#and this was acknowledged by the court which saw to that bill-- THIS WAS YEARS AGO

[putri900]

My problem is that it also isnt a signal for much of anything. One person will win at the end of the day whether there is participation or not, all you do by not voting is not being part of either winners voting block-- but theyll still be there by the end of the election.

So unless you throw a revolution against the US government, voting is the best way to ensure the capability for things to be better to begin with, cause even if the reps dont overthrow the Democracy, they sure as hell will make it near impossible to get any progressive victories otherwise. All it will be is a fight to avoid losing/ or to regain thing such as womens reproductive rights, gay and interracial marriage, and even minorities rights to vote... and exist.

the problem with not voting in order to send the message that you hate all the candidates and the entire system and therefore refuse to participate is that it's completely indistinguishable, as a signal, from not bothering to vote because you think the system is great and all the candidates are great and you'd be fine with any of them. so you might want to rethink the strategy there

[rantsandraves]

Perry Mason (1957) Headcanon

It is an open secret among lawyers and judges that District Attorney Hamilton Burger is Obsessed with Perry Mason.

At the end of Season 3, Episode 4, "The Case of the Blushing Pearls", Hamilton sends Perry a citation for burning garbage without a permit, and in Season 7, Episode 6, "The Case of the Reluctant Model", he sends him a bill for 20 cents. Since Perry is always so careful not to do anything that could actually get himself in trouble, anytime Hamilton gets an opportunity like that, it makes his whole year. He was blushing, giggling, kicking his feet while writing those and you cannot change my mind. His secretary/assistant/whoever saw the look of manic glee in his eyes as he handed them an envelope to mail, and they just knew who it was addressed to without having to check.

In Season 8, Episode 12, "The Case of the Wooden Nickels", Perry tells the judge that Hamilton was "making a gratuitous aside". A little later, when a witness stated he offered $60,000 to the defendant's family for the titular coin, Hamilton turns to Perry and says "That's well worth committing murder for, isn't it, Mr. Mason? Oh, excuse me, I withdraw the gratuitous aside"

I don't remember what episodes, I think they were season 1 or 2, but there was one in which Perry made several objections based on technicalities. I think it was a time when Della was on the stand? And in a subsequent episode, Hamilton made a comment about how he wouldn't stoop to petty technicalities or something.

If it were a video game, every time Perry Mason made an objection (or did anything really) he would get a pop-up that says "Hamilton Burger will remember this".

In Season 6, Episode 20, "The Case of the Golden Oranges", Hamilton is in his office when he receives a phone call from the City Attorney, "Tom". Part of the conversation (the side we can hear, anyway) is as follows:

"Dog bite case? Why would I be interested in that? … Who - Who is defending the dog?"

This shows that Tom thought this information was important enough (to Hamilton) to warrant calling the District Attorney and telling him. It also shows that dog bite cases are not something Hamilton would ordinarily concern himself with; he is only interested in it when he's told that Perry is involved.

Hamilton then seemingly drops everything to go and see this for himself. Then, in court, the judge addresses Hamilton and asks if he's there on business, and Hamilton says he "heard a familiar voice and thought I'd drop in", thus admitting that he has no reason to be there except that Perry is there. No one acknowledges this though. (I will say, Perry turned around awfully quickly when the judge said the DA was there.)

This man is the District Attorney of Los Angeles. Did he not have anything else to do? No appointments? No cases of his own? Did he just take the rest of the day off so he could go ogle Perry Mason?

Imagine being the prosecutor in this case, Assistant District Attorney Rice. He's just doing his job, minding his business, when his boss shows up to watch because the guy he has a homoerotic psychosexual rivalry with is also working the case.

In Season 4, Episode 27, "The Case of the Grumbling Grandfather", a guy calls Perry from the courthouse during a hearing to hire him to defend his grandson at trial, and as Perry leaves his office, he tells Della "Apparently Hamilton Burger's winning a case". Perry, gentleman that he is, at least waits until he has plausible deniability before going to ogle Hamilton in court.

And, of course, Hamilton has something to say about it. "The marines are landing a little late, aren't they, Perry? … Or did you just drop by to watch me deliver my windup?" He wishes Perry were there to see him.

All this to say, Hamilton Burger is obsessed with Perry Mason and is not subtle about it.

[11queensupreme11]

Lol that wasn't me but I will let you know when I post on AO3 and credit you. I have a bad habit of jumping around a lot in my writing so it might be a while. Here is a bit from much later that might have to be cut. It features 8 year old Percy and children's fantastic ability to remember complex terms and apply them in the funniest ways possible:

"Percy stared at the man before her. He looked young, with a face she believed would make any of the old ladies from the apartments coo if they saw him. However, pinchable cheeks were probably not a judged criteria when taking the exams to become a doctor. The lady at the department of health office had said that "Medicaid does not cover elective work" and Percy was not even sure they had insurance now that they lived outside the US. Medical debt was a serious issue and would probably spawn paperwork more difficult for Mom to handle than any monster or weird relative. Smiling politely, she said “So are you a pediatrician? What program did you graduate from? Where was your residency and how many years have you been practicing for?”

The man's face was now frozen and Percy decided to press onward continuing “What insurance providers do you accept? I was on Medicaid previously but that won’t apply anymore with the move so you will have to get the new information from my mother. Along with my medical history which would be needed to provide appropriate care.” Pausing and tilting her head racking her brain for more terms she had heard at the real pediatrician’s office, she continued “You did talk to him right? 'Any medical care that is not immediately lifesaving given to minors requires consent from a parent or guardian recognized by the state.' Given my father is not on my birth certificate and has not signed and acknowledgment of paternity his word will not count. If you treat me without mother’s permission billing will be the least of your worries, the medical boards and courts don’t mess around when it comes to unnecessary medical work done on children without parental consent” she finished watching the man’s eyes widen a little more in shock.

However instead of the stuttered backtrack she was expecting, instead Mr. Beelzebub burst into a low and somewhat menacing laugh. With a smile, he said, “To answer your questions, I am not a pediatrician of any kind, I am a researcher specializing in the… hm… how to put it, most unusual of cases, and probably the only god in the three realms capable of treating someone like you.”

“So, you don’t actually know anything,” Percy said folding her arms and feeling rather put out. “And you have no previous experience working with children.” Honestly, she was really starting to wonder what went on in the heads of her father’s family. With a sigh she continued “Uncle Hades, this man is not a real doctor, he sounds like a scammer.”

Normally she tried not to be that blunt (after all mom always said stuff like “discretion was the better part of valor” and all the like) but this was really starting to test her patience. “It is common sense that any strange man offering you free medical treatment in his basement is definitely up to no go. Haven’t you heard of stranger danger? ‘Only trust adults whose credibility can be verified by another safe and trusted adult like your parents’.” She recited while turning to her uncle hoping to see a light of understanding appear in the man’s eyes. Honestly, why did she have to be the adult in this situation? Had these people never seen public television?

Instead, both men broke out into uproarious laughter and Percy considered what the consequences of pelting them both with ice would be. Perhaps if she froze their brains, it would fix whatever mental deficiency they were currently experiencing. Maybe some kind of brain worm?"

OH IT WASNT YOU???? oops 😭😭😭 ok thank you for clarifying then!

ALSO EIGHT YEAR OLD PERCY IS SO PRECIOUS???? and is loki a better mom than og!sally or did he just send percy to a good school cuz she sounds a lot smarter than her 12-16 year old canon self 😭😭😭😭

BUT BEEEEEEELLLLL IS HERE 😍😍😍

im ngl, after i realized beel was in the scenario, i blanked out and just focused on him LMAO. i'm sorry i just love him so much 😭😭😭

i can't wait till you post, ur writing is sooooo 😩👍

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"ACCUSED CONVICT ENTERS GUILTY PLEA ON LAWYER'S ADVICE," Toronto Globe. June 16, 1933. Page 3. ---- Judgment Reserved in Burling Case - Perry Faces Trial --- GUARDS GIVE EVIDENCE --- (Canadian Press Despatch.) Kingston, June 15 - As the curtain fell on the second day of the dramatic hearing of evidence, anticlimax to the convict riots which shook Portsmouth Penitentiary in October of last year, Hugh Burling had pleaded guilty to charges of unlawful assembly; John Evans, youthful negro convict. had been given a day to prepare his case after arguing nice legal points with presiding Judge Evan McLean; and evidence in the case of Convict Perry was still being heard.

After more than a day and a haif of questioning by Crown Prosecutor Colonel Keiller MacKay, Burling, curly-haired, 22-year-old prisoner, pleaded guilty, on advice of counsel, to participating in an unlawful assembly, a lesser charge than the original one of riding. Judge McLean expressed satisfaction at the course the convict had taken. "You are just a boy." he told him, "and I am sure there is something ahead in life for you yet. Actually the courts would like to let all of you fellows out if we could; but we can't because of the way you have behaved." As Burling bowed in acknowledgment and slumped from the witness stand, his place was taken by the 25-year-old negro, John Evans, who proceeded at once to argue the legality of his appearance for trial before being given an opportunity to interview witness and prepare his case.

Argues His Case. Evans is serving a 25-year term for assault and robbery, but he argued his legal points as if he were spending his term studying for law.

When asked to plead he informed the Court that he had not been given time to prepare his case. Judge McLean gave Evans till tomorrow, and the husky negro, holding a voluminous copy of the evidence given at a preliminary trial in his hand, stamped out of the courtroom to complete his case.

Convict Ivan Perry entered a plea of not guilty when he was arraigned in the prison and had been reported for only minor offenses.

First witness called, W. L. Walsh, instructor in the charge room, told the Court that Perry was very well behaved during the time he had been in the prison and had only been reported for minor offences.

W. W. Boucher, prison guard, the next to give testimony, swore that he had seen Perry helping to wheel large trucks of stone to barricade the doors of the shop dome. He told the Court that he considered Perry was very active in the riot.

Relating the experiences of the day of the rioting, Boucher said that, on one occasion a hammer was hurled at a guard which would have knocked his brains out had he not dodged.

Convict Testifles. Convict John Rooney stated that he was active in barricading the doors of the dome. He stated that the only time he saw Perry the latter was trying to lift a heavy rock off a truck. Witness said he went to accused's assistance and found that the rock was on another convict's hand. After helping Perry he did not see him again.

Cross-examined by Colonel MacKay. Rooney admitted that he had a "record as long as your arm." MacKay declined to question witness any further.

The Grand Jury reported that true bills had been found against the following convicts: Leo Halsal, Albert Dorland. PaulDemerse. George Litlcoff, Willard Milliich, George Peters, John Toth, Alexander Manson, Tim Buck, Alexander Teetzel, Harold Cosh and Ernest Snell. A true bill on the secondcount only was returned against Convict Jacob Miller. No true bills were found in the cases of Convicts Joseph Malcovitch and Ray Boven.

Beaten by Others, Says Witness. Questioned by Mr. Cartwright, Henderson said that Convict Marshall hadbeen beaten by the other convicts because he had refused to take part in the riot.

"I suppose any convict would have been accorded the same treatment if he hadn't joined the others?" "Yes, I think so."

Convict Perry, on his own behalf, stated that the reason he had joined the rioters was because he was afraid he would be killed if he didn't. The accused stoutly denied having assisted in lifting bankers to barricade the doors. He admitted that he had helped keep one banker from falling off the car. Perry, a fine, clean-cut young fellow, 23 years of age, gave his evidence in straightforward manner.

"Why did you join the others? Why did you leave your shop?" asked Colonel MacKay."

Just out of curiosity. I did not go out to join the mob, but to watch the mob."

"Did you have permission to leave your shop?"

"No: but on the way out I stopped and spoke to Guard Walsh, and he said nothing about staying behind, so I went on. If he had said anything I would not have left the shop."

Going to His Cell. "But you went further than merely outside your shop. You went down into the dome, didn't you?"

"Yes; but I was going to my cell."

"Did you ask any guard to take you to your cell?"

"No."

"You left the dome and went back to the shops with the other men?"

"Yes, when shots were fired I went back, and didn't stand on the order of my going."Did you go back to your own shop?"

"No, I went into the blacksmith shop."

"Why didn't you go to your own shop?"

"Because I felt I was safer where I was." "Wouldn't you have been safer under the protection of your own guards?" "No: they were no protection then. The convicts were in command." Perry admitted that he went into the mail-bag department later. He said he was standing with the guards when they received the order "to get up in front and get the lead." He did not go up with them. Perry Hearing Evidence. In the Perry hearing Guard W. Kenney testified the reason he did nothing to prevent the convicts from taking part in the riot was because the men were armed with hammers and crowbars, and he knew any effort on his part to restrain the men would be met with violence.

"What were your feelings?" asked Colonel MacKay.

"I was alarmed."

"Why were you alarmed?"

"Because I felt my life was in dager."

Guard W. L. Walsh, in charge of the change-room, stated that Convict Ivan Perry, who was working under him, had stopped working and joined the other convicts when the outbreak had occurred. Walsh stated that Perry had left without his permission.

"Why didn't you stop him from leaving?" asked Colonel MacKay.

"It would have been suicide. I was afraid of my life."

"How do you know a convict?" asked H. L. Cartwright, counsel for the defense. "By name and number." Numbers Attached. At Judge McLean's request Convict Perry showed how numbers were attached to the uniform. Perry stated that his number was on everything he wore.

"Was Perry well behaved?" asked Mr. Cartwright.

"He wasn't too bad. I think I have reported him for minor infractions on two occasions," said Walsh.

Counsel exhibited a file which revealed that Walsh had reported Perry four times for offenses such as leaving work to smoke and for insolence.

"Did you see Perry do any damage?"

"No. I did not."

"All you have against the accused is that he left your shop without permission?"

"That's all."

[bbrandy2002]

Fearless

Chapter 4: See the Lights, See the Party, the Ball Gowns

Book: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairing: Prince/King Liam x MC (Riley Brooks), Drake Walker x OC (Alyssa Devereaux)

Series Premise: Riley Brooks and Alyssa Devereaux became best friends as freshmen at Syracuse University, a borderline-sisterhood that lasts forever after. When Riley meets a handsome prince and is asked to compete for his hand in a mysterious faraway kingdom, she invites Alyssa along for moral support.

What the girls think will be a crazy temporary adventure becomes two sets of happily ever afters … with twice the shenanigans to show for it.

A/N: This series is written in loving collaboration between @bbrandy2002 and @burnsoslow​.

Series Warnings: Smut 🍋🍋, language, canon violence (gun violence, bombing, terrorism), drug use, probably more stuff as we think of it. By reading this series, you agree that you are at least 18 years old and are prepared to deal with adult themes.

The girls spent their first morning in Cordonia with their respective sponsors, getting the first glimpses of courtly life and preparing for the Masquerade Ball taking place that evening. As much as they wanted to get out and experience all that this little Mediterranean country had to offer, there was just so much to do and little time to do it. 

That morning, while Alyssa worked diligently on learning the steps of the Cordonian Waltz and etiquette with Rashad, Maxwell finally got Riley out of bed in time for a late breakfast. This included meeting his brother, Bertrand, who was none too thrilled with the former waitress from New York. Riley discovered rather quickly that the duke was nothing like the free-spirited Maxwell; if ever there was a picture display of a killjoy, she was sure his scowling face would be plastered dead in the center.  

The day kind of went by in a dizzying blur, especially for Riley, who spent most of it either being lectured by Bertrand, or raiding the kitchen for stress snacks with Maxwell. And as far as anyone knew, Liam was still unaware that the quirky, raven-haired beauty he’d met two nights ago and never expected to see again was in his country, in his palace, and was about to come face-to-face with him.

If she didn’t die of anxiety first. 

Neither of the girls saw each other until much later that afternoon when they linked up in Riley’s room before heading to the palace's salon for last-minute hair and nail appointments. 

Later on in the boutique, Riley sucked in a deep breath and held in her stomach while Alyssa stood behind her, fighting to zip the back of the angel-themed costume she chose for the Masquerade Ball. 

Actually, "chose" was a loose description in this case. The ensemble was one of the last two dresses in the palace's boutique, and Maxwell insisted Riley wear it instead of the more provocative red devil attire to make herself more appealing to the King and Queen. The Beaumont sponsee didn’t give two shits at that moment about impressing the monarchs; her major concern was how she would fit that size-four dress over her size-six body. 

“What the hell did you eat, Ri? This zipper is not budging an inch," an out-of-breath Alyssa groaned as she attempted to pull the tight fabric closer together.  

Steadying her feet firmly to the ground, a jostled-around Riley answered quietly, in a still manner, so as not to undo what little progress her friend had already made, "You know I'm a stress eater. I've experienced many emotions since we left yesterday, and food therapy helps. And your judgment is making me hungry again, so thank you for making it worse."

"I'm not judging you; I'm simply stating a fact: Your ass won’t fit in this dress."

Riley straightened up a little higher, hoping to thin her lean frame out more. "Well, it's gonna have to," she scoffed. "I can't be the only suitor at this ball without the proper attire."

Alyssa tugged harder in frustration. "You know, it might help if I could remove the price tag from the zipper."

"Perhaps." Riley sideways glanced at the two inattentive boutique cashiers before turning her head slightly over her shoulder to acknowledge her best friend in a hushed tone. "But then I wouldn't be able to return it in the morning. $700 for a damn dress is highway robbery, and I won't be a victim to this place's jacked-up prices." She glared back at the fashionably dressed women running the register and hollered out, "You should all be ashamed of yourselves!"

"Shhhh!" Alyssa's face burned with embarrassment while she smiled sheepishly at the bewildered ladies. "Are you crazy? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You mean aside from the usual things that are wrong with me? I'm a nervous wreck, Lyss. Liam still doesn't know that I'm here. I'm about to go wine-and-dine with snobby rich people, while my socially awkward-o-meter is on red alert. And Maxwell's brother didn't like me. How am I supposed to impress Liam, the press, this council, and his parents when my own sponsor hates me?"

"He doesn't hate you," Alyssa replied. "Suck in your stomach a little more ... Rashad told me Duke Beaumont is high-strung and takes all this court business very seriously. If you ask me, give ‘The Brows’ some time. I know he'll love you. And Liam already does!" Alyssa stepped back in delight after tirelessly sliding the last bit of the zipper to the neckline. "Voila! I got it."

Riley stiffly turned toward the full-length mirror -- her insides feeling like they would pop right out of her -- and surveyed the finished product. "Not bad, not bad. A slight muffin top on the sides, and my ass cheeks are packed in tighter than my family around the dessert station at a buffet, but ... I think I can get by with it." Turning to face Alyssa, she lit up with anticipation. "Okay, now it's your turn."

Alyssa plucked the bright red dress off the rack and headed inside one of the many dressing rooms. A moment later, she emerged with a beaming smile on her face and held her arms out to the side to do a show-offish twirl. "So, how do I look?"

"Oh my god, Lyss!" Riley clapped excitedly. "You look so hot in that! That color of red really suits you too. Although, you might want to cover up the girls a little more; I've never seen your boobs look so huge."

"Wha --" Alyssa glanced down at her fully rounded chest, a substantial portion of which was spilling out over the top. She crossed her arms over her breasts in horror. "OH MY GOD! You're right: They're enormous in this thing. I can't go out there like this! They'll be stuffing dollar bills into my cleavage and begging for a lap dance!"

"Well, just ... try to tuck them in," Riley suggested, demonstrating her advice on herself. “You know, the way guys tuck in their junk.”

Alyssa shook her head adamantly, attempting to slide the top of the dress up higher. "I don't think that'll work. It's already extremely tight."

“That’s what he said,” Riley quipped with a snicker, much to the chagrin of her longtime friend, who simply blinked back. “Wow, not even a smile. Come on, Lyss, it’s not that hard.”

Alyssa grinned despite herself, “That’s what she said.”

Riley stepped closer, reaching out to grab a portion of the garment covering Alyssa's bosom, and declared, "Alright, If I can squeeze my fat ass into this dress, you can cram those giant melons into yours. So, get to pushin’, girl.”

-----------

After 10 minutes of stuffing uncooperative breasts into a gown, Alyssa and Riley stepped out of the boutique and made their way to the bottom of the main staircase outside of the ballroom, where Rashad and Maxwell were waiting eagerly for them. 

A grim-faced Rashad approached the pair as they neared. “We were beginning to worry about you two. I hope you didn’t have any trouble.” He reached out and greeted Alyssa with a friendly kiss to the cheek as Riley made her way up to Maxwell, who did the same.

“No troubles,” Alyssa assured him, before staring down at her chest to make sure certain parts were still contained inside her dress. “Just some slight wardrobe issues that I think we’ve taken care of.”

Riley frowned, rubbing a soothing hand over her squeezed-in stomach. “Let’s just say we both feel like canned biscuits.”

“And I’m petrified of canned biscuits!” Alyssa shrieked, then spoke in a lower, punier voice in Rashad’s direction. “They make that popping sound that scares the hell out of me.” He nodded sympathetically at her admission, having no clue what canned biscuits were.

Maxwell let out a chuckle. “Either way, you both look awesome! Like two totally righteous peas in a pod and all that jazz.” He peeked over at Riley, who wasn’t appearing too sure of herself, or of anything for that matter, knowing she’d spent most of the day in a subtle panic. While she steadied her breath, he looped his arm through hers and leaned over. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to go in there like the boss you are and knock them all dead. I just know it.”

Riley swallowed thickly, “But Liam --”

“Will be over the moon with excitement to see you again. Do you think I’d go through all the trouble of trying to convince you, and then Alyssa, to come all the way here -- not to mention, facing my brother’s wrath -- if I didn’t believe Liam would want to see you again?” Riley half-shrugged, but Maxwell could tell by the little glimmer of hope he caught in her eyes and the slight curl at the corner of her plush pink lips that she knew it was true. “If he’s not happy about seeing you, I’ll book you on the first flight back to New York, and you can punch me in the gut or something. But I can tell you with certainty: No man goes out with a woman and keeps his friends up most of the night talking about how amazing she was if he doesn’t want to see her again.”

Riley could feel a tinge of pink color her cheeks and looked away for a brief moment, knowing he was right. She was about to see her prince again. Simply knowing how happy Liam was when they parted ways that night made her heart flutter. The blushing suitor peered back at the towering man on her arm and smiled appreciatively. “Thanks, Max.” 

As they both stared straight ahead at the set of double doors where Alyssa was making her grand entrance into the ballroom with Rashad, Riley pointed out, “You realize if you had said all that stuff to me this morning and five bloated pounds ago, I wouldn’t have cried to you all day over pints of ice cream, half a sheet cake, and a bag of Mini Snickers?”

Lord Beaumont grinned without looking at her as the orchestral music inside erupted through the newly opened threshold that awaited their crossing. A gleam of anticipation glistened the cobalt hue of his eyes.”That’s our cue. Time to look alive, Twinkle Toes, it’s showtime.”

__________

It felt like a million pairs of eyes bore through Riley when the announcer spoke her name out to the guest in the ballroom. In reality, few paid much attention to the young woman dressed in pure white, from the feathery halo perched above her fancy swept-up hairdo to the tiny heels that sparkled like glittery specks of fairy dust on her feet.  

As Maxwell ushered her proudly through the spectacular crowd adorned in the finest silks and chiffons, faces concealed behind extravagant masks similar to hers, and opulent table spreads of gold and crimson, Riley searched the four corners of the room for one particular set of the bluest eyes she’d ever encountered -- she had Liam’s memorized by heart. However, the only ones she recognized came from her smiling best friend, standing casually beside the Lord of Domvallier at the bar, keeping her word to watch out for her. With a subtle grin from Alyssa to convey she had her back, the whirlwind of fear and chaotic thoughts that overwhelmed Riley quickly dissipated into thin air. 

Baby steps.

While Maxwell and Riley headed to the center of the ballroom to meet up with Bertrand, across the way, Alyssa ordered a cranberry vodka from the bar. She was wearing red and needed a drink that matched perfectly with the fabric in case of accidental spillage. As the bartender poured her glass, she tore her vigilant gaze from Riley when Rashad’s cell rang. Seconds later, he covered his phone lightly with a palm and lowered it away from his ear to speak with her. 

“This is my client in California. Will you be okay for a little bit while I take this out on the balcony?”

Alyssa nodded. “Of course. Take your time. Is there anything I should be doing while you’re gone?”

“Try mingling with the crowd. Get to know the other suitors. The best way to help Riley tonight is to get a feel for the competition. Figure out who you can potentially get on her side and who is going to cause her trouble.”

“With all due respect, this isn’t Survivor.”

Rashad grinned before excusing himself. “We'll see if you still feel that way by the end of the social season.”

What is it with all the Debbie Downers here? He sounds just like -- Before she could finish that thought, a stroke of irony occurred when she caught the denim-clad Drake, standing out like a sore thumb, making his way up to the bar. She quickly spun around on the barstool and hovered over her freshly poured beverage. 

Tapping the bar's woodgrain top, Drake called for, “The usual,” before plopping down on the stool next to her. His woodsy scent filled the air and wafted in her direction; she wondered if he’d even recognize her.

Pressing the rim of the glass to her lips to take the first nervous sip of her drink, she wondered why she even cared if he did.

Alyssa set the vodka cranberry down on a cocktail napkin at the same time Drake reached for his tumbler of whiskey. A brush of their hands caused them both to retreat away before he bowed his head respectfully to her. 

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Drake was quick to apologize. He never knew which stuck up nobles would have an issue with a commoner’s simple touch.

Alyssa lifted a brow and smirked in response. “So you do have manners?”

He’d recognize that wily voice anywhere. Grumbling, Drake responded. “Aww, hell! Pipsqueak? Is that you?”

“Hello, Sunshine.” She dimpled.

Drake shook his head. “I should have known. Of all the damn people in this room, I still managed to find you.”

“I would call that a very lucky day for you then.” Alyssa lifted her drink and tipped back a gulp. “So what’re you doing here? Don’t you have some royal cows or chickens to herd around or something? Who wears denim and jeans to a fancy ball?” 

She would if she could get away with it.

His tight shoulder muscles bounced slightly with disingenuous laughter as his chestnut eyes took in her sultry devilish costume. “I could ask you the same about your own clothes. Suitors are supposed to dress up for these things. Not come as themselves.”

Offended, Alyssa arched back contemptuously. “Are you calling me a devil?”

“If the horns and pitchfork fit.” Drake retorted. He motioned with his glass across the room. “By the way, you see that blazing redhead who just stole your little friend away from Maxwell?” When Alyssa snapped her gaze protectively in that direction, he continued, “That’s Olivia. You might want to check in on … what’s her name again?”

“Riley ...” Her tone was resentful. He knows damn well what her name is. 

“Whatever. Just trust me on this, if the two of you know what’s good for ya -- and I’m betting you don’t -- you’ll stay as far away from Olivia and the rest of these social-climbing fuckers as possible.” His mood suddenly shifted as he drained his drink, then slammed it on the bar top, motioning with his hand to the bartender for another.

Alyssa was quick to notice the tension in his jaw and the immense throb of protruding veins in his forearm as he nursed his drink. “What climbed up your ass and died? Why are you even here if you hate everyone so much? 

He quickly snapped. “I’m here for Liam!”

“Well, I’m here for Riley!” The two of them glared at each other in a tense showdown that neither was willing to back down from. After a beat, Alyssa’s determination weakened somewhat; confrontations made her jittery. 

And with him in particular.

Letting her shoulders slump, Alyssa let out a soft breath as she relaxed. “I’m trying to give her some space … but do I need to go check on Riley?” The question was asked sincerely. 

Drake turned his head back, his vision crossing the vast expanse of the room and landing on a perturbed Riley in conversation with Olivia. He scowled, recognizing the expression impressed on her face all too well. “We’re outsiders, Alyssa. You. Me. Riley. That’s the only thing they’ll ever see. It’s the only way they’ll ever treat us.” He shifted to face Alyssa again. “Take that for what you will. If she were my friend … I would.”

_______

Riley shook her head emphatically. “There’s no way I’m supposed to kiss the king’s shoe. That’s weird, creepy, and-and- unsanitary!” She nodded toward a masked couple standing before the seated king who bowed, curtsied, and then exited to the left. “They didn’t kiss his shoe. I think you’re full of shit.” 

“Riley, Riley, Riley.” The duchess shook her head with an exasperated tone. “Those people are well-established and highly-regarded members of the court … you’re not. And while I admit it’s a rather unorthodox Cordonian royal custom, it’s part of our tradition that the newest members humble themselves before the king in an act of deep respect and reverence. I’m actually astounded Maxwell never bothered to tell you.” She flipped back a thick curly-q strand of hair that hung over her shoulders. “Do what you want. But don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”

Riley hesitated. “I guess I’ll keep it in mind …?”

“Great!” Olivia wrapped a firm hand around Riley’s wrist and pulled her toward the throne where the king sat. “You’re so lucky that I was here to warn you! Otherwise, you’d have looked utterly ridiculous.”

“Wait! Where are we going? Riley demanded, her feet barely able to keep up with the brisk pace. 

“To present you to King Constantine.”

“But I need to wait for my sponsor!” Riley protested. She struggled to break free, but the redhead’s clawlike grip was surprisingly strong. 

“Every second counts, Riley. These women have all known Liam for years. The early bird gets the Crown.”

“But I --” Panicked, Riley scoured the room for the Beaumonts and found them standing near the hors d'oeuvres table embroiled in what appeared to be a heated discussion.

“What the fuck?” On the opposite side of the ballroom, Alyssa spotted Olivia hauling Riley across the floor. Before Drake had the chance to warn her this wasn’t good, an enraged Alyssa was already sliding down off the barstool, stampeding off in hot pursuit of finding out what this redheaded troll was doing with her best friend. 

And for reasons he couldn’t fully understand, feeling frustrated beyond comprehension, Drake followed right on her heels.

Coming to a screeching halt before the raised dais, Olivia thrust Riley forward, who nearly tripped from the momentum into the bottom step at the sudden stop.

It took every ounce of restraint Riley had not to turn toward the woman who had forcibly dragged her across the room and to stick a pair of size-seven heels straight up her ass. She, however, liked the pretty, sparkly shoes she had on too much to ruin them … and wanted to end the evening outside of a hospital bed. “Asshole,” she muttered almost soundlessly.

“Your Majesty,” Olivia smirked. “I would like to present to you the suitor House Beaumont has chosen. Lady Riley.”

Riley gave her a cursory glare. It was the moment of truth. She plastered on her best smile for the King, who regarded her with a nod. 

Just … just do it. “Your Majesty.” Riley dipped into a low curtsy and held it in place for several seconds before contemplating the validity of Olivia’s outlandish claim and swallowing hard. “Here goes nothing.”

Placing both palms on the plush red carpeting that laid at the feet of the King, she lowered herself slowly until her knees rested on the top step.

“What the hell is she doing?” Alyssa questioned as she desperately weaved around a sea of faces, dodging server trays and tables along the way. “And where the hell is Maxwell?”

“I don’t know ...” Drake answered, practically pushing her even more quickly through the crowd, “ … but you better move faster. There’s no damn telling what Olivia told her to do.”

Riley paused briefly, staring at the simple black shoes that almost resembled a shiny boot. She wanted to be kissing Liam right now, not his father’s old fricking foot. Worst vacation ever.

Lowering her head gradually toward Constantine’s shoes, she scrunched up her face and reluctantly puckered up. 

Out of nowhere, a body with the vigor of a wild stallion in full sprint barrelled into her side, sending Riley hurling across the dais and causing her to land face-down on the marbled floor below.

"What is the meaning of this?" An enraged Constantine bolted up, his ire focused on Alyssa, hunkered down on all fours at his feet, striving to catch her breath.

Maxwell and Bertrand heard the commotion and came rushing to Riley’s side when they realized it was her sprawled out and jerking on the floor.  

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty," an apologetic Alyssa said as she reached up for the hand Drake was offering. The King's glare at her was nerve-wracking as he waited for an explanation -- until Drake stepped up in front of her, blocking her view of the incensed monarch. "I can explain."

"I hope you can, young lady." Constantine glowered, baffled as to why Drake Walker was still standing between them … and mirroring every movement she made. When she shifted, he shifted. When she moved her arm, he did the same. Was this some type of game?

“Uh … um.” Alyssa's mind raced with excuses. She couldn't very well tell him the truth and make Riley or herself look bad -- she was still a representative of Duchy Domvallier. There was only one thing she could think of to say as she whipped around Drake and pointed at him. "This man pushed me!"

Drake's body stiffened at her accusation. "The hell you talking about?" 

She covered her eyes with a hand, pretending to sob. "I was on my way up here to pay my respects to you, sir, when this man ..." she paused to take in a fake stuttering breath, "... came out of nowhere and pushed me from behind. I tried to stop myself from running into anyone, but I couldn't. Too much momentum." Alyssa lowered her hand and stared at a wide-eyed Drake. "I’m just a small person, mister. Why would you do that? Why? What did I ever do to hurt you?"

"I never --"

"Drake?" The King eyed him sternly. "Is this true? Did you push this young woman?"

Drake’s defensive stance was no match for Alyssa’s pleading eyes, begging him to save her from this. “Please,” she mouthed.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “I … I’m sorry, Sir. Lady Alyssa’s extremely long dress was dragging the floor and I stepped on it. When I lifted my foot off, she ... I don’t know … flung forward. I tried to grab her before she went flying, but she got away, and that must be why she thought I pushed her.” Drake lowered his gaze to Alyssa. “You really shouldn’t shop in the adult section, miss.”

“Is it possible you were mistaken, Lady ... Alyssa?”

She nodded. “Yes, that is surely possible,” she agreed in a rehearsed-sounding tone. “It’s all coming back to me now.”

“Well, then.” Constantine's contented glance drifted to Drake. “It’s good to know you didn’t push an innocent suitor on purpose, Drake. But just know this … I’ll be watching you.” 

“Looking forward to it, sir. Thank you, sir.” Drake quickly bowed his head as Constantine returned to his seat to greet the next guest. He grabbed Alyssa’s elbow and rushed her off to the side of the dais.

-----------

Maxwell knelt beside a disheveled Riley, helping her rise to her feet and dusting her off. 

“Lady Riley,” a scowling Bertrand glared, “what on earth is the meaning of this? The glory of House Beaumont is on the line tonight, and you’ve already made your first blunder. I told you, Maxwell, this was a mistake.”

Slightly dazed, Riley stumbled while massaging a sore wrist. Inclining her head so she could see him under the halo that drooped over her eyes, she retorted, “I was shoved, Berturd. It’s not like I did this on purpose. And thank you for your concern; I’m fine, by the way.”

“Shoved? By whom?” The three of them turned to see Alyssa and Drake scampering off to a corner. “It was Domvallier’s suitor?” Bertrand asked incredulously. “This is preposterous! It’s beneath Lord Rashad’s character to have his suitor and Drake Walker sabotage ours. I will have to go over there and put an end to this travesty at once.” 

“NO!” Riley and Maxwell barked.

"Bertrand. Why don't you let Riley and I handle them while you play damage control with the King? Unless ..." he smirked. " You want me to smooth things over with His Majesty? I have a lot to say about how Twinkle Toes just SAILED through the air at warp speed --"

"Dear God, no, Maxwell! There will be no need for your … input. But, you two, get results from Drake and that suitor. No funny business," he warned.

The two of them nodded in understanding. As soon as Bertrand turned his back and marched away, they both gave a knowing glance to the other before rushing over to Drake and Alyssa, who had just made it to a far corner of the ballroom, 

Alyssa yanked her elbow away from his vice-like grasp. “I believe we’re out of the clear; you can let go of me now.”

“Listen. I have to tell you something, ‘cause you need to know it ... “ Drake swallowed thickly, his rounded eyes focused squarely on the woman who’d just thrown him under the bus to King Constantine. He spoke as if he had something caught in his throat, “You--your-- uh -- ”

“And who made these damn shoes, anyway?” Alyssa complained as she hiked up the lower part of her dress and stepped out of her heels. Her already short stature lowered several inches. “They clearly hate short women and feet. Seriously, who thought walking around like a newborn calf was sexy?”

“Alyssa,” Drake tried again to speak through a strained voice, “You need to listen --”

“Hey!” Riley interrupted as she and Maxwell stepped up to them. “Why’d you push me off that stage thingy? And OH MY GOD, ALYSSA! YOUR --” Maxwell slapped a hand over Riley’s mouth, knowing exactly what her big mouth was getting ready to loudly announce.

Her frantic muffled words continued to blabber through his tightly clasped hand.

Alyssa gave him a confused look. “Maxwell, what are you doing?”

“Just stopping her before she told everyone within earshot ...” he paused fleetingly, lowering his gaze from the muddled expression on her face to her chest. “Your bosoms … well, they have emerged.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you before,” a flustered Drake said as Alyssa let out a gasp and looked down. “You’ve been ... exposed … since --” He was quickly cut off again by her tiny wail as she fixed herself and dashed out of the ballroom, mortified, her arms crossed over her chest.

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

Riley tapped lightly on the women’s restroom door. “Lyss? You okay in there?”

“No!” Her pouty voice rang back. “I’m the laughingstock of this entire court.”

Maxwell chuckled, hollering back. “You don’t have to worry about that, Lady Alyssa. I’ve already got that title covered in spades.”

“You two need to get back to the ball,” Drake said gruffly, referring to the girls. “Liam will be arriving any minute.”

“You’re right. There are probably five people in there who still haven’t gotten an up close shot of my breasts.” Alyssa swung the door open, bitterly hitching up the front of her dress as she stepped out, and glared up at Drake as she walked by. “And you let me walk around like that!”

“I did not!” He flushed a deep, dark red. “I told you, that’s why I was standing in front of you, so no one would see … ugh, fuck it. Just -- let’s go, okay?” 

A remorseful Riley hugged Alyssa. “I’m so sorry my dumb ass was what caused this to happen to you. Thank you for making sure I didn’t make a fool of myself.”

Alyssa squeezed tighter. “It was way better that it happened to me than you. We can definitely have a good laugh over this by the time I’m, like, 150.” When they let go of one another, she smiled at her friend. “Come on, we have a ball to get back to. And you have a prince to dazzle.”

“Oh, you guys go on ahead. I need a minute to straighten up.”

Drake, Alyssa, and Maxwell headed back inside while Riley spent a few minutes in the bathroom wiping away the dust off her dress and getting her hair back in order as best as she could. Plus, she just needed a moment to herself; it was the first time since she woke up that morning that someone wasn’t hovering over her shoulder or trying to impress someone. There also were some major jitters happening knowing the Prince was arriving at any second.

Stepping out a few minutes later, Riley headed back down the hallway, hopeful she still appeared as presentable as when she arrived earlier. 

Dotted along the walls that trailed back to the ballroom were portraits and artwork of kings and queens. Judging by the large periwigs, justaucorps, and stockings over breeches depicted, obviously they were quite old. One particular painting caught her attention enough to halt her steps before she plastered on a naughty grin.

“Ohhhh, what do we have here?” Riley snickered, leaning in closer to get a better glimpse. “I see London, I see France, I see a very hung King without his pants.” She fanned a hand in front of her face and spoke as if she were Scarlett O’Hara herself. “My, my, my, Fabian, I haven’t seen a lot of those, but I do declare, you put all the Yanks I’ve been with to shame. I’d be remiss to not ask if you were generous enough to pass on certain sizable traits, say to … Oh, I don’t know, the current Crown Prince?”

“Frankly, my dear … I don’t think he gave a damn,” a deep voice quipped over her shoulder.

Riley spun around, her body crashing into the portrait and causing it to rattle against the wall and lean heavily. Her face burned red-hot as soon as she heard his voice, even though every ounce of blood in her body seemed to rush to her wobbly feet. Liam reached out, grasping hold of her arms to brace her as she stared back, slack-jawed and weak-kneed, at his half-masked face, smiling warmly. “L-L-Li --”

“My sincerest apologies if I startled you, my lady. Are you okay?”

Her throat was dry, and surely no one in all history had ever been as embarrassed as she was at that moment, but she managed to answer feebly, “I think … I pissed my pants.” They both looked down at the floor simultaneously, relief washing over them that there were no puddles. Riley closed her eyes and let out a heavy breath. “Oh, thank God.”

Liam chuckled, his twinkling blue eyes glued to her flustered face. “You’re just as beautiful as you were that night in New York, Riley Brooks.”

“Wait … you know that it’s me? Are you surprised? Are you upset? Do you think I’m some creepy stalker now? I swear I’ve never even touched a weapon.”

“Really? What happened to your bag of Chinese throwing stars?” Liam teased lightheartedly. Riley tilted her head in confusion. “You remember, the ones you were going to throw at me in the alley outside of your bar --”

“Oh. Yes. Right,” she laughed awkwardly as the memory came to her. “Yeah, I may have embellished the truth there a bit. Twenty-pound hams seem to be more my weapon of choice.” Riley hung her head. Why the hell did I just tell him that? When Bastien cleared his throat and gave Liam a pointed look, Riley knew their time was short. “I know you have to go, but I just need to know something: How did you know I was here? Maxwell tried to get in touch with you and never heard back. I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me showing up here.”

“I’ve been quite busy since leaving New York with preparations for the social season and the Masquerade kicking off this evening. But it was Drake who came pounding on my door this morning to fill me in. You can imagine my surprise when he told me that you were here, and, I quote, ‘brought her small aggressive friend with her as guard dog.’”

Riley smirked with a shrug. “Can ya blame a girl? I came to win. Besides, I really like you, Liam.”

He smiled. “I really like you too, Riley. But this isn’t New York. As much as I wish we could just pick up where we left off two nights ago, this entire series of events is set up not just to give me time with my potential matches, but also to give my parents, the Council, and the people of Cordonia time to get to know the future queen. From now on, everyone will be watching you and ... Lady Alyssa.” Liam paused to chuckle and shake his head in amusement. “You actually got your friend to pose as a fake suitor and somehow convinced an honorable and highly dignified member of the court to sponsor her?”

“Yeaaaah, I still don’t know how the hell I did that. I should get extra points for my manipulation skills”

Liam laughed. "I believe you mean, negotiation skills."

Riley nodded. "Yeah, those too."

Already well past the time to make his grand entrance, Bastien approached Liam to give the final warning. Liam acknowledged him and turned back to Riley. “I hope I’ll see you again later tonight, if you’ll save a dance for me. But until then …” He pressed her willing body against the wall, tracing the back of his forefinger along her velvety cheek. “ … just know how very, very, happy I am to have you here, Riley.” His lips were fire and ice when he leaned down to meet her equally fevered ones in a lingering kiss. And she melted right into him.

With that, Liam was whisked away by the head guard and made his way into the ballroom. As a panting Riley brushed her fingertips over the tingling in her bottom lip, she felt so many things all at once: relief that he was happy she was there and already knew everything regarding Alyssa, and that same exhilarating bliss that swept her off her feet two days ago when they shared their time together. But he was abundantly clear, this wasn’t New York anymore, and he still had a duty and obligation to Cordonia regardless of his apparent feelings for her. 

Riley let a puff of air and pushed her backside off the wall to return inside. Just as she did this, the crooked frame bearing the likeness of the late King Fabian she admired earlier fell from its hook and crashed to the floor, causing the ancient glass to shatter beside her. With her head shrunken into her shoulders, Riley slowly peeked out one eye and saw the damage. Glancing down one end of the hall to the other to see if anyone saw her, she glanced down at the shards and still fully intact artwork. Normally she would have hightailed it out of there, but she couldn’t help herself from giving her destruction parting words. 

“I guess you’re not … hung anymore.”

Then she bolted the hell out of there.

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

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[defensefilms]

Defense Films Lists His Favorite TV Characters Of All Time

5. Chris Partlow- The Wire

The ending of The Wire paints Chris Partlow as something closer to a serial killer. 

He wasn’t. None of his hits were done out of pleasure, curiosity or even impulse. Every one of those bodies helped the Stanfield organization become what they became, even the one on Michael’s stepdad.

What Chris represents is reliability and capability. The ultimate “get shit done” guy. Out of all the characters on the show, none were more dependable or crucial to the success of the institution they served. 

Lester Freeman was capable but not a good politician and ultimately a nuisance to his superiors. Bill Rawls was incredibly capable at his job but he was power hungry and ambitious. In season 5, Gus Haynes is the most capable man in the news office but the problem was that Gus questioned authority and didn’t “go with the flow” when the office decided the paper needed a “refreshing” of how they cover the local news.

Chris didn’t have any of these handicaps impeding the people he served.

He recruits the foot soldiers for the Stanfield crew, even training them himself and Marlo had something akin to a small army at his disposal as a result. He organized his sub-ordinates, handled all surveillance when Marlo’s crew was under investigation at the start of season 5 and took care of incoming shipments after they established a direct line to the Greeks. 

When the task required finesse or subtlety, like the time he stole Sergey’s picture from the court office, he was more than capable of that too. When Marlo is questioning how to address the murder of one of his dealers, he listens to Chris and chooses to retaliate on the perpetrator directly rather than targeting everyone on his corner. 

Marlo truly comes to rely on Chris in matters concerning Omar Little. Every step of how Marlo wants to get back at the near mythical larcenist, is first passed by Chris. Chris takes this as his number one job throughout the show. Anything concerning Omar is handled with brutal efficiency, tact and an almost out ouf place  sense of professional pride. 

That’s Chris’ most endearing quality. Through all the blood, guts, scheming, lying, betrayal that comprises Baltimore’s underworld, all of which Chris is very much a part of, he has a pride in how he approaches the day to day business aspects of what he does. 

Stringer Bell is arguably the best second-in-command in the show’s run but he was dishonest, ultimately harming the survival of the institution he served and damn near going rogue. 

Chris doesn’t share such qualities as blind ambition or selfishness. He understands that trust is all he has in this game. When the indictments eventually come down and Chris is facing a life sentence he doesn’t complain or even raise the possibility of turning state witness. Instead he ends up on the yard along side Wee-Bay. Marlo in turn makes sure that Chris’ people are taken care of financially.

Many of the men that serve in the various institutions depicted in the show could learn a thing from Chris Partlow. When the time came, he fell on his sword and did so in full acknowledgement that this is where it all leads. There’s a kind of honor in that.

4. Tony Soprano- The Sopranos

One of the biggest misconceptions about The Sopranos was that it was a story about a gangster. It wasn’t, or at the very least, that would be an over-simplification of what the story actually contained.

What it was was a story about a man and his family, both biological and criminal. That’s the tie the binds all of the story’s narratives together.

Another way of looking at Tony’s story is one of leadership. Having ousted his Uncle Junior from the seat of power, season 2 and onwards, as far Tony’s criminal life is concerned, focuses on what happens once you get to the top. 

While the show’s creators gave you plenty of grizzly, violent scenes, what leads to those is the story of a man struggling and failing at leadership. 

In every season, Tony has to deal with a problematic figure, employee or subordinate. 

Season 1 was his Uncle and the idea of old fashioned leadership. Then in season 2 it was the ever-acerbic Richie Aprile, representing a generation older than Tony’s, that still feels entitled to something. Seasons 3 and 4 gave us Ralph Cifaretto, the only one among the men I’m mentioning that actually earns his status and then in season 5, it was his cousin Tony Blundetto.

Each of these problems is uniquely stressful for Tony because of how they pull at the threads of both his family and criminal life. With the exception of his Uncle Junior, he kills all of them.

By that metric, Tony is in fact a very poor leader. 

He doesn’t really deal with the Richie Aprile problem because his sister beats him to it. He doesn’t willingly promote Ralph Cifaretto even though Ralph earns it and is the only one among the candidates with any real intellect and business savvy. In both the cases of Christopher Moltisanti and cousin Tony Blundetto, Tony allows favoritism and nepotism to cloud his judgement and ironically both those men die at Tony Soprano’s hands.

This paints a picture of a tyrannical man, slowly devouring everything around him because he’s got to be in control. Worse yet, his need to be in control doesn’t actually lead to smarter long term decisions or better people management.

Tony’s relationship with Ralph in particular is built on professional envy. He feels entitled to Ralph’s race horse winnings because “why should his subordinate benefit more from anything than he does?”. He then proceeds to take ownership of the racehorse itself without assuming any of the costs of owning the animal. Then to top it off, he steals Ralph’s girlfriend purely because he has the status to do it, even digging in to Ralph’s personal life in order to justify doing so.

Textbook mismanagement. Every type of managerial violation you could imagine.

So how does Tony handle it when an employee is actually being a problem on a criminal/business level?

He rewards Tony Blundetto’s deception after the Joey Peeps killing by letting him run an already profitable gambling joint. He promotes Christopher to “made guy” even with his drug problems being well known, and he promotes Bobby Baccalieri, partly at his sister’s behest and partly out of spite.

 It was fun to watch on screen but you’d hate to work for Tony Soprano.

How does that translate to his family? What kind of leader is Tony at home?

Season 3 does well at examining Tony as a father/paternal figure starting with his relationship with Jackie Jr, which is built on concern at first. Then later it starts to make Tony anxious. Before Tony decides to push nature towards taking it’s course, when Jackie runs afoul of men in Tony’s charge.

His relationship with AJ is also a bigger part of the show as the seasons go and it’s not much better in as far as the leadership or guidance that Tony offers. We can waffle on about AJ’s failings as a spoilt teenager but the real problem is that Tony doesn’t see himself in AJ. 

That’s the first step to any failure of leadership. An inability to find common ground or identify with the people you’re leading.

We won’t go in to how hypocritical it is because the entire way that Tony entered the mob life is because he himself was a mob prince and his father’s status definitely paved the way for him. 

Hypocrisy. That’s the other key to failure in leadership. 

All these negatives added up to make the most fascinating television character in over 20 years. A constant stream of contradictions and watching a man say one thing but do another was it’s own experience and you didn’t realize what a horrible human being you were watching until you saw the show over and over again. A scary observation that implies people are either blind or really comfortable with evil and narcissistic behaviour.

3. Noah Solloway- The Affair

Out of all the characters on this list, this one was hurt most by writers hitting a ceiling in how much they could say about the character or how much they wanted to say.  Divorced men don’t really have that much representation, so if you’re writing a character that so strongly linked to that one particular event in his life, you may hit a ceiling if you don’t actually have real life examples to work with.

They had the right actor, the right story and it was the right time in human history to tell this story, it just felt like they didn’t follow through on really speaking on the plight or rise of guys in Noah’s situation.

Anytime I watched The Affair, and unlike most, I was pretty loyal to it despite what reviews told me, I identified with Noah. All those other characters didn’t make sense to me the way Noah did.

The story begins with my man being stuck in a rut, the kind of middle age funk  married men tend to fall in to, so he drives out to visit some folks and while he’s there he happens to meet a baddie. Story of every man’s life. Only he does what you’re not supposed to do and sacrifices everything he has so he can be with the bad-bad. 

Then my mans starts popping off with his book writing, gets a publishing deal and in his 40′s, he starts achieving his highest career peaks. See this is important because it shows that the writers understood the subject matter really well, as well as the demographic they were talking about.

Then the next season, they go in to some murder mystery plot, Noah ends up in jail somehow, almost as if the writers and producers didn’t feel confident that they could tell Noah’s story without the theatrics/murder mystery element. 

The other danger that the writers probably didn’t want to indulge was rewarding the character with any kind of happy ending or positive outcome. Noah’s infidelity serves as the jumping off point to all of the story’s unfolding plots, mostly depicting the impact on the lives of his immediate family, a handful of which play out in sad dramatic fashion. So the writers likely felt like Noah couldn’t win at the end. 

In the 1930′s when gangster films were first being made, they would commonly feature PSA messages at the start warning against criminal behaviour. 1931′s “Little Caesar” starring Edward G Robinson, features a warning at the end that makes it clear the film’s producers and writers needed the character to go down in flames at the end, to prove the moral point that “crime doesn’t pay”. 

A writer’s moral obligation and the times in which they live can lead some to write the ending that makes a moral point rather than writing the most dramatic or honest ending. I think Noah Solloway kind of suffered from this.

I don’t know. 

There was a chance to explore modern men in a way that most stories fail to. They had the foundation. They knew enough about who and what they’re talking about. However it didn’t manifest in the telling of the story. 

I’m not saying Noah needed a positive ending, it’s just that the one we got was not the most fitting nor did it wind up ending the story honestly or even dramatically.

Noah Solloway should have got the Tony Soprano treatment in as far as how much the writers explored his inner world but instead the show’s creators decided it didn’t matter. They didn’t answer the question of why this happens to modern men.

If nothing else Noah Solloway can be a blueprint or foundation for those telling this story in the future.

 2. Ciro Di Marizio- Gomorrah

About as slimy and as low down as a television character can possibly be. Ciro represents Machiavellian criminality pushed to it’s extremes. 

When writers plot a character’s trajectory, they often fill it with moments that make the character more endearing. Exploring the relationship the character may have with a child, friend or spouse that makes you see the character’s more genuine/compassionate/likeable side. The writers of Gomorrah did plenty of that with Ciro.

However, they didn’t hesitate to show you just how off-the-rails and downright evil Ciro could be. 

What’s funny is that Ciro is defined by loyalty and servitude when the story begins. He is a capable captain and rises to 2nd in command when the Savastano family needs him to. However the death of his close friend and mentor changes him for the worse and he goes ham. 

What follows is betrayal and Ciro basically masterminding a coup of the Savastano clan but the levels of paranoia that his new found power push him to, make him question whether it was all worth it. The world burns around him and a kind of justice is restored when Gennaro is able to take back power and restore the Savastano name. 

That’s one aspect of the show that Ciro truly exemplifies in that he rises to the top but the throne never truly feels like it’s his.

He is Iago-like in his ability to understand the weaknesses of people around him. He proves himself more cunning, capable, strategic, murderous and even business-minded than almost every other character. Every character except for Pietro Savastano (the man he betrays) and Gennaro Savastano. 

The show goes to great lengths to put forth the idea that crime families in Naples are on the same level as the pope. True modern day monarchies. Royal families that have the power to benefit or harm anyone around them. People bow their heads to them when they walk in public and use reverential terms when addressing them. They will often have salons, jewelers  or restaurants cleared out so they can enjoy the establishment in ostentatious privacy. 

When you look at it like that, Ciro was always an outsider. The difference between just sitting on the throne and being born of the throne. 

In that way maybe Ciro’s story is about redemption. 

He eventually sides with Gennaro Savastano again, helping him get his wife and daughter back after they’re kidnapped. He does this by essentially lying to/duping a crew of young dealers from Florence to fund this hostage rescue and then he offers himself as a sacrifice when the Florentines demand blood.

At his best Ciro served the clan and went to great lengths to restore what he had destroyed. 

1. Marlo Stanfield- The Wire

Is there any greater?

Sure there are characters like Tony Soprano whose world and whose inner thoughts the audience gets more familiar and intimate with. Within the same shared universe as Marlo is a character like Stringer Bell and the writers of the Wire go to great lengths to understand and convey his moral conflict as a drug kingpin turned wannabe real estate tycoon. 

Marlo is something purer though. 

You don’t need to know his inner-most thoughts like Tony because his utmost desire is simple, he wants to be the top kingpin of Baltimore. What more do you want?

He does not share Stringer’s moral complexity because unlike Stringer he is not conflicted at all. He’s not a drug dealer playing businessman, he’s just a drug dealer and that’s all he ever wanted to be.

From the start of season 3, it was fascinating watching this man move about on the screen with a confidence reserved for the richest and most talented. Indeed Marlo proves he has both in bundles. 

He outwits the older drug kingpin in Stringer Bell by maintaining independence from the Co-Op. He matches Avon Barksdale’s war effort step-for-step after Avon comes home from prison. He outsmarts the wily, Proposition Joe in order to learn how to launder his money and then get access to the Greeks.

It was fascinating watching Marlo avoid pitfalls, monopolize Baltimore, out-think his older counterparts and grow his empire to the scope that he did. 

There’s a youtube video that compiled all of Marlo’s scenes from his 3 seasons on The Wire and it pretty much plays like a feature film. Watch it here if you dig Marlo as much as I do.

You’re not watching a drug dealer become a kingpin, or at the very least that’s what I believe. It has more to do with watching the younger generation upset the order, and in a lot of ways that’s what Marlo represents. From the moment Marlo shows up, all old agreements are null and void. He does this over and over again throughout his story. Constantly upsetting the order and establishing his own. 

Indeed Marlo isn’t aware that this is what he’s doing. He’s acting on ambition, arrogance and naivety. 

It speaks volumes that most of the characters on this list have on-screen relationships that explore their personalities, like the aforementioned Ciro’s relationship with his daughter. Marlo has none of that.

Marlo’s most revealing relationship is his rivalry with Omar Little, a man he only ever encounters once. The continuation of their feud happens because Marlo refuses to let any perceived slight towards him slide. One way of looking at what this shows is that Marlo is both egoist and perfectionist, the latter of which is actually very prized personality traits in today’s business environment. The combination of the two is actually commonly seen among CEO’s and top executives.

Marlo shows every weakness and drawback of youth while exposing the follies of the more seasoned and experienced in his field. A walking contradiction in that way.

[minghellafine]

Full interview below.

The first thing Max Minghella does when he joins our Zoom call is ask me about the weather. It wasn't just a conversational cliché though, he really wanted to know what it was like where I was. I tell him I'm in New York City, where spring can surprise you with a day that's colder or warmer than it looks. This particular day was chilly. "I'm always cold," he interjects, "I'm reptilian. My body finds a way to keep me cool." He shivered as he spoke, sitting in his sunny backyard in Los Angeles wearing a T-shirt. I checked the temperature right after our call. It was 80 degrees in L.A.

Despite any discomfort, Minghella is just really happy to be at home. Unlike the millions of people who spent 2020 in quarantine, he was working on season four of The Handmaid's Tale throughout the spring and summer."I'm sort of jealous of people who have this moment to pause and reflect," he says soberly. "Even with all of the trauma it's caused and all the things that obviously were detrimental, I know a lot of people who've had big life changes in the past year."

He acknowledged, however, that creating something in a time when everyone wished they could escape was ultimately a lucky thing. "There was a ubiquitous sense of gratitude," he adds.

Outside of the global pandemic, the dynamics on set had shifted — this season, his co-star Elisabeth Moss (or "Lizzie" as he affectionately calls her), was a director. "She was amazing on set," he explained. "Just very in control and it ran super smoothly. When I saw the episodes she directed, it just kind of blew me away. Her style — it's very cinematic and it really underlines the sci-fi elements of the show. It has a real kind of scope and confidence to it. I think she's a real filmmaker."

RELATED: Marvel's New Face Danny Ramirez Has the Range

Minghella's character Nick has an interesting arc this season too –  he's realizing his role as a senior member of the Gilead ruling class, but also still in love with June [Moss]. It's a complex character that challenges you as an audience member. He is the brooding love interest, and while you may root for him and June to be together, you also have to see him for what he is: an architect of a world that kidnaps women and uses them for childbearing.

What made the previous three seasons of the show even harder for viewers to digest was the fact that people so badly wanted to believe there could be a good guy defector — maybe even Nick — in a room full of bad guys. During those years, many people felt that the dystopian elements of the show were reflective of the nationalist agenda being put forth in the United States by the Trump Administration. So much so that a group of protesters famously wore Handmaid costumes to protest anti-abortion bills and Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh's confirmation hearings. Without saying much about the parallels in the show — other than chalking them up to "pure coincidence," Minghella felt the Handmaid's Tale, whose protagonists are anti-Gilead, are "on the right side of history."  He added diplomatically, "Ultimately, I'm most proud because I think it's really great fiction."

I get the sense that the pursuit of "great fiction" is something that consumes Minghella. He's someone who appreciates art (he got his big break in 2006's Art School Confidential), and his parents are Anthony Minghella, the late award-winning director of The Talented Mr. Ripley, and actress Carolyn Choa. He loves details (see our earlier weather conversation). Even the way he talks about Los Angeles has a story-like quality. He tells me about how he knew when the city became his home after a feeling he got driving past the Silver Lake 7-Eleven. As he told it, I pictured it like a scene in an indie movie starring Zach Braff.

"I had this sort of pathological obsession with movies from birth. [My mother] worked for the British equivalent of the Motion Picture Association, so she would watch three films a day. By three or four years old, I was just kind of an obsessed movie person." It's his favorite movie, Beverly Hills Cop ("I think I saw 100 times by the time I was eight years old," he says) that inspired another big role he was working on during quarantine: Minghella stars as a detective opposite Chris Rock in the Saw franchise spin-off Spiral: From the Book of Saw.

"The movie was so serendipitous for me. I feel like I almost manifested it in my life," Minghella muses. "There's a line very early in the movie where we're investigating these crime scenes and we come to a grizzly one. My character looks nauseous. Chris's [character] says to me, 'Are you okay?' And my character says, 'Yeah. I mean I'd been dreaming about this since I was 12-years-old.' And that was a very kind of weird line because it's just true."

Now at 35 years old, Minghella is feeling settled. He is still a "film nerd" that gets giddy with each new opportunity, but he's less anxious about the results. Next thing on his list? Vacation.

"I'm hoping in May once the movie comes out I can run away somewhere."

Read on for his cheesy would-be campaign slogan, his fast-food weakness, and the time he escaped a tornado while working on a film with Blake Lively.

Who is your celebrity crush?

Mary Tyler Moore.

What's the last thing you do before you fall asleep?

I listen to 1950s radio shows. Usually Dragnet. I was researching a project in that period briefly and got sort of into the radio culture of that time. And now I find it incredibly soothing.

Favorite villain?

Hans Gruber.

Describe a memorable dream.

I had a recurring nightmare as a child in which my grandmother turned into a cat. So Tom Hooper's Cats was very traumatizing to me.

First album you ever owned?

My mother bought me the Top Gun soundtrack on audio cassette.

If you were required to spend $1,000 today, what would you buy and why?

I would do anything to help a distressed dog.

If you ran for office, what would your slogan be?

Some kind of tacky pun using my first name. "Take it to the Max," or maybe "Max on, Max off."

Name one place you've never been but have always wanted to go.

Easy. Japan. I went when I was one, but I don't think that counts.

What's the most uncomfortable outfit you've ever worn?

I did a film called Art School Confidential and I had to wear a beret and I found every moment of it truly humiliating. I remember being completely traumatized by it.

Describe your first kiss.

My first kiss was at a bus stop. I was 14 and I lied and told the girl that it wasn't my first kiss, but I think it was probably immediately evident that it was.

What's one dish you're always tempted to order if you see it on a menu?

There are so many things. That's the sad answer. French fries is the truth.

Favorite on-set memory?

I did a movie called Elvis and Anabelle with Blake Lively like 100 years ago and we shot in Texas. There was a tornado one night that forced us to evacuate the set and we had to sort of drive off in a hurry. I put on this song by The Knife called "Pass This On" in the car which is very dramatic and cinematic. The tornado was sort of in pursuit of the vehicle while we were speeding away. And it was just far enough that it wasn't life-threatening, but also a radical visual. That's one of my favorite life memories.

The Handmaid's Tale season 4 premieres on Hulu April 28, and Spiral: From the Book of Saw hits theaters on May 11.

Photographs by Emily Malan. Grooming by Sonia Lee for Exclusive Artists using La Mer. Polaroid Photos by Max Minghella. Special thanks to Polaroid. Production by Kelly Chiello.

[neostriatum]

All we are, and all we have...

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

Title taken from these photos (archived version here) in one of photographer @rabbitinthemeadow's series. All Mando'a translated at the end.

--

Maul inhaled.

This was unusual, given his certainty that this time he had died. It had not quite been the death he had been craving, but it had been an honourable one at the hands of his arch-enemy, and the peace it had granted weighed heavily in his hearts despite their absurd insistence at beating.

Exhaling, he stretched his senses out into the Force. It was the surest way to place himself, and the thrum of the living against his mind was enough confirmation for him.

So. Alive again. And not even on Dathomir.

The walls of the palatial bedroom were obscenely Kryze’s, still holding the decorations and gilding he hadn’t the presence of mind to change early on in his reign. The confirmation laid bitterly on his tongue, and abruptly he was fed up with the idea of living on a planet he had already spent roughly twenty years on the first time.

The Force was a strange beast, and the idea that it could punish him by undoing so much of his life as he had breathed his last sounded about right. But- and he clenched the ridiculously expensive sheets in his grasp, but-

Light seeped into his skin, a thready but still present brush of warmth against his skin and senses. It reminded him of Kenobi, the gentle reassurance of peace as he died. It was almost cruel, how comforting the memory was, especially now that the destruction of the Jedi hadn’t happened yet.

His comm chirped, fracturing the euphoria of the revelation at hand. Maul clapped a hand to his mouth, not sure whether he was restraining a laugh or a sob. The Light was fracturing his resolve to the Sith, and all he could feel was relieved.

Forcing himself to steady, he pulled the comm to him, answering with a brusque, “Maul.”

Hope. What a strange feeling.

--

It was difficult, trying to undermine the goals Sidious had so deeply impressed on him that they were etched into his bones. But no longer did the man’s edicts reverberate in his lungs with every breath he took, filled instead were they with an unrestricted buoyancy that threatened to make him hover at the slightest provocation.

Was this how a Jedi felt? It baffled him, but also explained the way they seemed to flutter through the Force, a marvel of nature instead of a tragedy shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Meditation was at once easier and excruciating. The Force had always been a soul-sucking entropy, to be treaded carefully and yet bent to one’s will. But these shards of light burned, forcing growth in the holes in his soul that had been scraped raw where Sidious had laid claim. Where a grave once stood now blossomed a garden, and beauty caught his eye more often than grief as he accepted the Light making itself comfortable.

His thoughts strayed often, his deaths compounding and overlaid. Many times did he force himself to put his comm away, to restrain the urge to howl in the direction of Obi-Wan Kenobi and bring the entirety of the man’s formidable army upon Mandalore’s heads.

Perhaps, Maul pondered, it would provide suitable vengeance for Kenobi. To conquer the world of his once-lover and reassert balance sorely lacking in this galaxy.

The thought clung to his mind, a thorn catching on cloth, and it unraveled the loose plan. Kenobi - despite his once harshly-denied ties to the Dark - was not the type to exact his rage upon the world, no matter how deeply routed the ditch of grief ran in his heart.

No, only hope would attract hope. And Maul, with his own hearts still thudding painfully at the still-burning loss of his brother, knew Kenobi now better than the man himself did.

With a smirk, Maul gestured one of his soldiers close. There was a trap to be laid, and he knew just the bait.

--

Obi-Wan stared in bewilderment at the missive tied to the trooper in front of him. It was, to put it politely, unhinged chaos.

The trooper wasn’t even one of his - he had checked. And then handed the very long roster of the entire Third Systems Army to Cody to double-check. And then, on Anakin’s insistence, to R2.

“Well, Lieutenant,” He sighed apologetically, “It does indeed look like just a spot of bad luck.”

“If it helps, sir, I’ve got a clean bill of health.” Smoke offered, still looking a bit pole-axed to be in the same room as him and Cody, but faring rather well, all things considered.

Cody sighed even deeper than him, which had the expected impact of Smoke straightening his back to parade-perfect straightness. His commander waved the trooper back to at ease, pressing a thumb to his temple in an attempt to relieve the burgeoning migraine from this shit-show of a situation.

“Healthy except for a shaved head.” The commander commented, and wasn’t that the crux of it. No injuries, nor signs of surgery, though that was no guarantee given Smoke’s… transit time, and that in itself was a bundle of issues.

The good lieutenant shrugged, and, well- that did seem to be that. Only a lingering sign of sedation, but then being sent through the absurdly mundane postal system in an admittedly well-equipped box did carry that sort of assumption.

Helix, moving aside the privacy screens to perform another check on the trooper, patted them on the back, “Think about it this way, vod. You were important enough to be mailed first-class.”

Cody gave up all pretenses at maintaining an authoritative façade and groaned, “Usen’ye, vod.”

The medic made a wry, rude gesture back, chuckling. Helix clicked a few things on his datapad, and gestured to the trooper, “You’re good to go, vod. I’m recommending to put you on light duties in case anything crops up, but everything seems to be in order.”

“Oya!” Smoke grinned, looking forward to their unintentional vacation. Hopping off the cot, they grabbed their helmet and left, a bounce in their step.

“Well at least someone’s enjoying this,” Helix shook his head. He glanced at their Jedi, who was still scrutinizing the honest-to-gods paper that had come with Lieutenant Smoke, “What’s on that thing, anyway, General?”

Obi-Wan startled, smoothing his beard absently. “Oh, some sort of message,” He surmised, “I think someone’s asking for help.”

Cody grunted at that, sidling up to the general to peer over his shoulder. The message itself was in Mando’a, written neatly and precisely. “It is paper, though.” He said, “Are you able to-” “Check it for signatures?” Obi-Wan hummed, already switching the paper to one hand so he could remove the glove from his other. With glove sufficiently bitten and removed, the man mumbled, “Not quite as well as Quinlan.”

The two clones exchanged an amused look at the man’s single-minded intensity for a new discovery. It was dropped as quickly as the glove from their shocked general, a strangled gasp mingling with the dull thud of Obi-Wan’s glove as his hand laid as if riveted to the paper.

“General,” Cody said, tone stiff and demanding information.

Obi-Wan shook his head once, muttering the message out loud, a lilting cant to the words as he absorbed the new information. “K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal.”

The intervening few moments were tense, and Cody wondered whether he should tap out an alert as a preemptive measure when his general’s gaze snapped to his. The blue eyes seemed to glow, something physically impossible for the man’s species and yet perfectly understandable for the scope of his mythological status.

It drew that familiar stirring of faith forth, and Cody nodding in acknowledgement. Whatever the General saw, he approved of, for he nodded back, seeming to fold himself back into his mortal form.

“Gentleman, I have a call to make.” Obi-Wan announced, “I believe we’re going to Mandalore.”

--

This lure of hope was maddening, tugging at his spirit in a fluctuating jerk of attention. Maul took to pacing more, which in turn drew the attention of Kyr'tsad and the few New Mandalorians that lingered in Kryze’s court.

“Alor.” Bo Katan interrupted him while he prowled in search of some way to release all of this damnably energy. Sparring had ceased to entertain him days ago, the thorough victories and the sheer fact that his rage was no longer reliable fuel.

Brave warrior that she was, the Kryze sister merely stared placidly back at his scowl. “Who is it, precisely, that we are expecting? There are rumors growing, and it would be better to quell the dissent.”

He exhaled sharply, feeling the burning warmth of the Light sinking deeper with the action. “Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc,” He chided her, a distant part of him relishing her shock at his smooth handling of this system’s language. “We are heading into a war, Kryze. And I have invited a powerful ally to bring us all to glory again.”

It was interesting, how stark the hope was that flooded his senses. And pleasing - for Maul was right. Hope brings hope, and only shall it grow when given room.

He felt the insistent tendrils of Light settling in his own hearts, and smirked at joyful look that greeted him.

--

Obi-Wan felt it difficult to meditate. He sighed, glancing in the direction of his desk, where that damnable paper was carefully stowed away.

The Force was an insistent swell, burgeoning with ultimately welcome but distinctly unhelpful feelings like joy and anticipation. He appreciated the encouragement to rest his worries, but feeling the remnants of Maul’s Force signature was only ever going to be unsettling.

Should he trust the sincerity ringing forth from Maul’s message? It wasn’t something that could be easily faked, but then specialists in Force artefacts like Quinlan were too far away for a quick consultation, and whatever was brewing now on Mandalore, it needed immediate attention.

Anakin was worried, and that in turn set himself on edge, dredging up the feeling of Satine’s cooling body in his arms and how much it had hurt to breathe through the fracturing of his heart.

And now, exactly like last time, Maul was at the center of it. But now, only Maul was at the center of it.

That in itself was a quandary, for Maul had become so prevalently obsessed with him since their first fight on Naboo. Not that Obi-Wan could say much, for a twin flame burned in his own spirit at the mere thought of the other man. Grief at lost opportunities, yes, but now he had to contend with an overture of… what?

Peace? Was that what Maul truly wanted, now? The Force seemed insistent that it was no lie, and the Force had never led him astray, no matter how confusing the path.

He inhaled, loosing his spirit into the currents of the Force once more. One tone stayed with him, and it was the consistent feeling of hope.

Whatever it was, it would be alright. Obi-Wan had to trust that.

--

Entering the Mandalore system was nerve-wracking on its own, their only steering the stark thread of faith beating along with Obi-Wan’s heart. With Cody at his right hand, and Anakin at his left, he managed to feel unmoored from the reality of how quickly access was granted to the Negotiator as they made their way to the capital planet.

His troops seemed to sense that they were about to escort their general into some battle they couldn’t accompany, and the Force surged with the echo of their prayers as they worked in calm, professional tandem. Obi-Wan found that his heart had room to swell in pride, listening to their manda as they passed checkpoint after checkpoint.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end, and he regretfully withdrew from the jatne manda his troopers unintentionally enveloped him in. He inhaled, steeling himself for the upcoming meeting.

“Olarom at Manda’yaim.” Echoed through the Bridge from Mandalore’s flight control.

Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgement, clapping a hand to Anakin’s shoulder with a smile at the press of well-wishing from his old padawan. He met his commander’s eye, watching the man draw himself up in anticipation.

“You have the bridge, Commander,” He ordered, knowing that the Negotiator and everyone on it was in the safest hands they could possible be.

“K'oyacyi, General.” Cody assured him. The Force bolstered his commander’s sentiments, and Obi-Wan found himself smiling.

“I will, Commander.”

--

Although their assigned diplomatic partner was… unusual, Obi-Wan had still insisted on peacetime protocol rather than the loose-handed play at reconnaissance and body-guarding the 212th had become accustomed to during their general’s usual diplomacy. It had brought sour looks to even the High Council when they had convened at his request, but if Obi-Wan was going to throw all of his faith into the Force’s will, then he was going to follow its pull to the letter.

And with that notion in hand, he arrived with only a complimentary guard and his lightsaber as bodily protection, armor shed and cloak donned. It almost made him nostalgic for the first time he and his master had arrived, guileless but with heightened awareness.

The trip to Sundari was mostly quiet, and it felt good to practice his Mando’a with those who had grown up through the same Mandalorian turmoil as he had, a common ground by which to foster good relations with the guards accompanying him. The variety of dialects was pleasing, and the stories fulfilling.

It made him miss with distinct fervor his own troopers, the camaraderie so similar it was at once dissociative and yet yaim’la. The guards were attempting to be polite to their Alor’s guest, but curiosity was a trait every sentient shared, and so Obi-Wan whiled away the time between his shuttle’s designated landing spot and the palace by sharing tales of home and the front lines, cultivating rapport in the manner he had learned as a Padawan.

The flutter of hope settled warmly across his shoulders with each smile and laugh, Mando’a settling on his tongue as if it had never left from that year traversing the system with Qui-Gon and Satine.

(Maybe Anakin did have a point about that year here.)

New friends tentatively made, they traversed the corridors to deliver Obi-Wan to a very familiar room. Bo Katan Kryze lounged in front of the closed doors, a moue twisting her features despite the curiosity burning in her eyes.

“Kenobi.” “Lady Kryze.”

She scoffed, but stood aside with a nod of her head that still managed a respectful tilt. He nodded to her, feeling the mantle of the Force’s direction settle in his bones.

It was time to see what Maul wanted.

--

For all his planning and treading the edges of Sidious’ intimidating scope of influence, Maul still couldn’t help the stutter of his breath as Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the doors of this room exactly as he had hoped.

He had abandoned the idea of the throne room as soon as it had occurred to him and his overeager advisors. They were meant to meet on equal grounds, and this antiquated room with its oblong table, seats of the same height, and walls illustrated by tapestries of famous monarchs past would make its mark.

The impression was certainly gathered by Kenobi, curiosity flitting across his face as he recognized that this was neither throne room nor the one more popular for meetings with advisors. He gestured for the other to sit across from him, taking his own seat.

In lieu of speaking, Kenobi instead pulled the missive out of his pocket, sliding it across the table with a flick of his fingers until it sat in the middle, slouching in his chair.

“Tion gar vercopaan par ... me'jorbe?” The Jedi drawled in askance, “Jorhaa'ir be mirjahaal?”

Maul ticked a brow upwards, catching how loaded the tension was between them. He leaned back himself, matching Kenobi’s posture. “Elek. Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc.”

And that irrevocably caught Kenobi’s attention, a considering frown and nudging at his shields the other’s reply. Maul lowered some of them, where the Light was the most enduring, and felt the ripple of stupor from Kenobi at the revelation. The Force bounded between both of them, a thought-quick upending of expectations.

Kenobi broke his gaze, glancing around the room before twirling a finger. He nodded, flicking his wrist in dismissal.

The Jedi leaned forward, “Sidious.”

Maul leaned with him, “Is Palpatine.”

Kenobi made a punched-out sound, not questioning the answer as he tugged at his beard. The Force was an insistent undulation over his senses, now, the familiar press of the Jedi’s signature settled against his own as the other man thought.

It reminded him of the last time he had died, weariness eclipsed by the Light and Kenobi’s own spirit as he was sent off. The sensation coaxed him to close his eyes, mellowed by the reassurance that Kenobi was taking significant part in the future.

He drifted in the Force for a while, buoyed by the Light surrounding and binding him. It was calm, a gentle warmth while he waited for his next directive.

Peaceful.

And interrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder, somnolence shaken from him with determination by Kenobi himself.

“Maul. Maul.” The Jedi called to him, looking altogether too relieved for an accidental meditation. “I was about to call for your guards. Are you alright?”

He gusted out a sigh, ascribing the trembling in his hand as he grabbed Kenobi’s to weariness. While the Force still sung to him, a clarion call of peace that rung in his ears, Kenobi’s presence pressed more forcefully upon him, a rousing direction to bring his senses to bear.

“I’m fine, Kenobi.” He muttered, sitting up and ignoring the way the other helped him do so. The nudge the Force made to speak the truth, however, wasn’t so ignored, “It is no easy thing to change alliances in the Force, Jedi. Not for a Sith.”

The searching, concerned look he bore as gracefully as he could, pulling the paper on the table toward them both. Maul read the words he wrote once more, turning to hand it to Kenobi.

“I can bend Mandalore to my will, Kenobi.” He said, firmly twisting his words together with his memories of the Jedi Purge, “But it will be more difficult to bend your army to yours. We have a common enemy, and I will help you with this.”

“Because they will not listen to me?” Kenobi questioned, frowning.

“Because their will is not their own,” Maul corrected, withdrawing the control chip from a pocket, holding it up and watching the pieces come together on the other’s face, “This is in every clone’s brain. It is Sidious’ doing.”

The lash of Dark intention was unnerving, not only from its originator, but also how aberrantly different it was from the Light he had grown accustomed to. It sat bitterly on his mind, but heartened him at the resolve this Jedi tempered himself into before his own eyes, how similar it was to their last meeting on Tatooine.

It was that blend, that knife-edge Kenobi strode, that spoke hope to his senses. And it made him smile, bouncing that emotion back at the Jedi before him, something real and earnest that drew a sigh and tentative smile from Kenobi.

“You removed one.” Kenobi stated, a cunning light in his eyes. “How do we remove the rest?”

Maul grinned, “Very carefully.”

--

Mando'a Translations

Usen'ye, vod - Piss off, mate

Oya - Many meanings: literally *Let's hunt!* and also *Stay alive!*, but also *Hoorah!*, *Go you!*, *Cheers!* Always positive and triumphant.

K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal. - Come, Kenobi. Speak of peace. -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Kyr'tsad - Death Watch (lit. Death Society) - breakaway Mandalorian sect

Alor - leader, chief, *officer*, constable, boss

Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc - Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can't. (Mandalorian proverb.)

manda - the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like

jatne manda - good mood - a complex sense of being at one with your clan and life

Olarom at Manda’yaim - Welcome to Mandalore

K'oyacyi - 1. *Cheers!* 2. Can also mean: *Hang in there* or 3. *Come back safely.* Literally, a command; *Stay alive!*

yaim'la - comfortable, familiar, sense of *at home*. Can also mean local to the speaker.

Tion gar vercopaan par... me'jorbe? - You wish for... what reason?

Jorhaa’ir be mirjahaal? - To speak for peace (of mind)? -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Elek - yes

[didanawisgi]

This article was published online on February 10, 2021.

“Massachusetts abolished enslavement before the Treaty of Paris brought an end to the American Revolution, in 1783. The state constitution, adopted in 1780 and drafted by John Adams, follows the Declaration of Independence in proclaiming that all “men are born free and equal.” In this statement Adams followed not only the Declaration but also a 1764 pamphlet by the Boston lawyer James Otis, who theorized about and popularized the familiar idea of “no taxation without representation” and also unequivocally asserted human equality. “The Colonists,” he wrote, “are by the law of nature free born, as indeed all men are, white or black.” In 1783, on the basis of the “free and equal” clause in the 1780 Massachusetts Constitution, the state’s chief justice, William Cushing, ruled enslavement unconstitutional in a case that one Quock Walker had brought against his enslaver, Nathaniel Jennison.

Many of us who live in Massachusetts know the basic outlines of this story and the early role the state played in standing against enslavement. But told in this traditional way, the story leaves out another transformative figure: Prince Hall, a free African American and a contemporary of John Adams. From his formal acquisition of freedom, in 1770, until his death, in 1807, Hall helped forge an activist Black community in Boston while elevating the cause of abolition to new prominence. Hall was the first American to publicly use the language of the Declaration of Independence for a political purpose other than justifying war against Britain. In January 1777, just six months after the promulgation of the Declaration and nearly three years before Adams drafted the state constitution, Hall submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature (or General Court, as it is styled) requesting emancipation, invoking the resonant phrases and founding truths of the Declaration itself.

Here is what he wrote (I’ve put the echoes of the Declaration of Independence in italics):

The petition of A Great Number of Blackes detained in a State of Slavery in the Bowels of a free & christian Country Humbly shuwith that your Petitioners Apprehend that Thay have in Common with all other men a Natural and Unaliable Right to that freedom which the Grat — Parent of the Unavese hath Bestowed equalley on all menkind and which they have Never forfuted by Any Compact or Agreement whatever — but thay wher Unjustly Dragged by the hand of cruel Power from their Derest frinds and sum of them Even torn from the Embraces of their tender Parents — from A popolous Plasant And plentiful cuntry And in Violation of Laws of Nature and off NationsAnd in defiance of all the tender feelings of humanity Brough hear Either to Be sold Like Beast of Burthen & Like them Condemnd to Slavery for Life.

In this passage, Hall invokes the core concepts of social-contract theory, which grounded the American Revolution, to argue for an extension of the claim to equal rights to those who were enslaved. He acknowledged and adopted the intellectual framework of the new political arrangements, but also pointedly called out the original sin of enslavement itself.

Hall’s memory was vigorously kept alive by members and archivists of the Masonic lodge he founded, and his name can be found in historical references. But his life has attracted fresh attention in recent years from scholars and community leaders, both because he deserves to be widely known and celebrated and because inserting his story into the tale of the country’s founding exemplifies the promise of an integrated way of studying and teaching history. It’s hard enough to shine new light on an African American figure who has been long in the shadows, one who in important ways should be considered an American Founder. It can prove far more difficult to trace an individual’s “relationship tree” and come to understand that person, in a granular and even cinematic way, in the full context of his or her own society: family, school, church, civic organizations, commerce, government. Doing so—especially for figures and communities that have been overlooked—gives us a chance to tell a whole story, to weave together multiple perspectives on the events of our political founding into a single, joined tale. It also provides an opportunity to draw out and emphasize the agency of people who experienced oppression and domination. In the case of Prince Hall, the process of historical reconstruction is still under way.

When I was a girl, I used to ask what there was to know about the experience of being enslaved—and was told by kind and well-meaning teachers that, sadly, the lack of records made the question impossible to answer. In fact, the records were there; we just hadn’t found them yet. Historical evidence often turns up only when one starts to look for it. And history won’t answer questions until one thinks to ask them.

John Adams and Prince Hall would have passed each other on the streets of Boston. They almost certainly were aware of each other. Hall was no minor figure, though his early days and family life are shrouded in some mystery. Probably he was born in Boston in 1735 (not in England or Barbados, as some have suggested). It is possible that he lived for a period as a freeman before he was formally emancipated. He may have been one of the thousands of African Americans who fought in the Continental Army; his son, Primus, certainly was. As a freeman, Hall became for a time a leatherworker, passed through a period of poverty, and then ultimately ran a shop, from which he sold, among other things, his own writings advocating for African American causes. Probably he was not married to every one of the five women in Boston who were married to someone named Prince Hall in the years between 1763 and 1804, but he may have been. Whether he was married to Primus’s mother, a woman named Delia, is also unclear. Between 1780 and 1801, the city’s tax collectors found their way to some 1,184 different Black taxpayers. Prince Hall and his son appear in those tax records for 15 of those 21 years, giving them the longest period of recorded residence in the city of any Black person we know about in that era. The DePaul University historian Chernoh M. Sesay Jr.’s excellent dissertation, completed in 2006, provides the most thorough and rigorously analyzed academic review of Hall’s biography that is currently available. (The dissertation, which I have drawn on here, has not yet been published in full, but I hope it will be.)

Hall was a relentless petitioner, undaunted by setbacks. When Hall submitted his 1777 petition, co-signed by seven other free Black men, to the Massachusetts legislature, he was building on the efforts of other African Americans in the state to abolish enslavement. In 1773 and 1774, African Americans from Bristol and Worcester Counties as well as Boston and its neighboring towns put forward six known petitions and likely more to this end. Hall led the formation of the first Black Masonic lodge in the Americas, and possibly in the world. The purpose of forming the lodge was to provide mutual aid and support and to create an infrastructure for advocacy. Fourteen men joined Hall’s lodge almost surely in 1775, and in the years from then until 1784, records reveal that 51 Black men participated in the lodge. Through the lodge’s history, one can trace a fascinating story of the life of Boston’s free Black community in the final decades of the 18th century.

Why did Hall choose Freemasonry as one of his life’s passions? Alonza Tehuti Evans, a former historian and archivist of the Most Worshipful Prince Hall Grand Lodge of the District of Columbia, took up that question in a 2017 lecture. Hall and his fellow lodge members, he explained, recognized that many of the influential people in Boston—and throughout the colonies—were deeply involved in Freemasonry. George Washington is a prominent example, and symbolism that resonates with Masonic meaning adorns the $1 bill to this day. Hall saw entrance into Freemasonry as a pathway to securing influence and a network of supporters.

Hall submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature requesting emancipation, invoking the resonant phrases and founding truths of the Declaration of Independence.

In a world without stable passports or identification documents, participation in the order could provide proof of status as a free person. It offered both leverage and legitimacy—as when Prince Hall and members of his lodge, in 1786, offered to raise troops to support the commonwealth in putting down Shays’s Rebellion.

In the winter and spring of 1788, Hall was leading a charge in Boston against enslavers who made a practice of using deception or other means to kidnap free Black people, take them shipboard, and remove them to distant locations, where they would be sold into enslavement. He submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature seeking aid—asking legislators to “do us that justice that our present condition requires”—and publicized his petition in newspapers in Virginia, New York, Pennsylvania, and Vermont.

In the summer of that year, a newspaper circulated an extract of a letter from a prominent white Bostonian who had assisted Hall on this very matter. The unnamed author of the letter reports that he had been visited by a group of free Black men who had been kidnapped in Boston and had recently been emancipated and returned to the city. They were escorted to his house by Hall, and they told the story of their emancipation. One of the men who had been kidnapped was a member of Hall’s Masonic lodge. Carried off to the Caribbean and put on the auction block, the kidnapped men found that the merchant to whom they were being offered was himself a Mason. Mutual recognition of a shared participation in Freemasonry put an end to the transaction and gave them the chance to recover their freedom.

Prince Hall’s work on abolition and its enforcement was just the beginning of a lifetime of advocacy. Disillusioned by how hard it was to secure equal rights for free Black men and women in Boston, he submitted a petition to the Massachusetts legislature seeking funds to assist him and other free Blacks in emigrating to Africa. That same year, he also turned his energies to advocating for resources for public education. Through it all, his Masonic membership proved both instrumental and spiritually valuable.

Founding the lodge had not been easy. Although Hall and his fellows were most likely inducted into Freemasonry in 1775, they were never able to secure a formal charter for their lodge from the other lodges in Massachusetts: Prejudice ran strong. Hall and his fellows had in fact probably been inducted by members of an Irish military lodge, planted in Boston with the British army, who had proved willing to introduce them to the mysteries of the order. Hall’s lodge functioned as an unofficial Masonic society—African Lodge No. 1—but received a formal charter only after a request was sent to England for a warrant. The granting of a charter by the Grand Lodge of England finally arrived in 1787.

In seeking this charter, Hall had written to Masons in England, lamenting that lodges in Boston had not permitted him and his fellows a full charter but had granted a permit only to “walk on St John’s Day and Bury our dead in form which we now enjoy.” Hall wanted full privileges, not momentary sufferance. In this small detail, though, we gain a window into just how important even the first steps toward Masonic privileges were. In the years before 1783 and full abolition of enslavement in Massachusetts, Black people in the state were subjected to intensive surveillance and policing, as enslavers sought to keep their human property from slipping away into the world of free Blacks. Membership in the Masons was like a hall pass—an opportunity to have a parade as a community, to come out and step high, without harassment. That’s what it meant to walk on Saint John’s Day—June 24—and to hold funeral parades for the dead.

Whether that stepping-out day remained June 24 is unclear. As Sesay writes, “Boston blacks, including Prince Hall, first applied to use Faneuil Hall in 1789 to hear an ‘African preacher.’ On February 25, 1789, the Selectmen accepted the application of blacks to use Faneuil Hall for ‘public worship.’ ” By 1820, the walk on Saint John’s Day appears to have become African Independence Day and was celebrated on July 14, Bastille Day, much to the displeasure of at least one newspaper. An unattributed column in the New-England Galaxy and Masonic Magazine complained about the annual parade in recognizably racist tones (the mention of “Wilberforce” at the end is a reference to William Wilberforce, the British campaigner against enslavement):

This is the day on which, for unaccountable reasons or for no reasons at all, the Selectmen of Boston, permit the town to be annually disturbed by a mob of negroes … The streets through which this sable procession passes are a scene of noise and confusion, and always will be as long as the thing is tolerated. Quietness and order can hardly be expected, when five or six hundred negroes, with a band of music, pikes, swords, epaulettes, sashes, cocked hats, and standards, are marching through the principal streets. To crown this scene of farce and mummery, a clergyman is mounted in their pulpit to harangue them on the blessings of independence, and to hold up for their admiration the characters of “Masser Wilberforce and Prince Hall.”

Well after Hall’s death, the days for stepping out continued in Boston—an expression of freedom and the claiming of a rightful place in the polity. The lodge that Hall founded continued too. It is the oldest continuously active African American association in the U.S., with chapters now spread around the country. Its work in support of public education has endured. In the 20th century the Prince Hall Freemasons made significant contributions to the NAACP, in many places hosting the first branches of the organization. In the 1950s alone, the group donated more than $400,000 to the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund (equivalent to millions of dollars today). Thurgood Marshall was a member.

for all of what we now know to be Prince Hall’s importance, I learned of him only recently. In 2015 the National Archives held a conference about the Declaration of Independence, inspired by my own research on the document. At the conference, another colleague presented a paper on how abolitionists had been the first people to make use of the Declaration for political projects other than the Revolution itself. A few months earlier I had come across the passage from Hall’s 1777 petition that I shared above, and that so beautifully resonates with the Declaration; at that conference, I suddenly learned the important political context in which it fit. I had published a book on the Declaration of Independence—Our Declaration—in 2014, but until the spring of 2015, I had never heard of Hall.

Yet I have been studying African American history since childhood. When I was in high school, my school didn’t do anything to celebrate Black History Month. My father encouraged me to take matters into my own hands and propose to the school that I might curate a weekly exhibit on one of the school’s bulletin boards. The school was obliging. It offered me the one available bulletin board—in a dark corner in the farthest remove of the school’s quads. This was not the result of malice, just of a lack of attention to the stakes. But I was glad to have access to that bulletin board, and I dutifully filled it with pictures of people like Carter G. Woodson and Mary McLeod Bethune and Thurgood Marshall, and with excerpts from their writings.

I am deeply aware of how much historical treasure about Black America is hidden, and have been actively trying to seek it out. While I was on the faculty of the University of Chicago, I helped found the Black Metropolis Research Consortium, a network of archival organizations in Chicago dedicated to connecting “all who seek to document, share, understand and preserve Black experiences.” And while I was at Chicago—somewhat in the spirit of that old bulletin board—I curated an exhibit for the special-collections department of the campus library on the 45 African Americans who’d earned a doctorate at the university prior to 1940—the largest number of doctorates awarded to African Americans up to that time by any institution in the world. Even so, I had not known about Prince Hall.

Having discovered Hall at the ridiculous age of 43, I have since made it a mission to teach others about him. At Harvard’s Edmond J. Safra Center for Ethics, we have undertaken a major initiative to develop civic-education curricula and resources. Among the largest projects is a year-long eighth-grade course called “Civic Engagement in Our Democracy.” One of the units in that course is centered on Hall’s life. Through him and his exploration of the meaning of social contracts and natural rights, and of opportunity and equality, we teach the philosophical foundations of democracy, reaching through Hall to texts that he also drew on, and whose authors are required reading for eighth graders in Massachusetts—for instance, Aristotle, Locke, and Montesquieu. These writers and thinkers were important figures to Freemasons in Hall’s time.

Too much treasure remains buried, living mainly in oral histories, not yet integrated into our full shared history of record. That history can strike home in unexpected ways. Not long ago, I was talking with my father about Prince Hall and the curriculum we were developing. His ears pricked up. Only then did I learn that my grandfather, too, had been a member of the Prince Hall Freemasons.”

This article appears in the March 2021 print edition with the headline “A Forgotten Founder.”

DANIELLE ALLEN is a political philosopher and the James Bryant Conant University Professor at Harvard. She is the author of Talking to Strangers, Our Declaration, and Cuz.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 12 August 1837

7 55

11 50

Slept with A- fine morning F69° now at 8 55 and sat down to breakfast with A- G- came soon – out at 10 – with Mark Hepworth on the embankment in front of the house – it looked tremendously dark – I went to see what was to be done when the carts could not drag thro’ the clay of the embankment – stuff to come from Northgate – the words hardly out of our mouths before a tremendous thunder shower came – with thunder and lightning – I got wet in getting to the west tower – the red room passage all open – the rain pouring in, and down thro’ the red room floor into the drawing room – a terrible mess – my magazines lying on the drawing room floor obliged to be laid before the upper kitchen fire – a perfect river running thro’ the entrance passage from court to gardens – the old china closet front (window frames unglazed) open, and the rain pouring in – one tremendous crash of thunder about 10 ½ just as I had finished changing my dress – then sat 1/2 hour with A- at my desk at 11 10 still raining but not heavily – coping out business letters and considering letter to be written respecting the Infant Graham’s money till went down to Mr. Charles Priestley at 1 50, and he staid till 5 ¼ - § vide next page  sent for Mr. Charles P- to sound him about taking the Northgate hotel – began about the tap – would it be in his way? – should I let it or not? – mentioned what had passed with Thomas G- on the subject – yes! CP. would take it – but could not give me much for it – one thing led to another – the tap would be worth more it to sell both ale and spirits – and he said something about giving £60 a year for it – I fancy but am not certain, spirits might not be included in the sale at this rent? However I might tell the tenant whoever he might be he (CP) would take the tap, and give the utmost it was worth – I wish, said I, you would take tap and hotel too – this led to a long conversation much to the point and partly desultory – the hotel would be a very serious undertaking – would require a great deal of capital – the landlord of the Barnby moor Inn on the London rood had on retiring got £24000 for his stock in trade furniture and wines and farm stock (£8000 for the farm £16000 for the house and cellars) – I said the capital required for the Northgate hotel would not be so great as was supposed - £3000 (allowing £500 for wines) would suffice for the beginning – said I would myself advance capital towards furnishing – would CP. take the hotel in that case – still he declined it – I then turned to the 2 letters (applications) saying I particularly wished to consult him (CP.) on the application from Liverpool – the one from London was read 1st, and CP. thought this much the most business like and valuable – he spoke so knowingly, it was evident he had been making inquiries previously on the subject (no doubt he applied for the George Inn – when I said what its tap let for £100 a year) he gave no particular answer; but I saw from his look he knew the rent whatever it might be) – we talked over Mr. Carrs’ proposal – said I must try to gain time – I must try to get the coaches but put off their being given up to me as long as I can – it was not the passengers but the mileage (horses) that was the object – it was a poor coach that did not make £100 (a hundred) a year – Innkeepers got cent per cent on wine – talked over CP.’s brewery – answering very well – brews 6 loads i.e. 6x14 bushels? = 84 bushels per week – could do more business if he had capital – but has laid by something every ½ year and is contented to get on by [degrees]   pays two hundred a year rent for his brewery his expense rent, delivery, labour and materials = £1800 a year – lives for next to nothing – his wife rheumatic since they came here, but always

SH:7/ML/E/20/0110

contrives to look after her house – 8 children – I congratulated him on doing well hoped the brewery would eventually pay better than the glass house and he seemed to hope and think it would – he seemed in very good spirits and said perhaps all was for the best – I said it was generally thought his failure bankruptcy did no discredit to his creditors than to himself – Mr. Price the York country joint stock banker seems to have behaved very ill, as I had understood from Mr Harper – but CP. appears to think he (Mr. Price)will not gain so much by it as was supposed – the concern is falling off in some respects – mention of Mr. Henry Priestley he was bound with CP. for five thousand pounds but CP. had paid and ought to have had by this time a balance of a few thousands – the 64ft. fall of water in Crag valley had been sold for £3500 – Mr. Rawson had offered at £700 for it – after higgling and trying to take advantage – some man had offered a mere acknowledgments of a few shillings a year and Mr. R- seeing a sort of beginning for taking the water offered by little and little having 1st tried to get the 1st refusal (as he did for my coal) this let poor HP. into the idea that the fall was of some value – he had it valued and it was sold at the above named just before his death or funeral I forget which – Mr. Edwards and his son Charles executors and trustees – consulted CP. about what answers should be sent and by whom to the applicants – his advice excellent and ready – took – wrote rough copy of 2 letters (to London and Liverpool) according to his dictation – and, with a little shorting and correction of style, wrote the former and sent it last night – the Liverpool letter I think of turning over to Mr. Parker – on the subject of farming and hay, CP. said I should mind that mine was put together in proper order; for at 13/. per DW. mowing making and carting and stacking the man who took it could not make his own of it – I said yes! he could – I should always mow early – have all done by 13 July in the fine long-day season, and my new hay-barn was very conveniently situated – besides the man was one of my tenants who lived within sight of his job – Mawson – mentioned his having the Stump X Inn – his rent and the 5p.c. additional to pay for the new building which would make his rent £140 per annum – took CP. into the west tower to shew him where all the wet had come from – (thro’ the open roof of the red room passage) and asked him to look at the new brew house – the copper he said should be a yard higher, and the [?] lower down – the proper temperature of the water before putting in the malt and mashing, should be 168° to 171° this very nearly indicated by the commonly used sign of seeing one’s face in the water as in a mirror – i.e. the steam being so abated as to allow one to see ones self –

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then had Booth Firth junior, [Culpan] brick-layer of the garden walls, and Parkinson – and afterwards Mawson and then Riley for Hilltop and busy settling with them till 7 – after banking hours – no money except gold by me for small bills – wrote and sent by Booth note to ‘Mr. McKean Yorkshire District Bank Halifax’ saying I should be much obliged to pay Mr. David Booth the bearer and my clerk of the works the enclosed check for £134.2.6 being one hundred in a/c for himself and ten pounds in a/c for Culpan garden walls, and the rest as by bills for Parkinson for work done at Shibden hall – top terrace walls – paving thro’ the barn (taking up and resetting) and the carriage court cistern arches – DB. had given Mr. Harper his accounts up to midsummer andat that time £333 the balance against me – gave Firth a check = £130 and Mawson for £67.18.0 as by SW.’s measurement for the Lodge road stoning and draining and Haybarn road thro’ the wood forming and draining and platform sods taking off and walling on the embankment in front of the house – (above 1200 yards super of sods at 2 ½d.) – A- returned between 6 and 7 – at 7 altered the style and curtailed the letter suggested by CP. to the London applicant for the hotel read it to A- and Mr. Gray (had the latter into my study) and sent the letter off by Frank tonight to ‘Mr. J. Hodgson, 69 Quadrant, Piccadilly, London’ – the hotel new and not quite finished – I am in treaty for nine old established coaches – not only a good opening for wine and spirit trade but the best cellars for the purpose (built expressively for the purpose) form part of the building – the success of the undertaking depends upon the capital at command and the exertion of the individual – the hotel has every modern convenience in superior style, and a casino, a splendid room, capable of dining 300 persons – no yet able to fix the rent but will do it as well as I can for the encouragement of the tenant – many advantages that can only be explained and understood upon the spot – dinner at 7 40 – coffee – skimmed over the newspaper – A- and I came upstairs at 10 ¼ - I sleepy lay on my bed in the blue room 20 minutes till A- came to say she was ready for bed – then undressed and sat undressed in my study from about 11 to 11 ¾ writing all but the 1st 11 lines of today and tidying my desk of bills etc fair before noon (very heavy rain (vid. line 4) from 10 am and thunder and lightning F56 ½° at 11 ¼ pm – note from Mr. Parker about one pm? while Mr. CP was with me enclosing Mr. Carr’s proposal respecting selling me his furniture coaches etc

[chaoticowlpost]

Babysitting (pt.2)

part 1

“What do you want, Potter?”

Draco sat with his back straight, chin slightly raised, and his expression haughty. Harry did his best to bite back a laugh.

“I was going to ask what you guys wanted for dinner,” Harry grinned, staring at the odd sight before him while waiting for an answer. He should save this in a pensieve - or maybe he has a camera lying around somewhere.

Victoire was seated behind Draco, trying to - from what Harry could guess - style his hair. It was a trying task considering Draco’s hair wasn’t that long, but still long enough to be tied, and beside him, Dominique was painting his nails. Hugo was still nestled against Draco’s side while he supported him with his free arm, a book in hand.

“Ladies?” Draco asked instead.

“Can we have pizza?” Lucy asked. “Dad doesn’t let me have pizza for dinner. Says it’s not good for me.”

“Well you’re dad is a tos-”

Harry cleared his throat pointedly.

“-I meant that your dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about because I’ve had pizza or dinner before.” Admittedly, that was Harry’s fault. “And I turned out fine. Pizza it is, Harry.”

“You’re a terrible influence on these children,” Harry grumbled, biting back an amused smile.

“And yet, you’re going to do it anyway,” Draco gloated before giving him a strange smile that made Harry’s heart flutter. “C’mon, Harry. They haven’t lived!”

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughed. “Merlin.”

“And then after that, we can have a ball!” Dominique squealed.

“Is that what this is for?” Harry inquired, amused. It would explain… well, everything.

“Yeah,” Victoire giggled brightly. “And I’m going to be his first dance.”

“Hey!” Dominique protested against her sister. “I want to be the first dance.”

“No, me!” Lucy joined in and, really, seeing the young girls fight over Draco was not something Harry’s had to get used to once both of them came out as gay. 

“I’m his boyfriend. Shouldn’t I be his first dance?” Harry interrupted, unable to hold himself back. Draco just threw him a helpless, amused grin before waiting for the girls’ responses.

“No!” was the collective response.

“Now, ladies,” Draco said seriously. “It’s improper to fight over men when, clearly, it should be you who is courted.”

“Mom says that’s steri- strey-” Rose walked in, fumbling on the last word.

“Stereotypical,” Draco said, allowing Rose to repeat the word before he continued talking. “And yes, she’s right. But that’s only because your dad was a wuss-”

Harry cleared his throat again.

“-Your dad was quite…. hesitant,” Draco corrected with a grimace, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “Which is why she decided to take initiative.”

“Then won’t you court us?” Dominique asked, looking at Draco seriously.

“I would but, alas, I am being courted myself,” Draco said, giving Harry a teasing grin. “However, I would gladly still accompany you all.”

That seemed to get all of them to agree, albeit rather reluctantly, before they continued prepping Draco for their little impromptu ball.

When the rest of the kids went down to join them, Harry found himself vaguely amused when the girls insisted that Draco eat his pizza with a knife and fork.

“That’s so weird,” Teddy muttered, shaking his head at the sight.

“Well, I can’t ruin my nails,” Draco shrugged, going along with it. “They worked so hard on them.”

After clearing out dinner, Harry offered to tuck Hugo in upstairs while Draco rearranged the furniture, giving them enough space to dance. 

“-I’m good. That’s for girls,” he heard Teddy say from down the hall.

“Are you calling me a girl, then?” Draco asked. Harry could hear the amusement in his tone, and he could already imagine the way he’d quirk an eyebrow up at the question.

“Well… no, but-”

“You don’t have to,” Harry saw Draco shrugged once he re-entered the living room. “I just thought that you’d like to help Victoire out since I’ll be dancing with everyone. So that she has a partner, I mean.”

From where he was standing, he could vaguely see the 12 year old turn red at the cheeks.

“Stop teasing him, love,” Harry grinned, watching both their heads snap in his direction, one amused while the other wore a vague look of horror.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Draco said smoothly. It was no secret that Teddy might have a little crush on the first-born of Bill and Fleur but, well, they were just kids. It was all very cute, actually.

“Won’t you join us, Teddy?” Victoire asked, flouncing in at just the right time. “You could dance with me!”

“I- er,” Teddy mumbled, his eyes widening comically before nodding. “Sure.”

The little girl practically beamed at him before grabbing his hand and pulling him to the center of the room. He trailed after her helplessly, looking back to throw both Harry and Draco desperate and panicked looks.

“He’ll be fine,” Harry mused, resisting the urge to laugh.

“And I have a ball to host,” Draco said, gliding on after the pair that had just left. Harry perched himself on one of the bar stools, watching as Draco extended an arm towards Rose, bowing slightly when he was acknowledged. 

He watched as she hesitantly put down her book before placing her small hand in hers and followed him to the center of the room before he helped her balance herself on his feet. 

Harry recognized the dance he was doing - it was the one they did most often together when at Ministry events because it was easiest - but found that it looked much more hilarious when he did it with a 4-year old.

Their balance was off thanks to the large height difference, and most of Draco’s focus was on making sure that she stayed balanced on top of him, but it looked like they were having fun. 

Rose was giggling and laughing every time Draco almost tripped over himself, trying to coordinate their hands while moving his feet at a distance she could manage.  At the end of the dance, he even had her step off him in time to give her a little twirl before bowing at her and excusing himself formally so that he could find his next dance partner.

When Rose was done, her eyes locked with Harry’s before a slow grin spread onto her features, bouncing over in his direction.

“Will you dance with me, Uncle Harry?” And really, with those innocent, brown eyes, how could he say no.

“Of course, m’lady,” he said, giving her a dramatic bow. Somewhere off in the distance, he heard Draco snort. “Although I must admit that I’m quite offended you didn’t go to me first.”

“That’s your fault for not going to me,” she said haughtily, in an almost eerie resemblance to how Draco would have said it.

“Of course,” Harry grinned widely, doing his best to hold back his laughter. “My apologies.”

She actually seemed to consider his apology before nodding. “Apology accepted,” she said seriously before tugging on his arm and pulling her over, “Now dance with me, Uncle Harry!”

Maybe he was glad that Draco let them host this little impromptu ball, even if he was no dancer. Although, he was pretty happy to pass on the little pampering they had before it. He’d never manage to eat pizza with a knife and fork.

It took a while, but Draco eventually found his way back to Harry after giving the girls multiple chances to dance with him.

“I’m knackered,” Draco said, his voice somewhat breathy.

“Hmm, does that mean you can’t spare one more dance for me?” Harry asked teasingly. At this, Draco seemed to backtrack.

“Perhaps,” he said nonchalantly, but Harry’s arms were already around his waist. “Only one dance.”

“One dance is all I need,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against Draco’s, finally glad to have him in his arms after being hogged by the girls all day.

And if he managed to save his memories of Draco dancing around their living room in a pensieve, well, Draco didn’t need to know, if only for Harry’s own safety. 

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[antoine-roquentin]

Barring last-minute intervention, Orlando Hall will be the eighth person killed at the federal penitentiary in Terre Haute since July. The execution spree is unprecedented in more ways than one; according to the Death Penalty Information Center, Hall’s execution would be the first lame-duck federal execution in over a century.

Yet even as Covid-19 spreads out of control, the Trump administration plans to kill two more people in December. One is Brandon Bernard, the co-defendant of Christopher Vialva, whose jurors have signaled support for a commutation. The other is Lisa Montgomery, the only woman under a federal death sentence. Last week, attorneys for Montgomery, who has severe mental illness, revealed that they had tested positive for Covid-19, almost certainly as a result of traveling to see her in prison. In a hearing on Monday, a federal judge seemed reluctant to grant more time for her clemency petition.

Hall’s attorney, Robert Owen, who also represents Bernard, has declined to be in Terre Haute for the execution, out of concern for his health. “It alternatively fills me with rage and despair that the government is being allowed to pretend as though the pandemic is over when it is not,” he said. This week a federal judge denied a stay of execution in light of the pandemic.

In Terre Haute, where only two of the seven men put to death have had their attorneys present, fear of new execution dates is compounded by a sense of invisibility. In emails, a friend of Vialva’s reiterated the dismay he felt at the silence from politicians in Washington before he died. “I think Christopher wanted the Democrats to be true in action to their position against capital punishment and to take a public stand … against Trump’s executions, no matter the nature of the crimes,” he wrote.

For Democrats, opposing the federal executions would mean confronting a policy that President-elect Joe Biden did much to create. Hall’s case was one of the first capital cases tried under the 1994 Crime Bill, which dramatically expanded federal death row. The 1996 Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act curtailed federal review, making it harder for the condemned to challenge their convictions in court. Although Biden was instrumental in these “tough on crime” reforms, today he has vowed to eliminate the federal death penalty....

Last week, a group of Democratic lawmakers called on Attorney General Bill Barr “to suspend all federal executions so the incoming Biden-Harris administration can evaluate and determine the future use of the death penalty by the federal government.” The American Bar Association also sent a letter urging reprieves for Hall, Bernard, and Montgomery to allow attorneys to safely and fully advocate for their clients. But neither appeal seems likely to succeed. The Trump administration has refused to acknowledge the election results, much less the ways in which Covid-19 has stymied efforts to save people on death row.

Whatever the future of the federal death penalty, Hall’s case is not the type most likely to spur calls for abolition. The harrowing details have been repeatedly recounted in true crime documentaries and podcasts, which memorialize his teenage victim, Lisa René, and decry the brutal violence she endured. “In the years that I’ve been doing this, she is actually probably the most innocent victim that I’ve ever worked a case on,” Detective John Stanton said in an episode of “The FBI Files.”

Yet other parts of the story have been neglected, including critical context about the failures of the legal system that convicted Hall. Last year, his co-defendant, Bruce Webster, saw his own death sentence vacated after a federal judge was persuaded by an argument his trial attorneys tried to make almost 25 years ago: that his intellectual disability made him ineligible for execution.

Hall, meanwhile, was convicted by an all-white jury. Although his victim was also Black, in contrast with the majority of people on federal death row, the exclusion of Black jurors in his case is a disturbing emblem of the death penalty’s racist roots. Hall’s attorneys also point to significant failures by his court-appointed trial attorneys, particularly when it came to the critical investigative work that could have moved jurors to spare his life.

Among these documents are declarations from investigators, relatives, and members of Hall’s community in his hometown of El Dorado, Arkansas, who describe Hall’s expressions of remorse as well as his positive attributes. Several describe how Hall once saved his young cousin from drowning in a motel swimming pool. The same records describe a childhood marked by violence, abuse, and neglect — factors that help explain how he came to commit such a heinous crime, but most of which his jurors never heard.

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this week - 33

Toni Erdmann - An off-beat German comedy about a daughter and her weird father. The daughter is s a high-flying business woman in Bucharest, and her old father is a bizarre prankster who surprise-visits her there, trying to pull her out of her stiff comfort zone. 

At nearly 3 hours, it’s a bit long, but is fresh and original. 6+/10

✴️  

First glorious watch - Wong Kar-Wai’s romantic Chungking Express, with Tony Leung & Faye Wong.

I always thought it was an action flick, (probably because it “was Tarantino’s favorite movie”) so I avoided it until now.

Here is Dinah Washington explaining why it was a mistake not to watch it!

Best film of the week!

✴️

Michelangelo Antonioni X 2:

✳️✳️✳️ Back to my classics: Antonioni‘s The Passenger, with doomed Jack Nicholson as David Locke, AKA Robertson. Based on  W. Somerset Maugham's ‘Appointment in Samarra‘. This is why I love movies. 10/10.

When you travel to the very end of the world.

✳️✳️✳️  Blowup - In Swinging London, a selfish photographer discovers that, while shooting a couple in the park, he recorded a murder in the background. Shoutouts to David Hemmings’  convertible Rolls-Royce and his white Jeans. With a performance by the actual Yardbirds. 9/10

“Nothing like a little disaster to sort things out”...

✴️

Tom McCarthy’s latest film, Stillwater, got quite a bit of pushover for using the Amanda Knox saga as inspiration without proper acknowledgement or credit. So that is legitimate. However, the sentimental story of father and daughter’s fraught relationship is clearly fictionalized and the background of the murder is secondary to that.

Like all of McCarthy’s slow and tender films (with the exception of ‘Million Dollar Arm‘), I liked it a lot.

✴️

2 about old people at the end of life:

✳️✳️✳️ Diane Keaton, dying of cancer, starts a cheerleading squad at a retirement community at Poms. A predictable, cheesy story that worked for me.

✳️✳️✳️ Re-watching all of Alexander Payne’s previous films: Next - About Schmidt. John Joseph Nicholson was one of the screen’s greatest actors. Now an old man at the end of his career, he discovers that his mediocre life had been meaningless, but for one little act of kindness (Photo Above).

8/10

✴️                                                 

I also saw Alexander Payne’s last film, Downsizing. It was so disappointing, that I felt the need to write a longer critique of this muddled turd.

First, I liked Alexander Payne: He was a great filmmaker who made 6 small, personal art films. But as always, when studios eventually give such artists big budgets, they screw up.

Where to start? First it was ‘Honey I shrank Matt Damon’ for environmental reasons, then you build a gated community for the Tiny, rich Americans. Then his wife Kristen Wiig leaves him and disappear from the story. Then he takes ecstasy at a disco party (The only fresh line of dialogue in the whole movie, when he’s under the influence - ‘I’m going to take off my shoes’.) Then he discovers an underclass of tiny, poor Mexicans who clean and maintain the middle class and lives outside the gates - just like in ‘Real’ America. Then there’s a political subplot where he becomes active helping those poor servants. Then he falls in love with a one-legged Vietnamese ‘Refugee-Saint’ with a fake limp, and even faker Vietnamese accent. And finally, at (1:35) the world as we know it is about to end, and he must choose between joining the Norwegian survivors into the Tiny People’s ‘Seed Vault’ of the future, or flying with his Vietnamese lover back into the present, to help the poor, before everybody eventually dies.

In short, it was terrible.

✴️ 

Gifted, about a cute 7 year old mathematical genius living with her uncle, after her mom committed suicide. It’s a light and fluffy tear-jerker that has a kernel of sweetness. The court drama part of this (or any other family drama) doesn’t work. 5+/10

✴️

Philip Seymour Hoffman X 4:

✳️✳️✳️ PT Anderson's 2012 masterly The Master, with masterful performances and precise score. Re-watch.

The first half, which was mostly about tortured drifter Joaquin Phoenix, was terrific. The Scientology cult of charismatic conman Philip Seymour Hoffman was less compelling. And the two stories converged exactly in the middle, (1:07) at the strange “Go Roving” naked dance. 8/10

✳️✳️✳️ 

Sidney Lumet’s last film Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (2007). Another train wreck of a hack job: It’s always about money, crimes, robberies, death.

✳️✳️✳️ Charlie Kaufman’s “postmodern” Synecdoche, New York - I hated everything about it.

It made me regret everything I ever thought was important in my life, and come to realize that I’m sorry about everything.

✳️✳️✳️ My first Todd Solondz’s - the ironically misnamed, and depressingly morbid Happiness. It’s about 3 unhappy sisters and all the depraved people around them (including creepy masturbator Philip Seymour Hoffman).

Fortunately, my copy was truncated at the half mark. Big ouch.

✴️

I haven’t re-visited The good, the bad and the ugly for over 40 years until now, but I found Max Tohline’s analyses of Leone’s Editing style to be superior to the 3 hours film slog itself.

✴️                           

Before the Flood, Leonardo DiCaprio’s 2016 documentary about climate change. Before Greta Thunberg, and before trump, and before the End of The World.

Climate-deniers of the world, Unite in hell!

✴️

Wim Wender’s The end of violence: A big time Hollywood producer decides to become a simple Mexican gardener in LA. Unfortunately, he’s Bill Pullman.

I watched it because a scene in the film recreates Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, but the film was terrible all over and for many reasons.

Nighthawks, explained.

✴️

Sallah Shabati ( סאלח שבתי ‎), a 1964 satirical Israeli film, the original Borat. Stereotypically primitive and unfunny. 1/10

- - - - -

Throw-back to the art project:

Nighthawks Adora.

- - - - -

(My complete movie list is here)

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 9

He texted her during the week when time and life permitted, both were busy with their own lives to connect in person. He was slammed getting everything squared away to leave for six weeks and Sildie was in court and juggling the kids and school holidays.

She would call if she needed him, or at least he hoped she would. After their argument Monday about who was paying the babysitter and then Lily’s outburst Tuesday he wasn’t so sure she’d be calling at all. Their schedules weren’t making it any easier and she was avoiding him which usually meant the beginning of the end.

Lily had been on his mind. How could she not be since she’d not so eloquently chosen him to be her father, or a dad like person, not that she knew the difference at the moment. He was still reeling from that and it had cut Sildie deeply. He’d seen it on her face, in those eyes, the betrayal, the guilt.

He had worked the bag every night this week. Working out the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming emotions that had surfaced. His talk with Bill had helped to settle him but even so, Quinn’s were big shoes to fill and he felt severely unqualified and lacking. Did he really have it in him to be what Lily had asked him to be?

Sildie was on his mind too, their entire relationship and his own emotional baggage, how it affected him and her. Ana had almost killed him emotionally and that pain stilled lingered, it still seeped out and found it’s way into his life and he had to get that back in check.

He was still battling his own demons, sobriety for one, anxiety and depression the others, but be damned if he’d let it into this relationship more than he already had and destroy it. He was unraveling slowly and he had to stop, he had to find that calm again.

He was sitting in the car at the soccer field waiting for the kids to come over to the stands before the game Friday night when she texted him more than a one word answer.

I am running late. If you happen to make it and see the boys tell them I’m on my way. If not I’ll see you for tea when we get home?

“Of course I’ll see you for tea love.” He muttered to himself.

He texted her back and went to find the boys as they came over for a break before the game. Waiting out on the edge of the parents and friends group he wasn’t entirely sure he should make it known he was here to see them. This was new territory for all of them. That didn’t matter when Finn finally laid eyes on him though, it was obvious the kid had been searching for him.

Gustaf watched it play out. The big grin spread across his face, the eyes light up, the one hand furiously tapping his brothers shoulder to get his attention. Liams head snapped around to look at him too, looking at each other they grinned and sprinted over to him.

“Well shit here we go.” He mumbled to himself quietly and smiled, it wasn’t quite the reaction he was expecting but it made him grin none the less.

With a scream of Gustaf he suddenly had one kid attached to either thigh. They let go as he squat down to their level and practically used him as their personal jungle gym as all six year olds did.

“You came.” Finn said, that huge grin still plastered across the kids face as he hugged Gustaf.

“Of course I came.” He winked. “Wouldn’t have missed it.” And that was the truth. He’d rearranged half his week to make this a reality for them and would do it again in a heartbeat just to see that look on their faces, total joy.

They both grabbed a hand each and pulled him to sit at the bottom corner of the bleacher stands.

“This is usually where Ama sits so Lily can be in the stroller.” Liam said matter of factly.

“Well it’s a good place for me to be then huh? Ama’s running late by the way, she’ll be here soon.” He rested an arm on the seat and squat down to their level.

“She always runs late.” Finn said but it didn’t seem to phase him so Gustaf let it be.

“You guys have fun this week?” He asked intent on hearing all about it.

“It’s been so much fun.” Their grins we’re still beaming.

“Well your coach is calling, you need to go back to your team and I’ll see you after ok?” Gustaf saw the coach looking for them and waved, acknowledging his “time to go” nod in the boys direction.

They took off but Finn stopped and jogged back to him. The kid flung his arms around Gustaf’s neck and squeezed him for a hug. He hugged the kid back, this was why it was so important he be here, the connection. So they knew he was here for them, someone they could come to, count on, like a dad.

Without a word Finn went back to the team and Gustaf had to breathe out very slowly to keep his emotions in check, he was flying by the seat of his pants, literally winging it. Maybe that was another sign from Quinn that he was doing the right thing, divine intervention. Fuck he hoped so, it just felt like things were clicking together at an alarmingly fast rate. Fast enough to make his head spin, fast enough to make him uneasy.

Sildie pulled up and saw the game had already started. She hated being late, especially for the kids. Lily was happily chattering in the back seat and she watched the boys for a moment, until her eyes found Gustaf. He was sitting in her spot, no doubt the boys had told him to sit there.

If she was being honest she’d been avoiding him this week. The fight about the babysitter was one thing but coming to terms with Lily calling him “dad dad” was another altogether. Then there were all the questions from the twins, the previous questions from Brendan. She wanted this to work so badly but the fear of losing Gustaf and the kids being hurt in the process was on her mind.

“This was so much easier when I was on my own.” She sighed watching the twins chase the ball up the other end of the field.

She’d been a bitch to him Monday, all those memories of her ex flooding back in. She would not be taken advantage of, or have her independence and financial security ripped from her again. She knew deep down Gustaf wouldn’t do that, but emotional triggers were cruel and they fucked you up when you least expected them to.

He was a good man, was good too her, good to the kids. That overwhelming compassion and love he had to give. Had she just fucked up their future together?

“Quinn if you’re listening, please let him be the one. He’s good to your kids, good to me. I don’t think I could bear losing him too.” She sighed into the universe. “I love him, I know that sounds so stupid because we hardly know each other but I’m so in love with him.” She added as she undid her seatbelt and climbed out into the crisp fall evening.

“And so are you little lady.” She cooed at Lily as she got her out of the car seat, to which the kid squealed a dad dad.

“Don’t let me fuck this up brother.” She whispered under her breath. “Even though I probably already have.”

She carried Lily instead of using the stroller as she knew the kid would climb into Gustaf’s lap and probably stay there, Sildie would given half a chance. She made her way through the parked cars and sat next to him quietly. Those Viking blue eyes locked onto hers and she had to consciously keep her ass attached to the seat, her hands to herself, and breath out steadily. That gaze always made her so wet, so wanting.

“Hi love.” He said softly, that smile twitching his lips.

“Hi. What did I miss?” She asked getting right down to business, she had to keep everything buried for the moment, she would not lose her shit in public.

“Not much actually, they started late so we’re only ten minutes in.” He kept a tight reign on his overwhelming need to touch her.

He had to keep himself in check because guaranteed the boys would turn to look in their direction just at the moment he decided to kiss her. He found that since they’d slept together his craving for her had only increased to where it was almost painful not to touch her.

Lily turned in Sildie arms and squealed a “dad dad” and reached for him. He took her and looked at Sildie to see if she was ok, her face had his stomach clench. It would take a little time for both of them to get used to hearing that. It cut her deep every time she heard it. The tiny child curled up as if he was her whole world and his heart melted.

“You’re certainly happier tonight little lady.” She heard him murmur and Lily was content to sit and babble at him. Lily’s words had the guilt punch her in the gut again.

“You look tired love.” He said quietly as he scooted closer to Sildie as they watched the boys chase the ball down to their goal.

“That’s because I am, long week in court, longer week with this one teething.” She said and stifled the yawn. “And I’m stressed.”

“Waking up?” He brushed his knuckles against her hand, he could see the stress, the tense shoulders, the smile that didn’t quite reach those stunning eyes. He’d get to the bottom of it before he left even if she raged at him. He’d prefer that than the silence from her all week.

“Yeah. I caved and had her in with me last night.” She shook her head as his brow creased in concern. “It’ll be fine, few more weeks and those molars will be in.” She smiled and ran a finger along Lily’s cheek and the kid grinned at her.

“Do the boys like Chinese food?” He asked on a whim, a plan formulating.

“Yeah they eat anything.” She snorted.

“How about I pick up some Chinese while you get them settled and then I’ll come over. Or I can do pizza.” His knuckles brushed hers and she curled her fingers around his briefly.

“I had said pizza for the boys but I could go for some Chinese. We had pizza earlier in the week. Whatever you decide, as long as they eat I don’t care tonight.” She said quietly, she was too tired to argue with him about who should be paying for what, too tired for anything.

He’d asked this time at least and she was being bitchy, tired bitchy. She had to meet him half way, isn’t that what they’d decided? It had been a long week, she was wrung out, it was the twins birthday and he was leaving tomorrow. She didn’t want to argue, she didn’t want to answer anymore questions or think about the grief and guilt she felt. She didn’t want much to to with anything or anyone tonight in all honesty. She was tired and done.

The boys didn’t score a goal but their side won which made them happy. With the game and camp over they came running over to where Sildie and Gustaf were sitting. They tackled Gustaf and Lily in a fit of giggles and Sildie smiled, that tug of grief in the pit of her stomach roiling again. It should have been Quinn she thought. She buried that deeply, she had too. It wasn’t fair on Gustaf or the kids, this is what she’d wanted for them after all.

Gustaf put Lily in the car seat and stayed right up until Sildie was ready to reverse out. He was hoping Lily wouldn’t realize he wasn’t there and scream the entire way home.

The boys chattered about Gustaf all the way home and she struggled to contain the smile, they were happy to be with him. Things were clicking together, a little fast for her liking but it was a start. It was going smoother than she could have hoped for but she still felt the guilt, was she replacing Quinn with Gustaf? Would they see it that way?

They made it home and their grins widened when they opened the door to Gustaf and pizza a little while later.

“Thank you.” She said simply as she sat at the table and watched the twins eat and play x box. They were happy, genuinely happy.

“You ok love?” He kept his voice low as he sat beside her and kept an eye on the boys, her face wistful and lost in thought. Those tears sitting just below the surface.

“You know that’s the happiest I’ve seen them in a long time.” She opened a box of Chinese to find the rice. “They talked about you the entire way home.” She said softly.

“Good things I hope.” He watched her a moment, at least she wasn’t crying, yet, and he held onto that thought tightly. Something was up though, he could feel it.

“All good things. It meant a lot that you came.” She brushed her knuckles against his.

“I’ll move my world for you Sildie.” He glanced at her briefly to see that smile he loved as he found the box of coconut shrimp he was after. “And the kids.”

He pulled Lily’s chair closer so she could eat and make a mess while he scooped more food on Sildies plate and his.

“What’s bothering you love?” His voice low as he watched the twins before brushing a fingertip down her jaw.

“Nothing, it’s fine.” She shook her head quickly and intently looked for something to put on her plate to avoid the question.

“Nothing is fine when you’re exhausted and on the verge of tears.” He would persist, even when she cast him a glare that said drop it.

“Long week.” She said hoping he’d drop it, knowing he wouldn’t. “Can we not talk about this right now? Please?” She snapped quietly as he opened his mouth to push it. The tired bitchiness reared it’s head and struck.

“Sure.” He said quietly and let her have the silence.

He saw her hand trembled slightly as she spooned more rice on her plate.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice shook. “It’s been a long week and that’s no excuse for taking my emotional shit out on you.” She didn’t look at him. “I just need a moments fucking peace from it.”

He stayed silent, his thumb grazed the inside of her wrist and he heard her breathe out as her shoulders relaxed, no not relaxed, that was a sign of defeat. He’d wait her out, she’d talk to him eventually. His thumb drew lazy circles on her wrist as she started to eat. Peace from what he wondered, the grief?

“Ama? Can we stay up late so Gustaf can stay and play games?” Finn asked after the boys had scarfed down half a pizza each.

“Yes, you can but you need to ask Gustaf if he has time for that. But remember when I say bed...”

“We go to bed otherwise we can’t do this again.” Liam finished.

“Can you stay to play games?” Finn asked not missing a second to ask the all important question. “Please.” He added remembering his manners.

“Sure, let me finish up eating and I’ll come play ok?” The boys jumped excitedly and went back to the couch.

“Then I can try to have a soak in the bath in peace.” She mumbled and speared the last shrimp on his plate and ate it.

“I was saving that for last.” His grin mischievous.

“I know.” She smiled, her playfulness was trying to mask the exhaustion and her earlier outburst. Keeping an eye on the boys he leaned over to brush his lips against the shell of her ear.

“You’re lucky the kids are hear my love otherwise you’d be in a lot of trouble.” He growled and quickly nipped her jaw before pulling back.

“No doubt.” Her smile soft.

“I love it when you’re lawyered up.” He gave her one of those soul destroying looks that made her pussy tingle. “It’s a fucking turn on. Makes me want to peel you out of your clothes with my teeth.” His teeth chomped together as he leaned in ever so slightly. He grinned at Sildie before standing to collect a messy Lily and go clean her up ready for bed.

She tidied up the empty boxes and put the leftovers in the fridge as Gustaf cleaned Lily up and sat with her on the couch. She was content in his arms while the boys, large and small, raced each other with Mario Cart.

After cleaning up from the week, getting her work away before tomorrow, a load of laundry on, she ran herself a hot bath while the kids were occupied, something she hadn’t indulged in for nearly a year, there hadn’t been time. There hadn’t been another adult to keep them occupied so they weren’t barging in every five seconds to ask for something. While it was running Gustaf brought Lily in to change her, the little lady was nearly asleep and grumpy. She had left the door open and he could see her starting to undress. With a clean Lily in his arms again he leaned against the doorframe and watched her.

“That’s not fair love.” He said quietly as she stood in thigh high stockings and black lace. “Teasing me when I can’t touch you.” His goddess, how she undid him every time.

“You can touch me.” She said over her shoulder.

“You know what I mean.” He hooked a finger under her jaw and kissed her. Her moan was enough for him to deepen it, as his knuckle trailed the swell of her cleavage, damn he wanted her.

“Get in and soak. I’ll take care of the kids.” He growled and kissed her again roughly. “Get in and relax.” His tone that soft low rumble she loved as he cut off her protest.

He stepped back, he had to get away from her or he’d be fucking her in the tub.

“Twins in bed by nine.” She said softly. “And thank you.” She felt like a supreme bitch for snapping at him earlier.

“That’s in an hour and a half then maybe I’ll join you.” He smirked.

“Ha Ha funny man.” She said as he left with Lily.

“And silly Ama thinks I’m joking.” He cooed softly to Lily as he half shut the bathroom door to put the now nearly asleep Lily in her crib.

He sat on the floor as he had done earlier this week and settled her. That little hand gripped his finger and she soon slipped from opening her eyes every few seconds to check he was still there, to completely out. He sat there a moment longer just watching her.

He’d fallen so hard for Sildie, the kids as well. A family in grief and turmoil that had welcomed him in. At times he thought himself unworthy of them and knew it was his own past elbowing it’s way back to the forefront.

“I’ll work on that Lily bear, I promise.” He whispered. “I’ll put it to rest again.”

He carefully removed his hand and thankfully Lily stayed asleep. Making his way out to the living area he closed the hall door and had some rough time with the boys. Boy stuff, giggles, a wrestling match or two, racing Mario cart, and being gross boys.

She’d sunk deeply into the hot water and let the tears fall. All the emotion from the week she’d held in check flooded out of her. Their fight about money and the babysitter, Lily clutching to him calling him dad dad, the questions from the twins, the relationship between the kids and Gustaf, and now tonight she’d snapped at him for just wanting to know if she was ok. It was all too much, she just wanted her brother to tell her she was doing the right thing because she really didn’t know anymore. She felt lost, fumbling for answers and completely lost.

He could hear Sildie crying softly through the baby monitor and it tore pieces out of him. He let the boys play for a moment, sat on the floor near Lily’s crib and watched Sildie through the gap in the door. She was sitting in the tub, legs drawn up to her chest, head resting on her knees, the tears just falling one after the other, it reminded him of the night she was drunk outside her apartment. She had isolated herself and it killed him she’d not come to him. He let her have the time and space for the moment. She needed to purge her system and then they���d talk, he knew Monday and Lily’s outburst was on her mind but there was something deeper going on.

He got the twins squared away with minimal fuss in the bath, lots of giggles, a small water fight, and tucked them into bed.

“Gustaf?” Liam asked. “Do you love Ama?” His voice a little unsure whether he should be asking that question.

Gustaf sat on the floor and looked at them both. He wouldn’t lie but he had to keep the details as vague as possible. It wasn’t his place to tell them about his relationship with Sildie.

“I like her a lot.” He could see the kid thinking.

“Would you be like a dad to us too?” He added. “Like you are to Brendan?”

“If you’d like that sure, if not that’s fine. I can’t replace your dad Liam.” He said carefully. “I’m not trying to.”

“We know.” Liams choked voice wrenched at his heart.

“You miss him huh?” They both nodded.

Gustaf bundled them both to him in a tangle of limbs. He felt they needed a hug and he couldn’t deny that he needed one too. Their arms wrapped around him tightly and he felt the surge of emotion that he struggled to keep a lid on.

“I’m always here for you ok? I may not live here with you but I’m right next door anytime you need me, or on the phone if I’m away working.” He kissed them both on the brow. “Always.”

“Will you come live with us?” Finn asked.

“Maybe one day, that’s something for me and Ama to figure out, but not for right now. It’s a little more complicated than that.” We’re not ready he added silently, and he knew deep down none of them were.

He was fielding dangerous questions and shit he thought, he really hoped he wasn’t fucking things up, Sildie would skin him.

“You boys need to go to sleep now or Ama will be mad at me for not getting you to sleep on time.” He winced and they smiled a giggle. “Not funny, I’ve seen her when she’s mad.” He said half joking. He remembered her rage and fury all too well.

“You’re still coming over for pancakes tomorrow right?” Liam asked hopeful.

“Of course, and you have me for the entire day. So, lights out and sleep, tomorrow is birthday fun. Straight to sleep now ok?” They both nodded and snuggled down into the bed.

He rose and turned the overhead light off.

“Gustaf?” Finn asked again.

“Yeah?”

“Love you.” His quiet voice screamed in Gustaf’s ears.

“Love you too buddy.” He left it at that and closed the door.

He sat on the couch and let that conversation wash over him. His emotions surged to the surface, threatening to consume him. It felt as if the universe was squishing them together when they weren’t quite ready. First Lily, now the twins, was he really ready for all of this, all of what a family should be he thought? He wanted it sure but was he really ready to take it all on?

He’d tell Sildie what was said, he didn’t need that coming out and blindsiding her. Happy his thoughts were collected enough for the moment he made a pot of tea and decided to take a cup in for Sildie. Hopefully she would open up and tell him what was bothering her, even if it meant her raging at him.

The clink of china on the vanity had her opening her eyes from where she’d relaxed back in the tub after she’d sobbed her heart out. What this man wouldn’t do for her she thought. He treated her like a queen and she suddenly felt guilty for relaxing in a bath while he took care of the kids. She felt that guilt deepen and asked herself was she taking advantage of him, of the situation? His week had been just as hectic, just as stressful and she’d done fuck all for him except avoid him and bite his head off.

“Feeling better?” He asked softly as he shut the door so not to wake Lily and braced for whatever she was about to throw at him.

“A little. Good thing you came in I was nearly asleep.” She watched him as he rested his cup next to hers and sat on the edge of the tub. She’d hurt him tonight and felt like shit for it. He didn’t deserve that.

“More to the point are you alright?” He was chewing something over she could see it. “Boys go to bed ok?”

“Yeah.” He looked at her and studied those eyes. “I just had to field some tough questions in there.” He told her about the conversation, the I love you at the door from Finn.

Her gut plummeted, just one more thing to stress over and feel like shit for she thought. Great, fucking perfect.

“I’m sorry Sildie, I didn’t know what else, to say. I tried to keep it as vague as possible. And you’re angry with me.” He said gently, he could see the irritation flit across her face.

“No, I’m mad at myself.” She said quickly. “I should have given you a heads up about it. They asked me similar questions earlier in the week, I should have told you, I’m the one that should be sorry. I’ll handle it.” She muttered and scrubbed a bubble coated hand over her face. Fuck, she should have at least given him a heads up about that, it hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think they’d talk directly to you about it. Screwed that up didn’t I, again.” She sighed and reached for him, it was more a statement than a question. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes searched his for understanding, she’d fucked up again.

“It’s ok.” He wasn’t angry, she was overwhelmed with it all as much as he was, more so with the kids involved. They were in murky waters and anger wasn’t going to solve any of it.

“No, it’s really not. I have to fill you in on this stuff if we’re going to make this work. I just forget, I’m not used to having you to lean on. I’m successfully fucking all this up as we go aren’t I.” She paused before her next words.

“I sometimes feel I’m taking advantage of you, of your kindness, the situation.” She looked at him and saw a brief flicker of anger spark in those usually calm eyes. “And that’s the last thing I want to do.”

He wanted to be angry at her now for those words but her current emotional state wouldn’t handle it, neither would his.

“Sildie it’s ok.” He stretched his long arms across the tub and leaned over to kiss her. “And if you were taking advantage of me, I wouldn’t be here love. You know that already.” His kiss was searing. “You’re not taking advantage of anything I’m not freely offering you already.”

“I’m sorry.” She breathed. “I’m still learning all this. I feel like I’m winging it. I feel as if I’m losing control of it all. Hell I don’t think I have any control over anything right now. It feel as though it’s all crumbling apart, or maybe that’s just me.” Her voice held tears.

“Sildie we’re both winging it, let’s be real. We both have a tough job here. It’ll be ok.” He kissed her deeply and let his knuckles graze her cheek as the stray tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I snapped earlier.” She let her fingers brush his scruff, those eyes intently on hers. “I’m stressed, it’s been a long week, and that’s no excuse to bring that home to you.” Her kiss was tender, apologetic. “To blow up at you.”

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re going too fast, other times too slow. I’m nervous about talking to the kids about us. What if they don’t want you here like I want you here?” She was rambling as she does when she’s stressed he thought and it was good, she’d get it off her chest now. “I can’t lose you, I can lose them, I’m worried it’s all going to fall apart and everyone will get hurt, that you’ll hate me for it all in the end.”

He cut off her next sentence with a gentle kiss.

“It has its own timetable love and we just have to be cool with that, go with it, go with the flow.” He murmured.

“I know but...” she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Fuck she was tired and sick of the grief and guilt she felt. “I’m not trying to replace him with you.” Her voice choked slightly before she got a grip of the tears. Now we get to the issue he thought.

“I know you’re not love, so do the kids.” He reassured her, the guilt had swallowed her.

“Then why does it feel like I am? Why deep down does it feel like I’m...”

“Look at me.” He murmured softly, cutting her off, she could barely hold his gaze.

“I don’t know love, I don’t have an answer to that.” He said tenderly and kissed her. “I don’t see you replacing him, I see you trying to give the kids some sort of normal in a very difficult situation. You’re trying to give them stability in what’s been a very unstable few months. A male role model, a male someone to be safe with, to turn to. Like I’ve said before if that’s me great, if not.” He shrugged. He couldn’t voice the “if not” because in his world there wasn’t one. “I do know that your brother would be proud of you, grateful to you. You take good care of them Sildie, don’t ever doubt that.” His kiss lingered. “You won’t lose me love, we’ll make it work, we’ll hold it together.”

“You’re too good for me.” She said honestly. “And I hate falling apart on you.”

“I think we’re both just right for each other.” He smiled softly and kissed her again. “And you can fall apart on me anytime love, you know that. It’s what I’m here for amongst other things.”

“I’m a fucking mess.” She muttered.

“A hot mess.” He said and she huffed a chuckle as his hand slipped below the waterline to cup a breast.

“I’ve missed you this week love.” His voice low and silky, those lips ghosting hers before claiming them.

“I was avoiding you.” Her tone soft. “I’m sorry I shut you out.”

“I know you were. Please don’t do that again.” He whispered. “I missed you and it hurt.” His honesty punched her in the gut.

“I’m sorry.” She murmured getting her emotions under control.

“So am I. You ok?” His finger came up out of the water and trailed her jaw.

“Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever be ok, that we’ll ever get past this.” She murmured and ran a dripping hand down his chest, fingers dipping into the deep V of his shirt. She wanted to feel him under her fingers. “I need the grief to stop for one fucking moment so I can breathe.”

“It might get easier after the first anniversary.” He said gently, knowing that would be on her mind too.

“I can only hope.” Her sigh was one of exhaustion. “It makes me so fucking tired.”

They sipped tea and talked some more until Sildie had to get out as she was nearly asleep.

“Would you like some help out of the tub?” He asked perched above her and he kissed her hard.

“You just want to see me naked.” She flicked water at him and the look he gave her was pure mischief.

“That’s a given.” He snorted.

His hand reached under the bubbles to find a breast as he claimed her mouth tenderly. Her sigh of arousal filling his ears.

“Or I could just do this.” He grinned against her lips and slid his hand lower until his finger brushed over her clit and circled it a few times. He swallowed her gasp. Stopping suddenly he pulled his hand out of the water and flicked it at her.

“Now who’s the tease.” She she yawned and went to rise.

He knelt beside the tub and kissed her deeply causing her to relax back as his hand ventured lower, slowly teasing her, arousing her.

“I’m not teasing love.” His voice a low growl.

His hand slid down her inner thigh opening her knees and he perched one calf on either side of the tub so she was open for him to play with. As his mouth devoured hers his finger circled her clit lazily before plunging it into her heat.

“We can’t Gustaf.” She sighed, half needing him to stop, half giving in to pleasure.

“Relax.” He breathed as he slowly tortured her, her shuddering breath the only sound.

“A little difficult when you’re doing that to me.” She breathed and his mouth claimed hers again.

“Relax.” He kissed her softly as a second finger joined the first inside her and his thumb rubbed her clit.

Her head fell back against the edge of the tub as his talented fingers fucked her, his spare hand cupping a breast, thumb grazing her nipple. He liked it when she gave herself over to him to pleasure.

His fingers took her slowly, the gentle thrusting reaching deep inside her, the pads stroking that spongy spot that made her quiver. His thumb circled her clit, lazy and slow, building her climax and tipping her over the edge hard. He ravaged her mouth as the soft cry of pleasure escaped her throat.

“I know I just broke your rule but that was worth it.” His grin made her chuckle. “You’re beautiful when you come.”

“You’re a bad influence. No more rule breaking.” She said seriously, though he saw the slight cheeky grin.

“You are so tired love.” He helped her out, wrapped the towel around her and pulled her close. “You need sleep.”

Bound snugly by the towel she rested her head against his chest and relaxed into him. Those strong arms protecting her from the world, soothing her. They just stood there being close, the need for comfort, closeness. The six week separation was going to be brutal.

“I’m sorry for being such a bitch.” She said into his chest.

“Grieving is not being a bitch love. It’s grieving and finding a way to cope to try and move forward.” He kissed her head. “Just don’t shut me out ok? Don’t avoid me.” Her nod was all he was going to get as she was nearly asleep in his arms.

“I’m going to head home and let you sleep.” He murmured, not really wanting to let her go. “Not that I want to, but I need to so you can rest. And we have birthday boys tomorrow.”

“Ok.” She mumbled into his chest, she was almost there as it was. “You’re right, damnit.” She added pulling her head off his chest and kissing it at the deep V in his shirt. “I like it when you take care of me.” She mumbled into his chest.

His fingers brushed her jaw and disappeared into her still bound hair. Kissing her deeply he let the moment hang, neither one wanting it to end.

“I’ll always take care of you if you let me.” His mumble only just audible.

He handed her the robe from the hook on the back of the door and helped her into it. Carrying the teacups back out to the kitchen, he waited while she checked on the kids.

Standing on her threshold, he released the clip from her hair and ran his fingers through it. He kissed her with all the love and tenderness he had for her in the hopes she would sleep well.

“What time do you want me around tomorrow to help with breakfast pancakes?” He toyed with her hair loving the feel of it over his skin.

“Seven will be early enough. That gives me time to get Lily sorted out.” She rested her hand on his chest. Damn she wanted him to stay so she could sleep in his arms.

“I’ll be over earlier to help with Lily, she’s usually up around six right?” He asked as Sildie nodded and stifled a yawn.

“I want to be with you as much as possible tomorrow, you and the kids.” He kissed her not letting her argue, and she was too tired anyway.

“I guess I’ll see you at six.” She kissed him softly.

“Inside, lock the door. I’ll see you in the morning.” He stepped back and she disappeared inside.

She didn’t read any of her notes, she simply turned the lights off and went to bed. Exhaustion took her under until Lily woke at three. With a frozen teething ring she bundled Lily into bed with her and got as much rest as she could.

Rest... as if.. she thought. Her mind was on Gustaf and the conversation he’d had with the twins. When Brendan was home they were all going to have a chat about Gustaf and where they wanted to go from here. It was their choice as much as hers.

Things were moving quickly but if the kids were on board they might not have to sneak around as much and actually be able to date properly. Maybe that would ease them all into it gently. It would be nice to be able to kiss him without the explanation, have him stay over. She just worried it was too much too soon and would overwhelm them all. “This is so fucking difficult.” She sighed. “What if none of this is the right decision?”

He couldn’t get comfortable. Nothing felt right without her beside him. He’d already gone a round with the bag to lessen his frustration and an hour meditating to sort out the mess in his head.

“One day.” He muttered punching the pillow in the attempt to soften it into something that would cradle his head and lull him to sleep. “One day you’ll be here with me so I won’t have to let you go.”

[newstfionline]

Sunday, May 16, 2021

IRS to the rescue? Tax audits eyed for infrastructure cash (AP) Republicans say they won’t raise taxes on corporations. Democrats say they won’t raise taxes on people making less than $400,000 a year. So who is going to pay for the big public works boost that lawmakers and President Joe Biden say is necessary for the country? Enter the IRS. Biden is proposing that Congress build up the depleted and often-maligned agency, saying that a more aggressive collection of unpaid taxes could help cover the cost of his multitrillion-dollar plan to boost infrastructure, families and education. More resources to boost audits of businesses, estates and the wealthy would raise $700 billion over 10 years, the White House estimates. It’s just the latest idea emerging in the bipartisan talks over an infrastructure bill, which saw Biden huddle at the White House this week with congressional leaders and a group of Republican senators. The GOP senators, touting a $568 billion infrastructure plan of their own, said they were “encouraged” by the discussion with Biden, but all sides acknowledged that how to pay for the public works plan remains a difficult problem.

DarkSide, Blamed for Gas Pipeline Attack, Says It Is Shutting Down (NYT) The criminal hacking group DarkSide, which the F.B.I. has blamed for carrying out a ransomware attack that crippled fuel delivery across the Southeastern United States this week, has announced that it is shutting down because of unspecified “pressure” from the United States. In a statement written in Russian and provided to The New York Times on Friday by the cybersecurity firm Intel 471, DarkSide said it had lost access to the public-facing portion of its online system, including its blog and payment server, as well as funds that it said had been withdrawn to an unknown account. It said the group’s main web page and other public-facing resources would go offline within 48 hours. “Due to the pressure from the U.S., the affiliate program is closed,” the statement said, referring to intermediary hackers, the so-called affiliates, it works with to break into corporate computer systems. “Stay safe and good luck.” What that pressure may have been is unclear, but on Thursday, President Biden said the United States would not rule out a retaliatory strike against DarkSide that would “disrupt their ability to operate.” Cybersecurity analysts cautioned that the DarkSide statement could be a ruse, allowing its members to regroup and deflect the negative attention caused by the attack.

Spanish politics (Times of London) Isabel Diaz Ayuso, 42, head of the Madrid Assembly, is Spain’s rising conservative star; Pedro Sánchez, 49, is the prime minister. She inflicted a humiliating defeat on his Socialist government when she doubled her Popular Party’s number of seats in snap regional elections last week, in large part due to her keeping open the Spanish capital during the pandemic. Their defeat has rocked Spain’s political landscape. Ayuso walloped the Socialist party, shaking Sánchez’s standing, while totally wiping out the centre-right Citizens party and hobbling the advance of the far-right Vox party. Dismissed by her opponents as a Trumpista populist and lightweight novice, Ayuso is now tipped as a future national leader and her brand of liberal conservatism is being held up as a model for winning future general elections. While the left licks its wounds and looks for scapegoats for its loss, in the streets of Madrid people stop her to hail her as a heroine. “You are a fighter. You have courage,” a woman interjected to say to her during her interview with The Times. “Thank you for defending us.” Ayuso believes Sánchez’s days are numbered. “The election has generated enormous hope in Madrid and across Spain for those who are looking for an alternative type of politics,” she said.

Masks off, Poles cheer reopening of bars and restaurants (AP) Poles pulled off their masks, hugged their friends and made toasts to their regained freedom as restaurants, bars and pubs reopened for the first time in seven months and the government dropped a requirement for people to cover their faces outdoors. The reopening, for now limited now to the outdoor consumption of food and drinks, officially took place on Saturday. Yet many could not wait for midnight to strike and were out on the streets of Warsaw and other cities hours earlier on Friday evening to celebrate, gathering outside popular watering holes. Some brought their own beer to hold them over until the they could buy drinks at midnight—though some bars were also seen serving up beers and cocktails early. “Now they are opening and I feel so awesome. You know, you feel like your freedom is back,” said Gabriel Nikilovski, a 38-year-old from Sweden who was having beer at an outdoor table at the Pavilions, a popular courtyard filled with pubs in central Warsaw. “It’s like you’ve been in prison, but you’ve been in prison at home.”

Spy Agencies Seek New Afghan Allies as U.S. Withdraws (NYT) Western spy agencies are evaluating and courting regional leaders outside the Afghan government who might be able to provide intelligence about terrorist threats long after U.S. forces withdraw, according to current and former American, European and Afghan officials. The effort represents a turning point in the war. In place of one of the largest multinational military training missions ever is now a hunt for informants and intelligence assets. Despite the diplomats who say the Afghan government and its security forces will be able to stand on their own, the move signals that Western intelligence agencies are preparing for the possible—or even likely—collapse of the central government and an inevitable return to civil war. Courting proxies in Afghanistan calls back to the 1980s and ‘90s, when the country was controlled by the Soviets and then devolved into a factional conflict between regional leaders. The West frequently depended on opposing warlords for intelligence—and at times supported them financially through relationships at odds with the Afghan population. Such policies often left the United States, in particular, beholden to power brokers who brazenly committed human rights abuses.

India’s coronavirus crisis spreads to its villages, where health care is hard to find (Washington Post) BANAIL, India—The illness traveled silently through the narrow lanes of this prosperous village in Uttar Pradesh, infecting both young and old. People complained of fevers, cough and breathlessness. Then they began to die. Vipin Kumar, a farmer in his 40s, was one of them. More than 20 people with coronavirus symptoms have died in the village over the past two weeks, according to locals, a significant increase over the three or four deaths per month the village saw before the pandemic. Most of them, like Kumar, were never tested. “Not a day goes by when there are no deaths,” said Hariom Raghav, a farmer and businessman who had just returned from a cremation. “If things continue like this, the village will empty out soon.” The story of Banail has been playing out in villages across India as the virus continues its deadly surge: Rural areas, where over 65 percent of India’s 1.3 billion people live, had been spared in the first wave of the pandemic but are now facing devastating numbers of infections. Three quarters of all districts in India are reporting a positivity rate of more than 10 percent, a health official said Tuesday, an indication of how widely the virus had spread.

China lands on Mars in major advance for its space ambitions (AP) China landed a spacecraft on Mars for the first time on Saturday, a technically challenging feat more difficult than a moon landing, in the latest step forward for its ambitious goals in space. Plans call for a rover to stay in the lander for a few days of diagnostic tests before rolling down a ramp to explore an area of Mars known as Utopia Planitia. It will join an American rover that arrived at the red planet in February. China’s first Mars landing follows its launch last month of the main section of what will be a permanent space station and a mission that brought back rocks from the moon late last year.

Back-to-back tornadoes kill 12 in China; over 300 injured (AP) Back-to-back tornadoes killed 12 people in central and eastern China and left more than 300 others injured, authorities said Saturday. Eight people died in the inland city of Wuhan on Friday night and four others in the town of Shengze, about 400 kilometers (250 miles) east in Jiangsu province, local governments said. Tornados are rare in China. In July 2019, a tornado killed six people in the northeastern Liaoning province, and another tornado the following month killed eight on the southern resort island of Hainan.

As protesters flee Hong Kong, Taiwan quietly extends a helping hand (Washington Post) Bobbing off the coast in a Zodiac speedboat scrubbed of identifying features, Kenny and four others waited nervously for the last leg of their desperate, 350-mile journey. The five had been arrested months earlier on the front lines of demonstrations in Hong Kong. They had escaped across the South China Sea, steering toward Taiwan with just some snacks, identification and a satellite phone. Now came the final hurdle: convincing the approaching Taiwanese Coast Guard—and the government—not to turn them back. Taiwanese authorities brought the five ashore, housed them in a government complex and provided clothing, cigarettes, television, table tennis games—even English teachers. Eventually, the Taiwanese, who treated the presence of the five as a state secret, helped arrange flights to the United States, their new home. The experience of the five shows the lengths to which self-ruled Taiwan has gone to protect and help fleeing Hong Kong protesters. As Beijing tightens the noose around Hong Kong’s democracy movement, Taiwan has emerged as a key destination for those escaping the dragnet—just as Hong Kong offered sanctuary for dissidents from mainland China in the 20th century. “Hong Kong was once a safe harbor, but now, Hong Kongers need a safe harbor,” said Samuel Chu, a second-generation activist whose father helped students flee China after the 1989 Tiananmen Square crackdown.

Israel strike in Gaza destroys building with AP, other media (AP) An Israeli airstrike destroyed a high-rise building in Gaza City that housed offices of The Associated Press and other media outlets on Saturday, the latest step by the military to silence reporting from the territory amid its battle with the militant group Hamas. The strike came nearly an hour after the military ordered people to evacuate the building, which also housed Al-Jazeera, other offices and residential apartments. The strike followed another Israeli air raid on a densely populated refugee camp in Gaza City killed at least 10 Palestinians from an extended family, mostly children.

Medics: Israeli airstrikes kill 26 in downtown Gaza City (AP) Israeli airstrikes on Gaza City flattened three buildings and killed at least 26 people Sunday, medics said, making it the deadliest single attack since heavy fighting broke out between Israel and the territory’s militant Hamas rulers nearly a week ago. The Gaza Health Ministry said 10 women and eight children were among those killed, with another 50 people wounded in the attack. Rescuers raced to pull survivors and bodies from the rubble. Earlier, the Israeli military said it destroyed the home of Gaza’s top Hamas leader in a separate strike in the southern town of Khan Younis. It was the third such attack in the last two days on the homes of senior Hamas leaders. Israel appears to have stepped up strikes in recent days to inflict as much damage as possible on Hamas as international mediators try to broker a cease-fire.

With strikes targeting rockets and tunnels, the Israeli tactic of ‘mowing the grass’ returns to Gaza (Washington Post) For more than a decade, when analysts described the strategy utilized by Israel against Palestinian militants in the Gaza Strip, they’ve used a metaphor: With their displays of overwhelming military strength, Israeli forces were “mowing the grass.” The phrase implies the Palestinian militants in the Gaza Strip and their supply of crude but effective homemade weapons are like weeds that need to be cut back. But the long-term benefits of the “mow the grass” strategy have come under question. Zehava Galon, a former lawmaker with the leftist Meretz party, wrote for Haaretz that the strategy results in “perpetual war” that forgets “human beings are also able to talk, not only to carry a club.”

Arab World Condemns Israeli Violence but Takes Little Action (NYT) The Arab world is unified in condemning Israeli airstrikes in Gaza and the way the Israeli police invaded Jerusalem’s Aqsa Mosque, one of Islam’s holiest sites. Governments have spoken out, protests have taken place, social media is aflame. But by and large the condemnation is only words, not actions—at least so far. The region’s concerns have shifted since the last major Israeli incursion into Gaza in 2014, with new fears about Iran’s influence, new anxieties about popular unrest in Arab countries and a growing recognition of the reality of Israel in the Arab world. Even those countries that normalized relations with Israel last year—the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Sudan and Morocco—have all openly criticized Israeli policies and called for support of the Palestinians and the defense of Jerusalem. The escalation of violence has put a great strain on those governments, which had argued that their closer relationship with Israel would help restrain Israeli actions aimed at the Palestinians in both the West Bank and Gaza. “I have not seen any Arab state that has not expressed support for the Palestinians on a rhetorical level, and it would be very difficult for them to say anything otherwise,” said H. A. Hellyer, a scholar of Middle East politics at the Carnegie Endowment in Washington. “But what they do about it is very different.”

[fourangers]

Fate and Choices (ch.07)

Summary: When Naruto discovered who was going to be his soulmate, he jumped straight at this opportunity, looking forward to spending the rest of his life with his better half. Sasuke well…he was less eager in this regard though. NaruSasu. Soulmates tattoos. Explicit.

Warning: NaruSasu anal sex, blow job.

Chapter 06

AO3 link | ffnet link

--.--

He was definitely receiving some glowering in the train because of his constant leg shaking. Sighing, he adjusted on his seat, settling his leg down. Minutes later, his leg restarted shaking, and there were newer sets of eyes throwing silent judgements towards him, so he stood up, scratching his blond head.

He dearly hoped that what he had planned for this date would go well. He didn’t fill much in the itinerary, just enough so Sasuke wouldn’t get bored. While he was taking big breaths to calm his beating heart, he strode to the shopping mall’s entrance, 10 minutes earlier than appointed. Blinking, he recognized Sasuke’s back from afar, so he poked his shoulder. “Hey, you’re here already.”

Craning his head closer, Naruto noticed a moleskine on Sasuke’s lap, some random sketch of a crowd drawn on it. Sasuke shut it, putting on his pocket as he turned around with a nod of acknowledgement. “Just arrived too. Where are we going?”

“Watch a Kurosawa movie, Dreams. The coolest part of it is that a real orchestra will play the instrumental parts! When I read the news I thought you might like it.” He added, rubbing the back of his neck.

“This definitely sounds very interesting, but it’s not going to bore you though?”

“Which is why we’re going to an arcade after that.” Naruto grinned when Sasuke rolled his eyes with a half smile. “Hey, by the way, I saw some drawings in your notebook. Looks pretty cool. Can I see?”

Sighing, Sasuke placed the moleskine on his hand. “It’s nothing really.”

“Nothing…no way.” Naruto flipped through pages, with varied sketches of people, some plants, a cat and even a detailed face from an old man, shades portraying his weary expression with wrinkles. “Man, you’re always such a genius it’s infuriating. They look really good! You learned in college?”

“Hn, took some art classes. It’s a nice hobby now, to pass my time.” Sasuke put his moleskine back when Naruto returned to him.

“Hmmmmm, I can imagine you going to draw some nude models, and even some girls would offer private classes like ‘draw me like one of your french girls’. I should have taken some art classes too!” 

“Moron. What about you? Any interesting extracurricular class you did while in college?”

Naruto thought for a while and replied. “Soccer, I played defense. We even organized going to college tournaments sometimes, brought some cheerleading and all that. Mostly for fun, and I still meet my old team from time to time to play.”

“In Tokyo?” Sasuke muttered incredulous. "Good luck finding a place like that."

Naruto laughed, conceding the point. "We found some indoor futsal courts, it's better than nothing."

“True. Figured you’d be the typical jock once you’re in college. At least you put your endless stamina to good use.” Sasuke smirked.

Naruto showed his tongue in response, though before Sasuke could come up with a sarcastic assessment, the movie theater’s lights dimmed and they focused on the movie. The movie was more boring than he expected, but Sasuke was enthused towards it so Naruto let it slide. Nevertheless, he made sure he’d win the competition in the basketball throwing arcade, because the bastard called him a jock so he better play this part after all. The date finished on a high note with a pleasant dinner and kisses as a side dish, Naruto was practically floating on the way home.

The following dates were equally as nice. This budding relationship with Sasuke was…an interesting process. It was like merging new facets of Sasuke since they didn’t maintain contact in crucial years, but in many other aspects, he was still the same Sasuke he knew since he was a kid. Naruto was also sure that Sasuke was going through this same process with him, which kept their dates engaging and comforting at the same time. 

The only annoying part was the lack of physical contact. They would only kiss when there was a dark alley at some corner of the street, or when they booked an individual room at the restaurant, but it was short and mostly chaste so frankly it was getting frustrating for Naruto.

Things were so much easier when they were young and stupid, skipping some classes so they could go to the school’s rooftop, or go to Sasuke’s bedroom whenever his parents weren’t home to do what their impulses dictated. He even offered Sasuke to go to his apartment but the latter just dismissed him, citing he was tired or whatever. Bah.

Sasuke could feel Naruto’s impatience emanating whenever they were alone on their dates. Even when he kissed his dumbass, whenever he pulled back Naruto would grunt or whine how short it was, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to increase the duration of these kisses, getting lost in their passion, letting his hands caress Naruto’s back.

Then Naruto had the brilliant idea of going to some western style bar, claiming that it had the best handmade sake of all Japan and Sasuke had to try it. The moment they entered the establishment, he took a long look in the environment.

“Small tables for couples, dim lit room…you just dragged me here so we can make out, didn’t you?”

He smirked when the tanned face went engine red and Naruto sputtered. “W-what, no. C’mon you asshole, I’m really serious about the sake I was talking about, I thought you might like it.”

Sasuke hummed, the sardonic smile still in place. They sat at the appointed table, a fixed gaze thrown towards his dumbass boyfriend while Naruto mumbled their order. He glowered at the amused face Sasuke showed, kicking him on the knee and had the sadist joy of seeing the haughty look dissolving to a glare.

The silky sound of cello caught their attention, with the soft follow of piano and drums as the band played a jazz improv. With their faces closer, Naruto took all his time to observe Sasuke focused on listening to the music. His fingers wound up to part the dark fringes and put it behind the ear so he could see Sasuke’s sharp eyes, then he cupped the pale cheek. 

Sasuke fixed his gaze back at him, letting the thumb caress his skin, both unaware that the waitress smoothly put their drinks on the table, bowing out in a second. He muttered, lips curling upwards. “So you did drag me just so you can kiss me all night long.”

Naruto rolled his eyes, smiling. “Part of the reason, maybe.”

He gradually approached, holding his face in place until they closed the gap, softly at first, but increased in intensity each time their mouths glided and parted. One of Sasuke’s hand gripped his hip, pulling him closer so Naruto could taste him better, their own drinks forgotten.

Naruto jumped when he felt something vibrating, Sasuke detached his lips with a wet smack, picking his smartphone with a short glance and ignored the call, sliding their mouths once again with a ragged moan. The smartphone was vibrating once again quite insistently so Sasuke released with one last lick, clearing his throat. “Sorry, must be pretty urgent.”

“Yeah, it’s okay.” Naruto placed his hand over Sasuke’s, brushing over it while he took the call.

He couldn’t really understand the whole conversation, with the piano increasing its tempo and some cheers from the audience, but he could see Sasuke’s previous annoyed expression turning into a concerned one. Sasuke disentangled his fingers and patted Naruto’s head, muttering close to his ear that he needed to go to the toilet so he could have a quieter conversation. The blond man drank his mojito mildly peeved, the kisses were going so fine before this interruption. Sasuke soon returned, picking up his things. 

“Sorry, I think I can’t stay very long.” He picked the sake cup, gulping half of it. “You’re right, it is quite tasty. But after I finish this, we gotta go.”

“Well, that’s…that’s too bad, what happened?”

“One of my college friends, I need to help her relocate to another town because her soulmate found her.”

“Whoa⏤! Seriously? That sounds pretty dangerous. Oh hey, I can call my aunt, she can pull some strings to help your friend if you want.” Naruto interjected, also grabbing his wallet, ready to go.

Sasuke blinked, then nodded. “I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

“Yeah, it’s no trouble.” Naruto called the waitress to pay their bill. “What happened to the poor girl, is her soulmate some yakuza or something like that?”

“No, but he has a history of abusing her. Actually…she was the first one really blatant case about how the Soulmate system failed her, because she’s transgender and she’s paired with a an idiotic transphobe.”

Naruto grimaced, scratching his head. “Wow…I don’t even know what I should say in this case. What about police and lawyers, they didn’t help?”

Sasuke scoffed, souring his expression. “The society in general is biased with the soulmate system, and you know that. Everywhere we went, the moment they knew she was fleeing from her soulmate they thought she was just prolonging the inevitable, that one day he’d see her ways and accept her for who she truly is.”

“And…did he?”

“No, he’s a son of bitch who believes that God above gave him this mission to teach her what is truly correct, so she should go back to her original gender. Fucking bullshit, and everyone that it’s not part of our circle of friends told that it’s her fate to show him otherwise, to help him grow and whatever more excuses that makes me want to vomit.”

“Well…but you know, I don’t know her very well, but maybe fate does⏤” Naruto clamped his mouth shut when he met furious dark grey eyes, his rage was so palpable that he could see even in the dark room.

“See?! That’s what I meant that this system sucks! Instead of doing any rational deliberation to reach a fair conclusion, people prefer doing this victim blaming. If she wants to open his eyes or change his mind should be her decision, and her decision only. No one should force her to do some bullshit epic quest just because they have matching tattoos.”

Huffing, he waited for the usual onslaught of excuses and half-assed explanations but Naruto just stared back with wide eyes. He then crossed his arms in contemplation.

Feeling a little unsettled from this lack of response, Sasuke lashed out. “What?”

Naruto did a double take from his hostility, but muttered. “No, I just thought⏤you’re right. I was being insensitive. I’m just trying to remember about it, like all the times in the past I may have done or said something insensitive like that. I’ll try to be more careful in the future.” 

Oh. Sagging his shoulders, Sasuke said in a more neutral tone. “Sure. Thanks for listening to me.”

“Uh no. Thanks for showing me that I was wrong. Give me her name though, so I can ask around a way to help her out.” Naruto grinned and Sasuke could feel a load coming out from his back.

“Thank you.” The bill arrived so Sasuke picked up with a smirk. “I’ll pay this time.”

As they were going back to the subway, after much pestering and cajoling, Naruto managed to convince Sasuke to introduce him to his college friends one day. Sasuke accepted, as long as he could trade with seeing Naruto in the shortest shorts while playing soccer. The rest of their conversation was filled with teasing quips and the usual bantering.

⏤.⏤  

How odd. For the past month since his older brother went to the Netherlands, he’d call almost every day to help him out managing their company, and to update all the latest news. However, as time passed on, there were some days he didn’t chime in, claiming he was busy, and the gaps between each call would get wider till Itachi didn’t talk to him for a week. There were some occasional convos through messages but his brother was becoming as cryptic as ever.

Frowning, Sasuke figured it was time to call him instead. The first call was ignored. So was the second. He waited an hour and called again. After the 5th time, Itachi decided to answer him, his voice airy and dazed.

“Ah, if it isn’t my wayward otouto-kun⏤”

Sasuke had to point out the obvious. “Wait, you’re the one who vanished for a week⏤”

“Anyways. How are you going with your dates with Naruto-kun?”

“Nii-san, I actually wanted to talk about something relevant…”

“Right, which are probably regarding some tedious subjects.” Itachi responded. “So at least humor me a bit before we go to that part.”

Sasuke rolled his eyes, sighing. “It’s been running very smoothly.”

“Why are you talking as if Naruto-kun is some sort of car?”

“Nii-san…” Sasuke warned.

“Right right. Go on.”

“So…it’s been nice, I’m enjoying his company.” It was almost like they went back to their teenage days, but with many added bonuses. 

His older brother noticed his contemplative tone, and muttered. “You don’t sound so sure though.” 

Sasuke sighed again. It’s just that, the fact that he was having so much fun going on those dates with Naruto was sometimes…unsettling. That maybe the soulmate system was right after all, finding his perfect lifetime partner that fit him perfectly. 

He said, staring at the ceiling. “Sometimes I’m just surprised how accepting Naruto can be. You know my stance about the soulmate system, and you know how I’m against it right?”

“Sure, and then?”

“I guess in all the latest years, whenever I engage in any debate with anyone, I’d meet a lot of resistance. Sometimes people would just shut me down, wanting me to stop the conversation. But I kept forgetting that Naruto really listens to people and is willing to change if he’s persuaded enough.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?” 

“Yes…it’s just…what if all of these is all fabrication from the Soulmate system, that makes Naruto more accommodating to me? What if⏤”

“You’re not seriously believing such a ludicrous idea?” Itachi exhaled loudly, shaking his head.

“I don’t know how much it manipulates both of us, how genuine it is.”

“This tattoo on your hand makes you paranoid and overthink like ‘oh, but maybe…’ and it’d be kind of amusing seeing your skirting around like some lost lamb, if only it wasn’t as tragic too. Have you ever considered that if it weren’t the fact that Naruto-kun is your soulmate, you’d just be thankful that you’re dating a thoughtful, open-minded man who is willing to change his opinion no matter how many curved balls you throw in his direction?”

Sasuke relaxed the grip on his cellphone, turbulent heartbeats calming down due to his older brother’s reassuring voice. “...well.”

“Then make your life simpler otouto-kun.” Itachi insisted. “Just be thankful and happy that you’re dating someone like that and you’re looking forward to seeing how your relationship with him will unfold.”

“…hn.”  

“Let’s all agree with one thing, you’re not exactly an easy person to deal with and you should be thankful that Naruto-kun is the chosen victim of your choice.”

Sasuke scowled, then grumbled. “Naruto is not that perfect either.”

“Oh, pray tell me, why?”

“He got all sulky and refused to talk with me for more than a week just because I told him and I slept with some guys while I was in college.”

Itachi scoffed. “Otouto-kun, I am definitely not going to take your side.”

“You guys are all traitors. You, Neji, Naruto…”

“You made the bed, now you have to lay on it. Hm. Maybe literally.”

“We were supposed to talk about serious issues right.” Sasuke growled.

“Hm. And what would that be?”

Sasuke took a deep breath, dropping all the light mood aside. “Have you talked to our father lately?”

He heard some shuffling coming from the receiver, a small groan as Itachi answered. “No, I haven’t been talking with him since our last meeting. Why?”

“It’s nothing. It’s just that…he used to ask for a weekly financial report but he hadn’t done that lately.”

“Because the company is longer his.” Itachi interjected.

“Yes, true.” Sasuke thinned his lips. “It’s just that he’s been very quiet, I guess I’m worried now. Aside from work, he doesn’t have many friends and kept contact mostly with us, his family. And considering mom divorced him…”

“I guess you’re right. Have you sent him a message?”

Sasuke gave out an awkward grunt. “It’s weird sending him a message without a specific topic.”

“True.” Itachi agreed with a short chuckle. “Alright, I’ll try to contact him and you’ll talk with mom, ok?”

“Deal.” Sasuke conceded, relaxing his shoulders. “Talking about finance reports, you haven’t sent me this week yet and I really need it to show to one of our sponsors.”

There was a silence. 

“Nii-san? You hearing me?” Sasuke frowned, putting his voice closer to the speaker.

“Hmm. Oh, I see. Today is Wednesday, I should have sent the report yesterday right.”

“…right…” Sasuke muttered back, his confusion increasing when Itachi returned to the dreamy airy tone from the beginning.

“It’s incredible how time flies when you find happiness otouto-kun. I cannot believe that it’s Wednesday already. How marvellous is this, having no such thing as time constraining us.”

“Uh…Nii-san, the report…?” Sasuke was getting ready to call 911 because his older brother was acting very out of character.

“I forgot.”   

This time the silence came from Sasuke’s side out of sheer shock. “You forgot.”

“Yes.” Itachi confirmed in earnest. “Shisui-san and I went to Switzerland and all these gorgeous alpine mountains, that beautiful atmosphere that…”

“You forgot.” Sasuke muttered, realization dawning on his head. “Wait, did you talk with Takashi-sama and Nakamura-sama this Monday?”

“I rescheduled their meeting.”

“Ok, rescheduled to when?”

Itachi cleared his throat.

Sasuke felt a migraine coming up. He sighed. “Nii-san. Nii-san. Uchiha Itachi, you have a company to take care of. You have to work. Daily, might I add, in case you have forgotten.”

“Meyer.”

“What?”

“Itachi Meyer, will be my full name. Or maybe Itachi Meyer Uchiha, it does ring really nicely, don’t you think?”

Sasuke rubbed his eyebrows together, groaning. “Okay, your head is clearly all over the clouds, so I beg of you, at least, do some basic things like…talk to some of our sponsors. Show that you’re sound and alive.” 

“Oh, I’m definitely alive.”

Sasuke cringed, shaking his head from the incoming images. “I’m surrounded by fools, that’s what I am.”

“I really can’t wrap up my mind how on Earth I delayed this for so long. The act of consummating our love Sasuke, just the act⏤” 

“I don’t want to know.” He seriously don't want to hear his sibling's sex exploits, he wanted to die.

Itachi ignored him. “Just the act…was almost like some sort of religious experience.”

“I seriously don’t want to know and I don’t know why you’re still talking.”

“Ah otouto-kun, when I⏤” Sasuke hung up. Not one second later, Itachi called again. “As I was saying, when I⏤” Sasuke hung up again and ignored the following calls, putting on silence.

Unfortunately Itachi barreled him with thousands of messages, from all sorts of social media, complaints about how unjust he was, how he should let Itachi freely express how much he loved his soulmate, even baited Sasuke asking about numbers in their stock market.

He then saw that Naruto was calling him, and listened to a very confused tone coming from the blond man. “Ooookay, your brother called me. Something like he’s really sorry that I’m your soulmate and how heartless you are and he asked for you to call him or else. Whatever that means.”

“Nii-san found his soulmate, spent some weeks with him and apparently this is more than enough to lose every brain cell he has available. Does falling in love have such catastrophic results? He used to be the smartest man on Earth. Now I don’t even recognize this idiot that has the voice and the same name as my supposed older brother that I used to admire.”

Naruto laughed. “Oh, c’mon, he’s in a honeymoon phase, just let him. Unfortunately we didn’t have that right? We jumped straight to angry sex.”

“Hn. Ah yes, the fated day about our first time, that it ended up with me topping you.”

“What? No, the fuck. I topped you.”

"You have a terrible memory, usuratonkachi, obviously I topped you first."

“You’re such a liar. Fine, back when your family went on a long vacation and there were only me and you in the house, I topped you mostly.”

“Sure, mostly. Not the first.”

“Because you were all nervous and I didn’t want to hurt you! So I have to show you how to take a dick like a champ.”

“In other words, I. Did. First.” Sasuke smirked.

“‘Cuz I was considerate, you asshole! It doesn’t count! I was almost there!” 

“You can twist how much you want about the tale of events, but you can’t change history.” 

Sasuke heard a string of mumbles and cursing from Naruto until he huffed loudly. “Alright, I don’t know why am I even wasting my time talking to you when I gotta work.”

“Oh, fleeing, the cowardice ch⏤”

“BYE.”

Sasuke chuckled when the call was cut off, his mood improving exponentially. His older brother’s words resonated in his mind; Naruto was an attentive man. He really needed to start letting his walls down.

⏤.⏤  

“Hey Sasuke. I’ve been thinking.”

They were getting back from a L’arc en Ciel show they both enjoyed, the energy settling down after such intense music. Sasuke just grunted back, a cue for Naruto to continue his line of thought.

“So you have good reasons to be against the Soulmate system right? Why did you help your older brother create a system that helps someone to find his soulmate then?”

Sasuke took a moment in contemplation and replied. “Well, first of all, Nii-san is the idealistic one, he wanted to use our clan’s powers to reach everyone in hopes it’d alleviate their suffering. I’m in this because even if I disagree with this system, I can’t stop people from searching for it. The least I could do is ensure that they wouldn’t fall in a trap.”

“Oh yeah, the fact that you guys would research if they have any criminal record and mental health history.”

“Yes, and if we found anything like it, we would warn our client beforehand.” He exhaled a tired breath. “Unfortunately most people would still go through this ordeal nevertheless.”

“Well, curiosity always gets the best of everyone. But it’s not like they all end up meeting their soulmate.” Naruto shrugged untroubled.

Sasuke nodded, studying him minutely and revealed. “To be honest, it’s giving me good money too. And I wanted to invest some of it to build a NGO to help people who have trouble with their soulmate and let their voices be heard for once.”

Naruto absorbed this explanation and brightened up, patting his shoulder. “That’s an awesome idea! I really hope you’ll be able to fulfill it.”

Sasuke felt his lips tugging upwards, crinkling his eyes. “Actually, I already founded with my mother, we planned that she’ll get in touch with the victims while I handle the rest. I just have to put everything in motion.”

“Well, if you need someone to promote your idea and spread the word I can help you out.” Naruto supplied, pointing to himself.

Sasuke snorted in disbelief. “Neji told me your salary, my organization can’t afford someone this expensive off the bat.”

“I’ll do it for free till you get enough sponsors.” 

That made Sasuke stop on his track, eyes narrowing. “You’re not doing this just to appease me, are you?”

Naruto rolled his eyes. “Seriously? I’d never do this just to kiss some ass, I thought you knew me better. I really think it’s a good idea and I’m aboard.”

Sasuke was understandably bewildered, no one aside his college friends wanted to help him out in this cause and Naruto just accepted this easily. “Why?”

Naruto glanced back, furrowing his eyebrows and formulated his thoughts better. “Like I’ve said, you really showed a different point of view, something I never noticed before. And I think since I have this ability to promote a good idea, so people like your trans friend would finally have some help, I should do it then. Change the society for the better.”

“I guess I’m just impressed, most people are much more resistant to seeing the soulmate’s system flaws than you.”

“I was resistant at first, for sure. I thought that back then, you ignored me only because of how your parents’ relationship was handled. However, you did give me valid explanations, valid examples to show that it’s not a perfect system. I do believe our relationship is going pretty good so far, Sasuke.” Naruto smiled and Sasuke felt his heartbeat increasing. “But now I’m not going to generalize and believe that everyone with their soulmates has something similar to this. And to those who unfortunately fell into a toxic situation, I want to help them out.”

While there was no word exchanged except the calm steps echoing in the deserted street, Sasuke gazed at Naruto in awe, almost as if he was looking at his childhood friend for the first time in his life. Reflecting and relieved that for once, after many years, he was glad that Naruto was his chosen one. He stopped when they arrived in his building, mumbling his voice raspy. “Well, I live here.”

“Oh!” Naruto exclaimed. “Aw, that’s too bad, I wanted to talk with you more.”

Swallowing, Sasuke said. “You can go with me, to my apartment.”

Naruto.exe stopped working.

“It’s just an invitation, nothing more.” Sasuke grumbled, practically seeing all the dirty thoughts emerging from Naruto’s head.

“…sure, yeah. Uh-huh.” Naruto rubbed the back of his neck, grinning widely. Sasuke grabbed his hand with a sigh, as he unlocked the security system. Naruto just let Sasuke drag him with a permanent beam, squeezing his hand as emphasis while blue eyes glowed in glee.

Sasuke’s apartment was roughly the same size as Naruto’s, with minimalistic design and some traditional Japanese decoration sprinkled here and there. Before Sasuke could go to his kitchen to get some water, his cellphone chimed.

“It’s my friend, the trans one. She promised she would call me once she finished moving to another town. I’ll take the call really fast. Feel free to look around, but don’t break anything, you hear me?” Sasuke warned.

“Yeah yeah. So much faith on me.” Naruto shooed him, so with a last glare, Sasuke went to his bedroom.

Naruto noticed that instead of a bigger bedroom like his, there was an extra space for an office. He turned on the lights, impressed by the array of books, mostly classical literature, some about marketing, others regarding the Soulmate system. He let his fingers slide through each spine, picking one title or another, but putting back just as quickly. One tall book caught his attention, placed in a corner. It was larger in size but thinner in number of pages, black leathered cover. Curious, Naruto opened the book.

It was a drawing of him.

His heart jumped to his throat, so Naruto carefully turned another page, revealing another sketch of him, but in another angle, this time looking thoughtful. Another page, another drawing depicting him. The lines were rough and unsure, but he could definitely recognize himself in those pictures. As he was leafing through those drawings, details were added, with more depth and added expression confirming that all of these sketches were of himself looking in teenage years. He halted, staring at his grinning face doodled on the creamy paper.

“Good news, she’s safe and sound in anoth⏤” Sasuke widened his eyes, yanking his sketchbook out of Naruto’s hands and slammed shut. 

Naruto’s jaw was still agape, managing to form a sentence. “Uh. Your drawings?”

Sasuke tamped the urge to throw it through the window, absolutely denying its existence.

The blond man continued in an attempt to ease the situation, mumbling. “They look…really good.” 

Sasuke tightened his fingers on the edges, eyes straying to the ground.

Biting his lower lip, Naruto scratched his head. “Are they…”

“Yes.”

“…oh.”

Sasuke appeared very reluctant to say any other word, torn in between ripping those pages apart or just putting it back on the shelf. Naruto couldn’t also meet his eyes, and after many uncomfortable minutes, he decided it’d be better if he left the room.

“I couldn’t get you out of my head.”

At this sudden revelation, Naruto swiveled his head around, peering towards his soulmate.

“At first I thought; it couldn’t be helped, we were practically attached to the hip since we were kids. Then it just kept getting worse. And worse. So much worse.” Sasuke croaked out, voice tired and heavy. “There wasn’t a day I wouldn’t picture you in my head and wonder how you were doing and there wasn’t one night where I would sleep before remembering your face.”

Naruto’s hands soon reached to touch his face, brushing the alabaster skin lovingly. “Sasuke…”

However, he picked those hands and stirred away. “This obsession wasn’t getting any healthier, so one of my friends suggested that I could practice sketching to release some stress, that’s all. I just…some days, when it was really unbearable, I guess I just drew you so I can expunge your image out of my mind.” 

Naruto cupped his cheeks once again, soulful blue eyes raw and vulnerable that made his own heart ache in response.

When he opened his mouth, Sasuke hissed. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

Naruto rested his forehead onto his, whispering. “Why can’t I? I missed you too, just so fucking much. Every single day, just wishing that⏤” He sighed, connecting the last dots at last. “That’s why you never contacted me, even blocked me out. You kept reading about bad cases about soulmates and you were afraid you were going to be next. That the fact that you missed me is caused by some power coming from the soulmate system.”

“What if it is?”

“Why are you so sure it’d be?”

“Why not?” Sasuke growled, blinking away incoming of tears. “All these years, every day before you reappeared in my life I kept thinking about you. It’s unnatural and the only reason it’d happen it’s because of this system.”

Naruto shook his head, voice pleading. “What about our feelings Sasuke? They don’t count?”

“I don’t⏤” Sasuke swallowed the bile on his throat, grumbling. “Just our emotions, it wouldn’t make sense.”

“Feelings don’t make sense Sasuke. Love…” Naruto saw a small flinch at the corner of his eye but pressed on. “Doesn’t make sense. You’re trying to rationalize, quantify it, because by using logic it gives the security you need, and I get it. I really do. But there’s no way this⏤” His mouth reached the trembled lips into a loving kiss and he muttered. “Is just caused because we’re soulmates. You know I’m right.”

Sasuke couldn’t utter any response back, feeling cornered, the book cabinet digging painfully on his back while Naruto’s warm body radiated close to his own. When those tempting lips grazed on his own, he insisted.

“No, stop.” He needed to organize his muddled mind, and he didn’t want distraction, especially since Naruto’s kisses always felt like home.

Naruto paused, his hands still holding his face though his lips so close to Sasuke that he could almost lick it.

When his sketchbook fell to the ground with a dull thud, Sasuke could feel his last resolve crumbling away, fingers tangling on the golden hair.  “You know that’s not fair.” 

And just like that, this simple contact gave clarity to all the chaos brewing in his core that it almost made him light-headed. Their mouths interlocked perfectly, giving a surge of exhilaration when Naruto moaned low on his throat, tilting his head for another long kiss that even swayed his body backwards.

Sasuke sat precariously in one of the shelves, his legs widening to accommodate Naruto’s body, while his lips just hungered to taste more. Naruto detached for a second with Sasuke’s mouth following after, groaning in displeasure. Half-lidded blue eyes gazed onto his, wordless communication exchanged in an infinite second, before Naruto dove in once again, capturing his thin lips for another heart-stopping kiss.

He felt hands caressing his chest, gliding down to his stomach. Naruto’s fingers ghosted over his crotch, almost as if he was unsure whether he should do this. Sasuke buckled forward, fully touching his hand over his hardening dick. Through this confirmation, Naruto continued to kiss him, hand rubbing on the clothed cock over and over, scratching and feeling the long rod on his palm. 

Sasuke released his lips, yanking out the orange shirt as his lover returned in kind. Breathing heavily, he let Naruto unzip his jeans, hands fondling his ass while Naruto let his nose nuzzle on the silk boxers, darkened eyes staring towards him as the devilish tongue licked the base. Oh God, he missed this so much…his senses were overloading, hypersensitive to his lover’s touch.

When Naruto pushed his jeans and boxers down, lips encasing on the head of his cock, Sasuke keened, body curling around the blond head. Naruto didn’t waste one second teasing him, mouth bobbing up and down, tightening in the exact spots that flooded this pleasure into him. Skilled hands rolled his balls, throat vibrating from Naruto’s moan, eyes locked while he continued to swallow his cock. 

Sasuke stared wide-eyed, fingers gripping on the golden strands of hair. There was always something erotically mesmerizing seeing Naruto’s head between his legs, full lips wrapping around his cock. His tongue traced over the vein and ridges, pressing on the foreskin and sucking the pre-cum gathered on the slit. He picked up speed while he tightened around his hard-on, Sasuke’s senses were going haywire being engulfed inside that hot and wet mouth.

Out of nowhere, Naruto stepped back.

Sasuke screamed, feeling murderous. “You dumbass⏤!”

“I gotta find any kind of lube or something like that. I’ll be right back.” Naruto dropped a swift kiss, exiting the room. Sasuke could not believe that this moron actually left him hanging like that. He followed behind, eyes fixed on that round ass (that for some infuriating reason was still clothed). He was still hard and Naruto was scrambling through all the kitchen cabinet and top shelves, so Sasuke slapped his ass. 

“Ow!” Naruto turned around with a scowl, and felt a cold sensation on his hand. He noticed he had a small bottle of olive oil, Sasuke pulled him closer to ignite another urgent kiss, sitting on the counter.

With one hand holding his creamy thighs, Naruto then gripped his hard-on, sliding through the shaft, a warm breath teasing over his sensitive head. He felt long fingers clutching his golden hair, tilting upwards to see fiery dark eyes. Without breaking their stares for a second, Naruto licked the slit, tapping around the edges before taking his cock, taking a dark perversion how Sasuke face contorted in hazy pleasure, engulfing more of the whole length with each push and pull. 

Naruto somehow managed to cover his fingers with olive oil, placing it back on the table. He pulled Sasuke downwards to expose better the entrance, one digit entering and meeting resistance. He let his thumb rub the perineum, massaging gently till Sasuke was getting used to his touch. It’s been so long he had done this, letting these fingers invade in him and inciting him to let out a long moan. The first knuckle moved past the tight ring, he clenched around it in reflex before wielding his body to relax.

Naruto continued to tap inside, curling and twisting patiently, his mouth occasionally playing with his cock, slurping around the reddened head as the finger breached inside completely. He began brushing on the prostate, eliciting goosebumps all over Sasuke’s skin, making him gasp in surprise. His moans were growing in volume and length while his lover continued to stimulate his prostate and perineum, finger thrusting in an increasing pace, another one joining in.

Sasuke screamed once Naruto’s mouth engulfed his cock, fingers still spearing in his entrance at a blurry speed. At some point he realized that Naruto wanted to drive him to completion with just anal stimulation, however Sasuke craved for so much more. 

He gasped, heels digging on the shoulders. “Naruto⏤!”

Blue eyes blinked from wanton fire, dick dislodging from his mouth. He glanced back at Sasuke, before straying his gaze to the ground, clearing his throat. “Um…but I gotta go buy some condoms.”

Sasuke stared back bewildered, before knitting his eyebrows in indignant fury. “What the fuck Naruto, I’m fucking clean.”

The blond man groaned, knowing that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. “I’m just going through safety methods to avoid diseases, you were the one who slept with other guys.”

Sasuke curled his hands into a fist, resisting the urge to knock his teeth out. He didn’t curb the bitter tone in his voice though. “I only did it in my first year, in the first months, all with protection because I’m not fucking dumb. And even after that I did a very thorough medical exam so sorry if I have to dig through mountains of dusty files to show you whatever the fuck you want to satisfy your stupid jealousy.”

Somehow this confession felt very off-place that Naruto even forgot that they were in the middle of foreplay. He tilted his head to one side mumbling. "Why did you have sex with some guys only in your first months?”

“Does that matter?” Sasuke growled.

“You could definitely have a harem in your disposal, seeing that you're well…you could have one different guy every night, so why?"

Sasuke grumbled very loudly, staring at his wilting erection and really wishing Naruto could go back to what really interested him. "It's nothing, and thanks for painting me as some sort of man-whore who wants to sleep around given any chance."

"I was just saying as an example.” Naruto insisted, curiosity piqued. “You're hot Sasuke, and I know I'm lucky that you chose me to date you. So why?" 

"I was picky, let's move on." Sasuke captured Naruto’s lips with his teeth, indulging in another deep kiss where he hoped it’d occupy his dumbass’ mind.

Naruto didn’t take the bait, muttering between smacks of lips. "To the point that you'd only⏤"

"I thought we were having sex, dumbass." His dick deserved a medal now, how the fuck did it manage not to go soft after all these intermissions?

Naruto blinked. "Right, but I'm curious." 

Huffing, Sasuke raised his eyes heavenward, feeling a sudden chill on his nubile body, all the previous erotic estimulation gone now. Naruto kissed him softly, almost as an apology before he asked again.

“I’m curious.”

“I told you it’s nothing.” Sasuke growled, his hands itching to just grab the blond head and make Naruto deep-throat his cock.

“If it’s nothing, where’s the issue about you telling me?”

“I swear to God you absolute moron, my dick is right here, waiting for you⏤”

Naruto shook his head, exhaling tiredly. He admitted in a quiet voice. “I just⏤are those guys that special that you’d restrict yourself with only them or⏤”

Sasuke was almost at his wit's end, exclaiming. “Naruto, are you really going with the jealous boyfriend bullshit, I swear to God…”

“I’m sorry, I⏤” Naruto shuffled uncomfortably, looking guilty. “I’m not that mature knowing that you had other guys in the past. I don’t think I want to hear how you were romantically involved with someone el⏤”  

“I wasn’t involved with anyone, it was just one-night stands. I swear.” Sasuke assured, adding with a hard kiss on his lips.

Gradually, fingers reached to cup his face, Naruto murmured unsure. “Well, then…why⏤”  

Sasuke gazed upon his lover’s azure eyes, a shade of hesitancy and distress. Confessing his last secret would crumble the last barrier he had built all over the years against his soulmate but…Naruto deserved this. Inhaling, Sasuke shut his eyes, declaring.

“I missed you. Okay?”

Naruto focused his vision on Sasuke, his emotions being mixed between confusion and elation.

Sasuke pressed on. “I missed you, and I needed to forget you badly. No matter what. I thought that it would work but…” He heaved loudly, glaring to the ground and grumbled. “Well, that’s why I settled by drawing your fucking dumbass face.”

Naruto just gawked back, his brain taking time to compute and absorb all this new information. As the silence kept stretching Sasuke snapped. “What?”

But those stupid wide blue eyes only stared back at him before, much to his indignation, Naruto let out a bark of laughter. That moronic dumbass, he expected that Naruto would at least look relieved.

“What?!” Sasuke snarled.

“No it’s just that…” Naruto chuckled again, grinning. “I keep forgetting your very weird and twisted ways to show affection.”

That’s it, he should have settled jerking himself off instead of getting involved with this moron. Sasuke clobbered over the blond head. “You dumbass, I don’t even understand why I’m attracted to you stupid aaaaah⏤!!!” He screamed when a thick cock impaled him out of nowhere, buried to the hilt.

Naruto started thrusting in that tight hole, a feral smirk adorning his face. Lips reached to a fleeting connection, breaths accelerating as Sasuke clutched their bodies closer with his arms, growling. “A little warning usuratonkachi.”

Naruto chuckled, whispering wicked words. “But you like some burn, don’t you?”

Frowning, Sasuke silenced him with another kiss, letting this ecstasy pile up as Naruto continued to thrust inside him. He enjoyed reigniting these lost sensations, the hot member stretching him wide, but still snuggled tight that he could feel the bumps and ridges every time this cock plunged in.

Naruto was taking his time in getting reacquainted to his body, like a musician tuning his instrument he hadn’t used in a while. He replayed all the familiar spots, exploring them once again and heightening in this sinful composition that made Sasuke writhe and moan helplessly. 

There was absolutely no comparison to all previous sex trysts he had done with other men. All the uninterested touches, mechanical movements were just some bleak, monocolor passage of time that put him off in an instant. 

Sex with Naruto was always an extraordinary, almost time-bending event that consumed his soul completely. Seconds flew by but also stretched indeterminate when he drowned in this ecstasy, myriad of colors flashing through his eyes while their bodies were locked together.

Naruto pulled away only till the tip was in, before thrusting deep inside Sasuke with a groan, savoring how his lover shivered in response. Mouths meshed together, fervent, passionate and greedy, tasting the unique flavor of his lover.

Sasuke managed to wheeze out. “Bedroom…” He let out an uncharacteristic yelp, his arms clutching on the broad back when Naruto held him by his buttocks, cock burying even deeper in his hole. He moaned when hips thrust several times, but Naruto shuffled in the general direction of his bed, bodies linked yet.

Two more stumbles here and there, Naruto managed to throw him to bed, laughing. “Oh, thank God your bedroom is nearby, I’m actually not that strong ya know.” Sasuke just kissed him, too used to his shenanigans.

In a wild second, Sasuke wished he’d kiss those smiling lips for the rest of his life. His brain panicked though, reminding him how a flawed system linked them together. Fortunately this negative thought didn’t linger, with their mouths matching, overlapping and gliding together in a swimming giddiness. 

Sasuke turned around with the intention to be taken behind but a hand halted him, making his eyes focused back on Naruto’s smile.

“Hey…I wanted to see you.” He muttered, giving another kiss in reassurance. 

Sasuke’s upper body faced forward, his legs settling to one side though. While he was holding his cock with one hand, Naruto aimed and began penetrating him once again. There wasn’t one moment their mutual gazes would waver, blue eyes stared affectionately towards dark grey ones, as Naruto picked up speed while Sasuke rolled his hips to match this rhythm.

He was tilting closer, almost as if he craved to be completely merged into Sasuke’s that, at some point, he laid down next to Sasuke, one tanned hand cradled his head, another one caressed his face. Sasuke’s right leg was wrapped around Naruto’s hip, tanned left leg thrown over his body, Sasuke’s fingers clenching tightly to bring impossibly close to him, limbs tangled till he could not see where was the end or beginning of their bodies. Once Naruto tilted his hips to restart his thrusts, Sasuke’s whole vision was fixated in this exquisite face, full of intense hunger and warm tenderness. Every inch of his skin was covered by his lover’s body, cock pulsating inside him repeatedly. 

He felt so full.

Those overwhelming emotions settled in his heart, igniting bright embers that threatened to throw him over the edge. Naruto then curled his hand around his cock, pumping it while his lips tried for another kiss, though it just bumped while they were both breathing faster, thrusts increasing till it lost all pacing as they both reached their orgasm.

Sasuke cried out, shuddering while his cum drizzled on Naruto’s hand, soiling the sheets. Two more plunges Naruto locked in, hugging Sasuke tightly while he released inside him. They heaved for long minutes from aftershocks, their eyes focused on each other nonetheless.

Once he settled enough, Naruto was first to kiss Sasuke’s forehead, yawning and shutting his eyes, arms enveloped around his body.

And in this miraculous second, instead of being bombarded by second thoughts or reluctance, Sasuke succumbed to his desires, cheek nuzzling the blond hair as he also called the night.

Chapter 08

⏤.⏤

AN: Hooray for butt-sex! I gotta be honest, I just created this whole fic to write this sex scene. I hope you guys will like it lmao. (and please review)