the future beyond a certain point.”
“A year, certainly,” said Joan. “That’s at a minimum. In any event, you’ll be paid by then.”
“True,” said Wolfe. “If I am skeptical of your bona fides, you should surely return the favor. Very well. Do we need this in writing?”
“No,” said Joan, immediately. “I mean, regarding what we have discussed here. The contractual arrangements will of course make no mention of any of this.”
“Of course. Mr. Goodwin will supply you with the name of my attorney and perhaps you shall do the same.”
Joan and I swapped lawyers’ business cards. Zauberberg looked like he missed his keyboard while Wolfe was clearly thinking of beer, and Archie was wondering if Joan liked to dance.
“I’ll have Mr. Parker give them a call,” I said, once I had entered the information into my computer. “He doesn’t object to late hours when there’s money on the table. I guess we want this done quickly?”
I might have been jumping the gun with Wolfe on this, but I hadn’t gotten any sign that he wanted to stall, and I was right. A machine that could speak Hungarian had hit his sweet spot.
“Lawyers enjoy late hours, or at least enjoy talking about them,” Wolfe said. “I believe Mr. Parker will find the task engaging.”
“Then it’s done?” exclaimed Zauberberg, jumping entirely out of his chair this time.
“Indeed it is, Mr. Zauberberg. Congratulate yourself on a coup.”
Joan rose as well, and took a folder from her briefcase.
“This is everything we have on our common problem,” she said, handing it to me. “You should be able to reach her, one way or another. We haven’t told her anything.”
I was expecting Zauberberg to make a try for shaking Wolfe’s hand, but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t seem to be thinking about anything but getting off the East Coast and get back to the real world. I’ve never even been to Silicon Valley, but you could tell that these two belonged there.
I accompanied them to the door, of course. You never know what people might do when left alone. Even a multi-billionaire might want to take a souvenir, just because he was paying the bills. When I got back to the office. I expected to see Wolfe flipping through what Joan had left but instead he was writing something down on a pad.
“Montaigne alone will not suffice,” he said, looking up at me. “There is a price to be paid even for the possibility of sitting in the same room as a woman named Sexy Caboose.”
“You think it will come to that.”
“You shall handle this matter exclusively if at all possible, but so often the worst eventuality is the most likely. I shall be prepared.”
“This may be a first for me, but do you really want to be working for this guy?”
“You mean why should I choose between Mr. Zauberberg and the jackals who pursue him? I confess I cannot establish a precedency between the blind greed of billionaires and the blind opportunism of politicians. But to give the world Montaigne is no small matter. And there will be additions.”
“Of course.”
“The Federalist Papers, certainly. The Wealth of Nations. Orwell’s essays. Often, the prettiest of truths are the most provincial. Furet’s Passing of an Illusion. And Camus, of course. The Rebel, certainly. And the essays. That shall do for a beginning. Inform Mr. Parker that I want the contract for this matter to be stringent and heavily in my favor.”
“You expect Zauberberg to be generous.”
“If I tame Miss Caboose he shall have every reason to be. You will contact her in the morning.”
I got on the phone to Nate who, though he sounded a little sleepy, perked up considerably when he learned the identity of Wolfe’s new client. While I was talking Wolfe went back to his dictionaries. However, when I hung up he caught my eye.
“Your skepticism provokes me, Archie,” he said. “Your thoughts on Mr. Zauberberg.”
“He is cute. But you don’t get that rich that fast by being cute.”
“Indeed. Gibbon remarked that it was two metals, iron and gold, that chiefly allow men to increase their desires beyond their mere bodily wants. To these two our age has added the silicon wafer. These young men see the entire world as their oyster and would swallow it whole.”
I was about to speak when the telephone rang. I answered it.
“Hello Mr. Goodwin,” a voice said, before I could speak.
I looked at Wolfe.
“To whom am I speaking?” I asked.
“Well, you know very well, don’t you, Mr. Goodwin? Can I call you Archie?”
“No.”
I cupped the phone.
“It’s her.”
“Confound it. This shall cost Mr. Zauberberg the Decline and Fall, in toto.”
“Archie, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Archie, I know you’ve been talking with a friend of mine. I know all sorts of things. Would you like to hear about some of them? Say at twelve o’clock?”
“She’ll be here in two hours,” I told Wolfe.
He gave a wave of his hand, as futile a gesture as I’ve ever seen him make. Then he rang for beer.
“Confound it!” he said again.
When Fritz arrived Wolfe opened the bottle with the gold-plated opener and poured the beer until there was a quarter-inch of foam at the top of the glass. He drank from the glass and licked the foam from his upper lip. Then he looked at me.
‘We shall address this woman as Miss Hopkins,” he said, glaring hard enough so that I knew he meant it.
“Of course.”
Then he picked up, not the dossier that Joan had given me but the translation of Montaigne that Zauberberg had brought. He read through it, making notes as he went, but not a lot, which surprised me. Since he wasn’t bothering to prepare for Sexy, I thought I should, so I took the dossier from his desk and started looking through it. FacetoFace had hired some outfit in San Francisco that I knew of only by reputation to run a background check on Miss Caboose, and for a porn star she was pretty sedate—only two busts for possession and a D and D she picked up two years ago when she got in a shouting match with some guy in the lobby of the St. Francis in San Francisco at three in the morning, which at least showed some class. Anyway, how do you blackmail a porn star? She had been working in Vegas in some sort of porn star review for the past year. A month ago she took a leave of absence, which is exactly when she started pestering Zauberberg, so it was obvious the two were connected.
There was also a thumb drive in the folder so I loaded it into the computer and had a look. There were dozens of photographs from the little boat trip, with Zauberberg looking like he was about twelve. As for “Miss Hopkins”, well, she was definitely a porn star, but, very fortunately for Zauberberg, she managed to keep her top on the whole time, at least when people were taking pictures. There were five men and five women on the boat, and Zauberberg’s people had identified them all, and run a background check on all of them as well, and even interviews. None of them seemed very happy about reliving that little party, but with Zauberberg leaning on them, they’d all talked.
Once Sexy had started putting the bite on Zauberberg, his people had hired Bill Henderson’s outfit to keep an eye on her in New York. Henderson has fifty people working for him, so it wasn’t likely that they’d lose track of her. Sexy was holed up in a small, expensive hotel on the Upper East Side and walked her poodle in Central Park when the weather was nice. She hadn’t met anyone or gone anywhere since she arrived from Vegas.
At quarter after eleven Wolfe looked up from his manuscript.
“What have you learned?” he asked.
“Zauberberg’s story seems pretty straight, unless they’re hiding something from us.”
“If they are they deserve their fate. Tell me what struck you as in the least bit piquant.”
I gave him all the piquancies I had on hand until the doorbell rang, at five to eleven.
“I guess she couldn’t wait,” I said to Wolfe.
He grunted in reply and picked up his manuscript for one last look at Montaigne while I walked down the hallway to open the door.
I checked Sexy out through the peephole, just to be sure she didn’t have any company, but she was clean.
“I can call you Archie, can’t I?” she asked as she stepped inside.
“Not around my boss, Miss Hopkins,” I said.
She laughed.
“I haven’t heard that in a while.”
I wouldn’t say that Sexy was subdued, but, again, for a porn star I wouldn’t call her flashy. Wolfe wasn’t going to like the look of her hair, which was ash-blonde and swept well over her eyes, but her skirt wasn’t—well, it wasn’t the shortest skirt I’d seen in that hallway—and she was wearing a mink jacket that was almost respectable. Glamourous, yes, but she didn’t look like she was selling it. On the other hand, if she’d unbuttoned the one button on that jacket she’d be giving it away, because she had a lot to hide upstairs, and the little black dress she was wearing wasn’t even trying. I was tempted to tell her to keep that jacket buttoned if she wanted Wolfe to like her, but I didn’t want to be giving her ideas in case she didn’t want Wolfe to like her, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Well, Nero Wolfe!” she laughed as we came in the office. “I guess you’re not too happy to see me.”
“Whether I am or not is irrelevant,” said Wolfe. “I have a job to do and to do it I must suffer your presence.”
“Suffer my presence. Well, well. Such a pretty room! I’d like to live here!”
She took the big red chair. Wolfe hadn’t brought up the subject of refreshments, so I wasn’t sure what to say, but he saved me the trouble.
“The hour is late, Miss Hopkins, by my standards if not yours. However, if you desire or require alcohol my assistant Mr. Goodwin will be glad to oblige.”
She laughed again, a good way to get on Wolfe’s nerves.
“Well, yes, I will have a little something—white wine. Just a small glass. Nothing sweet.”
I joined her, to be polite. Wolfe had finished his beer long before and wasn’t in the mood for anything more.
“Now, Miss Hopkins,” Wolfe began, after I’d poured the wine, “what precisely is your purpose, and indeed your price, in this matter?”
“I don’t believe I have a price, Mr. Wolfe,” she replied. “I think I need a career change, I guess that’s my purpose. I think I’d make a good talk show host, Mr. Wolfe. I like to talk, and I like to hear other people talk. It would be a lot of fun to be on one of those shows, you know, like Conan O’Brien. They don’t let women do those shows, have you noticed that? And they should! They definitely should!”
“No doubt. Miss Hopkins, when did you make the acquaintance of Dimitry Voroshilov?”
“Dear Dimitry! He was so sweet! Well, he was on the boat, of course.”
“He was not,” snapped Wolfe. “There is no evidence to connect him with that boat, and much to deny his presence. To tell palpable lies in this matter is dangerous, no matter how many secrets you believe you possess. I assume to you intend to charge Mr. Zauberberg with more than just sexual intercourse, which is indeed your stock in trade.”
I could tell Sexy had been snapped at before, probably by one of Zauberberg’s lawyers, because it didn’t slow her down much, though it did make her more cautious.
“Well, maybe he was, and maybe he wasn’t. Anyway, it was a long time ago.”
“Indeed. When did you make Mr. Voroshilov’s acquaintance?”
“Well, a long time ago.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Sexy, or, as I guess I should call her, Mary, seemed to be feeling Wolfe out. The direct lie hadn’t gotten her anywhere. She bit her lip and paused.
“Some Russian mafia guys,” she said suddenly. “You know, I was at a party.”
“With members of the Russian mafia? Did they identify themselves as such?”
“No. They had, you know, Russian accents. Like on TV. And this guy, he came up to me and said, ‘I know you! I know you!’”
She laughed.
“They talk like little kids, like they get really excited. ‘You big porno star! You big porno star!’ I had just made my big picture, Back Door Brides. I was the only girl in the picture, you know, and it was the top-grossing porno of the year. I won best actress. So, you know, that was like in 2007 or 2008. 2008, probably. I guess that’s right.”
She counted on her fingers to come up with the date. Wolfe just grunted, as though getting into a conversation about a film titled Back Door Brides didn’t appeal to him.
Sexy drank from her wine, and swirled it a little in her glass, as if thinking about the good old days.
“Anyway,” she said, “Dimitry really took a liking to me. He didn’t give me his name back then. He called himself Mr. Smith.”
She laughed again.
“I meet a lot of guys named Smith. Also Jones. I met this guy Mr. Jones once who took me on a nice boat.”
“Another Russian mobster?”
“Well, you don’t have to say mobster. He was pretty shy, really. Dimitry told me to be nice to him. Shy guys, you know, they’re the easiest! And sweet! I only saw him once, though. He had a nice boat. Big! But Dimitry was really connected. The way he talked, the way other people treated him, you could tell. And he was rich. I mean, super rich. He used to fly me to his yacht in a helicopter! And a nice helicopter—leather seats, soundproofing, everything. You didn’t have to wear a helmet. I hate that! You can imagine.”
She stroked her hair.
“A lot of men say I have the best hair in the biz. What do you think? Archie, I’ll bet you’re an expert.”
I could tell Wolfe wasn’t liking the way the conversation was going, so I tried to keep it complimentary but brief.
“Your hair is terrific.”
She beamed. Sexy was a pro, in more ways than one, but she took a compliment like a teenager.
“I bet you’ve never ridden on a helicopter at all, have you, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Indeed not. What was his yacht like? I mean Mr. Voroshilov’s.”
“Incredible. Incredible. Some guys, they say it’s their yacht, but you know it isn’t. This was Dimitry’s, the way that crew treated him. He’d say it, and they’d do it. Bang!”
“And when did you first tell him that you knew Mr. Zauberberg?”
“Well, that’s a good question,” said Sexy, stretching it out. “I guess, well, we were in bed and the TV was on, and there was this big shot of Mark’s head and I said ‘Hey, I used to fuck that guy.’ I guess it’s okay to say ‘fuck’, isn’t it?”
“It’s acceptable in reported conversations, but not as expletive or a verb. Or an adjective,” said Wolfe, crisply. He has pretty clear rules about what you can say in his presence, and in his office.
“Did Mr. Voroshilov express an interest in this statement?” he asked.
“Yeah. He said ‘you did!’ and I’m like ‘Fuck yeah, I did!’ That’s okay, isn’t it?”
“It’s acceptable. How did your conversation continue?”
“Well, I told him about the boat. See, I didn’t know who Mark was back then. He was just some guy I had fucked.”
She laughed.
“Sorry. Guess I screwed up. See, I can be good. Anyway, well, after that was the first time he took me to his yacht.”
“Do you recall what film you had completed around this time?”
“Well, Inglorious Butt-Fuckers. It was just two years after Back Door Brides, but wow. I didn’t even have my own dressing room. Things change so fast. That’s why I was so glad to have Dimitry. These guys will tell you how generous they are, but Dimitry was generous. I mean, the best of everything, caviar for breakfast. Good caviar too! The best! And then he disappeared too. Goodbye Mr. Smith, right? I thought I’d never hear from him again, until about six months ago. No helicopter this time, but one of those fancy little hotels. That’s when he told me his real name. He was so sweet. He said he wanted to hear me call him Dimitry.”
She laughed.
“And have you seen him since?”
“Well, no, because of all this publicity. I just talked to him on the phone. He told me how he was a wanted man in the U.S. now, because Mark was so afraid that everything would come out.”
“What was there to come out? You can offer no testimony that the two men were ever together. You surely do not intend to testify that they were. You are, I may say, Miss Hopkins, an engaging personality, but you lack the self possession of an effective liar. Your weapon is your innocence. You cannot keep a secret.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I like to talk, which is why I would be good on a talk show. And now I will be, because I will be famous. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“It doesn’t occur to you that you might be in danger?”
That got a real laugh out of her.
“Danger! Nice try, Mr. Wolfe. Dimitry would never let anything happen to me. Is Mr. Zauberberg going to have me killed? How would that look?”
“I was not suggesting that Mr. Zauberberg would resort to violence, but the Russians are not so squeamish. Describe Mr. Voroshilov to me.”
“Bald. Really bald. He told me Putin doesn’t like guys with hair.” She laughed. “He says stuff like that. He’s cute. Kinda short, but, you know, not where it counts.”
She laughed again.
“You said there were pictures from your encounter with Mr. Zauberberg. You have these pictures?”
“Yes. I like to keep things. People at parties can get kind of confused. There were no drugs, you know. Mark was really a boy scout like that. They all were. Men can be so funny, you know.”
“I agree with you entirely. My sex has always struck me as surpassingly ludicrous, far more so than yours. But these photographs, no doubt in digital format, you passed copies on to Mr. Voroshilov?”
“Well, I’m afraid I did, Mr. Wolfe. They were mine anyway, and I wasn’t even naked, so there. Anyway, that’s how I got this jacket. Do you like it?”
“I admire it exceedingly. Mr. Voroshilov possesses a fine eye. Do you possess photographs of yourself with him?”
“You are nosy, aren’t you? No, I don’t, but Dimitry has them. He does.”
She added that last part for emphasis.
“No doubt,” said Wolfe. “Miss Hopkins, you will no doubt reject my conclusions as to this matter, but nonetheless I offer them to you in good faith. You are in danger. Mr. Voroshilov has no interest in furthering your career. I suggest that there is a real possibility that he could have you killed, as a way of creating a scandal that would both blacken Mr. Zauberberg’s name and this colossus he has created, further damaging as well the state of political discourse in this country.”
Sexy just laughed at this one.
“Now, Mr. Wolfe, I’m afraid you’ve been watching too much TV. Anyway, I bet Mark just paid you to say that. I bet he did.”
“Very well. I will not waste my time, and yours, on this matter. The hour was late when you arrived, and now the morning approaches. Mr. Goodwin will show you the way out.”
As I rose, Sexy took my arm, as I knew she would, to get a rise out of Wolfe. It was the first time I’d touched a porn star, and I hope it’ll be the last, but it was also rather fun.
“You’re cute, Archie,” she said, as I walked her down the hall. “When I’m rich, you can come work for me. I can fix you up with a lot of girls.”
“I’m already fixed up.”
“You’ll see, Archie. You’ll see.”
There was a car and driver waiting for her, so Dimitry was really taking care of her. Around the corner I could see a sedan that didn’t belong there, so it looked like Henderson’s people had it covered.
“Henderson had a car out,” I told Wolfe when I came back to the office.
“Excellent. Call them and tell them to double their watch. Mr. Zauberberg will bear the expense. And then provide me with a chronology of Miss Hopkins’ films.”
I called Henderson’s office, which was naturally closed, so I had to get the emergency number and ended up waking Bill himself. While all this was going on I did a search for Sexy’s career and printed it out and handed to Wolfe. When I got everything straight with Henderson, convincing him that Wolfe was on the level, I ended the call and turned around to ask Wolfe why he was so sure Dimitry was out for blood, but the lips were already moving in and out, in and out. I just sat there for a good ten minutes. When he was done Wolfe closed his eyes and then opened them again.
“It’s late, Archie,” he said. “You should go to bed.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Why he was so sure he had this one, and why he had to cut me out of it completely, well, that was just Wolfe being Wolfe. I left the office and closed the door and went half way up the stairs and then came back down and crept down the hallway. I wasn’t listening at the door. I was just standing near it.
For about five minutes I got nothing for my pains, and then I heard Wolfe talking on the phone, not in English. When Wolfe dials a number on his own, it’s something. It’s my guess that he didn’t want me to know that number. There was a long silence, and then I heard him speaking again, this time in what was probably another language, and probably Russian. That went on for almost twenty minutes, Wolfe being pretty harsh sometimes, but also sometimes listening. Then I heard his chair creak, and I headed up the stairs. When he leaves the office he almost always fusses over something before turning off the lights, and by the time I heard his elevator I was already in my room.
I like to get my eight hours, but since it was already past two in the morning, I set the alarm for nine. I came down to the kitchen around nine-thirty, still a little sore from whatever game Wolfe was playing. Fritz greeted me with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Drinking it made me realize that I could forget about Wolfe’s little game, whatever it was, for an hour or so and just eat the best breakfast in New York.
Fritz waited until I finished my juice before asking questions.
“Why are you so late, Archie?”
“It’s a long story, and I don’t know the end of it,” I told him. “We have a case, so that Mr. Wolfe can translate Montaigne into Persian.”
“Really? Would you like your omelet with speck or prosciutto?”
“Speck.”
Speck is a smoked prosciutto ham, which Fritz gets from a little town in the Italian Alps that he used to visit when he was a boy. It’s drier than fresh prosciutto but with more flavor. Fritz makes his omelets with speck and fresh-grated parmesan, and cooks them golden brown on the outside, and creamy and melting on the inside, accompanied by home fries and roasted tomatoes with bread crumbs, seasoned with fresh garlic, tarragon and chives. “A man who treats good food with less than the respect it deserves is less than a man,” Wolfe once told me when he thought I was eating too fast, and Fritz’s omelets deserve all the respect I can give them.
When I was finished, I took my coffee out into the office and switched on my computer. The Gazette’s home page popped up on the big 30-inch monitor I use. There was a lot of talk about Zauberberg’s impending testimony, but nothing hot. I had a half a mind to call Lon Cohen to ask him if he’d heard anything, but Russia wasn’t exactly Lon’s beat, and if I gave Lon any hint at all that Wolfe was working for Zauberberg I didn’t think I could quite trust him to keep it to himself.
I was about to head out to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee when I heard Wolfe’s elevator. It was almost eleven-thirty, so he’d been sleeping in too.
“Good morning, Archie,” he said, as he always does. “Did you sleep well?”
“Fine,” I said, wanting to ride him about last night, but not wanting to let him know that I’d been listening to his phone conversations. “Any orders?”
“No,” he said, removing the spray of Anacamptis lacteal from the day before and replacing it with a single Cypripedium reginae.
I waited to speak until he got himself settled in the one chair in the world that fits him and rang for beer. He knew I wanted answers and for once wasn’t going to be coy.
“Yes, Archie?”
I was about to say something—exactly what I’ve forgotten—when the “Breaking News” legend broke across the screen. “Top Russian Security Chiefs Killed in Accident”. Two pictures appeared, labeled Dimitry Voroshilov and Yury Sobchak. I stared for a moment as the crawl identified them as the chief and deputy chief of the Russian Federal Security Service, the successor to Putin’s old outfit, the KGB. I stared for a moment and then swung the monitor around so that he could see it.
“Do you know anything about this?” I demanded.
For once I saw him surprised.
“Good lord,” he said. “I thought to start a hare and instead dislodged an avalanche. This is extraordinary. Extraordinary.”
I was staring at the screen and noticed something.
“They’ve got the pictures wrong,” I said. “Dimitry’s the bald one.”
“No,” he said, “it was poor Miss Hopkins who was diddled. She was a pawn and is fortunate indeed that the fate Mr. Sobchak intended for her has been visited on him.”
“What? Sobchak was setting up his boss?”
“Precisely. During that SEC investigation that proved so profitable it was surmised but never publicly discussed that people linked with Sobchak were behind the mysterious bid for control of FacetoFace that Mr. Zauberberg alluded to, and that Voroshilov was the moving force behind its cancellation, though clearly Mr. Zauberberg had not himself learned of the matter. Mr. Putin has a history with both Voroshilov and Sobchak and seems to have placed them together as sort of a balancing act, favoring first the one and then the other. Mr. Sobchak apparently felt the humiliation dealt him by his superior keenly and contrived this extravagant stunt.”
Fritz arrived with Wolfe’s beer. I waited as he poured the glass and drank.
“Voroshilov was the hapless Mr. Jones. I have no doubt that Mr. Sobchak arranged for their tryst to be photographed. His original plan, I believe, was to lure Mr. Zauberberg into a meeting with Mlss Hopkins, after which she would die under mysterious circumstances. The photographs would surface. Mr. Zauberberg would be implicated, his creation defiled, and our entire political process brought into question.”
“Yeah, but suppose Zauberberg didn’t bite? Suppose he played it the way he played it.”
“Then Miss Hopkins would have been unleashed on the world. You can imagine what a stir she could generate. Both Zauberberg and Voroshilov would be exposed as fools and possible confederates. I suppose Sobchak imagined that his superior would be eased into retirement while he assumed command. I presume Mr. Zauberberg will be pleased with this outcome.”
“Which you didn’t expect.”
Wolfe raised his shoulders slightly and then lowered them.
“No, Archie, I did not. I informed certain people of Mr. Sobchak’s duplicity, with the intention of alerting Mr. Voroshilov to his subordinate’s intentions. I certainly did not intend for this information to reach Mr. Putin, but he obviously has resources that surpassed my expectations. Apparently, the machinations of both Voroshilov and Sobchak had exhausted his patience, and he resolved to make a clean sweep of the matter. Returning to Miss Hopkins, I believe these developments will make her more amenable to a private resolution of this affair. Most important of all, I am now free to concentrate on Montaigne.”
The look on his face when he had first seen the news about Dimitry and Yury was almost enough to convince me that he was on the level, that he hadn’t somehow planned the whole thing from the beginning, but I couldn’t let it go.
“So you had no idea it would go down like this?”
“Of course not, Archie. As Montaigne would have it ‘Que sçais-je?’ What do I know?”
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S6 E5 “Life Serial”
Augh, I hate this episode. Is this review probably going to be biased? Yeah, probably. I’ve literally put off watching this episode for weeks.
Right off the bat we have Buffy coming back from her off screen rendezvous would Angel, bringing home a bucket of chicken, taken by surprise by the fact that the others have already eaten.
(Sigh) Seriously, I know this was early 2000s, and Buffy may or may not have had a cellphone, but who comes back from out of town after, what, at least a day or two, and stops to pick up a family dinner without first checking with the family if you should?
But never mind that, what the actual hell Giles? Buffy’s home a minute and she’s supposed to have her life plans figured out? He’s not necessarily wrong to want to engage her on that subject, but come on, asking her out of the blue like that, apropos of nothing and in front of everyone? Why right then? Why not give her a little after whatever drama you know probably went down with Angel, and more importantly, why wait until you can have this conversation with Buffy privately, when the two of you are alone?
But of course the segue into Giles’ question is that “they’ve been talking about Buffy’s plans” – meaning that Giles and the others were discussing what Buffy should do with her life without her; which is super classy. Girl was dead for months, back a week and everyone’s so concerned she doesn’t have life all figured out. Fuck you Giles. What happened to the tactful, thoughtful Giles from season 3, who was the only one in the group with concern for Buffy’s emotional well being; and actually took the time to draw out from her the issue that was bothering her about how things went down with Angel at the end of season 2, so that she wouldn’t feel pressured or backed into a corner?
And then there’s the fucking Trio…. God I hate this season. Like, Warren was pretty much an asshole from his first episode, so him as a recurring villain doesn’t surprise me. Andrew is… Whatever. He was invented for the purposes of this plot and he continues to serve whatever purpose the plot dictates. But come on, Jonathan should arguably be better than this. Yeah, he’s done fucked up on a couple of occasions, but the idea that he would out and out be on board with intentionally being a super villain or criminal is ridiculous.
A bigger issue here of course, as is often the case with the conventional depiction of most “super villains” is the sheer redundancy of their goals. They want to be rich and powerful yet have all of these resources that already suggest they already are. I mean, Jesus Christ, with all the shit Warren can do, why does he even need to mess with the Slayer? Why does he have to do any of this? He could go to Silicon Valley and practically print his own money and do whatever the fuck all he wants to do; legal or not and he’d be rich enough to get away with it.
The time dilation part of the episode makes zero fucking sense. What exactly is happening with Buffy from Tara’s point of view that she continues to go about her day like Buffy isn’t just frozen in place? At one point she even just leaves Buffy behind.
And then there’s Buffy’s day with Xander. Can I just say, “Fucking Xander.” It has nothing to do, necessarily, with what’s happening in the plot, just in general that Xander is a fucking tool.
Now of course, there’s the scene itself and Xander…. Well, he’s not strictly a tool in this scene, but he does seem to be a fucking idiot. I mean, Jesus Xander, have you only just met Buffy? You’re acting like you haven’t fought demon possessed robots or been possessed by a Hyena; and feel the need to tell Buffy not to talk about the strange things you all encounter on a regular basis. Although considering that “Tony” the foreman also lives and works in Sunnydale, evil lint is probably the least crazy sounding thing he’s heard about or seen firsthand. For that matter, neither should the creatures that attack them later. This show loves to have its cake and eat it too; Sunnydale is a hotbed for paranormal activity, high mortality rates, all manner of demons casually going about their day; yet it’s still supposed to be like any other run of the mill city where no one has ever seen nothin’ out of the ordinary and skepticism abounds.
And then Xander introduces Buffy to the less than enthusiastic crew, gives her no kind of job orientation and promptly ditches her to work elsewhere; so… yeah… even when he’s doing Buffy a favor getting a job, Xander’s kind of a tool here too.
(Sigh) Why do you have to go and ruin a perfectly fun Groundhog Day-esque time loop trope with this crap? And come on, this causes Buffy to never want to work in the magic shop afterwards, that she’d rather work at the fucking Double Meat Palace? She’s at the shop all the fucking time otherwise, why not get paid to fucking be there?
And she didn’t include shipping, well that’s on fucking Giles and Anya for not properly training her, or making sure her first sale was done right. Jesus tap dancing Christ, this episode pisses me off.
And if the fucking hand can move on its own, why is it just out where it could escape or something? How did Anya or Giles expect to find it when they need it, let alone catch it or package it? How was it transported there in the first place? Why didn’t Buffy fucking ask for help?? God, I hate when writers have to resort to making the characters idiots in order to make the plot happen.
And was Buffy saying the hand was just “playing dead” a nod to Monty Python’s Dead Parrot sketch? Because if so, fuck you. Don’t besmirch the Python with this shit. (Warren’s line pretty much confirms this. So yeah, fuck you.)
If time is looping, how are the Three Amigos watching each loop? Is time only looping within the shop? If so, how does the unsatisfied customer keep coming back?
And fucking playing poker for God damn fucking kittens…. Fuck season 6.
Does this episode get credit for introducing us to Clem?
…. No… Because what the hell do they actually do with him, other than use him for comic relief? He becomes Spike’s funny looking sidekick.
Because drunk Buffy was such a comic winner in “Beer Bad,” the writers felt the need to revisit it.
Now, you see Giles, this is when you should be talking to Buffy about her life and her plans; you’re alone and these things are on her mind. She doesn’t need to have the answers, but you could be helping her find the path that might lead to those answer. THAT is what she needs. The check is arguably appreciate too in the meantime, but given that he’s so concerned about her being dependent on him that he soon leaves the fucking country, this last scene may or may not be misstep for you. You could be making the case for her to come back to the magic shop. You could be helping her figure out other ways of supporting herself financial that wouldn’t interfere with her Slaying; which no matter what anyone else is says, is her job; one for which she doesn’t get paid, but takes first priority over everything in her life, including her life and expecting her to find a job that she can live on that won’t conflict with that is just absurd.
Let her using the training space in the back of the shop to offer self-defense classes. My personal preference would be for the two of them to open a funeral home together. It makes all sort of sense as a front for a Slayer; you have early access to the recently deceased, it explains you coming and going from all of the cemeteries. I say mix some holy water in with the embalming fluid and the instant a new vamp turns they go poof.
But barring that, just sign your fucking share of the magic box ownership over to Buffy. Maybe that’s too unfair to Giles. After all, it’s his business, his income, but he doesn’t apparently need it. The only reason he bought the business in the first place wasn’t because he needed the money, but because he was bored; and now he intended to be a silent partner in the business while he did fuck all in England. His status as a reinstated Watcher is ambiguous at best, but at the very least he got some hefty back-pay and may still be receiving a check from them. Meanwhile, if Buffy got his share of the magic shop business, it may not be much, but it would ostensibly be enough to keep Buffy afloat. She could be as much of an active or silent partner as Giles was.
But oh, no, that would solve all the contrived problems that Buffy is facing this season. Giles wouldn’t have a reason to leave (which would presumably cement his status as active Watcher, meaning he’d definitely still be receiving his own separate income from the Council, while ensuring Buffy’s financial security.) Buffy might have found the strength to confide more so in Giles than in Spike and avoid that toxic relationship. Who knows if Giles being around would have made much of a difference with Willow, seeing as he was there for Tabula Rasa, but maybe he would have stepped in before things escalated following Amy’s return. But I digress. I hate this episode.
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Reveling in Richonne
#102: The Alarm (8x03-8x07)
I mentioned how in 8A there was good, bad, and heartbreaking things to discuss. Well the premiere provided a lot of the good and the mid-season finale provided a lot of the heartbreaking. So in the episodes in between, while there definitely was some good (I thought 8x04 and 8x05 were really well done) there was also some bad too. (looking at you, Garbage Pail Kids)
And while Rick and Michonne wouldn’t be reunited until the mid-season finale, there’s still some nice Richonne connections in the episodes in between the premiere and msf.
(Side note: This post is long cuz it covers about five episodes, so just wanted to say thanks in advance for reading this!)
The first connection comes from Rick’s interaction with Morales. As Morales aims a gun at Rick, cuz he’s “Negan” now, Rick tries to relate to him by letting him know the people he lost, that Morales would know. He lists Lori, Shane, Andrea, and then Glenn. (RIP to the forgotten T-Dog lol👌🏽)
And then Rick details how heinous Negan is when he tells Morales about how Negan is the one who killed Glenn and bashed his head in right in front of him and Glenn’s pregnant wife.
Hearing this is the first thing to make Morales drop the tough guy front and he asks, “He had a wife?” And Rick responds saying, “Not before. He met her.”
Morales asks, “In this?” cuz this seems to really have Morales shook lol. Like he can’t seem to wrap his mind around it.
And, when I thought about it, I realized that it actually is pretty significant to find a spouse in this new world.
Like sure people might couple up, but to feel like you found someone who you legitimately consider your wife? That’s rare and really special. 😊
And then this becomes a Richonne moment cuz the way Rick reacts to that question, you know he is thinking about how he too found a wife in this.
So he pauses for a moment and then says, “Yeah. In this.”
I love it. ☺️😭 I always like moments that indicate R&M acknowledging their relationship.
It’s also just such a super sweet thing to think about cuz, to Morales and most people, this is a world that is just bleak and dark at all times and all this world ever does is take from you. But for Rick, as much as he’s lost, he gained something so valuable in finding and falling for Michonne. 🙌🏾
And for Rick and Michonne to find the type of golden relationship they have, even in this, it really shows not just how fortunate that is, but also how resilient their bond must be that it could withstand all the craziness this world throws at them.
Like this is a world designed to break them, and yet they only grow stronger together. 👌🏽
It’s interesting that Morales tells Rick that all the people he listed are dead “and somewhere along the way Officer Friendly died with them” it’s a cool line as a season 1 callback, but lucky for Rick he found someone to bring him back to life. 😌
So while Rick def isn’t the person he was in season one, unlike Morales who lost a family, Rick gained a family. Like, since these two last saw each other, Rick has a daughter and a legit soul mate and that’s a big part of what’s kept him from not completely losing himself.
And, as you know, this conversation doesn’t go on too long cuz Daryl shows up and takes Morales out, no questions asked. It’s the necessary approach imo. 👌🏽
In 8x02, there’s that scene where Rick is fighting a guy who Rick thinks is trying to keep him from guns but, after killing the guy, Rick finds that this man was actually trying to protect a precious little baby.
That was such an eye-opening moment cuz it really put some perspective on this war and how Rick isn’t the only one fighting for his kids.
It was tough to see Rick have to realize that he’s just taken away this girl’s father. 😥
The minute I saw the baby, I was like “Rick, this baby is apart of TF now so you know we gotta bring her home.” Like I was so serious that he better not leave without this baby. And I’m glad that we see in 8x03 that he does in fact go back for the baby.
So then there’s 8x06 and that week there were two holidays, Thanksgiving and “Michonne’s finally back on the screen” day. 😋
I was def excited cuz this was Michonne and Carl’s long awaited return. Their absence was definitely felt while they were gone, cuz they really are apart of the fabric of what makes TWD, TWD.
Also I kept thinking that if Michonne was with some of these groups during these outpost missions there would probably be a lot less of the shenanigans going on lol.
Like I feel like she would have been a great asset to that team with Morgan, Jesus, and Tara cuz they needed someone to be the leader and guide them and shut down Paul’s horrible idea to take a boatload of Saviors back to Hilltop. 🙄
I feel like she could’ve been a perfect fit to offer up some wisdom on that whole situation and they would’ve listened to her. Cuz despite what Tara said, Rick listens to Michonne first and foremost lol. 💯😂
And Michonne’s presence also would have been very helpful if she was with Rick and Daryl when these two decided to full on brawl and blow up the guns they just worked so hard to get. 🤦🏽♀️
Which btw, when I saw them fighting I was legit like…
Lol I felt like a mom who was waiting for her kids to get it together cuz ain’t nobody got time for that. 😂
But Rick and Daryl are very much brothers and they always end up wildin out when they’re together which is entertaining.
All I’m saying tho, is I highly doubt they’d be pulling all that if Michonne was there. And it’s not even cuz she’s like some no nonsense dictator or anything, I just think her presence helps people stay focused.
So she’s back for 8x06 and the first time we see her is when Carl opens the gates to ASZ as the cars return from their outpost excursion.
I love that, even tho she’s still not completely healed, she made sure to be there at the entrance when her people returned.
And then it’s sweet that both Carl and Michonne are given letters cuz,from what we see during this letter segment, all the leaders are the ones getting letters; like Carol, Maggie, and Rick. But of course Carl and Michonne get some too cuz that’s the royal family, y’all. 😋👑
I love seeing Michonne and Carl together as they read this letter and you can see just from Michonne’s expression, as she watches bodies be removed from the cars, that she’s really aware of the weight of this war and it’s hard for her to only be able to see the end results and not be there on the battleground with them.
It’s a super subtle but nice touch that during the more vulnerable part of Ricks letter, where he talks about it being scarier than he thought, the focus is on Michonne and Carl.
And then this cold open wants to try me by ending with Jadis and her trash henchman doing arts and crafts in nothing but an apron. 🤨
Y’all, you already know what happens when I feel tried. May we go on a gif journey about how I felt about this whole trash people storyline? 🙃
So, first of all, lets go back to 8x03 real quick cuz that’s when I realized that Rick was even thinking about going back to them.
Daryl sort of ambiguously asks if Rick is sure about a visit and that’s when I was like wait please tell me Daryl is not talking about who I think he’s talking about. Is Rick seriously about to willingly go to the Trash Folk? There’s zero reason to do that so I was like...
And I knew Jadis and the junkyard people would be returning for season 8 from seeing the trailer, but I didn’t think it would be because Rick willingly goes to them for a deal. I was so not here for it. 😒 Cuz, even aside from the fact that I don’t like Jadis’s thirstiness, it’s just such a bad idea. 🤦🏽♀️
These junkyard people have proven to be snakes. Snakes are almost worse than outright villains cuz as least with outright villains you know where they stand.
But with snakes, their “yes” and their “no” mean the same thing; nothing. Cuz they’ll turn on you at the drop of a hat and they’ve shown that they have zero interest in cooperating multiple times so I just could not understand how returning to them for help was an actual part of the plan.
It’s one thing if they only decided to go to the trash people as an absolute last resort, once they learned that the majority of the Kingdom has been completely wiped out, but instead, this seems to be apart of the original plan, which baffled me. It just was not a good look for Rick to think this was a reasonable idea.
I also have a tough time believing that Michonne would’ve been cool with this cuz she’d know that these trash people’s word can’t be trusted. So even before Rick steps foot into the junkyard I was already just like…
So then, Rick shows up to this place alone, and I feel like low key part of his reasoning for feeling confident enough to do that was because he knows Jadis is feeling him, to which I was like…
And y’all, even Jadis is confused as to why Rick thought this was a good idea. 😂
Like she keeps reminding Rick that she shot him but Rick’s consistently like nah you grazed me, which...
I was like “shot, grazed, looked at the wrong way, I don’t care, either way we shouldn’t be here”. Cuz these trash people are the reason he nearly lost half his family in one day. 😠
Their betrayal threw everything off and it caused Michonne to be badly beaten and Carl to be seconds away from being Lucilled so, to me, the only business we have left with the trash people is to just take them all out and then bounce.
I remember telling my brother before this episode that they better have a really, really great explanation for why Rick is going back to this place. Like it can’t be a good reason, it has to be great and necessary to the point where there was no other way but this way, cuz otherwise nothing explains why this would be happening.
The only other way this wouldn’t be totally nonsensical, would be if this storyline was included so that Michonne could go break Rick out of there and then proceed to give Jadis a very nice and thorough lesson on the golden rule.👌🏽
And I think I saw that Lincoln thought that was going to be the route it would go as well cuz that really would have been the natural next step. Like Michonne coming to get him would have been the better storyline imo, so when that didn’t even happen I was like…
In this exchange, Jadis is convinced this must be a trick cuz that’s the only thing that makes sense. You know your plan is illogical when even the person who betrayed you is like “...yeah bruh, you wanting to work with us doesn’t add up cuz we’ve shown you firsthand that we’re trifling.” 😂
Rick holds up the polaroids to show them the pictures and that also had me like…
Cuz one; I felt like finding out the reason Rick was taking photos was to convince people who don’t deserve convincing was sort of lackluster. And two; I was like Rick pass those photo around cuz ain’t nobody can see those little things when you’re holding them up like that lol. And three; I felt bad cuz, little does he know, his own people are headed off to completely change the plan and compromise the very advantage he’s telling these trash people they have.
And y’all, I’m mad at the line “switch sides again.” 🤦🏽♀️ If that has to be said, there’s already a problem lol. They shouldn’t have switched sides in the first place.
I feel like the show should have gave Rick more credit cuz he would know by now that if he can convince them to switch sides that easy, then clearly they can turn on him again just as easily.
Rick also says that his people know he’s here but I was like, apart from Daryl...
Cuz no one seemed to be ready to go retrieve Rick from this place if things went South. In fact, it was sort of odd that Rick’s whereabouts were barely brought up with the other characters while he was gone.
And sure enough, 8x06 ends with Rick locked up cuz that’s literally the only way a plan that faulty would go.
I felt bad too cuz Rick’s all looking out of this tiny little hole in the bin and probably thinking someone is coming to break him out but I was like...
Cuz his son is out helping a stranger in the woods, self aware that it wouldn’t be honoring him. And his friends are headed to put a hole in the Sanctuary despite the fact that the walkers surrounding the place was working.
And the Kingdom went from being stacked with fighters to having literally less than five left. And Maggie has to deal with the POW’s cuz Paul was so convinced that she would like that idea but, because she has common sense, she does not like that idea and has to figure out what to do. 😕
So when it comes to executing the plan, all the characters were pretty much just like…
So Michonne’s storyline in 8x06 was just okay imo. It was hard not to feel like they just put this storyline in to give Michonne and Rosita something to do and not cuz it was particularly important to the story. And some stuff felt ooc for Michonne. But luckily, because Danai is such a good actor, she was still able to sell it. 👏🏽
It starts with Michonne putting stuff in a car as she gets ready to leave ASZ. Rosita walks over and tells her, “Rick said stay put.” And you know my extra self found that pretty interesting.😁
There’s a lot of different ways Rosita could have told Michonne she probably shouldn’t be heading out in her condition but she chooses to bring up Rick cuz one; she knows that’s Michonne’s man and two; I feel the fact that they’re implying Rick said this shows that Michonne staying and resting was something important to him.
Michonne quickly replies that she’s, “Just gonna look” and Rosita reminds her that she’s still healing and she should get some rest so that she’s ready for the next fight. But Michonne is pretty set on going so she tells Rosita “I’ll be back soon.”
Rosita gets in the car and I love that Michonne low key has a reaction like “girl, let me live” lol. 😋
Michonne reminds Rosita that she too is still healing but Rosita says she’s been shot worse than this and then she tells Michonne to drive, to which I was low key like...
Lol I needed Rosita to check her tone real quick cuz she’s dealing with the queen now. And Michonne sees that Rosita is now set on going too so they drive off to go on this road trip together.
So on their car ride, Rosita asks Michonne, “Why did you need to come out here?”
Michonne tells Rosita, “The second they rolled out of the Sanctuary and I wasn’t with them…it’s like this sirens been going off in my head and I can’t turn it off.”
Now that’s deep. That’s how you know that interconnection is so real, when being apart literally sends an ongoing siren off in her head.
I also think those sirens are going off cuz she can sense that her man is in a trifling situation right now lol. Like I wanted Michonne to turn the car around and go to the junkyard so she could #ringthealarm and shut Jadis’s extra-ness down. 😂
She goes on to say, “I helped get this started. It’s been a day and a half and I have felt every second.”
Y’all, I know it’s the overall war that’s made her feel this way, but low key it’s also totally the fact that she’s had to be apart from Rick this long that’s caused her to feel this so heavily. Lemme say it again; magnets. 😋
She says, “So I just need to see it.” Which I was like, but you don’t tho cuz your man has pictures. 😂
And then she says, “And turn that alarm off in my head and turn around and go home.”
This felt significant to me for two reasons. One; cuz this just goes to show how Michonne has such an innate need to go see for herself, but again because she has a full on family now she knows she has to adjust a bit.
So she wants to see in order to stop the sirens but she also knows that just as important as that is to her, it’s also important that she turn around and go home after cuz she has people at home who need her. So again, it’s her trying to find this balance of who she was before her family and after.
And two; The “turn that alarm off in my head” stood out to me cuz not only is it really telling that when Rick is away a full on alarm goes off for her, it also reminded me of Rick’s little happy place scene where in Rick’s head, Michonne is the one to literally turn the alarm off for him.
So hearing that I was like...
I felt like that was just an interesting parallel cuz it’s like they both are so integral to each others lives, and it’s their presence that helps to turn off those alarms for each other and give them a sense of peace. 👌🏽
Rosita hears this and gets on board cuz again Danai sold that and made that motivation believable. And then Michonne hears something so they stop the car and go check out this Savior’s cache.
Rosita and Michonne spot two Saviors inside and one of them does not have very good things to say about Rick. Michonne and Rosita overhear this lady dissing Rick and I love that Michonne’s expression when she hears that is just so casually like “alright lemme handle this”. The second this Savior decided to insult Rick I knew this was about to be her last day on earth.
Michonne accidentally kicks a tennis ball which blows their cover and it leads to Michonne having to fight this chick. And, in this fight, Sis is struggling cuz she’s still not fully recovered yet. Like she’s supposed to be at home resting, not in a full on sword fight.
The lady gets away and starts driving the Fat Lady but, with some very convenient timing, Daryl and Tara’s truck comes and rams into the car. Rosita mentions how that was too close and Michonne agrees as she seems to be realizing that they’re definitely not healed up enough to be out here like this.
Rosita and Michonne talk with Daryl and Tara as they both wonder why the other is out here. When Rosita asks Daryl he says that “They have a lot more work to do.” And then he says, “All of us” and I was like…
Cuz Sis does not need to be going with them and getting involved with this recklessness. Plus she already had her rogue storyline in season 7 and she learned from that. But this season wasn’t as adamant about character consistency, so she goes with them.
And then they drive to a spot where they can see the sanctuary and Michonne is able to see that the walkers are surrounding the building just like Rick said and detailed in his letter.
I think what made this whole storyline of her “just needing to see” feel a little ooc is cuz last time she headed out like this was when she had that red head savior take her to the Sanctuary in season 7. And while yes, Michonne is someone who’s always willing and ready to go and see, that’s often met with some sort of action too. Like she didn’t just want that Savior to take her to Negan, she wanted to try and do something but then she saw how stacked Negan’s team is and realized it wasn’t a good idea.
But this time, she literally just wants to go and look with no real action behind it so that’s what made this motive feel a little weaker this time around. Especially cuz her and Rick had that whole conversation in 7x08 about wanting to do this the “me and you” way so you’d think that would have made her feel less inclined to go along with Daryl and Tara too.
And then there’s 8x07 and this rogue crew is huddled as they discuss what Daryl and Tara want to do. And watching them discuss this I was just like “Michonne, this isn’t you, boo”.
Like these other guys have shown to not always have the best judgment, but she knows better. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like Michonne has to be perfect, she can make mistakes just like the rest of them, but this particular mistake just didn’t feel like one she would make.
And she does express that it’s risky, but Rosita is the one who more vocally expresses the common sense approach that this idea could go wrong and she asks why they aren’t just waiting it out like they planned which I was like...
Rosita also says, “I believe in Rick Grimes” which I’m glad someone said it cuz I was really starting to wonder if people remembered who he was lol.
I also was like how are the writers not going to have Michonne respond or co-sign that lol? It’s like they forgot that she’s “belief in Rick Grimes” personified.
I’m happy that Rosita says she’s not doing it and seeing that she was wise enough to walk away I was like...
Before leaving, Rosita asks Michonne one more time if she’s good with this and Michonne responds saying she helped get this started so she’s gotta see it through. But I was like Sis, following the plan is seeing it through, it’s the rogue stuff that could jeapordize it all.
Rosita tells her, “You think it’s easier to come out here and risk, then stay back there and wait.” And Michonne did think that…in season 7. A season ago, she literally learned what Rosita is telling her about how sometimes you don’t get to know and you can’t always go rogue, so that’s why this arc is a little frustrating cuz, unless I’m missing something, her character went through this already but instead she was painted like that never happened.
Despite Rosita’s wise words Michonne still gets in the car so I was just like...
They drive closer to the Sanctuary and then Tara gets out and Michonne has an expression where I was like that’s the look of someone who is remembering they did this storyline already lol.
Daryl asks if she’s up for this cuz it’s clear she’s having second thoughts. And y’all, I low key wanted Michonne to turn to Daryl and tell him, “Look, I didn’t want to say this in front of company, but now that it’s just us, if you don’t turn this car around right now cuz we are not about to do this and risk messing things up.” 😂
I especially wanted Michonne and Daryl to not go through with this cuz seeing these two together, it got me thinking about how, in this car, is Rick’s wife and best friend.
And at the beginning of this whole tv show, Rick had a wife and best friend, and they seriously let him down. So I felt it was important to show how Michonne and Daryl are different and they would stand by Rick rather than go against him.
And luckily, Michonne does end up deciding to stand by Rick and the original plan, which I was like...
She tells Daryl, “I came here to see things for myself. I wanted to know that things were gonna work. But you know what? I don’t get to know that. None of us do. What I do know is that things are working now. So maybe we just need to trust that things are going to keep working”
And this all felt very reminisncent of her speech in the cell in 7x08. I appreciate that she basically lands on knowing she should trust both the plan and trust Rick. 👏🏽
So then she ends with saying, “Because this, what we’re about to do, it’s not worth risking us.” I heard that and I was like there she is. That’s the common sense Michonne that I know lol. 😋
Daryl says that it is worth the risk for him and it’s sad cuz you can tell there’s a lot of guilt and PTSD that he’s carrying so he’s acting emotionally. But they can’t afford to act emotionally or selfishly cuz that literally could be life or death.
Acting on a pretty reckless impulse is dangerous to the people he wants to protect and so I feel like Daryl needs someone to just adamantly and compassionately tell him...
Michonne lets Daryl know she really hopes it works but she can’t do it which I’m very glad she comes to that conclusion.
Would it have been nice if she realized that sooner or if she made more of a case for Daryl to not do it either? Definitely. But, at the same time, Daryl’s a grown man who was gonna do what he wants and I’m just glad she came to her senses before getting actively involved in this messy plan.
Daryl understands and so Michonne gets out of the car and walks away. Tara is still hopeful so she tells Daryl they can still do this and I was like “Y’all really might want to reconsider” cuz once Michonne decides it’s not a good idea, that’s when you know you have to throw the whole plan away. 😂
So then with Rick’s whole trifling storyline in 8x07 he’s had a day.
It starts with him being photographed and sketched by these sketchy people. And I was just like why is this even a storyline lol? Like why are we here? 🤦🏽♀️
This could have been valuable time spent with Rick and Carl but instead Rick’s over here having to play the trash folks reindeer games. 🙄
He has to fight yet another one of their armed walkers and because he’s Rick to the Grimes he manages to find a way to make it work and when Jadis sees that he’s winning she steps in and so now they’re fighting and he’s able to pin her down and the whole time I was just watching this thinking “So this is what y’all wanna do TWD? This is what we’re doing now?” and this was my legit reaction during all this…
Needless to say I wasn’t amused lol. I just felt like this was an unnecessary mess.
(Side note: If I was Rick I’d low key be in my feelings that no one came to get me cuz he had to finesse his way out of that whole situation on his own. I’d be showing up to ASZ looking at each person like..
But, even with no one coming after him, Homeboy stayed confident that he would walk out of there the whole time 👏🏽)
Rick asks Jadis if they’re done and then when he helps her up this was me...
Jadis says they’ll join him which literally means nothing cuz they’re the type to change their mind at the drop of a hat.
And then this chick has the nerve to ask for all the Saviors stuff after. And if that weren’t enough, she then asks to sculpt Rick cuz Jadis is the queen of taking trying it to the highest of heights.
Basically to sum it up; I was and am so ready to be done with these trifling Garbage Patch Kids. 😑
And then of course Rick’s not having her requests, so he demands his clothes back and it’s clear he’s over this too.
Then he takes the whole lot of them with him to that water tower where he finds that, while he was out, his group done changed the whole plan. 😪
Homeboy was gone for a day and a half and in that short time his whole plan just unraveled. And not even by Negan, but by his team. Rick’s just trying to make a way for people but nobody was putting any respek on his name.
And what’s sad is that, while he was gone, not only did his whole plan unravel but his whole world was about to be shaken as well. Cuz it was in 8x06 where in one quick moment, his son’s days became marked.
It’s crazy that in these episodes there was a scene that seemed so simple but would change the course of this entire show. And that’s Carl going out and helping Siddiq.
Looking back now, Carl’s reaction after that scuffle with the walkers makes it pretty clear that something went really wrong. But, just like Rick and Michonne, we wouldn’t find out how wrong it went until the msf. 😢
I’ll talk more about this whole situation soon, but for now, one line that stands out is when Carl tells Siddiq that, “Sometimes kids have to find their own way to show their parents the way”
And one thing I’ll always appreciate is that Carl definitely showed Rick and Michonne the way to each other. 👌🏽😭
#richonne#richonne fandom#richonne family#michonne#rick grimes#michonne grimes#twd#the walking dead#carl grimes#s8#not my gifs#8.03#8.06#8.07
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Red Queen Soulmate AU (Mare)
Clearly the first part of a series. All you need to know is on the title. Enjoy.
Other Red Queen works:
A Rebel’s Song (part 2)
A Wonderful Mistake (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)
Words: 1890
She hated the First Friday: the village became unbearably crowded and at that moment, in the heat of late summer, it was the last thing she could want. From the little place in the shadow where she was it wasn’t too bad, but the stench of sweat of the people would have clotted even the milk. And all for a stupid tattoo. Two, to be exact, but everyone was interested only in one, that of the soulmate. As if it were so fundamental: it was full of people who could get along well regardless of what a stupid writing on one wrist said and yet nobody seemed to understand it, blinded by the idea that the right person was the only possible choice. Mare didn’t mind making a mistake, and besides, she certainly couldn't afford to think of love, when at home she had several mouths to feed only with the little she could steal. Yet every now and then she thought about it. Who was this Maven? It was the name she had written on her left wrist, perfectly aligned with the king's, which she had on her right. That the monarch who had made Norta what it was, or at least was allowing it to continue to be, was her worst enemy was not even to be doubted, so there remained only one option. Was he someone like her? He certainly didn't come from Stilts, or she would have met him before; she hoped he lived at least in Norta and not in a kingdom with which they were at war. After all, she didn't want to find herself killing him after they came to get to recruit her. Not that one could escape military service, if one wasn’t already someone's apprentices. And she wasn’t, she never would’ve been: everyone in the Stilts knew she was a thief and no one decides to keep in their house someone who could take everything you have under your nose. The only other way to escape the call to arms was to marry your soulmate. Norta’s ruler took the matter way too seriously and they allowed to marry and have children only to those who were soulmates. And that's why, although staying away from the stage and from the people, and with a disinterested expression painted on her face, Mare was there. None of her brothers had managed to marry before the call to arms, and Gisa, her only sister, younger than her, was an apprentice at a seamstress; she was the best, so she didn't have to worry particularly. Mare was the only one who still had to hope. In addition, the government itself gave funds for a decent marriage, which the spouses could choose to spend as they wished. Mare knew perfectly well that many in the Stilts were desperately looking for their soulmates more for a marriage of convenience than for true love: in fact, nobody used all the money that was given to them for the festivities or what was actually needed to get married but they saved it for moments of real need. It was not unusual for the couple to buy second or third-hand clothes, and many young brides with the lean build of all the Stilts girls had worn the same dress. The guards and officers pretended not to notice, and those who could afford to make some changes did so in order to arouse less suspicion. Gisa had embroidered an untold number of clothes for free, but her favorite was the one Madge had used: it was practically new, belonged to her mother, who had kept it until then, and of a very shiny fabric, but not silk, which only the silvers could afford, which Gisa had said was good for the embroidery and the application of pearls that the girl had asked her. She was one of the few lucky ones who could afford to pay her with money, although it wasn't completely legal, and the whole family had rejoiced as they had never done before when Mare had resold something she had stolen. No one was very proud of her occupation, including herself, and although they tried not to make it weight too much on her, she knew that her parents, and often Gisa too, thought she was the promoter of her misfortunes. If only she had behaved well, if only she stuck to the law, she had once heard her mother tell her father, when she thought that all her children, as she liked to call them, were asleep, she shouldn’t go all those damned First Friday waiting to hear that damned name. Mare didn’t regret anything and certainly didn’t regret helping and continuing to help her family in time of need.
Sometimes she thought of her brothers, how everything on both sides stopped for those announcements. She wondered if they had already brought the list of the Stilts’ names and one of them had smiled in hearing that of Gisa, Kilorn or hers, or if they had nudged one of their companions, saying proud that those were their loved ones. Perhaps they were worried that she hadn’t yet found her soulmates, that she had not yet escaped with certainty the enrollment. A little over a week and Kilorn would have become a professional fisherman and within a few years she was sure that Gisa would be called to Archeon to work for the royal family, seeing how good she was. If she had been lucky, she would not even have to see the return of one of her brothers and would have earned a few days' leave to meet them or for their marriage. Furthermore, in Archeon the announcements did not take place only on the first Friday of the month but once a week, allowing all those who lived and worked there, or were only visiting, to listen to the names of many more people. Obviously the silvers also had their meeting points, where they could hear the names of their possible soulmates, but it was a practice that only merchants or minor nobles practiced, while for the most important families there were more contained methods, but no one has ever bothered to expose them. Not that it could have any relevance, for the reds, that could not marry the silvers for any reason. In fact it was known that if a red met a silver with the same name that was on their wrist there was only two options: it was the one who would have been their worst enemy or, in the vast majority of cases, a namesake. Although it was something many silvers didn’t manage with the same grace and detachment that they used to show to the world, it happened quite often. So every time she participated in the First Friday she prayed that they would announce the names of one of the fronts, that someone would come up on the stage, exposing their wrist and showing that she was really Bree, Tramy or Shade’s soulmate. Because anyone who was at the front and found a soulmate was called back. A temporary leave, of course, but that allowed the new families to settle down. It was painful, but it extended the life of those at war and improved the lives of those left behind. Not that the counting of the five years of obligatory military service also included the months spent at home: the marriage leave put everything on stand-by and on the way back people started counting again the days, hoping the countdown ended seeing the crowded truck on which the soldiers returned to their homes and not a coffin. Unfortunately, however, no Diana showed up in the Stilts and not even in the list of names read in Corvium, evidently, otherwise Shade would have returned, making her feel less alone and maybe even helping her in those months that separated her from her departure, training her to what she would face. She hated to get to things unprepared, but the school taught nothing about how to survive in the trenches and she would never, ever try to extrapolate something to her father, who seemed to suffer from the horrors he had seen more than anyone else she had ever met. So she waited, letting herself be carried away by the events as she was letting herself be carried away by the rush of people to whom she was extracting banknotes from the pockets and slipping bracelets from the wrists with his hands darting, fast and light, to the right and to the left. Down the street the crowd thickens and more and more people join the stream. A band of brats, all would-be thieves like she had once been, throws themself into the fray with hands that are sticky for the emotion and too greedy for not being noticed by the security agents, who are quick to intervene. Under normal conditions, the kids would all be put in logs or sent to prison, but the agents want to attend the First Friday part they prefer: the Feats. Because Norta was not based only on love dictated by soul mates but also on blood and the difference between reds and silvers, hence the Feats, the only form of entertainment for the reds after a grueling month of work and a cold and calculated plan to send the message that only the silvers fight because only a silvers can survive, even if it does not always happen, although this is another thing that silvers do not like very much to admit.
A slight pressure on her side made her turn around and grasp the hand of the poor fool who tried to steal something from her, so as not to let them escape. Instead of a skinny boy, however, she found herself facing a familiar face that smiled at her slyly.
"You get faster and faster," Kilorn sneered, freeing himself from her grip without any effort, since he was a little over a foot and a half taller than her. And to think that as children they used to fight all the time.
"If anything you are slower." she teased him, but it wasn't entirely a lie. Since he started working as an apprentice, he no longer stole as he used to, partly for fear of risking his job, partly because he didn’t need it since Mare shared with him her leftover, whether it was food or earnings, which, although scarce, helped a lot.
"Should we wait for Gisa?" he asked, stealing her apple from her hand. Mare let him do it and watched him bite it voraciously, wondering for how long he hadn't had a decent meal. Oh, if only Gisa had known! Obviously Mare would not have told her anything, avoiding feeding false hopes and dreams that would not have led anywhere. Kilorn was not the soulmate of either, unfortunately, but Gisa was the most displeased with it since she had a crush on him for at least a couple of years. She would have liked to see her sister and her only friend getting married, although maybe it would have been a little strange. Meaningless fantasies, since his soulmate was named Cameron.
"For today she is exonerated, she must work."
"Then let's hurry up, I don't want to miss the show."
#soulmate au#red queen#mare barrow#kilorn warren#maven calore#cal calore#bree barrow#tramy barrow#shade barrow#gisa barrow#cameron cole#diana farley#marecal#mareven#fade#cameron x kilorn
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