#he is rich spoiled and incapable of hearing the word no

[dummerjan]

Ming keeps getting compared to Vegas but I think he and his treatment of Joe (and other people) is much more similar to Kinn and how he treats Porsche

[ahouseofstarkdefender]

Beware the butterflies!!!

I would like to praise what Martin did today (on Aegon II's name day no less!).

He is not stupid. Honestly, I think he may have problems speaking and expressing himself, so he can't express his ideas when talking with dimwits (D&D, Condal & Hess) to reach some reason why they need to keep something on the shows, but when he writes he will blow up your mind.

And what he did today was amazing. Because I think that he put every word on purpose, in the way he always writes, with allegories and twisting things.

He talked about the butterfly effect. He called Maelor a butterfly, and he is.

They deleted a butterfly from the history of Westeros (series).

And Maelor, as Martin says, it's nobody.

"Maelor by himself means little. He is a small child, does not have a line of dialogue, does nothing of consequence but dies... but where and when and how, that does matter... "

And you see, with us, Maelor doesn't die in Bitterbridge, he died in the mind of Condal, and it changed everything for Martin for the series.

"Sometime between the initial decision to remove Maelor, a big change was made." he wrote

He was tired of HBO bullshit. He is rich, he is human, he has ONE dream and he wishes to fulfill it and then die in peace. He doesn't want to deal with this bullshit anymore, so he decides to break the NDA. Why? To piss them off?

No.

To slash them hard.

He spoiled Season 3 on purpose to force HBO to read the post. He revealed one scene. A scene everyone will know will happen. He actually didn't reveal anything because anyone who read F&B knew it would happen. What did Martin reveal? That it would be a meaningless scene. He can defend himself claiming the spoiler is already in HIS book. He can talk about HIS story whatever he wants.

I bet Martin took down the post with a smirk. Knowing it was already late for HBO. The damage to their "amazing" story is done. The author, who they claim is on their side, had spoken. They had been defending their bullshit claiming Martin is on their side, and Martin got tired of being dragged in the mud and defended himself calling them incapable of thinking.

"I have no idea what Ryan has planned - if indeed he has planned anything..."

There are still at least two seasons, and Martin doesn't want this series to end like GOT. He knows talking time behind the doors has already tried (and failed), so he decided to push them.

"There are large and more toxic butterflies to come if HOUSE OF THE DRAGON goes ahead with some of the changes being contemplated for seasons 3 and 4..."

He finishes with this message. With this warning. He is telling us, the fandom, the outline doesn't look good (it may be worse), and he is tired of shouting at a wall, so he decided to attack them with a simple post, a post everyone would read by spoiling a simple scene everyone knew it was going to happen, to hit HBO to react.

And he used Maelor, a simple, innocent and deleted butterfly from the history, to make them see the consequences they were causing.

I can imagine what were some of those "toxic butterflies" they want to come to the story, so Martin is preventing it making them hear him. And the fandom.

Yeah, they are trying to make damage control, and I'm sure their lawyers are shouting at each other, but Martin doesn't care because, in the end, he is right. And now he is going to be heard for once.

[inkykeiji]

you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.  

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

[shihalyfie]

A meta on Mimi and her character

Today’s spotlight character is Mimi! While the Adventure characters are all written to subvert character stereotypes (no, really), I feel this is particularly enhanced for Mimi, whose surface demeanor and the first impression you get from her suggest an almost opposite character to whom she actually is.

Disclaimer before we continue: While not to the same extent as Daisuke, Mimi’s disposition and personality have some significant differences in the American English dub compared to the original Japanese. As usual, this is not meant to be any particular comment about the dub’s changes, but simply that if you’ve only seen that dub, are reading this post, and are thinking “that doesn’t seem right?” that would probably be why.

Mimi’s family background and attitude prior to Adventure

Like with any of the other Adventure characters, understanding Mimi’s personality and why she acts the way she does is most easily done by starting with her family background.

We first meet Mimi’s family in Adventure episode 35.

There is a lot to unpack with only this scene alone, so let’s get started!

Mimi’s family is quite well-to-do. They’re not filthy rich or anything, but they’re well-to-do enough for Mimi’s father to work freelancer (he works in music). This means that Mimi grew up with a fairly “comfortable” life, probably getting pretty much anything she asked for -- in other words, she’s spoiled. It also explains why she’s actually pretty impeccably polite to everyone -- she adheres very firmly to honorifics when speaking to both elders and younger people, and never, ever speaks roughly or aggressively, because her parents have basically been raising her like a “lady of the house” (ojousama) or princess. (She does use casual-form Japanese, but she never lets up on the honorifics.)

They’re very open-minded. We learn in this episode that Mimi’s bizarre food tastes in liking natto on her eggs with sugar (from Adventure episode 6) most likely come from her mother, Satoe, cooking things like kimchi fried rice with whipped cream and strawberries. In other words, the family is very into the idea of “unconventional and strange” and has no qualms about it.

While Mimi in 02 is portrayed as liking practically any kind of fashion aesthetic imaginable, both her room and the overall decor of the apartment suggest that “in-your-face cute” is the generally favored one.

Mimi’s family is also extremely affectionate. They smother each other in lovey-dovey words, her father actively likes Satoe’s weird cooking ideas, and it’s a household where everyone seems to dote on and mutually love and support each other (Mimi’s parents are almost embarrassingly lovey-dovey) without restraint.

The result is that Mimi ends up “spoiled sweet” -- she’s pampered and used to a comfortable life where everyone dotes on her, but because of the family dynamic being so built on “affection” and “open-mindedness”, she also never develops a streak towards condescension or malice.

What does that mean, you might ask?

Mimi in Adventure

A lot of people remember Mimi by the fact that she was “whining a lot” in the early stages of Adventure, and the fact that she’s a “girly-girl” with some of the associated stereotypes. As a result, one may be surprised to hear that her behavior is actually supposed to be mostly representative of an average child in her situation, and she’s often described in press materials as “someone who can befriend anyone” or “someone who can get along with anyone”. Even her official website profile talks about how pretty much everyone considers her likeable.

This may seem difficult to believe at first, but you might actually notice a pattern when it comes to her “complaining” -- it pretty much always boils down to one of the following, or something along these lines:

I’m scared

I’m tired

I don’t like this/I don’t want that

I want a bath/bed/food/(some other home comfort)

I want to go home

In other words, Mimi is basically reacting like an average child would when thrown into another world out of nowhere! All of her complaints are out of low tolerance and high sensitivity -- all of these scary and uncomfortable things around her are making her feel bad, and she’s not hesitating to make that clear with her words.

However -- and this is very important -- these are all things she’s saying specifically because she’s now in a dangerous, unfamiliar situation in another world. All of these things are things she says defensively, because she’s sensitive to being uncomfortable or hurt, but she is also never aggressive towards others. In completely normal situations -- ones where all she’s doing is socializing at school -- it’s not hard to believe that she would actually be one of the nicest and most considerate people on the planet and that she would be instantly likeable to anyone she meets. Why? Because she lacks condescension or malice. She’s a very nice person who, if not for being under heavy stress, would never step on anyone’s toes. Even during those early episodes of Adventure, whenever there’s “down time” and they’re not in an uncomfortable situation or being chased by something, she goes back to being polite and respectful of others (remember: she’s one of the most adherent to honorifics among the cast), and is perfectly kind and agreeable with them.

As much as she may sometimes get demanding during the early episodes of Adventure, she also doesn’t expect her peers to cater to her nor does she look down on them. One of the biggest examples comes from the Adventure novel:

Mi–chan was pointing at the front of the bus, where a boy wearing a long–sleeved orange shirt was about to get off. Even Mimi knew who he was. They hardly ever talked together, but he was her classmate, Koushiro Izumi. Mi–chan wanted them to look at what Koushiro was carrying on his back – a wireless laptop. “Isn’t he so weird for bringing that all the way to camp?” Mi–chan sneered with mocking laughter, but Mimi didn’t laugh. She simply didn’t find any reason to.

In a situation where people are mocking this weirdo kid for bringing his laptop to camp, Mimi “sees no reason” to look down on him. To her, what’s the point? It’s not fun to be malicious towards others, and she sees no benefit in dunking on him. Hence, because she’s actually very polite and open-minded towards others, and doesn’t see any reason to be mean, she’s not mean, and so you can see why everyone would like her -- after all, she’s not only bright and cheerful, she’s also polite and kind! Who wouldn’t like such a nice person?

Mimi’s first “focus episode” is Adventure episode 6, and we already see a lot of these traits in action. Mimi gets to see the other kids making absolute fools of themselves under Monzaemon’s brainwashing, but the most she has to say is just observing that they seem to not be having fun, and being worried about their well-being. Once she finds out the truth behind what he did to them, she gets extremely angry on her friends’ behalf -- she actually calls them her “friends”, despite them barely knowing each other at this point!

And then when the Numemon step in to fight for her, despite her initially having been turned off by them (mainly because they make her uncomfortable, both by indulging in literal poop around her presence and by invading her personal space by flirting with her), she actually almost breaks down in tears over them!

What this all means is that Mimi’s “high sensitivity” also translates to something else: Mimi has extremely high empathy for others. In terms of being “sensitive”, she’s also sensitive to how other people feel. She worries about others’ welfare constantly, even when they’re poop-throwing slime monsters who had just flirted with her, or near-stranger classmates who just happen to have been thrown onto this adventure with her whom she barely knows. That’s why she’s so nice to other people -- she feels for them, and she constantly empathizes with others’ emotions, so that’s why she’s never rude to others nor does she step on their toes.

It’s also why, even after Koushirou rubs her the wrong way and momentarily causes her to lash out at him for being insensitive about her feelings in Adventure episode 10, she also never seems to hold a grudge against him thereafter (especially since, for as much as he was acting pretty frustrating, she understands he was doing it out of good intentions). In fact, Mimi is pretty much incapable of holding a grudge at all. (More on this later!)

Mimi’s most famous incident of “succumbing to her vices” is Adventure episode 25, when she ends up letting the Geckomon and Otamamon pamper her while stringing along and refusing to do the job they’d needed her for in the first place (singing to wake TonosamaGeckomon). Let’s go over what led to Mimi getting in this situation:

Mimi was basically at her limit. She had been in the Digital World for what had been implied to be months. Going that long without her bath or soft bed or comfort, it’s understandable that she finally let stress overcome her and succumbed to her vices in full. This is basically Mimi at one of her worst possible breaking points, not her most of the time.

Taichi, Jou, and their partners never gave her a very good reason why they should leave (Taichi never explained the problems going on in the real world, nor that he’d even taken a pit stop there) and now, for all she knows, they’re trapped in the Digital World forever, so when she sees an offer to make it all stop hurting, she naturally takes it -- especially when the people telling her to leave aren’t giving her any reason why except that she should.

Even despite all that, Mimi has a complete mental breakdown after her tantrum ends up throwing everyone in jail, dreaming about how everyone must hate her now and how even the Geckomon and Otamamon are tiring of her (the fact this pops up in her dream implies that she’d had a feeling this was coming for a while now). Sora comes to give her a little encouragement, but even she says that Mimi already really knows what she should be doing now. Mimi ends up bringing everyone out to apologize to them and fulfill her duty before the night is even over.

So let’s recap: Mimi is so empathetic and worried about other people’s feelings and what they think of her that, even in arguably one of the worst mental health crashes we’ve ever seen her have on screen, she still breaks down at the prospect of disappointing everyone and making them hate her to the point she immediately recognizes how far she’s fallen and takes it back before the night’s even over. That is how much other people, ranging from Taichi to a crowd of Digimon she’s only vaguely acquainted with, matter to her.

The full “payoff” for this episode in terms of the light of the Crest of Purity glowing and achieving Lilimon evolution does not happen until Adventure episode 35.

It is interesting for a lot of reasons, mainly because it involves all of the events happening in response to things that don’t sound very virtuous on their face (early in the episode, Mimi insensitively comments on Palmon being “bad taste”, and later in the episode she starts considering the Digimon tormenting others unforgivable).

The “Crest of Purity” (sometimes “Innocence”) is something that’s often been difficult to translate, mainly because the easiest words that come to mind often have other unwanted implications, but the real point of it is that, again, Mimi is lacking in malice. The way she talks to Palmon at the beginning of the episode indicates she really didn’t think Palmon would take it seriously (she even urges her to “not think too much into it”), only to find out at the end of the episode that she sort of kind of did. (Trust me, she’s very sorry about it.) The other thing is that, when she starts protesting at the Digimon at the end of the episode, she’s doing this specifically because she’s weeping on behalf of all of the tormented civilians (including her family) that are being caught in the crossfire. She’s so constantly empathetic towards other people that seeing other people hurt, regardless of how well she knows them, just eats her inside. So for her, those who cause that kind of suffering are unforgivable, because they’re inflicting that pain on others.

This is also what leads to her breakdown near the three-quarters mark of the series. Like with how she eventually came to empathize with the Numemon who fought on her behalf, Mimi holds no grudge against Scumon and Chuumon despite them having flirted with her earlier, and Chuumon taking a hit for her hurts her the deepest among all of the other kids. Because Mimi is so empathetic towards others, every death starts tearing away further until she finally can’t take it anymore. 

Mimi is fundamentally the kind of person who hates fighting, and even from day one she’d never liked it -- her way of “encouraging” fighting was more like hoping that Palmon (or her evolved forms) could survive. If she wanted to win, it was in the sense of wanting everyone to Not Die; she was never belligerent. But now that the actual body count of people she considers friends is rising, she associates fighting so deeply with that body count that the pain gets to her, and the last straw breaks in Adventure episode 45 in the form of two people she considers friends, Taichi and Yamato, getting in a fight. Everyone around her is hurt. Everyone around her is pain. The naturally empathetic Mimi feels all of this, and she thus decides to pull back from the fighting.

Mimi being such a firm pacifist does have its benefits -- not only does it mean that she holds no grudge against Ogremon in Adventure episode 46 and bid for treating his wounds even though Jou (understandably!) is initially more skeptical because of how he’d initially tried to kill them, she also creates a major dent in Ogremon’s “fated rival” philosophy towards Leomon by forcing him to question: so what if you do defeat your rival? Then what? What’s the point of fighting? Does it actually make you feel better to try and prove your strength this way? (Even Leomon, for all he’s portrayed as noble, is still shown to have a petty investment in his conflict with Ogremon in the following episode.) Ogremon tries not to think too hard about it, but Mimi questioning “what he would do if Leomon were gone” becomes a question he really does have to confront when Leomon dies in the next episode...

...which is also an important learning lesson for Mimi herself as well: fighting may cause collateral damage, but not fighting doesn’t help things either, because when less-than-virtuous forces are at work, casualties will happen either way. In fact, it’s even worse to be a sitting duck, because now you’re just doing nothing when people die right in front of you. Which is a lesson that Jou had wanted to tell her earlier, but didn’t know how to describe to her in words because of his own complicated feelings:

What he wanted to tell her was this: that he didn’t see any likelihood of co-existing with the Dark Masters, and that they had no other choice but to fight them. Even a neutral country like Switzerland had a military. They would be invaded by enemy countries without one. It would be nice and ideal if they used the nonviolent resistance approach as Ghandi did. But that didn’t mean it was okay to just be killed without lifting a finger… But not even he could find a good answer.

However, Mimi is still a pacifist. Even if she finally understands that fighting is necessary, that should not mean that she should now force herself to become someone gung-ho and enthusiastic about it. This is why, in Adventure episode 50, Jou contemplates different ways they can productively contribute to the fight -- because Mimi should not be obligated to personally fight herself when it’s not in her fundamental nature, and Jou personally does not feel that he’s very good at it. But Jou, having put some thought into “one’s own path”, realizes that literal physical violence fighting isn’t the only way to be “part of the fight” -- and so while Jou starts to realize that his unique role is becoming someone who can be a capable healer and doctor for those who are wounded, Mimi has her own talents that she can use to bring Digimon and other allies together. Because Mimi is a kind and charismatic person whom everyone finds likeable and would be willing to come along with, and since she holds no grudges against anyone, nobody would hold any grudges against her, so she’s perfect for the role of “bringing people together for the sake of what they want to protect”.

And she does. Adventure being a series that respects the contributions of those who don’t necessarily participate by direct fighting, Mimi’s rallying together of the Digimon becomes key to saving everyone in Adventure episode 52, and the fact that everyone’s together in the end makes for a great group photo.

Speaking of the final episode, in case the point hadn’t been driven home enough that Mimi’s the most empathetic and emotionally sensitive of the entire cast, the series famously ends on her very emotionally compromised farewell with Palmon. Of course, Palmon’s the one who kind of initiated it (she’s the one who initially refuses to see Mimi because she’s too emotionally compromised), but, after all, the series ends on Mimi being so frazzled about it that she loses her hat.

Mimi in 02 and beyond

As with the other Adventure kids, Mimi’s character arc continues in 02, and we learn a lot about her before she even makes her first personal appearance!

Firstly, we learn that Mimi’s moved to America. The in-universe reason is that it’s for her father’s work...or, at least, ostensibly so, because 02 episode 40 implies that the actual reason was that her parents wanted them to be away from Digimon incidents. (Which, of course, didn’t last very long.) The meta reason for Mimi moving, however, very likely has to do with the fact that 02 involves a subplot of Chosen Children appearing all over the world, and Mimi’s character involves an innate talent for bringing people together.

We learn in Two-and-a-Half Year Break that Mimi moved in 2001, only one year before 02′s events, and eventually got caught in the 9/11 incident -- where she met a number of other American Chosen Children in New York and, now much stronger of heart since the events of Adventure, was able to help them in the recovery efforts, despite there being a language barrier. With this, and the fact she’s shown at a huge party in 02 episode 14: they’re not kidding when they say Mimi can become friends with pretty much anyone. Even going to an entirely different country and dealing with a language and cultural barrier, Mimi is such a naturally kind and compassionate person that she immediately doesn’t have any problem fitting in. (Because, really, someone that level of kind and friendly is hard to dislike.) And in a world where international solidarity between Chosen Children is getting more and more important, that is a very valuable role to have.

The other thing we find out early about Mimi in 02 episode 2 is that Sora catches on that Miyako is a lot like Mimi, based on the fact that Miyako also is empathetic and has an aversion to fighting. And Sora’s completely right, because when Mimi does come into the picture, the similarities -- and differences -- between her and Miyako say a lot about both characters.

When Mimi arrives in Japan in 02 episode 6 (for her cousin’s wedding), she and Miyako immediately get along with each other, and Miyako instantly role-models her, to the point of claiming her as an honorary older sister (despite already having older sisters herself!). It’s not surprising; Mimi and Miyako are both very bright and cheerful people, and Miyako even shares the background of being slightly pampered by her family (although presumably more due to her being the youngest of several siblings). Mimi, for her part, continues her trend of being likeable and fond of pretty much everything (including even her beloved tuna-mayo onigiri that she hadn’t had for so long), and is perfectly happy to be tight with Miyako.

The Digitamamon incident in 02 episode 14, however, adds an extra layer into why Miyako idolizes Mimi so much besides Mimi just being cool in general: Mimi is kind, forgiving, mature, and incapable of holding a grudge -- to the point her pacifistic tendencies kick in even when Digitamamon gets hit by a Evil Spiral and she refuses to fight him, despite him literally starting to beat her up. Again, Mimi came to understand the inevitability of having to fight back in Adventure, but Digitamamon is, to her, a friend who was trying his hardest to turn over a new leaf -- so, naturally, she tries to see if she can appeal to his heart instead. Miyako, on the other hand, is on the opposite extreme -- she’s so judgmental about her poor first impression with Digitamamon that, despite fully knowing well that Evil Spirals cause their victims to lose their ability to have reason, keeps trying to use it as evidence that Digitamamon was a traitor from the get-go.

Considering that the “secondary Digimentals” arc is largely about Daisuke, Miyako, and Iori coming to terms with their deficiencies in their respective traits and aspiring to do better, Miyako unfavorably compares herself to Mimi because Mimi is everything she wants to be and currently isn’t. Unlike Mimi, Miyako is aggressive, in-your-face, occasionally judgmental, belligerent, sometimes insensitive (not by choice), and often shallow, which she fully admits to in this episode. Of course, the reason Miyako gets the Digimental of Purity (Mimi’s trait) is because she hates this about herself -- even in 02 episode 31, she gives herself no shortage of grief for her foot-in-mouth syndrome and the fact she’s not as “kind” of a person she wants to be, and she herself is also fundamentally devoid of malice, just quick to jump to conclusions and a bit sidetracked by first impressions. (After all, Mimi was guilty of being accidentally insensitive when she called Palmon lacking in taste back in Adventure; the point is that when both of them do it, they really don’t mean badly, and end up sorry for it later.)

But that’s a story for another post about Miyako; more importantly, the reason Miyako is harsh on herself about this in this episode is that, in many ways, she’s everything Mimi is not, because Mimi is empathetic and mature and polite and never steps on anyone’s toes.

02 episode 25 gives us more to work with; first of all, she’s depicted in yet another completely different hair and fashion style (which she brings up another of during the winter season), and her drastic shifts in style indicate more of her “open-mindedness”; she’s open to trying out tons of new things and is willing to like just about anything. More importantly, however, she turns out to be completely open-minded about recruiting Ken to help out, even though she’s well aware of what he’d done as the Kaiser (and, again, Miyako sees her ability to be forgiving as something to look up to). Because, again, Mimi doesn’t hold a grudge; she doesn’t send anything accusatory or forceful to Ken, but simply believes that he should be given the chance to know what’s going on and help out if he so chooses, which becomes key to Miyako herself also choosing to accept Ken at the end of the episode.

Given that Mimi is portrayed as so open-minded towards trying all sorts of things, it’s probably no surprise that her “career” in Kizuna is so different from what we eventually know she’ll be doing in the epilogue -- instead of her cooking show, we see her running an online shopping business. After all, with her being so open-minded about wanting to do potentially anything, it’s very like her to "dabble” in a few different experimental things before (or perhaps “without”!) settling for something. What we know about this business is also quite on brand for her; her business specializes in “cute” (her preferred aesthetic, which she also shamelessly dresses in), and she’s established as setting up business all over the world to the point she has to constantly travel. Presumably, her natural charisma made it easy for her to set up connections.

Interestingly, her website profile also omits any discussion of any kind of university or other post-secondary education, implying that, unlike the others, she chose to dive directly into her career after high school. Again, it’s quite like her to find something she wanted to do and pursue it the moment it was in front of her -- no matter what it is, as long as it’s interesting.

Mimi’s largest amount of focus in regards to the movie is in To Sora, where she’s seen checking in on Sora after noticing she hasn’t been in the group chat in a while -- again, as someone constantly empathetic to how her friends are doing, it’s natural that she’s the one who catches on and decides she needs to check in. As someone who loves uplifting and supporting her friends first and foremost, she happens to be fully aware of what everyone’s currently up to (compare how Taichi had to be actively updated on Sora and Takeru’s status from Yamato in the movie proper), and also provides nothing but positive supportiveness to Sora’s troubles during their conversation -- as usual, always respectful and polite, and never condescending.

And, of course, she naturally empathizes with Sora having hesitation about fighting -- both because she’s been busy herself, but also because she, of course, understands exactly how it feels for fighting to be emotionally taxing -- and declares that she’ll support Sora with whatever she does, just like how she found her own path back in Adventure by choosing to contribute by bringing people together instead of fighting. She makes do on this promise as well, considering that she keeps up with supporting Sora during her exhibition.

By the time of the 02 epilogue, Mimi has decided to change tracks entirely and go for cooking, which, while being very different, is also very on-brand. This time, the part about “cooking” is something that comes from her family, since, after all, experimental cooking (...of some kind) was something Satoe got the whole family to embrace. The exact nature of her job is literally “culinary researcher”, which is a Japanese catch-all to refer to the sort of “food critic” who experiments with food and writes extensively (or, in this case, runs a TV show) about different ways you can enjoy and put together food, which also goes in mind with her streak of “open-mindedness”. The common point is, really, that everything Mimi does comes out of positivity, supportiveness, and love.

[ferretrix]

haunted house

He said a home dies with its inhabitants. Even then I could hear the platitude in those words, just as much for himself as for me. And well enough; it’s what he found necessary to ease the guilt of allowing something to cease as it stands, turning your back after shutting the door, a condemnation to a slow end. Though people shut their doors as if they are closing the eyes of a deceased one in their casket, it brings no peace to something not fully gone.

    Later I spoke to him and asked what he intended to do with the place, and without a pause he replied that it would be best off forgotten. In contradiction to his previous statement, I pointed out, as forgotten does not always mean dead— arrogant, in fact, to say that because they determined the manner of its birth that they could elect the point of its death. Children do tend to outlive their parents, after all. 

    This didn't seem to go over well and he said nothing to me for the remainder of the journey. 

    I've found, in the great amount of time I've had to think, it is not that a home is incapable of dying peacefully. Certainly  rooms have been vacated without torment or tragedy and simply forgotten in the best way: lonely for a time, before realizing their walls to be crumbling and roof gaping with sunlight, as grasses and soft earth and crawling things keep them company in their quiet and finally rest. It becomes a home for other creatures and finds honor in that. 

    The Vair house did not die without honor for the fault of missing a blade in its hand or a lover to die for or a pride to subsume its final moments. A house cannot martyr itself or meet its end with anything but an upturned gaze from the ground, watching balefully as the slow vultures circle like black stars in a pale sky, through its windows that are many and clouded with dust...spoiled dirt... The Vair home found no honor because truthfully, the man and his family had despised it; they’d hated its poisoned gold and bitter lacquer, the cursed riches unfit for the nobleman’s sister who had doomed them all. Where did that hate between blood go when the man and his family left and intended to forget the curse and the blood?    

    I found that the house had not forgotten. 

    As of my visit, something will linger in its halls until the traces of the living and the human have been scraped clean as marrow from a brick and timber carcass. I walk the grounds and I feel lonely there. 

             What kind of carcass must watch as the rain unearths its bones from the bloody clay of its body, a body as lifeless as the day it was born? To turn in the shallow grave it cannot leave as mud swallows its foundations, airless?

    It is just a carcass. It is just a dream. The Vair House did not live and it did not die and it did not forget. It seethes but it is with me, now, whether I am its vessel or it mine.

[calypsoff]

Sixty Eight. Part 3

Honestly it’s annoyed me that my brother did and said what he said about me to my mother like, he knows what she is like and how she reacts about being a good wife “don’t take it out on your brother” it’s always the boys “I’m not but you’re making out I am bullying my husband when I’m not, he would say I am if I was” Chris snorted laughing “and Robbie I said jokes can hurt sometimes, he is your husband so he is priority. You’re being very hormonal baby” I huffed out “I give up” they really think I bully Chris “I must admit she can be very violent, it’s that Bajan blood” looking at Chris frowning “you need to stop right there, I mean it. Don’t let this ugly ass man make you think you can join him because you will be sleeping in the spare room” Chris gasped ���Robbie, it’s his birthday. Be kind” I think my mother is annoying me the most “just nobody speak to me please, I’m done” I can’t deal to hear anymore bullshit from any of these people, like why are they making out I am mean to my husband unless this is a ploy to annoy me, maybe I am being hormonal but I am not mean to him I just playfully annoy him and I like to do it because it’s so easy to do but my family like to make out I am bullying him “don’t speak” I pointed at Rorrey, I knew he was going to try and say something “I can’t even laugh, you’re miserable” getting up from the seat “I am cleaning” I rather clean then sit with these idiots that think I am being mean when I’m not “I will help you” Mel also got up, picking my plate up and walked around the table “relax baby” Mel said to me as I placed the plate in the sink “I am but Rorrey is actually riling mom up to say that in front of Chris making it seem like I am, I am not incapable of supporting my man and knowing when to not tease him” I said in a whisper “I don’t think they meant it, just relax” I am being very hormonal but I find it annoying, it’s my marriage.

I just finished cleaning with Mel, my mother made a lot of mess in the kitchen “ayo, how you get my high school picture in that jersey. I have gone taller too, that is dope” smiling at him “can I speak to Robyn for a moment please Mel” drying my hands off “sure birthday boy, also I need to find why Noella ain’t give you the present” Mel hit his arm “one of twenty six punches” Chris laughed rubbing his arm “mean as hell” watching him walk over to me “you like it? I think you look extra cute in the high school picture, imagine a daughter with long hair looking like you, actually no. That’s not cute” Chris laughed out “I would feel sorry for her if she did when she got a beautiful mom like you, you good?” Chris sat atop of the kitchen counter “what makes you think I’m not? I don’t want her to feel like she has to be like me, I really hope we never get that issue because it would hurt me. I don’t want that for my daughter” walking over to Chris “just seemed very annoyed at your family, you know they are joking with you. You not been doing anything to upset me at all” standing between Chris’ legs “just my family is annoying me and on top of that I am very hormonal and feeling sensitive about things, are you happy?” Chris gasped “happy!? I got a Rolex, and I am sitting in a Versace robe, I am over the moon. Thank you so much and your kind words to me, I don’t deserve it and I feel like you’re feeling a little emotional about things, I feel it, with the messages and everything. I know you, just don’t worry about it. You done a lot for me and I appreciate you” he wrapped his arms around me “thank you Poppa” I adore him a lot “hey Chris, JC is here” Chris looked behind him and at my brother “really? Why?” He questioned “I booked him for you, go and get a cut” moving back “oh wow, ok. Thank you” he is so oblivious about everything and it’s cute.

Yusuf is here and Mylah is also to dress me the hell up, I need to look good for my man’ birthday now “you are pregnant, like wow! It’s been a while, oh my god” Yusuf hugged me “like you really pregnant baby, you are glowing” I laughed out, he is having a meltdown seeing me this pregnant “be quiet and coming up the stairs, is Mel here with my dress and his suit?” He is nowhere to be found “knowing him he’s probably dressing up himself oh my god, my queen you look so good” holding Yusuf’ hand as we went up the steps “ayo Robyn” looking down at Chris “yeah?” He looks so handsome with his new cut “just want to say thank you, you keep surprising me even more. So thank you” I cooed out “it’s ok baby, I am going upstairs now” how adorable is he “your man is a cutie, happy birthday Chris. Can’t wait to dance with you tonight” elbowing Yusuf “hey!” He spat “thanks man” he’s so slow “you are so lucky he didn’t” mean mugging Yusuf “wait, he doesn’t know l... ?” Shaking my head “no he doesn’t know yet” I whispered “you are lucky he is not paying attention to it; he thinks we are going to a meal together and he’s paying” I laughed “he’s very cute you know; I mean bless his heart he came to say that to you. Awww baby” Yusuf cooed out.

It’s been a while since I have been dressed up like this and I am excited to say the least, someone to just do the dressing up for me instead of me doing my own makeup “doesn’t he think why everyone is here and why we came? Like deadass?” Yusuf is confused “well with what went on I stopped speaking about his birthday, I just altogether stopped caring and I just didn’t want to know because I was hurt. So to him he thinks he’s getting nothing but a meal, but I kept everything the same. I wanted to spoil him and he never did cheat on me, imagine if I just thought fuck it let me treat you like shit for something you never did, that would generally hurt him because he did nothing wrong. Privately I of course did what I needed but I kept it as that” Yusuf nodded his head “he seems like not the type so when I was reading I was like, nobody cheats on my sis” the bedroom door opened “oh, I came to get changed” Chris has clearly had enough of his robe “wait a little more, your outfit will be here” Chris nodded his head looking at me weirdly “you really getting ready for this meal huh” I smirked “I want to look nice for once, why not. Are you having fun?” I don’t want him to be sad now “yeah of course, I’m gonna be in the games room” he walked out, I’m glad I have a husband that can be a little slow “he’s cute, I’m gonna keep saying this” I giggled to myself.

Mel tied up my heels, he didn’t want me to bend over and do it which is sweet of him. I may regret putting these heels on but whatever, it goes with the outfit, but my feet will suffer and I am taking my slides with me just for later “you look so good Robyn” Mel got up from the floor, moving back from me “so beautiful, I saw this silk black dress and I was like Robyn will look perfect in it, your boobs have grown but it’s fine, beautiful. For your man’ birthday, I was speaking to Chris actually, he was so confused and said why am I wearing a suit, I said because I felt cute” I chuckled “he is not clicking on at all, he assumes we are having a meal, a real nice one too” Mel laughed shaking his head “he is so funny but come, let’s go down. A lot of the family have already left, let’s help you down” I feel so cute “does my butt look big” walking out of the bedroom “of course it does, but who cares. You flaunt that” he pointed at me as he walked towards the stairs “let’s be careful down these, I got you” smiling lightly at him, I hope Chris likes my dress. Holding onto the side, Mel took my bag from me and then I held onto his arm, slowly making my way down the steps “wow, it feels like I am meeting my wife all over again. Wow! Look at her” Chris cooed over him, his eyes lit up and smiled so wide “you look amazing twin, oh wow” I am getting shy now.

Me and my husband look so good, we look so fly and I am proud of how good we look, Chris thinking we are still going to a meal is making me laugh “how amazing is my Rolex though? Not as amazing as you my love” I cooed out “thank you Chris, you’re always there making me feel so special and so confident, thank you” Chris smiled at me “like you are getting me these things are just amazing, I didn’t expect it because like I wasn’t good to you, I didn’t call you and stuff, so I deserved it. Thank you, like with everything” he’s so thankful “don’t be, today is your day so stop saying thank you. I just want to see you smile and have fun, that’s what we are doing, that’s what you deserve and that’s what I want for you ok?” I love him so much “I’m hungry as hell actually, I can’t wait to eat” come to think of it that means he will be drinking on an empty stomach which doesn’t bother me actually because, it’s his day and if he wants to spend the next day drunk he can, I will let him have that fun today.

The driver stopped outside Poppy Nightclub “Giorgio Baldi?” Chris questioned “you know me so well but I wanted to spice it up, just thought I would you know have it here, a meal that is” Chris looks so confused, he is very confused “they do food in a club?” Rich opened the door for me, I also got Dennis to take pictures today. The full works I got it for him, I told them that I am coming so keep it quiet “it’s quiet isn’t it” I know Chris is not that stupid, maybe he is because he knows I wouldn’t lie to him which I am today “because I wanted it like this” Dennis is here bless him “Rich you looking handsome for my birthday, I appreciate it” Rich just side eyed him, Dennis continued to take pictures of Chris and I “shall we go inside then” I gestured “yeah, man I am hungry” nodding my head “ok go in then, be the man” Chris started to walk and then he stopped “are you lying to me?” he turned to look at me “about what part? Why would I lie? For what? Just go” maybe he is clicking on now, Dennis rushed by us to go inside, Rich held the door as we walked into the place which is pretty quiet the way I wanted it. Chris seems so reluctant to go further inside he seems to be walking so slow, he finally went by the board “allow me to introduce, his name Christopher Maurice Brown used to move snowflakes back in VA. Happy Birthday Chris, it’s big pimpin baby” Jay Z said on the mic as Big Pimpin started playing, I wish I walked ahead of him now. Chris froze in shock seeing the place just filled, I mean I was going to use my contacts, Jay didn’t say no “no way!” Chris spat, he turned to me in utter shock “Happy Birthday, I lied” I laughed saying “you got my dad in a club, oh my god!” I got him good, I am so proud of me.

Mel shimmied herself over to me “we be big pimping, spending cheese!” she sang to me “aye, aye. This is so fucking lit, like I am speechless. See me? His face was shocked, like he just peed himself. You should be proud of yourself” I grinned “I am, now I can relax. My feet are killing me already” looking over at Chris, he is busy just saying his hi to everyone. I invited everyone I could get for him everyone that knows him and then I did as Jay, he said yes so here we are. I will be taking these heels off actually “he looks handsome” my mom pointed at Chris, I grinned “he does” sitting down on the chair “already?” Mel said looking “yes, I have too. Even though these heels make me look even better but I can’t right now, the extra weight is a no” Mel crouched down “let me do it for you” looking up at my mom “I am going to say hi to him” nodding my head, this is going to be long night for me because I love my sleep more then ever, I have to make it through the night but Rorrey can deal with him drunk because I can’t do it.

[bindi-the-skunk]

Son of Frankenstein chapter 16

This was not how she wanted it to go! This was not how it was supposed to go! She was only trying to figure out a way to connect...now she was getting the talking down of her life as she sat on the floor having lost all her energy from the walk to the house and her game to get inside.

"You're a brainless, soulless, spoiled little rich girl whose ego is bigger than her creation! You were perfectly willing to die just to prove my other half wrong, like, yikes, how thick can you get? And it is only after you learned you spit him out your cunt did you start acting nicer, and even then the insults were an improvement to your meddling ass!" Edward picked and prodded at everything he hoped would hurt as he found the strength to pull away from Robert who slunk back into another seat to watch silently "And Henry said to take a bath once and a while! You smell like unwashed socks and bad choices!"

I didn't say that...

Let me handle this!

Frankenstein got the unpleasant urge to deck the little pest who saw fit to point out every flaw, hissing and writhing like a serpent as he did so, but that would not help anyone and would just prove Hyde right, so she did the next best thing.

She bit back

"Oh, really? And what are you? From what I heard you're a hypocritical, sociopathic brat who does not care for or about anything except doing what is fun at the moment! At least I am attempting to open up to you both! You both are just acting rude and ungra-" Frankenstein started only for Hyde to start laughing, a humorless cackle that would have wound up putting him in Bedlam if anyone on the outside heard it.

"Rude!? RUDE!? Your one to talk about rude! Even Henry has fallen inside our mind from laughing so hard hearing THAT one! You abandoned him! Made the lodgers abandon him! Spat all over his work and he sure as HELL is not going to forgive you so easily because you want to clear YOUR conscience from your sins! I am the physical representation of his darkest desires! I am what I was made to be! You on the other hand are whole! You chose to walk all over his work without any prompting or insult!" Hyde hissed, flecks of saliva flying out like venom at Frankenstein's face.

Victoria Frankenstein's face was a worrying shade of red as she started mumbling in gibberish, her mouth not working under her command to come up with a real scorcher against the gremlin as he toothily grinned like a shark in her face, she hated this.

Henry was loving this!

The split man laughed in a similar way to his counterpart as he watched the show unfolding before him, not caring that Hyde put words into his mouth, not like he could be any deeper into his grave, might as well keep digging, perhaps he would hit the center and burn, everything ending in one swoop...

That look of having been slapped with a wet fish upon Frankenstein's face was priceless! He could tell his rage and sadistic glee was just egging Hyde on to keep going, he did not care, the days of being the one insulted, pushed around, and broken down, was it any surprise he felt a bit vindictive? Now he got to be the one watching from the mirror as things turned to hell for someone else.

Let Hyde have his body!!! It was broken anyway at the moment, he could feel a bit more pain for all Henry cared, the little dressing down and the threat of a beating had only been the tip of what the little monster deserved after unleashing those hallucinations to torment him and stealing the body afterward, having the little rat act as a telephone between him and Frankenstein was just an added bonus.

Come on Hyde, keep going, you know you want to-Robert?

"Both of you stop it! This is not going to fix anything and is just wasting energy which you need to recover from your respective ailments, now I think either ...Mr...H...Edward, needs to sit down and rest but if he is incapable of that task you need to mix up another...potion...and bring Henry back out so he can do it, same with you Miss Frankenstein, it is too late for you to return to the society, so you will be spending the night here along with Creature" Robert said, standing from his seat "I will have a couple of beds prepared and I'm sure you can find some proper bed clothing in the trunk"

"I'm not staying the night here! Not with you!" Frankenstein argued, glad she found her voice again and had some flame left to fight, even if it was not able to be aimed at who she really wanted to punish.

"I'm afraid there is no other way and I'm sure Creature will agree"

"I do" came a voice from the kitchen

"Not you too Creature!"

--

After Creature wrestled Victoria into a nightie and Henry had been set back the way he was, the green man dragged her to the room to no doubt lock her in it for the night to keep their maker out of any more trouble.

Henry went to wheel himself into another bedroom, with no doubt Robert did not want anything to do with him at the moment, and giving the other man space would be the best thing to do but a voice paused him.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to get ready for bed"

The back of the wheelchair was grabbed, then Henry found himself wheeled into Robert and his shared room, and the door was promptly shut and locked making the injured man tense up, he was in for it now!

"Why? Why did you keep this from me? Why didn't you say you were in this deep of trouble? Why create Hyde at all?" Robert had been willing to wait till his lover was better to question him, but after the fight with Frankenstein, seeing him chug that potion...the sense that Henry had unleashed Hyde like an attack dog.

"I did not want to lose you, dark science has always been a....touchy subject, you co-owned the society with me...but to learn what I did to myself to try and cure...well..you remember how bad I was back then..." The split-man sighed, glad that Robert did not seem to be too angry with him, but that could change with one wrong word.

"I do remember...is that why you did it? Was it an attempt to feel better?" Robert asked, now glad he chose to not wait...and to not scream as he felt like doing, but that might be from dealing with three Frankensteins in one day even if Creature was not too bad and he loved Henry to death...

Poor choice of words.

"I just didn't...it just is a blur...I wasn't thinking...I just was so desperate" Henry said, lightly picking at the bandage around his wrist, if he had known all that this would happen back then...what would have been different? Better? Worse? "Now I learn I'm...you know...and everything just seems to be going insane...suppose I also did a little bit earlier...it felt so good...giving her a little bit back of her own medicine"

Robert clutched at his lover's hands "Remember what I told you earlier...it does not matter if you are a Jekyll or a Frankenstein, what matters is that you are Henry, that is who you are to me, doesn't that matter at all?"

"It means the WORLD coming from you, I just feel so lost...your the light in the darkness...my lantern...but I have wolves at my back and the unknown in front of me, I thought if I told you I would lose you and the darkness would suck me in completely...then THIS happens and things have gone even more to hell in a handbasket! And I just can't TAKE it anymore!!!" Henry wailed, tears streaming down his face "I knew I shouldn't have drunk it...not in your home of all places...but I just...I thought she might just shove it down my throat if I didn't! Then I felt...what I thought was happiness at seeing her suffer a little...that I was at least partially getting something that I wanted, but I don't KNOW what I want any more when it comes to her or the society, every one of them hated me after she arrived and only now are being kind because I'm related to HER!!!"

The freckle-faced man wrapped his arms around the other not sure what he could possibly say to make this better, and he had to admit to himself, there was nothing, this was something he could not bandage or sedate, this was something that had built up over years and the past few days of the constant bombardment of news and events finally made Henry burst.

Henry was broken beyond Robert's ability to fix, he knew about bones and sprains, colds and infection, not things that tormented the mind.

And neither Robert nor Victoria could fix him, no matter how much they tried or wanted to.

What are they going to do...

[inforapound]

With Our Eyes Shut Ch.5

A/N - Thanks for reading. This chapter has a little angst, alot of brotherly love.. Chapter 4 here. 

Pairing - Sigefrid and Genevieve 

The morning progressed like any other preparing for a raid with the men packing their horses and weapons for the ride to the next doomed village. Despite the shock the previous night, Genevieve rose ahead of Sigefrid and slipped out of the tent, busying herself, tidying the mess from the men's night of drinking.

When the time came, Sigefrid called her over to where he stood with his decorated war-horse, fitted with as much leather and fur-trimmed armour as him. She stood before him and his eyes flitted over her; her bowed face and soft shoulders, lips in a slight simper, making her appear almost bashful. He fucking loved it. Inhaling deeply, he inwardly sighed, the feel of her curves holding her all night, the smell of her hair and skin, flashed through his mind making his nostrils flare.

Taking a step closer, he picked up a lock of her long brown hair, placing it behind her shoulder. It was a tiny gesture but somehow meant to remind her that things had changed, and he was not going back.

"You stay close to the camp today. We will be back by dusk." Motioning with his head, he glanced over at the cook-fire where the male thralls were stacking freshly cut wood. "If you need water, send one of the boys to the creek."

Nodding, her eyes lifted just enough to meet his gaze for an instant.

"Hey," he hunched down in order to catch and hold her eye. "I will see you in a while, eh?" Those were the most romantic words of farewell he could muster.

Nodding again, her lashes fluttered and she smiled but it quickly faded. "Do come back though," she whispered, the center of her dark brows pinching.

Shifting even closer, his eyes brightened and he felt a thrill at the thought of her being concerned. "I will go to Valhalla one day, but not today, and not by the blade of any Saxon villager."

She nodded again and he could no longer resist. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek with his large weathered hand, his thumb sweeping away a speck of ash from her lightly freckled skin. She did not reach for him, but held his gaze, staring up into his dark eyes; eyes that were fixed on her pale pink lips. Like the fierce, Lord of Chaos yet chicken-shit-warrior he was, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Gods help him, he inwardly cringed, nearly shaking his head. But when he pulled back she was smiling, clearly happy with the outcome.

"See you tonight," she whispered, and turned away, heading toward the cook fire, peering back once over her shoulder.

Ready to leave his embarrassment in the dust, he mounted his horse glancing at his grinning brother and their similarly grinning men.

Grabbing the reins with his hand, he held his blade high above his head, "Today, we raid and send a message to Alfred that we are here to stay!" his voice boomed through the camp. "Let us strip them of their wealth and ride back rich, get drunk, and wake in warm beds."

Maneuvering his horse in a tight circle, his eye caught her smile one last time making his chest puff and him roar again into the air. Giving his horse a firm kick, he led the men out of camp, riding tall as if he possessed the invincibility of the Gods.

----

The men raided well and for the second time, there was little need for the clashing of swords. The threat of the Danes was now so realized that few picked up weapons to defend and instead fled to the forest to hide.

The spoils were less than the previous day but Sigefrid uncovered a finely crafted gold ring with a perfectly round, prong-set pearl. It was well crafted, with a simple beauty, small in size and perfect for the finger of a woman. Picking it up, he turned it over in his large hand before holding it up for Erik to see. The fair-haired Thurgilson responded with a simple smile and an encouraging nod.

---

The ride back was a joyous one with the men laughing and at one point, racing their horses over a hill through an open field. Arriving back, the buzz of excitement abruptly ended when they found the camp abandoned, the cookfire cold, and one of the thrall boys crumpled on the ground with a deep gash to his throat.

The camp was scoured and an enraged Sigefrid, incapable of tempering his panic, stormed about barking orders to find her.

"Where is she!" he screamed rushing out from checking their tent. "Where is she!"

His breath was heaving and his nearly black eyes were wild, scanning the area and surrounding trees.

"Sigefrid, here!" Erik called from somewhere over the slope and that led to the river on the edge of the camp. Rushing down the hill with three of his men, Sigefrid lurched to a stop seeing Erik crouched over the other thrall, badly wounded and barely conscious.

Blood covered his torso making it hard to know the extent of his injuries but it was clear, he had little time.

"Boy!" Sigefrid called as he approached, "What happened?"

Coughing weakly, the kid's drowsy eyes slowly tracked from Erik's face over to Sigefrid. "Where is Genevieve?" He pressed.

"Haesten," the thrall whispered and Sigefrid's eyes flashed wide.

"How long ago?"

"Not long," he uttered trying to point across the river to indicate the direction.

"Erik!" Sigefrid yelled as he turned away and began running up the hill toward their horses.

"You did well," Erik said to the boy, giving a nod, before placing his dagger to the young man's throat and putting an end to his suffering.

----

"Brother!" Erik yelled at Sigefrid's back, but he did not stop. "Brother!" He repeated as they rode single file through the narrow trees.

Their warriors rode in tow as they followed a dear path, the only visible way. The ground on either side was so densely covered with underbrush and bramble, it was impossible to lead their horses off the trail.

"Sigefrid!" He hollered again and this time, the older Thurgilson slowed his horse to a stop, each rider halting in succession.

"Let us stop and think about where he may be heading."

"We are losing time, she could already be dead," Sigefrid snapped back over his shoulder.

"You and I both know," Erik paused, clearing his throat, "that is not what he took her for."

Gritting his teeth, Sigefrid said nothing, his head and chest so tight, it felt like they might tear.

"If the boy was correct, this is likely the only path he could have taken," Erik continued, seeing that his brother was too furious to speak. "We will keep on but the light is fading and we will have to stop, at some point, for the night."

"You will have to stop for the night," Sigefrid replied, adjusting the reigns in his hand, his heal knocking the side of the horse to go.

——

The sun bid farewell and despite the star-lit sky, the forest was cloaked in blackness. The usual sounds of the night's creatures were absorbed by the rush of moving water from another river somewhere ahead. Grunting, frustrated, Sigefrid stopped and dismounted, not saying what everyone likely knew, that it was too dangerous to ascend the rocky slope to the water at night.

As the others followed his lead and lowered to the ground, offering their horses what water they had, Sigefrid, in the pitch black, unpacked his weapons and strapped them on.

Without a word, he headed off, continuing on foot, skidding on his heels down the dark path, his bladed arm extended in front to block branches from hitting his face. Hearing movement behind, he stopped and turned.

"Did you think I would let you carry on without me?" Erik asked, standing in the dark, equipped with his own weapons, even a bow slung over his arm.

Despite knowing his little brother could not see, Sigefrid nodded before turning back and carrying on toward the river's edge. Without a definitive plan, they moved in the direction of the water knowing its edge would provide a rocky but bramble free path.

Every step placed on the uneven ground, every breath drawn seemed to stir a new fear of what vile treatment she could be enduring. Bound, beaten, the images of Haesten's filthy body over hers plagued his mind; her beautiful face contorted in pain. He wanted to scream. It was his fault, entirely his fault. He should have hunted Haesten the previous night and slit his guts like a hog. Instead, he left her with the protection of children; young boys who were no match for a Dane with a sword.

"Sigefrid," Erik called from behind. "Let us make a plan."

Grunting, Sigefrid stopped, and lowered to a crouch, scooping water from the river into his hand to drink. Erik was right, they were rudderless, armed to the tits and stumbling in the dark.

Looking over, he could just make out Erik's outline, also taking water in his hand. "All I have done is..."

A noise sounded from somewhere in the distance making him freeze and lift his ear. It could have almost been the call of a bird, something shrill but at this late hour, he thought it unlikely.

"With the water, it is hard to know where that came from," Erik said and Sigefrid felt a rush of relief that he had not imagined it.

Pushing to stand, he waited, afraid to walk and miss another sign.... but after some time, none came.

"Does the sky seem brighter ahead?" Sigefrid asked, tipping his head back and looking up. There was no glow from a camp but there was a dark patch in the sky where the stars seemed less bright. "Let's go," he said, not waiting for a response, starting off into a run.

Without thinking, he stepped into the river, wading up to his chest, heading to the far side. The current was strong threatening his step but he pushed on, glancing behind to see Erik following, also up to his chest. Once out, they continued along the shore, Sigefrid rushing as if the direction was clear.

Through the trees, up from the river, the slightest flicker caught his eyes. Slowing, he motioned for Erik to look as they moved away from the water and into the tree line for cover.

Another scream ripped through the night and his heart lurched; she was there, Genevieve was there. Holding his breath, his pulse began to race, thundering in his ears.

As they rounded an outcrop of rocks, his worst nightmare came into sight. A large bonfire lit the scene; Haesten was standing, turned away, facing Genevieve in front. Hands over her head, she stood, strung to the branch of a large tree with a gag-like bandana in her mouth.

His blood boiled and he wanted to throw his ax, his sword, stab that filthy letch until his body bloated like a full skin of ale. Erik's hand on his shoulder made him flinch.

"It is far but I am sure I saw the glint of a blade in his hand," Erik murmured keeping his voice low. "The distance is still too great, but the noise of the river will cover our steps. If he does not turn, we may be able to reach him before we give ourselves away."

Saying nothing, Sigefrid stepped forward, his fury threatening to spill as he watched her struggle on the line while Haesten ran his hand up and down her body over her dress. The bastard placed his dagger to her chest, slipping it below the laces at her bust and began cutting the ties, making her squeal again. It twisted Sigefrid's insides and took every bit of his strength not to run and hurl his blade.

Stalking forward, he silently snarled as Haesten ripped the front of her dress apart, exposing most of her breasts. She sobbed through the cloth gag as his grubby hand kneaded her chest. Sigefrid could not hear what vile things Haesten was saying but he watched her turn her face from him, straining to get away.

Squirming, she managed to pull back enough to lift her knee and kick him between his short stubby legs. Stumbling back, he planted his feet, knife still in hand and lunged forward, grabbing her face.

At that Sigefrid broke into a run, gripping his ax, now close enough to hear Haesten's threats. Focusing on the center of Haesten's back, Sigefrid drew in a deep breath and raised his ax when, over Haesten's shoulder, Genevieve spotted him approaching. Haesten tensed, whipping his head around to look, his blade still pressed to her skin. Sigefrid lurched to a stop, frozen, as did Erik behind.

"My lord," Haesten seemed to cover any shock with a slick crooning voice, "I should not be surprised. I was expecting to see you.... sooner or later."

Snarling like a beast, Sigefrid's bared his teeth, his arm shaking, wanting to let his ax fly. His eyes darting back and forth between Haesten and the point of the knife poking at her sternum.

"Can you blame me, Lord? I had hoped to have time alone with her...proper time," he lowered his chin, smirking, "before slitting her throat but.... here we are."

Keeping his eyes on Sigefrid, Haesten raised his dagger to her throat and Genevieve braced, squeezing her eyes shut.

"No!" Sigefrid shouted and charged forward.

The rush of something whizzed passed his ear and Haesten's body jolted as an arrow ripped through the skin on the side of his throat.

Gasping against the gag, Genevieve opened her eyes, watching him fumbled back and drop the knife, clutching his throat with the point of the arrow protruding out the other side. Instantly, he dropped to his knees, falling onto all fours.

"Genevieve!" Sigefrid called and her shocked eyes returned to his, breaking again with tears.

Stopping just steps away, he lifted his ax and in one sweep brought it down, cutting Haesten's head clean off his neck.

Dropping the ax, he stepped to her, using his blade to cut the gag free from her head, then wrapping his arm around her and carefully slicing the ropes above.

She slumped into his arms, her small hands clinging to his chest as he hugged her tight against his still wet body. Guilt, anger, and sweet relief flooded every part of him. The thought of what could have been still a spear stuck in his heart.

"Are you hurt?" He pressed his lips to the top of her hair but she did not answer. Leaning back, he reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand, lifting her face to his. "Gen, did he hurt you?"

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, more tears slipping out. "No," she whimpered, and opened her brown eyes, staring up into his. "He did not get the chance."

Pulling her against him, he embraced her again, resting the side of his face to hers. Closing his own eyes, he silently gave thanks to the Gods, grateful he found her, grateful to Erik who still stood behind with the bow in his hand, and grateful he would have the chance to love her, as he had, all along.

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[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

2nd April >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Good Friday

(Liturgical Colour: Red)

(There is no Mass today. The readings given here are used in the afternoon celebration of the Lord's Passion)

First Reading

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

The servant of the Lord, an expiatory Sacrifice

See, my servant will prosper, he shall be lifted up, exalted, rise to great heights.

As the crowds were appalled on seeing him – so disfigured did he look that he seemed no longer human – so will the crowds be astonished at him, and kings stand speechless before him; for they shall see something never told and witness something never heard before: ‘Who could believe what we have heard, and to whom has the power of the Lord been revealed?’

Like a sapling he grew up in front of us, like a root in arid ground. Without beauty, without majesty we saw him, no looks to attract our eyes; a thing despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering, a man to make people screen their faces; he was despised and we took no account of him.

And yet ours were the sufferings he bore, ours the sorrows he carried. But we, we thought of him as someone punished, struck by God, and brought low. Yet he was pierced through for our faults, crushed for our sins. On him lies a punishment that brings us peace, and through his wounds we are healed.

We had all gone astray like sheep, each taking his own way, and the Lord burdened him with the sins of all of us. Harshly dealt with, he bore it humbly, he never opened his mouth, like a lamb that is led to the slaughter-house, like a sheep that is dumb before its shearers never opening its mouth.

By force and by law he was taken; would anyone plead his cause? Yes, he was torn away from the land of the living; for our faults struck down in death. They gave him a grave with the wicked, a tomb with the rich, though he had done no wrong and there had been no perjury in his mouth.

The Lord has been pleased to crush him with suffering. If he offers his life in atonement, he shall see his heirs, he shall have a long life and through him what the Lord wishes will be done.

His soul’s anguish over he shall see the light and be content. By his sufferings shall my servant justify many, taking their faults on himself.

Hence I will grant whole hordes for his tribute, he shall divide the spoil with the mighty, for surrendering himself to death and letting himself be taken for a sinner, while he was bearing the faults of many and praying all the time for sinners.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 30(31):2,6,12-13,15-17,25

R/ Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

In you, O Lord, I take refuge.    Let me never be put to shame. In your justice, set me free, Into your hands I commend my spirit.    It is you who will redeem me, Lord.

R/ Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

In the face of all my foes    I am a reproach, an object of scorn to my neighbours    and of fear to my friends.

R/ Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

Those who see me in the street    run far away from me. I am like a dead man, forgotten in men’s hearts,    like a thing thrown away.

R/ Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

But as for me, I trust in you, Lord;    I say: ‘You are my God. My life is in your hands, deliver me    from the hands of those who hate me.

R/ Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

Let your face shine on your servant.    Save me in your love.’ Be strong, let your heart take courage,    all who hope in the Lord.

R/ Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.

Second Reading

Hebrews 4:14-16,5:7-9

The Lord burdened him with the sins of all of us

Since in Jesus, the Son of God, we have the supreme high priest who has gone through to the highest heaven, we must never let go of the faith that we have professed. For it is not as if we had a high priest who was incapable of feeling our weaknesses with us; but we have one who has been tempted in every way that we are, though he is without sin. Let us be confident, then, in approaching the throne of grace, that we shall have mercy from him and find grace when we are in need of help.

   During his life on earth, he offered up prayer and entreaty, aloud and in silent tears, to the one who had the power to save him out of death, and he submitted so humbly that his prayer was heard. Although he was Son, he learnt to obey through suffering; but having been made perfect, he became for all who obey him the source of eternal salvation.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Gospel Acclamation

Philippians 2:8-9

Glory and praise to you, O Christ! Christ was humbler yet, even to accepting death, death on a cross. But God raised him high and gave him the name which is above all names. Glory and praise to you, O Christ!

Gospel

John 18:1-19:42

The Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ

Key: N. Narrator. ✠ Jesus. O. Other single speaker. C. Crowd, or more than one speaker.

   N. Jesus left with his disciples and crossed the Kedron valley. There was a garden there, and he went into it with his disciples. Judas the traitor knew the place well, since Jesus had often met his disciples there, and he brought the cohort to this place together with a detachment of guards sent by the chief priests and the Pharisees, all with lanterns and torches and weapons. Knowing everything that was going to happen to him, Jesus then came forward and said,    ✠ Who are you looking for?    N. They answered,    C. Jesus the Nazarene.    N. He said,    ✠ I am he.    N. Now Judas the traitor was standing among them. When Jesus said, ‘I am he’, they moved back and fell to the ground. He asked them a second time,    ✠ Who are you looking for?    N. They said,    C. Jesus the Nazarene.    N. Jesus replied,    ✠ I have told you that I am he. If I am the one you are looking for, let these others go.    N. This was to fulfil the words he had spoken, ‘Not one of those you gave me have I lost.’    Simon Peter, who carried a sword, drew it and wounded the high priest’s servant, cutting off his right ear. The servant’s name was Malchus. Jesus said to Peter,    ✠ Put your sword back in its scabbard; am I not to drink the cup that the Father has given me?    N. The cohort and its captain and the Jewish guards seized Jesus and bound him. They took him first to Annas, because Annas was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, who was high priest that year. It was Caiaphas who had suggested to the Jews, ‘It is better for one man to die for the people.’    Simon Peter, with another disciple, followed Jesus. This disciple, who was known to the high priest, went with Jesus into the high priest’s palace, but Peter stayed outside the door. So the other disciple, the one known to the high priest, went out, spoke to the woman who was keeping the door and brought Peter in. The maid on duty at the door said to Peter,    O. Aren’t you another of that man’s disciples?    N. He answered,    O. I am not.    N. Now it was cold, and the servants and guards had lit a charcoal fire and were standing there warming themselves; so Peter stood there too, warming himself with the others.    The high priest questioned Jesus about his disciples and his teaching. Jesus answered,    ✠ I have spoken openly for all the world to hear; I have always taught in the synagogue and in the Temple where all the Jews meet together: I have said nothing in secret. But why ask me? Ask my hearers what I taught: they know what I said.    N. At these words, one of the guards standing by gave Jesus a slap in the face, saying,    O. Is that the way to answer the high priest?    N. Jesus replied,    ✠ If there is something wrong in what I said, point it out; but if there is no offence in it, why do you strike me?    N. Then Annas sent him, still bound, to Caiaphas the high priest.    As Simon Peter stood there warming himself, someone said to him,    O. Aren’t you another of his disciples?    N. He denied it, saying,    O. I am not.    N. One of the high priest’s servants, a relation of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, said,    O. Didn’t I see you in the garden with him?    N. Again Peter denied it; and at once a cock crew.    They then led Jesus from the house of Caiaphas to the Praetorium. It was now morning. They did not go into the Praetorium themselves or they would be defiled and unable to eat the passover. So Pilate came outside to them and said,    O. What charge do you bring against this man?    N. They replied,    C. If he were not a criminal, we should not be handing him over to you.    N. Pilate said,    O. Take him yourselves, and try him by your own Law.    N. The Jews answered,    C. We are not allowed to put a man to death.    N. This was to fulfil the words Jesus had spoken indicating the way he was going to die.    So Pilate went back into the Praetorium and called Jesus to him, and asked,    O. Are you the king of the Jews?    N. Jesus replied,    ✠ Do you ask this of your own accord, or have others spoken to you about me?    N. Pilate answered,    O. Am I a Jew? It is your own people and the chief priests who have handed you over to me: what have you done?    N. Jesus replied,    ✠ Mine is not a kingdom of this world; if my kingdom were of this world, my men would have fought to prevent my being surrendered to the Jews. But my kingdom is not of this kind.    N. Pilate said,    O. So you are a king, then?    N. Jesus answered,    ✠ It is you who say it. Yes, I am a king. I was born for this, I came into the world for this: to bear witness to the truth; and all who are on the side of truth listen to my voice.    N. Pilate said,    O. Truth? What is that?    N. and with that he went out again to the Jews and said,    O. I find no case against him. But according to a custom of yours I should release one prisoner at the Passover; would you like me, then, to release the king of the Jews?    N. At this they shouted:    C. Not this man, but Barabbas.    N. Barabbas was a brigand.    Pilate then had Jesus taken away and scourged; and after this, the soldiers twisted some thorns into a crown and put it on his head, and dressed him in a purple robe. They kept coming up to him and saying,    C. Hail, king of the Jews!    N. and they slapped him in the face.    Pilate came outside again and said to them,    O. Look, I am going to bring him out to you to let you see that I find no case.    N. Jesus then came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said,    O. Here is the man.    N. When they saw him the chief priests and the guards shouted,    C. Crucify him! Crucify him!    N. Pilate said,    O. Take him yourselves and crucify him: I can find no case against him.    N. The Jews replied,    C. We have a Law, and according to that Law he ought to die, because he has claimed to be the Son of God.    N. When Pilate heard them say this his fears increased. Re-entering the Praetorium, he said to Jesus    O. Where do you come from?    N. But Jesus made no answer. Pilate then said to him,    O. Are you refusing to speak to me? Surely you know I have power to release you and I have power to crucify you?    N. Jesus replied,    ✠ You would have no power over me if it had not been given you from above; that is why the one who handed me over to you has the greater guilt.    N. From that moment Pilate was anxious to set him free, but the Jews shouted,    C. If you set him free you are no friend of Caesar’s; anyone who makes himself king is defying Caesar.    N. Hearing these words, Pilate had Jesus brought out, and seated himself on the chair of judgement at a place called the Pavement, in Hebrew Gabbatha. It was Passover Preparation Day, about the sixth hour. Pilate said to the Jews,    O. Here is your king.    N. They said,    C. Take him away, take him away! Crucify him!    N. Pilate said,    O. Do you want me to crucify your king?    N. The chief priests answered,    C. We have no king except Caesar.    N. So in the end Pilate handed him over to them to be crucified.    They then took charge of Jesus, and carrying his own cross he went out of the city to the place of the skull or, as it was called in Hebrew, Golgotha, where they crucified him with two others, one on either side with Jesus in the middle. Pilate wrote out a notice and had it fixed to the cross; it ran: ‘Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews.’ This notice was read by many of the Jews, because the place where Jesus was crucified was not far from the city, and the writing was in Hebrew, Latin and Greek. So the Jewish chief priests said to Pilate,    C. You should not write ‘King of the Jews,’ but ‘This man said: “I am King of the Jews.”’    N. Pilate answered,    O. What I have written, I have written.    N. When the soldiers had finished crucifying Jesus they took his clothing and divided it into four shares, one for each soldier. His undergarment was seamless, woven in one piece from neck to hem; so they said to one another,    C. Instead of tearing it, let’s throw dice to decide who is to have it.    N. In this way the words of scripture were fulfilled:

   They shared out my clothing among them.    They cast lots for my clothes.

This is exactly what the soldiers did.    Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. Seeing his mother and the disciple he loved standing near her, Jesus said to his mother,    ✠ Woman, this is your son.    N. Then to the disciple he said,    ✠ This is your mother.    N. And from that moment the disciple made a place for her in his home.    After this, Jesus knew that everything had now been completed, and to fulfil the scripture perfectly he said:    ✠ I am thirsty.    N. A jar full of vinegar stood there, so putting a sponge soaked in the vinegar on a hyssop stick they held it up to his mouth. After Jesus had taken the vinegar he said,    ✠ It is accomplished;    N. and bowing his head he gave up his spirit.

     (Here all kneel and pause for a short time)

     It was Preparation Day, and to prevent the bodies remaining on the cross during the sabbath – since that sabbath was a day of special solemnity – the Jews asked Pilate to have the legs broken and the bodies taken away. Consequently the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first man who had been crucified with him and then of the other. When they came to Jesus, they found he was already dead, and so instead of breaking his legs one of the soldiers pierced his side with a lance; and immediately there came out blood and water. This is the evidence of one who saw it – trustworthy evidence, and he knows he speaks the truth – and he gives it so that you may believe as well. Because all this happened to fulfil the words of scripture:

   Not one bone of his will be broken;

and again, in another place scripture says:

   They will look on the one whom they have pierced.

After this, Joseph of Arimathaea, who was a disciple of Jesus – though a secret one because he was afraid of the Jews – asked Pilate to let him remove the body of Jesus. Pilate gave permission, so they came and took it away. Nicodemus came as well – the same one who had first come to Jesus at night-time – and he brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths, following the Jewish burial custom. At the place where he had been crucified there was a garden, and in this garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been buried. Since it was the Jewish Day of Preparation and the tomb was near at hand, they laid Jesus there.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic – modern AU Curufin/future wife

Summary: A poor girl stumbles onto a rich boy at a nightclub, and they hit it off. Too bad that it turns out neither of them is what the other thought.

A modern AU first meeting. A bit funny, a bit sexy, a bit sad.

Wordcount: ~2,200 words; Rating: Mature audiences (mild for M)

Some keywords: alternate universe - modern setting, mild sexual content, class differences, misunderstandings

A/N: This is very different from my other fics in content and style, but the Curufinwë and Netyarë in this are the same as in my fic Sparks fly out and its sequels, personality-wise, though they are of course different in some respects because they exist in modern times this time.

You don't need to have read any of my other fics to read this. Quenya names used.

Warnings: alcohol, having sex when both parties are drunk, swearwords including the f-word, and talk of prostitution (no actual prostitution)

AO3 LINK

*

Pink dress and high heels, suit and tie

It was far from a meet cute, Netyarë thinks later when things between them are very different.

Instead of a meet cute it's both of them on a wild night out. Netyarë's at a friend's bachelorette party, wearing high-heeled pink pumps and a tight pink dress that she hates because it pinches her sides while also making her feel too exposed. She's not drunk enough for how late it is, and she's rather grumpy because the party hasn't been that much fun. The others have been bickering all night.

She needed fun after the week she's had. Asshole customers in both her jobs, and a botched painting she'd had high hopes for. The materials for that one had cost a lot.

It's getting very late and Netyarë's both horny and lonely. It's not a great mood, especially the loneliness, but she's been single longer than she wanted to be after her last break-up. There's nothing quite like the approaching wedding of a friend to remind you of just how single you are.

She tries to shake the loneliness off on the dancefloor with the two other bridesmaids that are still standing, though one of them would probably not be if she didn't have a guy to lean on. Netyarë doesn't know where she got the guy from. The bachelorette party has disintegrated almost completely, everyone pairing off or wandering off or escorting the nearly black-out drunk bride home.

Netyarë decides not to care that most of the others are gone. She dances wild enough to lose her bridesmaid's sash somewhere on the floor, and doesn't bother looking for it. She also dances wild enough to accidentally bump into a guy in a suit who grabs her arms to steady her and says 'whoa', and then again 'whoa' as he looks down at her.

He seems to be the same degree of drunk as she is – rather, but not too much to have fun or be incapable of making half-sensible decisions. And he's tall, dark, and handsome, like the best kind of cliché, if also rather cocky by what little she can hear him shout to her as they try to talk over the music.

And he is a spoiled rich boy, judging by his clothes and general attitude, with a name that reminds Netyarë of something she can't quite grasp right now. She thinks she might not have heard it right in all the noise. It doesn't matter, though.

On principle Netyarë doesn't fuck guys like this but this one is also rather charming. She likes the shine in his beautiful, long-lashed eyes when he mentions his job which, thank all the gods, isn't hedge fund manager or investment banker. He actually creates things too, and Netyarë likes the passion in his voice.

She doesn't mention any of her jobs because a rich boy's reaction to them would just depress her and that would make sure she went home alone today. Sometimes it is better not to confirm one's worst suspicions.

But the longer she talks to him in a shadowy corner of the club they've retreated to, slowly sipping the ridiculously expensive drink he bought her –

and then dances with him again (posh boy has moves, surprisingly, though he needed to buy and drown a shot before getting on the dancefloor with her) –

the more Netyarë feels like she wants him to come home with her.

Surely her rule of not having sex with guys like this can be relaxed to not dating them, she persuades herself. He wouldn't even want to date her, certainly not if he sees her cheap clothes and apartment in daylight.

She texts a friend to tell her she's asking someone to spend the night with her.

When she whispers the invitation in his ear, her hand on his thigh, he shivers in a way that's very satisfying. She takes his hand when he reaches for her, and they half-run the few blocks to her shitty apartment. Netyarë wonders what he was even doing in that club in this part of town but doesn't bother to ask.

(If she had, Curufinwë might have told her, or not, that he had a shit week too, with constant problems at work and too little sleep. He'd wanted to wind down somewhere where he wouldn't run into any of the people who made his week terrible. Tyelkormo knew a place; of course he did, and then found someone within an hour and disappeared with them so fast Curufinwë didn't even see what gender they were.)

Whatever his reason for slumming it tonight, the posh boy does get a snotty look on his face in the grimy stairwell of Netyarë's building. And maybe he would have that look in her shabby apartment too if he wasn't too busy kissing her like his life depends on it, long-fingered hands reaching for the infuriatingly tiny zipper of her dress as soon as they get in the door.

And it turns out that a tall rich boy doesn't mind a small bed when he's fucking her on it like his life also depends on that.

He's less selfish in bed than she expected from someone like him and his long finges are dextrous and talented, which – good for him, and good for her.

Looking down at her, he says between pants and thrusts, 'Fuck, your body – a piece of art –' and she grins at that, and at how desperately his hands hold on to her ampler-than-she-likes hips. How could she not grin, and meet his thrusts with even more enthusiasm, when he is like that?

'Fuck, your smile', he says, and crushes their mouths together. He tastes of good whisky.

Netyarë is very pleased with herself for relaxing her rule, and with how the not-so-great bachelorette party ended up ending for her.

And afterwards he's a cuddler – isn't that the weirdest thing? – so they fit in her bed well even after he mumbles, 'Can I stay the night', and promptly falls asleep. One of those men, then.

Netyarë doesn't mind being held. She might or might not run her fingers through his soft black hair once or twice before falling asleep herself.

In the morning, too early, she wakes up to him standing next to the bed, looming over her, asking, 'How much?'

When she doesn't reply, he repeats, 'How much? Come on, just tell me. I have a meeting I've got to get to.'

'It's Saturday', she replies, not understanding anything else of what he says, but with a sinking feeling in her stomach. He has his wallet in hand, and a wad of cash.

'I've still got a meeting', he says, his lips a tight line that is at odds with his bedhead and rumpled shirt. He adds, 'I'm not going to pay you any more if you drag this out. Just tell me what I owe you for what I did to you last night. Your standard rate.'

He has to repeat once more before she replies, and what she says is, 'You think I'm a prostitute?'

Rather she yells it, and gets up. There's a bad taste in her mouth that is not just her hangover.

And he is way too tall when she's not wearing high heels.

'I'm not a hooker', she says slowly as if to an idiot, because he just stands there gaping at her.

He splutters. 'You were certainly dressed just like one! With the, the cheap skin-tight dress and the fuck-me heels!'

'I was not! – I was dressed like all the other bridesmaids at the bachelorette party', Netyarë defends herself. 'But, shit, the dress was chosen by the maid of honour who has half the tits that I do and doesn't understand that 'low-cut' means 'lewd' for a bustier girl when she has to wear a small size because she's so damn short… or it means she actually looks like a hooker. Oh gods.'

She sits back down on the bed.

(Curufinwë thinks that she was attractive in the tight pink dress that he didn't know was for a bachelorette's, but she's lovelier in nothing in the morning light spilling in from the surprisingly large windows of this otherwise depressing room. He shakes his head and blames his hangover for that thought.)

Netyarë can't help saying, 'I can't believe you thought I was a hooker.' She looks him up and down. 'Why would a guy who looks like you even pay for sex? Is it, I don't know, some kind of sick thrill for you?'

'Fuck you', he says, and she thinks hysterically, you did. He says, stiffly, 'For your information, I've never paid for sex.'

'Nice for you that you don't have to break that streak', Netyarë grinds out. She feels like she wants to sleep for another four hours. 'Now get out.'

He finishes dressing in silence. She picks up his tie from between her pillows and hands it to him. She wonders why he didn't ask for her price last night before they got into bed. It would have stung less than this, being asked afterwards when she cannot un-fuck him. She doesn't ask him, though.

He hesitates at the doorway. She stands nearby, tense, wanting to make sure he leaves.

'Are you sure you don't want –' and his hand hovers over his pocket where he put his wallet, 'I think we might have almost broken your bed. It wobbled a lot more near the end.'

'How many times do I have to tell you, I don't have sex for money. Get out. And', she adds, his words from a couple of minutes ago suddenly surfacing in her mind, 'for your information, it wasn't just you doing things to me last night – we did things to each other, and together.'

Or so she thought at least. Why did he even bother making it good for her if he thought she was a prostitute? She has no idea.

Gods, the next time she feels even a little bit lonely, she'll come home straight away and cuddle with her couch pillows. Better to be pathetic in that way than this.

As he opens the door he looks like he wants to say something more, the set of his shoulders stiff and determined, but the look she sets on her face works to persuade him otherwise, and he leaves without a word.

Netyarë closes the door behind him with a little too much force. She takes a very long, very hot shower, eats ice cream for breakfast, and then gets to work trying to resurrect her botched-up painting before her afternoon shift at the sleazy bar where she still bartends a couple of days a week. She'll be able to quit that job soon if she sells a couple more paintings for as good a price as she got for her last one.

(Curufinwë walks in a random direction for two blocks before he realises that actually he needs to call a cab. He ends up being twenty minutes late for his meeting, hair still wet from the shower.

He is as irritable as a poked bear for the whole day, and when Tyelkormo asks how his night went, he says, 'Badly', and nothing more no matter how much Tyelko tries to pry or shares about his own night.)

*

Two days later, like every Monday, Curufinwë comes to have lunch with his mother at her sculpting studio.

Nerdanel kisses his cheek as she lets him in and says, 'Come meet the artist I've been talking about. We started our collaboration today.'

Curufinwë would rather not. He's been in a constantly foul mood since Saturday morning and just wanted to talk about family things with his mother and kid brothers, and try to forget all about his disastrous personal life.

Following his mother as she chatters, he walks to the side room of the studio where there's a table free of marble dust, reserved for eating.

And there's Netyarë in a paint-splattered artist's smock, her brown hair tied up in a messy bun, setting the table.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, runs through Curufinwë's head as Nerdanel introduces them.

(And through Netyarë's.)

'You're a painter?' Curufinwë asks her in an angry whisper when Nerdanel is busy with the food and making the twins carry it to the table.

'Do you like that better than what you thought I was?' Netyarë hisses back.

She is remarkably shorter than him when she's not wearing heels, and as she looks at him, eyes sparking, Curufinwë thinks she really looks like she doesn't like having to look so far up at him.

Nerdanel gets back before Curufinwë has a chance to reply to Netyarë with more than a dark look.

Tilting her head curiously, Nerdanel asks them, 'Do you two know each other?'

'We've met before', Netyarë says, stiff. 'Briefly.'

Curufinwë says nothing.

(Actually he says remarkably little to her over the course of the meal, little enough to be rude, especially when he also sits all tense and stiff-necked and with a prideful look on his face that is no doubt a facet of his arrogance, like his cockiness at the nightclub.

But his mother is wonderful – offering Netyarë an opportunity that could very well be her big break, collaborating with such an esteemed, established artist – and Curufinwë's teenaged little brothers are entertaining, so Netyarë just tries to not care about Curufinwë's glowering and silence.)

Curufinwë tries not to care that Netyarë doesn't look at him even once.

(Neither of them has much success.)

*

A/N: Yep, so this ends in basically the same place as the first chapter of Sparks fly out, but got there by a more circuitous and NSFW route.

This definitely belongs in the top three of 'most self-indulgent things I've written' but I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading!

Please let me know what you thought of this alternative first meeting :)

[thrushpot]

rich boy boredom

Steve Harrington x fem reader

“Could you do a billy or Steve imagine? It’s my 21st today and I feel really homesick and alone (I’m on the other side of the country at uni) and idk I feel like I can’t talk to my housemates so I’m projecting onto fictional characters” requested by anonymous.

word count: 1,922

warning(s): swearing, shoplifting, vandalism (up to no good basically)

a/n: happy late birthday lovely ! birthdays can be a bummer for me too tbh :/ and yes projecting onto characters is valid♥️

—

Steve got a free ride up to some fancy ass university across the country, room and board payed for by absent parents, got everything he could ever really want or need. And it was great. He’ll tell you that to your face, maybe even sprinkle some “I’m so grateful for this opportunity” bullshit into his speech, too. But what he won’t tell you is that being a spoiled child can get fucking dull. God forbid he ever voice these feelings out loud in fear of looking like another useless wealthy white guy that has the audacity to complain about something when he could have everything he could ever want and then some. But it got lonely and dangerously boring. And when Steve was bored whenever his folks weren’t around, he always got the itch to fuck something up just to feel anything other than the tasteless boredom.

Since the boy lost his title in high school and now embraced his new dorky guy status (wearing sweaters, even needing glasses for fuck’s sake) girls have either ignored him or friend zoned him. And yeah, having friends that are only chicks is great and all, but now everybody just thinks he’s a gay rich brat that shouldn’t complain about not picking up a date when he could afford a yacht if he simply felt like it. At least everyone who gave him the stink eye had parents at home that payed attention and cared for their well being.

The only girl (or just person in general) in any of his classes that didn’t treat him that way or roll their eyes if he tried to ask a question in class was Y/N. She was smart, he could tell that by peeking at her test scores whenever they got their exams handed back to correct. Pretty, too. Same innocence as his high school heartbreaker Nancy has. Steve isn’t sure if that’s his subconscious type he’s into or if it’s just coincidences. He’d make a move on her if she wasn’t so quiet all the time, he even contemplated if she were deaf or mute or something. The only words he ever heard her speak were ‘here’ for role call at the start of class. Her shy nature was a little intimidating, he didn’t know what she thought about him or anybody else at all. She was sorta mysterious like that, but damn if he didn’t try at least giving her a heads up that she could talk to him if she wanted.

Now was his chance, he’s had at least a hundred chances so far because they’ve shared this class for months now, but still. Steve has to really hype himself up and mentally give a pep talk about what he was gonna say, how he was gonna say it. Y/N was wearing her regular cozy sweater, baggy jeans and ruffled hair as usual. She looked cute everyday, but today he couldn’t help but think she was extra cute. Steve saw her sit down in her usual spot, taking out her notes and book from her bag and patiently waiting for the professor to start.

“Uh, your name’s Y/N right?” Steve asks. Fucking great start, jackass. Of course he knows her name already. She whips her head around in surprise that somebody actually acknowledged her presence and nodded, still unsure of what to say back to the boy. “I’m Steve. If you didn’t already like, know that or whatever. Sorry. But maybe when class is done, do you wanna hang out and do something? Go somewhere? If you’re not busy,” he finally gets out, begging the heavens that he doesn’t sound too creepy and scare her off from him for good. She still stares at him blankly then snaps out of whatever trance she had been in, and talks. He didn’t ever hear what her voice sounded like before.

“I know your name’s Steve.” she replies.

That’s it? That’s all you have to say?

“Yeah. That’s me. So about that—“

“Sure. I’ll go with you. Could use some excitement today especially,” she shrugs then turns around as the professor enters and walks to the front, announcing to the class what they’re gonna be doing today.

“What’s today?” he whispers, but gets rudely interrupted by the professor’s request for the class to quiet down and gives his lecture.

—

Class was annoying as fuck as per usual, but staring at the back of Y/N’s head was the only thing he really liked. Steve wouldn’t dare say that out loud, but it was true. Finally the professor dismissed all of the students to leave, and Steve was quick to pack up his shit and hang out with the girl. Y/N took her time as opposed to Steve, and he went up to her seat to ask what she wanted to do, where she wanted to go.

“Surprise me,” she answers with a smile. The boy returns it and offers to carry her bag for her, not taking no for an answer.

“Okay. I will, let’s do it,” he pumps his fist in the air and briefly regrets showing enthusiasm but it’s okay because she gives him a laugh, and he likes the sound of it. He likes it a lot, honestly.

Back to Steve’s boredom and stupidity, the combination often leads him into trouble. But Y/N was along for the ride, seeming happy that someone was actually spending time with her. She kept telling him about how afraid she was that today specifically would be another stale, boring day. Whenever the boy asked what today meant, but she shrugged it off and changed the subject to something else. She wanted to talk about him, but he was begging to know more about her. She talked about she feels invisible most days, how nobody really recognizes her existence but Steve sees her. He knows she exists, and he likes that she’s here spending time with him.

“Wanna do something stupid?” Steve asks, eyeing the drugstore that was across the street and how no one seemed to be working there tonight.

“How stupid are we going for, exactly?” She laughs. There’s that laughter again. Steve relishes in the feeling of his heartbeat getting quicker, and grabs her hand to cross the road.

“Like, really fucking stupid, honestly.” He answers as he tells her to keep her head down, both of them staying low as Steve conducts a plan. “What do you want right now? Anything. Could be anything, go crazy.” She looks at him and still has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Um, I don’t know. A redbull I guess?” She answers. Steve smirks at her.

“One redbull coming up. Anything else? C’mon, you could do better than that Y/N,” he playfully pushes her shoulder, encouraging her to speak up about what else.

“Okay, okay! Fine, Steve. Jesus. I really want a cake, too,” she says.

“Cake and redbull. Gotcha, stay out here and wait for my signal,” he whispers, patting her back and entering the store without another word. Y/N doesn’t even know what “signal” he’s talking about. Moments later, Steve emerges from the store in a panic, screaming “RUN” at Y/N with spray paint, her redbull, and a cake stuffed in his coat.

“What the fuck, Steve!” She races after the boy and they don’t stop until they’re in behind a secluded building with brick walls surrounding them. Steve is out of breath, and Y/N is catching hers still before she snorts a giggle and holds onto Steve and her stomach, hurting from laughing so hard. The adrenaline they’re both high on is fueling their energy, making them incapable of stopping their fun. Steve carelessly throws the plastic lid off of the cake and remembers that he never grabbed forks for them.

Y/N takes the redbull and cracks it open, chugging some then handing it over to Steve, who takes it and gulps some too.

“You should see the way your hair bounces up and down when you run,” she giggles at him then runs her fingers through it, making Steve blush but not move, not wanting her to stop. Y/N gestures to the spray cans he also stole. “What’re these for?”

“Oh, you’ve never heard of these? It’s like paint, but you spray it, and —“

“No, dumbass! Why’d you take those too? They weren’t on the list,” you interject.

“Ohhhh, right. So like, we could draw or write whatever we want here,” Steve answers simply, taking the can of green paint and spraying your name on the brick wall in front. When he’s finished, he grabs a handful of the cake and shoves it in his mouth and moans at the creamy, sugary fluffiness.

“That is some good shit right there,” he points to the vanilla frosting covered dessert with his messy hand before going to spray more designs on the wall.

“You’re crazy, man.”

“Yeah. No I’m really not, I think I’m just bored. Tired of getting everything I want handed to me. It doesn’t feel like I earned any of it,” his tone switches to something a bit more sad, dropping the can of spray and taking another bite before offering you some cake.

“Eh, sure. What the hell, right?” You shrug, taking the giant bite he fed to you and not caring that some bits of cake land on your sweater. Steve apologizes but you wave it off, it’s just a stupid sweater.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve murmurs, scooting closer to you before you get up and ignore his protests of wanting you to sit back down with him. You take the red spray paint and start marking up the wall, decorating it with hearts and stars. “Y’know, you never told me what today is,” he gazes up at you before shoveling more cake into his palm and feeding it to you. You eat all of it up then laugh but it doesn’t sound like it’s out of a joke, but something else.

“Today’s my twenty-first birthday,” Y/N answered before going back to the task of vandalizing the brick.

“Shit. Happy birthday, Y/N,” Steve smiles when he stands up, watching you in a daze like he’s never seen anyone look more beautiful than you do right now, cake on your shirt and chin be damned. “Should’ve stolen a six pack of beer too while I was at it.”

“My family forgot. Nobody in class even cared either,” you stared down at the ground in embarrassment, knowing that this rich boy from Indiana couldn’t possibly understand what with his money and his popularity. Steve tilts your chin up with his clean fingers then leans in, capturing your lips in a chaste kiss before pulling back.

“I’m still twenty, my birthday’s not till next September. You’re pretty lucky I like older women,” Steve whispers and before you can laugh at that he’s going in for a better one, kissing the hell out of your soft lips and cupping your cheek. Even with the cake all over his fingers, you’ve never felt this seen before, like anybody really noticed you like Steve did in this moment, on this day.

“You should be thankful I like younger men, too. And what’s the deal with the stealing? Pretty sure you can afford an energy drink, some spray paint and a cake,” you say, petting his hair again and making him purr at the stimulating feeling.

“I just got bored.”

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (4/5)

summary; in this house we stan brian the hero

word count; 4 638

warnings; mary austin.

part 1

part 2

part 3

********

“Brian, can you get your fucking clogs out of the way?” Roger groaned, kicking them with the tip of his shoe.

“What’s gotten into you?” John complained, tired of his babyish behaviour.

“Don’t bother trying, Deaky” Brian said, sending Roger a look.

He wasn’t paying attention to them, perfectly displaying the lack of interest in carrying a conversation.

About you, you spent a lot of time with your friends lately, celebrating the successful end of the semester. All your hard work was rewarded, and you were finally clean and done with University.

There hadn’t been more opportunities to talk with you privately, and Roger wished you’d notice his efforts for things to go back to normal. It annoyed him that you always had something to do and wouldn’t find time to invest in him.

He fucked up everything saying he’d follow your suggestion to find another chick. It was childish and a mistake. He didn’t mean it and didn’t do it. He wanted to apologize and kept trying to do his bit, but you were closed off.

Excuses and excuses kept coming out of your mouth to avoid being alone with him.

Anxiety. That’s what you felt when recalling yours and Mary’s conversation.

Just the thought of Roger’s real intentions being the ones she addressed made you want to puke. You didn’t hate him or disliked him overnight, but you wouldn’t risk getting hurt.

Also, you’d been contemplating moving to America. Rockfield Farm’d become a vacation home rather than your residence.

Indifferent to your intentions to stay away from him, last Wednesday, Roger tried again.

He bought two tickets to attend a Romeo and Juliet play. He didn’t give two shits about Shakespeare or the performance, he just happened to hear you talk to John about how much you wanted to go. Turned out a guy called Gideon asked you first earlier that week to accompany him to that same bloody play. He could remember sympathy written on your face when he revealed you the plan.

Roger played it cool the best he could when you politely declined, justifying yourself saying you’d already agreed to go with Gideon.

“Maybe next time” he took a step back, staring down at his hands.

When you left the room he didn’t hesitate to tear the tickets into pieces.

“But I’m curious” John insisted.

“He’s angry because (Y/N)’s having a date tonight” Freddie half smiled.

Roger’s expression hardened. Freddie’s grin was no longer there.

“Oh, Rog” he pouted.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian asked in an undertone, leaning closer to Freddie.

John joined the little circle after looking briefly at Roger, who was peering through the window and susurrating something under his breath.

“Our sweet child is lovesick. Tonight was supposed to be his date with (Y/N), but she rejected him”

“She didn’t reject me” Roger claimed through gritted teeth. “Gideon happened to be faster”

Pronouncing this stranger’s name burned his tongue.

“It doesn’t mean it’s a date” Brian guessed. “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it, Roger”

He shook his head.

"She chose him over me, I'll get over it," he thought saying it out loud would make the statement sound easier.

“(Y/N) adores you, Rog. It’s not that deep, trust me” Freddie assured.

“What have I missed?” John asked.

“Something happened in the pub we don’t know about” Brian commented.

The image of Mary dragging you to the bathroom by the wrist sparked his curiosity. He was the only one apart from Roger who saw it, and he didn’t mention it to anyone.

Roger stopped listening somewhere around Freddie's words concerning drama and paid exclusive attention to what was happening outside.

An unfamiliar car that could only belong to Gideon pulled over in front of the house. He saw you climb out with him and head to the door.

“Hey, baby!” you hugged Sherlock after walking in and taking your coat off. “How’s my favourite boy doin’? Oh my God yes, I love you too my baby prince”

Sherlock barked happily a few times.

Hearing his paws against the floor, quickly running to announce your arrival to Her Majesty, made you smile from ear to ear.

“Sherlock ignored you totally”

“It’s fine. Can we go to your bedroom?”

“Okay”

The four of them heard the conversation.

Roger froze, and the others wanted the Grim Reaper to take them in time to escape the awkwardness.

Leaning with your shoulder against the living room door frame, you took off your heels.

“Hey guys," you greeted, undoing your ponytail and shaking out your hair.

“Hi, (Y/N)” John and Brian responded in unison.

“How’d it go?” Freddie asked straight forward.

Roger chewed his bottom lip, incapable to keep his eyes off you. The way the fabric of your jeans hugged you was distracting, but as soon as Freddie made sure to try and collect information, his eyes and ears snapped upwards to hear every single word of what was going on around him.

“Horrible” you announced. “The play exquisite, amen to that, but we had a large family with children behind us that wouldn’t shut up”

It wasn’t after your rambling that you saw Roger standing in one corner. His jersey was so tight you could appreciate a tiny hint of his belly button.

You stared at each other for a bit: you sent him a mini smile that he didn’t respond to. On the contrary, his lips pressed together.

He was jealous.

So fucking jealous.

He felt like one big wolf caged, ready to storm out as soon as someone were to release him.

You got your eyes back on Freddie, colour mounting in your cheeks at the excruciating gaze Roger put you to test.

“This is Gideon, guys. Old friend of mine” you said, patting his shoulder.

Brian was the only one to say hi this time. John and Freddie simply nodded with a smile, Freddie pouring wine into a glass.

Sprawled across the sofa now, Roger looked imperturbable. He kept on twirling a drumstick and stealing quick looks at Gideon: he had his head shaved off, he was bony and very quiet around new people.

At 6:45 a.m. the next day, Roger woke up due to a bad dream of his drumkit being set on fire by accident because of Freddie.

Patting Sherlock’s head along the way, Roger’s steps took him to the kitchen to get some water.

Eyebrows furrowed as the light was switched on already, he couldn’t believe his eyes when Gideon turned it off and almost bumped into him in the hallway.

“Oh. Sorry, lad”

Had he spent the night here?! With you?! Roger didn’t speak for a few seconds.

“What are you doing here?”

“I stayed over for the night. I’m leaving in the morning… don’t worry” Gideon said, perfectly aware that the drummer didn’t appreciate his presence.

God, Roger was so obvious.

Gideon left to go back to sleep and Roger considered crashing his head into the wall.

Shoulders deflating and hands on his face, he understood it was time to give up on you. You pushed him to no other option.

//

An enormous impulse to stab a knife through Roger’s chest was dangerously growing inside you for the fiftieth time in the last half an hour. It sent your brain reeling how dumb he could be on purpose.

Jumping onto your bed, you reached for a magazine and started to flip through the pages, not really reading any of it. It was for the best, you needed to distract yourself or you’d indeed end up doing something stupid.

His ‘rocker’ habits started to get up your nose. You lost count of the number of times you told him not to bring home any of his bootlicker groupies.

You were already doing them a huge favour, but that's abusing your trust on large-scale.

There was a soft knock on the door.

Just like everyone could recognize someone’s footsteps after living together for some time, you could also tell who was behind such gentle noise.

“Come on in, Bri, come and fucking help me count to ten. Suddenly I don’t know anymore” you tossed the magazine away. It landed on top of the mountain of clothes scattered on the floor.

Lying now on your belly with your face against the pillow, you sensed the bed sank a bit when he took a seat next to you.

“You know,” he spoke, “it will only make things worse if you let him get to you like that”

“Oh, that’s rich” you snapped. “He’s been pushing my buttons for weeks now. I’m human, of course I’m gonna end up exploding”

Brief pause of you chewing your gum and Brian rubbing his thumbs against each other.

“I haven’t exploded yet, though” you reconsidered. “He better stop testing me”

“You’re just proving my point” Brian laughed.

You turned your head in his direction and shot him a look.

Brian patted your back with encouragement.

“How about I take the evening off and we go for a bike ride? Would that cheer you up?”

“Yes!” you cried, getting up.

A little getaway sounded marvellous.

Besides the fact that spending time with Brian was one of your favourite things to do ever since you met him, it was a beautiful day outside. Too beautiful to waste it indoors. The sky was entirely blue, not a single cloud spoiling the bright rays of sunshine from shining.

“The boys won’t mind?” you asked.

“We’ve been locked in the studio for days, not a single break. Freddie’s working hard in a new piece on the piano, John surely needs some time off too, and Roger’s keeping himself entertained. They won’t even notice I’m gone” Brian explained.

“Maybe John wants to join us” you added, looking for a most comfortable pair of boots.

“I don’t know, I’ll go ask him”

After lacing up your shoes you reunited with Brian downstairs and smiled widely when you saw John standing next to him, although disappointment overtook your face when Brian pouted at you. John wasn’t tagging along?

“Deaky?”

“Freddie asked me first to go shopping with him, sorry” he welcomed you in his arms when you opened yours to embrace him. “Everyone wants to hang out with me and I can’t please everybody at once” he winked at you.

“Brian told me he was gonna lock himself up with the piano the whole day, huh?”

Brian’s mouth curved into an apologetic smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I deserve to treat myself too, my dear” Freddie sang, going down the stairs with his characteristic grace and a triumphant smug look.

The four of you started discussing your plans for the rest of the day.

They were going to the mall, seeing as Freddie wanted to renew his wardrobe. John was okay with the idea of rating outfits, but everything was a good excuse to go out and relax the mind a little, overwhelmed by having worked so many weeks non-stop. The album was almost done, and Rheid already mentioned to them something about touring Japan after the launch.

Perhaps they could find something interesting to wear on stage.

Bri and you preferred to get on the bikes and ride aimlessly instead, seeking some peace.

They headed to the van and Brian excused himself saying he needed to go to the bathroom.

You were gently tossing your hair in front of the round mirror hung on the main hall waiting for him, trying to tame the baby hairs that were all over the place.

You heard the clacking of heels approaching, and within seconds a stunning blonde doll was behind you.

Staring at each other in the glass, she bit her inside cheek, her gaze making it clear that she was mentally criticizing your appearance.

She felt special? She wasn’t, you wanted to tell her. The fourth one in a week maybe?

“Can I help you?” you began with one eyebrow raised.

“I was just leaving”

She took one step forward and wiped off the smeared lipstick around her lips.

“Roger’s asleep” she informed, chin up as she cleaned herself.

“Good to know”

She held her purse in between her arm and hip and gave you a half smile.

“Nice house” she smiled and clucked her tongue.

You didn’t respond and waited for her to get out of your sight.

When she closed the door, you let out a grunt.

“Roger Taylor, you’re a fucking pain in the ass” you condemned with your eyes shut, and flinched at the unexpected contact of a big hand on your shoulder, opening them.

Brian.

"I grabbed a few snacks and two bottles of water," he said contently, turning over himself a little for you to actually see his stuffed backpack.

You chuckled. What would you do without this precious soul?

“We’ll be gone for less than two hours, Bri”

“Just in case”

You stroked his chin fondly, getting a beautiful smile from him in return, and both walked out without worrying about leaving a note for Roger in case he woke up and saw the house empty.

//

Much to your amazement, you finished the supplies Brian had brought with him. Stopping at one of the bars in the nearest port before returning to Rockfield Farm was his idea.

People were enjoying the soft breeze of the first moments of the night before it was too cold to be outside.

"(Y/N)?" Brian asked softly.

You took the beer to your lips.

Brian sighed.

“What happened between you and Roger? I know he can be a little bitch sometimes, but you guys were together all the time and now—“

"It was a misunderstanding"

“Misunderstanding? What was a misunderstanding?”

Brian looked startled. Nothing was clicking.

Out of the blue, Mary’s intrusion to yours and Roger’s heated moment in the club seemed to be gaining weight for him.

“That day in the pub,” he started, and you turned your head away holding your breath, “what happened?”

"Nothing," you said, picking at your nails absentmindedly.

That wasn't enough for Brian.

"Look at me"

You did.

“Are you lying?”

“What would that get me?" you answered with a question, avoiding saying a resounding ‘no’.

"I don't know," he responded, resting his elbows on the table and framing his hands on either side of his face.

A personality trait of yours and many people, you hoped, was that you didn’t enjoy lying to the people you loved, and since you were aware that what you said wasn’t true to an extent you didn’t want to deny it again to try to convince him.

Everyone saw you and Roger flirting, but what happened between you and Mary was yours and Mary’s business. And possibly, just possibly, Roger’s.

“He’s been acting weird since…,” he looked up to the sky, mentally counting, “since that day you brought Gabriel home”

Putting your head in your hands for the slightest second, you wished Brian’d shut up and talk about anything but this. You didn’t even tell him he fucked up the boy’s name.

You folded your arms dropping back on the seat and chose to not open your mouth.

“You know it’s because he thinks you fucked him, right?” Brian sentenced.

He didn’t want you to think he was blaming you or insinuating anything. You were free to do the heck you wanted to do. He was just pointing out the obvious.

“I do”

Brian didn’t say anything.

“I do, and… But what if I did? It’s my life. I don’t owe Roger anything” you answered, spreading your arms.

He remained silent and just kept on listening to the words erupting out of your mouth.

“It’s not like we were dating. Why’s he so butthurt? I’m not stupid. I know he’s bringing those girls just to provoke me”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Fuck Gabriel?”

“Fuck no. We’ve known each other since we were four, and we happen to meet up every now and then. He’s moving to Dublin soon with his sister. It’s a tradition that he stays over when he pays me a visit. It’s not like there was a single room available, y’know” you hinted, and Brian quickly nodded. Yep, because of them. “That’s what we did, Brian. Talk and fall asleep. And Roger instead of asking keeps fucking Barbie after Barbie. Fuck him, really”

“Sure”

“Sure what?” you snapped, irritation clear in your voice.

Brian succeeded in hiding a smirk.

“Screw him. He deserves it”

You looked at him as if he were fooling you. You really didn’t know where the conversation was going anymore.

“Screw him for living his life like you’re doing”

Ouch.

You blushed violently.

“That’s…”

"You're jealous, (Y/N). It's alright, love. Roger's being a jerk. What I find strange," he said back with a worried face, the tone in his voice making it clear that he knew you knew what he was referring to but were refusing to tell him, "is that in the beginning it was you giving him the cold shoulder. He came to me, you know, asking if I had the tiniest clue of what was going on”

Jesus, if Brian’s goal was to make you feel like trash, he was doing the job quite good.

“It’s totally fine if you don’t want to tell me,” Brian spoke, lowering his head and glancing at your fingers grasping the beer bottle tight, “but things are the way they are because you’re being stubborn and dishonest with each other”

//

“Bri, you’ve got to stop” Mary laughed timidly, hella uneasy due to Brian’s cold gaze upon her.

Brian, John and Mary were chilling downstairs waiting for you. Freddie and Roger were in the studio instead, having a laugh and playing around. They were all looking their best just for you. It was the 19th, your long awaited graduation day. It felt dreamlike to you, but it was finally here.

Nothing and no one would ruin it.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Brian questioned in a tranquil tone.

“What?” she put her brows together.

John, sitting with one leg over the other, lowered the newspaper and stared at them over the rim of the page.

“Don’t be silly, Mary. Whatever you said to (Y/N) that day in the pub, you messed everything up”

Mary was surprised that Brian came at her like that. They never argued, never. But she could tell the subject mattered to him.

Shifting on her feet, she hesitated where to start.

“Seeing as you care so much about (Y/N), like I do," she reiterated, "you should know that I made her a favour"

“Who are you to interfere, Mary?”

“C’mon, you know Roger better than I do and know that he doesn’t take commitment seriously“

“I asked you one thing. Who are you to interfere?”

Mary’s face went blank. She looked at John, but he quickly hid behind the newspaper only to peek at her again as soon as her eyes met the ground.

“For Christ’s sake, Mary! Who are you to interfere!” Brian shouted, pushing for an answer.

She clenched her fists.

“What’s happening here?” Freddie’s voice interrupted.

Both turned their heads at him, surprised that he was back so soon.

“Nothing” she hurried to say, and sent Brian a pleading look.

"Nothing?" Brian asked sarcastically, his voice raising a bunch of octaves.

Freddie and Roger stepped further into the room.

When Roger’s eyes connected with Brian’s, he knew something important concerning him was the main topic.

His eyes wandered between him and Mary.

Brian gestured her to speak.

She'd never felt this way before, since a mighty character was one of her many strengths. A woman with little hesitations. Roles changed, though. She couldn't even dare to give Freddie a fast glance, afraid that he'd hate her for this. She truly cared about you a lot, and clearly wasn't fond of Roger. She thought she was doing the right thing.

You and Freddie were the ones who mattered to her the most in the world, and losing you both because of this drama would destroy her.

Roger, fed up of so much suspense, proceed to move closer to Mary. He stared right into her eyes.

“What have you done?” he asked with an alarming and shocking put together voice, to which Mary consequently felt goosebumps run through her spine.

It was now or never.

“I encouraged her to stay away from you. I assumed you just wanted to…” she made a vague gesture with her hand, “and I didn’t want her heart to be broken because of you”

“Mary!!” Freddie gasped.

Temperature in his body building up, and face as red as the blood boiling in his veins, Roger’s hands went to rub the back of his neck where one vein was perilously showing.

John took a long sip of his drink, not really prepared for shit to go down now.

“You… you…” Roger didn’t know how to put into words everything that he wanted to say.

Mary’s lower lip started trembling. Freddie didn’t like one bit seeing her so vulnerable, but he couldn’t force himself to feel sorry for her when he didn’t.

“Christ, are you going to cry now? You’re fucking sick in the head” Roger sassed, exasperated.

The colour drained out of Mary's face yet again due to the embarrassment he was putting her through.

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about me or my feelings” Roger cursed.

“They sure aren’t that strong when you’ve been fucking women here, in her bloody home!” Mary lectured, hoping to win some confidence in her speech.

“I DIDN’T FUCK THEM! I brought them only to end up kicking them out every time because I couldn’t!” Roger snapped, tightening his expression. “I like her too much!”

The room fell silent.

Roger stared at his mates with arms slightly raised at the quietness. His gaze paced between all of them, who couldn’t articulate a single sound even if they tried. He then turned to Mary and snapped a finger at her with threatening eyes.

“Now I’m gonna go upstairs and explain everything to (Y/N), and you better don’t interrupt us, got it? You already did enough”

"Rog, I think she does get it," Freddie said coming at Mary's rescue, worried that he might spit at her.

“Let her speak, she has a mouth, right? A fucking stupid dirty mouth that should’ve been kept closed”

“Talk to me with respect, you asshole!” Mary screamed angrily.

“You didn’t earn it!!!!” he growled.

John cleared his throat loud and clear in an attempt to make them shut up in time.

“Guys?”

Five heads snapped at the bottom of the stairs, where you were.

Barefoot but dressed in the pastel blue dress Roger gifted you what seemed like an eternity ago. Your hair wasn't done yet, up in a bun so it wouldn't get in your way when doing the makeup.

Tugging at her earring, Mary’s face dropped, embarrassed.

As soon as Roger’s eyes landed on you, his legs turned to jelly.

He didn’t think twice: in a hurry he grabbed you by the arm, basically dragging you out of there, until you were both locked up in your bedroom, and murmured an apology when slamming the door by accident.

Seeing as his lighter didn't want to cooperate plus the agonising need to smoke, Roger began to hiss barbarities under his breath.

“What’s the matter? We have to leave in twenty minutes” you said, sitting down.

“No, get up”

“What? I don’t want to, I have to—“

“Please, get up. I can’t speak to you if we’re uneven”

You did as told, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Fine. I’m standing up now”

Anchoring your attention discreetly on his body language, you came to realize that whatever was holding him back was causing him so much trouble.

He drew nearer to you, but regretted it and stepped away. You straightened and gave a very short laugh, impatient.

“Roger”

“Do you still regret what happened in the pub?”

“What does this have to do with… anything, now?” you blurted out with difficulty, hot in the face.

It was the first time you were talking about it when sober.

Roger jerked his head towards you, staring intensely.

“Does it matter?” you breathed, saddened, learning that he wanted a much more elaborated response you didn’t have.

“Of course it fucking—“ Roger stopped there and decided to start again. “Of course it matters”

Because you didn’t know where he was going, you didn’t speak. Roger continued.

“I don’t expect you to care, but I’ve got a few things I want to clear up”

He looked so desperate you found no choice.

“I’m listening”

“Honestly, I… God, you’re so smart but so stupid at the same time”

You blushed. Dude… what the?

“I… I care so much about you, and you don’t even seem to notice shit”

He paused and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Those girls I invited over I didn't do anything with"

“Woah, not even a blowjob? Hard to believe so. The last one fucking came to me with a… triumphant smile, and swollen lips, and… Ugh”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Maybe I made out with one. But that’s it, we only kissed. I was drunk, I can’t even remember her face. Believe me. One of them even punched me for dumping her before she could even unzip her dress”

You laughed at that but quickly covered your mouth. You were supposed to be serious about this, you couldn’t just laugh like that!

Roger shook his head but smiled a little.

“(Y/N),” he called, back to the relevant stuff. “Mary told me everything. Now I get it when you thought that staying away from me was the best option. My reputation doesn’t help, I know”

His eyes were incredibly soft.

There was an intense wish to deny it, to convince yourself that you weren’t thrilled about him opening up to you. Who could you fool? That’s everything you ever wanted from him. But you couldn’t allow yourself to give in. There was no way that this would have a happy ending.

He sighed deeply.

“I miss you. Talk to me again, I can’t bear it anymore. Next time I’ll be nicer to Gideon, I promise. But if he hurts you I won’t hesitate to kill him” a tormenting sentiment devoured him whole as he confessed.

You shook your head.

“There’s nothing between Gideon and I. A boy and a girl can be friends, Roger”

“But you slept together and I thought—“ he replied with flushed cheeks.

“We. Did. Nothing” you reassured him.

Shame drawn on his face, he nodded and you clapped your hands upfront.

“My turn”

Roger cocked his head in your direction questioningly.

“I’m moving to New York by the end of the season, approximately”

He first looked at you unblinkingly and then stared off into space.

“You can't," he said after a while pursing his lips, breath hitching in his throat.

"What do you mean ‘I can't'?" you asked suppressing a shy chuckle, your heart suddenly pounding vigorously in your chest.

“You can’t leave like that”

“Well… I’ve got nothing to look forward here”

Mouth set in a hard line, a new idea better than the one he had of buying you the dress held on to his conflicted mind. The light at the end of the tunnel didn't seem so far away now. He just hoped it all would work out as he wanted it too.

He checked his watch.

“If you don’t hurry up you’ll be late”

His attitude was confusing you. You slowly nodded.

“Are you alright, Roger? Your mood swings are scaring me”

“I am”

Your heart shook furiously at his following declaration.

“You look absolutely ravishing, love. Money well spent”

********

tagging; @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers @benders-diamond-earring @mercurycrowley @ixchel-9275

[dcarevu]

Batman TAS: Perchance to Dream

“It’s a big hole in the ground, with a big car in it that’s all black. Remember?”

Episode: 30 Robin: No Writers: Joe R Lansdale (teleplay), Laren Bright (story), and Michael Reaves (story). Director: Boyd Kirkland Animator: Dong Yang Airdate: October 19, 1992 Grade: A

This should go without saying, but because of the nature of the episode (and because it was spoiled for me before I ever saw it), I am issuing a MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING. Take this as me telling you that going into this episode blind is highly recommended, and part of the fun of it is the mystery.

Are you ever disappointed to wake up from a dream? For me, it is usually a matter of not having finished the story that was playing out, or forgetting details. I don’t like waking up and causing cliffhangers which go forever unsolved, especially when I can’t even tell people about them. Then there are the dreams that you are so glad you woke up from. Usually these dreams consist of the scariest things we have ever experienced. Isn’t it crazy to think about? For many of us, the scariest moments of our lives never even truly happened in the real world. Batman lives these moments practically every episode. Things like our friend getting half of their body demolished and then turning into a contradicting gangster, or a clown who turns all the fish in the area into smiling, trepidatious frights. These events have very dreamlike qualities. They likely would never happen in real life, and don’t make all that much sense. Ironically, when Batman has what starts out as the best dream of his life, providing an escape from all that we try to avoid at night, he wants nothing to do with it. Because even though our REM thoughts are his conscious ones, and he probably could have lived the rest of his life in bliss, it means nothing to him if it’s not real. Looking the other way is not something that Batman is capable of. This is why he has made the enormous impact he has. Not only did the night at Crime Alley send his life into a gothic cave of despair, it also seemed to cause him to purposely repel any hope of happiness. Happiness to Batman is irresponsibility. Yet he stops at nothing to allow the innocent to live the happy life he is incapable of.

This is one of my favorite episodes of the entire series, even though I never got to experience the unknown. Batman falls into a mysterious trap, but wakes up immediately afterward. Suddenly, his life is completely different. His parents are alive. Selena Kyle is set to become his wife. He is no longer Batman. The weight of responsibility has been removed. He is set to live life as a rich playboy, while someone else swings around the city in a bat-mask. But there is a nagging feeling that none of it is right. There are inconsistencies and problems that prevent him from enjoying. Through a series of events, he ends up at the top of a tower in a cemetery, in a fight against himself, eventually jumping to what seems like his death. He wakes up from a dream that the Mad Hatter set up for him, and apprehends the criminal. What makes this episode so sad is that Bruce so desperately wants the dream to be real. At one point, after talking to Leslie Thompkins, he actually does begin to accept things. He tells us, “The nightmare is over!” Bruce considers his life a nightmare. He hates being Batman, but he is an addict. Right as he is truly about to throw his old life away, he opens up a newspaper and can’t read a word. The text is all jumbled. This is proof that this new life is not real, as he knows that in dreams, it is impossible to read. Cleverly, at the beginning of the episode, there is a sign on a building that is jumbled up, and no one mentions it. A very subtle detail that one can appreciate on a second watch. Another Easter egg is the music that plays immediately as soon as the title card pops up. It’s the Mad Hatter’s theme music, and we have only seen Hatter one time, so one is not likely to recognize it. But if you know it, you know it. Figuring this detail out yourself can give one a sense of accomplishment, and discovering a twist ending on your own rather than a spoiler is incredibly satisfying.

I also noticed that certain characters are nowhere to be seen, most notably being Robin. At first I wasn’t sure how to take this. Does Batman regret inviting Robin into his life? Why is Robin not there? This is supposed to be his desired life. But after talking to Char, I realized that in Batman’s ideal world, Robin’s parents never would have been killed in the first place, and so Robin would have no reason to be living with Bruce. Alfred is here, but his usual warmth seems to have vanished. I think this is less a reflection of Bruce, and more that Alfred never had to become such a fatherly figure. He lived with Bruce’s parents, serving as the butler, and not much more. He is still fairly friendly, but there is not as much between he and Bruce as there typically is at all. Also, I’m not sure if this was an inside-joke, but there is one point where Alfred helps pick out something for Bruce to wear. He selects a brown coat and says, “This should be just the thing for your meeting.” In the DVD commentary, the crew has joked about Bruce’s sense of style, making fun of his typical mustard-yellow and brown combo. The way Alfred says it makes me wonder, but I could be looking way too much into it.

Perchance to Dream is mostly action free until the ending, but Dong Yang still manage to knock it out of the park. Their best work yet, and they especially shine during the climax. There were some incredibly beautiful shots, and other points in the story are great too. There were a couple instances where the animation was massively smooth, reminding me of the pilot The Dark Knight’s First Night. I’m wondering if they blew their budget on this one, and that is why their work on Robin’s Reckoning is so poor (coming soonish). Credit should also go to Boyd Kirkland who’s angles and ideas give us a sense of wonder at every step, even when fairly mundane. The voice cast does the same. I swear the police officer is voiced by the dude that did a bunch of trailers in the 90’s or early 2000’s. Because I am so used to hearing it in that environment, yes, it sounds very out of place in Batman, but in a good way. His delivery is startling, and it acts as icing on top of the dreamlike cake. While we’re on voices, though, it should be noted that Bruce doesn’t talk in his Batman voice for the majority of the story. if this is his natural speaking voice, I think he should have been. I’m sure there’s a way to make it sound happy. They did it in Batman Beyond. At the same time, lines like “I’ve never felt better in my life, sir” have such perfect delivery they make me tear up, and said any differently would not have been as stellar. Oh gosh, and Mad Hatter’s delivery. The anguish made you feel for him, and he is not a character I held any sympathy for previously. I found him to be the ultimate incel. Many people see him as a tragic character, he’s a creepy asshole who carries the dreaded “nice guy syndrome”. Does he mean well? Don’t know, don’t care. But hearing him scream at Batman, explaining that he was willing to give Batman the life he always wanted just to prevent him from being a bother anymore, it’s heart-breaking. He simply wants Batman out of the way, and he decided to do it humanely this time. I find this very interesting, and this Mad Hatter episode dwarfs Mad as a Hatter.

Batman’s wipers come on after his car is coated in gunk. It’s the little details.

Nothing good ever happens on catwalks in this show.

Pictured here is a 13-year-old in the presence of Justin Bieber. Or whoever the kids listen to these days.

Little known fact, the Batcave is very much there. But this is. obviously an episode where it’s located behind the bookshelf, not behind the clock. Silly Bruce! Must have forgotten to read that part of the script.

Well no wonder he always wears that jacket with those options. 

I’m wondering what types of things Bruce does with his parents still alive and all. Then again, nothing in this world exists beyond the boundaries of when the dream starts and ends.

Bruce has been wanting Selena practically since her first appearance. But that face says it all. Is this relationship any more genuine than Mat Hatter and Alice’s?

This is the point of the episode where I could really sense the gears in Char’s head working. It’s the point where things go from being wrong to impossible. 

Notice the sign. 

Love the movement of Batman’s cape.

Some of the unusually smooth animation I mentioned before.

Great takedown. Batman holds the guy and spins down a pole, making him so dizzy that he faints. 

These two have the most conflicting colors on...

“Then... The nightmare is over.”

Kinda wish we saw Bruce shed a couple of tears.

Not only is the text all jumbled up, but there also seems to be way more text than what would fit on the paper. Even more strange, we see a smiling Batman. 

A look of madness on Bruce that we hardly ever see. it’s a great facial expression. 

The text here is also unreadable. Also, we’re getting to the point of the episode where virtually every angle is perfect. So here is a series of shots:

Boyd Kirkland and his team clearly cared a lot.

Batman comes in mysteriously like a kite. It reminds me of when Dorothy was trapped in the tornado. 

Bruce gets a taste of what criminals get almost every night.

Seriously, how can a figure with cute little bat-ears be so threatening-looking?

The Mad Hatter’s model isn’t quite as finicky this time around, and while I still feel that it was probably hard to translate to animation, it works a lot better. He looks like he belongs on the show.

Look at that smug face. He is sure that Bruce will never escape. I also like the thought of Bruce reaching a waking point, so even though he’s still asleep, he still picks up conversation going on around him. His subconscious recognizes Jarvis’ voice, and that’s how dream-Bruce was able to reveal the truth. But that’s just my interpretation. 

Bruce took a gamble, and you can tell by his expression that he may regret jumping. He truthfully has no idea if this will do the trick or not.

This is weird, but I love the shape of Batman’s eye here. 

Char’s grade: A Next time: The Cape and Cowl Conspiracy

Full episode list here!

[golden-witch]

Rosa, Rosa, why are you such an idiot?

Hey! I wrote up a long character analysis of Rosa for fun. I hope you enjoy it.

[Read the full post under read more]

The narration mentions in Episode 2 that Rosa still feels like a child because she can’t accept and overcome her trauma which makes her an incapable mother. The banquet scene during the Tea Party has always been one of my favorite scenes in Umineko for its more somber aspects, something both the manga and the anime neglect in order to focus more on the horror themes. I’ll link it here because it’s the most important point of consideration when analyzing Rosa’s character. It certainly leaves an impression of what her childhood was like.

Some people were surprised to learn that Krauss and Eva were full fledged adults when they abused Rosa. If Eva and Krauss are in their 50’s and Rosa is In her early 30’s, that puts about a 20 year age difference between them! This isn't a case of sibling rivalry such as Eva vs. Krauss-- this is the abuse of a child by her adult siblings. We don't know the exact numbers, but we can assume Rosa is closer in age to the cousins than her eldest brother and sister. They suggest this several times in the story when Battler notes her odd position in the family. Rosa is treated as neither an adult nor child and is continuously forced out of conversations with her siblings. (Think of the scene in episode 2 where Kyrie manipulates Rosa to leave the room by gently reminding her that she's left Maria outside.) She acts submissively towards them and follows their guidance. This is likely why 12 year old Battler got the impression that she was “sweet”.

There's also the issue of her parents, who we can assume were neglectful if not equally abusive. I would imagine Kinzo would want as little to do with her as possible; he would have little incentive to raise her as she was a girl and because he was already committed to Beatrice II (who grew up alongside her). Rosa’s relationship with her mother is suggested to be strained (when Rosa talks about running away from home because she did badly on an exam), and I think-- as is the case with the other adults-- that she doesn’t remember the woman fondly.

The way Rosa behaves supports my impression that she grew up in a household where she was undervalued. It’s reasonable to assume she threw herself at the first man who treated her with the slightest bit of compassion and who offered her an opportunity to leave Rokkenjima. His character ended up being flimsy, but someone of Rosa’s background wouldn’t be able to notice the warning signs of abandonment. Rosa believes he left because of her pregnancy, but you could make the argument that he purposefully conned her and dumped her once he had the money Kinzo lent him. Having never been wanted before, Rosa would accept his behavior to feel desirable.

The relationship Rosa had with Maria’s father is one of two romantic relationships mentioned in the story, the other being her fling with the married man in Maria’s book (classy). I don’t know how accurately I can say this reflects all of her romantic endeavors, but we do know that Maria never makes note of any men who might have come in and out of her life. It seems that Rosa doesn’t bring her lovers home out of fear they will leave her due to Maria (as she believes her ex did), so I think the relationships were very shallow. Bringing a boyfriend or girlfriend home with her would have been a step in deepening their bond, but Rosa pushes them away perhaps out of fear they will one day leave her (#abandonment issues). She is in favor of short-term romances with a low level of commitment. This is why I can’t stand when people try to argue that the scene of Rosa in bed with her lover in episode 4 is just “Ange’s fabrication”! Everything about Rosa screams that was the truth of the situation.

“So Rosa sacrifices her time to have passionate one-night stands with guys she doesn’t even care about?” Sort of-- she feeds off of the attention they give her. It’s not very important who her lovers are so long as they acknowledge her as her family did not. She craves the external validation she was denied in childhood. There’s also something to be said about sex as a means of claiming adulthood. I can totally see why someone so insecure of their maturity would go so far.

I could talk a lot about what I make of Rosa’s relationship with other adults. If you want to discuss that further, totally send me an ask, but I’d like to dedicate the later half of the analysis to Maria. This is where I have to give a major content warning for discussions of violent child abuse.

The story alludes strongly to the idea that Maria is most likely on the autism spectrum. I don’t know if it’s canon, but after hearing from autistic fans that Maria resembles their experiences, I feel comfortable saying that she’s neurodivergent. It’s not my place and not within the scope of this essay to make claims about Maria’s mental health, but we should take into account how her behavior affects her relationship with her mother. Nothing Maria does is “abnormal” for a child (I would argue there are no abnormal children); Rambler once answered an ask about a “what if” scenario where Maria was neurotypical and gave the answer that it probably wouldn’t matter in terms of Rosa abusing her. Rosa vents her anger towards Maria. It doesn’t matter if she is a “problem child” or not.

Maria is continuously said to be different from her peers, and differences breed scorn. Rosa wants Maria to be “normally” behaved so she will be acknowledged as a good parent and an adult. Kids are seen as reflections of their parents, and she sees Maria as a threat to her reputation-- especially in front of her siblings, who openly mock her. Ironically, Rosa plays into this expectation; she was considered incompetent as a child and incompetent as an adult. She wants to defy that expectation so badly that she ends up beating her child. It’s a cycle she puts no effort into breaking. For that she should be seen as a deplorable character and an abuser. I believe Ryukishi wanted it to be obvious that Rosa is a neglectful and irresponsible, sometimes violent mother.

Let’s break down their relationship.

Rosa-- at her heart-- cares about Maria’s wellbeing. She acknowledges she should have been a more accepting mother and recognizes that her actions were wrong-- Most notably in episode 8 in the Golden Land. Unfortunately, she is only able to consider mending her relationship with Maria in retrospect since she is, of course, at that point dead.  I believe this indicates that she had the capacity to change her behavior, and it a better universe, she would be able to become a good parent. This is all hypothetical, though there is enough in the story to hint that this was a strong possibility had Sayo not given up on the family. If only someone had intervened successfully…

Ryu also wants us to consider that Rosa is protective of Maria against outside threats. He refers to her as both a mother bear and a mother wolf who will bear fangs when her child is in danger. The story supports this in episode 2 when Rosa fights to protect her daughter from the goats. On the contrary, it is suggested that Rosa’s abuse of Maria stems from how others interpret Maria’s behavior. I don’t really understand how Rosa can both be “protective” of Maria and brutal towards her daughter depending on external threats. I think this is supposed to be further evidence (intentional or not) that Rosa is unbalanced and acts inconsistently.

It was exceedingly difficult for Rosa to manage raising a child. Her polarizing behavior was what led Maria to come up with the “white witch/black witch” concept since a child couldn’t make sense of something so complex. Rosa explains during episode 2 that she often spoiled Maria, and this is seen in episode 4 when she takes Maria out for dessert at a restaurant she can’t afford. This is exemplary of Rosa’s genuine feelings of affection for Maria which she is at a loss for ways to convey. A girl who grew up rich and neglected may see objects as a means to soothe wounds. Her lingering guilt causes her to feed into Maria’s material wants without considering her emotional needs. She overcompensates with gifts. Maria would cry and demand presents, and Rosa would either buy into it to satisfy her or beat her into submission. Neither of these are good parenting!

The reason why CPS is notified about Rosa’s behavior has to do with parental neglect; Rosa left Maria by herself for too long for too many times. We know from Maria’s diary that Rosa was often absent and used the excuse that she was working late into the night and for days at a time, and we know of one instance where Rosa lied and instead went on vacation. However, we can’t say that Rosa was always on vacation when she left Maria alone. I personally believe that Rosa would engage in some unhealthy working habits to offset the cost of her frivolous lifestyle.

More headcanons that I have are that these bursts in irregular behavior for Rosa happened clustered together. Basically, Rosa would irresponsibly work for multiple days straight and then impulsively abandon her daughter to go on vacations in a predictable pattern. I believe Rosa suffers from bipolar II-- the sort of self-sabotaging behavior she engages in is evidence. She wants her business to succeed, but risks its stability. She wants to be a good mother, but she abuses Maria. Her sudden fits of rage and violent mood swings could be connected to this because it's a common symptom for those with mood disorders. I don't think it's out of the question to say that she was suffering from a manic episode during the period Maria writes about in her journal. This isn't to say that people with bipolar II are abusers, I'm just suggesting some of her behavior can be explained this way. This comes from my own experiences and observations, so please don’t take my word for it. I’m just offering up an interpretation.

Anyway, if you want to hear more about Rosa as an abuser, and why she’s responsible for her actions, check it out here!

[bravonovel]

Playing with A Billionaire read novel online on Bravonovel

Playing with A Billionaire https://www.bravonovel.com/playing-with-a-billionaire-7874

Playing with A Billionaire novel is a Romance story about Emma Cole and Ethan Hollen.

When plain simple nerdy Emma Cole goes to Hollen Tower for an interview she quickly realizes she is out of her league. The women of Hollen Tower are gorgeous, and their shoes cost more than her entire wardrobe. But an accident, and a talent for coffee, put Emma in the position to meet the man of her dreams. There's just one problem, he's engaged. And when Emma falls for CEO Ethan Hollen she finds herself in the middle of a dangerous plot she never would have imagined. Ethan Hollen wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth but he climbed the ladder to riches very quickly. At just twenty four, he is one of the youngest and most powerful CEOs. With a huge mansion, several cars, successful business, and beautiful fiancée, he has it all. But when internal enemies threaten everything he's built, he must quickly act to save his company and the woman he loves.

You can read Playing with A Billionaire novel on Bravonovel Web or App.

Playing with A Billionaire novel Chapter 1

Prologue

Emma Cole, a nerd in high school and untouched all throughout her life at a community college, was abandoned by her birth parents and grew up in foster care homes all around New York. Whenever her name was mentioned, the people who knew her laughed and called her foul names, since she looked like the female version of Steve Urkel and was easy to pick on and belittle. She had no sense of style. All she wore were big dresses that hid her tiny figure underneath and glasses which didn't do her eyes any justice. She owned one bag-- a beat-up leather she received as a gift from a spelling bee contest her freshman year in high school.

Though she went to school, she had no friends, no family, and no one to teach her about becoming a lady. Emma had done everything by herself since she was one year old-- the age she was dumped by her parents into the foster system.

At age twenty three, she lived in a very small apartment by herself. She wasn't able to land a high-paying job to afford a good house, as of yet. Every time she applied to a vacant position she may have seen in a newspaper in the cafe, they would turn her down when she went to the interviews and the interviewers took one look at her. Appearance was more than her qualifications if she wanted to land a job as a receptionist or personal assistant at one of the big firms in New York City.

Emma decided to stop hoping for a better job and stuck with being a waitress at Carl's Cafe.

Her hell on earth.

Carl was the manager and owner of the cafe. A grown man, forty-five years old, who had experienced all the things he had chosen to chase in his pathetic life. He was a terrible boss and treated his employees as his personal slaves with low wages. One of his nasty habits was hitting on his female employees while on the job, but he never hit on Emma. Although she was a female, she just wasn't his type and was too unattractive to even be bothered with.

____________

It was Wednesday morning.

Emma had only just clocked-in. She placed her bag in her designated locker and began to take the orders of the customers, who were already in abundance for their morning coffee or pancakes and eggs or any breakfast meals of their choice from the menus provided.

She was about to deliver the orders to the kitchen when a pair of hands grabbed her by the arm.

"You have to work a double today. Tisha is sick. I need you to fill in." And he was gone right after his command.

Emma continued to the kitchen to drop off the customers' orders. Since Tisha was sick, she would have to take her place at the cash register and coffee machines. She was about to have another terrible day in hell but, obeying Carl's command, she worked the double shift without complaint.

On Thursday, the same thing happened-- working a double without getting anything extra for filling in. And the same thing happened on Friday.

~~

Emma was drained, but it was finally Saturday, and it was her day off. She decided to visit a library and take several books to the park for a read. It was the beginning of summer, and she needed the fresh air.

She had just stepped out of her narrow bathroom when her cheap phone, which still had raised keys and couldn't connect to WiFi, rang.

"Emma, I need you to come in right now. Be here in less than twenty minutes!"

Before she could object he had hung up. She had really hoped for some free time to herself, and apart from that, she was exhausted, but she had to comply. How would she afford her crap apartment if she was jobless?

She took her precious time getting ready and arrived an hour later than Carl demanded she be there. He was furious with her and yelled at her as soon as she clocked in.

"I told your malnourished ass to be here in less than twenty minutes!"

Indeed Emma Cole appeared very skinny due to all the over-sized clothes she wore. Without even giving him a glance, she went to the customers to take their orders.

When she was making coffee for an angry, beer belly guy at the front of the line, who was yelling at her and calling her names, she lost her temper and threw the entire cup of coffee in his face. He had called her an incapable, handicapped, low-budget paying maid, who wouldn't even get extra if she shook it at a strip club because she looked like the hobbit in Lord of the Rings.

She had never been so humiliated. Yes, she had it rough in high school but it had gotten a little better at college because everyone there seemed much more mature than the bullies at high school. Now, this grown man was yelling at her because his coffee was ten minutes late. It wasn't even her fault. She was supposed to be off today. Had he kept his mouth shut, she wouldn't have splashed the coffee all over his chubby, beard-covered face.

Carl appeared just as the man was about to throw a table back at Emma. "Hey hey hey, what's going on here?"

"That incompetent waitress of yours just threw a damn cup of hot coffee in my face, man!"

"Sir, please calm down and put the table down. I'll handle this," Carl instructed. "Emma! You're fired!"

"What, you don't even want to hear what I have to say? He embarrassed me and..."

Carl cut her off, "Get your things and get out. I can't have you throwing coffee in people's faces and still have you working here. GET OUT, EMMA!!"

Emma threw her apron to the ground, took her bag out of the locker and walked out. "I hated it here anyway," she said as she passed Carl and the impatient customers on the way out.

Prologue ends here.

Emma's POV

I buried my head on my stale pillows when I got home, hitting them with my hands from my anger as the tears came.

I've been fired, what am I going to do now?

I somehow managed to gather myself and my emotions. It was still early.

"There's still time to go to the library and then the park," I said to myself as I got off the bed.

I changed into something skimpier, still concealing my entire figure underneath. I was insecure about my body and ashamed of the scars it possessed.

I started on my heel and headed to the library then the park. I was sitting on the bench reading Counting Raindrops Through A Stained Glass Window, when an old lady with platinum blonde hair sat down beside me.

"Hello dear," she greeted, kindly.

For an old woman by herself in the park, she wore very expensive jewelry. I could tell just by looking at it.

"Hello ma'am," I greeted back with a small smile. I continued with my book as she opened a newspaper.

Twenty minutes into reading, two men in black tuxedos approached our bench. They resembled characters in Men In Black-- not a smile on their faces as they took long strides toward us.

I panicked. I was easily frightened.

The elder woman stood up and extended her arms to them. They held onto her, supporting her to help her stand on her own two feet. They left without another word. Suddenly, I noticed she had forgotten her newspaper. I took it and ran in their direction.

"Excuse me, ma'am!" I called, getting a little closer, but was cutoff by one of the bodyguards.

"Can I help you miss?" he asked firmly, with a tone that made me regret running after them.

"I'm sorry, the... lady forgot ...her newspaper." I was out of breath. Damn, I needed to exercise more.

"Why don't you keep it and educate yourself? Maybe then you'll find out who 'the lady' is, so you can address her by her name next time."

His response was rude but encouraging. I walked back to the bench and watched as the black SUV drove away with her inside. I looked at the page she was reading to the left side of the article it stated: "Personal Assistant wanted at Hollen Tower. Terms and conditions apply."

And, of course, terms and conditions meant college education, knowledge about the job's responsibilities, punctual, fluent in English, impeccable character, previous work experience, related employment history, and more. I had applied for so many jobs like this before but gotten turned down once they looked at me-- like I wasn't human. I wasn't like them.

I wasn't like them, actually. I didn't own a house or a car or have expensive clothes and shoes, or have the ability to wine and dine at restaurants, but I was a human being too!

I was a plain and simple one. I lived in a cheap apartment, wore beat-up clothes that were stained and crumpled; I ate scraps left in the kitchen at Carl's Cafe after breakfast, lunch and dinner were served. After my rent was paid I usually had money for my essential needs, like feminine products and canned foods that didn't spoil in a hurry-- since I didn't own a refrigerator.

I was at rock bottom, but I'd accepted it and learned how to be satisfied with the little I had and could afford. I found comfort in reading books. I loved reading about the poor girls who found princes and billionaires who swept them off their feet, got married and lived happily ever after like Cinderella. I kept on wishing something like that would happen to me, but they were only books; they were fiction. In this modern world princes and billionaires didn't go for poor girls like me. They dated models and designers, and women with the looks, body, and beauty who could fit into their lifestyle. Who would want someone like me?

I got on my feet and left the park before it got too dark out. I was afraid of walking the streets at night.

I arrived at my apartment three hours later. I sat on a hard, uncomfortable chair as I read through the newspaper's articles one more time. Something at the back of my mind told me that I should give it one more shot, but something else just wanted me to give up.

"Look at your life, Emma, you got fired today. You're jobless, the rent would be due at the end of the month or else out on the street you go. You don't have anyone who could take you in and care about you. You have to try to get another job,"  said one side.

"Emma, just give up. You're not going to get a job at Hollen Tower. It's too grand for your taste. They'll do what they always do, take one look at you and turn their faces. Just give up, you'll be evicted, so what? You wouldn't be the first to get evicted and live on the streets. Why not join a gang?" said the other.

I was frustrated. I looked at my life and cried myself to sleep.

I knew when the clock struck seven the next morning I would be out of this shack and on my way to Hollen Tower. I needed to try just one more time.

This time I will make bigger efforts in my appearance to land the job. I will get the job, just watch.

......

Continue to read Chapter 2 of Playing with A Billionaire on Bravonovel Web https://www.bravonovel.com/playing-with-a-billionaire-7874/chapter-2--coffee-maid--131164 Read more exciting novels on Bravonovel App https://www.bravonovel.com/download-bravonovel-app

[joyfullynervouscreator]

Furs and Scars

Chapter 1

Dwalin looked at the sky, scowling at the snow-heavy clouds far above him.

“It’ll snow soon,” Víli said, from where he was crouched, checking that his snare was placed correctly. They still had another five to go, but the two rabbits already strapped to Dwalin’s pack would be a welcome addition to their winter stores. He rumbled something not particularly polite aimed at whoever controlled the weather, but Víli simply smiled.

Sometimes, it vexed Dwalin no end how Víli was always so positive… but then he remembered that they both lived in a household of Royal Durins and felt quietly grateful that Dís’s One was not another dramatic romantic prone to violent outbursts – like Dís herself – or spending hours upon hours brooding on things he couldn’t change – like Thorin. Thorin had been meant to come along today, but he’d begged off in favour of a council meeting so Dwalin had been volunteered to help Víli. By which he meant Dís had made puppy eyes at him while Thorin was looking and that was why Dwalin found himself wandering the slopes with Víli. Thorin – having no older siblings on whom to practice using puppy eyes – was almost incapable of denying Dís when she used hers. On the whole, Dwalin thought, it was a good thing that Dís rarely used her powers for more nefarious agendas, really. He didn’t mind walking in the cold, and he was reasonably fond of Víli – aside from the fact that he was sleeping with Dwalin’s little sister, but both he and Thorin had decided never to think about that fact… ever. Not just because Dís would have killed anyone trying to stop her marrying her One, but also because there was not enough alcohol in the whole of Middle-Earth to make the thought palatable to her protective older brothers. The wee pebble was adorable, though, Dwalin had to admit.

Víli, miner and occasional hunter, was decent company, if a bit fond of stating the obvious, but then again, not every Dwarf had the misfortune of being raised by Lord Fundin, with a brother like Balin, who had drilled it into his head to think first and speak later.

 The next two traps were empty too, and Dwalin could tell that they’d have been better off turning back instead of keeping on, but the thought of leaving possible food to the scavengers did not sit well with either of them. They were not so poor as when they had first settled in Ered Luin, but not so prosperous as to turn away fresh meat, so Víli and Dwalin trudged on in spite of the knowledge that the snow would almost certainly begin to fall before they reached the last snare.

“At least the cold’ll keep the meat from spoiling,” Víli remarked philosophically when they found a third rabbit trapped in his second-to-last snare. Dwalin nodded a grunt in his direction. He was beginning to dream of his warm seat by the fire, a cup of Frís’s special tea in his hand while he waited for the rabbit stew Dís would certainly prepare for two cold hunters, when the first snowflake landed on his nose.

 Within ten minutes, the world was covered in a swiftly growing layer of white, and only Víli’s keen knowledge of the area allowed them to reach the last snare. A fox had been caught in it, but Dwalin hardly cared, killing it with a quick blow of the axe and tying the carcass to his collection. The pelt would make a nice gift for Frís, who had needed new winter gloves for the past two years. Not much meat on a fox, to be sure, but the fur was nice and warm.

  “Think the lads’ll make it back for supper, or should we leave theirs on the stove to keep warm?” Frís asked, startling Dís who had been staring out the window where the first flakes of snow had started to fall.

“It looks like a blizzard to me, Amad,” she sighed. “Hopefully they’re almost here or at least in a place where they can find shelter.”

“Dwalin not back yet?” Thorin echoed his amad’s question as he walked in the door, trailing grey-haired Balin, who was calmly reading a long scroll – probably the result of the day’s meetings, Dís thought with a sigh. The settlement was not rich, though at least they didn’t starve every winter anymore, but the mines were failing and Thorin had been approached about the possibility of opening a new mine further away.

“Nay, son,” Frís replied, tickling baby Fíli until he gave her a gummy smile. Dís smiled to see it. Ruffling Fíli’s still-sparse hair with a work-roughened hand, Thorin pecked his sister’s cheek in greeting. “But supper is almost ready.”

The announcement was greeted with smiles, and Dís collected her pebble from Frís’s secure hold, knowing that they were minutes away from wailing hunger. With Fíli suckling for his own supper, Thorin and Balin got the table set, while Frís walked round the house ensuring that all the shutters where closed and a few reinforced with wads of fabric to keep the cold out. Dís settled herself in the most comfortable chair by the fire, accepting a cup of tea from Balin with a wordless smile of thanks.

  Trudging through the snow was one thing; Dwalin had had worse. The darkness was no problem either, being a Dwarf with terrific Darksight, but the sudden howls they heard in the distance had him gripping his axe tightly. Víli, too, looked worried. The strong winds threw off their sound perception, sometimes making the howling sound close, sometimes far off. Wolves would rarely attack Dwarrow so early in the winter, but they had heard gossip from further north of a pack with a taste for Dwarf-flesh. Dwalin hadn’t given the rumour much credence… until now.

Dwalin shivered. The howls had changed, he could tell. Víli had paled beneath his blonde beard; he too knew the sound of a pack out hunting.

“We won’t reach home before they’re on us,” Víli admitted quietly. Dwalin nodded grimly.

“We need somewhere to stand properly, where they can’t circle us,” he snapped, feeling a twinge of guilty satisfaction at the way Víli jumped. Even after twenty years of knowing each other, Dwalin’s ‘I am in command and you will listen’-voice still startled the miner, who tended to forget that Dwalin had been trained almost since birth to be a general. Of course, he also tended to forget that his brother-in-law was a King, and his wife a Princess, a rare gift in the settlement, and probably one of the reasons Dís had liked him in the beginning.

 Dwalin was impressed with the place Víli had led him. The hunter had found a small cave, the opening only just wide enough that a Dwarf of Dwalin’s bulk could squeeze through. In front, there was a wide, perfectly flat plateau, and the mountain was sheer walls on either side of the cave. In short, it was defensible, and they’d be able to spend the night if the wolves did not find them. It wasn’t the first time the cave had been used by travellers either, evidenced by the small stack of dry kindling and firewood left behind in a far corner.

  They stayed up long into the night, pretending that they weren’t waiting for their missing loved ones. When the candle had burned down to a small puddle of melted wax, Frís gave up her sewing and went to bed. Balin had retreated earlier, still reading some paper or other. Dís had not put Fíli in his crib, instead holding his tiny warm body close, finding comfort in his soft breathing. Neither sibling had uttered a word for hours. Thorin was staring broodily at the slowly dying fire, but making no move to put another log on. Dís sighed.

“We should get some sleep, nadad,” she whispered, knowing that she would have to be the one to send Thorin to bed. Otherwise he’d still be sitting there in the morning. “I’m sure they’ve just found somewhere to bed down for the night.” Thorin didn’t answer. With another sigh, Dís got up, squeezing his shoulder as she walked past him to the bedroom she and Víli shared. Putting the pebble in his crib and stroking his downy cheek with a soft smile, Dís left the door open as she returned to the living room, carrying the blanket off Thorin’s bed from his and Dwalin’s room. “At least you’ll be warm, if you willnae sleep,” she mumbled, pinching Thorin’s ear lightly as she spread the furs over his shoulders. Pressing a kiss to his dark locks, she turned to make for her own bed once more.

“Thank you, nunel,” Thorin whispered, but Dís did not hear him.

  Dwalin always felt better with his axes in hand. Grasper and Keeper. The names they had been given after Azanulbizar, and for a moment Dwalin thought he saw Frerin’s ghostly face before him. Shaking his head, he set his attention firmly on keeping watch. They’d drawn straws, and Víli had won the right to a few hours of sleep. The wolves had been silent for a while, and the snow was still falling, the wind howling around the mountainside. Dwalin did not let the lack of signs make him incautious. His eyes kept scanning the quadrants he had assigned to the surroundings.

 The attack was a swift as it was silent. Dwalin had no more warning than the yellow light of a pair of eyes before the first wolf – who was too big for a wolf, but not quite as big as a warg – attacked him. Keeper bit into its skull, and the wolf fell down dead. Dwalin’s shout managed to wake Víli – if he’d been asleep at all – who joined the fight with alacrity. Though less experienced than Dwalin, Víli was a quick Dwarf, and he made up for his slighter build and lack of brute strength with speed of movement. Another wolf fell, but Dwalin knew that the bloodlust had only just begun to surge in his opponents; these were no ordinary wolves, and the warg that came out of the darkness, black as night and as tall as Víli, proved it.

Dwalin’s world narrowed to the next swing of his weapon, the next slash, dodge, move. He killed swiftly and efficiently when he could, though one of the beasts managed to take a bite of his arm when he was too slow to dodge two at once. Víli’s sword skewered it in the next moment, but the bite was large, and Dwalin roared in pain, the agony only increasing his rage as he fought.

  When morning came, Thorin was asleep in the chair by the hearth, the fur blanket half on the floor. Frís shook her head fondly, putting it back around his shoulders, smoothing the line that sleep had not removed from his brow. As she set to preparing breakfast, putting a kettle of water on the fire for tea, she found herself casting a glance out the window every now and again, looking for Dwalin’s rugged figure and Víli’s nimbler gait coming towards her.

 Thorin woke when Frís screamed.

Dís was half-dressed as she hurtled out of her bedroom, and Balin was still in his nightshirt and fur-lined slippers.

“Amad?” Thorin asked groggily. “You are well?” Frís nodded silently, pointing out the window, one hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide in fright. Stepping up behind her, Dís gaped, before bursting into laughter.

“Well?” Thorin demanded, easily lifting her away from the window so he could see too. The sight made him suck in a quick gasp of the crisp morning air.

Towards them, a mountain of fur was moving, topped by a grinning warg’s head. The four legs beneath the pile made him abandon the thoughts whirling in his head and leap to throw the door open.

“We found some new friends,” Dwalin said blandly, dropping the three wolf pelts he had been carrying on his back with obvious relief. Beside him, Víli dropped another two and embraced Dís with a firm squeeze and a hearty kiss that made her giggle like a newlywed. Dwalin swayed slightly on his feet. Thorin cursed, seeing that his entire side was covered in blood. “S’just me arm, Thorin,” Dwalin slurred, pitching forward into Thorin’s strong arms. With Víli bracketing his other side, they got Dwalin manoeuvred into a chair.

“I’ll go fetch Óin,” Balin murmured, having returned to his bedroom to get properly dressed when he realised that Frís wasn’t being attacked in the kitchen.

  “Blood loss, yes,” Óin mumbled to himself, his young apprentice staring at the grisly wound with obvious awe. Dwalin snored. Thorin scowled. “It’s bled freely, at least, and no teeth stuck in him either,” for a moment, the healer looked slightly disappointed; he usually got to keep the things he removed from his patients. “I’ll clean it and stitch him up, but Dwalin’s a braw Dwarf, he’ll heal in no time.” Nodding to himself, Óin set to work, cleaning the wound with distilled alcohol. Dwalin roared, but Thorin had anticipated that he’d come up swinging and held his arms tight. Dís’s strong hand pressed the warrior back into the chair and Óin commenced with the sewing deftly.

“Brought fur for you,” Dwalin mumbled into Thorin’s hair. Óin’s stitching wasn’t terribly painful, but he had no need to watch the needle pierce his flesh. Thorin chuckled weakly.

“As long as you brought you back too,” he replied, scratching his fingers through Dwalin’s beard the way he liked. “You need a bath, amrâlimê.” Dwalin was – in a word – pungent.

“Already got water heating,” Frís promised from somewhere over Thorin’s shoulder, which made the warrior grin toothily at her.

“Someone keep an eye on him if you put him in a tub,” Óin advised, “he’s going to be a little loopy for a few hours at least.” Wrapping his neat handiwork in a clean bandage, Óin washed his hands calmly. “No using that arm till it’s healed properly, Cousin Dwalin,” he said sternly. Dwalin was not known for his patience when it came to waiting for an injury to heal before he could start working again, although he was surprisingly firm about not allowing injured Dwarrow to walk their rounds without their healer’s permission. “Feed him plenty of fluids, and keep the bite clean.” With final admonishments and a small pot of salve given, Óin left, accepting a fat rabbit as payment for his services.

 Wrangling a sleepy Dwalin into the bath tub was a two-person job, but Víli had gone to take the pelts to the tannery, so Dís had to step in, helping Thorin, who ended up standing in the bath as Dwalin sat at his feet. Dís had laughed at the image they presented, but she had left with a fond peck on Dwalin’s cheek, abandoning Thorin to the task of washing off the sweat and gore that clung to his hair and skin. The tunic had been consigned to the pile of fabric they used for patching, the bloodied parts cut off. Along with the rest of his clothes, it had been put into the big washing kettle, awaiting Víli’s return so his equally dirty clothing could get the same treatment. Dís had calmly set to skinning and cutting up the rabbits, while Frís was making dough for a piecrust.

 “Am no dead, nor dyin,” Dwalin grumbled. “Dinnae fash yersel, Thorin.” Thorin just shook his head, moving the soapy rag slowly across Dwalin’s skin, surreptitiously checking that he really was fine. Dwalin hadn’t been wrong, however; aside from the gruesome – flesh wasn’t meant to dangle, in Thorin’s opinion, and certainly not Dwalin’s flesh – bite on his arm, Dwalin had suffered only minor scrapes and a few bruises.

“You’ve the Maker’s own luck, you do,” he mumbled, but received no more than a sleepy murmur in return. “Víli too.”

“Couldnae let the wee lad grow up without his Adad, could I?” Dwalin retorted, one eye opening to stare balefully at Thorin, who nodded. It was a point, and well-made, but he rather wished they hadn’t had to fight a pack of wargs at all. The vicious beasts were not easy to kill, and Thorin felt guilty for having abandoned the hunting trip the day before. “Hey,” Dwalin said, softly, wrapping his large palm around Thorin’s temple braid and pulling him closer. “Nowt you coulda prevented, kurkaruk, an’ ye know it.” Thorin nodded, pressing a kiss against Dwalin’s shaved head.

“Let’s get you to bed, aye?” he murmured, reaching for the towel Dís had kindly laid out for them. Getting Dwalin out of the tub was almost as much hassle as getting him into it in the first place, but Thorin managed. Picking up the warrior – Dwalin was stronger, but Thorin was by no means a weakling himself – Thorin carried him into their bedroom, laying him down on the mattress.

“I made a spot of broth for you Dwalin. Drink it before you sleep,” Frís said, her voice laced with a Queen’s command when Dwalin looked mulishly at the mug she held. Thorin had to crack a smile. If it had been him offering, Dwalin would have refused, just to be contrary, but Frís could get him to do anything with that combination of Amad-and-Queen she had. “C’mon, son, there you go,” she said, gently stroking his hair while he obediently drank the mug down.

Retrieving their fur blanket from where he had dropped it, Thorin draped the warm furs around Dwalin’s sleeping body. The bandage had a slight spot of red seeping through it, but he’d let Dwalin sleep a little more before changing it, Thorin decided. With a final kiss to Dwalin’s brow, he returned to the kitchen, his growling belly reminding him that he had skipped breakfast.

chapter 2

 @life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess