#but going out of your way to avoid a promotion to be loyal is stupid

[queenielacy]

I’m sorry but tribalism among wrestling fans will always be weird to me. You won’t watch another promotion out of some weird sense of loyalty. Meanwhile, Xavier Woods is fangirling over Swerve Strickland’s Warriors themed gear.

[floraliaison]

[ melodrama ] ― track i | homemade dynamite

political au. ushijima wakatoshi x fem! reader.

3.1 k 

masterlist. next.

If there’s any one word you would prefer people to describe you as, it would have to be unquestionably loyal.

After all, it’s just past seven, and you haven’t yet drunk enough whiskey as you would like to, but when Oikawa tells you about a new guy you must hate, you don’t even think twice before agreeing.

He shifts the drink in his hand, ice cubes clinking together while he side-eyes the group of men from across the veranda, no doubt burning holes into the back of his intended target’s head as he mutters, “And there he is.”

You whip your head to the right, not caring enough about subtlety because this is your house and you can and will look at whoever you damn please.

His directions don’t really help much, you soon realize, because there are a hundred and one of Eita’s friends huddled around the end of the buffet table where the drinks are located.

“There are a bunch of ‘he’s over there, Oiks. Which one?” you hiss under your breath, craning your neck to see if you can pick anyone out from the crowd.

There’s Leon, Kenjiro, Hayato, and a handful of other people you recognize but can’t recall the names of. All that matters is that they’re all annoying, and they’re all here.

You’d think Oikawa’s taste in men has improved in the six years you’ve been gone, but if he actually says it’s one of them then you’ve apparently thought wrong.

“The tall one, Y/N,” Oikawa says as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. His rings glint in the dim light as he discreetly points at one in the far back. “The one with the white jacket.”

Finally, you spot whoever it is he’s referring to, and the next thing out of your mouth is a crisp “What the fuck?”

Oikawa snorts in derision – why he would when he’s the laughingstock in this particular situation, you’ll never know, but that still doesn’t stop you from echoing the sound back.

“I leave my best friend alone for a few years, and when I come back you’re suddenly all broken-hearted about Ushijima Wakatoshi?” You say, equal parts incredulous and disappointed. Said best friend only shrugs in response, chugging the rest of his rum before slamming the empty glass down on the table.

“Save it, princess. Iwa’s already lectured me about the whole ‘you have terrible taste’ and ‘you should stop going after guys who you know are only going to break your heart’ thing,” he shoots back, his use of air quotes telling you that no, he didn’t – and probably still doesn’t – follow Iwaizumi’s advice. You roll your eyes, comeback already on the tip of your tongue, when —

“Hold on,” the boy next to you suddenly sits up straight, eyes wide open and staring at you. “How come you know him?”

“Well who doesn’t know him?”

Although you deliver it in a way that comes off as mildly sarcastic, all of his prominent social, athletic, and political embellishments have served to establish Ushijima Wakatoshi as a household name; both in Tokyo and throughout the rest of Japan.

But while that’s true, you for one can’t say that you know the man in the way that Oikawa is implying. Despite belonging in the same political circle, what with both your fathers’ professions, you have yet to properly interact outside of the social niceties required for the few parties and fundraisers you’ve seen him at.

From what you are able to discern the first few times you have been able to talk to him though, you are one hundred percent certain that you disliked the man to an almost frightening degree. His stoicism, apparent indifference and boundless pride rub off of you the wrong way, and you’ve been actively ignoring him at every meeting afterwards.

Your friend lets out another snort – you’ve half a mind to change his contact name to horse at this point – while you raise an eyebrow at his accusatory finger-wagging, almost daring him to say what’s so clearly on his mind.

Because despite wearing a short white number to stave off the summer heat that dominated the venue just hours prior, you have absolutely zero qualms about giving Tooru a thorough beat-down if necessary.

“There you guys are.”

Someone plops down into the vacant seat to your left, and when you turn to see a familiar, non-douchey face, you break into a smile.

“Hey, Haji,” you greet Iwaizumi as you lean against his side.

The faint blush that spreads across Oikawa’s face doesn’t escape you when you sneak a glance at him. Despite having his mind preoccupied by Ushijima, it looks like the brunette still hasn’t let go of his little crush on the final member of your trio. “Iwa-chaan, we waited forever. What took you so long?”

“Got lost, your house is fucking huge Y/N,” Iwaizumi explains, setting down his glass of his newest alcoholic concoction as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Good thing I ran into your brother, few more minutes and I would’ve lost my mind in there.”

You snicker at him, a low mumble of “and you claim Tooru’s the stupid one” escaping you because honestly, your house isn’t that big. He might just not admit it but it’s common knowledge that Hajime’s a bit... directionally challenged, to say the least.

Ignoring the glare he sends your way, you nonchalantly pick up his drink and take a sip. “Ah, very nice. You really should consider bartending, Haji, you’ve got the talent for it,” you remark, handing Oikawa the glass for him to taste. 

Iwaizumi’s skill in mixing spirits was one the three of you discovered during one of your first parties, when you and Tooru had complained about how shitty the drinks were. Hajime, in a true gentlemanly fashion, had grabbed a couple of bottles off the counter and kept the two of you well-provided for for the remainder of the event. (and for every other event that came after it.)

The spiky-haired lawyer only rolls his eyes at your words, plucking the crystalware out of Oikawa’s hands before he could finish it off amidst the latter’s ungodliest of whines. “What were you doing anyway? Looked like you were discussing some deep stuff when I came in.”

You separate from him, putting your hands on your hips and adopting a haughty tone, “We are slandering Ushijima Wakatoshi, and his ways of ill-repute. You, by declaration of the Mistress, which is me, and by Friendship Code 70040, is hereby required to join as well.”

“I’ll pass, Wakatoshi’s cool,” Hajime comments around a sip of alcohol, and the casual use of Ushijima’s first name is enough to give you pause.

“Okay, first of all how are you on a first name basis with him and second, you’re a guy.” you exclaim, throwing your hands up for emphasis. “Of course you’d think that!”

“First question: I worked with him for a bit two years ago, not gonna say anything more because company rules, but we talked and he’s really nice,” Iwaizumi holds up two fingers. “Second, sure I am, but even your brother thinks so, too.”

“The world doesn’t just consist of Eita.”

“Alright, you both better shut it because the topic of your very heated conversation is heading right here,” Oikawa interrupts, poking you in the side and sending a look at Iwaizumi.

You groan in response and shake your head. Even during your time abroad, you’ve been unable to escape his presence; from the posters promoting his team for the 2014 World League to the numerous brand advertisements three years later, Wakatoshi was everywhere.

But - and you’ll never admit to this out loud, not ever - even though all you’ve seen of him was in print, on the television, and in the occasional social media update, you could never deny the fact that the man was handsome.

Tooru is attractive, as evidenced by the sheer number of his admirers in high school, Hajime has received his own fair share of confessions and Valentine’s Day chocolates, and you have to admit that your brother is objectively good-looking as well.

And while it’s a confession you have to make under duress, Wakatoshi is a completely different case altogether. You’d thought you were stunned when Miya Atsumu came to your offices to help promote the newly rolled-out banking app, but even he can’t really compare.

Nothing can really do with perfectly gelled olive hair, pristine three-piece suit slightly strained against a muscular build, and the undeniable aura that exuded power and demanded respect.

One would have to be practically blind not to feel attracted to Ushijima (but even then, you think that the timbre of his voice can still make anyone weak in the knees), but because you have no shame and are definitely not above pettiness, you maintain a disgusted-looking sneer as you watch him make his way to your table.

“Hey Toshi,” Oikawa says, the red from before making a reappearance as he takes in the newcomer with eager eyes.

“Good evening, Oikawa,” Ushijima replies, but it’s clear that his attention is focused elsewhere; namely, on you.

Your skin crawls at the weight of the stare he’s pinning on you, but you veto the urge to flip him off right then and there because that would be against proper decorum. Your patience is running thin though, and he needs something else to stare at immediately or so help him God you will do it.

“Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi intervenes, bless him, and offers a hand towards the taller. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hajime,” Ushijima grasps the appendage and gives it a firm shake, but his gaze still hasn’t left you. ”It’s good to see you.” 

“Yo Ushiwaka! Get back over here!” One of the miscreants across the veranda calls out, standing beside what seems to be a set-up for a round of beer pong. You can’t help but make a face when you catch sight of it because what did they think this was, some messy Saturday night college party? These guys really had no taste.

Ushijima finally turns around to head back to his friends, but not without shooting you one last cursory glance over his shoulder; a glance that you dutifully avoid despite every single cell in your body pushing you to return it and have him catch sight of the hellfire burning in your gaze for doing whatever it is that he did to Tooru.

Because damn it, no one hurts your friends or family and gets away with it. Not even over your dead body, because God knows you will rise from the dead just to get retribution on their behalf.

The minute Wakatoshi’s out of earshot, you scoff into your glass of whiskey, hastily downing it in one go because you’d need more of it in your system if you wanted to survive tonight with him around.

In the entirety of your 26 years, never have you once thought yourself as unlucky. Horribly ill-timed, sure, but unlucky? Nope.

Or at least, not until tonight.

“If it isn’t Miss Semi,” a smooth baritone sounds from behind you, nearly causing you to drop the container you’re holding in surprise. “Good evening.”

You seethe, ready to give the person a piece of your mind for almost being the (however indirect) culprit to the destruction of a 20-year old piece of china, and you have the gall to be so confrontational because you actually know who it is. Only one person in this entire house can be in possession of a voice that deep.

True enough, when you turn, it is Ushijima Wakatoshi who stands at the entrance to your kitchen in all of his six-foot-three glory, eyebrow cocked in a perfect arch as he regards you. He’s holding an empty wineglass in his left hand, and it looks like he’s come in here to have it refilled.

You aren’t sure what exactly about the situation brings all the blood rushing to your face; be it the anger you feel at seeing him so callously walk into your kitchen like he owns it instead of going to the refreshments table outside, or the feeling of something else at the sight of him in only his deep purple dress shirt; sleeves rolled up and top two buttons undone.

That, along with the fact that his hair is now slightly tousled, leaves you thinking that he looks positively sinful, if not for the smirk that’s painted on his stupid face. That one tiny detail pushes you to choose the first, and safer, option.

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, hello Ushijima,” you respond drily, slamming the cabinet shut to punctuate your tone. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

He simply raises the glass in his hand in response, and you are unable to get a biting comment in about how he should instead look for a refill outside instead of in here like some privileged dick when he speaks.

“Congratulations on the announcement,” he begins, stepping beyond the threshold and into the kitchen, thick carpet muffling the sounds of his polished Italian leather shoes as he makes his way towards you.

When he gets dangerously close to the boundary of the minimum three-feet you need to have between you and him at all times, you briefly consider getting violent and chucking the bowl at him just to be done with it, but he seems to have other plans when he stops by the marble island, a full one inch away from your protective perimeter.

Looks like your grandmother’s favorite crucible will live to see another day.

You see him eye you expectantly from his position, and realize that you’ve yet to respond to his statement. “Thank you. I understand that the same is in order for you as well, what with your succession of Madame Junko’s position.”

He nods, less confirmatory and more ‘I’ve found your answer satisfactory,’ and you cannot suppress the white-hot lance of annoyance that shoots through you at the memory that comes barrelling along with the simple gesture.

Suddenly, you’re both no longer OS Post Holdings or The Ushijima Telegraph and Telephone Corporation’s newly appointed presidents and CEOs, but mere fifteen year olds attending middle school at the same time.

Ushijima has always been the star student, and while your father has pushed you to make friends with the quiet boy, you’ve never found it in yourself to brush aside the vast difference present in the way he looks at Wakatoshi, with eyes and gestures full of a soft sense of pride, and then at you, all strict words and interactions that feel more business related than anything else.

You’re not stupid, never was and never will; you know that your father wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. And although he had twins - a girl and a boy - he saw Eita as more of a disappointment because of his unwillingness to live the life the patriarch of the family wanted him to.

So while your brother pursued his dreams in the music industry, you were left to shoulder the responsibility that came with the Semi family name. You studied rigorously, honed your talents, and polished your social skills until you shined, determined to be the brightest gem in the industry and the daughter your father would be proud of.

But even though you were not stupid, you were definitely naive. Naive to have thought that he would be satisfied with what he had, naive to have thought that he wouldn’t look somewhere else to fulfill his own personal dreams.

And that’s how you first met Ushijima, the son of Governor Utsui and your father’s new protegee, as he so proudly told you over dinner with him one Thursday night.

The only thing that kept you from breaking down then were the years spent at etiquette lessons, so you settled instead on gripping your silverware until your knuckles turned white. You could feel Eita’s eyes on you from across the table, and you didn’t have to look to know that they were apologizing for something that he didn’t even do.

The other two males in the room seemed oblivious to your imminent spiral, happily talking with each other and discussing whatever it is that they deemed important, and the fire in your heart that burned for the olive-haired boy grew into a full-fledged inferno.

That day marked the beginning of your lifelong grudge against Wakatoshi, and you still haven’t given it up to this day.

“Attention! I would just like to thank everyone for coming tonight -”

Your dad’s booming voice is what breaks you out of your reverie, and you realize that you have been staring - glowering, really - at the object of your ire for far too long than what can be deemed normal.

An open bottle of Romanée-Conti rests on the countertop by his elbow, and his previously empty wineglass is now half-full, the deep red liquid catching the fluorescent lights as he idly swirls it around.

Much like his wine, there is also something swirling in his sharp eyes, but you neither need to or wish to know what it is. You let out a disgruntled huff before heading out to the living room, shooting him one final glare as you round the corner and disappear.

Wakatoshi sighs to the empty room before he too, decides to head on out and meet with Representative Semi - your and Eita’s father - to offer him his congratulations.

He finishes the drink in his hand, wine tasting oddly bittersweet as it goes down his throat, and as he exits the kitchen, he wonders for the nth time that night how come you seemed to hate him with such a passion.

He’s not stupid, not like the way everyone seems to think he is just because he’s blunt, but if it’s taken him this long to realize that your feelings towards him go much deeper than a simple dislike, then he thinks that he may never find out the real reason as to why.

The thought doesn’t deter him though, and when he catches sight of the back of your head while you talk animatedly to Oikawa Tooru, laughing your heart out as though you weren’t staring daggers at him just minutes ago, he thinks that he will gladly spend a lifetime figuring you out.

You are a mystery to him, and one that he will stop at nothing to crack.

[ note ]  ― and there we have it! first time we’re meeting the cast, and if the overly zealous descriptions about ushi isn’t enough to display how whipped i am for him then probably nothing ever will. hope you all like this one as much as i loved writing it <3

also this is dedicated to @cafemiya​ for giving me the push i needed to make this entire series. hi issy i love you bae 🥺💖

[ceilingfan5]

Please please please write more of the mermaid taako story. It’s one of my favorite stories I’ve read maybe ever.

Are swamp stakeouts in Kravitz’s job description? No. But is he in the swamp right now looking for a fish criminal? You bet your ass he is.

Quite a lot of things are--he’s a man of many duties at the Rockport Department of Fish and Game--but eating jerky in a boat at three am while wearing a borrowed ghillie suit and stalking a supposed poacher is not one of them. He has an excuse, and it’s a pretty good one, considering he’s using the Department’s boat, and the Department’s pickup truck, and legitimately intends to clock the hours if he’s successful, but it’s still not exactly something his boss looked him in the eye and asked him to do. 

But Kravitz is the kind of employee that tends to go above and beyond the call of duty, not because he’s so incredibly loyal to the Department, but because he honestly figured he’d be a lot farther in his career (with the salary to match) by now, and he’s decided it’s time to get a promotion or get a new job. 

One very good way to get a promotion with Fish and Game is to make a big catch. They kind of dig that shit there. It’s a whole thing. And every single time Kravitz has surveyed the swamp in the last few months, the fish population has gotten alarmingly lower and lower, and the rest of the ecosystem has started to show the strain. It’s a legitimate issue, even if Kravitz has decided to solve it like a fucking vigilante, and the perpetrator could be looking at a huge fine or even jail time. That kind of grab could get him some mighty sweet press, and from there, he could be looking up, up, up. Finally. 

So yes, Kravitz is dozing off in the middle of the swamp on company time, but he’s doing it to catch a monster and save lives.

He never expected to be the bait. 

If Kravitz were awake, he’d hear the crickets stop chirping, and he’d hear the frog song decrescendo, and he’d just barely hear the water part for something very, very big. But Kravitz is not awake, and he has no warning before his boat tips over and dumps him right into the nasty green water. He very narrowly avoids getting a huge lung full of algae and swamp juice, and he struggles and kicks and ducks out of the way of his aluminum boat, just barely treading water as the ghillie suit tries to drag him down, and all Kravitz can hear is laughter. 

His first assumption is that it’s teens, somehow. His collective nemesis. But the laughter isn’t coming from the shore, it’s coming from the water, somewhere with him, and blind in the dark, he reaches for his boat, the oar, something to grab hold of. Instead he touches something big and slimy and shaking, laughing in his face and ducking just out of reach. He paws at his eyes, trying to get the gunk out and see by the light of the moon, but he just barely catches movement. What is it? An alligator? A catfish? A diver? 

Idiot. It’s laughing at him. It has to be a person.

But then why was it so smooth?

All he can hear is splashing and laughing and he can barely tell up from down--the swamp goo is still trying to suck him in the harder he struggles. He finally gets his eyes wiped clean enough to see and all the moon glints off is sharp, sharp teeth and he screams. 

The laughter gets even louder. 

Kravitz swims for the boat--usually he’s a really fucking good swimmer, or he wouldn’t have been so stupid as to come out here alone, but between the fear and disorientation and being half asleep and the nasty sucking gloop of the swamp, he’s having a real hard time. His dumb ghillie suit tangles in something and he starts to sink and his life flashes before his eyes and he’s preparing some strong fucking words for whatever higher power receives him when strong arms wrap around his middle and haul him bodily to shore. He’s gasping like an idiot fish for breath when the moon finally illuminates his tormentor, and it’s a lot to take in. 

He only barely avoids screaming in the man’s face a second time. 

He’s beautiful, with long, tangled hair and bright, too-big eyes, but they’re strange eyes. Inhuman. They glow an alarming green in the moonlight, even more shocking still when combined with that razor-sharp grin. It’s unnerving how warm that grin makes him feel, how that laugh and those sparkling eyes chase shivers up and down his spine like a runaway lawnmower chewing up a frozen lake. 

“Stupid man,” the figure says, and laughs again, that wild, cacophonous laugh that fills the swamp to tree level with his unhinged mirth. An enormous, shining tail slaps the water. “Can’t you swim?”

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Antimatter | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 2486

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR 13X15, general Criminal Minds things (mentions of violence, shootings, robberies, death, etc)

This is part of my Galaxy Universe (MASTERLIST). You don’t need to read anything prior to this to understand this fic, though it may help! 

You thought your little found family had finally found some reprieve after a long year of difficulties. Spencer was reinstated, Mr. Scratch was dead, Matt Simmons joined the team, and everything seemed like it was returning to your normal crime fighting routine.

As it turns out, you were wrong.

You didn’t think twice about following Spencer out of the round table room. You were loyal to your team, and Assistant Director Linda Barnes was not going to snuff the mojo out of these people that you loved so much.

You caught up to Spencer in the bullpen, where he was shoving books into his bag. He didn’t look up when you slid onto his desk.

You waited a minute before speaking, “what’s our plan?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet,” you were quick to follow him to the elevator.

“We need to come up with a plan before you leave, Spence,” you knew what he had just done was risky but it was the right move and you stood by your decision to follow him. You also knew that the problem wasn’t going to be solved without some other course of action, however.

“I can’t go back there. I’m not working with her scrutinizing our every move.”

“So don’t. Stay here and figure out how we’re going to get her out of our hair. Emily might know something that we don’t, she just had a bunch of meetings with Barnes, right?” You didn’t like how tense this conversation was becoming. You were currently on the same page as Spencer, that much you knew, but he could read 20,000 words per minute and it was going to take a lot for you to keep up with the pace his brain was working.

“Emily’s suspended,” you could tell he was thinking hard about what steps to take next.

“Go to her place and let her know what’s happening. Distancing yourself from Barnes is the best move before you get yourself fired.”

“What about you?” The elevator dinged to signal it’s arrival. Spencer stepped inside, holding the doors open.

“I’m going to go with the team. We need boots on the ground to figure out exactly what her plan in action looks like. I’ll be a centralized point for info about how she’s targeting everyone and get you it as quickly as I can.”

“Good luck,” he gave you a sad excuse for a smile.

“Go get Emily, I’ll be ok.” You watched the doors close, then walked back towards the round table room. You straightened your posture before opening the door and positioning yourself next to JJ. The rest of the team gave you some very strange looks that you tried to ignore.

“Will you be joining us, Agent (y/l/n)?” Barnes asked, almost as if she expected you to say no.

“I will, thanks,” you showed no weakness, making direct eye contact with her. She didn’t push further, instead confirming JJ’s ‘Wheel’s Up’ and leaving the room.

You spent the entire trip to St. Louis avoiding questions from the rest of the team about what had happened when you and Spencer left the briefing.

In a moment of quiet on the jet, JJ approached you while you were getting coffee.

“Were you able to talk to Spence before he left?” She asked in a hushed whisper, back to the rest of the plane.

“Yeah,” you said slowly, eyes flickering to where Barnes was staring the two of you down, “I’ll tell you about it later, it’s best that you don’t know for now. Trust us on this?”

JJ nodded, “let me know what you need, I’ll make sure it happens.”

You arrived in St. Louis and watched as Barnes demeaned the local PD, undermined the procedural profiling, and intentionally paired herself off with each member on your team. It was only a matter of time before she got to you.

You had been purposely avoiding her, instead collecting tidbits of information from your coworkers about their conversations with her that were unrelated to the case at hand. You intentionally stayed behind to work victimology when she finally cornered you in the conference room.

“You’re loyal to a fault, Agent (y/l/n),” she wasted no time addressing you.

“Excuse me?” You chose to not look up from the crime scene photos.

“Following Agent Reid out of the office this morning was a bold choice,” she tried to assert herself into your space, something you weren’t about to allow.

“I don’t see how my loyalty is a fault. I could see that Doctor Reid was unwell and I wanted to make sure he was ok.”

“You were suspended while he was in prison last year, were you not?” Clearly she had done her homework, although you didn’t like the way she twisted the situation inaccurately.

“I was on medical leave from field work, I still assisted remotely from Quantico and retained all other privileges.”

“Caused by Agent Reid’s arrest?”

“Caused by pre-existing mental health conditions that I’ve been treating since before I joined the BAU. My leave was temporary to help get it under control after the stress of Doctor Reid’s false arrest.”

She was quiet for a minute as you shuffled to the next file. You hoped that she would start asking about the case before you lost your temper, your secret mission would be compromised if you couldn’t keep your head down about it. Her next statement didn’t surprise you, though it came from left field.

“You do know that interpersonal relationships within a Unit are against Bureau policy.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re implying,” you put down the file to finally square up to Barnes. She had seen your file, you knew that much, but you were now doubting how much she had actually read into it.

“Are you and Agent Reid romantically involved?”

“Doctor Reid is my best friend. Last time I checked there was nothing in Bureau policy that didn’t allow that. I don’t appreciate you speculating about my personal relationships when they’re clearly not relevant to this case.”

Questioning your loyalty to the team was one thing, but attacking the most pure thing in your life was going too far.

“What is relevant to this case then, Agent? Your skills must be more useful elsewhere than sitting in a conference room looking at photos. Perhaps a transfer to a tactical unit would be more beneficial to the Bureau?” She finally pushed in a direction you were expecting.

“I would think that the Bureau would be more interested in well rounded agents instead of one trick ponies. I’m building my skillset here, rather than getting stuck in a rut doing tactical work.” It wasn’t completely the truth, just last year you had talked with Spencer about the possibility of you transferring to the Hostage Rescue Team. A tactical position would make sense, considering your strengths, but you had found such an unlikely home at the BAU that leaving was out of the question.  

“You’ve been building your skills here for almost a decade. Why do you think Agent Prentiss was promoted to Unit Chief over you?”

“She was the right choice. She has seniority, as well as a more rounded viewpoint from her other assignments. I trust Emily Prentiss wholeheartedly.”

Just like Matt had predicted, Barnes was trying to pit you against your team, “what about Agent Jareau? You’ve been a profiler longer than she has, do you know why I promoted her above you?”

It was her mistake, honestly. Of all the people who she could try to turn against the BAU, you weren’t a good choice. Instead of falling into her trap, you doubled down, “she’s been with the team longer than I have. Knowing how the team works is just as important as knowing how to profile if you want to do this job right. I fully support JJ as Unit Chief, but that’s not why you picked her, is it?”

“It is not.” You waited for her to elaborate, but instead she left the conference room to talk to Matt. As soon as she left your phone was at your ear calling Spencer.

“She had the nerve to ask me if I was romantically involved with you,” you hissed as soon as he answered. You heard Emily laugh on the other end of the line.

“What’s happening with the rest of the team?” Spencer spoke up.

“She’s trying to push us all out, but keeps denying it. We’re closing in on this case, but she’s stepping on our toes all over the place. She wants to make this a quick close but honestly she’s only making it harder for us to profile this guy. How’s it going on your end?”

There was a pause, which you assumed was caused by Spencer taking you off of speaker and stepping out of the room.

“She’s trying to leave. She said someone had to take the fall for what happened with the Truthers-“

“You’re not letting her, right? Nobody needs to take the fall for what happened, where did she get that idea?”

“Barnes, I guess. I’ll keep working here, keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Ok, good luck.”

Doing what you were doing proved harder than you thought. Barnes stepped completely out of line during the validation strategy, getting the unsub killed when Tara and Luke were completely capable of talking him down. You were fuming but knew you needed to keep your head down as to not blow your cover with Spencer, so instead you tacked yourself to Luke’s side with the knowledge that he would tell you if you were about to do something stupid.

It was the right call, because JJ tore into Barnes on the jet and you knew you didn’t have the authority to add on to it. It felt like a small victory, until Barnes met you all in the office right before you were about to head over to O’Keefe’s.

“Agents Prentiss, your suspension is lifted. You will be reassigned within the Bureau, your new post has yet to be determined. Agent Lewis, you will also be reassigned. Agent (y/l/n), you are being reassigned to lead a SWAT team in the city, congratulations on the promotion. Agent Reid, you will be a full time professor with our exchange program. Agent Rossi, the FBI deeply appreciates your service and the Director wishes you nothing but the best in your retirement. Agent Simmons, Agent Alvez, you will remain here at the BAU. Garcia, your loyalty to the team is appreciated but it feels like a fresh start in a different department would be best.”

She made it seem like your reassignment was a good thing, but that was far from the truth.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer answered his door faster than you thought he would, eyes narrowing behind his glasses when he saw your disheveled state a few weeks later.

“I’m losing it. I’m going to get my whole team killed. I can’t keep doing this,” you spilled before you were even able to step into Spencer’s apartment.

“Here,” Spencer led you to his couch and pressed a hot cup of tea into your hands, “take a deep breath, you’re here with me. Did you just get off of a case?”

“Yeah, a bank robbery downtown. We locked it down but the whole time I was thinking about how it could have gone wrong.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, instead letting you sip tea and breathe for a minute.

“When Barnes reassigned me I thought her goal was to give me a promotion so I wouldn’t want to come back to the BAU.”

“It was, she knows you’re an incredible agent. Any unit is lucky to have you.”

“What if it was to break me though? She’s read my file, she knows my episodes have been more frequent since you were arrested in Mexico. Did you hear about the school shooting that happened last week?”

Spencer nodded.

“I was there, Spence. I was there. And the whole time I was leading the team through the hallways getting kids out I kept thinking about Jack, and Henry, Michael, and Hank. How they could be in that school, how there were already kids in that school that I hadn’t saved. I couldn’t save them.

“When I first started out at the Academy my peers all told me I would head up SWAT one day. I thought it was what I wanted until I joined the BAU. You even said I’d do well on a tactical team a year ago, so I trusted the process and that we’d get back at Barnes but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep having panic attacks after every case. It’s not fair to my team, someone’s going to get killed and it’s going to be my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s Barnes’. Why don’t you take a couple of days off and sit in on my lectures? You can even guest speak if you want, I scheduled an extra day in the syllabus in case I needed to go over any material again but I don’t need to use it.”

“You’re too good at this, Spence. Where’s your mom?” You looked around his small apartment, already starting to feel better.

“She’s in the bedroom resting. She’s liked having me home so much, although she asks me almost every day when you’re coming to visit,” he laughed.

“I’m sorry, I feel like I’m at work now more than when we were in the BAU. I have a newfound respect for every time I’ve called in SWAT in the past nine years,” you joked.

The comfortable silence that fell between you as you finished the drink in your hand was cut short by Spencer’s phone ringing.

“Doctor Reid,” he answered, “Hi Luke, what’s up?”

Your eyebrows smashed together, listening closely to the half of the conversation you were able to hear.

“Don’t bother, they’re with me. We’ll meet you there. Bye,” he hung up and turned to you with a slight frown.

“They have a case that they want us to look at. Barnes won’t approve it, we’re meeting at Emily’s.”

“A secret team meeting?” you stood up excitedly, unable to stop the grin spreading on your face, “let’s go.”

“Hey Spence?” you asked as he got into your car, a small detail of your conversation occurring to you.

“Hmm?” he clicked his seatbelt.

“You didn’t know I was coming over. The tea that you gave me… you made it for yourself, didn’t you?”

Spencer smiled bashfully, “you needed it more than I did.”

“The world doesn’t deserve you, Spencer Reid,” you sighed, putting the car in drive.

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection @thatsonezesty13 @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @tj-drinks-tea 

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Written In The Stars CII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: You definitely won’t trust now, but I hope to see y’all in two weeks anyway, please don’t hate me -Danny

Words: 5,048

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Book 5

Listen to: I Only Wanna Talk To You -by The Maine

Chapter Thirty-Seven: A New Vow.

Many things changed as the school year came to an end, none of them was good. 

Students would avoid her in the halls, they would stare at her and Harry carelessly, some frowning, some just plain scared. That wasn't new and it didn't hurt her anymore.

What hurt her was the way Harry grew distant out of the blue. He wouldn't touch her, not even sit beside her on accident. He would talk to her as if nothing had happened but she could see it in his eyes, some kind of distress, she had the ugly feeling that he resented her.

Mel was talking to Erick one morning in the courtyard, where they used to hang out during her first year. She was there to deliver Dumbledore's message and to thank him, it was their first time talking since the first task.

"I don't know what I would've done without the watch... it saved us."

Erick shook his head. "I merely confirmed his suspicions, Dumbledore was already looking for you when I got to him."

"You got him when I fainted during the task, you stood guard outside the tent while we were inside and I was..." She didn't know what to call it, her first thought was always directed to the word 'dying' but she knew now that those weren't her feelings, it was Harry who'd been dying, not her.

"You looked possessed. I thought you were... that you had..."

"That I was crazy," Mel sighed.

"...How's Harry?"

"We don't talk about that," Mel frowned, not wanting to go there. "Dumbledore has a message for you."

"Tell me."

"You won't like it."

"Try me."

"He said you could be of help," She replied carefully. "That if you're willing, you could join us."

"For what?" Erick asked in puzzlement.

"He didn't explain... said you could search for rogues."

After ten seconds, Erick spoke timidly. "Rogues like me?"

"I think so..."

"He wants me to dig around, see if any other Slytherin shares my... views."

"He kept saying how we have to stick together," Mel shook her head. "I think he's expecting us to try harder next year, unite the houses while we can..."

"I..." Erick started to stress. "It's too dangerous for me, you know that. Half of my friends come from Death Eaters or you-know-who's supporters. It's like walking on thin ice."

"You don't have to do it," Mel said promptly. "I know how your parents feel about this, and if they catch you doing something like that, trying to speak in Dumbledore's favour... I know that in comparison to me, you're on your own. I can't make you risk your well being like this."

Erick stared at her, he remained silent for a while, Mel didn't know what to do.

"Did you know, Miss," He finally uttered, "that Rapunzel isn't saved by a prince?"

She tilted her head and waited for him to finish.

"Found her way out of the mess, rebuilt her life on her own," Erick continued calmly. "I believe we'll do too."

"Bin havin' a cuppa with Olympe," Hagrid said as they settled around his table. "She's jus' left."

"Who?" said Ron curiously.

"Madame Maxime, o' course!" said Hagrid.

"You two made up, have you?" said Ron.

"Dunno what yeh're talkin' about," said Hagrid. When he had made tea and offered around a plate of doughy cookies, he leaned back in his chair and examined Harry and Mel closely. "You all righ'?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"All right," Mel smiled.

"No, yeh're not," said Hagrid. " 'Course yeh're not. But yeh will be. Knew he was goin' ter come back. Known it fer years, Harry. Knew he was out there, bidin' his time. It had ter happen. Well, now it has, an' we'll jus' have ter get on with it. We'll fight. Migh' be able ter stop him before he gets a good hold. That's Dumbledore's plan, anyway. Great man, Dumbledore. 'S long as we've got him, I'm not too worried."

Mel looked down to her cup, frowning.

"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," He said, patting her shoulder gently. "What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did. Yeh did as much as yer fathers would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

They smiled, the very first glimpse of their old self coming to the surface.

"What's Dumbledore asked you to do, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "He sent Professor McGonagall to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him — that night."

"Got a little job fer me over the summer– Secret, though. I'm not s'pposed ter talk abou' it, no, not even ter you lot. Olympe — Madame Maxime ter you — might be comin' with me. I think she will. Think I got her persuaded."

"Is it to do with Voldemort?" "Migh' be," Hagrid grimaced. "Now... who'd like ter come an'visit the las' skrewt with me? I was jokin' — jokin'!"

Mel's eyes found Harry's and he quickly averted his gaze. She frowned, a resolution already forming in her mind that she would clear things out with her best friend before they were back home.

She walked into his room when she knew he'd be alone packing up his things.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" He said, gaze fixed on his trunk.

"I want to talk to you. You're the only one I want to talk to, but you keep avoiding me..."

"What d'you mean?"

"Can you at least look at me for just a second?" She frowned.

Harry did as told, his face remaining neutral as Mel approached. She looked into his eyes and pulled him in for a hug.

"I'm sorry," She mumbled against his shoulder. "Whatever I did– Please don't be mad. I swear all I wanted was to help you–"

Harry stepped away from her, not returning the hug.

"What're you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about! You don't... you won't–"

"I'm not mad at you!" Harry said exasperated. "Don't you see this is all my fault?"

Mel blinked.

"What?"

"I saw the bruises... What happened to you during the time Voldemort got me– you could've died!"

"Harry," She looked at him in disbelief. "You could've died."

"This is about you," He replied firmly. "It's my fault. I've dragged you to all of my mistakes and you end up hurt–"

"Those were my choices–"

"It was never your idea," He stated. "Dumbledore said that we're too close..."

"No! That's not... I did all that because I need you to be–"

"This was a mistake," Harry was breathing heavily, he was in distress. "What we did was a mistake."

"What, exactly?" She said in a shaky whisper, knowing where this was going.

"You know," His eyes hardened.

"That's rubbish!" It felt like holding sand, desperately trying not to let him slip away from her fingers. "This is not the solution–!"

"I don't think I ever liked you for real," He blurted out, "it wasn't my choice..."

"What?"

"I... I mean it," He turned around, hastily packing the last bits of clothing. "I think it might be the lifeline stuff... didn't like that you were getting close to other people– It sounds selfish, but it makes sense... some kind of instinct– doesn't mean it was real..."

"Harry, don't be stu–"

"I don't want you," He insisted. "I can't have you."

"Glasses–"

"My name is Harry!" He yelled, turning to face her. "Stop calling me that! I hate it! I hate the stupid nickname and I don't like you!"

Mel felt cornered, Harry had never spoken to her like that before. He turned back and slammed down the lid of his trunk.

"Just leave me alone." He said, abandoning the conversation as well as the room.

She stumbled back to his bed, falling heavily on it. Without being able to control herself, she burst into tears.

Mel avoided him for the rest of the term, spending most of her free time with the twins like the old times. It was good for her spirit, they knew how to make her laugh. During the feast she was seated between them, Dumbledore stood up to give his farewell speech and they fell silent.

"The end of another year. There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight," said Dumbledore, fixing his eyes on the Hufflepuff table, "but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here, enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory."

And so they did. Every student in the room.

"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house. He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about... Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

George looked down at her and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so — either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory. There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," Dumbledore went on. "I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter."

She refused to look for him and kept her gaze on the old man ahead.

"Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort. He risked his own life to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honour him."

She lifted her goblet and said his name, but found herself saying it with a new resentment that had never been there before. It didn't feel right.

"The Triwizard Tournament's aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened — of Lord Voldemort's return — such ties are more important than ever before. Every guest in this Hall, will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again — in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. It is my belief — and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken — that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst."

Her fists were closed tightly, there was still a faint greenish shadow were the bruise on her forearm had been days before.

"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."

" 'Arry!" Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps, Joseph was beside her.  "We will see each uzzer again, I 'ope. I am 'oping to get a job 'ere, to improve my Eenglish."

"It's very good already," said Ron clumsily.

Mel had her attention on Joseph.

"It was nice," Mel smiled fondly. "You're ten times funnier than your cousin."

Joseph laughed.

"Don't judge him too hard, it's the way he's been brought up. He used to be a lousy kid, very loving too... people grow out of it, unfortunately."

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Maybe," He smiled sweetly at her. "Take care, will you?"

"Yes."

"Will you watch after my cousin too?"

"Not like I have a choice..."

He chuckled. "See you, Mel."

"Good-bye, 'Arry," said Fleur, turning to go with Joseph. "It 'az been a pleasure meeting you!"

As Mel watched them leave, she had the reassuring feeling that maybe Erick wasn't entirely on his own after all.

"Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back," said Ron. "D'you reckon they can steer that ship without Karkaroff?"

"Karkaroff did not steer. He stayed in his cabin and let us do the vork." Krum said behind them. He looked at Hermione. "Could I have a vord?"

"Oh... yes... all right," said Hermione.

"You'd better hurry up!" Ron called loudly after her. "The carriages'll be here in a minute!"

"Oh shut up, Ron," Mel scolded. "Let her have one moment in private with him."

"What, is not like she'll be missing him lots, they didn't even date."

"You don't need to date someone in order to miss them," She snapped. "Or like them, for that matter..." She felt Harry purposefully look away as she spoke. When Krum returned, he talked to them.

"I liked Diggory. He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang — with Karkaroff."

"Have you got a new headmaster yet?" Harry asked.

Krum shrugged. He held out his hand as Fleur had done, shook Harry's hand, and then Ron's. Ron looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle. Krum had already started walking away when Ron burst out, "Can I have your autograph?"

Hermione turned away, smiling at the horseless carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

The trip back was good enough, even if Mel and Harry couldn't look at each other in the eye. Dumbledore's speech had given them energies, and just like he'd said before, they still had to remain together, for the greater good.

"There's nothing in there," Hermione signalled to the Daily Prophet Harry was staring at. "You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."

"Of course he is," Mel scoffed, "he's an idiot, but not that kind of idiot."

"He'll never keep Rita quiet," said Harry. "Not on a story like this."

"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," said Hermione delightedly. "As a matter of fact, Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."

"What are you talking about?" said Ron.

"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming onto the grounds," said Hermione.

"Oh, right!" Mel said. "What was that about?"

"How was she doing it?" said Harry.

"How did you find out?" said Ron.

"Well, it was you and Mel who gave me the idea, Harry."

"What? How?"

"Bugging," said Hermione happily.

"But you said they didn't work —"

"Oh not electronic bugs," said Hermione. "No, you see... Rita Skeeter" — Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph — "is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —" Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. "— into a beetle."

"You're kidding," said Ron. "You haven't... she's not..."

"Oh yes she is," said Hermione.

"Holy Godric," Mel laughed loudly for the first time in days.

"That's never — you're kidding —" Ron mumbled, examining the jar.

"No, I'm not. I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

"There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!" Harry exclaimed.

"When you fainted there was a beetle in the curtain as well," Mel replied, her eyes fixed on the tiny creature. "And when I talked to Cedric before the first task..."

"Exactly. And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."

"When we saw Malfoy under that tree..."

"He was talking to her, in his hand. He knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid. I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London. I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."

"Hermione, I love you," Mel grinned.

The door of the compartment slid open.

"Very clever, Granger," Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there. "So, you caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favourite boy again. Big deal." He stared at them with bright eyes. "Trying not to think about it, are we? Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"

"Get out," Harry tensed.

"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this! Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well — second — Diggory was the f —"

It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, Harry blinked and looked down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all on the ground and they were on their feet, all four of them having used a different hex. Nor were they the only ones to have done so.

"Thought we'd see what those three were up to," said Fred entering their compartment.

"Interesting effect," said George, examining Crabbe. "Who used the Furnunculus Curse?"

"Me," said Harry.

"Odd– I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn't be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let's not leave them here, they don't add much to the decor."

Ron, Harry, and George pushed them out into the corridor, when they straighten up, Ron turned his head slightly towards her.

"Er... Mel?"

She walked out of the compartment and found Erick standing there, looking down at the three Slytherins.

"Oh," She smiled. "Hello. Don't worry boys, I got this."

Erick had a sort of exasperated look on his face.

"Why don't you turn around and forget you saw this," George ignored her. "We promise not to hurt you if you do."

"You promise not to hurt me?" Erick let out a dry laugh. "Right..."

"He's not here to report us," Ron said, pushing his brother back into the compartment. "Listen to Mel..."

"Don't annoy her, the year's over and so is the committee," George insisted.

"George," Mel sighed. "It's okay."

"Listen, we can clear all doubts in a moment, but can I talk to her first?" Erick frowned. "In private."

The boys entered the compartment reluctantly, they had just closed the door when he spoke.

"I'll do it. Whatever Dumbledore wants me to do."

Mel was taken by surprise.

"Are you sure?"

"What he said during the speech... he's right," He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's time to make a choice."

"But your parents–"

"Don't have to know. If there's any chance that there are more people like me... if I can convince them... it'll be worth it, right?"

Before she could stop herself, she held his hand.

"Come."

"What?"

"Come in for a second, meet the Weasleys."

"So they can kill me? No thanks–"

"They won't," She dragged him inside. Everyone stared at them. "Erick won't report us."

"Good for him," Ron replied in disinterest.

"I think it's time we clear things up," She continued with determination. "Erick and I are good friends. He doesn't need to prove his loyalty to anyone, but he wants to help my uncle, so it'd be brilliant if you could, you know, be nice to him."

"No need to look so outraged," Erick said, staring at the twins' faces. "Being a Slytherin doesn't equal being a monster. I could've reported you to Professor McGonagall thousands of times during the school year but I kept my mouth shut. Why?"

"Because you knew we could've kicked your arse?"

"Very classy," He rolled his eyes. "I did it out of consideration for Mel. Now Dumbledore asked for my help and that's what I'll give. All I want is for you to stay out of my way and stop acting like I'm the danger. I assure you, Mel's the bad influence here. All I care about is being of use."

A heavy silence surrounded them as the boys processed the news.

"All right then, be of use," George shrugged. "Close the door and sit down, we've had enough visitors for today."

"Exploding Snap, anyone?" said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards. "Be of use, Flint, open the window before you sit."

"I'm going to regret this..." Erick groaned, doing as asked.

She purposely seated Erick between her and Harry for the rest of the trip.

"You going to tell us, then?" Harry said to George after a while. "Who you were blackmailing?"

"What?" Erick looked around in confusion.

"Long story," Hermione said over her book.

"It doesn't matter," said Fred. "It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway."

"We've given up," said George, shrugging.

"Come on!"

Harry, Hermione, Ron and her insisted so much that Fred lost his patience.

"All right, all right, if you really want to know... it was Ludo Bagman."

"Bagman? Are you saying he was involved in —"

"Nah. Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn't have the brains."

"Well, what, then?"

"You remember that bet we had with him at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?"

"Yeah."

"Well," He glanced at Mel, "The git paid us in leprechaun gold he'd caught from the Irish mascots."

"So?"

"So," said Fred, "it vanished, didn't it? By next morning, it had gone!"

"So I guess, you could say I told you so, Lady," George scowled. "We were idiots."

"But — it must've been an accident, mustn't it?" said Hermione.

"Yeah, that's what we thought, at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, and told him he'd made a mistake, he'd cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us."

"In the end, he turned pretty nasty," said Fred. "Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn't giving us anything."

"So we asked for our money back."  

"He didn't refuse!" gasped Hermione.

"Right in one," said Fred.

"But that was all your savings!"

"Tell me about it," George scoffed. "'Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan's dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he's in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn't enough to cover all his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He's lost everything gambling. Hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?"

"How?"

"He put a bet on you, mate," said Fred. "Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins."

"I knew it!" Mel exclaimed.

"So that's why he kept trying to help me win! Well — I did win, didn't I? So he can pay you your gold!"

"Nope– The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He did run for it right after the third task."

"My Grandad's a big fan of Zonko's," Erick mentioned casually, placing his cards on the table. "And he relishes on supporting young inventors, reminds him of the old days. If you send me samples I'll show them to him and he might help you... What? Don't look at me like that, it's not dirty money!"

"Sorry," Fred said, raising a brow. "It's weird to see you acting like... well, like a good person."

"Unexpected, you mean," George suggested. "You have the looks of a conceited prat."

"Give it time," Mel muttered.

"Shut it," Erick nudged her arm. "Anyway, I better leave and finish my rounds before we arrive... I'll write if anything comes up, Mel."

They waved him goodbye, the twins looked at her with their eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Nothing," Fred smirked. "Bad influence you are then, aren't you?"

"You've corrupted Slytherin's Prince!"

"Careful Harry," Fred teased. "Don't let him get too comfortable or he'll think he's got a chance!"

"Shut up," Mel interrupted harshly. "Erick doesn't like me that way..."

"Sure thing, and Krum's nothing but a good mate to Hermione," George grinned.

"Fred — George — wait a moment."

She heard Harry said after leaving the compartment. She froze, curiosity winning over her.

"Take it," He said, and she could hear the distinct sound of coins inside a sack falling onto someone's hands.

"What?" said one of the twins.

"Take it. I don't want it."

"You're mental–"

"No, I'm not. You take it and get inventing. It's for the joke shop."

"He is mental."

"Listen, if you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long."

He was giving them the tournament's money. Her heart did that odd flip it hadn't done in days.

"Harry," she kept hearing, "there's got to be a thousand Galleons in here."

"Yeah, think how many Canary Creams that is– Just don't tell your mum where you got it... although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it..."

"Harry–"

"Look, take it, or I'll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me one favour, okay? Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they're from you."

Harry left the compartment and faced her. There was a moment where she caught a glimpse of something, for a second he looked like he wanted to speak. It disappeared right away though, taking all her hopes with it. He scowled and walked past her without uttering a word.

"See you, Harry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.

"'Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Harry — thanks," George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.

Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursleys' car.

As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come... and he would have to meet it when it did.

Mel entered her mother's car in silence, she was still trying to understand how things had gone to the dogs between her and Harry so quickly. There was something pressing on her chest and she wasn't sure she wanted to plug it out.

Her mother spoke for the first time in the day.

"We're not staying at Privet Drive this summer."

"What?" Mel asked absently.

"We'll go there to get your clothes, then we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning to Remus' place," Her mother explained quickly. "I know you want to stay and make sure Harry's fine, but I have things to do and you can't be left alone–"

"Okay."

Her mother stared at her.

"What?"

"I know Harry's going to be safe, surrounded by muggles and all," She tried to keep her voice neutral. "If we're of use somewhere else, I want to go."

Emily knew right away that something was wrong, but whether if she thought it was about Harry or not, she didn't comment on it.

"All right. It'll be a long summer, this one..."

"Yeah," Mel looked out the window as the car left their parking spot.

The girl felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she'd been dreading to go back and have no one to talk to but Harry. Not that he'd be visiting her house at all, but at least now she had an excuse to stay away from him. To leave him alone, just as he'd requested.

Mel thought, very bitterly, that her biggest dream and worst nightmare had come true at the same time. She made a vow not to wish for anything ever again.

Next Part —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

[sherlollydramoine]

I Hate U, I Love U

Warnings: 18+ only, strong language, fighting/name calling/sorta bullying, mentions of cheating, alcohol consumption, and smutty mcsmut smut -- unprotected (wrap it before you tap it, it’s the responsible thing to do)

This is just a piece of fiction and don’t necessarily believe that Rami is truly like this, but we’ll never really know. I got a request, so I wrote it. That is all.

This is combining two requests that I’ve had, one for a while, the other just came in. This is for @lablanchett (sorry darling, that it took me so long to get this one out for you. I had another piece that I’d been working on and I just couldn’t make it work the way I wanted, and then I accidentally drunkenly deleted it- I hope this makes up for it) and @aulile for their requests: Rami and gf fight and have steamy makeup sex, and Rami and gf have a fight and Rami says some mean shit. Hope this fits in with the idea of whatever it was that you both were looking for. 

Word Count: 1890, again this is actually just a reallllllly long HC.

“I don’t fucking believe you!!” you yelled.

“Seriously, how fucking stupid are you to not believe it?” he questioned.

“Obviously verrrry stupid, because you can’t make me believe any of it! You’ve lied to me before, how is this any different?” you countered, trying to prove your point.

“When did I lie to you?”

“When you were in London. You fed me some ‘oh we’re just friends’ bullshit.”

“That was different than this.

“How? How is this different? You cheated on me once, why should I believe you now?”

“Goddddd… YN you are such a fucking bitch. I don’t have the fucking time to deal with your temper tantrums today.”

“Then don’t. I’m gone. You’ve lied, lied, lied, and I’m fucking done!”

“Fine! But you’ll regret this if you walk out that door!”

“I don’t give a fuck anymore Rami, I don’t! I’m tired of being the faithful, loyal servant to you… or shall I say to you, your fucking royal highness. That Oscar win did sure go straight to your fucking head. You’ve become the ‘I can do whatever I want because I’m rich and famous’ type that you always said you hated.

“YN, seriously?”

You stormed off in the direction of your bedroom. You refuse to put up with this shit any longer, you need to escape, to get away and start fresh somewhere.

He followed you into your shared bedroom where you were grabbing a suitcase out of the closet and began chucking random items into it.

“So you’re really leaving me, is that it?”

“What the fuck does it look like. I told you that I’m done, so I’m fucking done.”

His demeanor completely changed, his body stiffened, his mouth set in a hard line, when he turned on his heel and stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the bedroom door in his wake. You watched a picture fall off the wall and shatter into a million pieces on the hardwood. 

You could hear the garage door open, followed shortly by the sounds of his car tires squealing out of the driveway.

You almost broke down in tears, but you had to stick to your guns. You weren’t actually entirely sure that he had done what you had accused him of, but you couldn’t handle the stress that being with him entailed anymore. And you couldn’t take back any of the hurtful words that you spat out.

You love him, very deeply, but sometimes he makes your blood boil.

Throwing whatever other random shit you think you might need, you slam the suitcase shut and zip it closed, you take off to the garage, get in your car and you certainly don’t look back

It took you a solid twelve weeks to stop crying, but eventually the hurt turned into more of a constant dull ache. It had been over seven months now since you’d seen him, and since then you’d flourished at work, gotten the promotion that you’d been working towards, and had made a bunch of new friends. 

You still talk to some of your old friends, the shared friends, but most of the communication with them died the moment you shut down all of your social media accounts.

Life was great for you, even though the hurt was still there, and despite the fact that you were living in a tiny ass shithole apartment in a shit part of LA, you were happy. You told yourself you didn’t need him, and you believed it

You had closed all your social media accounts, and turned off any and all notifications that came up with his name on your phone. You’d changed your number, and blocked his  just for good measure. You did this for your sanity. 

Your boyfriend was famous and you didn’t want to see all the shit that was being said about you online. You two had plenty of naysayers online and it would have dealt a crippling blow to your mental health.

So you honestly avoid using the internet at all, unless it’s necessary.

It was when you were nearing the eight month mark in your breakup that you saw him for the first time since you’d left. 

You were out for drinks with some of your friends, who were at that moment in time giving you shit for not being on any social media, when you saw him. 

You fought the urge to run and you kept your head down, not allowing yourself to openly stare like some of the others around you. Though you couldn’t help but notice that he looked kind of like shit. He seems as if he’d aged dramatically in nearly eight months, he looked too thin, and very worn down.

It was your turn to buy the round of shots so you made your way to the bar, standing on the opposite side from where he was sitting, occupying one of the stools.

You thought you’d remained out of sight until you heard a familiar voice behind you say your name.

You sighed audibly and turned around, ready to fight if necessary. You’ve done well without him, not sure you could say the same for him though.

“Yes?” you snipped, turning around to face the one person that you really didn’t want to deal with.

“I thought that was you. Wow, you uhhh… you look good.” You knew you did, but you couldn’t say the same for him. 

“Looks like I can’t say the same about.” you replied.

“Wow. You still are that same feisty woman that I knew and loved.”

“What the fuck do you want Rami? How can I help you tonight? I’m out with some friends and it’s just my turn to get the drinks.”

“I don’t want anything. I just wanted to tell you that I miss you is all.”

“Rami, I miss you too, every day. It took me three months to stop crying, and I really wanted to apologize for everything I said that day, but I can’t take it back and I’m not sure I want to.”

“I wanted to apologize to you too, and to tell you that you weren’t wrong. The things you accused me of doing. I did cheat, and I got caught. I tried to lie, but I should have known better.”

You suddenly felt as if you’d been hit in the stomach and all you wanted to do was cry. 

“Thank you for finally admitting to the truth. I appreciate it. Look…. Oh God.. I’m going to regret this, but I’ve changed my number and I’ve blocked your old one. Is your number stilll the same?”

“No.”

“Give me your phone.” you demanded.

He doesn’t hesitate as he hands you his phone, you still remember his unlock pattern, so you swiped it and went into his ‘CONTACTS’ section. You entered your name and new number.

“Please Rami, don’t make me regret this.”

He smiled, a genuine toothy smile, the same one that he was famous for as he took his phone back.

“Can I give you a hug?” he asks.

“Sure I guess, why the hell not.”

He wraps his arms around you and squeezes tight, probably tighter than he should have, but you breath him in and a flood of memories came rushing back. The good, the bad, the truly ugly; you just wanted him back.

“Thank you” he says, with a smile.

He didn’t make you regret your decision to give you his number and over the next five months you’ve slowly allowed him back into your life. You’ve not been intimate but you’ve remained good friends. He slowly started to look healthier again, less gaunt and looking much more like he used to before you had left him. 

One day mid-September you suddenly started to feel really sad, and then you remembered. Your anniversary. You two would have been celebrating five years together.

You randomly call Rami and to see if he was available to come over, in which he stated that he was. You were nervous as he’d never actually been to your place before. It certainly wasn’t what he had become accustomed to over the past few years. This place was a dump. 

When he finally showed up, he just slowly walked around your apartment, not really commenting unless it’s a casual,”I like what you’ve done with your space. It feels so homey and so very you.”

He appeared oblivious to the reason for your sudden need to see him, and with an urgency you didn’t expect you pounced on him.

He was caught off guard by your sudden grip on his collar as you pulled him to you which resulted in him nearly tripping over the rug you had on the floor in your living room, your lips crashing into his with a force that almost made your teeth clash together.

Lips locked in a heated kiss, that had you whimpering with need in no time. You could feel him erection straining against his pants.

Moving towards your bedroom and wasting no time in shedding clothing, both of your hands going everywhere before his find out core, his fingers working their magic on you as you bucked your hips furiously against his hand. Your moans filling the small room. 

You came around his fingers with a cry of his name.

Looking up at him, silently begging, you felt him line himself up with your entrance as he slide into you roughly.

His hips pounding into yours, fucking into you with an animalistic urgency.

“OOOOHHHH GODDDDD YESSSSSSSS RAMIIIIIIIIII RAMIIIIII” you screamed

The bed rocking violently, headboard banging into the wall, like a beating drum

Your hands clawed at his back, and your hips moving in time to each others thrusts

“YESSS YN...THATS MY GIRL… CUM BABY… CUM FOR ME” he moaned 

His hands on your hips holding you steady as your walls began clenching around him for the second time that night, 

With another scream of his name, you came undone, body quaking, as you felt his cock twitch and he followed shortly with a shout of your name as he spilled his warm essence into you.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you just tangled together a sweaty panting mess

“That was the best possible makeup sex ever” he laughed into your hair.

“Yeah, like thirteen months later.” you pointed out, before somehow dissolving into a fit of giggles.

“So, what brought this on?”

“It would have been our five year anniversary in a few days, and I was sad. I decided that I wanted you back. You’ve proven to me that you’ve changed, and I still love you. So… can we almost pretend that these last thirteen month never happened? Do you really want me back Rami?”

He never said yes or no, instead he captured your lips in another kiss before he mumbled,”Give me a few minutes, and then we can really piss off your neighbors.”

You just giggle again, snuggle into his chest and tell him that you are happy to oblige, as you hate your neighbors. Because at least three times a week they have really loud fights, intense fights followed by what sounds like really intense makeup sex themselves. So that can’t even begin to judge you for getting laid in the year that you’ve lived here.

@txmel @xmxisxforxmaybe @itsme690 @mrhoemazzello @ramimedley @free-rami @r-ahh-mi

[stories-sometimes]

Bedtime Stories

40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You tell your son the story of his father.

Word Count: 1972

Masterlist

~~~

“Can you tell me about Dad?” Her eight year old son asks as she tucks him into his bed. She was aware that this question would come eventually, but wasn’t fully prepared for it. She waits a second before starting the story, composing herself.

“He was an amazing man, one of the bravest people I’ve met. And he fought for us and everyone else you know to have a safer life. He was fiercely loyal, protected those around him. Sometimes he could come off as cocky, but really it was a facade, he was nothing like that once you knew him.” She smiles at his memory, thinking back to the time she first met him. Initially she wasn’t fond of him, brushing him off as another arrogant ladies man, used to getting his way with a few smooth words.

~~~

“What’s a pretty dame like you doing here all alone.” She heard his voice for the first time. She'd gone to the dance hall with her friend, although the girl soon abandoned her for a date. She opted to reside at the edge of the room, perched on a bench wishing she’d stayed at home. She looked up to see him. He was tall, well dressed, too handsome for his own good. She'd seen guys like him before, overly-confident, a new girl every week - she was determined not to be one of them.

“Trying to avoid guys like you.” She retorted.

“Well what’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, a smirk growing as he sat down next to her.

“I’ve dealt with guys like you too many times, you play around with all the girls, but never stick around. You sir, are a heartbreaker.” He gasped, placing his hand over his heart, feigning hurt.

“How do you know that? You’ve only just met me.”

“You look the type.”

“Tell me about that type.”

“They’re always tall, strong,” She said, running her hand up his muscular arm, just because she didn’t want to be with him didn’t mean she couldn’t tease him a little. “Far too good-looking.” That boosted his ego, she reached up a little so she could whisper her last point in his ear, “and they know exactly what to say to get any girl on their knees.” His breath hitched as she sat back down. It became her turn to smirk, knowing she'd got him to react how she wanted.

“You doll are a grade-A tease.” He replied in an attempt to regain his composure and the upper-hand.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just saying what I see.” She continued the teasing.

“So you’re saying I could get you on your knees.” He grinned, clearly enjoying where this conversation was going. She looked him up and down, smiling without giving him a definite answer. She kept the innocent look in her eyes she’d managed to master, conflicting with the flirtatious smile on her face.

“You’re trouble,” He stated, she cocked her head to the side, keeping up the sweet act, “don’t pretend you don’t know it. Bet you leave a trail of hearts in your pretty little wake.”

“Your compliments aren’t gonna work on me.”

“Worth a shot. But don’t try to change the subject. You’re the kind of girl who acts all innocent, sitting here, looking all gorgeous. When in reality you’re as bad as the guys who chase after you.” She smiled subconsciously, unsure of how she should’ve reacted.

“You’ve read me wrong.” She responded.

“Have I?” He brought back that smirk. “How about I get you a drink?”

“I’d love one.” He left to grab them, but she’d vanished before he returned.

~~~

“The second time I saw him I decided to give him a chance, best decision I ever made.”

~~~

She strolled into her usual cafe, ordering a drink before settling into a seat. Only a few minutes had passed before she heard the door chime, she glanced to see who’d come in. Shit. It was the man from the dance hall, accompanied by a smaller man. She immediately looked away from them, praying he wouldn’t notice her. Just her luck, they had sat directly behind her, the only silver lining being that the man was faced away from her, less likely to spot me if she didn’t draw any attention to herself.

“I’m tellin’ you Steve she was perfect.” She overheard him say to his friend. 

“Bucky you just meet her, you don’t even know her name.” So that’s his name.

“And still she hasn’t left my mind. She was like my perfect dream, looked like an angel and knew exactly what to say. But she disappeared too soon.”

His friend groaned, “Why are you gettin’ all dizzy over a girl who clearly isn’t that into you?”

“If you saw her and she talked to you like she did, you’d get where I was coming from.” She listened intently to the rest of their chat. Maybe she was wrong about him, maybe he wasn’t the player she thought he was, maybe she could try it out. Fuck it, she was gonna give him a chance. She scribbled down my name and home’s telephone number, dropping it down in front of Bucky as she walked out. She winked playfully over her shoulder as he recognised her, watching starstruck, but still she didn’t stay as long as he would’ve wanted.

“Who isn’t that into me now.” She heard him brag to his friend as she walked out the door. She giggled, a stupid grin grew on her face. He wasn’t so bad.

She got my first call that evening.

“Hey doll, it’s Bucky.”

“Hey mister, someone’s impatient, couldn’t even wait 24 hours to call.”

“What can I say, you’ve sure as hell left an impression on me. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, not yet.” She replied.

“Good, cause I’m taking you out.”

“And why would you think I’d say yes?”

“You wouldn’t have given me your number if I didn’t have a chance, plus I’m paying for your food.” There he went again with the confidence.

“Alright then.”

“Yes!” She heard an over-excited shout down the phone line.

“But only because I want a free meal.”

“I’m sure that’s why. I’ll pick you up at eight.” She gave him my address before she hung up. Sge searched through her wardrobe to find a suitable enough outfit, suddenly caring about what he thought about her. When eight rolled around she found herself far more excited then she thought she'd be. He knocked on the door, looking as dashing as ever.

“Hey doll, you ready.”

“Guess if I have to be.” She shrugged, lying through her teeth, this is exactly where she wanted to be.

“How long are you gonna play hard to get, you like me enough to agree to a date, but still you act like you don’t want me.” He smirked, watching as her cheeks started to glow red.

~~~

“He took me out for a meal, then we walked around in the moonlight for hours. Everything felt so perfect, we were young, happy and fell in love faster than I ever thought I possibly could. He would keep his friends safe as well. You know Captain America wasn’t always as strong as he used to be.”

“Really.” Her son says, looking confused.

“He used to be this skinny, sickly little kid. But that didn’t stop he standing up to anyone he saw treating people wrong. Your Dad was constantly pulling him out of fights. ” She stands up, grabbing an old photo album from the hallway. “There he is.” She points to a much smaller Steve.

“No way.” It was a picture of them at a carnival, Steve was awkwardly smiling next to her whilst she had a bright grin plastered on her face, holding onto a large teddy from one of the booths. “That’s my bear.” He says, pulling it from the side of his bed and into his chest.

“Your Dad won that for me and I know he would have wanted you to have it. He was so excited when he found out about you.”

~~~

She knocked on Bucky’s door, shaking with nerves. It was confirmed - she was pregnant. A little scandalous, they were engaged but not yet married, she knew some would look down upon it. It was due to a celebration from when he proposed, both too caught up in the excitement of the moment to remember to stay safe. Don’t get her wrong, she wanted a family with him. But with a war arising around the corner it didn’t seem like the best time to bring a child in the world.

“Hey doll,” He smiled seeing me, but his expression turned sour as he saw her shake. “What’s wrong.” He ushered her into his house.

“I’ve got something to tell you.” The anxiety building up in him was clear.

“You’re not breaking up with me.” He whispered, looking terrified.

“God no,” She paused, mentally preparing myself, “I’m pregnant.” His face froze, staying deadly still for an uncomfortable amount of time, “Bucky, please respond.” She whispered, showing the fear in my voice.

“I’m gonna be a dad.” He murmured softly. She nodded. “I’m gonna be a dad.” He said louder this time, his face growing brighter, “I’m gonna be a fucking dad!” He was shouting now.

“Yes, you’re gonna be a dad.” She laughed, reassured by this reaction. He grabbed her around the waist, picking her up and spinning here around. She shrieked. “Bucky, put me down.” She said, lightly punching on his shoulders.

“Right, gotta be careful, there’s a baby in there.” He said, placing his hands over her stomach, barely able to contain his smile. He rested his forehead on hers letting her stare into his blue eyes. “I love you so much.”

~~~

“Then he left for the war, it was difficult but we wrote to each other as much as two people possibly could. I’ve kept every last one.” She says, thinking of the box she had stuffed under her bed since the day Bucky left. She pauses glumly, “then one day they just stopped, he was gone. Steve had left, I had no contact with him, I was all alone. It felt as though that side of my life had been completely cut off.” She looks up to be met by her son’s sympathetic eyes, resting his hand over hers as a show of comfort. “But one day he appeared, he was saved by Captain America. I got a letter telling me he was safe, that he was being promoted to work with Steve and other elite soldiers. I thought we were gonna have that perfect life we’d always dreamt of.”

“What happened?” He whispers softly, watching as tears well in her eyes.

“Life doesn’t always work out how we want it to.”

“Where’s he now?”

“He’s up in the stars, with all the other heroes, he protected those around him for all his life, and if he was still here, he’d be out fixing the world as best as he could.” She saw her son glancing up at her, a slight wonder flickering through his eyes.

“Am I like him?”

“You have his eyes,” It was true, he was the spitting image of his father, the blue eyes and dark hair, the same cheeky, boyish smile he pulls when he knows he’s in trouble, “and you treat those you love with as much care as he did.” She saw the signs of a protective friend, the way he would scare off the bigger kids on the playground when he saw them picking on someone who couldn’t defend themselves. “I love you kiddo, now go to sleep.” She say playfully, kissing his forehead as he yawns sleepily.

“Night mum.” He says as she reaches his door.

“Goodnight James.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Big Red

A very, very, very quick and belated Valentine’s day special haha ;) 

War x Reader. 

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

A day is eventually bound to come when the horseman, War, is no longer baffled by human traditions. 

Today however, isn’t looking as though it’ll be that day. 

It’s very difficult to miss the garish propaganda plastered floor to ceiling on every building throughout the market district of your home city. Little cut-out hearts adorn enormous glass windows of every storefront along main. Soft ballads drift out through open cafe doors and mingle together into an unintelligible blend of noise that only vexes War as he tromps down the street that would eventually bring him to your apartment. 

Winter is finally on its way out, making way for the first signs of spring. Although only February, the sun has decided to make a rare appearance and War is struck by the level of mild delirium that the burning star’s presence seems to have instilled in many of the humans trotting past him. Strangely, the air is relatively warm, giving many of the tiny beings valid justification to don their various dresses, shorts and thin, cotton shirts which really ought to be saved for the summer months. 

However, War hardly pays much attention to their clothing habits, too distracted by another, bizarre feverishness that seems to have gripped the entire human population. 

Everywhere he looks, as far as the eye can see is the colour red. 

The whole city is more saturated in it than a blood-soaked battlefield and when the horseman stepped from a serpent hole earlier that day and took a quick glance at the scenery, a sudden thrill had threatened to overtake him, anticipating that - at any given moment - he would catch a glimpse of the savage warriors who were responsible for all the bloodshed. 

His disappointment hit moments later, once he’d gotten a closer look and discovered the truth. Suspicious and more than a little baffled by all the doe-eyed glances shared amongst humans of every age, shape and gender, he keeps his head turned stiffly forwards and cuts a path through the crowds, heading as directly as he can towards your home. 

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

War jerks to a halt on a path too narrow for his wide bulk, his way unexpectedly blocked by a pair of men, each with their arms around the other’s shoulders and their grinning mouths locked together in a deep kiss, completely oblivious to their surroundings. 

Eyes narrowed to blazing slits, War bristles, puffing out his armoured chest. 

This does not happen. 

No angel, demon nor even a maker has ever dared to stand in the Red Rider’s path - Not unless they were trying to rile him up. These two have even taken it a step further by so brazenly ignoring him. War is accustomed to seeing everything and everyone scurry out of his way, as though pushed aside by the sheer force of his impressive will. 

The other humans - the ones who aren’t busy trying to see how long the other can go without air - have so far given him a wide berth. After humanity was restored and the rebuilding of Earth commenced, it became quite commonplace to see several other species mingled in amongst the little ones. Wary though they were at first, that famous, human curiosity won out over trepidation and soon, they were inviting all manner of individuals into their circles. 

Makers fit into human society like a well-worn glove, ferociously protective of their mortal charges and forever leery of the horseman whenever he passes too close to their chosen group. 

Angels meanwhile, were a harder sell, predominantly due to the general disdain a lot of them harboured for humanity as a whole. But there were those among both factions who tossed their prejudices aside and daringly approached one another, ignoring the reprimands and skepticism of their peers to extend a hand of friendship. Once those initial pioneers proved that it could be done, more and more started to come forward and those willing angels who were able to see through the misinformation they’d been fed about humans over the eons suddenly found themselves with loyal and surprisingly judicious new friends. 

Typically, humans are used to seeing members of one species or another pass by them in their day to day lives, and unless it’s a particularly belligerent demon, they won’t typically go out of their way to avoid anybody. 

But a horseman? The horseman who was rumoured to have stood at the centre of it all when their world was ripped asunder? Well, suffice it to say humanity hasn’t quite gotten used to seeing a solitary Nephilim trudging along the streets. They would scatter left and right if they saw him coming. In fact, his side of the street is almost entirely devoid of people, all of whom have tried to discreetly meander across the road to a path running adjacent to his. They move out of his way. 

War - Rider of the Red horse and strongest horseman of the apocalypse - never goes around. Ever. 

Pride bellows indignantly in his ear but it doesn’t seem as if the kissing humans are going to notice him any time soon. So, with a grumpy huff, War furrows his snowy eyebrows and takes a rigid step to one side, grumbling something about ‘hopeless paramours’ as he continues to trundle purposefully on his way.

At every turn, there’s another pair of humans. They run into each others’ arms, or they’re presenting someone with a small square of card or sitting in the sunlight at opposite ends of little red, chequered tables situated outside various cafes and restaurants, sending each other strange, sentimental gazes. 

He manages to make it down three more blocks without much of a change in scenery before his curiosity gets the better of him. ‘

This is getting ridiculous

.’ 

Abruptly, the horseman stops in his tracks and eyes the vicinity, searching for a human who looks as if they’ll know what he needs to find out. 

It doesn’t take long for him to find a likely candidate. 

A young man sits alone at a picnic table beneath the awning of a homey little bakery that sells all manner of pies, cakes and decorated sweets. His dark hair has been meticulously combed up at the front into a neat quiff and a pair of black, thick-rimmed spectacles slip down his button nose, causing him to have to continuously adjust them by nudging them back into place with a finger. Around his neck, there’s a bright purple bowtie that clashes terribly with his unzipped, navy hoodie and in his hands, he’s clutching onto a single, red rose so tightly, it’s as if he’s afraid someone will come along and try to take it from him. 

With a decisive grunt, War makes a beeline straight for him. 

The human is too busy glancing up and down the street and then anxiously turning an ear to his watch to notice the armoured behemoth trailing to a halt in front of him until a strong voice pipes up, “You there, human.”

The young man’s backside leaves the wooden seat, his knees banging on the underside of his table as he lets out a startled yelp and snaps his head up, warm, green eyes bulging open wide when they land on the red-cloaked nephilim. Fascinating how fast all traces of colour can drain out of a human’s face.

War opens his mouth to speak, but he’s rudely interrupted when the human anxiously licks his lips and squeaks out, “St-Stacey!?” 

Taken aback, the horseman blinks. ‘Stacey? Who in the nine Hells?...’ Slowly, his upper lip curls into an affronted snarl, inciting the human to throw up both hands and cower further into his seat. “Not -not Stacey! Right, got it! Stupid question!” A nervous chuckle bursts off his tongue. “Sorry. For a second there, I thought I was being cat-fished.” 

If War had any idea what a catfish was, he still wouldn’t have a hope in Hell’s chance of understanding just what the strange little man was talking about. So, he doesn’t bother asking. 

Instead, he moves his pale eyes down to the rose clenched between the human’s trembling fingers and demands, “What is that?” 

“What? This?” Blanching, the man gulps and pulls the flower protectively towards his chest. “I-it’s just a rose! Why?” 

“What is it for?” 

“What’s it f-” Trailing off, he hesitates, sliding his glasses back onto his nose and casts a searching glance up and down the horseman, his throat bobbing nervously. “Umm. It’s for a girl I’m supposed to be meeting.” Perhaps realising that he isn’t in as much mortal peril as he’d first thought, the human perks up slightly and adds, “We...we met online last year. This is the first time we’ll see each other in person a-and I thought, what better day to meet than Valentine’s day, right?” 

The horseman cocks his head to one side, red cloak rippling in the noonday sun. “Valentine’s day?” 

Blinking several times the man’s mouth suddenly drops open to form an ‘o’ and he lifts a hand to thunk it against the side of his skull. “Oh, gosh! That’s right! You’re one of those horsemen guys, aren’t you?” 

‘One of those horsemen guys?’ War’s face darkens, lips tugging down at the corners distastefully. ‘How the mighty have fallen.’ 

The human continues to babble, his cheeks now splashed with a tinge of pink. “Ha! Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t have heard about V day, in that case.” 

Just like that, War’s head quirks back upright with renewed interest. “Ah,” he drawls, “You are celebrating the day one of your world wars ended then?” 

That would certainly explain the red. Not so much the hearts and lust-filled glances though...

He lifts a brow when he realises that the human is staring up at him, mouth agape as if he’d just sprouted horns. Shrugging one, massive shoulder, the horseman sniffs. “Polemology is one of the few areas of human history I have a vetted interest in.” 

“O-oh!” The man nods, awe flickering across his face, “Cool, cool. But, uh, I’m talking about the other V day. Valentine’s? It’s a day where we celebrate the people we care about most.” Wrinkling his nose, he glances off across the street to a line of shops, all showing off an assortment of brightly coloured posters promoting the holiday.  “Of course, it’s all pretty commercialised now,” he points out, turning back to the horseman, “Bit of a money-making ploy for card companies to rake in some extra cash.. But the sentiment’s still there. Show someone you care about them.” 

“And...to do this...humans present each other with...something red?” War ventures falteringly whilst he scrutinises the rose again. 

“Erm...Well, yeah? Come to think of it, I guess most of the gifts are supposed to be red. It is the holiday’s theme colour, after all. If you’ve got someone in mind, the bigger and redder the present, the better!” 

Suddenly all too aware of his own hood and cloak, War begins to shift uncomfortably. Leave it to humans to effectively declaw his favourite colour.

No matter. 

Even if he were garbed in sunshine yellow or baby blue, he’s confident that he could still strike terror into the hearts of any and all who laid eyes on him. 

Humming pensively, he narrows his eyes and swivels his hood around to peer down the road in the direction of your home, dimly wondering if anyone has given you a gift yet, and then asking himself why that idea irked him so much.

Pushing aside the unwarranted spike of irrational envy, War draws himself up and offers the bespectacled human a small nod of gratitude - the closest a stranger would ever get to a ‘thank you’ from the austere horseman. 

And with that, War promptly turns on his heel and continues the journey down a crowded street, leaving behind one very confused human to bark out a clumsy farewell before slumping down in his seat and releasing a quaking exhale. “What in the world!?” 

--- --- ---

At the back of your apartment block is a modest, communal plot of land, little more than a square patch of dirt with a rusty football goalpost sitting next to the back fence. 

Standing in the middle of the garden, War tilts his head back to squint up at the red brick building, his narrow eyes fixed intently on the second storey balcony in particular. 

Flower pots are dotted along a metal grate surrounding the pair of large, french doors that open out onto a small deck, allowing enough space for that plastic lawn chair you’d put out to read on during the summer. 

War’s nostrils twitch as he inhales, picking up on the familiar scent of oil paints and white spirit that drifts out through the open doors and floats down into his nose. 

You’re home then. And painting. 

In a split second, the combination of those two things instills such a swell of contentment in the horseman, his permanent scowl softens ever so slightly and he expels a mellow breath. 

With the exception of Ruin, you are perhaps the single, solitary being in Creation that War would openly count as a friend. And that human with the glasses and funny bow tie had said that on Valentine’s day - today - it is customary to give something big and red to the person you care about. 

Try as he might to keep it hidden, anyone with a pair of eyes and half a brain could see that War cares about you. The only problem is, he doesn’t have anything red to give you. A predicament he’d puzzled over all the way to your apartment. 

A red car? No, you don’t really condone vehicular theft. 

A red telephone box? But there had been a human using it at the time. 

A post box!.....Oh, but where on earth would you put it? 

It was only once he reached the corner of your block that an idea started to niggle at the back of his mind, worming its way forwards with an insistence that made it impossible to ignore. 

Quite frankly, the idea itself was ridiculous. 

But, then again, you’re fairly ridiculous. So this might just turn out to be the best, worst idea that could have occurred to him. 

War’s eyes dart to the doors of the apartment beside your own in time to catch a small, round face disappear behind a thin curtain. The neighbour’s children are endlessly fascinated by the strange, titanic man who’s always visiting you. 

One corner of the horseman’s mouth quirks upwards. If nothing else, then at the very least his next move will satiate their curiosity for a time. 

Big and red... If Death were here, he’d probably admonish his youngest brother for being so obvious. 

War squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on channelling his inner rage towards the pulsing ventricles and atriums of his thundering heart. A spark ignites directly at his core and then, with all the force of an explosion, his body bursts into flames and he begins to grow. 

Every bone in his robust body expands, snapping at the joints and re-fusing to accommodate the extra bends in his legs. Ancient magics strip his armour away and his hood falls, leaving room for a pair of horns to erupt out from the back of his skull, curving up and around like the prongs of a bull, perfect for goring. 

With a loud crack and snap, two vestigial wings sprout between his shoulder blades. Featherless and without any kind of membrane, they stretch up into the sky and give a few powerful beats, testing the air. Finally, once he’s reached his new, full height, his tail bone lengthens, extending from the base of his spine and tapering off into a long, whip-like appendage. 

The ground beneath his clawed feet is scorched black from the fire that had blasted across it as he approached the apex of his transformation.  When the flames licking over his body fizzle out and leave behind rock-hard skin the colour and texture of cooling magma, War opens his eyes. 

No longer do they shine with an otherworldly blue. 

Now, they glow gold as a dying sun and burn just as hotly. 

To his left, War’s ear flicks towards the gasps of shock and awe coming from the children peeking around the curtains to look at him but as soon as his large head swivels in their direction, they let out frightened bleats and retreat to the safety of their home. Pointed, craggy teeth click together a few times in amusement as the beast takes a heavy step up to your balcony, his new height bringing him a couple of feet higher than the metal railing, meaning he has to stoop down to look inside the apartment. 

The moment he lays eyes on you, the monstrous horseman croons softly, a guttural warble that starts in his throat and slips out from between his fangs. 

You have your back to him, standing in your pyjamas in front of a large easel and canvas, slapping paint onto it with nary a thought for precision. Your laptop sits beside you on a dirty, wooden table and a quick glance confirms that you have a pair of earphones plugged into it, hence why you hadn’t darted over to the window at the sound of his transformation. Creator knows it isn’t a quiet one. 

Pricking his ears up, War chuffs out a greeting. 

However, you don’t turn around, instead continuing to sing softly along to the music in your head and bobbing your hips to and fro whilst you work. 

The behemoth’s brow ridge dips into a frown and he tries again with a sharp grunt. This time, you pause, cocking your head to the side and he immediately perks up only to snarl vehemently as you lift your shoulders in a shrug and go straight back to painting. 

Right. 

A clangorous rumble passes through War’s chest as he leans his head over the metal railing and tries to decide whether it would be best to reach in and grab you, or to roar as loud as he can and send the whole neighbourhood into a panic. You’d probably disapprove more of the last one....

Setting his jaw, the horseman makes up his mind. 

You don’t see the enormous, clawed hand that squeezes its way through your french doors and knocks over several plant pots, nor do you notice that most of your natural light is suddenly gone, assuming that a cloud is simply passing across the sun. It isn’t until you feel something warm and hard catch on the back of your pyjama top that you let out a shrill scream of surprise and drop your paintbrush to the carpet. Without any further warning, your bare feet leave the ground and the collar of your shirt digs harshly against your throat as you inexplicably find yourself being dragged back towards the balcony, earphones pulled taught as they fight to remain in your ears and the laptop simultaneously. Finally, with a painful pop, they tear free and you can suddenly hear the loud, ragged breath of something enormous behind you. 

Opening your mouth to release another shriek, you desperately begin to kick and writhe, though try as you might, you can’t squirm free. The assailant’s hold of you is immovable as it pulls you through the french doors. At the last second, you fling out your hands and barely manage to grab onto the edge of the doorframe, fingers clenching down on the wood with the desperation of a ship’s captain clinging to his wheel during a tumultuous storm. 

Whatever it is that has a hold of you takes extreme objection at your unwillingness to cooperate. The immense presence at your back complains noisily and a flash of hot, sticky breath washes over you, prompting you to finally find your tongue and the presence of mind to form a coherent shout, “NO!” before being promptly tugged backwards in a motion too swift for you to counter. 

Your fingertips scrape uselessly over the wooden frame until at last, they slip free, and you suddenly find yourself outside, gawking past your flailing feet to the grass several meters below. 

For one, terrible moment, you become convinced that you’re about to be dropped. Although by no means a fatal distance, it would certainly hurt, and you’d probably wind up with a broken leg which would really put a dampener on your already mundane Valentine’s day. 

In the midst of being strangled by your own pyjama top and dangling helplessly like a newborn kitten from some unknown monster’s clutches, you opt to try for diplomacy, seeing as writhing and floundering seems to be getting you nowhere fast. “W-WOAH! Hang on a second!” you cry out, trying to crane your neck back but only finding an enormous, red wall of rock-hard flesh obstructing your view, “I-I don’t know who you are! But - but please! Don’t. Drop. Me!” 

Astonishingly, your captor actually complies. 

A throaty rumble reverberates directly behind your ears and sends a shudder rolling over your skin as the monster slowly begins lowering you to the ground. 

With a dull thud, your bare feet hit the warm earth and the anxious pinch of your brow immediately smoothes itself out. However, the relief is short lived as another gust of scalding breath tickles the hairs on the back of your neck. 

Cringing under the weight of trepidation, you stiffly crank your head around and the rest of your body slowly follows suit, until you suddenly find yourself nose to nose with the rockbound face of a gigantic, red beast. 

It’s hardly any wonder that a yelp jumps out of your mouth and you stagger back a few steps simply to take in the enormity of such a monstrous head looming mere inches away. “What the-!”  

Suddenly, you pause and draw back a little, hemmed in on either side by the two, curved horns that jut from its skull. Squinting up at the giant, one corner of your lip starts to quirk. “War?”

By way of a wordless reply, the beast's nostrils flare but his unrelenting gaze never leaves yours.

All at once, full recognition brightens your expression. “War!” you exclaim happily, dashing forwards again and all but launching yourself at him, crushing your sternum against his hard, flat nose and stretching to engulf as much of his face in your arms as possible. It's been too long since you've seen him in his Chaos Form, and at first glance, you'd almost mistaken him for a Trauma. He has the same bulky head, the same rust-coloured hide and stands only a few feet taller than the Destroyer's heavy hitters.

Now that the initial shock of being lifted from your apartment is starting to wear off, excitement dribbles through, first as a trickle, then as a surging wave. War hasn't been to Earth for several weeks, too busy in other realms, wreaking havoc on the fractured remnants of the Destroyer's army. To say that you missed him is an understatement.

“It's so good to see you again!” you laugh, extracting yourself from between his horns and retreating far enough so that you can look him in the eye, “But what are you doing here!?”

Flicking his tail, the horseman huffs, as though it should really be obvious. 

Rolling his gleaming eyes, he swallows his pride and leans forwards again, thumping down onto his forelegs and giving the top of your hair a gentle bunt with the tip of his nose. Then, he simply leaves it there, his nostrils fluttering open and closed as he breathes, content simply to re-familiarise himself with the scent of your shampoo.

“You came to see me then?” you guess, at the same time reaching a hand up to affectionately cup it around the underside of his jaw.

A soft chuff whooshes through your hair.

“I'll take that as a yes,” you beam, “I'm flattered. And here I thought I'd be spending another Valentine’s day alone.”

At your mention of the earthen holiday, the behemoth thumps his tail once against the ground and his nose leaves your hair as he pulls away, straightening to his full, intimidating height before snorting pointedly.

Naturally curious, you cant your head to the side. “Uh...Okay? Listen, not that I'm not ecstatic to see you, big guy-”

Proudly, he puffs out his armoured chest and you can't help but pause to give your head an exasperated shake. In all the time spent traipsing across the ruined earth, no matter what he faced or who he fought, War had never once given you the impression that he was a showoff.

“- But what's with the Chaos Form?”

Like air escaping a giant, red balloon, War deflates. Loudly.

His jaws fall open around a plaintive grumble as he shoots you a look that practically screams, 'You really can’t guess?'

However, having failed to extract the anticipated reaction from you, the horseman does a subtle little roll of his gleaming eyes and his entire throat quivers with the force of a guttural sigh.

Then, without any more pomp or poise, he tucks his claws up underneath his chest, eyes drooping shut once more.

Even though you've witnessed him transform a dozen times, you're never quite prepared for the brief intensity of the heat that explodes from his body and slams into you like a wall of fire, nor for the searing flash that burns itself into your retinas and leaves you momentarily dazzled.

It takes a few blinks before you can comfortably peel your eyes open again to find War – in his original glory – towering over you with that blissfully familiar frown puckering his forehead.

A fond smile nudges at the sides of your mouth. It was hard to believe that this paragon of stoicism was just nosing through your hair a minute ago. “Hi, War.”

His response is a simple twitch of his lips, the tiniest of nods and a low grunt. To the untrained eye, it's a cold, aloof and curt greeting.

But having travelled alongside the horseman for just the right amount of time, you've learned enough to know by now that War, while not conventionally expressive in the way humans are – eons of battle hardened more than his resolve – even he isn't without his subtle tells.

A nearly imperceptible flex of his gauntlet here, a shift in his weight from one foot to the next there. He has something he wants to say but finding himself trapped in your attentive, unflinchingly trusting gaze seems to have lodged whatever it is in his throat.

Perhaps you're granting him a small mercy then by lightly prompting, “As much as I love standing here quietly, staring into each other's eyes, I am curious to know why my favourite horseman just snatched me out of my home in broad daylight, in his Chaos form, no less.”

A beat of further silence passes, during which he draws himself up, squaring his already broad shoulders and tipping his chin towards the sky, long, silver hair catching a stray gust of wind. 

In making himself physically larger, he's inadvertently given away the nature of his response. It's a defence mechanism.

The bigger he seems, the less likely it is that he'll be confronted.

Now, in your humble opinion, War has absolutely no reason to make himself appear larger. Frankly, with the exception of his sister, Fury, War is about the most redoubtable thing on two legs. And he knows this. So the only reason he could possibly have for distending himself like that must be because he's inexplicably uncertain, possibly gearing up to step out of his comfort zone and show you a modicum of vulnerability akin to exposing a wound to salt water.  

You realise – with equal parts intrigue and concern – that he's about to tell you something he doesn't necessarily want to admit. “War?” you prod, gingerly.

Recognising that this interaction can go no further unless he responds to you, the horseman pulls his mouth into a thin line and mumbles something, though his words are drowned out by a car horn sounding a few streets over.

Pressing your lips together to stifle a sheepish grin, you ask, “Sorry, what was that?”

Against all laws of physics, War's scowl somehow manages to furrow even deeper. In the end though, he takes in an impressive lungful of air, holds it in for around five, full seconds and then, in that monotonous, distinct rumble you're so accustomed to hearing, he declares, “Today is Valentine’s day.”

If he didn't think it would only add to your amusement, he would have slapped a palm against his forehead. He used to be eloquent, or at least, he'd assumed he was before he met you.

The horseman's jaw clamps shut with enough pressure to turn coal into a diamond at the mirth shining in your eyes.

“O-oh?” Your voice trembles and you quickly wipe a hand across your mouth, as if to physically remove the grin for the mere sake of sustaining his pride. “You know about...Valentine's day?”

Affronted, he snaps sharply, “I do,” only to regret it moments later when you flinch and the smile that had been plastered on your face wavers. After subjecting himself to a scathing reprimand, War forces a gentle lilt into his otherwise gruff tone, adding, “I...learned of it from a human on my way here.”

“Ah.” Your eyebrows start to make their way further towards your hairline, the teasing smile back in place at once. “So, you didn't come to see me just because it's Valentine's day?”

For a while, the horseman mulls over his next words. 'A tactician of any battlefield,' Death had once said, 'Of conversation, on the other hand? Hardly.' Absently swinging his gaze down to your bare feet, he notes with a grimace that he'll have to carry you around to the front of your building. There's no end of smashed bottles laying about on the pavement, just waiting for some, unsuspecting human to step on it. Finally, after the silence has stretched for too long, he sighs, “Not initially, no. I was only coming to see how you've been faring. We haven't seen each other since-”

“- Since Christmas,” you interject wistfully, “Yeah, it's been a few weeks. Long time for a human, you know.”

'Too long,' he catches himself thinking. “The human I met,” he carries on, prompting a curious tilt of your head, “He told me of the integral customs this day entails, of the hearts, gifts and flowers and the importance of the colour red when declaring your lo-... fondness for one another.” Giving a haughty grumble, War casts his eyes off to the side and stares at a particularly interesting patch of grass.

“Uh, huh....A-and the whole-” Hesitating, you gesture at him vaguely, raising a hand high above your head and flapping it about indicatively. “How does that fit in?”

“Ah. My Chaos Form.” Without missing a beat, War's arms fold neatly over his wide chest and he sweeps his soft, blue eyes back over to meet yours. “It was the biggest, reddest thing I could think of at such short notice.”

Just like that, your jaw falls open so sharply, it almost hits the ground. He doesn't speak, merely braces himself against the prickling sensation that you might turn around and rebuff his gesture, that he'd misinterpreted the holiday and you wouldn't appreciate his admittedly lacklustre idea of a gift. As the horseman's doubts creep up on him and start to burrow underneath his skin, your expression of unbridled shock gives way to tenderness. “Oh, War...You know you didn't have to do that.” Suddenly, you take a step forwards, closing the distance between yourself and the horseman and blinking slowly up at his hooded face, a coy smile brightening your features as you whisper, “But I'm glad you did.”

Before he can escape, you push yourself onto your toes and brace one hand against his chest for balance, lifting the other hand to place the very tips of your fingers behind the horseman's jaw. Even with the lightest touch, you can feel how rigid it is, so unlike the softness of your delicate skin.

“What are you doing?” he exclaims, rooted to the spot, wide eyed whilst you stretch your neck out and tip your head to one side, drawing closer until your face is next to his inside the blood-red hood. Then, to War's bewilderment, you oh-so-carefully press your puckered lips to the rough, pale skin of his cheek.

It's a tender act, one that sets War's heart thundering. You can feel it against your ribcage as you begin to pull away, only to find yourself halted by a firm hand on the small of your back. “War? What are you doing?” You echo his previous words back at him, swallowing thickly as he brings his smaller, gauntleted hand up and gently captures your chin between his thumb and hooked forefinger.

His bright gaze is fixated on you, oblivious to the city around him and to the prying eyes of your neighbour's children who watch on from overhead with mild disgust pulling at their mouths. A warm, odourless breath escapes from between his half-parted lips and skims over your lips and chin. Humming low in his throat, the horseman tips your chin back a little and leans down until his nose bumps into the tip of yours, causing you to blink in surprise.

You can feel the faintest tremor in his lower lip as he brushes it deliberately into your own and says, eyes slipping shut just seconds before he completely closes the gap and gently secures his scarred lips over yours, “Honouring a tradition.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 48

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 15. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: frank discussion of human experimentation. There’s two ways to dehumanize someone: tear them down or put them on a pedestal.

_____________________________

“Thank you again for the meals,” ‘Choly told Ick the next morning. “And the use of your vehicle. And your help. And, well. Everything.”

“Just sad I can’t drive ya right back to the base an’ drop you off,” the mummy Furrier replied as he stacked up the bowls by his wash basin. “Straight shot down cuts right through where you say the Rust Devils set up house. Mmm, though. The route to and fro will be clear soon enough. And then. Then the Riverhawk can take you both ways whenever you like.”

“Will that ever include a route down Pawtucket Boulevard?” Sticks thought aloud with whimsy.

“Wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout that, if you’d just move to Voire,” Ick started again, unable to resist the bait.

“We... really have to get going, Mister Ick,” ‘Choly interrupted, pulling Sticks toward the opening of the Furrier’s house. “The sooner we get back to Deenwood, the sooner we can return.”

The ghoul and old man both exchanged an endeared laugh as they were separated once again. Outside, ‘Choly mounted Angel, and they were on their way to retrace the path back to the military base. Even with the visor cutting the glare of the morning sun, ‘Choly could recognize the difference between his default physiology and how he’d felt on a heavy dose of Day Tripper. It wasn’t a painkiller, but hell if it hadn’t distracted him from his pain and exhaustion. He did his best not to complain of his stiffness, not to risk sounding ungrateful for Ick’s rather lavish amenities.

Once they had crossed out of Downtown back onto Pawtucket Boulevard, ‘Choly cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t think I could keep you from asking things,” Sticks replied, surveying for crabs. “You’re like a little kid seeing the world for the first time.”

He paused to re-steel himself.

“We weren’t together, before... were we?”

The ghoul scoffed a laugh, only to sober and straighten his gait.

“Oh. You were serious. Uh.” Sticks whet his lips, and chewed at them. “I wouldn’t have even given it half a thought back in the day. I’ll admit, I’ve been a lot more open minded as of late. Supposing I can owe that to being a bit lonely, but it’s not like I’ve done much in terms of remedying that. I... I don’t know.” He tossed a glance to the chemist riding a Handy, but kept his eyes on the road. “What, did you think of me like that before I, y’know?”

“My memory isn’t working like it should.” ‘Choly choked up on his deep flush. “I think it’s what was damaged worst by being frozen. Regardless, if I did like you before, I... hhhH-I think I really like you now.”

When Sticks stopped in place, ‘Choly thought at first he’d spotted a threat. But when Angel continued on ahead of him, he stopped the Handy and turned to look at the ghoul.

“Tch. Don’t know why I’m even surprised. You’d watch monster movies and then take a thirty minute shower after. Guess I’m still all looks and no substance.”

“--Oh hhh h-all the substances,” the chemist blurted out, only to smear his face in stupidity. “That’s not what I--”

Sticks pressed onward again with a frown, and ‘Choly and Angel followed.

“I can’t handle this right now. I’m still adjusting to learning a day ago that you’re even alive. I feel like we’ve both got a lot to work through here. Give me a minute. I’ve got to grab some shit.”

“...That’s not a no.”

“--Mister Carey,” Angel scolded, stopping far back a ways to separate the two, while the ghoul went inside the restaurant at the Sampas Pavilion.

At a distance, the chemist could tell the ghoul had gestured around the front door not unlike some kind of secret handshake. He thought perhaps it had been him gesticulating while he spoke to himself, but a few minutes after he’d vanished inside ‘Choly understood it to have been disarming a handcrafted home security system of sorts. Recalling that Sticks had done the same upon their departure affirmed his presumptions.

‘Choly dismounted Angel and took to his cane, to get out of the street. The pavilion itself lay across the road from the restaurant, a slab of concrete with four latticed metal pillars connected at the top. He stood in the center of it, and stared up into the metal work. Nearly ladder-like, he thought. He tried to remember what the phrase Jacob’s ladder meant, but Sticks approached him now toting a satchel, and the deliberation sublimated.

Meeting no resistance, they went the rest of the way down to the base in silence. ‘Choly took Sticks in the West entrance, to avoid Rust Devil activity. The biometric scanners seemed to have the ghoul on file from previous visits to the base, and didn’t object to him. The same Mister Gutsy met them once they passed the first boom barrier.

“Captain Carey, you’re late again. The General was starting to worry the enemy had gotten you. I see you’ve brought the entrepreneur Sticks with you. Explains why you were waylaid. The General has indicated he cannot be permitted on premises without escort. Do not let him out of your immediate company.”

“So good to see you, too,” the ghoul shrugged off.

“I don’t intend to take my eyes off him,” ‘Choly insisted, watching as Sticks took the lead of even Green Seven to meet General Francis. He bit at his lip when he realized how it must have sounded, but said nothing further.

Sticks opened the General’s office door to let them all in, and he waved enthusiastically to find she had her Assaultron with her.

“Oh, Helen. It’s so wonderful to see you,” he greeted with lyric. “How are the kids?”

“I am inorganic and Olivia is sterile,” the robot replied. “In the possibility you are suggesting that her supervision and maintenance of the base’s robotics redefines them as her adoptive children, they are exceptionally lethal and high-functioning as usual. Thank you.”

Once the office had shut again, Olivia marinated on the cold shoulder, and undesired company, only to warm into a chuckle.

“Good morning,” she grinned. “Considering you survived the trip, I’m to expect you have good news.”

“The Furriers agreed to help,” ‘Choly blurted out. He bit his tongue, not to lash out at knowing she’d drugged him before.

She clasped her hands together in a stiff pleasantry, knowing exactly why Sticks had come. The ghouls made eye contact, but said nothing to one another. She knew better than to pour any of them a drink.

“For your trouble, I believe a promotion is in order.” She stood. “How does... Colonel Carey sound? It’s only right.”

Thrown for a loop, ‘Choly had to process the proposition for a moment. When she gave him a persuasive grin and a murmur, he scrunched his face up in cognizance of the ramifications of the title.

“I’ll bite.” He sat to ease his posture and smooth his confidence. “Funny you mention it. MKExcell would be to my pay grade, then, wouldn’t it? The sachem agreed because Sticks promised the Furriers a hundred units of X-Cell. Love to know how they’ve managed to form such an unrepentant habit for a confidential chem.”

Her face slacked, and she crossed her arms behind her back to pace. Sticks made himself comfortable leaning in the far corner behind the door.

“You’re a few centuries behind in debriefing. It’s not necessarily on topic, but I suppose I can catch you up, since the other day a history lesson sounded like why you came to Deenwood in the first place.” She glanced over to Sticks, who neither budged nor seemed to care. “What the Furriers want is called X-Cell-Root. It’s the earliest and least stable test formulation of X-Cell.” She paused only a moment to make eye contact with ‘Choly again. “Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in a drink?”

“Just tell him why I have to play your middle man,” Sticks snipped. “Better from your mouth than mine.”

Any composure she had crumbled apart like a fallen cake. She poured herself a drink, and sat to keep herself from pacing.

“MKExcell... subsisted of ten branches of research. The results of seven of them went toward formulating what is now known as X-Cell. The next step was to refine and perfect the performance chem. During the war effort, there were many fields of study as to how to create the perfect soldier. There... was also talk of creating the opposite: a chem which could weaken opposition without lethal intent. X-Cell-Root exited prototype phase about two years before the new world order began. X-Cell circulated on the black market for a good bit until its high addiction rate began to indicate that even spaced out usage bioaccumulated the compounds in the user. Withdrawals effectively disintegrate the user’s immune system, and eventually begin deteriorating all sugar compounds in the body.

“...And that’s where you come in, Melancholy. Like I’ve said, I’ve read up on all the DIA documents on base, and I’ll admit I brushed up on you once you arrived. The Psycho branch of research was one of the three that didn’t actively contribute to the formulation of X-Cell, but you did good work. Good, loyal work. You wanted to know what your return to active duty would have entailed? They wanted you to work on phase two of MKExcell--MKExceed.”

‘Choly’s face drooped in stupor, but she rattled on undeterred.

“As I’ve told you, I was already on base working on the project when the nuclear exchange transpired, and I continued my research despite the apocalypse. X-Seed remained lethal for years. I ran out of test subjects, and worked with what I had on hand, collecting ferals and raiders alike. I extended the offer for voluntary testing to the locals--the Furriers--in exchange for weapons and first aid provisions. All they ever want these days is chems.”

“--I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” ‘Choly rubbed at his head in exasperation, being given on a silver platter what he had sought. “The Furriers all but told me outright that they’re descendants of enlisted soldiers dispossessed from Deenwood.” She sighed and shoved an anxious smile behind another sip of liquor, but he didn’t stop there. “If Deenwood’s casualties were, from the sound of it, at a consequence of chem testing, not radiation, then how did you become a ghoul?”

Sticks couldn’t contain a sarcastic snort, only to hold up his hands when she glared his way.

“I... was not forthwith regarding on base survivors. Confidentiality of MKExceed, you know.” Olivia softened. “The original drive to continue the MKExceed project was the hope that it might provide a... cure. I was exposed to an X-Seed formulation that instigated an acute onset of cancer. Using several Fusion Cores, I rigged a way to give myself radiation treatments. I’ve never said I had the strongest command of radiology.” A taut self-conscious smile pulled her into herself like a drawstring. “At least it’s bought me all the time in the world to continue my research. I’ve managed to formulate an X-Seed that doesn’t mutilate those exposed to it. And while I've also successfully created a stable formula of X-Cell without addiction rates, I haven’t yet ironed out the hefty side effects of withdrawal symptoms that come with X-Seed. You might find some legitimate benefit in X-Cell-Squared, all things considered.”

She reached into her desk to produce an inhaler with four ridged ampuoles jutting back from the actuator and perpendicular to one another. When she set it in front of ‘Choly, he gawked at it, then around the room for advice. Angel said nothing. Sticks shrugged. Olivia’s enthusiasm only increased. He inhaled sharply and accepted it.

“I’ll have to think about taking it. In private.”

“Quite fine. First one’s on me.” She unclenched when he pocketed it. “It will take me about a day to synthesize the amount of chem the Furriers are requesting. The three of you are to stay on base until I can send you on your way with it. Keep Sticks in check, won’t you, Colonel?”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Sticks muttered playfully, falling in line and more than ready to get out of the same room with her.

“Old habits die hard,” she replied as they left.

“Don’t they ever,” ‘Choly sighed under his breath.

Go to Next »»»

[seventyfiveapples]

Shaken

Bright / Nick Jakoby x OFC

Chapter 7

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Career Day was finally here!

Lucy watched Nick make his way toward the school's front doors, almost an hour before any of the other speakers. Because of course he was. As he walked up the sidewalk to the school, Lucy took a minute to appreciate his attractive build as he moved: a confident gait that was almost a swagger, his police uniform taut across his powerful form. She noticed that he was carrying a small wrapped gift in one hand. As she turned to go back to her desk, she saw that she wasn’t the only one paying attention: Half of her class were gathered around the windows, watching and making comments:“Oh wow… that's really him!”

“What a SNACK.”

“Look at his thighs, you guys. I mean just look at them.”

“OKAY guys!” Lucy called, grabbing their attention. “Officer Jakoby is our guest today. Be respectful. Have a seat, please.”

Today’s other speakers included a few parents who worked in real estate and business, an elf fashion designer, a Brezzik who was one of the current hosts of Antiques Road Show, and a few members of an up and coming band who had just had their first big hit song.

But Officer Jakoby was the one the school was really excited about. As the first orc policeman in the nation, he was seen among these students as a groundbreaker and kind of an icon for Orc equality. For those students who had misgivings about the police, his hiring was a sign of hope: maybe things would change with a more diverse police force. 

For the whole student body, his speech would be today's main attraction.

She couldn’t wait to see his face when he found that out

.***

Yesterday, Lucy had awoken at Nick's house to a breakfast of pancakes and scrambled eggs. She'd hoped to stay a bit longer, and maybe pick up where they had left off from the previous night, but she got a call from Billie that something was wrong at their house. Billie was trying to downplay it, but Lucy knew she should leave. She left Nick with a lingering kiss and told him she hoped to see him again very soon.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" he asked.

"Career Day - yes! Just check in at the front office a few minutes before 9:00am."

"I'm looking forward to it. Let me know if you need any help back at home."

She was a nervous wreck as she drove back. Had Dave broken into their home? She found her front door had been kicked in, and for a moment she swore she felt her heart stop in her chest. To her surprise, Billie looked more annoyed than anything else. 

"My dumbass brothers - they had a little party last night and one of their "guests" got confused - by which I mean plastered - and thought this was their place."

"Sorry, Billie!" called Sid, who was in the front yard, helping to clean up the broken glass.

"Don't be sorry, just don't be stupid! I don't want your knucklehead friends breaking my house!" Billie threw a roll of paper towels at him from inside. It missed Sid but rolled underneath Lucy's car.

She went to retrieve it and saw an odd blinking red light that she knew shouldn't be there: a tracking device.

Shit.

Ward and Jakoby would have told her if this was the work of the LAPD. It must be Dave... how long had it been there? She felt a chill as she got ready to call Nick.

***

On Monday morning, Nick walked into the school with a stomach full of butterflies, both nervous to speak to a group and excited to see Lucy. He thought the air smelled odd - it reminded him of something he'd sensed on the day of his smoothie date with Lucy - but he disregarded it for the moment.

As he entered the school, all other thoughts halted as he immediately felt dozens of pairs of eyes fall on him. He swallowed and tried to project an air of confidence, but suddenly he felt just like he did when he was a student himself: conspicuous, out of place, wrong.

Was this a mistake?

Then slowly, a sound started to spread through the halls. First once, then again, then. It was so disorienting that it took him a minute to register the sound of applause.

Applause?

The students were giving him a round of applause. He really couldn't believe it. There were a few shouts mixed in as well: "woo!" "Yeah, Officer Jakoby!" He tried to stifle a smile as he nodded here and there to the students he made eye contact with as he made his way to check in at the office.

***

Nick started a bit rocky due to nerves. He knocked over a stool placed on the stage in the auditorium and nearly knocked over the microphone stand while righting it.

Once he started speaking, however, his nerves melted away. He told them all about his decision to become an officer (not the full version he'd shared with Lucy on their date), the education and training that was needed, and what a typical day on duty was like. His honesty and earnest demeanor were magnetic and the students hung on every word. His genuine love for his work shined through all he said.

After his presentation he asked for questions. For a moment, silence hung in the air. He started to feel like a fool. Of course no one would have any.

But boy, did they...

”Officer Jakoby, have you ever shot anyone?”

”Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”

”Is it hard when you have to arrest other orcs?”

”Are you ever concerned that you’re just a pawn in a system that promotes elf supremacy and systematically disenfranchises orcs and other races?”

He was pretty quick on his feet with his answers, admitting that some parts of his work were more complicated than others, and deftly avoiding the romance question. He passed out his business cards and encouraged the students to call him if they ever needed his help.

"Before I leave the presentation today," he started, "I wanted to thank a special person in this room." Nick fumbled with the small gift as he spoke. Lucy had no idea where he was going with this.

"Gilda, would you mind coming forward?"

Shocked and wide-eyed, the young orc who had first invited Nick to speak slowly rose to her feet and made her way up to the stage. Lucy held her breath, knowing well how anxious her student could be.

"Gilda, I wanted to thank you for coming to invite me to speak at your school. I was honored to come and spend some time with you all today. Also," he began, "I heard from your teachers here at the school that you have a special interest in studying law. I wanted to give you something to say thank you for your invitation, and hopefully to encourage your studies."

He held the box to her and she gingerly took it, eyebrows raised in a questioning expression, as if she couldn't quite believe this was happening.

She opened the package slowly and found a small necklace: a delicate silver chain with a dangling charm shaped like the scales of justice, and another charm that was a silver disc engraved with the words: "Justice is truth in action." It wasn't a terribly fancy or expensive gift, but Gilda thought she'd never seen anything more beautiful. She closed the box and held it to her chest for a second before raising her head to meet Officer Jakoby's eye in what she thought was a professional manner. She held a hand out for him to shake, and he took it, warmly smiling at her.

"Thank you very much, Officer Jakoby," she managed.

"No, Gilda, thank you for inviting me here today," he responded in a low voice, stepping away from the microphone stand. "Truly." She beamed with pride as she descended the stairs to leave the stage and go back to her seat.

Soon after, the bell rang, dismissing the students to lunch.

"Well, Officer, I think you were a hit!" said Lucy, approaching him after the room had mostly emptied. "Can I treat you to the finest lunch three dollars can buy?"

"Hey, guys! Great job on the event, Lucy," said Billie, who had made her way down to the front of the auditorium where Lucy and Nick stood. "Nick I think you just made Gilda's year. I just saw her taking three of my second graders to the library for tutoring... She's gonna have that goofy grin plastered on her face for the rest of the day."

Nick squinted a bit, but his expression was hard to interpret. He shook his head slowly before responding.

"The students... they really were excited to hear from me..." He said it like it was just sinking in.

"Yeah, Nick. They really really were." Lucy told him with a gentle grin.

"Are you guys going to lunch in the cafeteria?" Billie asked.

"Yeah, want to come with?" Lucy asked, and the trio headed towards lunch. The auditorium and the cafeteria were on opposite sides of the campus, so they had a short walk outside to get there. Along the way, Lucy and Billie laughed about her brother's friend breaking down their door in his drunken state. Nick was glad that Lucy had a friend like Billie. Orcs could hold grudges like you wouldn't believe, but they could also be incredibly loyal friends. He marveled that he'd had more positive interactions with orcs in this school building today than the rest of his life combined. Maybe there really is hope for the future, he thought, seeing an elf, a human, and two orcs playing Four Square on the school's blacktop.

They were walking just in front of the school's main doors, when the peculiar smell hit Nick's nose again. The smell he sensed after smoothies, and again this morning. He stopped in his tracks. It wasn't a smell, but... a vibration, from deep in the earth.

"Hey, do you guys-"

"Yep," interrupted Billie, not waiting for him to finish. Her posture was tense and still, her ears twitching and pupils wide. Something was wrong.

"What are you two-" Lucy didn't get the chance to finish her question, as a monster earthquake billowed up and rolled through, violently convulsing the ground.

It was definitely the strongest one Lucy had ever felt. It sounded like a freight train barreling down on them and it seemed to last forever. Classrooms full of frightened students poured out of the front doors, walking hand in hand the whole way, as they hurried to clear the building. Loose rocks and pebbles fell from the roof and teachers started shouting COVER YOUR HEADS. Lucy looked up at the bell tower and saw an enormous crack that she swore wasn't there before. Evacuating the building was an optional part of the earthquake drills they practiced twice a year, so Lucy knew that this quake was serious.

Several minutes passed, and everyone stayed frozen even after the shaking had eased, as if any slight disturbance would send the ground below back into awful spasms.

The principal stood toward the front of the building and counted off each grade level to make sure all students were accounted for:

"Kindergarten?"

"Here, all 22 are here," answered the Kindergarten teacher.

"Good, first grade?"

"Thirty-one, all accounted for."

"Second grade?" This was Billie's class, and her students had been at lunch in the cafeteria with the teacher's aide. The aide spoke up.

"Twenty-four... three students are missing."

Billie a panicked face. At the same time, the Library/Media Specialist ran outside, frantic.

"Help! Please! There are injured students in the library!"

Panic started to roll through the crowd, just as violently as the earthquake had. Some grabbed their phones, but services were overloaded and no one could call in or out. Some tried to head to the cars to drive for help and others tried to head back to the building. Amidst the chaos, Lucy heard a familiar, deep voice.

"Attention, please!" Nick called out over the crowd. "Teachers and students, please remain in the open field until phone lines reopen. Does anyone here have any emergency training?" Two people - a high school senior and the visual arts instructor - raised their hands. "You two, follow me. The rest of you, stay out of the building. There may be exposed power lines or falling items. Emergency crews will be stretched thin all over town and may not be able to get here quickly, so we need to stay safe." With that, he turned toward the building.

Lucy grabbed his arm. "Nick - the students in the library. Gilda was headed there with the second graders who needed tutoring help. What if she's..." Nick sharply inhaled and nodded solemnly before going back into the building. She wanted to go help but she knew she knew she should stay with her frightened students. She waited while the principal finished the headcount for each grade, her eyes fixed on the front door of the school.

Nick and the volunteers made their way carefully but quickly to the library. When they got there, Nick felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

There didn't seem to be structural damage, but entire shelves full of books had toppled over. Nick heard voices near what had been the tallest bookcase, and where now lay a wooden table, crushed to splinters. 

"Help!" cried a small voice, "We're stuck under here!"

"We're here and we will get you out!" Nick called back. Diligently, the three lifted piles and piles of books. Nick lifted the mostly-empty bookcase by himself and went back to the pile. Eventually, they were able to see the students. Three second-graders jumped up, thankfully unharmed. Nick instructed the volunteers to check for injuries before escorting the younger students outside. Meanwhile, he turned his attention to the other student.

Gilda was unconscious and unresponsive. Apparently, she had ushered the younger students underneath the wooden table when the books started falling, and had tried to shield them with her body as the table started to give way.

Nick felt tears spring to his eyes as he began CPR, unable to find a pulse or any sign of breathing.

***

This was an odd turn of events, thought Dave to himself, as he sat in his car outside of the school.

His initial plan that day was to incapacitate and abduct the orc, who he knew would be travelling to the school by himself. He was going to rear-end his car after he left and then inject him with a hypodermic needle full of orc-strength sedative. He'd then use him as bait to lure Lucy to the evidence she'd hidden away, and then eliminate them both. There were risks to this plan, of course: an abandoned police car would attract attention, and he wasn't sure what the best way would be to murder them without leaving any evidence. Guns were the easy option, of course, but Dave didn't have one and didn't want to let any of his underworld contacts know he was in town. It seemed that the officer wasn't carrying his piece either, so he'd have to come up with a Plan B.

Decisions, decisions.

Of course, it was all a moot point, now. The earthquake had really fucked up his kidnapping and murder plans, he chuckled to himself. No, now he'd have to go back to his original plan of somehow finding Lucy alone and "convincing" her to lead him to the evidence.

Now he'd have to stick closer to her and wait for the next time she was alone.

***

Nick walked to the school's front door with Gilda in his arms and heavy steps. She was alive - barely - but she needed medical attention now. He had no idea what the extent of her injuries may be and knew he shouldn't jostle her too much. As he walked outside and toward the light, he stopped for a minute to lay Gilda on a stretcher that had been brought out from the nurses' office.

In that moment, he was solely focused on the young child and didn't hear the ear-splitting CRACK sound from up above that startled the group.

He didn't think anything odd about Lucy running toward him at full speed. She would be concerned for her student.

He didn't see the large piece of plaster break free of the bell tower above and tumble down to earth - at least a 50 pound chunk heading straight for Nick's head.

He barely registered Lucy throwing herself into him and knocking him backward, to safety, as it fell.

He almost didn't even know what happened when he saw the plaster land squarely on top of Lucy... and when he saw her blood splattered on his hands.

@cinnamonroll-issues @fantasticauthoroafzonk @bonnietakesnosh-t @beastlybfs

[dramallamadingdang]

The longest reply post in the history of ever.

These go back, like, two weeks, because I am a very bad llama. An I should probably break this up into multiple posts, but I don’t wanna go through and select replies again. So...apologies to those for whom the “Read More” cuts don’t work?

These be for @getmygameon, @alicenorthernlights-blog, @eulaliasims, @penig, @tamtam-go92, @didilysims, @taylors-simblr, @mortia, @delicatesoul88, @twofingerswhiskey, annnnnnnd @immerso-sims...

getmygameon replied to your photo “Owen, running in terror from Olivia. …..Well, OK, really he was...”

Small miracles, dear. Small miracles ;) *pats*

Yeah. :) I’m actually surprised Owen made it to graduation. He didn’t have great chances of going to class/finals, according to my rules -- which is why he often ended up on probation -- but eventually his Fortune aspiration kicked in and worked in his favor. He rolled up wants to go to class because of it, and rolled wants override the manual rolls I do to decide that.

alicenorthernlights-blog replied to your post “I woke up this evening in one of those little dream-induced panicky...”

Hyperactive shield volcanoes. The scaries thing I can think about Hawaii.

I dunno...Hyperactive volcanoes aren’t bad. They are constantly letting off steam, quite literally, so they just kind of constantly belch instead of going, “Oh, hey, I think I’ll catastrophically explode this week.” I worry about the quiet ones. Like, the last time I was in Naples/Capri and visiting Pompeii/Herculaneum, Vesuvius -- which is overdue for explosion -- was all grumbly and belching smoke. Creepy! Or there’s all those up in the Cascades here in the States that are kinda overdue to explode. And then there’s Yellowstone, which is practically underneath me. If that thing ever goes, we all gonna die. :)

To me, the scariest thing about Hawai’i is...the cost of living. Yowza. Which, now that I think about it, might have factored into the dream. Cost of living at possible destinations is definitely a factor when it comes to emigration planning. :) Hawai’i would be a terrible option in that regard even if it wasn’t part of the US. :)

eulaliasims replied to your photoset “Oriana toddlerated into a crisp untextured white tux, some cheekbones...”

I love the combo of pure white tuxedo and enormous (for a toddler) bun. Oriana's got a real Look.

Ohgodohgod, 90s flashback to that Roxette song! :D 

When my son -- who’s now a big, bad Army Ranger who’s killed people -- was around kindergarten age, that was his favorite song, and he sang it (with all the wrong words) while doing this hysterically-amusing dance to it. Which of course I recorded to keep as blackmail material. So now it’s like, “Behave, or your unit commander -- or, worse, your unit in general -- gets a copy of this, bucko.” 

*ahem* But yes, she is totally fabulous! And Maxis fails at tuxedos.

penig replied to your photo “Amelia is Unthrilled about potty training. But at least she...”

Nobody's thrilled about pottytraining. Can't blame her for that.

But she’s a Family Sim! She’s supposed to love this stuff! She’s supposed to be so proud of her little precious darling using the potty! She’s supposed to be glowing with maternal contentedness that she gets to stand there and watch her kid poop! 

...OK, OK, so in game-reality Family Sims are THE WORST at actually raising and interacting with their kids as opposed to just making/birthing them. (I’m tellin’ ya: Pleasure Sims are THE BEST parents...and Owen has a Pleasure secondary.) But, you know, they’re supposed to like this stuff. Ideally. Or at least theoretically.

tamtam-go92 replied to your photoset “Owen is, of course, excited to have another baby to cuddle, now that...”

Love how oriana's Shirt matches owen's skin.

HAH! It does, doesn’t it?

Which reminds me that I need to get baby clothes working in my game again. Since I dumped all my custom clothing and just defaulted most of the Maxis stuff, I’m back to diaper-clad babies...

didilysims replied to your post “So sad about the deaths �� Why don't you use Comfort soup? What are...”

Wait, are *you* saying you caused this plague?? MURDERER!!!! (I'm kidding...sort of. ;) )

MEA CULPA! I AM A PIXEL MURDERER! :D

Although, I didn’t deliberately start the sickness in this household. Sage came home from work with it. So it’s all the game’s fault.

taylors-simblr replied to your post “So sad about the deaths �� Why don't you use Comfort soup? What are...”

I’m very similar to this. I get super attached to my sims, but I still don’t coddle them. I do allow them to plead to the reaper otherwise I’d lose a lot more sims and I only have a small population. I just get very sad when my sims die, have a break from playing, them get over it. I always have the clones of them to play with anyway

I imagine it’s hard when Sims to whom you’re attached die. I mean, there are players who avoid it entirely, never allowing Sims to age past adult (or to age at all) and who use mods to make things non-deadly because they’re so attached. I confess that I don’t understand the mindset, myself, especially because you can make clones of them or resurrect them at will or whatever, but it does exist and is valid and all that. 

But yeah, if you have or allow only a playable population, you don’t really need population control. :) I’m more of a “let ‘em breed freely, then cull the herd when necessary” sort of player, though.  

mortia replied to your post “So sad about the deaths �� Why don't you use Comfort soup? What are...”

I like this. I also use the Realistic Sickness mod but I DO get attached to my pixel people and find myself coddling the hell out of them the second they even start to sniffle. I need to stop doing that and just let life play out once in a while.

I can understand, intellectually, the desire to coddle. I don’t really feel it myself because I don’t “attach” to pixel people, but I understand that other people do. There are times when I’ve felt a need to coddle that have nothing to do with attachment, though. Like, if I really wanted a particular Sim to breed because of unique facial features or the recessive genes they have and stuff like that. And I think I have coddled a few of those at times, over the years. But generally, I’m of the opinion that it makes no sense to use Real Sickness if you’re going to coddle because it just makes the coddling more drawn-out and frustrating. :) Then again, I suppose I can see where you might want to coddle your faves -- or, say, those in higher classes who might have access to some sort of dubious “medicine,” in a medieval game -- and let everyone else die as they will.

penig replied to your post “But alas: It was not to be.”

What?! Nooooo!

YEEEEEES! :) Well, OK, kind of “no” because child ghosts are wacky in that they just teleport around instead of float because they don’t have the proper animations. (Which is dumb. I mean, they made it possible for children to die -- as opposed to the immortal babies/toddlers -- so you’d think they’d’ve given child ghosts the proper floating animations, but noooooooo!) So, I kinda wish she’d croaked after her teen age-up, but...such is my game.

didilysims replied to your photo “Yeah, that hike was definitely not a good idea. :( I’m bummed. :( Sage...”

Sickness is not to be taken lightly. You should know this!!!

Yeah, yeah, bad llama! BAD! NO PEAR 4 ME! 

(One of our llamas goes absolutely insane for pears. She adores them, has since she was weaned. If she sees that you have one, she will follow you around and stick her head over your shoulder and poke you with her muzzle and give you little hums and long-lashed puppy-dog eyes until you give it to her. Only for pears, though. Other fruit she can take or leave, but she’s a total pear whore. And you can’t even trick her with pears that are oddly-colored or oddly-shaped. Like Asian pears, which are apple-shaped. She knows the difference between an apple and an Asian pear. Llamas -- camelids in general, but especially llamas -- are kind of scary-smart that way. I wish they could tutor the super-stupid horses. Seriously, if horses hadn’t been domesticated, I don’t think they’d still exist. They’re great big idiots constantly looking for new and interesting ways to die. Deer are geniuses compared to them. Sure, they’re loyal as all hell, and very trainable, and I love them to death, but...Dumb to the core, all of them.)

didilysims replied to your photo “Meanwhile, Gwendolyn exists and got gave herself a promotion! We’ll...”

ALlamaInEveryHome would make an excellent username...

It would be! Wish I’d thought of it, when I made this Tumblr. :)

didilysims replied to your photo “Heeeey, Cherry! I totally just knocked up your daughter, man. It was...”

Umm...tell me more about this (harvestable?) peach tree please. :)

‘Tis one of Sun & Moon’s seasonal fruit trees, from this set here. 12/10 would recommend. :)

mortia replied to your photoset “To get everyone’s mind off Sage’s death, Emmy took the girls on an...”

Ooh these are lovely!

didilysims replied to your photoset “To get everyone’s mind off Sage’s death, Emmy took the girls on an...”

This is such a gorgeous lot--and the background too!

It is one of my favorite lots that I’ve built. But it’s also kind of annoying. Since it slopes so much from road to waterline, much of the lot is pretty much unusable. Like, Sims trying to talk to another Sim just do a lot of stomping and yelling because of the slope. I kind of hate that in Sims 2 Sims can’t really interact with each other on anything other than flat ground. (They fixed this for Castaway, which is one of the things I love about that game, but not TS2. WHY??!) It’s one of the reasons why I (usually) build only on flat lots and why I’m (generally) fond of flattening beach lots from road to waterline, too. So...Yeah, that lot is very pretty to look at, but it’s pretty much only usable in the 10-tile-wide strip of flat beach. The rest just generates lots of yelling and stomping. So, it’s also kind of wasted space. :\

penig replied to your photo “Annnnnnd a couple hours later, this happened. *headdesk* I kind of...”

Everyone grieves in their own way?

I suppose one could see it as doing something life-affirming in the aftermath of death. Especially when you’re sick and possibly facing death yourself. Although I gotta say that sex is not high on my to-do list when I’m sick. :) But, to each their own!

eulaliasims replied to your photo “Yeah, that hike was definitely not a good idea. :( I’m bummed. :( Sage...”

Noooo, Sage. :(

I know. I was bummed. :( But, life -- or the game, in this case -- goes on. :)

tamtam-go92 replied to your photo “Stephanie does most of the gardening these days, while her dad’s at...”

What can you even do there?

Fishing, apparently. Which Sims can do pretty much anywhere there’s water, so what’s the point? :)

penig replied to your photo “Sage doesn’t do sitting still very well, and the next day he rolled up...”

This is what happens when you don't lock 'em in their rooms. You could have sent him out by himself, you know.

I could have...but my rule for hikes is that as many people in the household as possible go on them when any household member rolls a want for one and is able to take one. So, obviously toddlers get left behind as well as someone to care for them, and if anyone’s imminently due to go to work/school they don’t go, but everyone else, including pets, goes. Even if they’re sick. 

penig replied to your photo “Stephanie does most of the gardening these days, while her dad’s at...”

It has major routing fails and a fishing hole. Also the hydroponic garden for some reason.

Yeah, I’m afraid I’m pretty unimpressed with the hobby lots in general. :\ The only one I ever really use is the Cuisine one, and that just for food contests. I think what I’m eventually going to do, instead of fussing around to make over the hidden hobby lots, is just build all my own “hobby lots,” but just make them regular community lots and then use the Visitor Controller to limit their patronage to Sims for whom the dedicated hobby is their OTH. I think that would make them busier overall, which would be nice. They won’t have the hobby leaders...but if I wanted to, I could make them owned by the game-generated leaders, so they’d still be there...although I don’t know if they’d retain their “leader” functions, since I’d have to make them temporarily playable to buy the lots. It’ll be something to experiment with...one day. :) A large community-lot garden would be nice for Nature Sims to grow/maintain/harvest...although I suppose they’d have to stay on it for a number of days. And it’d be better if gardening was autonomous...And...

Well, anyway! it makes sense to have the hydroponic garden on the Nature lot, I suppose. I guess when the devs were building the lots, they just threw in anything that was related to (or “assigned” to, via the coding) that hobby that existed at the time.

delicatesoul88 replied to your post “So Tumblr decided to unfollow a bunch of people for me. :\”

It does that to me too! All the time! I really wish it wouldn't...

Yeah, I’ve seen people complaining about Tumblr unfollowing people as long as I’ve had a Tumblr. (Four years, geez!) Honestly, I always kind of suspected that people claimed that it did that in order to “cover up” the fact that they’d unfollowed people deliberately. But then it happened to me! And I didn’t even realize it! I just assumed those people had gone quiet for a while, as people do off and on...until I saw reblogs of posts that I didn’t recall having seen. And then I looked through the blogs I follow and, sure enough, they were no longer there. :\ I knew I didn’t do it, even by accident, because I don’t think I’ve ever unfollowed anyone, even when they announce they’re leaving... just in case they come back like, say, Trapping did. I’ll mute reblogs, sometimes, if they reblog a lot of non-Sims stuff, esp. real-world political/social things that I use Tumblr to escape from for a little while, but I’ll still want to see any original stuff they post. Otherwise I wouldn’t have followed them in the first place.

Anyway, yeah, it’s very, very annoying, and I wish that Tumblr would address whatever’s causing it. But then, Tumblr seems to like to try to control what we see, don’t they? :\ Thank God for Xkit! :D

eulaliasims replied to your post “Replies, yay!”

I love the graying snouts on the dogs too. :) Older doggos are great. Cats too! Kittens are lovely, but older cats are highly underrated. Grumpy old lady cats are the best.

Yeah, I have a huge soft spot for grumpy old lady cats. My own RL grumpy old lady cat passed away rather recently. (She was almost 19 when she got really sick and I decided to have her euthanized, so she had a good long, but always kind of sickly life, probably since she was a very runty runt of the litter.) Once she got past kittenhood, she wasn’t the cuddly kind -- she appreciated being petted and scritched and she would curl up next to you of her own volition, but would never get in a lap or tolerate being picked up or held -- but she was very chatty. She’d sit near me, and we’d have long cat-sound “conversations.” I often imagined that she was bitching to me about all the annoying young ‘uns and all the damn dogs underfoot.

I kinda wish the cats/dogs in game had more varied behaviors like that, but I understand the coding limitations and all. *sigh*

penig replied to your photoset “Samantha, childified. She looks just like Sage, down to the Vulcan...”

Bathtub piracy is one of the most important traits its possible to pass on.

YES IT IS! Bathtub piracy is probably one of those things that annoy a lot of people but that I just love, love, love. :)

penig replied to your photo “Later, the other Emmy GilsCarbo called this Emmy GilsCarbo. :) (The...”

You could start calling Simon's Emmy Em instead.

I could, yes...but I rather like confusing myself. Messing with my brain is so much fun! S’why I appreciate hallucinogens. :)

twofingerswhiskey replied to your post “SO MUCH DEGRASSED, THEY COULD CALL YOU DEGRASSI. okay there's my joke...”

The show is actually super popular, everyone I know has at least heard of it - it's been around for more than two generations, so I mean, yeah :D

Two generations? Really? I thought it was just a 90s thing. But then, I haven’t really watched TV since the early 90s, so there’s that. :) Anyway, I know the name of the show, but I know nothing about it other than that, since I never watched it. Seemed like it was aimed at a demographic that...isn’t me. :) My kids, maybe, but not me.

immerso-sims replied to your photoset “Annnnnd the younger daughter, Samantha. ”

Goopy and Sandy's genes still going strong!

They are! Goopy’s nose seems to override Sandy’s, but Sandy’s lips and jawline seem to override Goopy’s, so it all comes out even. 

immerso-sims replied to your photo “Heeeey, Cherry! I totally just knocked up your daughter, man. It was...”

I am laughing way too hard at this :D

Yeah, I think Sam is pretty much the most amusing Sim I’ve had in my game, ever, and he’s not even a playable. And really, I kinda hope he never becomes playable because then he’d probably become all boringly domesticated. It’s just, as an ex-llama-mascot, he’s freakin’ everywhere, and he’s apparently in a sort of eternally-adolescent hormonal overdrive. Don “Lothario” is a total amateur compared to this guy. Some folks will probably dislike him for that (and perhaps will dislike me “glorifying” or approving of his behavior or whatever), but I take this game not-seriously-at-all, and I have never had a Sim who’s made me laugh so much, sometimes in exasperation but also because he just does goofy things. I’ve had ex-llamas in my game before, but they’ve not been nearly so entertaining.

[thraume]

diligence

When inspiration strikes unbidden.

It's such a very good idea to work on two WIPs at the same time. It absolutely is. This one's short, though. Probably. At this point, I'm still just toying with the idea.

Fic tropes: slavery.

I know I really shouldn't. But I just can't resist. Because I think MULorca's moral compass isn't as warped as we're being made to think.

And because I wanted to try my hand at a different version of MUCornwell.

Think early days mirrorverse, with a younger Gabriel Lorca setting out to butt heads with the emperor over the (moral) state her realm is in. Very carefully so, in small, but significant ways. Finding his match in Katrina, whom he frees from the very circumstances he so despises. Smart and indomitable, she's managed to keep herself away from harm and trouble, and he can't help admire the way she's fended for herself in these dire conditions.

Have a sneak peek, if you like.

There's something to be said for a crew as loyal as he's managed to gather in the short time of his command.

When given the choice, not one of them opted to stay behind as the Buran set out for the unloved outreaches of Terran space.

Issued as a penance for speaking his mind one too many times, his ideas opinionated and uncurbed, Gabriel doesn't fret at all over being this far-flung from home. It's a chance he embraces, to reinstate some order on the fringes of the realm. Cut down on the deteriorating conditions among the nomadic traders, the slavers and the brutal ravagers the emperor regards with mild indifference at best.

The very thing indeed that's caused him to temporarily fall from her good graces, and be sent away on extended border patrol to come to his senses.

What she won't understand, what he's been careful not to point out, is that there's never been anything wrong with his senses to begin with.

It's a fine line he's riding, using as much of his leeway with her as he dares, fitting as many of his ideals into the small space she's allowing for in their difference of opinions.

Things are pretty bad in the Eulara sector. Reports of ravaged ships won't cease to come in, people killed over the way that they look, pray or simply think; soldiers and civilians alike enslaved as spoils of war, a fresh influx of servants to ease the ways of the empire's finest.

Graveyards of ransacked vessels adrift in space, broken and bereft of all purpose and meaning. Hundreds and thousands of lives lost over their butchered-out carcasses.

The nomads steer well clear of the Buran if they can, but more often than not, Gabriel picks the worst of the culprits to receive his visit as a nasty surprise, and word is spreading slow but sure that crossing his way, that crossing him, is a thing best avoided.

For days now, they've been preying on something of a ghost, a slaver by the name of Finton, ruthless and cruel even by his peers' low standards. One of his pals, once he'd made the acquaintance of Gabriel's blade, was kind enough to spill the preferred haunts of the Diligence, but she's remained elusive, her whereabouts a well-kept mystery.

Until just now, and the Buran's shields swallow her resistance without a single hitch. Gabriel's crew makes short work of her defenses, brings her up starboard, locked nice and secure in the keep of the tractor beam.

"Let's see what we've got," Gabriel says, waving aside his first officer's concerns, that same old speech about his safety all over again. He won't be kept from boarding the slaver, make his presence known, and imprint on the captain a fresh code of conduct. Or, if that should fail, offer a fast-track promotion to someone who's more willing to adapt to a more reasonable course of action.

Finton himself awaits him by the transporter platform, a sour expression on his sallow face, his captain's insignia askew on his chest.

"My apologies for firing on you. Mistook you for a rogue raider." As lies go, it could probably be worse, but not by much. Gabriel accepts it with the curtest of nods. He's here to raise trouble over far more important matters. "And what can a lowly trader like myself do for the emperor's spearhead?"

"Official business," Gabriel says with deceptive mildness, refusing to be riled by the derisive use of the nickname he's always regarded as more of an insult than a badge of honor. Especially with people continuing to use it as such. "I'm here to assure your... dealings are in keeping with the empire's best interest."

If at all possible, the man's plump features grow even less welcoming, almost shy of being openly hostile. He doesn't have the spine, though, Gabriel decides, of right out opposing this invasion of his ship, his small eyes shifty and continually evading Gabriel's searching gaze. Not a bone in him that would rise to question the legitimacy of Gabriel's authority.

And what a sad piece of junk it is, this vessel he's forced his rein upon. Kept in working order, and that seems to be the sum and total of the attention the crew can be bothered to spare for their ship. It's a den of a place, unkempt and in disorder, and Gabriel has half a mind to refrain from inspecting the lower decks.

He shudders to think what he'll find in the holding cells.

To his relief, most of them are empty, filled with nothing but a terrible stench, and Finton must have guessed he'd be coming, and sold his latest load as fast as he could. A shame, really, because ever since setting foot on board, Gabriel has been looking forward to taking the man apart for his violation of the one standing rule the empire has left with regards to acquiring prospective slaves: never to do so among the numbers of the Terran forces.

Of all the cells, only one is in use, inhabited by a bundle of rags so matted and dirty, so curled in on itself that at first, Gabriel can't even say if he's looking at a man or a woman.

"Open," he says, an order that brooks no argument, and even though he knows Finton isn't stupid enough to have kept incriminating evidence on board, he still wants to know who he's holding down here. What has made him leave a single person behind.

"She's useless. You can have her, if you like." Her, and Gabriel feels a pang of rage, a rise of sympathy at the reasons he imagines Finton must have kept her for. "Far more trouble than she could ever be worth."

She doesn't cower on his approach, doesn't lift her head either when he kneels in front of her, and so Gabriel reaches out to cup her chin, tip up her head and get a good look at her.

To his surprise, she doesn't flinch, doesn't show a trace of fear. If anything, she looks outright angry that he should dare touch her without her permission.

Gabriel swallows, momentarily dumbfounded by this unexpected find, frowning at this slender face, covered as it is in blooms of colorful bruises. Frowning even more at the look in her eyes, the force of will that's wholly unbroken, a shine of intelligence that's sizing him up, appraising his intentions in the flick of a moment.

Deciding if he's a danger to be countered.

He lets his hand fall away as she jerks her head free, the low murmur of his apology for her alone to hear.

Letting her know he's overall harmless. It knits her brow, and he can see her think, try to fit him into a category other than potential threat.

The only one she's encountered so far.

Still squatting in front of her, Gabriel wonders how Finton could have hoped to enslave a mind like this, these clever eyes that won't be fooled, won't be made to submit. If the man is blind to the fact or, worse yet, unappreciative of it.

"I know you have no reason to trust me," he says, in that very same murmur that will only carry as far as her ears, "but out of him and me, you might find me the better alternative. There's no cages on my ship. No servitude. I'm sorry I can't offer you more than my word for it."

The war in her eyes is something to watch, the sweep of her gaze over his face so fast it's dizzying. Weighing him up for signs of deceit, wary of a mind that matches her own, so unlike what she must be used from Finton.

"Can't get much worse, can it now?" He holds out his hand as he rises to stand, and to his delight, she accepts his grip, her fingers shockingly thin, but stronger than he feared.

He's entirely without official grounds, but he's burning to kill the man waiting so impatiently behind his back.

"She's coming with me," he says instead, and it feels like a small triumph, the way Finton's face twists at the announcement. Must have thought Gabriel wouldn't have any interest in a filthy, useless slave.

"I'll be glad to have her off my hands," Finton says, glaring at them, and that much at least could partly be true.

"Better off in mine," Gabriel breathes as he peels out of his jacket. He hands it to his ward, careful not to crowd her as he does, leaving it to her to put it over the scanty cover of her tattered clothes.

There's a shift in her face, a subtle change in her expression, and it takes him a moment to work out she's trying not to smile. As if his small act of kindness would evaporate in the face of her gratitude.

You're welcome, he thinks, and oh, how he hopes that next time he has reason to visit the Diligence, Finton will give him cause to show off the skills the emperor so values in him.

He could always do so now, of course, bring the woman in his presence a sense of vindication, but without true justification, he'd be little better than the man he despises.

Today, he turns to leave, letting her precede him, feeling a small rise of pride that she should allow him to watch her back, when so far, he's done very little to earn her trust.

Under all that dirt and grime, she carries herself proudly, standing tall, and who knows that if scrubbed clean and more well-fed than she is now, she won't turn out to be quite something to look at.

[cassandra-acton]

ONE-TIME THING:

I’ve been thinking about Cassie’s staff recently, so this happened! Meet some of them. Eric is going to be a gem of an NPC character, so keep an eye out for him in future self paras. Also mentions some other shenanigans, so enjoy that. 

Date: March 7th, 2018. Warnings: Shouty, sweary Welshman. tw: nerd mention.

“The man’s like a fucking balloon animal with moving parts and a face hole that makes occasional, meaningless noise.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Enter Eric Vickery: the slightly sociopathic communications director that had stood loyally at her side since Election Day. There was no one in Parliament who had an even remotely comparable way with words (probably a good thing) and the fact that he sounded like he’d just drunkenly stumbled out of the Welsh Valleys made everything he said ten times more hilarious. The team had gotten lucky with him; especially when he made the bizarre decision to work with Cassie exclusively, instead of dividing his time between handfuls of London-based MPs like his counterparts typically did.

The man, edging into his late forties, liked to regularly remind her that she had potential, and she was sure he stuck around because he thought they’d be shooting for a ministerial position one day. Eric wanted a promotion, he would use her to get there, and she loved him for it.

“Leader of the Opposition,” Laura Monroe, her PA, mocked through a mouthful of pizza.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason they’re only the opposition, and that reason is he’s a fucking cretin.”

It was a tradition that they had upheld every in-session Wednesday for almost two years. Cassie, Eric, Laura, and occasionally her Chief of Staff, Gary Hill, would gather in her office and make a night out of BBC Parliament’s repeat of Prime Minister’s Questions. They rock-paper-scissored who would be responsible for bringing the food, before showing up around midnight to settle in for two solid hours of soul-cleansing bitching. Of course, watching it back was constructive in other ways, but she wasn’t ashamed to admit that in a world where one had to hold back constantly, the bitching kept her sane.

“Why does he always look as if he’s about to choke on his own tongue?” Laura added.

Cassie scoffed, crossing her legs to get comfortable as she positioned herself in the middle of her desk. “Turn it up. I want to hear him trip over whichever bullshit line Karl Marx fed him this time.”

They’d massacred enough pizzas to feed a large family, and watched as her sister expertly dismembered every single critic from the opposing bench with an ease that Cassie could only admire. Elizabeth Acton was fucking good at her job; so much so that even Eric hadn’t a bad word to say about the way in which she conducted herself.

Suddenly, a knock at the door stole attention away from another one of Elizabeth’s ruthless comebacks. They’d barely heard it over the sound of the Conservative benches heckling the poor sod that had just been absolutely decimated on national television, but when the door swung open, Laura moved to mute the television momentarily.

“I—You said you wanted a transcript of the highlights from the last committee meeting as soon as I printed—“

It was James Gillespie, the poor, stuttering intern still afraid of breathing Eric’s oxygen.

“Beautiful. Leave the folder on the side, go the fuck home, and get some sleep. You look like you’re about to pass out, kid,” the Welshman ordered, words about as close to sympathetic as they ever came. Clearly, this registered in the young man, because he offered an uncharacteristic smile along with his usual silent and obedient nod.

Without another the word, the intern had disappeared as quickly as he’d entered.

Chewing on the end of her last slice of pizza, she shot a glare at her communications director. “Will you please be nice to the intern? I like James. It’d be rather nice if James stuck around. James is a good egg.”

“Oh, you do?” Eric enthused sarcastically. “Well then you’ll be disappointed to hear that he’s not Labour, so please avoid trying to fuck him.”

In a split second, her glare switched from playful to murderous. Eric took issue with how much time she spent working with Adam Hassan, and he made absolutely no secret of it.

“Nice.”

“Nice? Do you know how difficult you make my job?”

“I didn’t fuck Adam,” she informed, annoyed.

In that moment, she swore she could see his eye twitch. It wasn’t a lie. The initial ‘date’ he was having a mental breakdown over was so tame, it ended with a kiss on the cheek and slight confusion on her part as to whether she’d misread his signs entirely. Cassie felt stupid even thinking about it. She wished to God he hadn’t brought it up so she could avoid the internal cringing.

“You didn’t fuck Adam yet.” Eric corrected. “Not that he needs you to. The press is already on its hands and knees sucking Beautiful Perfect Angel Boy’s dick. You realize this is going to be a bigger pile of shit for me to clear up than you, Silas and your Roman fucking rendezvous?”

Okay, that she could understand him being upset about.

The press had picked up on it quickly and threatened with a God damn field day, but he had deftly stopped them in their tracks, like the genius he was, before the story gained momentum. If only he knew. Cassie felt a pang of guilt, and not the type that one might’ve expected. None of it was for Alice, and all of it was for the communications director she really did push to his limit.

“Thanks for smoothing that over, by the way. You are also a good egg.”

“No, I’m a miraculous egg, Cassie. I’m a miraculous fucking egg. Alice’s little fan club wanted your head on a spike and for a minute there, I debated how giving it to them would look on my resume.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me…”

There was an awkward pause. Cassie’s usually disarming smile had little effect.

Eric sighed out through his nose, and suddenly, all of the dismissive humour he was so famous for was gone. “Did you sleep with Silas?”

The seriousness of his tone was so unfamiliar, it stunned her into silence. Laura cleared her throat—in all honesty, Cassie had forgotten she was there for a second—before politely excusing herself as though she thought it wasn’t her business to be a part of this conversation. Eric probably agreed, because he waited until after she’d shut the door behind her to repeat himself.

“Look, you don’t need me to tell you that it’s a bad fucking idea, but if you screwed him, I need to know about it. God forbid this ever fucking surfaces, Cass, but if it does, I need to know the facts. I have to be equipped to deal with it.”

Even though she was sure her expression said everything he needed to hear, he waited.

The night in question had been repeating on her mind solidly since it had happened; mostly, because she didn’t even know how she felt about it. The only thing she knew for sure was that she certainly harboured no guilt. Yes, Silas was married, but he was married to fucking Satan. It was something to do. It was company. It was stupid.

Things between them hadn’t changed. They’d had sex, but they were adults and it was fine.

“It was just once,” she conceded, barely managing the words as she held up her hands in genuine surrender for fear of him biting her head off. “It’s not going to happen again. I made a mistake, okay? It was just a one-time thing.”

The man looked as though his brain had partially melted. Believing it already was one thing, but hearing it firsthand?

“Well, I guess that explains the eye fucking then!” Eric bellowed, gesturing both hands toward the still muted TV wildly. “What happened to doing us all the courtesy of pretending you fucking hate each other, huh? If you’re going to sleep with him, at least spare us the pining looks across the backbenches, Cassie, because I’m just a man. I like my food. I’d rather not lose it.” Sighing, he pressed his fingertips to his forehead, letting out an inhuman groan. “There’ll be gifs of that shit.”

Cassie froze, once again lost for words. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to defend herself?

“Eric, come on…”

“One-time thing,” he warned, sitting bolt upright and pointing at her. By this point, she’d noted his expression had made an uncomfortable diversion from its earlier anger. He looked…disappointed. Concerned. “You don’t fuck your career up for a married man, so you fucking promise me now that this is a one-time thing, otherwise I’ll rip his God damn dick off myself.”

Promise? What were they, ten? “Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic?”

Even she didn’t think that. In fact, she was cursing herself for saying it almost as soon as the words left her dumb mouth.

“He’s fucking married, Cassie!”                                      

“Okay, okay! Can you maybe stop shouting ‘he’s married’?!” The blonde whispered, eyebrows pulling together in an angry frown. “I feel like that might get some fucking attention, don’t you?”

There was a lengthy pause in which both parties attempted to calm themselves. Neither of them seemed to manage it particularly well.

“One-time thing.”

“All right, Eric,” Cassie relented with a sigh. It was hard to tell whether she meant the words, or whether she was just desperate to appease him, but she coughed them up all the same. “I promise.”

[kimjongdaely]

Façade [Chapter 3]

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Warning: Language

Summary: You thought you wanted fame. You thought you wanted this. But a part of you still yearned for that normal life, a normal love: finding someone that you love and will love you back with all his heart. So soon enough, this became too much for you.

Prologue│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Epilogue

“Oh wow,” Baekhyun says sarcastically. “I thought you would never call me again with all your moping.”

“Now’s not the time.” Chanyeol sighs exasperatedly. “…I need help.”

“You came to the right guy.” Baekhyun crosses his hands and sits up a bit straighter, mocking a doctor. “Tell Dr. Baekhyun what’s wrong.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes at his best friend but starts anyways. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

“Really,” Baekhyun sneers. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

“I’m serious.” He deadpans. “I haven’t been able to sleep well, and—I don’t know. I feel like I have depression.”

“Depression.” Baekhyun repeats. “Well, I mean, that’s not impossible. I guess the divorce has a bigger impact on you than I thought.”

“It has nothing to do with the divorce.” Chanyeol urges, but it’s quiet and unconvincing. He doesn’t even believe it himself. “…But I did have a dream about how we got married last night.”

Baekhyun purses his lips as he looks at Chanyeol dead in the eyes. He wants Chanyeol to know that he’s serious right now, and not trying to joke. “Have you ever considered that you love her?”

Chanyeol blinks. “What?”

“I’m serious.” Baekhyun says. “It’s very possible. You look and act exactly like a man who’s heartbroken.”

The thought has never even occurred to Chanyeol. Him, in love with you? It sounds absurd.

But then again, it’s not so absurd.

“I…No.” He quickly shakes his head. “Definitely not. It’s…it’s not like that.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes at his oblivious best friend. “I’m pretty sure it’s like that. Just so you know, she likes you too. But you’re too dumb to realize and now she’s gone.”

Words leave Chanyeol mind. He can’t form a coherent thought as information bounces around his skull.

He loves you.

You love him.

You’re gone.

A laugh bubbles from his lips. The hopelessness of it all. “No. It’s not like that.”

It doesn’t really matter now, whether he likes you or not, because you’re already gone. There’s no way he’s ever going to see you again.

“By the way,” Baekhyun interrupts his train of thought with a small grin. “Jongdae knows where she lives. In fact, he’s going to meet her right now.”

“Cozy.” Jongdae chirps as he takes a look around your new apartment; it’s much, much smaller than your old one, but it’s comfy and homey.

“Right?” You smile as you pour some tea for your friend. “How’s it going?”

“I should be asking you that.” He thanks you softly for the tea before staring at you pointedly. “How are you doing?”

“Good.” You say as you sit opposite to him, taking a sip from your cup. “No more busy schedules like I used to have. I can finally relax and enjoy life a little.”

“…And Chanyeol?” Jongdae’s voice drops to a whisper.

You falter. “What about him?”

“Do you…miss him?” Jongdae asks cautiously, carefully weaving his way through land mines. He doesn’t want to push your buttons.

“…A little bit.” You admit honestly. “But I mean it’s only been a month. It’s to be expected after I lived with him for four years.”

“He misses you.” Jongdae purses his lips as he looks at his tea. “A lot. He’s overworking himself and we’re all worried. I think you should go visit him or something.”

“I don’t want to see him.” You say flatly, your voice ringing out in the quiet house. Jongdae doesn’t speak for several seconds.

“Do you hate him?” Jongdae asks quietly, his eyes glancing up at yours curiously.

“No.”

“Then do you love him?”

His question catches you off guard. Your eyes widen as you stare at the male in front of you, a grin slowly growing on his face. You try to recompose yourself and answer, “He’s a good friend.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He points out and you bite your lip. You were trying to avoid his question, but Jongdae is sharp and persistent. “It’s a simple question: do you love him? Yes or no.”

Simple question? It doesn’t seem like a simple question to you. You bite your lip and looking in his bright eyes, you know there’s no point lying or pretending. You trust him, and he’s always been a loyal friend. “Yes.”

“Then why divorce?” He asks incredulously. You let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Why divorce?” You repeat. “Because he doesn’t love me.”

“He does!” Jongdae is out his seat now, his eyes wide in attempt to make you believe him. “Chanyeol loves you, he really does. He’s going crazy without you. Just go back to him!”

You smile up at him sadly, your eyes trained on him as he slowly sinks back into his seat, his lips curled downwards in a small frown. “Maybe. But I didn’t feel loved those four years I was ‘married’ to him.” You purse your lips. “I liked him back when we were still friends. His proposal touched me. I knew it wasn’t the wisest choice to accept everything. But I did. Because I would rather Chanyeol marry me than anyone else even if there was no love.

“And now…I’m fed up. I’ve been pretending that the things he does doesn’t affect me. I’ve been pretending that him coming home late all the time is okay, being with other women like I don’t exist. It’s painful. He didn’t care. I just—” You choke. “I don’t want to go back.”

“He was a jerk,” Jongdae agrees, his tone much more gentle now. “But I know he loves you. He was stupid, but he learned after you left.”

“You’re a good friend,” you smile at Jongdae who looks forlorn. “But I would spend more time looking after Chanyeol than convincing me to go back.”

Jongdae goes silent before asking softly, “Did you find a job yet? If you need help you can always come find me or any of the other guys. We’re more than happy to help you.”

“Thank you,” you give him a grateful nod and he flashes you a weak smile before excusing himself and leaves.

“Are you fucking serious?” Chanyeol hollers has he stomps up to Baekhyun with a scowl. “You hired a private investigator?”

“Yes?” Baekhyun looks up at the furious Chanyeol. “And…?”

“What do you mean by ‘and?’” He yells. “That’s crazy! Why would you do that?”

“Because of you!” Baekhyun stands up to glare at Chanyeol heatedly. “I did it so you would calm the fuck down! You’re too fucking stubborn to go see her, Jongdae told me she won’t see you, so the only way for you to get a peace of mind is this!”

Chanyeol grits his teeth but has nothing to say back. Baekhyun only did it for him, but that doesn’t make this okay. “If she finds out, I’m the one she’ll yell at.”

“I’ll try not to let that happen.” Baekhyun cracks a weak grin before plopping back down on his couch. “But until she does find out, this is what we’ll do.”

Chanyeol sinks into the spot next to his friend, exhaustion hitting him. This is crazy. He’s crazy.

He groans. “I hate this.”

“You were a jerk.” Baekhyun points out, hitting a sore spot.

Chanyeol bites his lip. “Yes, I was.”

“Regret it?” Baekhyun smiles.

“Everything.” Chanyeol agrees with a weak smile.

We’re all going mad in slow motion. Everything’s too late.

“Whoa!” You hear an exclamation from the counter as you step up to order your drink. “Aren’t you that famous actress?”

“Was.” You smile at the handsome male who gives you a cute dimpled grin. “I retired.”

“Yes,” he nods slowly, almost a little disappointed. He’s probably one of your fans. “Sad things aside, what would you like to order? On me, because you look like you need it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—” You start, surprised at his generosity.

“Please, I insist.” He smiles wider at you. “Your order?”

“Well,” you grin. “One caramel latte, please.”

“Coming right up!” He announces as he taps away on the computer in front of him, grabbing a cup and scribbling something on it as he passes it to his colleague.

You shift over to the next counter and wait for your order.

One of the staff hands you your drink and you quickly find a seat in the back of the café where it’s quiet and you slip into the seat, letting out a soft sigh. You’re not really used to the care-free life yet; you’ve always been busy with schedules. Filming for this, promoting that; it’s a bit strange to suddenly have so much free time.

You also need to start finding a job soon, your money wont last for a lifetime.

You exhale deeply upon your problem. You’ve went to a few places for job interviews, but you don’t really have the education for an actual job. You’ve been studying for acting all your life because it was your passion, so now you can’t really fit in with the rest of the world.

Even if you’re famous, it’s not like a company wants an employee who can’t do anything.

“Hello.”

You blink in surprise at the male who suddenly appeared in front of you. The guy who was at the counter just now. “Um…”

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “It’s just that I have a break right now and you seemed deep in thought but I just wanted to come over and ask for a signature? Because I’m—”

You laugh at his flushed face as he rambles on. He quickly stops upon hearing your light laugh. “Sure, I’ll sign for you.”

“Really?” His eyes sparkles as he fishes around in his uniform pocket, pulling out a small notebook and handing it to you. He takes the pen that was clipped to his collar and passes it to you as well.

“What’s your name?” You ask as you flip to a fresh page.

“Yixing. Zhang Yixing.”

“Yixing.” You repeat absentmindedly as you start writing a little message to him before signing at the bottom. “Here you go.”

“Thank you so much!” He looks at your note with bright eyes and a wide smile. “Um…can I take a picture with you?”

You laugh. “You know, I’m not a celebrity anymore.”

“I know.” He emphasizes as he pulls out his phone. “But I’m your biggest fan and whether your a celebrity or not doesn’t change that fact.”

“Ok, get over here.” You smile as you take his phone and he eagerly makes his way next to you, smiling at the camera as you take the picture.

“Thank you so much!” He thanks and bows in gratitude. He was about to leave, but he pauses and turns back to you, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watches you nervously.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, cocking your head at his behavior.

“Are…are you okay?” He questions timidly. “You look a bit bothered.”

“I—” Your mouth goes dry. Yixing is such a kind person, and his expression while looking at you is genuinely worried. You feel like it’s okay to tell him your worries. “Actually, I’m not.”

He sits back down as you start. “I actually…I’m not fully over my marriage.”

He nods at this, understanding. “I guess that’s to be expected. You were the Golden Couple, after all.”

“Right.” You smile sadly before quickly changing the topic. “And I’m looking for a job right now. I can’t seem to find a job that I can actually do…”

Yixing perks up at that, his dimples showing again. “Maybe I can help with that. We’re actually hiring here.”

“H-Here?” You ask in disbelief, looking around the café that is almost packed.

“Yep!” He chirps as he jumps out of his seat and pulls you with him. “Come on, it’s not hard working here. It’ll sustain you for now until you find a better job.”

He leads you to the staff-only area of the café and to the manager. “Minseok-hyung, I find someone who wants to work here!”

The said man raises his eyes from the papers he was busy on and zeros in on you with analytical eyes. “Her?” He frowns. “Aren’t you the former actress?”

“Yes.” You nod once stiffly. This man’s presence is a bit stifling. “I…um…really need this job.”

He sighs. “Well, we’re tight on staff so fine. You’re hired. Yixing, you’re in charge of training her. If you have any slip-ups, you’re fired.”

You stand a bit straighter and bow at him in gratitude. “Thank you so much! You won’t regret it.”

“Let’s hope that fame of yours will bring in a bit more costumers.” Minseok smiles tightly at you as he goes back to his paperwork.

Yixing pulls you out of the room and grins widely at you. “Congrats! I’ll see you tomorrow then. Be here by 7:30 and I’ll give you some lessons to prepare you.”

“Thank you so much.” You smile at him gratefully. “Really, you saved me.”

“Anything for my idol!” He waves you off happily. “I’m just happy to be working with you from now on.”

Looks like luck is finally back on your side.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

Façade Mini Masterlist

A/N: I just had to put Yixing in here because I miss him too much. Please tell me how the story is! Thanks for reading~

©kimjongdaely

Request and let’s love!

[dfroza]

will you stand for True nature?

will you stand for the truth in Love?

and Love is our beautiful Creator, who is God (who is Light)

with a revealing of His True nature as read in the Scriptures and a portion of Today’s reading being the closing of the ancient Letter of Titus:

[He Put Our Lives Together]

Remind the people to respect the government and be law-abiding, always ready to lend a helping hand. No insults, no fights. God’s people should be bighearted and courteous.

It wasn’t so long ago that we ourselves were stupid and stubborn, dupes of sin, ordered every which way by our glands, going around with a chip on our shoulder, hated and hating back. But when God, our kind and loving Savior God, stepped in, he saved us from all that. It was all his doing; we had nothing to do with it. He gave us a good bath, and we came out of it new people, washed inside and out by the Holy Spirit. Our Savior Jesus poured out new life so generously. God’s gift has restored our relationship with him and given us back our lives. And there’s more life to come—an eternity of life! You can count on this.

I want you to put your foot down. Take a firm stand on these matters so that those who have put their trust in God will concentrate on the essentials that are good for everyone. Stay away from mindless, pointless quarreling over genealogies and fine print in the law code. That gets you nowhere. Warn a quarrelsome person once or twice, but then be done with him. It’s obvious that such a person is out of line, rebellious against God. By persisting in divisiveness he cuts himself off.

As soon as I send either Artemas or Tychicus to you, come immediately and meet me in Nicopolis. I’ve decided to spend the winter there. Give Zenas the lawyer and Apollos a hearty send-off. Take good care of them.

Our people have to learn to be diligent in their work so that all necessities are met (especially among the needy) and they don’t end up with nothing to show for their lives.

All here want to be remembered to you. Say hello to our friends in the faith. Grace to all of you.

The Letter of Titus, Chapter 3 (The Message)

and again, mirrored in The Voice:

And remind them of this: respect the rulers and the courts. Obey them. Be ready to do what is good and honorable. Don’t tear down another person with your words. Instead, keep the peace, and be considerate. Be truly humble toward everyone because there was a time when we, too, were foolish, rebellious, and deceived—we were slaves to sensual cravings and pleasures; and we spent our lives being spiteful, envious, hated by many, and hating one another. But then something happened: God our Savior and His overpowering love and kindness for humankind entered our world; He came to save us. It’s not that we earned it by doing good works or righteous deeds; He came because He is merciful. He brought us out of our old ways of living to a new beginning through the washing of regeneration; and He made us completely new through the Holy Spirit, who was poured out in abundance through Jesus the Anointed, our Savior. All of this happened so that through His grace we would be accepted into God’s covenant family and appointed to be His heirs, full of the hope that comes from knowing you have eternal life. This is a faithful statement of what we believe.

Concerning this, I want you to put it out there boldly so that those who believe in God will be constant in doing the right things, which will benefit all of us. Listen, don’t get trapped in brainless debates; avoid competition over family trees or pedigrees; stay away from fights and disagreements over the law. They are a waste of your time. If a person is causing divisions in the community, warn him once; and if necessary, warn him twice. After that, avoid him completely because by then you are sure that you are dealing with a corrupt, sinful person. He is determined to condemn himself.

I am sending either Artemas or Tychicus to you. When one of them arrives, try your best to make your way to me at Nicopolis (I plan to spend the winter there). Do what you can to get Zenas (the lawyer) and Apollos on their way; make sure they have everything they need. Our people must learn to get involved when a need arises, particularly when the need is urgent. Teach them to do what is good so they won’t become unproductive members of the community.

Everyone with me sends his greetings. Greet all our friends in the faith. May grace be with all of you. [Amen.]

The Letter of Titus, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

along with inspiration from Today’s Psalms and Proverbs :

Even if we had forgotten the name of our God

or offered praise to another god,

Would not the True God have known it?

For He can see the hidden places of our hearts.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 44:20-21 (The Voice)

God, you know our every heart secret.

You know we still want you!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 44:21 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 65]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

All will stand in awe to praise You.

Praise will sweep through Zion, the Sacred City, O God.

Solemn vows uttered to You will now be performed.

You hear us pray in words and silence;

all humanity comes into Your presence.

Injustice overwhelms me!

But You forgive our sins, restoring as only You can.

You invite us near, drawing us

into Your courts—what an honor and a privilege!

We feast until we’re full on the goodness of Your house,

Your sacred temple made manifest.

You leave us breathless when Your awesome works answer us by putting everything right.

God of our liberation—

You are the hope of all creation, from the far corners of the earth

to distant life-giving oceans.

With immense power, You erected mountains.

Wrapped in strength, You compelled

Choppy seas,

crashing waves,

and crowds of people

To sit in astonished silence.

Those who inhabit the boundaries of the earth are awed by Your signs,

strong and subtle hints of Your indelible presence.

Even the dawn and dusk respond to You with joy.

You spend time on the good earth,

watering and nourishing the networks of the living.

God’s river is full of water!

By preparing the land,

You have provided us grain for nourishment.

You are the gentle equalizer: soaking the furrows,

smoothing soil’s ridges,

Softening sun-baked earth with generous showers,

blessing the fruit of the ground.

You crown the year with a fruitful harvest;

the paths are worn down by carts overflowing with unstoppable growth.

Barren desert pastures yield fruit;

craggy hills are now dressed for celebration.

Meadows are clothed with frolicking flocks of lambs;

valleys are covered with a carpet of autumn-harvest grain;

the land shouts and sings in joyous celebration.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 65 (The Voice)

with 65 being the alphabetic number of the word “music”

to be concluded by ancient wisdom from the book of Proverbs in chapter 3:

My child, if you truly want a long and satisfying life,

never forget the things that I’ve taught you.

Follow closely every truth that I’ve given you.

Then you will have a full, rewarding life.

Hold on to loyal love and don’t let go,

and be faithful to all that you’ve been taught.

Let your life be shaped by integrity,

with truth written upon your heart.

That’s how you will find favor and understanding

with both God and men—

you will gain the reputation of living life well.

[Wisdom’s Guidance]

Trust in the Lord completely,

and do not rely on your own opinions.

With all your heart rely on him to guide you,

and he will lead you in every decision you make.

Become intimate with him in whatever you do,

and he will lead you wherever you go.

Don’t think for a moment that you know it all,

for wisdom comes when you adore him with undivided devotion

and avoid everything that’s wrong.

Then you will find the healing refreshment

your body and spirit long for.

Glorify God with all your wealth,

honoring him with your very best,

with every increase that comes to you.

Then every dimension of your life will overflow with blessings

from an uncontainable source of inner joy!

[Wisdom’s Correction]

My child, when the Lord God speaks to you,

never take his words lightly,

and never be upset when he corrects you.

For the Father’s discipline comes only

from his passionate love and pleasure for you.

Even when it seems like his correction is harsh,

it’s still better than any father on earth gives to his child.

Those who find true wisdom obtain the tools for understanding,

the proper way to live,

for they will have a fountain of blessing pouring into their lives.

To gain the riches of wisdom is far greater

than gaining the wealth of the world.

As wisdom increases, a great treasure is imparted,

greater than many bars of refined gold.

It is a more valuable commodity than gold and gemstones,

for there is nothing you desire that could compare to her.

Wisdom extends to you long life in one hand

and wealth and promotion in the other.

Out of her mouth flows righteousness,

and her words release both law and mercy.

The ways of wisdom are sweet,

always drawing you into the place of wholeness.

Seeking for her brings the discovery of untold blessings,

for she is the healing tree of life to those who taste her fruits.

[Wisdom’s Blueprints]

The Lord laid the earth’s foundations with wisdom’s blueprints.

By his living-understanding all the universe came into being.

By his divine revelation he broke open

the hidden fountains of the deep,

bringing secret springs to the surface

as the mist of the night dripped down from heaven.

[Wisdom, Our Hiding Place]

My child, never drift off course from these two goals for your life:

to walk in wisdom and to discover discernment.

Don’t ever forget how they empower you.

For they strengthen you inside and out

and inspire you to do what’s right;

you will be energized and refreshed by the healing they bring.

They give you living hope to guide you,

and not one of life’s tests will cause you to stumble.

You will sleep like a baby, safe and sound—

your rest will be sweet and secure.

You will not be subject to terror, for it will not terrify you.

Nor will the disrespectful be able to push you aside,

because God is your confidence in times of crisis,

keeping your heart at rest in every situation.

[Wisdom in Relationships]

Why would you withhold payment on your debt

when you have the ability to pay? Just do it!

When your friend comes to ask you for a favor,

why would you say, “Perhaps tomorrow,”

when you have the money right there in your pocket?

Help him today!

Why would you hold a grudge in your heart

toward your neighbor who lives right next door?

And why would you quarrel with those

who have done nothing wrong to you?

Is that a chip on your shoulder?

Don’t act like those bullies or learn their ways.

Every violent thug is despised by the Lord,

but every tender lover finds friendship with God

and will hear his intimate secrets.

The wicked walk under God’s constant curse,

but godly lovers walk under a stream of his blessing,

for they seek to do what is right.

If you walk with the mockers you will learn to mock,

but God’s grace and favor flow to the meek.

Stubborn fools fill their lives with disgrace,

but glory and honor rest upon the wise.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 3 (The Passion Translation)

my reading in the Scriptures for August 3, day 44 of Summer and day 215 of the year:

[getseriouser]

20 THOUGHTS: Trade Radio Ga Ga (’is this real life or just a fantasy?’)

WHAT a stupid year. 

The losers of the NRL Grand Final are paid out as winners by bookmakers, and not because of a silly betting promotion but because the code and its officials are as relevant and effective in their jobs as contraception to Irish catholic newlyweds on their honeymoon.

Where Donald Trump himself is evidence our species might now be regressing, the fact endless hours of Trade Radio always have talkback callers is the proof in that devolution pudding.

And in a year where all the conservatives and right-wingers in this country should be as excited as a Beagle on full lipstick following ScoMo’s Steven Bradbury effort in May, they’re got their pantyhose and pressed slacks in a twist because of what some Volvo factory-worker’s teenage daughter has to say about the inclement weather conditions.

There was chaos and anarchy on Swan Street for the second time in three years last month but Hold Kong locals asked Richmond fans if they could hold their beer. We lost Polly and Spud, and said vale, gone too soon, to Saturday Night Rove. Five clubs let go of their coaches, Pope Francis delisted one of his cardinals, and a ginger from Christchurch defeated his own country by the virtue of most boundaries.

But at least we retained the Ashes in England.

  1.       Let’s start with the footy, trades season is almost done. Hutchy to his credit was a genius for seeing revenue opportunity in this trade period, with an ‘insert sponsor here’ open line and hours and hours of coverage, its been a windfall and then some for his business. But I reckon we’re only a year or so away from the unwashed realising there’s no relevance in any of it until the final day. There’s only so many Terry Wallace orations on the merits of list analysis before your average punter switches off. Know when to hold them, know when to fold them, Craig.

2.       The biggest name out there with a day to go is Joe Daniher. Was that meeting with Tom Harley a personal one or an actual, official Swans’ approach? Soft tacos, hard tacos, why not both? Now we have Essendon playing hardball and who knows if it gets done. Chances are it does, Geelong last year with Tim Kelly was more exception than example, if the Swans want him bad enough, they’ll lump up the pieces, especially if they fear as I do that Bud’s barely got ten more games in him in a market that requires a star.

3.       St Kilda has a lot on. Jack Steven and Josh Bruce are two big losses, but getting in Dougal Howard, Bradley Hill, Zak Jones, Paddy Ryder and Dan Butler are some nice pieces. If Ratten can indeed coach, and as an ex-Clarko assistant he should be just fine, next year looks properly solid down at Moorabbin.

4.       Whats the thinking with the Dogs? Aaron Naughton looks like a key forward gun, and Josh Schache was just starting to show something as a footballer without being a star. Yet they’re throwing all the cash at Josh Bruce for a go at a third flag? I do know he was free to a good home because the Saints were hellbent Max King’s twin at the Gold Coast would head home next year – not now after that re-signing yesterday. Couple big mistakes there for mine.

5.       Tom Papley worth pick nine? Righto. And the Masked Singer will be popular on Australian television too, right?..... Yep, pick nine sounds about right then, forgive me.

6.       Jack Martin though, to Carlton, that’s the steal of the whole thing. Martin is a freak, who has gone underappreciated playing in the ghost town that is Gold Coast, for a horribly weak side, in a club that can’t develop anyone not named Tom Lynch. But has talent to burn and could easily become one of Carlton’s top 10 players next year, in fact based on the player he can become, he should. Think 2019 Michael Walters. Seriously. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

7.       Collingwood have cap issues? Really? Firstly who really knows, unlike North American sports where contracts are public, only each club really knows how much room they’ve got and how that ever would be divulged puzzles me. And yes they have to pay Grundy, De Goey and Moore next year, although the latter won’t be all that much given his hamstrings are like an Uber driver with turrets, unreliable and could snap at any time. But given the Pies were offering Tom Lynch the same financial terms as Richmond this time last year, with Scott Pendlebury out of contract next year and coming down in salary, with less stars to pay than West Coast, how is this a thing? It isn’t. Chris Mayne is overpaid, sure, but that’s it. Wells has retired, Beams took a cut, and unless George Calombaris oversaw their player payments and there’s backpay to cover off, I think it’s a total beat-up. But sure, let James Aish being wanted by his former backs coach at Freo to fuel that fable.

8.       Crows hired Matthew Nicks. Reckon that’s got fail all over it. Adelaide’s list is in a heap, the review basically said their post Grand-Final plans two years ago totally wiped the place out like a broken toilet on a buck’s weekend, and not seeing to the damage since has only exacerbated the crap spilling out all over the shop. Good half dozen or so quality players leaving this offseason, Walker and Sloane are the wrong side of 30 and they’ve got only a few good kids, most clubs around them have better youth and are more rapidly improving. Either Nicks can’t coach at the level or he can but the Crows will be a bad side regardless, either way it doesn’t see him making a new contract beyond whats given out today.

9.       NRL. Definiton of a pub league. Your local Wednesday night basketball is better run. And with better officiating. That Six Again controversy was the most befitting thing you’ll ever see to a sport, a sport where 13 of its 16 clubs run insolvent, but that’s ok because all their giant pokies-infested leagues club venues write them all a cheque to cover the losses each year. Absolute pub league.

10.   If an umpire or referee makes a bad call, it’s only made worse by changing that decision midstream. If a player marks the ball, but then the umpire overrules saying no, it was touched, its no mark, and because you’ve claimed it and made no attempt to get rid of it its now holding the ball, you just can’t do that. Kids are taught to play to the whistle. Except in rugby league then. Because chances are what the ref just said isn’t what he is about to mean in a couple seconds time, just be patient. That referee shouldn’t be crucified for what’s essentially just one error, but in the grand scheme of things, he needs witness protection. Or better yet, stay off the roster for trips to Canberra next season.

11.   It was mentioned in the preamble but no wonder SportsBet paid out all Canberra to win bets. The Raiders had all the momentum, it was 8-all, and it was near the Roosters tryline. They were no guarantee to score off that play, at best they might have got a repeat set. But if there was anyone more likely to break that deadlock given who was playing better but also, more importantly, the territory battle, it was the Green Machine. This isn’t SportsBet just being philanthropic, the result is just that shady.

12.   Speaking of Sportsbet – Western United. Made their A-League debut on the weekend, won one-nil in front of some fans at Wellington. But it was midweek that we saw their announcement which said “we are proud to announce SportsBet has joined the club as its exclusive sports wagering partner”. Firstly, poor form, in a city where all the AFL clubs are quite publicly backing out of gambling revenue, to be going the other way stinks big time. But secondly, what does that even mean? That if I go into a TAB all Western United games are unavailable to bet on. Coz that’s just not even close to true. Dumb and stupid in all of the ways, that.

13.   So the new boys have their home opener this weekend down at Geelong, even though they’re a team based out of Tarneit. Melbourne Victory when they’ve ventured down to Sleepy Hollow attract 14,000 or so, who knows how many turn up for the novelty first time around this Saturday. But going forward, given Melbourne City don’t exceed 10,000 and they play in town, if they’re getting anymore than 5,000-6,000 in what’s otherwise a 36,000 AFL venue, its going to look oh so pretty on television. What’s the opposite of the eggplant emoji?

14.   Few more on the A-League, firstly, why have your opening round smack bang in the middle of an international window? They were so hyper vigilant to schedule their opening round after the AFL and NRL had ended they failed to recognise all of the good Aussie players will be off winning 28-nil against Chinese Taipei or Christmas Island or whoever it was. Its like Victoria Police planning a social function on New Year’s Eve. No-one’s going to be able to make it you morons.

15.   And you open up with the Melbourne Derby. Lucky Victory is a terrifically run club with a strong, loyal fanbase. But only 33,000, with zero promotion? These should be nudging 50,000.

16.   Lastly, you know they’re going really well when the free-to-air partner this season is the ABC. Even the VFL got a commercial broadcaster, yet the country’s premier round ball competition shares a channel with Gardening Australia and Four Corners. And the cherry on the top is when it comes to finals, and I’ll quote the ABC press release on this one, where “one A-League match per round broadcast live on ABC TV and iView around the country… and a selection of A-League finals on delay, including the grand final.” Delay?! Remember those days? You can’t make this stuff up.

17.   Darren Weir got done for using jiggers. Rest of racing stays dead quiet. Right. Now is that because Darren is their mate and despite the heinous crimes blood is thicker than water in the industry and they have some empathy for him? Or is it a case of if he can get caught, then maybe some of the others equally as guilty could so easily as well, and staying mum is step one of avoiding such scrutiny? I wonder.

18.   So, Kenyan Eliud Kipchoge broke the two-hour barrier for running a marathon. Phenomenal achievement, just ridiculous to even comprehend the feat. Amazing. But it won’t count as a world record. Why? Well it wasn’t a race. Old mate contrived the event with a couple dozen pacers to help him do it and that’s it. It’s like if me and some mates hire lane eight down Altona Pool Thursday morning, and fresh off a high-protein breakfast and a quick hit of flakka happen to break 20 seconds for one-lap of freestyle – you think FINA will recognise it? You think Kieran Perkins will shout me free Light Start for life off the back of it? As a milk crusader I could only dream of such a reward but yeah nah. Nice stunt Eliud, you’re a freak of a human. But we’re in the same boat brother.

19.   Tough one, not just for boxing because its bigger than that, but Patrick Day is in real bother and sincere optimism about his recovery to one side, so is his sport. Day was knocked out in the tenth round in a bout with Charles Conwell in Chicago in the weekend, which in itself is not unusual. But the consequences of the blow are such that Day is in a coma and in an “extremely critical condition”. Again, nothing but positive wishes about his eventual recovery first and foremost, but in an era where concussion in the football codes is as alarming as ever, combat spots’ existence, like boxing, could/would/should be on borrowed time with cases like this.

20.   TV ratings worry the pants off me. By far the most important and major revenue source for all the sport we love to watch, it helps grow the professionalism and the standards, and the access really. But as TV viewership declines, so does the viewership with live sport. And we all waited with bated breath for the NRL Grand Final numbers in the hope maybe they would be good, and it wasn’t just sport in general in trouble, that maybe rugby league was still on an upward trajectory and its just everyone else.

Nope, it was down too. Usually something that rates at times near 3m nationally, it was around 1.8m. The AFL Grand Final, with an engaged Sydney audience, has been on a trajectory over 3.5m, topping 4m occasionally, it was under 3m for the first time in years. Australia Open primetime slots were down, cricket was good but still down, be it the summer on Seven or The Ashes mid-year on Nine.

What does this mean? It means less people are watching live sport. And when advertisers hear that, they’ll be paying less to the networks for the privilege of putting 30 seconds of their product in front of the eyeballs of footy fans. And that then means TV networks will hand over less cash, subsequently, to the sporting bodies for the rights to broadcast their fixtures.

It doesn’t mean that we’re all destined to see the days of the 1980s return where players need a job outside of footy and only one game is broadcast a week and all that nostalgia. But the idea that salaries will keep going up and up is gone, the idea the game can grow at the same rate looks doomed. So unless someone makes Foxtel honest (nudge nudge Amazon Prime) or this is only a lull, and once we get over Fortnite and Korean boy-bands we will all fall back in love with Friday night in front of the telly watching footy, it’s a big, big concern.