#but now I’m like ‘WAS his mother an Irish Catholic or did I just make that up??’

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

so Michael Knowles did a religion-themed trivia game on his show in which one of the questions was, “Which Avenger is Protestant?”

and I was like “well it’s not Steve bc Steve is Catholic”

but the answer was Steve

so I looked up his dog tags from The First Avenger and it’s true

this whole dang time Steve Rogers has been Protestant???

[numinousmysteries]

Something to Celebrate

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Three: Celebration

[on Ao3]

December 1995

The case was one dead end after another. They would’ve been back with time to spare, too, if Mulder hadn’t insisted on tracking down and interrogating the missing teenage boy’s estranged father. Unfortunately, he’d been ice fishing off the grid for days with his buddies, an airtight alibi with the walleye to prove it. Once they made it back to Detroit from Billy Graff’s father’s cabin on Lake St. Clair, Billy had been found holed up in a cheap motel with his girlfriend. It turned out his younger sister had caught him sneaking out of the house a week earlier and he’d bribed her to make up a story about witnessing him being taken by a bright light in the sky for their gullible, UFO-obsessed mother.

By the time Billy was safely returned home, the snow that had been teasing the area all week began to fall in earnest. And now they’ve missed their original flight and are stuck in the Detroit Metro Airport for the foreseeable future. 

Even with all the weather delays, the airport is mostly empty. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone is already where they need to be. Officially off the clock, he’s convinced her to have a drink with him at the airport bar. 

“If we get out tomorrow morning you’ll likely make it back for Christmas dinner,” he says, carrying two beer bottles back from the bar to their table. 

She just nods and, fortunately, he doesn’t push it. Last year was her first Christmas without her father and this would be her first without her sister. She feels guilty about leaving her mother with another empty place at the table, but she doesn’t miss facing Bill’s interrogation about her work or having to tell Maggie there are no new leads on Melissa’s murder. 

“I’m sorry I brought us out here for nothing,” he says.

“You didn’t know he made it up,” she replies, staring down at her beer bottle. She understands by now that a sibling gone missing under mysterious circumstances is enough to send them halfway across the country no matter how flimsy the evidence may be. And she knows it’s too sensitive of a point to call him out on.

“Hey,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we have our own little celebration right here?” 

“What are we celebrating, Mulder?”

“Billy Graff is home for the holidays with his family. We both made it through the case unscathed. And I think it’s still Hanukkah.” He gestures over the little battery-powered, flameless candle flickering on their high-top table. “Let’s get eight more of these and we can have our own little festival of lights.” 

She doesn’t have time to protest before he’s off his bar stool, gathering fake candles from the surrounding empty tables. He comes back with both hands full and moves their beer bottles around to make room to line up nine candles in a row.

“Aren’t there supposed to be eight? One for each night?” she asks.

“Oh, Scully, you forget the shamash.”

“The what?” 

“The shamash,” he repeats, acting surprised this isn’t common knowledge for his Irish Catholic partner. “The middle helper candle? The one we use to light the rest?”

“When was the last time you did this Mulder?”

“I’m pretty sure Nixon was in office,” he says. “But don’t worry. Nothing’s changed for over 2,000 years. Here, I’ll come sit next to you.”

He stands and scoots his bar stool until it’s directly next to hers. Their shoulders brush through their suit jackets, and she feels a rush of heat. 

“See, you place the candles right to left, so let’s pretend I already did that,” he sweeps a hand over their improvised menorah. “Then we light the shamash, and use it to light the other candles left to right. Of course, these candles need no oil, pure or otherwise, to keep burning but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

She smiles at him. Her Jewish, agnostic partner, who believes not in God but in astral projection, psychic visions, and chupacabras is guiding her through a bastardization of a religious ritual in the middle of the Detroit Metro Airport. It’s never a dull moment with him.

“Here, I’ll show you,” he says. 

He picks up her hand from the table and covers it with his. They pantomime lighting the middle candle, then using it to light the rest. Even without real flames, his hand feels warm over hers and she realizes this isn’t the worst way to spend Christmas Eve. 

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah,” he whispers in her ear as they pretend to light the candles. “Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.”

“What does it mean?” she asks.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” he sighs. “Bless you God, we thank you for all your wondrous deeds. Although the Yankees haven’t won a World Series in nearly 20 years, so I'm not sure exactly what we’re thanking him for.” 

They’ve mock-lit all the candles now but he’s still holding her hand. She knows she should pull away but she doesn’t want to break the spell. He’s her partner and, she’s slowly starting to realize, her best friend. They don’t do this enough—simply spend time together. That’s not entirely true. They spend nearly every waking hour during the week at each other’s sides, but they’re typically debating a theory or investigating a case, not simply enjoying one another’s company. And for all the times he frustrates, challenges, irritates, and even ditches her, she really does enjoy Mulder’s company. 

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she says. 

He shrugs, taking his hand off hers to pick up his beer bottle. She immediately notes its absence. “That’s my first time lighting the candles since Samantha was taken. She disappeared a few weeks before Hanukkah, which kind of put a damper on that year’s festivities, and then after that, we stopped practicing.” 

“I understand,” she says, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry if this triggered any bad memories.”

“No, not at all, Scully,” he chuckles. “It was my idea, anyway. Besides, we’re a lot like the Maccabees.”

She isn’t sure where he’s going with this, so she raises an eyebrow as an invitation to continue. 

“We’re the underdogs fighting for what we believe in against all odds, looking for a little light in the darkness.”

He grins at her and she returns the smile. She doesn’t underestimate the significance of him including her in his quest. For so long, he’d been chasing windmills on his own but for three years now he’s had her by his side. She’s seen things she hasn’t been able to explain through science or logic, she’s had her own body manipulated by these shadowy men, and she’s lost her sister to the cause, but she never fled. She never considered abandoning him, tossing him back into the darkness alone. That, at least, is something to celebrate. 

[msfbgraves]

What mental health issues do you think Terry has? Not to trivialize/make fun of people with actual issues. I’m just curious. So many people say he’s a psychopath. I’ve also heard people say he is Bipolar, a Narcissist. Even has Anti-social Personality Disorder, depression.

Nonnie, I am not a psychiatrist, and as such unqualified to diagnose anyone. I'm a historian.

Now, historians are pretty good at saying: "In these circumstances, people are likely to do X, because that's what they have done the last 20 times this happened."

Terry is part Jewish it seems, going by Cobra Kai, and given his age, his parents will have been through WW II. Which means there is colossal trauma there, especially for the Jewish parent. Given his last name, Silver, a likely anglicised version of "Silber" which you can find in many traditionally Jewish surnames, his father is the most likely candidate.

Terry's family is wealthy, yet Terry served in Vietnam. That is weird. Especially since he would have likely been headed to college and exempt from the draft. Why then did he enlist? When his father is Jewish and lived through WWII, and he did not flee Hitler (probably not because 1938-1968 is often too short a time to establish the connections you need to build not only a business but the kind of business empire that would be hung up on legacy, another one of Terry's fixations) then it's likely that his father served in the US Army. And where? Well, Terry is obsessed with Asia, not Europe, and hates the Japanese enough to be very crudely racist to Mr. Miyagi, so my guess is the Pacific. Dad served in Asia, he'll serve in Asia. Only that his Dad would have been thought a war hero, and he, a 'Nam vet, a morally corrupt loser.

The whole Cobra Kai "No Mercy" schtick could have been not so much a Vietnam thing but a second generation WWII trauma because of a too close encounter with the Japanese imperial Army and their attitude to POW's. No mercy indeed. Yes maybe Terry got it from Captain Turner, but that doesn't negate this theory. Maybe Turner served in the Pacific too. Note that what he teaches is Korean. The Koreans also suffered terribly under the Japanese invasion of their country.

Oh, and to add to generational trauma. If Terry's mother is not Jewish, that would not help because Jewish fathers who lived through WW II very often had issues with that, even when they themselves of course chose to marry gentile women, likely for protection from antisemitism. Notice again that his surname, if Jewish, has likely been anglicised.

Terry's nickname for Daniel, the constantly referenced "Danny boy", hints at Irish-American heritage on his mother's side. Very probably Catholic. And that, too, was not mainstream growing up in the 1950's. So Terry's a double outsider with a likely traumatised father, a desire to prove himself so great he enlisted at the end of a war that was already going badly, a war trauma all of his own with intrusive memories, a fondness for alcohol and drugs, which could be self-medication, he's also likely into boys and, later in life, he feels that he needs to hide behind a façade, again likely because of an intense fear of persecution. I mean he devises his own philosophy on how to, as quickly as possible, incapacitate enemies. "Strike first", if fighting is inevitable, right? And it is, in his worldview.

Also he gets off on causing people pain, either himself or by proxy. He wants people to experience fear and pain, maybe in a perverse desire to connect. War vets, be it WWI or later, often talk about an intense disconnect to people who have not been through crippling pain and fear. So if he wants to get close to people, he needs to make sure they can relate to him, yeah? How does he do that? By inflicting pain and fear. On Daniel. On his Cobra Kai 'children'.

And that, I think, is What Is Wrong with Terry Silver.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Seven

“…The Lord be with you”

“And with your spirit.”

“May Almighty God Bless you, the father, the son and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.”

“Now mass has ended, go in peace to love and serve the lord.”

I turn to my mother next to me in the church pew and mutter the next part with intention. “Thanks be to God.” She leans in to me and hisses “Stop that.” and bends to pick her bag up from the floor as everyone begins to shuffle out of the church at that specific snail’s pace that people only seem to move at while in a Catholic church. It’s the slowest place on earth, and I feel like groaning out loud when my parents get stopped by a neighbour who wants to wish us a happy Christmas, and in doing so blocks our exit from the pew. 

They talk to Ms. McCarthy for what seems like forever as I glance across the church to where the Healy’s are moving through the crowds towards us. I’ve been watching the backs of their heads since we came in, but I don’t think they’ve seen us yet, something I’m glad of because I don’t really feel attempting some excruciating exchange with Kelly, who gives me anxious heart palpitations at the mere sight of the side of her face across a building. I watch them as they come closer, waving here and there, smiling, giving Christmas wishes, especially Shane, who everyone wants a piece of since he scored a winning point in the last county final match, or something like that. 

I have to take my eyes off them when Ms. McCarthy grabs my hand with that iron grip that only old ladies possess and pulls me into her so she can ask me if Santy came, with this humorous glint in her eye, as if we don’t have this exact exchange every Christmas. I laugh and tell her that he did, and yes, he was good, and yes, he even ate the biscuits we left out for him, and yes, I got everything on my list, and I’m still talking to her when the Healy’s reach us. I’m glad of it because it means I look too distracted to talk to them. 

“Hello Marian.” I hear Shane say as he gives my mam a hug, and she looks delighted. She loves him, but not the same way that everyone else does, she extra loves him. In a she-wishes-she’d-given-birth-to-him kind of way. I think that’s why she wants us to go out with each other, so that one day we’ll get married and she can say that he’s her son in law. I want to present her with side by side photos of Claire and me and ask her, really, honestly, which one is he more likely to fancy, but even aside from that, the idea of dating him makes me feel truly unwell but no matter how much I tell her this she’s never really given up hoping. 

He comes over to me and interrupts mine and Ms. McCarthy’s conversation about the best biscuit selection boxes and gives me his signature stiff hug. “Well.” He says in his usual stilted, Irish country boy way, “Happy Christmas, Evie.”

“Same to you.” I glance over his shoulder at his sister who is making a point of not speaking to anyone in my family, standing there with her best bored face on, looking around like she’s hoping there’s somebody better to talk to. Acting like she’s in a trendy bar instead of a draughty catholic church full of pensioners. 

“Are you coming out tomorrow night to the pub?” Shane wants to know, and my eyes snap back to him.

“Which pub?”

“Dunno yet. Whichever.”

“Ah, okay.”

“I’ll get Claire to text you where we’re going.”

“Sounds good.”

“Have a good Christmas, right?”

“Yep, you too.”

He gives me a nod and then heads towards the exit with his family, and when they’re still in earshot I hear Kelly scolding him. “Why did you just invite her to come to the pub?” 

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re so annoying, like. It would be grand if it was only Claire but I don’t want her there.”

They’re out of earshot then, so I can’t hear what he says in response, but it doesn’t really matter. The damage is already done, and as we’re finally released from Ms. McCarthy’s grasp and go back out to the car I feel awful, defective, irredeemable. Kelly can handle being around Claire, but not me? Why? I’m not the one who started fights, I’m not the one who slept with her brother, all I ever tried to do was be the peacemaker, and still, to her I’m the worst one. 

God. I think to myself as I clamber into the backseat of my dad’s little car. After all this time, why does it still feel so bad? Why do I still care about what she thinks of me? I rest my head against the car window and it wets my forehead with condensation. With the sleeve of my coat I wipe the droplets from the glass and look out, the sky the kind of grey that makes you claustrophobic, this dense, ash coloured blanket wound around the town, colour leached from the landscape making everything look the same, in shades of brown and grey and grey and brown. 

Perhaps, I think, as I regard the gloomy, miserable sights, perhaps one day I will learn to let go of things. One day I won’t hold on to everything so tightly, and I’ll stop caring about all of this stupid stuff.

Prev // Next

[zaddyazula]

i am actually very, very worried for kids today who have grown up on this internet. when i was younger i was watching people play fucking yandere simulator and 60 seconds and the sims. now they’re watching andrew tate say they need ten thousand super cars to be successful in life.

my 11 year old brother (with access to tiktok the dreaded thing) is watching these sigma giga chad males and thinking that is who he should be. he is consuming insane amounts of homophobic, transphobic, racist, islamophobic, anti-semitic, fatphobic and misogynistic media, and openly repeats a majority of it to me. seeing him make highly inappropriate jokes not only for his age but in general is not cool or entertaining, as he thinks they are completely acceptable. he parrots this shit with his friends, who all share the same viewpoint as him. when i was his age, i was discovering bisexuality existed. i used to keep a diary for a short period of time when i was in year 5 (10 years old) and one line in it was: ‘i don’t know if i am gay, lesbian, bi or trans’ (bless my 10 year old self). i had no hatred for people in the lgbtq+ community, because i was largely unaware of it, outside of a couple people i knew. there wasn’t tiktok to tell young kids how to think or how to treat people. the amount of shit my brother has come out to me with, even insulting me with. literally last night my 11 YEAR OLD brother called me a whore. ELEVEN (11). multiple times he’s called me a dishwasher, told me to get back in the kitchen, called me a slut, a whore, etc. etc. i used to take it as a joke, and not think too much of it, but i’m starting to think it’s not a joke at all, just genuine misogyny. he’s come up to me and called black people monkeys, called muslims suicide bombers, and every time i tell him to not say that because it’s extremely offensive and even threaten to take his xbox off him and tell our mum or someone at school, he doesn’t care. he literally just does not give a shit. and to be perfectly honest, the school system to tackle discrimination is fucking horrendous. when i was at school a (white) girl in my year called someone the n word, and what did the school do? absolutely nothing. people confronted her about it (rightfully) which came off as ‘bullying’ and she didn’t have to go to any lessons and got to stay in the building where the nurse was. at my brother’s school this year, a boy in his year (another white 11 year old) called someone the n word. he got moved into the other class. that’s it. both of our schools claimed to be “diverse” and anti-xenophobia (even though my school had a maximum 3 poc staff). like how do you even deal with this?

my (white cishet) brother thinks it’s okay to say the n word. he thinks it’s okay to be islamophobic. he thinks it’s okay to be misogynistic. i actually have no idea how to deal with him, or the other kids his age. when i was his age i don’t even think i knew the n word existed. i certainly didn’t know the word misogyny.

as soon as you try to stand up to these fucking devil children, they will hurl some sort of slur at you. some insane insult which leaves you standing there like ‘how the fuck do they know that’. i doubt my brother or other kids his age actually understand what some of the things they say mean, and just say them because they know they’re bad words.

what the fuck do i even do with him. we come from a white irish catholic family. if my grandparents knew i was some inkling of lgbtq+ they probably would’ve disowned me. my own mother outed me to my uncles and her boyfriend’s daughter and her boyfriend. when i started crying when she told me this, she didn’t understand. she thought i was just upset about the fact that my nan was dead. one of my friends nearly outed me to a very homophobic kid in my year when i was 12. and it sort of leaves me wishing i had never come out. life would be so much easier if people just assumed i was cishet. but that’s not possible. i thought people would be supportive. though my own family and friends have openly been homophobic and transphobic around me, seemingly forgetting about me.

my brother calls me gay as an insult, and despite the fact i insist i’m not gay (i am) he just laughs and moves on until the cycle repeats. i don’t really want to be some saviour white person who thinks they can solve racism by wagging their finger at someone and then forgetting about it. i actually want to help my brother realise he should stop fucking saying what he’s saying. if that means me fucking taking his xbox off him and putting it in the loft then so fucking be it. i genuinely have no idea how to help the younger generation who have grown up on racist tiktoks rather than beheading videos on early youtube.

so yeah. this isn’t what i usually post but whatever. i am genuinely worried.

[punkscowardschampions]

Tancy pt.1

Teddy: As much as I hate to disturb you whilst you’re getting ready

Teddy: I’ve got something to tell you

Nancy: A good something or a troubling something

Teddy: I think you’ll like it

Nancy: That’s a relief

Nancy: what is it?

Teddy: [send her the bits of the Chlo convo that relate to the scheme of her wanting to have babies with you]

Nancy: Oh, wow

Teddy: Aren’t you proud of me for keeping myself busy in the best possible way?

Nancy: Of course I am

Nancy: I can’t believe she has so completely lost the plot though

Teddy: Isn’t it fantastic

Teddy: though I knew she had when she said she had 0 desire to see you

Nancy: She would say that, that’s nothing new

Nancy: What are you going to do about the rest of what she has?

Teddy: I told G she wants to molest me, my sister predictably didn’t bite

Nancy: She wouldn’t, can’t be relied on for anything, let alone an emotional response

Nancy: still, the potential is limitless 

Teddy: I know but I couldn’t help it, I was thinking of how you touched me

Nancy: A comparison to Chlo and the word molest is rude 

Teddy: I got accused of being obsessed with her, which is also your fault, THAT’S rude

Nancy: Ha, Teddy 💘s Chlo

Teddy: I need you to talk her about how J & Ava are 💘

Teddy: she doesn’t believe me that they’re more than his typical fling & until she does she won’t be convinced bearing my children is the solution

Nancy: Once I’ve worked out what she’s still mad at me for this time, easy

Nancy: and you’re sure you won’t care, about the practicality of it all

Teddy: Of course I’d care if I actually had to go through with fucking her

Nancy: I was more talking about the producing offspring

Teddy: Oh them

Teddy: why would I?

Nancy: Does it not weird you out?

Nancy: they’d be 50% you

Teddy: The brat she’s got now is all her, poor thing

Nancy: I know but that’s not a guarantee

Teddy: My mother’s genetics are very strong, true

Nancy: You’ll have time to work out if you want to do it or can get enough blackmail material to not need to

Teddy: J would have already raised them by the time I did my big reveal, I’d make sure of that much, or boarding schools take the brats young too, worse case scenario I could send them to [the boujee-est location the furthest away]

Nancy: That’s true

Nancy: Why didn’t you go to boarding school?

Teddy: My mother loves me too much, naturally

Teddy: Chlo was being so hilariously pro-life, you should’ve heard her

Nancy: Is she Catholic?

Nancy: Looks it too

Teddy: Perhaps you share the same depressing Irish roots

Nancy: If she knew she’d have told me when we were best friends

Teddy: Why didn’t you go to boarding school?

Nancy: Why would I?

Nancy: The thought wouldn’t have occurred to my parents

Teddy: How tragically nouveau riche 

Nancy: Stop being a snob just because you’re proud of yourself

Teddy: I’m thinking of you, again, excuse you, you’d adore having that many friends around you all the time, poor little baby Nancy 🥺

Nancy: Until you stole one of their boyfriends and then no one will talk to you, could be hellish

Teddy: No boys allowed, which does sound difficult given your refusal to go gay even at my insistence 

Nancy: You’re making up rules now, they have coed ones

Teddy: You’re right, your daddy would send you there, he doesn’t ever look after you properly

Nancy: And now you’re calling me a slut

Teddy: Chlo called Ava one, it’s frankly the hottest she’s sounded to date

Nancy: You’ll have to hope she can keep bringing it when you fuck her

Teddy: I’ll have to have you to hold my hand through it

Nancy: Maybe

Nancy: Are you even telling the truth about the trust fund?

Teddy: You’re the only one who could get me hard for her

Teddy: How would I have the faintest idea if he can block her from accessing it once they’re divorced? I told her what she wanted to hear

Nancy: That sounds like something you should have thought of before you made such big promises

Nancy: still, you can always wank into a cup for her

Teddy: I’m yet to promise her anything

Nancy: When will you talk to her again, as she’s not going to come to your party now

Teddy: I was hoping you’d talk to her first

Nancy: about Ava and James, I remember

Teddy: If you do a good job, she may come to me herself

Nancy: I can’t piss her off as badly as you

Teddy: You can pretend Ava’s confided in you, Chlo’s foolish enough to believe you two turned over a new leaf since she spoke to you last

Nancy: I could get her to confide in me

Teddy: Regardless, as far as Chlo’s concerned, she has, if it’s straight from the horse's mouth she can’t refute it as more hearsay

Nancy: I get it, it’s straightforward

Teddy: She tried to say she doesn’t think your sister is that pretty

Nancy: She always was a fan of making herself sound delusional

Teddy: Don’t you want to know what I said?

Nancy: You clearly want to tell me

Teddy: [send her the screenshot of you saying she’s prettier]

Nancy: Why would you say that

Teddy: Because it’s true

Nancy: No it’s not

Nancy: don’t talk about me to her

Teddy: Yes it is

Teddy: why can’t I express my opinion on how beautiful you are?

Nancy: Because she’s not as stupid as everyone thinks and she’ll wonder why you’re talking about me at all

Teddy: I’ve talked about you before, it isn’t out of the blue

Nancy: and you told her I’d be at your party

Teddy: You will, people are going to see you

Nancy: In costume, like everyone else, I’ll blend in

Teddy: They won’t see us together, it’s okay

Teddy: but please, it’s impossible to imagine you’d be capable of blending in anywhere, you can’t & you never have

Nancy: We aren’t going to be together, not alone

Teddy: It’s my birthday, don’t be cruel

Nancy: I’m not, just realistic

Teddy: We can do whatever we want

Nancy: You can and will, it’s your birthday

Teddy: Nancy

Nancy: Don’t worry

Teddy: Don’t YOU worry, I’ll always protect you

Nancy: I don’t need protecting, least of all from Chlo

Teddy: The brat is the only one who needs protecting from her, but she isn’t my baby, you are

Nancy: Teddy

Teddy: You are

Nancy: We’re not going to fight on your birthday

Nancy: your sister has already done the honours

Teddy: We’re not going to fight because you can’t deny it

Nancy: I don’t want to

Teddy: Touch your neck

Nancy: I haven’t forgot, it wasn’t that long ago

Teddy: It was unforgettable, touch it, I’ll touch mine too

Nancy: Can you feel it?

Teddy: Yes

Nancy: I can still feel you

Teddy: How long are you going to be away from me?

Nancy: I can’t show up early

Nancy: at least we’ve got this plan to think on in the meantime

Teddy: Is Ava at home?

Nancy: Yeah, of course she caught me coming in 🙄

Nancy: when you’d made me look such a mess

Teddy: Do give her my love

Teddy: A mess? I think not, darling

Nancy: Did you know she’s not planning to attend your party?

Nancy: because she is not getting dressed in a costume for you right now

Teddy: I distinctly remember you preferring she didn’t

Nancy: It’s still your guest list

Nancy: anyway, it’s not like you to care 

Teddy: I don’t care to put her on it

Nancy: Did you ask Chlo what James was up to this evening? 

Teddy: She’s the last to know

Nancy: Is she not trying to keep him at all now

Nancy: perhaps that should be obvious with her offer to you but it is Chlo, after-all, she’s never treated him with any respect

Teddy: She’s adamant he’ll never leave her, the denial is ALL she has

Nancy: Perhaps he committed a crime in his wild days and she’s held onto the evidence for assurance…

Teddy: Very possible

Teddy: though I think she just assumes the brat is a bigger bargaining chip than it is

Nancy: Well his paternal instincts are stronger than most, she isn’t wrong

Nancy: no one else would’ve stuck by her half as seriously

Teddy: She’ll be old enough for school soon, Chlo isn’t someone he needs to keep around for the sake of homework

Nancy: Ava can do hers and the kid’s

Teddy: Quite, she’ll recall it all vividly, the age gap is non-existent after all

Nancy: I really do think much less of him for this, it’s SO gross

Teddy: A silver lining

Nancy: Rude of you not to want to see me happy as my friend but whatever

Nancy: that ship has sailed

Teddy: No one but your closest friend would tell he’s wrong for you

Nancy: Anyone can be right for me if I want them

Teddy: You’d realise your mistake fairly immediately

Nancy: Anyway

Teddy: This isn’t getting you dressed, exactly

Nancy: I’m still coming

Nancy: after your streak of nos there, don’t worry

Teddy: I’m not, I’ve had plenty of RSVPs yes

Nancy: Of course darling

Teddy: 🤴🏼

Teddy: I’ll eagerly await your fashionably late arrival nonetheless

Nancy: There’s no need to wait though

Nancy: I have to go do something first so I can’t get ready yet

Teddy: Holding one’s breath is your party trick, not mine

Teddy: I meanwhile, already have guests, who I should attend to now that I’ve passed the news of Chlo’s impending nervous breakdown along

Nancy: I understand, that sort of excitement cannot hold

Teddy: Of course not

Nancy: Bye for now

Teddy: [rudely don’t reply haha as if you’re suddenly and immediately too busy]

Nancy: [me like that went well huns]

Teddy: [they are the drama mick, but at least he does have bday carnage to distract him and pretend that he isn’t watching the door for her, I’ll be cringing because his gf will show up early because she’s his gf so there’s that whole thing to keep you busy sir]

Nancy: [gutted you have to miss that girl but obviously it’ll be being posted/talked about by other gossipy hoes so you can enjoy it from afar, you will have to turn up eventually because your current boyfriend is the boring kind and you don’t have time to scheme another so of course you’re going to have to still show here, giving a few hours into it being a real party, you know the vibes, just immediately finding a group that is actively doing some lines like thank you]

Teddy: [make your stunning entrance sis and realise that this entire party is themed around you, I’m gonna be so mean and say that he doesn’t even know that she’s arrived because he’s up to his own antics in another part of this house which won’t trash itself lol, despite the fact he has shamelessly been waiting for her and we all know it]

Nancy: [not y’all going around this house avoiding each other lowkey lmao, there are 5 floors to be spread across, it’s easily done truly, and you are trying to actively get the place trashed so much to be done here, can’t send you the sims build I’m not fully done with but you come in the ground floor and it’s kitchen/dining and a little lounge bit with a little balcony with a table area on, you can then go down to the garden from said balcony where there’s more seating/bbq and the hot tub and then on the basement floor there’s a bigger more chill lounge and a bathroom and the sauna, 1st floor is his parent's room with its own little balcony street side/dressing room/ensuite, 2nd is his dad’s office space now but would’ve been Gia and James’ back in Nancy’s day and then 3rd floor is Teddy’s space with the ladder to the rooftop garden, just so you can kinda visualise, the hallways are non-existent ‘cos townhouse so you can’t loiter in them unless you’re fully blocking the stairs how is the cliche in party scenes lol]

Teddy: [thanks boo that is really helpful, I imagine the gambling is happening in the basement so that’s where he’d be spending most of his time because really hitting those poker tables to burn though cash is very his vibe when he’s upset, where do you think we should have them first encounter each other though, do we go balcony/rooftop garden so it’s a throwback to when they were on hers or somewhere entirely different, I have an idea of something he’d wanna do that needs them to be in his mother’s dressing room but that could happen later/he could take her there deliberately as opposed to an accidental meeting it doesn’t need to be first]

Nancy: [I’ll message you because logically she’d go to the 2nd floor and want to nose through James’ room like a massive snoop lmao but then she’ll get there and it’s evidently an office/not his room anymore ‘cos the dad has put in a bigger door with glass panes so you can see a bit before you come in, it also gives locked door so I will come at you now]

Nancy: Do you have the key to your dad’s office?

Teddy: [tell her where it is and remind her of all the codes you told her you know earlier]

Nancy: Am I then letting anyone come in or keeping them out? 

Teddy: Go ahead

Nancy: Once I’ve finished

Nancy: have you found someone to take the nudes of yet

Teddy: [hit her with some suggestions]

Nancy: Long as they’re 18+ and look like someone your dad might’ve fucked, doesn’t matter to me

Teddy: I understand the assignment, [someone] looks the most like my sister

Nancy: Awh 💘

Teddy: I’ll track her down, enjoy your office tour

Nancy: If I find his cache of porn do you want me to go straight to the police or are you down to be traumatised

Teddy: I doubt he’s added anything new since I last found it that would leave me traumatised

Nancy: Hm, can’t be all of it then

Teddy: He’s just a bore, don’t get your hopes raised

Nancy: If he was just a bore, would you even bother trying to destroy him

Teddy: He’s still my father, unworthy adversary though he unfortunately also is & continues to prove himself to be

Nancy: I’m not sure why I’m bothering if you’re so unphased then

Teddy: I didn’t ask you to

Nancy: Um, yes you did

Teddy: Did not, the situation’s in hand

Nancy: What?

Teddy: You think I don’t realise what compelled you to go to that specific part of the house? 

Nancy: You said we were gonna go through all his files, see what we could find

Teddy: & yet, you went exploring without me

Nancy: 🤴🏼 with a court to play to, you’re clearly busy

Teddy: You’re clearly preoccupied with your own mission, thwarted as you’ve ultimately sadly been by daddy dearest’s lack of sentimentality

Nancy: It’s not my mission, what do I care about your daddy

Teddy: You care about my brother & I’m in no mood to entertain the pretence of you being unaware where his room used to be

Nancy: Yeah obviously this is where we’d hang out when we came over, do you think I’m trying to keep that from you, I have no reason to

Teddy: You have no reason to pretend you’re doing something to benefit me

Nancy: Just because you’ve changed your mind on what you want

Nancy: how was I supposed to know that

Teddy: You’re supposed to know he doesn’t want to hang out with you any more, he couldn’t have spelled it out any more obviously, horrifically disabled or not

Nancy: He wasn’t about to be in his childhood bedroom, Teddy

Teddy: Which makes the entire facade all the more tragic

Nancy: There is no facade, idiot

Teddy: I know how your mind works

Nancy: You don’t

Teddy: You wish you were that much of an enigma, darling

Nancy: Not really

Nancy: but you don’t know anything more than anyone else does, don’t feel special

Teddy: That makes two of us, you’re no different than every other simpering fool who stands next to me hoping for an introduction because they want to fuck him

Nancy: Grow up, for God’s sake, tonight’s the night for it

Teddy: Ladies first, time’s rather running out for you

Nancy: I know James, and I know you’re not close, hanging out with you would do literally nothing to help my case but sure, you’re not paranoid or anything, all makes logical sense

Teddy: You aren’t known for making logical sense, I suppose it must be beyond you given your limitations

Nancy: Oh piss off and enjoy your party, I’m so done with you

Teddy: Gladly 🥂

Teddy: [okay he’s on the balcony with a specific girl, not his gf because she is a flop and I’m sure has fled in shame, but someone he’s clearly flirting with and someone that Nancy doesn’t like for whatever petty reason because it’s always more about her than whoever this random is]

Nancy: [oh you two, so ridiculous, like bitch you should go home or not have come if you were gonna be in this mood yet here we are and still are, you were probably heading down to the garden/basement level because the most debauched shit would naturally be occurring there because there’s a hot tub and sauna lol and the stairs down from this balcony are like… metal grate, if that makes sense? There’s probably a better word but you know, industrial vibes and like a thousand girls before you, your heel is clearly getting stuck in said grate and you’re nearly plummeting to your death (not really but it’s honestly quite dangerous lol) so you then have to sit yourself down on the top step blocking everyone’s way and throw your shoes down below fully not caring if you clonk someone upside the head]

Teddy: [when you were literally about to kiss this girl but then you hear all those shenanigans and you literally tell her to go away to her face from that leaned in to kiss proximity, how savage, and then get up and go to help Nancy up like the absolute gentleman you are not, pulling her to her feet in such a hot move like there you go, so instead y’all are in close proximity]

Nancy: [you were probably trying to strut past in such an idgaf way with your head held high and that’s lowkey why you tripped so you’re here scowling at him even though it would’ve pleased you greatly that the random girl got told to gtfo for whatever minor crime you do not like her for before this night, pushing him aside so you can claim one of the seats here and get out a cigarette angrily]

Teddy: [catch him looking down at her so affectionately like oh you when she’s scowling as if she’s smiling at him because it will make her angrier, this boy SO tall now cos she doesn’t have shoes on now, likewise letting her push him aside when he could easily stand his ground because he’s amused, taking the seat closest to her which has probably been pulled even closer for the flirting you and this girl were doing so you’re as much in her grill as you could be, letting her light this cigarette but then reaching over and stealing it before she can take the first drag, you taking it instead, very smugly blowing smoke at her]

Nancy: [when you’re fully aware just how amused and smug he is and is going to be and nothing could piss you off more, literally gritting your teeth as you refuse to look at him like he’s not in your face the way he is, crossing your arms so you don’t smack him when he takes this cigarette, balling up your fists like an angry toddler ‘have it, your gifts are being returned’ because I imagine you only gave him the flowers and balloons and general bday stuff like that in the car because y’all got distracted and maybe you were planning to do a big gifting moment]

Teddy: [mhmm, he’s being insufferable rn, literally loling as she gets angrier because it’s the exact reaction he wanted obvs, but reaching and putting this cigarette between her lips in another hot move because her arms are crossed and she can’t stop him ‘why not regift them to James, perhaps he’ll loosen up enough to be temporarily interested in you’ because the only gift he’s thinking of is the drugs he asked her to get]

Nancy: [when spitting this lit cigarette in his face clearly crosses your mind but you want to smoke it so you refrain, just about lol, shaking your head and taking a BIG drag, freeing a hand to hold this cigarette as you exhale shakily because you’re enraged ‘I’d buy James nicer things’ just saying you’ve bought him crap, whatever it is and is undoubtedly not but you’ve got to give back here, flicking ash all over this table, which in-game had a tablecloth on so making nice burn marks in that/otherwise ruining it]

Teddy: [when you know that impulse exists and your eyes are daring her to do it because you are a chaos demon and you will always encourage her to be her most unhinged regardless of whether or not you’re the one in the firing line and at risk, shaking his own head dismissively when she does not because disappointed by it, taking his drink off said table and reclining in this chair like a cat as he drinks it until she’s almost starting a fire and then he’s pouring it out onto the table cloth as if to prevent said fire but really he’s just adding to the mess because it’s the fancy red wine his parents were saving, obvs, and will stain ‘naturally’ as he lazily pours this wine all over the table, said exactly like duh, he’s your fave and you LOVE him]

Nancy: [raising a brow like a fire is too far, is it? Scoffing under your breath because if you shake your head again we’ll be stuck in this disapproval loop because you’re both salty, we get it ‘did you have an argument?’ you aren’t making it clear you’re talking about his girlfriend but if anything wouldn’t be all over social media it would be y’all have a private row and she wants to know all the tea]

Teddy: [touching her stunning wig in response because a fire is too far in the sense that he’s suggesting it would be highly flammable and he doesn’t want her to get hurt ‘did who and I have an argument?’ because genuinely has forgotten all about that because it was earlier and the amusement has passed]

Nancy: [pushing his hand away because such a dramatic costume now to be fuming in and you feel like you got tricked too even though it is not the same and that poor girl got humiliated ‘your bride, the last one’ like not the girl who just left hun, keep up]

Teddy: [‘oh her’ saying her like the word has left a bad taste in his mouth like ew disgusting but everything else about him is amused remembering her horrible humiliation ‘she had the good sense to dutifully run along, in character to the bitter end’ because he literally doesn’t care about her enough to have an argument, he would’ve been so dismissive and gaslighty we know the exact vibes]

Nancy: [doing a slight smirk as you’re looking off into the distance, remembering all the shit you saw online that was shaming enough and envisioning the rest ‘a backbone isn’t going to grow in overnight’ shrugging, like of course she ran and cried, no sympathy to be found here]

Teddy: [doing a dismissive wave of his hand ‘I’ll send her [a literal gift someone gave you that you don’t want, you making it clear it’s an unwanted gift by literally telling her who it was from, putting them on blast for their bad taste]’ he’s such a bitch we love it]

Nancy: [‘if she accepts that or an apology she may as well just off herself now before someone else does’ such disdain because it’s giving victim sweetie, don’t make your future man murder you by being a doormat vibes, stubbing this cigarette out aggressively, making a proper hole right in the middle on this tablecloth]

Teddy: [him just loling at the idea of her getting murdered, this poor girl ‘I don’t offer apologies for other people’s mistakes’ pointedly because you think she owes you one out of the two of you for her James thirst]

Nancy: [facing him for literally the first time since y’all sat down, to look him up and down like excuse me? Because we owe you no apology, are you mad lol]

Teddy: [sitting forward in his own seat which he’s previously been reclining in such an OTT way in, to LOOK at her from the proximity that is so ridiculous their faces would almost be touching, I’m sure their knees definitely are]

Nancy: [pointedly looking down again like is there any need for THAT but you aren’t moving, just engaging in a not-so-casual staring contest now ‘if you have something to say’ like be in my face some more boy, what is it lol]

Teddy: [just reaching out and touching her face because there’s so much cake being deliberately thrown around we can say that she has some on her cheek for that cliche and the throwback because obviously once he wipes it off with his finger it’s going into his mouth, as though this is all casual and he’s just helping her out again like he did when she fell]

Nancy: [‘I’m aware who you are’ because the same boy who just did all that to that girl and doesn’t apologise is not just helping you out, giving give up the act but nevertheless, touching where he just touched your face as you watch him]

Teddy: [‘you aren’t’ giving when she said you don’t to him saying he knows how she thinks, because we all know there’s no act here and he genuinely treats her different, sitting back to recline again, sitting with his legs crossed so that their knees are deliberately no longer touching]

Nancy: [parroting his you wish you were that much of an enigma line back to him because fuck you, no we don’t and fuck you for moving away, getting up to leave, which in this damn dress, would take a moment to gather yourself]

Teddy: [‘I wish you understood’ which could be giving him calling her stupid and horrifically disabled again but he genuinely just means it because wants her to realise how much he likes her and how upset he is by the James of it all, hence at least some of that is in his tone with how quietly he’s saying it]

Nancy: [and that’s on insecurity baby, because if you thought you were good enough, you wouldn’t assume this was all just a game, like yeah he has form and there’s a degree of not falling for something when it’s obvious but still, hence the ‘sorry I’m SO stupid’ comes out as defence naturally]

Teddy: [‘no, Nancy’ because she isn’t and he doesn’t believe it it’s just the easiest cheapest shot and sometimes you’ve gotta take it, saying this like it’s a fact she is not and he can’t be argued with]

Nancy: [‘not even my brother says it as much as you’ like you better tell yourself because you’re the one who says it, doing an exasperated laugh]

Teddy: [‘you don’t get under his skin as much as mine’ taking her arm like she’s still gonna go and he has to stop her from doing so, walking his fingers up it as far as her costume will allow as he says this, as if he’s gonna tickle her under her arm or something when he gets there because she annoys him so much, but doesn’t, putting that same hand on her lower back then as if he’s gonna guide her back to him, but just leaving it there]

Nancy: [‘he’s not here’ meaning in London but also in a way at this party because at some point he would have been but that’s a long time ago at this one, looking at your arm for some trace of cake crumbs or some reason/excuse he has to be doing this but there is none, the intake of breath when he leaves his hand on your lower back ‘it’s very expensive’ as if he’s about to rip up this dress/it’s not already trashed from the party exploits you’ve been up to]

Teddy: [a lil nod which she may or may not see because she’s looking at her arm and it’s almost imperceptible, but he likewise feels like he’s been abandoned by both his siblings so he gets it ‘yes, it is’ exactly giving the cliche of it’s beautiful from that queen charlotte scene because I MUST, fully LOOKING her over for the first time because he missed her big entrance]

Nancy: [she knows you get it because I was going to say neither is yours but it sounds like you’re just gutted about the fact so I could not lol ‘It’s what you wanted’ because the theme is giving money money money of course but he also told her what costume to wear]

Teddy: [it’s missing something, however’ as my idea strikes him, taking her hand ‘come with me’ just shamelessly handholding and leading her through this house until they get to his mother’s dressing room and the jewellery safe therein, opening it because ofc he knows the code, taking out the blingiest necklace of all time that fully does look like one Marie Antoinette or queen Charlotte would wear and putting it on her, because I vibe that it’s one his mum wore when she married his dad thus he needs it to be ‘stolen’ because fuck that man, you can’t tell me this isn’t a sorry, literally gifting her the wedding necklace, it’s a declaration of love]

Nancy: [my boo says my time to shine flops, step aside, and she’s so right for that, have your moment, even though I don’t feel like you understand that he wants you to keep it, you’d still LOVE getting to try it on because it’s clearly expensive af and he’ll have to put it on for you which is always an intimate moment, look at it/yourself in the mirror, touching it very delicately]

Teddy: [me knowing that there were girls and gays in here (because packed to the rafters is very much the point and he invited everyone he could think of for that exact reason) who were mid trying on his mother’s clothes and are thus half or fully naked but he’s fully still also telling to go away so they can have this moment alone because gotta be done, similarly could not have picked a more expensive or more sentimental piece, iconic moves being made here, LOOKING at her in the mirror from where he stayed after fastening this necklace, resting his head on her shoulder ‘do you like it?’ the way he’s asking to mean enough that you wanna keep it forever and always but that isn’t made clear]

Nancy: [when you wouldn’t even register those people because that type of girly who is never alone if she can help it so does not care who is around but we WILL register him kicking them out because he wants to be alone with us, stroking his hair how you do when he’s placed his head on your shoulder, turning our head to the side to see this necklace in a different light ‘how old is it?’ because it’s giving heirloom, as most really expensive shit does, because can’t just give you a straight answer straight away even though we clearly like it]

Teddy: [give her the tea, because it clearly is an heirloom going back however many generations because lowkey all your mother’s jewellery is, she’s that bitch, also tell her the carats of the diamonds and gold or whatever metal this is because your mother has obvs told you these things, likewise telling her how much it’s insured for, adding a ‘but it’s priceless to her’ without telling her the story of when your mum wore it because the wedding upsets you so you don’t wanna, saying all of this basically into her neck because we can be kind and say it’s the side where her giant lovebite is, why not ‘which is why I want you to have it’]

Nancy: [stroking his hair with progressively more affection as he talks, not just because wealth turns you on although clearly it does but because even you can’t deny that this is a gesture and not just you playing dress-up here, your fingers going from being tangled up in his hair to tracing down his neck to where his lovebite is, pressing down with some of the !! you aren’t expressing beyond on your face in this mirror because can’t control that fully ‘I did think you were going to dress me up as her’ like lol your mummy issues because we don’t know where to begin with saying anything sincere so we cannot]

Teddy: [going back to this safe with a mischievous grin like okay I shall, dragging out all the other jewellery so chaotically that we don’t care some of it is ending up on the floor forgotten about ‘what else would you like to try on?’ because we can make a game of this if you like sis, no fucks given]

Nancy: [it’s giving Casino when he gets her all the jewels and she’s just got ‘em all out on the bed like a child and we LOVE to see it, getting on said floor to look at everything and take your time to decide ‘is this why you like jewellery?’ whilst you’re still going through and holding things against yourself/up to the light, because clearly there is A LOT]

Teddy: [I still haven’t seen it and I need to ‘no one would ask you why you like jewellery’ like expensive jewellery is expensive jewellery ofc I stan, giving I like boys for the same reason you like boys but he’s in too good of a mood to feel hate crimed rn, plus we all know she’s so right and it is a reason, catch him likewise getting the vintage expensive af real fur coats out and throwing them at her feet too because clearly these interrupted girls and gays didn’t get that far it’s a very big and fully stocked walk in wardrobe]

Nancy: [‘you wear more than me’ because not hate criming you, you are that bitch lol but we’re smiling so you know we are still accepting your answer, plus you have fur coats to roll around in and be horrified at how soft they are because that’s the flex of expensive furs from poor chinchillas and whatnot, eugh]

Teddy: [‘tonight we’ll be about even’ as if she’s gonna put on all this jewellery at once and that’s a match for how much you’re wearing because lowkey it’s not far off he’s very much as many rings as he can fit on his fingers + necklace(s) coded, with a smile, that gets bigger as she rolls around in these fur coats because she’s adorable and we love her, meanwhile you twisting your hand to let whatever new ring you got for your bday from your mother catch the light because so expensive undoubtedly]

Nancy: [laugh like okay yeah ‘challenge accepted’ because it would be, some of this old stuff is probably so heavy, you’d be physically weighed down lol and you’re already in a massive dress so good luck ‘I could hide loads under this thing’ at said giant dress like you’re about to try and steal all of this, touching THE wedding necklace absentmindedly, smiling bigger at him because you can tell it’s new from the way he is twisting his hand in that half self-conscious way you do when something is new, so you’re glad that someone got him something nice like that]

Teddy: [going and grabbing as many expensive af handbags as you can carry and beginning to fill them with this jewellery haphazardly like lol no need you can have these as your loot bags to carry it all away but getting distracted by an earring he finds so searching for its other, even if that means dumping all the jewellery out of these bags again, which it deffo do, and then, in a lovely contrast to earlier when he pulled her earring out, putting these in, it’s SUCH an intimate moment, bye]

Nancy: [the way so much of this will go genuinely missing because this party is feral and posh people love to steal lol, soz not soz huns; y’all here and now though, having this intimate as hell moment like it’s nothing and nbd and you aren’t having FLASHBACKS to the before with that earring, when he’s done, pulling the hand with the new ring down from your ear to have a closer look/to hold his hand in this soft manner]

Teddy: [mhmm and he knows that/it was very much the goal but nevertheless he can’t help being sentimental especially about the jewellery cos it’s all heirlooms and his mother’s side of the family means something to him so as much as this dress up is fun and games he is genuinely also giving her a pick of it before it gets stolen because he’d rather she has it than the randoms (though I’m sure if there’s anything he wants to keep for those sentimental reasons and giving it to the future daughters he doesn’t know he’ll have yet, he’ll slip it into his pockets/somewhere safe because he’s being deliberately reckless and destructive but he’s not an idiot), with the hand she is not holding, touching the necklace as softly ‘it suits you better’ because you’ve seen your mum’s wedding photos and can do that comparison] 

Nancy: [you do have the literal safe for the stuff you wanna keep, don’t worry boy, the rest of the house is free game though; not you blushing at this, like dramatically so and feeling like the heat is radiating off your face, shhing him like stop it you]

Teddy: [doing his usual cheek kisses, really lingering over the blush because can never pretend he didn’t see it ‘what did you get me?’ in her ear just because, as a whisper because she shhed him]

Nancy: [tilting your head back into his chest to look up at him, biting your lip ‘do you still want it?’ also as a whisper though there’s no need, just matching energy]

Teddy: [rubbing his thumb across her bottom lip in such a deliberate throwback to when we all remember he did it across her clit in the car, likewise no need but he must because the ‘yes’ is about so much more than these gifts, he clearly still wants her so much]

Nancy: [playfully giving his thumb a little bite because we do remember and we’re not okay with it, making a grumpy lil noise about it too ‘you’re not going to regift it’ said like you better fucking not lol]

Teddy: [not you pushing her back so she’s fully lying on this pile of fur coats, putting his head under her skirts of this ridiculous costume as he says ‘where are they?’ as if she’s hidden his gifts under there and they’ve been there the whole time, but then when he’s under there, ofc doing the thigh lovebite he owed her on the other side as if in response to not finding said gifts]

Nancy: [good thing you can now hide in these skirts because you’ll be redder than you were, giggling like omg get out without ever actually telling him to really, opening your mouth to say something but then he bites you and you have to clamp it shut so you don’t make a NOISE ‘you’re so impatient’ as if it is about the gifts, trying to get him out and smooth these skirts back down out of your face but you’re flustered so it’s taking a sec]

Teddy: [his hands fully PINNING her to the floor where she is when she tries to free herself from these shenanigans, holding her hips so dramatically ‘tell me’ and beginning to kiss her thighs as dramatically as if only doing so to try and force her to reveal where these gifts are, upping the ante when she doesn’t immediately spill that location by kissing and mouthing at her through her underwear in such a deliberate way, nuzzling his face into her likewise as if they’ll be there]

Nancy: [making a noise of frustration, as if you were genuinely trying to escape and he has thwarted you, not being able to see a damn thing over this dress so you can’t see what he’s going to do next until he’s doing it and you feel it ‘I can’t’ shaking your head as something you say SO indecently even though you could, you’re just not going to now]

Teddy: [‘I’ve waited hours’ because he has for her and that’s what really matters no offence these gifts which he ofc also wants, each word being punctuated by increasingly feral behaviour obvs, doing the absolute most with his tongue in an exact re-creation of his thumb before but each time not stopping at just once]

Nancy: [‘you said you wouldn’t’ because when he waited for her to come back from Theo’s that time and was like I don’t do that and I won’t again, blurting this out so you don’t take an embarrassingly long time over it]

Teddy: [‘you said I shouldn’t’ because all day she’s been like don’t wait for me enjoy your party etc and he’s hated it, emphasis on the you with how he says it and how he GRIPS her hips harder like he’s SO mad about this anew]

Nancy: [‘you shouldn’t’ even though you can feel how hard he’s gripping you because you stand by it ‘but you did’ running your heel up his calf because can only reach him so many ways in this POV to express yourself]

Teddy: [take a sec to bite her other thigh so they are matching because you’re so !!, no notes]

Nancy: [whimpering slightly and doing the same but your other heel and his other calf so you can wrap you legs around him ‘I told myself this wasn’t going to happen again’]

Teddy: [‘what makes you think that’s your decision?’ indecently because he literally has her PINNED rn and he can do whatever he wants, making that even more obvious by moving her underwear to the side with his mouth and sticking his tongue into her like he always does her ear]

Nancy: [the ‘fuck’ being reflexive and SO genuine, couldn’t be more about it if she tried, pushing you into us harder with our feet, even though we’re saying ‘don’t you like them?’ as if he’s moving the underwear because he hates them, because he asked you to wear white]

Teddy: [taking that fuck as an instruction and really giving it his all with no fucks given that there are people literally everywhere and a new bunch of randoms could wander in here at any given moment ‘it’s as if you know exactly what I like’ because how it feels, she’s been getting everything so right when he’s used to peeps flopping]

Nancy: [we know you didn’t lock that door, something you should be thinking about girl but are you, nope, not at all ‘you still haven’t seen the presents’ like maybe they suck lol but your laugh is devolving into a straight up MOAN ‘I missed you’ because being apart turned into many more hours than necessary ‘cos y’all were fighting]

Teddy: [he isn’t either, not one thought other than doing the MOST ‘so show me what you’ve got for me’ but entirely said like her orgasm is the gift because only going harder/acting like these gifts are inside her and he’ll find them with his mouth]

Nancy: [reaching for and finding one of his hands to put it on your chest because you’re DYING but also you’re in a corset of some description undoubtedly so you’re finding it doubly hard to breathe and your chest will be HEAVING]

Teddy: [keeping hold of her hand and SQUEEZING it to the point those rings will be digging into her because he loves his attention being drawn to how hard it is for her to breathe and how likely she is to pass out if he carries on how he is and clearly he isn’t stopping]

Nancy: [‘so it’s like that’ like I SEE as if you’re fuming and not excited at the prospect, SQUEEZING his hand right back]

Teddy: [‘I missed you too’ barely coherently because of his antics but gotta say it because did]

Nancy: [‘hmm?’ like you didn’t hear and don’t just wanna make him say it again/struggle to say it]

Teddy: [when you refuse to say it again but you do a hot lol which will feel nice for her anyway]

Nancy: [laughing with him even if your laugh sounds unhinged because of the sensations you are experiencing right now ‘you will’ like I can and will get you to say it again later]

Teddy: [doing such a big grin she’d probably be able to tell, before doing a shh more for the sensation it’ll give than because he actually wants her to ever]

Nancy: [smiling back even though he can’t see it, purely because of how big he just grinned and you love it for him but now you gotta try very hard to shh which is going to make you even more lightheaded nbd]

Teddy: [‘I could drink you as easily as [a very specific and expensive ref which is giving when he said she was aging like a fine wine, could not be a bigger compliment for the type of people they are and the type of booze he’s comparing her to tasting like and something he enjoys as much]’ letting her hear this coherently because she’s being well behaved and deserves a compliment, love that it’s giving Alice drink me vibes too tbh]

Nancy: [‘I got you some’ like by some twist of fate he has got you to give up one of the gifts here because definitely a safe present and thus one you went for, gasping for air from saying a whole sentence because seriously that out of breath here ‘be gone now’ as something you’re panting more than speaking because there’s 0 chance a bottle bag has been left unopened lol]

Teddy: [‘really?’ when that does feel so weirdly fated that you have to stop what you’re doing and free her from her skirt prison temporarily to LOOK at her with heart eyes and then kiss her which does mean that it’ll be even harder to breathe because of not only the kiss but the way he’s lying on her when he does as if she’ll move if she isn’t once again pinned]

Nancy: [just nodding because need to preserve your oxygen but the facial expression with is giving dead serious/would not lie about this because not that girly to try and make things seem a way when they aren’t, still, however much you should chill, can’t resist kissing him back dramatically, pulling him into you like you’re not pinned to the floor and you could be closer]

Teddy: [‘thank you, Nance’ so sincerely like the verbal equivalent of his heart eyes a sec ago, each word in between kisses because of the makeout sesh this is becoming before he’s then kissing her neck too, first on the lovebite side, alternating between soft almost trying to kiss it better kisses and dramatic !! going over it ones, ofc then eventually switching to the other side and putting a matching lovebite there to echo what he did with her thighs, all the while dry humping her harder into the floor because they love that]

Nancy: [doing the smile he couldn’t see earlier at him again, into this makeout, because he’s so cute and you’d lowkey be stressing about buying him a gift, worrying it wouldn’t be good enough but he’s being so appreciative and also still doing the most ‘you look handsome in your costume’ because haven’t commented on his look and feeling SO rude for it now you can see him again]

Teddy: [‘it’s for you’ because this whole party theme highkey is ‘you so badly wanted to try and blend in’ the try being emphasised because like he said earlier she can’t and never will because he thinks she’s so bomb, moving down to kiss her boobs as they are peeping over this dress and corset, her chest forever heaving so he’s resting his head there to listen too while he’s nuzzling in ‘since I could tell how important being incognito was to you, I just had to give you the best chance’]

Nancy: [echoing his ‘really?’ because can’t believe he would do that for you, properly LOOKING him all over and touching every detail of this fit you possibly could to be also touching him all over ‘you didn’t just think you’d look hot in tights and work from there?’ all this being said on an in-breath so it’s kinda whispered because less taxing, smirking at him and giving the top of his ears little bites ‘cos he’s nuzzling into your chest ‘very’ with a pointed look towards the door because you’re playing with fire right now on that score, as you have just remembered]

Teddy: [nodding which she’ll feel from where his head still is, doing a mhmm sound against her skin for extra emphasis ‘how offensive, I’d look hot in anything’ grazing his teeth across her skin as if he’s gonna give her another love bite cos fuming but he isn’t actually so doesn’t, raising his head slightly but still keeping his chin resting on her chest ‘obviously, there was the unavoidable, off with their heads, fuck you, element directed at mummy and daddy, but above all, I care about you’ deliberately phrasing it like that because she said it wasn’t like him to care but he does, ignoring her look towards the door and just intensely LOOKING at her to let what he has said hit]

Nancy: [‘you’re just a romantic’ meant to be more teasing than it is because honestly he is being with you and that’s just facts, still, tickle under his chin to show how you intended it, as you’ve bent your head closer to his to do this, whisper in his ear ‘you know what I’m gonna say about that?’]

Teddy: [shaking his head to shake off her tickling of him because we all remember when he announced he was ticklish, letting his hair tickle her though because it will be in disarray at this point of the night I am sure however carefully he era appropriately quiffed it to go with his costume, reaching out and so gently touching the earrings he put in for her earlier while she whispers in his ear ‘say it’ said almost as quietly] 

Nancy: [pulling your head away like stop it you rascal before giving him some gentle headbutt nudges to stop him/get closer again ‘you shouldn’t’ LOOKING at him because always, should’ve seen that one coming]

Teddy: [a smile because that’s what she always says and yet, here they are unrepentant ‘but I do’ LOOKING back at her as he fixes her frankly insane wig from whatever disarray that’s in]

Nancy: [mouthing ‘stop it’ at him but you’re still LOOKING at him, maintaining this eye contact as you work out how you can touch him in his costume, which will be undoubtedly easier than yours but still doing it without looking is a feat]

Teddy: [doing his own hmm? As if he couldn’t possibly work out what she mouthed there when he obviously can he just doesn’t want to stop ever, that turning into a noise when she touches him though because she hasn’t that much so far]

Nancy: [shhing him but absolutely for the hmm and not the noise that follows, shifting your body up against him so there’s only just room for you to be touching him but also his head will be fully on your chest again so he can feel how insanely your heart is beating]

Teddy: [pressing his ear against her chest so seriously to listen to this like it’s telling him some juicy goss he absolutely must know, and likewise pressing his entire body as dramatically into hers because loves how !! her heart is]

Nancy: [heart eyes at this as you’re grasping to do more, be more extra with it immediately because need to make him as !! as you right now, tilting his head up from this position so you can spit into his mouth, taking your time with it and then pressing his mouth shut so he knows he has to swallow]

Teddy: [obediently doing the most extra af swallow possible while touching her throat and therefore also this necklace which would be shining absolutely insanely under the lighting in here, gently at first but then doing a little squeeze because making it even harder for her to breathe is forever the goal]

Nancy: [when you’re trying finding it hard to breathe at this point and your eyes are fluttering like am I about to faint, am I gonna go, gripping onto him hard because you’re fighting it]

Teddy: [could not be more into it, has never given this much complete concentration to anything the way he is watching her eyes flutter as he slowly chokes her to the point of unconsciousness, if his parents and teachers could see him now lol ‘you want to stay with me, I know’ with such good girl energy]

Nancy: [my boo says so proud lmao, putting your hand over his, as if you might be about to pull him off you but you don’t and it’s just resting there, adding slightly more pressure if anything, making a rasping sound right from your throat, like you might be trying to say something but you cannot, looking at him fully 🥺 through dazed eyes]

Teddy: [it’s just a handhold, we know and we love to see it, hence him pressing his lips to her hand, kissing it like this is a gentlemanly costume era appropriate gesture and he isn’t also just adding slightly more pressure himself, giving her the biggest heart eyes he has ever done while he’s doing it because hers are losing focus anyway so we can pretend they weren’t as intense as they were if we need to, doing another bigger, hmm? about the sound she made like he’s trying to understand it and isn’t just doing a bigger noise with it ‘what is it, baby? Tell daddy what’s wrong’ as he shifts his body weight even more onto her so she cannot breathe]

Nancy: [making the unavoidable mistake of trying to GASP when he lies his weight on you and it’s too much and you’re gonna fully pass out, at least you’re already on the ground because it is a dramatic and complete loss of consciousness occurring]

Teddy: [thank god for those soft fur coats she’s lying on truly, meanwhile he’s so amused, looking at her like oh you what are you like, before he cannot resist doing the most to wake her back up, catch him pinching her nipple v hard, slapping her even harder right on those thigh lovebites, just being a nuisance like this is one of their playfights and he’s in his annoying bored lil brother persona, slapping her across the face ultimately, of course, which is dangerous given how many rings he is wearing, you’re gonna accidentally cut her sir]

Nancy: [another cinematic GASP at this slap that wakes you up, pushing him away though it will be far more feeble than you would like it to ideally be because you’re still gonna be weak as hell but you need to get up immediately and get out of this damn corset, which Ava must have had to help you into because you cannot do it alone so you are just giving him daggers right now like help me get this thing off]

Teddy: [‘you needed a nap’ as he ignores her feeble struggles and holds her face to lick away the blood he’s caused like a little cat ‘but I got awfully lonely and bored’ added like oh no I guess I’m not a good father after all lol lol, grinning at the daggers she’s throwing but helping her up ‘stop it, allow me’ and finally actually helping her get free which is so much more saucy and intimate than when your sister who you hate is doing it haha]

Nancy: [back to being furious at him just scowling and doing your best to bat him away which is not enough because you’re in no state lol, still at least he finally frees you from this corset prison and you can take some real breaths and get back to vaguely normal here, enough to say ‘I hate you’ so petulantly]

Teddy: [‘no you don’t’ as he’s so softly kissing every single indent on her skin that this corset left, again really concentrating so he doesn’t miss a single one, like this is such an important job]

Nancy: [looking at these scratch and slap marks that are both on your face right now in the mirror you’re in front of and pouting ‘yes I do, so much’ but you’re watching him and doing a BIG sigh]

Teddy: [only when he’s done kissing every inch of her he needs to, sitting her down at his mother’s dressing table, wherever that may be and chaotically scooping up with a sweeping hand gesture, like when someone dramatically sweeps everything off a desk or a counter but towards them if you get what I mean, every expensive af product that’s on the top of it indiscriminately like idk but there, we can fix it, wandering to this en-suite then and finding cotton wool balls and some kind of antibacterial cream etc etc and bringing them back and once again holding her face like when he licked it but lovingly cleaning it instead ‘this is going to sting’ because I imagine some kind of liquid tcp moment which really do ‘be very brave’ as he’s dabbing this on]

Nancy: [‘you’re not that gay, I see’ rolling your eyes at this chaotic product push, half of which I’m sure are not at all relevant but still we’re being nosy and seeing what your mother uses like hm, just judging her choices and getting inspo whilst he goes off to the ensuite to get the useful shit; not you shaking your head when he’s coming at you, making this even more of a drama than it needs to be because no, shan’t be brave ‘you’re torturing me and I will scream’]

Teddy: [mhmm it’s 100% giving perfume and things that will be no use whatsoever but there’s drawers she can go through, fill your boots girl, meanwhile, when he comes back and she’s being purposely difficult, which he LOVES, catch him HOLDING her face harder to keep it still and in so doing putting his hand over her mouth in such a hot move ‘go ahead’]

Nancy: [biting the palm of his hand ferally because it would take some effort to achieve this but you must because of course you aren’t going to scream, you’re meant to be on the down-low and not about to draw attention to this little scene]

Teddy: [the NOISE he would make, iconic, thankfully this is an out of control party because he isn’t keeping y’all on the down low with that reaction, soz not soz it’s completely uncontrollable though because he’s just so into everything she does]

Nancy: [and thank god everyone has their own chaos to cause, even if eventually we will cockblock you by someone/some peeps coming to look for the birthday boy, for now, however, just grinning at him for the first time since you came back ‘round and chose violence]

Teddy: [literally almost toppling this dressing table stool or chair over because he’s so !! he absolutely must sit down with her on it, a lil moment like musical chairs where there’s almost another full blown playfight about it but pulling her into his lap so they both fit more comfortably, LOOKING into the mirror at her grin, as he says her name in what’s supposed to only be another oh you/what am I gonna do with you kinda tone but there’s too much !! in it to be that casual]

Nancy: [y’all are definitely breaking some kind of delicate perfume bottle because ain’t no way, just being chaos demons but when you’re in his lap, cuddling in and nodding at your name like yeah, exactly ‘this is what you’re meant to be doing’ said like you’re taking the piss of any kind of softness but you want it as is evidenced by how you’re hiding under one of his arms]

Teddy: [you gotta, all the carnage possible, hence him picking up another perfume bottle and emptying it into whatever vase there is on this vanity holding whatever his mum’s fave flowers are in an expensive arrangement so said flowers will die ‘guess what she’s doing’ meaning said mother obvs because she’s booked and busy to not be here rn and he knows what she do be up to]

Nancy: [watching him like well that seems personal and pointed but we’re not saying anything obvs lol ‘mourning her loss, perhaps with some cosmetic procedures at a getaway medspa, I assumed’ because he’s not a baby anymore and she is of course devastated, we know that much about your dynamic]

Teddy: [nodding into this mirror with a smirk because exactly, picking up a lipstick and drawing on the glass the way surgeons do on people’s faces as he tells her what his mum is having done, cos she’s very much the kind of bitch who likes to pretend she’s had nothing but ofc she is now that she feels old]

Nancy: [raising your brows because although it was an educated guess you didn’t expect to be bang on, shaking your head like oh Amanda Seyfried ‘she should get a surrogate and replace you’ taking another lipstick and drawing xs over his eyes like RIP]

Teddy: [doing such an OTT offended face like HOW DARE YOU but so amused when he says ‘she can have a joint baby shower with Chlo, they’ll adore the shared limelight’ because still not over that scheme]

Nancy: [making a mhmm noise ‘have you even considered how devastated she’ll be that two of her sons decided to breed with that thing’ not a question because of course he has]

Teddy: [making his own mhmm noise back because yep and thank god because imagine if he did impregnate Chlo and nobody cared, coming at her with this lipstick but actually just applying it perfectly to her lips, a very intimate moment as per]

Nancy: [‘what are you going to think about?’ we mean when you are hypothetically impregnating Chlo but not clarifying, even if we could, which we cannot because have to be still whilst he’s applying our lipstick ‘Gia didn’t have barbies for you to steal’ as an observation to break the tension of this intimacy]

Teddy: [‘I told you, I’ll think about you’ because he literally said she’s the only one who could turn him on enough to be able to go through with that, soz not soz Chlo ‘and no’ with a noise like of course not ‘she doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body’ because literally said that to her too ‘or the imagination to make them fuck each other, it would unlock something’]

Nancy: [‘yes but you were lying’ so matter of factly but not sounding offended ‘you’re turned on by the premise, more than anything before, maybe’ like all the reasons you want to do this are enough to excite you, touching up the rest of your makeup whilst we’re here because the makeout would’ve fucked it all and you may as well ‘you poor thing’ saying this actually genuinely and not with the sarcasm usually employed with that phrase ‘younger brothers are much better than sisters, she has no idea’]

Teddy: [‘I was not’ as he’s touching the 2nd neck lovebite he did to match the 1st ‘nothing and no one turns me on more than you’ but if she thought these were just lines he doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blame her because he’s saying it very flippantly for how meaningful it is, likewise fixing his hair as she does her makeup]

Nancy: [‘you haven’t had the chance to fuck her yet, she changed her mind’ giving call me back when you’ve made it happen, looking at him via this mirror before your attention is drawn to some people outside the door being loud and sounding like they’re about to bust in, getting up not in a mad rush but quick enough to put one of these fur coats on and to be perusing the rails when they inevitably do bust their way in]

Teddy: [‘she’ll change it back and impregnating her will be a chore’ matter of factly because you don’t fancy Chlo and you never will but you’re nevertheless confident that this scheme will happen and pay off as you always are, him reclining so cat like in this chair when these peeps appear like oh hello, beckoning whoever is the most amusing (for whatever reason) over to him and kissing them hello on each cheek how he do but not at all like he does Nancy, practically air kisses, taking the drink from their hand and downing it like thank you you may go haha]

Nancy: [distracting yourself, however unsuccessfully, from just straight up watching this exchange by showing some of the other girls/gays in this circle the wild and expensive shit like look at this, try this on, getting them all preoccupied so you can slip out without it looking like they’ve showed and you’ve ran because nothing more obvious, throwing a little wave behind you that could be for the room but is directed purely at him]

Teddy: [blow a kiss at her shamelessly despite this boy or girl who failed to take your hint literally being mid flirt with you undoubtedly because you can do what you want and you couldn’t care less if everyone knows you fancy Nancy, you do, snatch up whatever necessary from the magpies that you wish to lock in the safe, do that and leave the rest as you likewise leave without giving a single fuck, go onto your parents balcony to look out at the street and see how many neighbours you have annoyed, I’m sure this random will follow you but at least you can address some of the tancy tension with them as a stand in because y’all didn’t get to actually fuck yet and you are the kind of exhibitionist who would on this balcony, let’s say it’s a very pretty and very gay boy for fun]

Nancy: [meanwhile you go down to the basement and into the sauna because yeah, neither of y’all finished so frustrations are running high, you can watch and proceed to join in with some gay shit for poetic reasoning because can say you know these guys are 18 plus so this will get talked about over anything else anyone might’ve thought they saw]

Teddy: [y’all are making smart moves, well done because likewise everyone will only be talking about these balcony antics and thinking he’s gay as usual, it’s a good smoke screen even if it blatantly won’t satisfy you anywhere near as much to the point of only reinforcing how much you like and want her and you’ll have to go and find some more drink and drugs, chill on the rooftop for a while as you wait for those to kick in]

Nancy: [smart but ultimately unfulfilling moves, you love to see it, I’m sure there are drugs and drink being passed around this sauna like that’s not dangerous and you’ve not already passed out once, going to go straight to your head sis, yet still get in this hot tub like what you need is more heat]

Teddy: [mhmm he should be having a lovely time throwing lots of his parents shit off the roof which is what peeps are clearly doing up here but he can’t help thinking about her constantly, hence I’m gonna have him message]

[marthabeingmartha]

When was the last time you felt a real connection with someone?

This morning. Making the realization that my friends are not just friends, but my “relatives.”

I avoid the phrase “my friends are my family <3.” It’s really overused and when I use it, it really just does not roll off the tongue.

Prior to my parents divorce, I would say “blood is thicker than water.” Keep in mind, I’m an only child (maybe a contributing factor in my ability to be incredibly self absorbed.) My parents are all I had, they moved like 7 hours away after I graduated from highschool. My roommates were related, and I was isolated.

We were a tight knit family. We laughed a lot. I was adored and cared for by both parents. Yes, I can look back in hindsight at some things I normalized, that were not normal at all. Comments made, that should have never been uttered. Yet, I grew up in a very privledge way, I had stability, support when I needed it, two people pushing me to excel in academics and extracurriculars. Unlike most, I had a father who repeatedly explained to me what you should never tolerate from a man in a relationship, my mom has given me the distinct gift of loving to read/thinking of reading an act of leisure, they laughed A LOT (I remember thinking that laughter in a marriage is something I couldn’t live without), and I was let known often that I was loved by both of them. I was extremely fortunate.

They did have where they were not always right, or in a position to comment on certain things. Such comments are long lasting, and feel as though, are branded onto my body, defining me. In my case, this particular comment(s) and my parents encouragement to excel in my life, I became intense. I still am. It is a double edged sword.

I never saw them as deeply flawed people until I watched them undergo an extremely ugly divorce. It was my father’s infidelity that broke us as a family, and then, his inability to admit to his actions (really stuck to the Irish Roman Catholic value, which equates to sweeping it under the rug); despite the fact, I saw text message,which he even knew then. Really stuck to his story, he told me once about this to this day. It took me a year to forgive him.

Moreover, my mom is no mother Teresa. Certain comments made were made in a meticulously phrased manner that have stuck with to this day.

Both of them have new lives. In some ways, it was like I was not their daughter. They were there for something heinous that occurred several years ago and it involved going to court. Once THAT ended, they quickly dispersed. Almost as quickly as they had arrived. When you are half way through your life, the idea of “starting over” is terrifying and I do not fault them for that. I don’t fault them for their new lives, or their sudden lack of interest in mine. Seeing them in a new setting with a new partner is so foreign to me, however, the most unsettling thing regarding this whole thing is how little they want me to participate in their lives. Negating 25 years of their life is easier than facing the reality of a failure of a marriage. A discovery, my dad was an alcoholic at the age of 20. An epiphany, rather, the harsh reality that my mom was opposed to the notion of me before I existed.

Granted, they are severely technologically impaired, so the relationships I have now are much easier with their understanding of an iPhone. Prioritizing my friends has created such a different attitude when it comes to friendship.

To answer your question, I told my friend to go to the Dr this morning and in an odd way, that minor interaction was an act of love and genuine concern. I root for people that I love; instead, of feeling as though life was one big competition.

Maybe one day I will completely cut them out, but not today. I will admit, I do miss the closeness of our family and the memories of the past.

Bottles hidden under the garage stairs, the early bedtimes, and all the prescriptions under the sink genuinely make me curious how much of my life that my dad was there for. My mother’s “mistakes” make me think, and hurt. But love is all around me with the relationships I have cultivated in the years after the divorce. A bond I have had since 7th grade and one that is a newish several year friendship have provided me with love, encouragement, and even the truth- even when it’s the last thing I want to hear; especially, when I’m wrong.

My boyfriend has seen the good, bad, and the ugly between all of us (my parents, and I). He’s heard some ugly exchanges, and childish behavior on both sides. Yet, has remained a kind, sincere, and loving presence. And I couldn’t be happier. There are more friends, but these are the ones I consider to be most valuable.

[edenfenixblogs]

One of my best friends since preschool had a Jewish father and an Irish Catholic mother. Or, as my four-year-old self explained the situation to my parents, she was “half Christmas and half Hanukkah.”

Every year, even though her parents were divorced, I would spend Christmas at her house (mom’s) and she would spend a night of Hanukkah at my house. That was about the extent of her interaction with Judaism. Her father didn’t practice at all, even in a secular manner for Hanukkah and general holiday celebrations. He was fairly divorced from a Jewish community in general. While a wonderful father who made an effort in every conceivable way parenting-wise, he never made much of an effort to connect my friend with her Jewish culture or demonstrate any connection of his own. Even with his own family of origin, who he loved but did not really engage with culturally.

This is fine. He was under no obligation to do so. I never judged him or my friend for it. He passed away several years ago. My friend has since married and had two children. I was maid of honor at her wedding. Her (reminder: Catholic) mother asked if she wanted to bring any Jewish traditions into her Catholic ceremony to honor her father. My friend said, “No, because I’m not Jewish and it wouldn’t really have anything to do with [her Dad].” We remembered him in other ways.

Nobody besides my own blood relatives has been as consistent a figure in my life as the woman. I love her with my whole heart. And while she’s never been antisemitic to me, and (aside from attending my bat mitzvah) my Judaism was never really something we discussed much aside from general mutual acknowledgment of celebrations, exchanging messages like “Happy Sukkot” or “Happy Easter.”

Two months ago, I was awoken by a call at 6:30 in the morning on a Wednesday. It was my friend. She was in her car and was sobbing fully to the extent that she had to pull over. I panicked and asked if she was ok. If her children were ok. What had happened…

She told me she’s never seen the world as antisemitic as it is right now. She said she was sorry she didn’t reach out sooner but she didn’t know what to say. I was taken aback, because (out of all my friends) I never expected her to reach out at all. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she has never been able to emotionally cope with political discussions at all, for any reason. It’s a hard line with her. It makes her stressed out in a genuinely unhealthy way. I understand why that may be the case for her based on several personal details about her which I will not reveal because I don’t need to justify my friend’s boundaries to the internet.

I started to tell her it was okay and that I never expected her to say anything. I let her know, in fact, that most people had not.

She got FURIOUS. She knows her own boundaries but she said that even she was so overwhelmed by how horrible the world was being to Jews. She couldn’t believe how few friends who don’t have her same issues around politics could live with themselves for not saying anything. She said that I wasn’t a theoretical political group, I was their friend. And they should have all reached out sooner, herself included.

Then she said, “I messed up. I messed up so badly, because I never learned enough about Judaism and that part of my family history. I figured it wasn’t really a part of me, because I never did any of that stuff with my dad. But now he’s gone and I’m terrified that my sons are going to grow up in this world and not know how to feel about themselves when they start encountering that rhetoric. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to explain it. I just…this whole situation makes me want to JEW HARDER!”

And, reader, I was so shocked I started laughing. And then she started laughing. And I told her, “That’s the most Jewish thing you’ve ever said!”

It really is something deep, deep within so many of us to be faced with this specific kind of existential danger. We are driven to respond to Jewish hatred with highly visible Jewish joy.

I genuinely think it is an evolution of the “Four F” responses to threats that is specific to Jews.

Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.

For us there’s a fifth letter. And Ike all the others, it’s a verb.

We Jew as a form of survival. We Jew collectively. We Jew joyfully, and spitefully, and visibly.

When we face antisemitic existential threats, we know deep down that, individually, none of the four Fs will save us. Whether we fight, flee, freeze, or fawn as individuals does not matter. As individuals, all methods have failed to save us in the past.

But when we Jew, it is unique to us because it is a collective response. We Jew together. We exist together as a unified group whenever it is most dangerous for us to exist as individuals, because it is what keeps us safest as a collective.

Like so much of Jewish culture, this experience and communal instinct doesn’t seem to have a correct or easy translation into English. (Anyone who has ever tried translating Hebrew is familiar with this conundrum).

But, I think, my friend put it best when she said she wanted to “Jew harder!”

Because that really is the word, I think.

The word for that specific “Jewish urge” that you described? I think it’s simply “To Jew.”

is there a jewish urge to start singing and dancing and engaging in your culture when you see the most vile shit online (or in person)? like i swear it’s the only shit that calms me down

[mightymorphingayagenda]

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here,  x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” 

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.  

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.  

Humourless. 

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.  

“This is the part where you-“ 

“Shhh.” 

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.  

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.  

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.  

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.  

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.  

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.  

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.  

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.  

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.  

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.  

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.  

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.  

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”  

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.  

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.  

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.” 

Cue phase two of the plan.  

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.  

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative. 

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.” 

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.” 

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.  

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.  

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”  

“Is that a threat?” 

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.” 

Eris said nothing.  

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued.  “To do as you’re told.” 

She gave him strict instructions.  Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me.  Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.   

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.” 

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.  

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.  

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.  

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle:  a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.  

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.  

Who’s your daddy, now?  

- 

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.  

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.  

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.  

“Damn it,”  she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.  

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway… 

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.  

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…  

“Ugh,” she said again, louder.  Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time. 

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.  

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?” 

He meowed again.  

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.  

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.  

Cassian’s jacket.  

Uhg.  

Now she was thinking about him again.  

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.  

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.  

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”. 

He purred.  

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath.  Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him.  The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.  

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.  

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.  

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.  

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.  

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.  

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.  

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.  

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.  

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.  

Not a man. A boy.  

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.  

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.  

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex.  Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet.  In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.  

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.  

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it. 

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.  

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her. 

Her screaming.  

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body.  What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.  

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.  

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.  

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles.  And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.  

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.   

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even.  In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.  

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.  

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.  

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues. 

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.  

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.  

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.  

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” 

 Her mother’s last words.  

 Ten numbers.  

 Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door.  All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.  

 “три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.  

 Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.  

 Like a phone number.  

 No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough.  Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.  

 A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.  

 “Здравствуйте.” 

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.  

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.  

“Who is this?”  

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?   

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-” 

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.  

 A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.  

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.  

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.  

Go down for murder.  

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body.  How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.  

 Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly.  Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.  

 Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers.  The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.  

 “If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”  

 “You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?” 

 “Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.” 

 “Woof,” Nesta had said dryly. 

 “Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

 “You offering to adopt me?” 

 “I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.” 

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.  

 “But you ever want job, you call me.” 

 Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.  

 Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.  

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.  

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.  

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice.  Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.  

Until Feyre had moved to the city.  

 Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics,  selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit.  Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.  

 At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.  

 Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner. 

 Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.  

 Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.  

 Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.  

 The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.  

 Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.  

 Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring.  A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings. 

 If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain. 

 It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done.  Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.  

 She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.   

That and the fact they were really very good.  

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.  

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly.  Sinking deeper into the basin.  

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-  

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.  

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.  

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.  

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.   

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.   

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.” 

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.  

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.  

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”  

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully. 

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.  

“You told me to give him a chance.”  

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?” 

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.   

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.  

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on- 

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?” 

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”  

“Ever heard of the third date rule?” 

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?” 

Feyre sighed.  

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-” 

“So why did you send him my way?” 

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.  

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes.  

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked. 

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.  

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.” 

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.  

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.  

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.  

“Well I’ve been smoking.” 

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.” 

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.” 

“He only smokes them on special occasions.” 

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?” 

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.” 

“Oh so you did hear me?” 

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”  

She hung up.  

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.  

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.  

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.  

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.  

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.  

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.  

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.  

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and  sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client.  An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could.  Because it was just easier.  

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.  

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.  

Fuck.  

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.  

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot;  but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.  

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong. 

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.  

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living! 

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.  

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.  

 — 

 Cassian had ignored her calls.  

All three.  

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.  

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator.  Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.   

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy.  She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.  

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.  

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.  

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.   

“All work and no play?”  

Cassian looked up from his desk.  

“I can fix that,” she said.  

He’d never looked more handsome.  

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.  

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.  

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.  

“What are you doing here?”  

Rude.  

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.  

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.  

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.” 

She turned to find him watching her.  

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.  

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.  

“You’re still upset about that?”  

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.” 

“Oh really?” 

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“ 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.   

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.  

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.” 

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” 

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly. 

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.  

It was all very conflicting.  

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.  

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.   

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again.  “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.” 

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.   

“You’re right,” she said.  

Cassian blinked.  

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.” 

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.  

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike.  “Your emergency, of course. Which was?” 

“Nothing to do with you.”  

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.   

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”  

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.  

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.  

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.  

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.   

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.  

“Shit.” 

His head fell into those large hands.   

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up.  So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.  

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.  

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.” 

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.  

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.  

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.  

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?” 

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.” 

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.” 

Nesta slid of the desk.  

“Go on,” she instructed.  

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” 

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.  

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.  

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.  

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.  

“I can tell.” 

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.  

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”  

Cassian swallowed.  

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.   

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.  

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?” 

“If you say please.” 

“Please don’t screw around with me.” 

Nesta faltered.  

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.  

“I’m really into you,” he admitted.  “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.” 

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.  

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.  

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”  

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.  

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.   

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.  

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion.  “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.” 

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.  

“Nesta-“ 

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.” 

“Someone could come back-“ 

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.  

“Nesta-” 

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders. 

“I want you,” she purred again.  

He might have tried to breath.  And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.  

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.” 

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.  

“You want me,” he breathed.  

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.  

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously. 

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.   

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.  

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.  

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.  

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.” 

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.  

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter. 

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…” 

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.  

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.” 

“And I’m saying you could be in me.” 

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.  

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over.  The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.  

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.” 

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.  

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout. 

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.  

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.  

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.  

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.  

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.  

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.” 

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.   

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.  

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.  

“Yes, yes, please.” 

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.” 

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze,  wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.  

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair. 

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.  

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.  

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.  

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.” 

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.  

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.   

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.  

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.  

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.  

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.  

“More,” she demanded. 

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.   

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him.  Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.  

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.  

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.  

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.  

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.  

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.  

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.” 

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”  

His words sent her over the edge.  

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.  

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.  

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders.  Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.  

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.  

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.  

“Then get on your knees.” 

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.  

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.  

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again.  “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”  

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.  

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.  

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.  

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.  

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.  

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.  

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.  

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.  

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.  

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.  

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.  

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.  

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.  

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.  

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.  

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.  

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.  

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.  

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.  

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.  

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.  

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.  

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.  

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.  

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.  

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.  

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.  

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.  

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.  

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.  

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.  

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.  

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.  

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.” 

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.  

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.  

“Down boy,” she purred.  

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.  

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.  

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.  

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.  

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.  

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly. 

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.” 

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.  

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.  

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.  

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.” 

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby” 

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.  

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.  

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.   

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth.  Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.  

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.” 

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew.  His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.   

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.  

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.  

“Cassian,” she keened.  

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.  

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.   

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.  

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.  

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.  

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.  

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.  

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.  

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.  

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.  

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”  

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles.  Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.  

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips. 

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.  

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.  

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.  

“Let me take care of you.” 

“Cassian.” 

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there.  “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.” 

Nesta smiled.  

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.” 

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.  

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.  

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.   

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.  

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.  

It was so good.  

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him.  And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl.  Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.  

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.  

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,”  She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.  

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.  

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit. 

Nesta whined softly.  

“Cassian…more…” 

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.  

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.” 

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.   

“Oh!” 

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.” 

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.  

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.” 

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.  

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”  

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.  

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.  

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.  

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.  

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.” 

She turned her gaze to him.  

“Shame.” 

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.  

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.  

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.  

Cassian grinned.  

“You like Italian?”  

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.  

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.  

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”  

 “Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”  

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.” 

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.  

“Lethal,” he whispered.  

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”  

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.  

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.  

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.  

  Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair. 

Their second date had been incredible.  

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.  

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.  

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.  

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.  

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.  

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.  

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.  

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.  

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.  

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child. 

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.  

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.  

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.  

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.  

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.  

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.  

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.  

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.   

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.  

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”  

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.  

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?” 

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.  

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying.  Which off course only made him like her more.  

“What? Make you blush like a-” 

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them-  like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?” 

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”  

“Says the military man.” 

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.” 

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.  

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.  

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.  

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.  

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”  

“That was so a line!”  

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.” 

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.  

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive.  “Because I’d love to take your top off.”  

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.  

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”  

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.  

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.  

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.” 

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.  

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.  

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.  

“What would you rather we talk about?”  

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.  

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.  

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute.  It reminded you that you were alive.  

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.  

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.  

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.  

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore.  Tame Impala playing from his pocket.  

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.  

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.  

“Well you’re the only one getting it.” 

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.  

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.” 

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.  

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.  

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.  

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.  

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.  

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly,  hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.  

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.  

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.” 

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.  

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.  

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.  

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.  

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.  

“Yes please.” 

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower- 

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.  

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.  

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.  

“What are you doing?”  

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did.  Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.  

“Congratulations.” 

Cassian grinned.  

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”  

 “Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.  

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.  

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.  

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.  

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.  

“Please do.” 

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.  

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.” 

He pulled back abruptly.  

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?” 

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.  

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.” 

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-” 

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.  

“But I-” 

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.  

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.  

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.” 

“More romantic than that sentence?”  

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.” 

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.” 

“How have you already failed?” 

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.  

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.” 

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.  

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.” 

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.  

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.  

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf. 

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.  

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.   

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.  

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.  

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.  

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.  

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.  

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.  

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.  

“Did you decline my call?” 

“Yup.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.  

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.  

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”  

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.” 

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.  

“That why you’re calling?” 

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?” 

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation.  “Yeah, I’m free.” 

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday. 

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.  

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-” 

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?” 

Shit.  

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.  

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.  

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait.  In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.  

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.  

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-” 

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.” 

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.  

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.  

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-” 

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.  

“Fine, your stropping-” 

“Fuck off.” 

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.  

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.” 

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.  

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.  

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.” 

“Hang on a minute-” 

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.  

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.  

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.” 

“Alright, alright Don.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.  

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.” 

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?” 

Cassian sighed heavily.  

“This a secure line?” 

“Always”. 

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.” 

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.  

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?” 

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”  

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.” 

“Lucien?” 

“Turns out the kid’s his.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.” 

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.   

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?” 

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.” 

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-” 

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.” 

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.  

Rhys went silent again.  

“We could always just kill Eris.” 

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.  

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.  

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-” 

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.” 

“Dick.” 

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.  

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-” 

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.” 

“I’m fucking Persian!” 

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.  

“A fanabla!”  

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.” 

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.” 

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-” 

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.” 

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?” 

“If I said yes would you come back to us?” 

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.” 

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.” 

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.” 

“Nesta’s no Feyre.” 

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.  

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.” 

“See you then.” 

 TAG LIST

@featherymalignancy

@sleeping-and-books

@my-fan-side

@hearts-of-persephone 

@witchling13

@theoverlyenthusiasticwriter

@typicalmidnightsoul

@sezkins79

@thebitchupstairs

@fourshizzle149

@monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

@yikesitsmaddie

@jjellybean

@thronesandstars

@mis-lil-red 

@rhysandsdarlingfeyre

@cf-mist-and-fury

@breezy-freezy 

@dayanna-hatter 

@anishake

@candid-confetti 

@goldbooksblack

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@justgiu12

@twansy17

@caotica-e-quieta

@singinginthedarktimes

@carebear1339

@keshavomit

@januarystears

@bookstantrash 

@illyrianshadowhunter

[teiasviago]

Family Reunion

“Mulder, I should warn you,” Scully started, putting a hand on his chest so he didn’t bump into her, “my family’s large. We’re Irish Catholics married to other Catholics, mostly also Irish. My dad had three siblings and two of them had four kids, too. And now a lot of those first cousins of mine are married and have kids. So there’s a lot of people here.”

“I’ll be fine, Scully. That’s only, what? Somewhere around thirty people?” He shrugged, hands in the pockets of his slacks. Scully fixed his tie and did up another button of his suit jacket. “It’s fine.”

“You forgot the spouses, Mulder.” He widened his eyes and made his mouth into an O to make her laugh. “My Aunt Olive even flew over from Ireland for this. She didn’t have just four kids, Mulder. She had seven. She’s very devout and extremely maternal. She always gave Missy and I cookies when we were able to see her.”

Mulder smiled at that and offered Scully his arm. “Now that you’ve prepared me for the onslaught of Scullys, shall we?” He extended his hand to her and she took it, lifting up the skirt of her dress as they entered the hotel.

He stayed close to Scully all night, getting introduced to her family members and even running into Bill, Tara, and Matthew. Mulder never thought he’d be relieved to see his brother-in-law’s face, but he was.

“Hi, Matt,” Scully greeted, giving her now-twelve-years-old nephew a brief hug. “Do you remember Uncle Mulder?”

She looked over at him and he waved as Matt shook his head. Mulder forgave the kid, considering that the last time they’d seen each other Matthew had been turning two. “That’s okay, bud. You were only two the last time we saw each other.”

(Scully had dragged him along to Christmas dinner in ’98 knowing that he no longer received invitations from his family, and then he’d gone again at both his partner and Maggie’s insistence when Bill was hosting Christmas the next year.)

“I feel like it’s weird that I knew my nephew before he was my nephew,” Mulder said as they walked away.

Scully scanned the room, taking his arm. “My family’s fucked up anyway. A weird relationship between nephew and uncle isn’t the worst thing in the world. We’ll go over for the Superbowl next year and you can bond while my mom, Tara, and I get drunk on wine. Speaking of wine, let’s get some.”

“Sounds good by me.”

The rest of the event passed by much more smoothly due to Mulder and Scully’s alcohol intake, although he let his wife get genuinely drunk, taking it upon himself to be the designated driver. She leaned against him when they eventually left, broken down to her bare essentials by the wine.

“Forgot to tell you, Mul’er,” she said, slurring a little. “Aunt Olive’s kids flew over for the party.”

He laughed and squeezed her closer to him for a moment with the arm he had wrapped around her. “I figured that out based on all the red hair and Irish accents.”

“D’you think William still has red hair? D’you think his eyes are still green? Babies’ hair will get progressively darker and can keep doing that until they’re ten years old. Orange is just a light brown... And he didn’t really have green eyes.” Scully hiccuped as Mulder unlocked the car. “They were just green the day I gave up on him.”

“Don’t say that, Scully,” he reprimanded.

“Sorry,” she murmured, sitting down in the passenger seat without coordination. “Maybe he’s got blue eyes now. Maybe he has blue and green eyes! Oh, I miss him so much, Mulder. They were both gone before we ever truly got to know them.”

He handed his wife some tissues. “We could always adopt, honey.”

“I know. But I don’t... I don’t ache for a baby I’ve never met. I ache for my babies. And... It wouldn’t be nice of me to use a new baby to fill holes they’re not meant to fill.”

Mulder nodded along, watching the road ahead. “I understand.”

Scully leaned her head against her seatbelt. “I always feel like a fraud when I go to family reunions. Everyone has tons of kids except for Bill and Tara. I don’t even know if I would’ve wanted that but because I can’t, I do. I wanna have a big house and seven kids. But I have no kids in the house. I let the one die and I stupidly gave the other away. Stupid.”

“Scully—”

“I thought I did the right thing but I just—let her die. And now our baby has no support system and—and doesn’t know why I gave him up, or—or why he’s different than everybody else—”

“Scully, stop!” Mulder shouted, pulling the care over to the shoulder of the road and parking it. “We’ve been over this so many times. You promised me that if we drank, you wouldn’t do this...”

She put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter whether we were good or bad parents—whether you made good choices as a mother. We can’t change the past. But what we can be is a good aunt and uncle. A good sister and brother-in-law. You have to believe that... that we’re better than our failures, because if you don’t, then what about me.”

Scully nodded and sat up, sloppily wiping away her tears before taking one of Mulder’s hands in her own. “I’m sorry I get so messy when I’m drunk.”

“I’m sorry I let you drink.”

“I love you,” they said at the same time, and they both laughed softly.

“We’ll be okay, right?” she asked.

“We have to try.”

[thechangeling]

So I have problems with CC but considering when the book in question was written, I’m not actually surprised at the comments you’re referring to. No matter how far we have to go in terms of LGBTQ+ rights, we’ve come very far in the short time since these books were first published.

Alec grew up in an environment where the only reason people got married was to have children in order to provide more soldiers to fight demons, essentially. If you loved who you were married to, then good for you, but it certainly wasn’t something that was a requirement. And he wouldn’t have had any real exposure to other points of view. Also, let’s not forget, he was also a teenager. A very smart and capable teenager, but still, a teenager. And growing up in an environment like that can make it very hard to shake of ideas you’re raised with, even subconsciously. My mother is Irish Catholic, and I was raised very sheltered, with little exposure to any differing world views. And this was in Upstate NY for reference, so small towns, and small minds for the most part. The first time I realized that you could date someone of the same gender, because my mother introduced me to a work friend of hers who was a lesbian, she later told me that you could hate the sin and love the sinner.

So when I started questioning how you could tell you were gay or bi, because I had started looking at other girls, I was asked if I was attracted to them, at 12, when I wasn’t capable of the kind of attraction my mother was referring to. So when I said no, she said that meant that I was straight. So I went on believing that any attention that I paid other girls in anything other than a sisterly manner was wrong, and that there was something wrong with me. Meanwhile my two closest friends were both girls who were also raised in very religious families, so no one that my mother would object to; my father didn’t particularly care as long as I wasn’t dating anyone at all. So I did everything I was supposed to, I had a non-serious boyfriend, which didn’t last very long, I was an altar server and part of the church choir, not because I had to be, but because if I threw myself into the Church, maybe I would be fixed. I even very briefly, considered becoming a nun. Then when I started figuring out that I was pan, I was still under the belief that I would ignore half of who I was, and meet a boy, marry him, and have children, nevermind that I have never actually wanted children, because it was what a good girl was supposed to do. Thank god or insert whatever deity you believe in here, for books. Because books let me learn about the things that I wasn’t being taught, and let me figure out who I actually was. And I’m still trying to figure myself out, because I never had a chance to grow up properly the way I was raised.

So I can completely understand where Alec is coming from. The comments he made were ignorant, but not made out of any malice. It can be hard to break free of how you are raised, and a lot of that shows up subconsciously no matter what you might be thinking and doing consciously. I can’t tell you how many times I have said something without thinking or intending any harm, only to find out later that what I said was wrong, and have needed to apologize for it. I don’t really think the comments that Alec made were necessarily biphobic so much as him still dealing with self-hate and projecting it onto Magnus.

Sorry this took me so long to respond I was busy.

It's interesting how all of the queer people I've talked to who praise CC's queer rep are people who have backgrounds like yours. People who had difficult, oppressive backgrounds and families who weren't supportive of them. I think maybe this is something that I should start taking into consideration. Because I've gotten into so many fights with people who are honestly just trying to grasp onto something tangible after so much crap. And for me to attack them for it is actually pretty unfair.

I grew up extremely privileged in the sense that I grew up in a family of socialists who are also activists and very progressive people. My mom and dad and also step dad have been supporting queer rights since before I was born. My privilege has definitely affected me. I get that.

I tend to be more ambitious with queer liberation then most people because that's what I was raised to do. I was raised to be unapologetic and aggressive and demand respect. So that's what I do. I think many of you want to praise CC for doing the bare minimum and it makes me angry. But I've come to realize that it's because you were denied the bare minimum for so long. And that's really really sad.

But I get it in some ways. Because that's how I am with Ty. So many people were saying that they thought Ty was bare minimum and pretty stereotypical for an autistic character and it made me furious. Because Ty saved me. I personally connected with him a lot and despite his flaws, I adore him. And I was so mad that other people couldn't understand that. But I've been through a lot of trauma and oppression because of being autistic, so I'm sort of still in bare minimum mode right now. But I'm growing and evolving as I get older. But I think deep down I'll always love Ty no matter what.

And I think that's the way some people are with CC's queer rep. I personally also love a lot of her queer characters like obviously Kit and Ty, plus Magnus, Alec, Mark, Kieran, Helen, and Aline just to name my favorites. I would also sell my soul to the black market for Alastair Carstairs and his happiness. But I see the difference in their writing vs. the writing of queer characters written by queer people.

Reading books like A Line in the Dark and Red White and Royal Blue really sets it apart for me. I relate to the authenticity of the writing. When Alex says "straight people probably don't spend this much time convincing themselves that they're straight" it's real and raw and just...!!!!!!!! You know? I highly reccomend reading queer books by queer people to get the representation that you're looking for. But CC's characters do have their charm.

Anyways, I get you. But it just bugs me to see people calling her "the queen of representation" or whatever.

[adapembroke]

Icelandic Sagas and Norse Culture: A Conversation with Jared Juckiewicz

There are some people who are so interesting and knowledgeable about a fascinating subject that I wish it was culturally acceptable to hand them a lectern and microphone in social settings and ask them to give an impromptu lecture. My friend Jared Juckiewicz is one of those people.

Jared’s knowledge of Norse history and culture is legendary in our circle, and it was a privilege to have the opportunity to chat with him about the Icelandic Sagas, Jared's class on the Sagas for Nameless Academy, and why you shouldn't carry a magical banner with a raven on it into battle if you value your life.

Ada: For those who are new to the subject, what are the Sagas? 

Jared: So Merriam-Webster defines a saga as “a prose narrative recorded in Iceland in the 12th and 13th centuries of historic or legendary figures and events of the heroic age of Norway and Iceland” which is actually bang on for my definition of the historical Icelandic sagas. (I’d class things like Beowulf and the Nibelungenlied as sagas as well, but epic sagas rather than historical ones.) Most of them are attributed to one writer, an Icelandic gentleman by the name of Snorri Sturlisson, who took advantage of his position in the Icelandic Diocese to record as much of Iceland’s Oral History as he could. Each one is basically the history of one of the important families in Iceland at the time, typically going back a generation or two or three before the settlement of Iceland.   

Ada: I’m surprised that the dictionary defines “saga” as Icelandic specifically. I always thought “saga” was a synonym for “very long poem.” I’m learning something already! 

Was there something about the settlement of Iceland that inspired the Icelanders to write down all of these stories, or is it more that more of the oral tradition survived than it otherwise would have because of Snorri? 

Jared: I mean, I would definitely quibble with the definition being specific to Iceland myself. But then again, I don’t work for Merriam-Webster, so you know. Not my say.

So, it’s definitely a case that more of the oral tradition survived thanks to Snorri than it otherwise would have. Admittedly, he did impart a lot of his biases to them, given that he was Christian, in fact being heavily involved in Iceland’s organised Church, and a lot of his subject matter predates the Christianisation of Iceland. But it’s less of an issue in the historical sagas than in things like the Eddas. I suspect a part of his motivation is that the 13th Century was around the time we start to see the emergence of true national identities in northern europe, and a recorded history tends to be a large part of those. 

Ada: What sorts of challenges do readers have to be aware of accounting for Snorri’s biases, and why are those biases less of an issue with the sagas?

Jared: So the sagas are more of a historical account than the Eddas, which are a record of the icelandic forms of Norse myth. Being a historical account, there’s less room for interpretation, whereas most scholars agree that Snorris Eddas were revised, by him, to make them more palatable to the Church. So when reading the Eddas, it helps to be aware that the person recording them was a Christian, had been raised Christian, and so had certain views regarding morality and cosmology that may have (Read almost certainly did) differ significantly from how the Norse viewed things. Less of an issue with the historical sagas because history is less open to interpretation. His biases may have coloured his description of people’s motivations, but the events are likely accurate, as are the depictions of things like cultural mores and the like. 

Ada: What is your story with the sagas? How did you get interested, and what fascinates you about them?

Jared: So, I’ve always had a bit of a fascination with history. When I was at University, a friend dragged me along to a meeting of what became our local Historical Reenactment Society by dint of showing up to class with a wooden shield on his arm and a wooden sword in his belt. 

Ada: Best. Marketing. Ever.

Jared: I was hooked. Still am. Anyway, I’m like, 5’7” and am lucky if I weigh more than 120lbs. To be effective on the field of battle, I have to go for a mix of speed, savagery and complete disregard for my own personal safety. Four years of getting referred to as ‘The littlest Berserker that could’ lead to finding out everything I could about said Berserkers, which lead to the Icelandic sagas. They’re great stories. Dry reads, cause, you know, the 13th Century wasn’t known for popular fiction. But they’re very… human. Stories. Like you read them and it’s like “I can understand why that person would respond that way.” The culture is at enough of a remove that it feels fantastical, but because we’re talking about real people, and their emotions and their triumphs and their failings, it’s easy to emphasize with them, I find. 

Ada: How did you get from berserkers to the sagas?

Jared: There are a number of sagas where major characters are berserkers, or berserkers are mentioned. Viga-Glums Saga mentions a Berserker who made a living challenging farmers to Holmgangr (a sort of duel where the victor took the losers property. Given they were generally to the death, the loser didn’t tend to object). The eponymous Egil Skallagrimsson is also described as being a Berserker in some translations. As well as a Skald (poet), Sorceror, and what passed for Nobility in his period of Iceland. Part of it is also a dearth of other sources. You have some mention in the Anglo-Saxon chronicle and in similar Scots and Irish records from the time, but they mostly complain about the Norse being evil pagans come to destroy the Christians (When they aren’t complaining that the Vikings only bathe so they can get laid). There’s Adam of Bremen, but he didn’t talk much about the military side of things, which is where berserkers come in, and there’s Ibn Fadhlan, but until recently translations of his manuscripts were a bugger to get a hold of. 

Ada: What is it about the sagas that feels fantastical to you?

Jared: Everything is so much… MORE. If that makes sense? Like, there’s an account of a trial in Njall’s Saga where the defense witness perjures himself by libeling one of the victims, and the prosecuting attorney (Who happened to be related to said victim. No conflict of interest, it’s how things were done at the time) responded by impaling the witness, fatally, with a spear throw. And got away with it. They solve their disputes, when talk fails, with broadswords and battle axes. 

Ada: It’s like they actually do the things we’re all imagining doing when someone does something that’s completely out of line.

Jared: Certainly the things I imagine doing.  Although, I now realise I could explain it easier. Tolkien was a scholar of the Norse Sagas, and drew heavily on some of Snorri’s other works (particularly the Eddas) for the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. So part of why they feel fantastical is that the definitive work for High Fantasy is based on them. 

Ada: Other than weapons, what Tolkienesque things can readers find in the sagas?

Jared: So the sagas are maybe less of an influence on his works than the Eddas, but he drew heavily on the mythology, and there are bits where that crops up in the sagas. There are also references to things like rune-carving as a means of casting spells, and at least one instance of a magic banner. Bear in mind that this was back when magic was an accepted fact of life (in fact at the time, the Catholic Church was heavily involved in magical research. There are guides on things like alchemy and necromancy and rune magic that were written in monasteries at the time). Poetry, I suppose. The Norse were big on poetry. 

Ada: I would love to dive into the intersection between history and mythology with you, but I’ll restrain myself. What’s an example of the intersection of history and myth in the sagas?

Jared: The above mentioned magic banner, actually. It crops up in Njall’s Saga and the Orkneyinga Saga, and belonged to the Jarl of Orkney. Jarl Sigurd of Orkney, to be precise. It was a Raven Banner, sewn by his mother, who was reputed to be a Volva, which was a Norse term for a female magic practitioner, particularly one who practiced fibre magics. It was, reputedly, enchanted to draw the attention of Odin and his aid, and whatever army carried it into battle would have victory, but the bearer of the banner would be slain. Well, the Battle of Clontarf in 1014 was particularly hard fought, and after he’d gone through several standard-bearers, none of Sigurd’s companions was willing to pick it up. He informed them that by spurning Odin’s gift, the battle was lost, tied it round his waist like a belt, and led his final charge. Sigurd’s side lost the battle, and the few of his immediate companions were hunted down shortly thereafter by Kari Solmundsson (admittedly for unrelated reasons).

Ada: One of the reasons I wanted to have this conversation with you is because you are going to be teaching a class on the sagas at the Nameless Academy in February. 

I’m really excited to have the chance to sit in on your class because you are a person who I regularly want to hand a lectern and microphone because you have so much knowledge and so many stories.

What is this class, and what will you be teaching?

Jared: So the class is called Íslendingasögur 101: Norse Polytheism and Medieval Culture in Icelandic Sagas.It’s a mouthful I know. Really, it’s just an introduction to pre-Christian Iceland. There’s a lot of misinformation floating about regarding the Norse. I’m not going to name any names. *Cough* Wagner *Cough* Victorian England *Cough* 

Ahem. Don’t worry, it’s not Covid, I promise. 

But no, there’s a lot of misinformation about the Norse out there, and it’s only in the past five or six decades that we’ve started to undo that. The thing is, the corrections started in Academia, and it took three or four decades before accurate information began to be easily available to the general public. So while we’re doing away with the popular image in peoples heads of the ravening barbarian with the horned helmet, it’s slow going. 

I’m hoping in future semesters to do guided self-study of some of the Icelandic studies, but because I do not want to spend all my time correcting common misconceptions, I decided to teach this first, so that anyone looking into the sagas themselves, either under the aegis of the Nameless Academy, or by themselves, is doing so with at least a basic understanding of the culture those sagas concern. 

Ada: Other than the horned helmet ridiculousness, what is a common misconception that tends to trip up newbies to the sagas?

Law. The Norse had the greatest respect for their Laws, even if they didn’t always follow them. Because of how sparsely settled Iceland was, and given the lack of urbanisation, they didn’t have permanent courthouses like you find nowadays. Instead they all met up at regular intervals at what was known as a ‘Thing’. No that is not a typo, it was actually called a Thing. The big one in Iceland was held at Thingvellir or “Place of the Thing”. “Field of the Thing”? I do not (yet) speak Old Norse and I’ve seen multiple translations. It was sort of a combination of court and county fair, that was opened by a member of the community, the Lawspeaker, reciting a portion of the legal code to all assembled. It was a great honour to be chosen as the Lawspeaker, even if it also meant moderating all the suits. 

One of the most famous Sagas (and my personal favourite) actually focuses heavily on the Laws and Legal matters. In fact, more attention is paid in most sagas to legal nitty-gritty than to pitched battles. 

Ada: Other than an interest in history, why might people want to take your class?

Jared: Perspective. People don’t change, even if the places and laws and the cultures do. It’s also a conversation piece. I mean, you can back me up on this. I can relate almost anything to the Sagas.

Ada: That is absolutely true. I feel sometimes when you're talking like they're stories that are happening now.

If people wanted to read the Sagas, where do you suggest they start?

Jared: So, if you prefer Dead Tree Editions, most of my hardcopies were released by either Penguin Classics or Oxford University Press. They tend to be older translations, but still very good, and I’ve never had a problem finding them at good second-hand bookstores or my local library. Well. Never had a major problem. And in this time of Covid, if you don’t want to go out or have someone bring a copy to your door. 13th Century is pretty much Public Domain now, so there are a few of the sagas available as ebooks through Project Gutenberg. Alternately, there’s an Icelandic Non-Profit that hosts a website, sagadb.org which hosts all the extant Icelandic sagas in a variety of languages and formats (although not all of them are available in English). If I do manage to lead some guided self-study it’s likely to be the SagaDB translations I use. Amongst other things, they’re free. 

Ada: Thank you so much for talking with me, Jared. 

How can people who are interested in learning more about you and your class find you?

Jared: So I’m on Tumblr. At present I’m A-Krogan-Skald-And-Bearsark, and if that changes, only the article and the first identifier will change. Admittedly, I don’t curate my Tumblr AT ALL. So there’s a bit of everything on it. 

I’m also on Discord, and you can reach me there on the Nameless Academy server as Jared, or on Polytheists or Diviners Anonymous as JehanCriec. Mind you, my internet access can be sporadic, so if you don’t hear back from me right away, don’t take it as a slight, I’m just on a boat and will respond as soon as I get a chance. 

[goodlookingforagirl]

Oc-tober Day 2: Glass

It’s about time I gave my beloved Arlo some more depth, so here’s a scene from when he’s about 16 or 17. He’s a bit of a loose cannon, so pairing him with something as delicate as glass seemed like a fun challenge. It was also fun to get to know his mom’s side of the family; I’ve never developed them beyond very basic characteristics, until now. I tried to keep it light, but there are (hopefully) some bittersweet undertones.

Thanks to @oc-growth-and-development for making this list!

Day 2: Glass

“Watch out!” Danny shouted. “The glass door is shut!”

Arlo skidded to a halt just before colliding with the storm door. The sun was shining just so that you couldn’t see the glass separating the porch from the foyer. “That was a close one,” he laughed. “Could’ve sworn it was open.”

“Mom never leaves the glass door open, or else bugs will get in.”

“I guess that makes sense. My step-mom leaves ours open all the time.”

Danny shrugged, which was probably for the best. Arlo already knew that his half-brother lived in a much more luxurious, clean house than he did, and Danny was kind enough not to rub it in, at least not on purpose.

“Do you want something to drink?” Arlo asked, eager to get a moment's respite from the heat.

“Nah, I’ll come in later. I need to run by James’ house.” Danny jerked his thumb to the house across the street. “I’m borrowing his mitt for the church game tonight.” “But you already have your own mitt.”

“I like his better. See ya.” Danny smiled before running across the street, not even looking for cars. It seemed like cars never went by here. Arlo only ever saw people walking on the sidewalks, at least during mid-day. He assumed that was just what rich neighborhoods were like, though this was the only rich neighborhood he’d spent any time in.

Arlo came in through the front door and took off his shoes -- a strictly enforced rule in this house -- and ambled through the living room to the kitchen. Rose, the youngest of his two half-siblings, was sitting on the floor, doing a puzzle on the glass coffee table.

“Why aren’t you playing outside?” Arlo asked.

“It’s hot. I’d rather sit in the AC.” She lifted up her ginger ponytail to show Arlo the back on her neck. “Besides, I got burnt yesterday, and I’m not going to just go out and get burnt even worse.”

“Fair enough.” Arlo sometimes forgot how fair-skinned Danny and Rose were. The mother they shared was a red-headed Irish beauty born and raised in Grosse Pointe, Michgan, but Arlo had taken after his father, a swarthy Florida native with Russian-Jewish roots. He could handle hot summer days without the fear of sunburn. Danny and Rose’s dad was just as Irish and Michiganian as their mother, so they didn’t stand a chance.

“You want something to drink?” Arlo offered once he made it to the kitchen.

“Yes, lemonade please.” Arlo poured his sister a glass while asking, “Do you have any Kool-Aid?”

“No,” Rose said, looking disappointed. “Mom won’t let us have it. She says it’s uneahlthy.”

“It can’t have any more sugar than this lemonade has.”

“Try telling her that. And it’s not just the sugar, it’s the dyes. She thinks they’ll stain our teeth.”

Arlo shook his head, though he couldn’t help but smile. If Mom could only see the things I eat and drink at home, she’d have a heart attack.

He joined Rose in the living room, setting her glass of lemonade on the coffee table. “Coaster,” she reminded him.

“Sorry.” He wiped the little ring of condensation off of the glass top before setting the drink on a coaster. “What’s even the point of a glass table?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re supposed to set things on a table, and eat on it, and touch it, and all that. But with a glass table, you’ve gotta keep it looking perfect all the time. At least this one. Mom got mad at me last night for putting my feet on it because she said they’d smudge the surface.”

“I guess I’ve never thought about it,” Rose replied, reflectively sipping her lemonade.

“Glass cups are stupid too,” he mused. “Why have something that can break so easily when you can just use plastic?”

“Glass cups look nicer.”

Arlo bit his tongue. He wanted to say that being practical was more important than looking nice, but Rose might take that as an insult, and as strange and frustrating as this household could be, he never wanted to take it out on his siblings. They saw each other so infrequently that he didn’t want to waste any of that time arguing.

“I think the only glass things that my dad has are his windows,” Arlo joked.

“Really?”

“Yep. We’re both too clumsy to have breakables around.” “I don’t think you’re clumsy.”

“I almost ran into the glass door earlier.” “That’s just an accident,” she reasoned. “It’s not your fault that Mom’s house is so...pristine.”

Arlo assumed “pristine” meant “fancy”. His half-siblings had much better vocabulary than he did, but he never let on that their words confused him.

“I’d like to go to your house someday,” Rose said. “You always come here, but we never go there.”

“Well, there’s no reason for you to go there. It’s a long ways away, and you wouldn’t know anyone but me.”

“I’d still like to go, though. Missouri sounds fun, they way you talk about it.”

To Rose, the Catholic suburbanite who wasn’t even allowed to drink Kool-Aid, Arlo’s house probably did sound fun. The only rules his dad gave him were, “Don’t talk back, and clean your room.” 

“Maybe once you’re in high school, Mom will let you get a train ticket or something.”

“I hope so,” she smiled. 

Arlo leaned back and looked out the front window, watching young, beautiful families walk out to get their mail or enjoy a stroll, and he briefly wished that he could live here all the time. But when he absentmindedly  lifted up his bare feet and put them on the coffee table, Rose said, “You’re gonna smudge it,” and he was glad this was just a visit.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

1, 6, 7, 8, 9, 15, 16, 20.

For Robin, John, Aspen and Brooke

(And if you would like to share something else for any of your other OCs, feel free to do this for them as well 😉)

When did you create your muse?

Robin & John: Summer of 2019. When I decided to make my vampire/fae universe into an original novel!

Brooke & Aspen: Literally YESTERDAY. 

Are there parts of your muse that resemble parts of yourself?

Robin: Definitely. Being good at becoming whatever people need, showing people what they want to see. Hiding parts of himself to fit in. There’s a lot of projection in Robin.

John: Yes! Especially the often bullheaded and brash approach to situations. And struggling to grasp why someone might choose another path than what looks like their duty. 

How many face claims do you have or have you had for your muse?

A few. One primary and then a few others to work off, often the primary being the only one that I can attach to a reasonably easy to find actor. And then I work from there. Brooke is proving to be the most difficult for a working picture. Which makes sense, given her aesthetic and her vitiligo, but is still a struggle. 

How did you choose the name for your muse? 

Robin: I needed a last name that could shorten into a nickname, and Robinson was sort of just…there for the taking. Quickly, I realized the name meant a LOT more than I’d been initially assuming, and he’s so very much ROBIN now, that I can’t see anything else.

John Stoker: John is short for Johnathan, he was named after one of the characters in Dracula, and Stoker…I was playing around with names and then it just happened and I decided to roll with the full implications of that!

Brooke: I knew from the start I was going to be associating her with water, so the name just sort of happened.

Aspen: Aspen is named for his resemblance to an aspen tree. Slender, pale, and with hair that looks a lot like the yellow autumn leaves. 

If your muse could be a canon character in any fandom, which fandom would you choose?

OHHHH…that’s hard because I have them so solidly set into their worlds. Although John and Robin could make a fun little cameo in something as ordinary humans…and Brooke and Aspen technically exist in a world where they could be part of a lot of other stories…I’m not sure actually! It would be really fun to see them show up in each OTHER’s stories...

Share a random headcanon about your muse!

Robin: Robin associates some of his origami creations with specific people, especially the wolf’s head that he now makes specifically for John. 

John: John enjoys Mexican soda, and his favorite kind is the tamarind flavor. No one else in his team likes that one, which works out well for him. 

Brooke: Brooke is fond of winter. She likes the crisp clarity of the snow and the fact that through the trees without leaves, she can see all the way to the boundary fence that separates the Borderland woods from the magical parts of it. She feels safer knowing she could see danger coming. Summer, with the thick leaves and undergrowth, is actually more disturbing. 

Aspen: Aspen wears his hair reasonably long and pulls it back in a ponytail when he’s working on his herbs. 

Is your muse religious? 

Robin: As is typical with fae, Robin was raised to accept the cycles of nature, and life and death, and to embrace natural forces greater than himself. His grandfather believed in fate and destiny, but after everything that’s happened, Robin thinks that fate, if it exists is cruel. 

John: He is indeed. His mother’s family is Mexican Catholic, and his father’s is Irish Catholic, and the holidays and traditions, especially Dia de los Muertos, mean a lot to him. He was more ambivalent when he was younger, but after losing his brother, that’s changed. He believes deeply that everything happens for a reason and in forgiveness and redemption. (Probably because he’s well aware of his own need for that) 

Brooke: Brooke claims she only believes in strength and determination to survive her life, but the truth is, she’s mostly putting up a facade and does in fact think that there’s probably more to the world than she can see. Mostly because the idea of not being in control of her own destiny is terrifying to her. She’s not so sure she believes in the magic either…until she encounters it.

Aspen: Aspen definitely believes in something greater than human understanding, and in miracles. He’s seen a few, as a healer, and the things he can’t explain stick with him, as do the things Will says to them about what he believes. 

This or that according to your muse: morning or evening? Marvel or DC? Mayonnaise or ketchup? Books or movies? Red or blue? Black or white? Halloween or Christmas? 

Robin: Morning, DC (because they have a Robin, and that’s basically all he knows about comics), Neither, Books, Red, White, Christmas because Halloween is the WORST time for hunters

John: Morning, He’s got his favorites in both, Ketchup, Books, Red, Black, Christmas (For both the family time and the reason in Robin’s answer)

Brooke: Evening, WHAT? WHAT? Books…but moving around is good instead of just sitting and reading all day I guess? Blue, Black, Halloween (Because of Will’s stories)

Aspen: Morning, what’s that? What? Books, what’s a MOVIE? Blue, Black, Christmas. 

Thanks for the ask! Those last ones were FUN with Brooke and Aspen...

[danadeservesadrink]

Wine and Whiskey

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1: Mulder’s POV

Scully arrives at his apartment with a bottle of wine on a Friday night and Mulder can't refuse. There's something so tempting about drinking wine from the bottle.

We’re just going to pretend that I didn’t wait almost a year to publish the second chapter for this fic. Reposting the first chapter here because I gave her a good fix-up. Tagging @today-in-fic

He had never been more mesmerized in his life than by Dana Scully drinking wine from the bottle.

She had shown up at his apartment holding it, bashfully admitting that she didn’t want to drink alone on a Friday night, practically entrapping him with a bat of her eyelashes. Of course he let her in.

It was rare that she let her guard down like this, but you wouldn’t catch him complaining. He ushered her in with a hand on her lower back and she made herself comfortable on his couch, flipping through the channels until she landed on a rerun of some history documentary. Her energy was palpable, nervous and confident and radiating. She gazed up at him with something just short of confidence and requested a corkscrew. Who was he to deny her.

Dana Scully sat on his couch in her maroon sweater and blue jeans on a Friday night at 9:06 pm and uncorked a bottle of white wine and he had never been more in love. Correction, he was more in love with her at 9:07 when she took a swig straight from the bottle. She drank and then let out a deep sigh, filled with all of the troubles of a not-so-9-to-5 FBI agent. He sat down opposite of her on the couch, matching her cross-legged position, and stared at her, mesmerized. She must have noticed, as she flushed and chuckled to herself, likely at the genuine absurdity of the situation.

“I’ve had a very long day,” she whispered defensively. He didn’t mind. She deserved to unwind. She passed him the bottle with a raised eyebrow and he almost denied.Thinking about how her lips and his would be touching the same lip of a bottle made him feel like a school boy analyzing the physics of cooties. He almost offered to go get them glasses, but she pushed the bottle towards him with an insistent smirk and he realized he was being ridiculous. He accepted, although still subtly trying to turn the bottle in a feeble attempt to avoid drinking from the same location she had, and he drank.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. The wine was sweet, its flavor lingering on his lips.

“Bill’s an ass” She said, rolling her eyes. She reached out a hand for the bottle back, and he passed it over. She brought the bottle to her lips again with no rotations, clearly unconcerned with the dynamics of indirect kissing.

“Yea he is. What’d he do this time”. His previous attempt to forget how perfect she looked as she drank was a failure. Because Dana Scully was on his couch drinking wine from the bottle. He doesn't think any sane person could ever forget that.

“Called me up today to tell me how disappointed he was with me. How I’m a failure to our family and how I’m putting myself in danger for absolutely no reason” She laughed at this, and so did he, reveling in the ridiculousness of their day jobs. He shifted closer on the couch and she must have felt his concern because she clarified. “He heard about the case”.

Of course. Scully took down a murderer, a serial killer at that, with her own two hands, fighting through a warehouse of traps to get to him, to catch the bad guy. She shot him with his own gun but not before he sliced a nasty gash into her side with a pocket knife. All while he’d been knocked out on the cold cement in a pile of his own vomit. She followed his profile, found the warehouse, and took the bastard down and he was so god damn proud of her.  Bill didn’t see it but he sure as hell could.

“Bill’s an idiot” He said so sincerely it made her look up from staring into the wine.

“Yea. Yea he is” She whispered. She took another drink, and he was moving closer to her on the already small couch, like a moth to the light.

She’s so pretty. The way the TV fluorescence bounced off of her cheek, the way her hair was tied up but the short pieces in the front whisped around her face in perfect little curls. It took all of his strength not to reach over and brush one away from her eye when she tilted her head back to take another drink from the bottle. Her neck was perfect porcelain, he dreamed of running his lips over the smooth skin she exposed. When she finishes, he forces himself to look at the TV screen instead of the little drop of white wine remaining on her lip.

She looks down at the bottle, then up at him through her lashes. She was coy, vulnerable, he knew this step, whatever it was, was big. Scully had shown up to his apartment before, but it was usually due to work. Showing up with wine and personal feeling was teetering on the edge of something more than partnership. His eyes flick down to the bottle and she offers it to him. Their fingertips brush and he shudders. He sees her watching him drink.

They are rudely interrupted by the shrill ringtone of her cell phone.

She pulls it out of her pocket with a sigh, and he smirks.

“Hi Mom.” He hears the muted voice of Maggie Scully on the other end of the phone. She’s probably calling to apologize for her son’s behavior, and he’s pissed that she’s forced into that position.

“Well he was acting like a bastard!” Scully exclaimed, frustrated, and Mulder couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Scully shot him a glare, and he quickly pressed his lips together in silent surrender. She seems to be listening intently, so he shakes the wine bottle in her direction, forcing her to wave him off with an eye roll. As she mumbles “mmhmm” and “uh huh” he becomes bolder, eventually leaning over and trying to press the wine bottle to her lips. She pushed him back with a smirk, but reached for the bottle and took a drink before her next answer. It was his turn to smirk.

“I’m over at Mulder’s place” He grinned at her and tried to scoot in closer to hear Maggie’s response. She pushed him back again, this time with a softer smile.

“Work stuff” she said, avoiding eye contact with him. The irony of her statement was not lost, and he tried to repress the laugh that bubbled up within him. He caught her blushing.

“I’ll let him know. Bye Mom” She quickly hung up the phone and proceeded to drink a good 6 swigs before handing the bottle back to him, shameless. He hadn’t realized it was almost empty.

The concept of Dana Scully, the Catholic raised and pant-suit wearing professional, drinking wine at a man’s apartment at night while on the phone with her equally proper mother made him chuckle. He wonders if this is the first time she’s done this.

“What did your mom want to tell me?” he asked with a grin. She blushed again. He couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or if the wine was getting to her. Maybe both.

“She just wanted to say hi” she glanced at the bottle in his hands, avoiding his eyes. He let the little white lie slip past them as a gift to a friend. “You gonna finish that?”

He shook his head. He was worried that any more and he would start acting in ways that would make Maggie Scully very disappointed.

Scully pouted at his response, but leaned even closer to him, grabbed the bottle, and downed the rest of it, tilting her head all the way back to allow the last drops to trickle from the bottom of the bottle into her throat. Something about her throat made him want to mark it with his teeth. Jesus, the effect she had on him was insane.

She finished, and returned to gazing in his eyes with an impish smirk. He must have still been staring because she burst into a fit of giggles. Despite all the Irish blood in her, Scully was still a small  woman who had just drank nearly a full bottle of wine.

“Scully are you drunk?” He teased. She burst into another fit of giggles as she shook her head, still smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He loved the sound of her laugh. He never wanted it to stop. He would personally fight every demon in this world so that she never had to stop smiling at him like she was right now.

She felt loose, unrestrained, and so did he. They were so comfortable with each other in the strangest of ways, and this wine laden journey was just another layer. Intimacy for them often came in small touches and promises of protection, least of all through physical affection. But tonight, all bets were off, as Dana Scully, goddess in blue jeans, used his shoulder to push herself off his couch and waltzed into his kitchen, swaying her hips like the little vixen she was.

“Where you going?” He called after her, but the only reply was the sound of a cabinet being opened and the melodious giggle he had come to adore.

She was reaching for the top shelf when he walked in the kitchen behind her. Her prize was obvious. Striding up behind her he placed one hand on her hip and reached with the other for the half full bottle of whiskey her outstretched fingers were wiggling towards.

He almost dropped it when he felt her step back into him. He flexed the hand still fixed to her hip as he felt a shiver run through him. As quickly as she came, however, she was gone, instead turning around to grab at the bottle he was holding. He reacted quicker, sober reflexes triumphing over hers, pulling it back and raising an eyebrow in response to her pouty lips. Drunk Scully was a dangerous creature, a tempting siren who could bend any man to her will. All he wanted was to please her.

“And why should I give you some of my emergency whiskey?”, he teased.

“Because I’ve had a terrible day, and now I’m out of wine”. She had to know what she was doing to him. Looking him straight in the eye, pushing her lip out even further. He rolled his eyes, laughing again under his breath.

“What’s the magic word”

And oh Dana you know how to make a man give you anything. There is no magic word, only Scully tilting her head back, closing her eyes, and opening her mouth, tongue stuck out and waiting. The vision was enthralling.

She peeked an eye open when she heard him toss the cap on the counter, but closed it again with a giggle when she realized he had caught her. He shook his head, exhaling softly. With reverence, he gave her what she wished.  

The whiskey hit her tongue with a burn of ice and fire, and he watched as it slid down into her mouth, filling her up until he stopped pouring, and she swallowed. He had never wished to be a liquid before. She coughed before smiling up at him, eyes sparkling even though the closest light was now the television.

“Your turn” She smirked and took the bottle from his hands.

“I don’t think you can reach” he countered, but she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled down.

He would never deny her.

He got down on his knees on his kitchen floor, and it was only right that Scully should be the altar he prayed to. Still smirking, he first closed his eyes as she had, then stuck out his tongue to await the drink of his goddess. She poured sloppily, the hand of a distracted woman, and he had to swallow before she was finished, causing her to spill some on his lips and chin.

He opened his eyes to see her giggle, mumble an apology, and lean over him. He barely registered what was happening before he felt her tongue, that perfect tongue, lap up a stray drop off of his cheek. He gasped, sharply. She pulled back, only a few inches, still leaning over him. He gazed up into her eyes and saw his arousal mirrored in them.

“It’s your emergency whiskey, I didn’t want to waste it.” She smirked her perfect lips as she whispered. Her breath smelled like sweet wine and sharp whiskey. It was intoxicating. He closed his eyes as he felt her finger raise his chin to the heavens. She licked again, this one on his jawline, and he moaned. He felt her laughter in puffs of air on his cheek.

“Scully…” he whispers, a halfhearted attempt to salvage a professional partnership he knew had been tossed out of the window the second she walked in tonight.

She ran a finger over his lips to silence him and he thought he might black out.

All he wants is her. His body shakes with the thought.

She brings both hands to cup his cheeks, whiskey bottle long forgotten, and presses her lips to his.

The feeling is that of resurrection. It’s an electric shock coursing through his body, lighting every nerve he has on fire, his thoughts only attuned to her, her, her. He remembers he has hands, and uses them to pull her closer, cupping the back of her neck with ferocity. She opens her mouth and he tastes her tongue. The taste of salvation and moscato.

He breaks the kiss only to rise up to his full height before he descends upon her, grabbing her gently by the waist, still mindful of her injury, but equally desperate. She tangles a hand into his hair and pulls him into her. He could get lost in her mouth, following the flow of the whiskey before him, lips then tongue, fire and ice. She moaned into his mouth and he tightened his grip on her. His mouth traced the path his eyes had followed earlier. Off the curve of her lips, down to her jawline, where he licked and sucked and did everything in his power to remember the taste of her skin. She whimpered when he reached her pulse point, taking the fist in his hair and desperately pressing him against it. He nipped at her flesh, and then kissed it better.

“Fuck” she drew out, shaking, and it made him wild. He sucked harder, knowing full well the dark purple bruise it was going to leave. Both of them couldn’t give a shit. When he finished, he kissed his way up to her ear.

“Mine” he growled, and she shuddered in his arms. He carefully tugged on her earlobe with his teeth as he felt her nod against him.  

“Yours” she whispered back. It was all the permission he needed.

He carefully traced his fingers up her sides, dragging the fabric of her top along with it. Her chest was heaving, their breaths mixing together in a cocktail of arousal and alcohol. He felt the bandage covering the wound from the warehouse and a pang of guilt passed over him. She sees it in his eyes and uses her own hands to push his higher, past the evidence of their last foul memory. He reached up to the bottom of her breasts and with a shock realized that her sweater had been hiding a secret.

“Were you planning…” he dotted her collarbone with marks from his lips, sucking softly along each delicate curve “... on telling me…” another kiss “...that you weren't wearing a bra?” kiss , kiss , kiss .

“I was more hoping that … ah shit...you would find out for yourself”

He had to be dreaming. Any minute he would wake up in his bed horny and alone like every Saturday. But then she kissed him again and he figured that if this was a dream he hoped he was fucking comatose because he never wanted to wake up. He traced his hands over the underside of her breasts again and felt her body shake at his caress. Quickly he pushed the sweater up and over her head, careful to not disturb her bandage, her arms raising to help. And then she was topless in his kitchen on a Friday night and he was going to study her like she was a sculptor and she was his Venus. He would memorize every curve of her perfect body with his hands over and over and over.

“Well?”

He had been staring. How could you not when Dana fucking Scully was blushing and breathless in your arms. But there would be time for starting later. He turned his mind to devouring her.

He palmed her breast and kneaded, watching in awe as her head fell backward and a sigh escaped her lips. He asked for permission through a silent question tossed up at her and she nodded a desperate nod. His lips continued their trail downward, licking and sucking on the hills and valleys of her chest until he came to her nipple, where he paused to circle it with his tongue. At the same time he flicked her right nipple he took the left one into her mouth. Her head shot forward, the hand in his hair pulled him forward into her, and she let out the most guttural moan of “ Mulder ”. His name had never sounded more perfect than when it came out of her mouth. He spent some time there, licking and sucking, pulling with his teeth then soothing with his tongue, just trying to get her to make different sounds. Curses flew from her mouth with ease and he was reminded of the rebellious streak in her. The deviant Dana Scully that cursed and drank and fucked. He loved this side of her. He’s drunk off of her and whiskey and wine and he can only think that he needed more. His brain is buzzing and he’s sure he didn’t have that much wine but maybe it's just the smell of her skin that's so intoxicating.

“Mulder I need you”

He looked up to meet her eyes and saw her staring back at him, breathless and hungry.

“Now.”

[warsofasoiaf]

The Celtic Tiger - A Kaiserreich Ireland AAR Chapter 6: Three Days in Halifax

“I am a war man in times of war, and a peace man in times of peace.” -Michael Collins

The Second Weltkrieg had seen millions of men dead on every continent save Antarctica. Europe and Asia had turned into rolling battlegrounds of armor and artillery, the fields littered with bodies and the hulks of tanks. The rivers were choked with fuel and blood. The seas could erupt at any time into a sudden death of torpedoes and naval bombardment, and the coasts were saturated with mines. What made the war worse is that it seemed that progress anywhere was slow; countless soldiers were dying for very little gain much like the First Weltkrieg. 

The Entente had been suffering a crisis of leadership. The Dominion of Canada had seen setback after setback, and had failed to secure any landing zone on the British Home Isles. The Tories had been unsatisfied with King Edward’s performance and leadership during the war, and this had only exacerbated his low public standing. The king had frequently become a figure of public scandal for being spotted with young debutantes, and had expressed his wish to marry recently-divorced American film actress Constance Bennett. The Church of England had fiercely protested the proposal, as it was improper for the head of the Anglican Church. The Tories and Labour parties both expressed their desires that the King either call off the plans or abdicate the throne. When delegations from the West Indies Federation and the Dominion of India supported abdication, the King knew that his time on the throne was at an end. As 1940 came to a close, Edward formally abdicated the throne in favor of his brother, coronated as King Albert I. “Bertie,” a shy and awkward man, seemed to be ill-suited to lead the country at war. Some of the more militant members of the Canadian Exiles had hoped to install Prince Henry, but the traditionalists among the Exiles and the Tories both shot the proposal down; Albert was the oldest and the true and proper heir, nothing would dissuade them from that.

As his first act upon assuming the throne, Albert ordered an assessment of Entente military capabilities against the Internationale, which ways that the Entente could secure a better forward operating location to prosecute the Reclamation of the Home Isles. Launching from French Algeria and attacking at Marseilles or from Sardinia to Piedmont was fine for the European mainland, but the Home Isles were special. The French, naturally, were supportive of the idea of liberating their homeland first and then launching an attack across the Channel, but that didn’t satisfy the British Exiles. Iceland did not have the infrastructure, and shipping to Norway was considered too far and remote. All options had their own unique undesirable elements to them, and it fell to King Albert to pick which risky option would be the best for his population-in-exile.

Albert’s response surprised international observers across the world, when he formally invited the Reichspakt to discuss “matters of shared concern in the struggle against syndicalism” with a conference in Halifax. Given Albert’s tour of service against the Germans in the First Weltkrieg, everyone thought that there would be too much bad blood for any large-scale Entente-Reichspakt cooperation. The two empires had sworn non-aggression pacts with each other, but that had largely been a practical matter since both empires were waging war with the Internationale and the Japanese Co-Prosperity Sphere. King Albert had potentially offered a further degree of cooperation and coordination with their European rivals, shocking foreign policy observers across the world. This shock was doubled when Kaiser Wilhelm agreed to the proposal. The Kaiser, whose health had been declining due to the stresses brought on by the war, elected to come in person along with his foreign minister.

“The German’s war is not going well. The Communards can afford to keep most of their army on the border and push against the Germans in the west, and the Vozhd can do the same in eastern Europe. But there’s too much bad blood between him and the English. He’ll torpedo the deal, mark my words.” Kevin O’Higgins, the foreign minister, had ruefully predicted. “I doubt the Marcheal will be willing to formally surrender Elsaß-Lothringen to the Germans. There’s too much pride, too many wounds from the First Weltkrieg.”

“I have little hope for them.” Richard Mulcahy agreed. “They can’t even agree on a mediator for the damn thing! The United States can’t be an effective mediator, they’re angry that Germany supported Huey Long. The Danubian Federation can’t be a mediator, they’re long allies of the Reichspakt. Even the International Mandate can’t mediate the conference since they restored British voting rights; their only goddamn job is to mediate between the powers. So now Quentin Roosevelt and Karl I are guests, not arbitrators.”

“Did we offer to mediate as well? I’m certain the Entente would have shut that one down, but I never heard anything about it.” Collins asked.

“They never even bothered to respond.” O’Higgins shrugged, but as soon as he said it, Collins stood up from his desk.

“Their mistake. Mulcahy, look for transit for three to Halifax.”

O’Higgins, mouth agape, could only stutter out, “You can’t be serious.”

“I can and I am.” Collins ordered. “Keep our presence quiet. This will be a conference to remember.”

***

Halifax was an unusual choice for high-level diplomatic talks. Nova Scotia was a rougher province than Ontario, devoted more to resource-gathering and the fishing industry than to high-level diplomatic summits. Ontario seemed like it would have been the first-choice. Quebec had seen riots against the draft for the war effort, but Ontario was still the capital province. But Collins had no experience in high-level diplomatic summits, and never had to set the venue for one. His first high-level summit, in fact, had him walking in as a semi-uninvited houseguest. O’Higgins had been able to bargain for a position with one, having the proposal being floated through Quentin Roosevelt and wielding the guilt of leaving Ireland to dangle in the wind with all the skill of a Catholic mother. King Albert could hardly deny Ireland a spot at the negotiations, not when the war against the Internationale was the chief concern. Ireland had been fighting against them the longest, and had the most experience against the continental armies.

The first part of the day was largely relegated to ceremony. So many visiting heads of state, there was a great deal of pomp and circumstance to go through. A novice observer might have thought it to be a waste of time, but Collins understood the craft of it. Making the Reichspakt nations feel welcome would put them in a more conciliatory mood. Information had always been key in the diplomatic game just as it was in the war. Collins had told Mulcahy to check the quarters that they had been assigned for any bugs, and he could only imagine checking the light fixtures and telephone receivers while he stood in the cold Nova Scotia air and listened to the Royal Canadian Band play the anthems of each of the visiting heads of state. 

Collins could hardly get a free moment, he had been a darling in the press for both nations. From his successful handling of Black Monday to his repulse of the Internationale’s invasions with an army almost one-tenth the size of those who he was fighting. The handsome young revolutionary had turned into a seasoned and capable head of state. In both war and peace, there seemed to be no limit to what this man and the nation he led could do. Some Canadians, particularly those British Exiles, had strong opinions about the Ulster peace process. Mercifully, only a few held signs against the mastermind of Bloody Wednesday, far more held signs expressing their support. Collins didn’t doubt that some of those supporters would turn on them should the British King look to re-establish Ireland as a dominion or free state, but that would be a problem for another day. Collins needed to have his head on straight, because one misstep could doom the war effort.

The host for the event, King Albert I, looked young but eager. He looked optimistic, bright-eyed and driven. Past the smiles, Collins could see a man who was deeply troubled and trying his best to put a brave face on the event. As the processions wore on, the king looked less and less comfortable, yet stood proudly for each procession of head of state, with he and the Canadian Prime Minister welcoming each delegation. The plight of such a young king, freshly coronated and now thrust into the largest and perhaps most important conference of his life was sympathetic, even from an English king. When it had been Collins’s turn to be presented to the cheering crowd, he had expected a chilly reception, but he had been pleasantly surprised. He could see a few Irish tricolors being waved by the onlookers, far more than he would have expected from Candians of Irish heritage. When he shook King Albert’s hand, the monarch had told him: “I am pleased that you are here, Mister President. Welcome to the Dominion of Canada.” Collins had decided to maintain decorum by declining to mention that he hadn’t been invited, and had returned the greeting. “I feel quite welcome, your Majesty. Allow me to congratulate you on your coronation.”

The other main luminary for the event was the exact opposite. Kaiser Wilhelm looked tired and worn. He was pale, and walked slowly with the support of his wife and Empress. Collins had guessed that the stress had been taking his toll on the older man. His eyes were sunken and dark, and his mouth was pursed tightly. The leader of the Reichspakt looked like an aging dreadnought, with its sailor desperately bilging out water to keep her afloat. To Collins, the man appeared unsure of what the affair may hold. If he had no hope for the talks, it’s likely he would not have come, but he did not seem to appear conciliatory despite his frail condition. King Albert may have been his first cousin once removed, but that familial relation had meant little to Albert’s father during the First Weltkrieg and would not get in the way of his ambitions to secure Germany’s place in the sun now.

These two titans would be Collins’s targets, not for death but for life. Ireland depended upon a successful negotiation, and he had not come so far to fail now.

***

After the ceremony, a luncheon, and a private visit for King and Kaiser to the coffin of King George V, waiting to be interred in Westminster Abbey, the tall order of diplomatic business began. Both the Entente and the Reichspakt recognized the need for coordination between their armies to better overwhelm the Internationale’s defenses. A reconfirmation of their nations’ non-aggression pacts was a given, but success in this war would require far more than that. It would mean a need for intelligence coordination, military access, and even joint operations between the two alliances. In this statement, both the King and Kaiser were in firm agreement.

However, the exiles in Canada and French Algeria had made it plain that they intended to recover their territories in their entirety, and that this was a hard line for the Entente. Their return to their territories was their primary goal, and the successful conclusion of the war would only be after the rightful governments of Britain and France were restored and their territories returned to their proper administration in their entirety. The Reichspakt protested this; the core goal of the war should be to end the syndicalist menace once and for all, not to restore the British and French governments. “The syndicalists declared wars of aggression against the Reichspakt, along with Ireland and the Republic of Italy,” the Kaiser spoke loudly before a coughing fit brought him to a halt. 

“This is true, the Internationale is a threat to world peace.” Collins interjected. He may not have been approved to be a mediator, but he wasn’t about to have the conference die in the first session. “And we cannot lose sight of that. Surely then, there can be something of strategic interest that the Reichspakt could use, that we can confirm by agreement at this conference in exchange?”

The Kaiser had yet to compose himself from his coughing fit, but his foreign minister took charge. “We are prepared to discuss our demands, but we are simply asking that the primary recognition be on the defeat of the syndicalist menace. I believe it is appropriate to turn to the matter of a common cause in the Italian Theater. The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies is prepared to coordinate naval patrols with the Kingdom of Sardinia. Two Sicilies is prepared to maintain the army lines if Sardinia can help maintain clear seas in the Mediterranean. Since the majority of the German and Dutch navies are in the Pacific, Italian operations will depend upon Sardinian and French naval power. We understand that the French strategic direction looks to be a crossing at Marseilles. The Reichspakt is prepared to increase the pressure on the front between the Socialist Republic of Italy and the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies to divert Italian manpower away from potentially reinforcing French garrison troops in southern France.”

Collins folded his hands to hide his frown. The Reichspakt knew what it was doing, but Collins didn’t have to like it. Without a hard line of its own to establish, and thus focusing on matters that could have been saved for later, this conference was off to a bad start. There was no question that the German Emprie would have in mind a host of concessions to offer in exchange for taking no territory, particularly from France, and that should have been the first sticking point of the conference. Perhaps the Kaiser had hoped to foster a spirit of cooperation by settling some small affairs first, or perhaps to make the Entente feel invested so they would be reluctant when Germany offered its demands. Perhaps it could have even been considered a good ploy, but Collins thought that the war had no time to waste on such matters. 

***

If the first day of the conference was dominated by things of lesser importance, the second day of the conference was sure to surprise Collins in the other direction. The Kaiser, looking much healthier than he had the day before, had opened the conference with his list of demands. “The German Empire demands that, to alleviate territorial concerns, that the Entente recognize colonial possessions currently administered by the German Empire in Central Africa and East Asia as confirmed colonial possessions. In addition, to facilitate the prompt and swift reconstruction of France into the European community, France would join the Central European Customs Union as a constituent member.” 

The French government had been taken aback by the request. The recognition and acknowledgement of German colonial gains was an expected demand. With the war currently raging in East Asia, if the Germans were able to successfully fend off Japan and Siam, they would have far more legitimacy than the French held on ever since their successful defeat of the Indochinese Revolt led by Ho Chi Minh. Deustche-Mittelafrika was widely seen as a colonial failure, with the corrupt Stattholders extracting resources from African fiefs. Such lands, even if the Entente could reclaim them, would be ungovernable, especially with a more assertive Somalia and Ethiopia pressuring decolonization efforts and the Internationale’s Anti-Colonialist Committee launching terror attacks in Morocco and Algeria. France still maintained its hold on northern and western Africa, and administered it far more capably. The lost colonies were already lost; there was no need to hold on to them.

Joining Mitteleuropa was the larger concern; it was no secret that while the organizations did benefit all member countries, the lion’s share of the benefits went to the German Empire and several structural rules served no other purpose than to enrich Germany at the expense of the other member nations. Several nations within Mitteleuropa were almost forced to join the union out of necessity in the wake of the First Weltkrieg, and chafed at some of its restrictions. France had protested this requirement, asserting that it had the potential to threaten the recovery of the French government and economy. The Dominion of Canada also had its own concerns, namely how the Mitteleuropa rules and regulations would interfere with the Imperial Economic Development Council, the Entente’s own economic development organization. Much more loosely structured than Mitteleuropa, and centered on economic advisors and medium-term projects, the actions of the IEDC could be seen as a violation of trade agreements and regulatory oversight agreements that were present in Mitteleuropa. “Sorting out the idiosyncrasies of how these two great organizations would interact would take months of policy consultation, something that is well beyond the scope of this conference,” King Albert offered.

“So are the necessary withdrawal arrangements for territories. We understand the need for the details to be sorted. At this point, we are only seeking a pledge that once the French government has fully retaken its position and has successfully re-established governance following the cessation of hostilities, that they will join Mitteleuropa in totality.” The French delegation deferred the answer until the next day, asking its economic advisor to meet with the Canadian Minister of Finance and work out a quick answer as to whether or not such a plan was even feasible. Collins despaired. Had he been named the mediator of this discussion, he would have made sure he understood the various proposals of negotiation before any of them had set foot in Halifax. 

“The French delegation makes a sound point,” Collins offered the Reichspakt delegation. “It is worthwhile to understand whether the French government is capable of complying with a demand and maintain its current treaties and commitments. Now, let us discuss shared planning  between our nations’ intelligence services. It would be advantageous for us to find ways to streamline the sharing of intelligence gathering for both aerial and naval reconnaissance, and the establishment of signals officers that can ensure ground troops can benefit from enemy intelligence. G-2 has offered several proposals that may be adopted quickly by our respective army signal corps.” 

All Collins could do was attempt to keep the discussion moving forward.

***

Deustche-Mittelafrika had been even more fragile than any could have predicted. Periodic mismanagement by the colonial administration, made worse by the disorganized and often mutually-contradictory procedures and byzantine support structure between the regional colonial governors and allied local leaders. The Stathalter, Hermann Goering, had run an infamously brutal colonial regime in his attempt to provide Germany with raw resources. Even domestic protest had risen steadily as word from journalists, dissidents, and other sources continued to trickle in from the dark continent. “Goering has become Kurtz of Joseph Conrad’s novel in every way. He holds himself as the great iron man of Africa, more force of nature than man and every bit as pitiless. He conceives of himself as inseparable from the nation. Rising industrial outputs are the equivalent, in Goering’s eyes, to climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. He holds himself as a vital thriving heart, and purges those who do not think as he does.” 

As protests continued to mount, high-level members began to depart Mittelafrika. Ernst Junger, noted author and new thinker, departed for Deutsche Ostasia. The Reformgruppen, an alliance of German colonial officers who supported greater autonomy and partitioning of Mittelafrika, returned home after Goering refused to return to German courts to fight the Black Dossier of abuses compiled by his brother Albert. Theodor von Hassel, who had grown disgusted with Goering, had even publicly spoken of democratic transition. “It is intolerable that Prussia may have a Bundesrat, but nowhere in the entirety of Africa can anyone offer even a breath in its governance.” Famously, he had met with Somalia and had encouraged their own path to democracy, and when their constitution had been articulated, he had gone to Mogadishu and proclaimed Somalia “the bright heart of African democracy.” Somalia had taken those words to heart, and had founded the African League for Democratic Independence, espousing the desire for African nations to gain control of their own governments and achieve ethnic self-determination.

Mittelafrika had debated invading Somalia to end this threat to their colonial overlordship, but repeated flare ups and Goering’s corruption had caused more and more of the component colonial nations of Africa to turn against him. Over the course of one day, spontaneous demonstrations, some believed to be influenced partially by Somalia and Emperor Haile Selassie in Ethiopia, and others believed to be organic, had risen from the Ivory Coast to Nyassaland. Goering had disappeared, and more than a dozen groups claimed to have ended the madman’s life once and for all. The German colonial government had scrambled, with only the Namibian colonial administration holding on to a shred of territory, now called Deutsche-Südwestafrika. The newly independent countries wasted no time both in suppressing their own internal revolts and going to war with each other, and Ethiopia and Somalia had almost declared war on each other.

***

Late into the evening, Collins had sat with the French delegation, drinking wine long into the night and working with their advisors. Ireland had long been a member of Mitteleuropa and had chafed under its regulations just as the other member nations had. The French government-in-exile had been curious to see if the German offer was genuine, but had quickly run into a row when France had brought up that Ireland had not made entreaties to France in the Open For Business Initiative. Collins had tried to defend himself, saying that French Algeria had little in the way of businesses to open in Ireland. At the time Ireland had been courting for investment in 1936, the French exiles had been conducting their own Transsaharan survey, and were building a Algers-to-Mali railway, hardly conducive to opening a business in Ireland.

“I heard the Jacobins had hoped to open an automotive plant in Dublin. Was that true?” came a pointed question.

“They did. While they were sending boys to fight in the United States, fighting my own volunteers, they came hoping to give themselves a place to peddle syndicalism to their employees while they were stuck on the line. I’ll say, telling the Communards to piss off was satisfying. You and I fought on the right side during the Second American Civil War. Let’s fight on the same side again.”

The news of Mittelafrika’s collapse worried the German and Portuguese delegations immensely. The Kaiser had elected not to postpone or abort the proceedings at the Halifax Conference. Collins had speculated that to do so was to declare weakness in the face of the Entente. This had left the state of the conference in a terrible balance; one of the concessions that the Reichspakt had agreed to were the British and French colonies they had taken over after the Weltkrieg and the syndicalist revolutions. With those colonies no longer under their control, Kaiser Wilhelm may have hoped to demand further concessions from the Entente nations in exchange for their support. Collins had advised against it, with the loss of their African holdings the Reichspakt was weaker, not stronger. If the French had accepted the demands for Mitteleuropan membership, then the conference could be successful. They had already secured themselves in Indochina, there was no need to rock the boat further.

“In light of recent events, to further cement ongoing peace between the Entente and the Reichspakt, the German Empire requires the French government to formally renounce their claims to the territory of Elsaß-Lothringen. This will solidify the borders between our two nations and lead to lasting peace in Europe.” Kaiser Wilhelm addressed grandly, much to Collins’s shock. “This will be the German Empire’s final demand.”

The French delegation immediately stood up and stormed out of the council chambers. Collins, sunken-eyed from his late night, called the session for a recess, and sent O’Higgins to talk the French delegate down from aborting the conference altogether. On his fourth cup of coffee, Collins had no appetite as he met with Richard Mulcahy and Kevin O’Higgins. 

“What the hell is Kaiser Wilhelm thinking?” Collins tried to keep from raising his voice. “He just lost one of his largest colonies and now he wants to demand more?”

“He’s overplaying his hand. He doesn’t want to appear weak.” O’Higgins offered, trying to explain the Reichspakt position. “And with the loss of the African colonies, he wants to be seen as someone who delivered, not someone who capitulated to the Entente.

Richard Mulcahy shook his head. “I don’t blame him for wanting to project strength. They’re sharks out there and they smell blood.”

Collins scoffed. “Well, he did it in the worst possible way. Looks like I’ll need a secret weapon. Mulcahy, go and grab my bag from the cloakroom. Bring the small brown case.”

***

When the session reconvened, the tension was so thick the room felt like a jungle. Once the session was called, the French delegation immediately spoke.

“I do not see the reason in promoting further concessions. It is evident to us now that the Reichspakt has not come to bargain with us as equals.”

“That is a gross mischaracterization. The Reichspakt has already graciously seen fit to agree to the territorial integrity of the Entente, and sees no reason why it is not also free to claim its own sovereignty regarding its own territories.”

“And demanding that France surrender her economic sovereignty as well?”

“A speedy rebuilding and recovery is in German interests as well as France, and the best way to secure that is membership within the Central European Customs Union.”

As the discussion became more and more heated, Collins, the unofficial mediator, slowly opened a brown case seated on the desk, and pulled out a glass bottle, filled with a dark brown liquid. Few even noticed as Collins took the bottle into his hand, running his fingers over the finely-crafted neck, before taking the bottle, and smashing it as hard as he could against the hard oak table. The loud crash brought every delegate to quiet, and that pause held as the thick smell of whiskey began to fill the room.

“That...was the Cairedas bottle on display in the Dail.” Michael Collins began. “Five years ago, we made four of those bottles to commemorate a spirit of friendship and shared optimism for the future. That bottle was priceless. Now look at it, there are pieces of priceless scattered all over this table. Take a piece of it if you want, go ahead, cut your finger on something priceless and see how valuable it is. Because that’s what we have now, nothing.”

“Every single one of us has reason not to be here. And if that’s all that we have, then this is all we’ll ever be, pieces of something greater made worthless by the struggle. And those pieces will be swallowed up. If not by the syndicalists, by Savinkov. Is that all we are?”

***

It would have been poetic for the sides to have come to an agreement after Collins’s speech, but it had taken several hours of negotiation to work out an acceptable compromise. The Entente formally recognized their lost colonies as German territorial possessions. The Reichspakt agreed to take no territories from the Entente and not to interfere with the rebuilding process of the Entente nations save through mutual treaty, unconditional foreign aid, or private donations. Portugal vowed not to cause or entice any actions against the German colonies in Namibia. France agreed to join the Central European Customs Union, but did not have to leave the Imperial Economic Development Council or the Imperial Scientific and Academic Council, nor did IEDC or ISAC initiatives fall under the jurisdiction of Mitteleuropa or the Kaiser Wilhelm Society. France would also be permitted to maintain all previously existing trade treaties with Entente nations, providing it a significant advantage over other Mitteleuropa member states. Signals operators from each alliance would be detailed to the other alliance’s divisions in the interests of unified communications and joint operations at the divisional level.

Ireland, belonging to neither alliance, would also engage in sharing intelligence with both nations. Entente planes could utilize the air bases in Belfast to support combat operations on the British Home Isles. Ireland would participate in joint planning as a non-aligned full belligerent power. If necessary, the Dominion of Canada could utilize Irish territory temporarily as a staging ground for naval invasions of the Union of Britain. It was certainly not a small sacrifice, but Collins made it gladly.

As the Irish delegation prepared to depart, Richard Mulcahy whispered to Collins, once he was sure that they were on their plane and away from any Canadian microphones placed in their quarters. 

“I didn’t know you took the Cairedas bottle from the Dail.”

“I didn’t. I just paid Saorstat to make a replica.”

“You cheeky bastard. What were you going to do if they called your bluff?”

“Thank God, we’ll never have to find out. Come on, we’ve got a war to win.”

---

King Edward Abdicates

Collapse of Mittelafrika

Successful Halifax Conference

Alright, as I said, the format was a little different in this one, wanted to do a little character work for Collins. Less pictures in this one since the game doesn’t really replicate treaty negotiations (hell, it doesn’t even allow non-members to participate, but that wouldn’t do for this AAR) Decided to be a bit showboat-y at the end since in the Anglo-Irish treaty negotiations he was quite the darling of the London crowd. Had some fun playing around with the setting, even if it might get a little past the point. 

Two more chapters to go, the war and the peace afterward, plus an appendix to detail my units and my national focuses to give a picture of this new Ireland. Hope you like this one.

-SLAL