#heard a guy on a podcast i listen to talk about being a father and it really hit me hard

[stargoyle]

[[vent in tags]]

[supernova41st]

What about the mercs with a fem SO that talks in brainrot sometimes? Would really want medic in there but it's up to you!

Mercs x Brainrot!Reader

A/n: WHY IS THE TF2 FANDOM SO OBSESSED WITH THIS IDEA? 😭 I SAW ANOTHER FIC ABT THIS AND TWO REQUESTS ASKING FOR THIS PLS

warnings: Brainrot.. a lot of images being used, it’s a shit post who cares tbh

Scout

He’s into it too

Guys it’s scout

“Scout ilysm ur so nonchalant <33”

“Thanks babe ^^ I know I’m pretty alpha”

(Oh btw the alpha thing isn’t a joke he unironically listens to alpha male podcasts)

In the middle of spy’s serious moments you’d both lip sync ‘you are my sunshine’ to each other when he’s not looking

“what the bloody hell are you guys doing..”

“…perhaps itz a coping mechanizm zince scout doesn’t have a father?”

Medic really had to take it there

The ‘fatherless child’ meme was a coping mechanism for him tho

“I’m a fatherless child, of course I have abandonment issues”

“Um babe? Idk if you should joke abt that 😚”

“Na it just makes me more sigma”

You guys love to fuck with the blu team sm with your shenanigans, esp sniper!!

Scout would have his bat and you would have whatever weapon you have with you and yell “skibidi” before jumping him

Here’s something he DEFINITELY didn’t learn from you 💯

creds to urwhouchoose2b on Tik tok

Engineer

He tries so hard to understand

Whenever you show him a meme he does the classic old person holding phone away from eyes thing

Yk the

“Ok so this is the ‘im nothing like y’all’ fish”

“alrighty, and this is..?”

“Oh that’s the Freddy five bear meme, see it’s funny cuz his name is actually ‘Freddy fazbear’ but they got his name wrong so like.. yeah”

“…I’m not sure what I’m ‘posed to say ‘bout this, but I think you belong in a looney bin”

Once he had a project that had the word “alpha” in it and he hated mentioning it to you cuz yk

“giggle”

“…what?”

“Skibidi alpha”

“What??”

Demo man

HE LOVES IT LMFAOO

he’s so energetic esp when he’s drunk so he’s happy to have someone he can share that energy with

Y’all know that “Scotland forever” meme

Well you screamed it after another victory as a joke, but when demo heard it he was confused but also excited?

“SCOTLAND FOREVAA”

“OH? ALRIGHT THEN, SCOTLAND FOREVER 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿”

cut to him butt chugging beers

Demo doesn’t get it but he has the spirit

He’ll be right there replicating the TikTok audios after taking the point

Dude is drunk 99% of the time so he’s never bothered to ask what any of this means, he’s just in it for the fun

Once you dragged him to the bathroom since he drake too many beers (shocker) but he didn’t want to do it in the toilet cuz he didn’t want to ‘hurt his dear skibidi’

“Cmon demo you have to puke it out!!”

“Noo, take me to the jawbox I don’t wanna hert me skibidi toilet”

“Oh god what have I done”

I think you rotted his brain a little too much

Spy

Don’t even get him started.

He’s so sick of your antics it’s not even funny

“Guys we all have to remember that it’s not about the money.. it’s about the skibidi.”

Passionately grabs spy’s shoulder

“How have you made it this far in life”

Unlike engie, he really doesn’t want to know about it

Especially during missions

“lol spy you’re so devious ASF”

“shhh, enough blabbering!!”

“You are not carti 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️��‼️‼️‼️”

You make fun of him a bunch, he can’t think of a single moment where you took him seriously

“Y/n get off the cart!!”

“If we were in Fortnite I’d have higher ground + double pump.”

[chemicallywrit]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! It was podcast girls week and i loved seeing everyone’s art and fic and memes. Gorls. ❤️ Let’s get to the shows!

🎤 Childish! Childish: The Podcast Musical finally got the chance to post their finale! And it did not disappoint. I had forgotten exactly how good the music was in this show, and how funny and clever it was. Guys, if you care about college comedies with a side of the best dang music I've heard out of a podcast, please listen to Childish. I'm so happy for them. This is really proof though, that it's worth it not to give up on a podcast (I'll wait for you forever Althaar).

🥩 Oh man, this episode of Mayfair Watcher's Society was incredible. The story would be good even without the incredible performances of Ashlee Jones and Brandon Nguyen, but CAN we talk about them actors??? What an incredible exploration of your worst nightmares coming true. Mind the content warnings for this one, folks. Meg Tuten is, as always, a genius.

🦾 Breathing Space consistently hits notes of working class struggle and desperation with care and thoughtfulness, but this past episode's rendition of "Sixteen Tons" was absolutely gorgeous. I loved the lo-fi singing together. It was perfect.

🐟 @monstrousproductions’ Travelling Light has once again introduced me to an absolutely delightful character. Vermi is my favorite guy. I love him and his fish face and his translation innovation. This show is a constant gift.

🤖 Ohhhhh man, oh man, Ask Your Father ended in the only possible way it could, which I should have seen coming. Oh my gosh. Mikeyyyyyyyy...I won't spoil it, but it was maybe perfect. I cried a little. Season two when.

🌊 I started Waterlogged this week! What a good anthology—it’s creepy AND wet! I think some horror anthologies suffer from a lack of theme that can make them fall into a rhythm, but I don’t foresee this being a problem for Waterlogged. The first three episodes are all so different, and I love it. Go check it out!

🪱 I want to give a shoutout to Earworm! Earworm is an upcoming musical about ghosts and haunting by the folks behind Shadows At the Door! I know a lot of the cast (David Ault, Michelle Kelly, Erika Sanderson, and so many others) and I'm so thrilled to hear this--assuming they can finish out their crowdfund! If you can throw them a little cash, please do!

That’s all for now! 😘

[ex-foster]

"Don't ever tell anyone you were in foster care, especially at work"

I met another former foster kid. She was around the same age as me but much more financially successful. One of the things she told me that really stuck with me is when she advised me to never disclose the fact that I was in foster care, especially at work.

So today I want to talk about this topic. Employers have been shown to discriminate against former foster kids. Interviews might be going well, until the conversation becomes cold when it's revealed you were in foster care. This might be due to misconceptions about foster kids like assumptions that we are troubled, delinquent, mentally ill, socially maladjusted or violent. Some confuse foster care group homes with juvie. And in other cases, these stereotypes about former foster kids and delinquent behaviour are true to some degree. Among prison populations, former foster kids are overrepresented, however studies also indicate that former foster kids are more severely punished by the justice system than their peers.

I would say that there definitely is a stigma attached to being a foster kid. People absolutely do use it against you. People will use it like an insult, similar to how people say "you're adopted" as an insult (which has happened to me too although I'm not adopted. I think people conflate adoption and foster care). People get super uncomfortable with the topic of foster care. I remember this one girl who basically ran away from me when I told her I was in foster care. She said "sorry" and abruptly ended the conversation and took off almost in a run. She was acting like I was shameful and treated me like how some people treat people with disabilities or an obvious deformity - don't stare, don't engage, just walk away.

I used to listen to this podcast called female dating strategy and one of their pieces of advice is to NEVER ever tell a guy (especially a potential dating prospect) that you were abused. It doesn't matter if you were abused by your ex, your dad, or even your brother. Do not tell him your ex was abusive because it lowers the bar for him. He gets the idea in his head that there is a certain level of mistreatment that you will tolerate. And if your father or your brother were abusive or misogynistic, it's better not to tell your dating prospects because then he thinks you don't have protective men in your life. You are advised to lie and even suggest that your father and brother are good and protective because it can deter predatory males. If you advertise that you have an abusive/absent father and an abusive ex and there's no protective older brother/guy to defend you, then you become a magnet for abusive men. And I agree with them.

These women are right in describing this dynamic. However, trying to overcome this dynamic is easier said than done. What am I supposed to do as a former foster kid - hire actors to play the role of my father and older brother throughout my entire life? Eventually the fact that I was in foster care comes out. If I'm to get married, who walks me down the aisle? To what extent do I lie to protect myself from abuse? Should I live in fear of people knowing I was in foster care?

I think it's interesting that in the UK there is a growing interest in considering experience in foster care a protected characteristic (like race or sex). I've read about this consideration and it was interesting that they noted that former foster kids are discriminated against in relationships. Not just the workplace, but discriminated in relationships. That was very interesting seeing that acknowledged because a lot of people act super fake and pretend they would treat foster kids well because they see us as charity cases and are virtue signalling. But in practice, a lot of these same people talk massive shit about us and will tell people to avoid us because we were in foster care. I've heard other former foster kids describe socializing as constantly being hazed. It's as if you're never considered part of the family, you're constantly kept at a distance but people might tantalize you with hope and promises of in-laws maybe accepting you someday. Other former foster kids describe the dating scene as treating them as a "pump and dump".

But I don't think I should have to live in fear of people knowing I was in foster care. I remember taking my friend's advice and even the FDS podcast advice and applying to real life situations and it actually worked. If I omitted the fact I was in foster care or characterized an abusive person in my life as some wholesome person, people treated me SO much better than any time I told the truth about my history in foster care or the encounters I had with abusive people. People honestly seem to despise me when I am honest about my experiences. It's almost like mob mentality too. People will gang up on you. I'm sure that this behaviour is explained somewhere in psychology or sociology (I guess Just World Theory or something) but when you're a young person coming out of foster care, this social dynamic is so difficult to adapt to because you get opposite messages in foster care. In foster care, they normalize acknowledging trauma, abuse, neglect...but then in the real world these topics are avoided and taboo. So you kinda seem like the weirdo if you disclose your history. You will shock people and they will say you are "trauma dumping" or they'll even accuse you of lying. It becomes its own drama.

[spidereggs888]

Miguel’s new secretary ooh-la-la

(lol /j 💀)

Miguel O’Hara & y/n, any gender or non gender. Very casual writing style. TW Dark humor, dangerous situations, 18+. Y/n are sorta attracted to Miguel (why else would you be here?) but he doesn’t know you lol

This is a loooong read so make sure you have time or something. Also, there’s an illustration in the middle of the chapter! Enjoy

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

MIGUEL & YOU

ACT 1 | ALGORITHMIC LOTTERY

It's the year 2110.

You are maneuvering through traffic in a sputtery fashion, the lifter problem in your engine getting so bad it almost sounds like you got rocks under the hood. The podcast is going on about alligators in Nueva York sewers.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” you mumble, “there’s CROCODILES in the sewers, not alligators.”

You aren’t looking forward to this interview. How the heck did you manage an audition for office secretary to the CEO of Alchemax?!

“I don’t know,” you say aloud to your other self, “but if I get the job, Imma upgrade to a better ride than this heap of Maglev shit…”

But there’s other bitches who want this position. Two of them you are aware of: Syd and Brody. Syd is a real suck up who will say any damn thing to get the position. She out-groveled you and got the lead PR accounting job you wanted. Suck-up Syd is what you call her around your friends. Brody on the other hand is opposite; he thinks he can strong-arm his way into anything and he pretty much has. He’s kicked people down, screwed people over, and there’s a rumor he filed a sexual harassment charge on his friend Ashton just to get the promotion before Ashton could.

These two skanks are gonna be tricky, but that’s the least of why you loathe this whole thing. You also heard that Miguel O’Hara is a hard ass. When he came into power a few years ago, he immediately fired the former secretary for talking about his father in a positive light. Then he proceeded to chew and spit out people who ever had the misfortune of being in that job position.

“Or maybe they just cut their losses after raking in half a billion,” your friend Speshall guessed the last time you seen her, “they prolly couldn’t take the heat for that long so they waited until they were set for life then said something stupid on purpose to get him to let them go. What a retirement plan! To work for the sexiest man of the year then have him berate you on your way out!”

She was always like this.

Anyway, now your car is not being validated in the automated parking center.

“What the HELL?!”

“Sorry, your credit has been declined.”

“Oh fuck me-“

You fumble your lanyard of data sticks. You are looking for the green one, which has a small amount of credit you procured from test playing phone games. You lean out of your car window to bring the green stick drive near the wireless reader.

“Sorry, we cannot accept credit from online gambling. Please use another method of payment.”

“Oh fuck you!”

≋ ≋ ≋ ≋

Now you are walking. You had to park where they don’t give a shit about where your money is from. Alchemax is trying to create a good precedent by not accepting dirty money, but Alchemax, as far as you know, does dirtier stuff for pay. Why the hell is “gambling money” any different?!

Scowling so hard, you almost didn’t notice there’s some douchebag trying to walk close behind you. He probably saw the lanyard of data sticks around your neck, so you fluff your scarf around until they are covered.

“I don’t have any money, muh guy” you say in your heaviest Nueva York accent along with this generations lingo.

“Oh I’m not afta you. I was tryna tell ya there’s this otha weirdo following ya. I’m tryna group up here.”

You know better than to look back. That’s what this fucko wants you to do. He’s probably a flasher, so you walk into traffic.

“Hey that’s dangerous, yo!”

You don’t listen. Cars flying past is not as scary as going up to see the freakin CEO of Alchemax.

No cars hit you, so now you have to face reality. You walk into the Alchemax Business Bureau building (one of hundreds), and wave your ID at the receptionist in the lobby. The receptionist is preoccupied with a lady who has one hand on her hip and the other holding out a holo watch. It’s projecting a screen with a giant hourglass animation flipping over and over.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to get a damn cup of coffee around here, I just don’t!”

“C’mon it’s not necessary to bring security here, ma’am.”

He remains standing behind his desk and grimaces at you. You really need to get him to validate your ID so you won’t be stopped by security, so you pull up your phone and say to the woman, “you want some coffee coupons for Dunkin Donuts?”

“What?”

You open your savings app and hastily air-swipe several coupons to her holo device like someone flicking bills at a stripper. She stops to look at them.

“A regular frap for half off? Oh woooow, how- will they really honor this?” She asks.

“Yeah! It’s good for two more days, so you may wanna hurry over to the kiosk at the west end.”

“Really?”

“They sell all brands of coffee, they’ll honor it.”

“Well, nevermind, then,” she says curtly to the receptionist as she turns her shoulder away, “Didn’t want hours-old coffee anyway.”

She turns on her fancy heel and trots away. You grin stupidly at the receptionist who rolls his eyes and snatches your ID card from you. He swipes it near his card reader then flicks it back without a word.

After a nod, you swiftly leave down the lobby to the elevator area. You round the corner and see an open elevator closing. It's the only one since the other two are under construction. You rush forward as fast as your legs will allow.

"Wait wait WAIT WAIT!"

The doors are closing and you see the face of Suck-up Syd with her smoky eyes and faux fur capelet. She smiles and does nothing as the doors close.

"Shocking typical," you grumble. But you know where the other elevator is. You take off to the other end of the building for the second set of elevators.

You make it onto the elevator with two other people, some white chick and an Indian dude. The lady sees your pass.

"Going for the secretary job?" She asks.

"Yeah."

“Me too. If I don’t get this, I’m going to jump from this building,” the lady jokes.

“If I get this, I WILL jump from this building,” you add.

“Either way, it's gonna be job security for the custodian department,” the Indian guy says. All three of you chuckle politely.

The elevator lets more people in. You check your phone. You are fucking late by 20 minutes, but so is the lady who wants this job or else. You assume it would have taken a while anyway, since there was about 15 people going in for this very same job. Could it be you?! Could you land this job?! What if your mom was wrong?! And what if O’Hara says yes? What if you are set for life?

The final floor of this elevator is reached. You wobble on your way out. The lady doesn’t move.

“Actually, I can’t do this. I’m going home.”

The elevator doors close and she goes back down. You hear a faint byeeeeeeeeeee as the elevator descends to lower levels. You pay no heed and follow the Indian man into the massive hall.

There’s already chaos. One guy is being escorted out of the lobby by his shirt collar, and he's spouting obscenities. Some lady had dropped all her paperwork and she’s too numb to pick it up again. Two ladies near her are sarcastically wishing each other luck, one of them is Suck-up Syd. She looks 10x more desperate today with her tight-fitting outfit and belt buckle the size of a plate. Her overly fake smile gives you no esteem or hope. You almost sit but realize there’s barf on the chair.

Okay, surely everyone is overreacting in here.

“Man I’m not scared at all. There’s a trick to facing down Alpha males,” says a guy who you didn’t ask.

“Ah, cool.” you say through a grin. It’s Brody. You don’t even have to see him to know he’s there with his overwhelming presence of snobbery.

“See, as a Sigma male,” he continues, leaning on the back of the barf chair to talk to you, “I don’t adhere to the Alpha’s orders. That’s how the pack survives! One guy is an outlier so like if the Alpha fails in his role as leader, the Sigma will show by example and the rest of the females and Betas will follow him-“

“BRODY!”

You and Brody see Ashton in the doorway you came from. Ashton beelines across the room with his briefcase raised high. He brings it down on Brody with a loud clunk and they grapple and exchange blows. You go ahead and sit down perfectly still.

"Oh my GOD!" Suck-up Syd muses. She only sees this as two less competitors. You wince as the men start yelling obscenities at each other in their struggle. The guards who took out the last guy come back in and see this happening and they both huff angrily.

"Next!"

"Ah, that's me!" Syd says, “you guys are welcome to leave, I probably got this in the bag.”

She gets up and thrusts her capelet onto the lobby assistant.

.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳ ˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.

Four hours pass. Brody and Ashton were escorted from the building, those bozos didn’t even get an interview, but it was funny watching Brody get dragged down to hell by a demon he wronged.

Suck-up Syd walked out in tears and a forced smile. You felt bad for making fun of her in the past. She’s just kinda desperate and a little pathetic. You assume groveling doesn't work on the boss.

Other people came and went swiftly. The cheerful Indian man from earlier left looking surprised at his failure. The lady who dropped all her crap earlier apparently already had an interview and was reeling from her bad luck. You understand their disappointment since being chosen for this position was like winning the lottery, except you don't know if you won or not.

“Next!”

Your stomach twists but you refuse to be like them. This is just a job. You’ll be answering phones, emails, and possibly even mailing some dry cleaning. No big fuckin deal.

You thank the lobby assistant but she ignores you and walks away. She is just doing her job. She looks very tired of everyone else’s shit and is probably glad it's over. You walk to the elevator where the second to last person is taking baby-steps, talking on his phone with someone nursing his wounded pride. That could be you in a minute.

I'm probably not gonna get it either, you think, but I'm going down with some dignity.

You work yourself up as you step into yet another elevator, this one glass paneled. You stare across Nueva York as you ascend, contemplating your future. So what if you don't make it? You will simply fall back to your job and go about your life. Your mom will say she's right about the invitation being a fluke. You will go back to paying off debts and supplementing your food budget by testing mobile phone games during work hours and before you go to sleep. You see your own reflection, no longer as young as you used to be, and you sigh.

The glass doors open behind you. You walk through another set of foggy glass doors. Despite your self pep talk, you are still not looking forward to this. You've seen pictures of Miguel O'Hara before; over 6 feet tall, wide shoulders that could support an ox yoke, and a presence so large one would think he could go toe to toe with Godzilla. How will the interview go? You imagine fire. You expect a demon sitting behind a black marble desk in the darkness, a horrendous mob boss wearing Scarface attire, spitting fiery facts and passing cruel judgment, his horns ascending at the heavens with searing indifference and contempt for mercy. You expect a fax machine in the corner that will print out your death.

This is not what you see.

There he is, in this meager temp office sitting behind a tiny desk covered in empty water bottles. His shoulders are wider than the desk, but he's scrunching them in to seem normal. He's wearing a regular dress shirt, no tie. No fancy jewelry either, just some off-brand oversized watch on his left wrist. He looks disappointed already, but not at you. He’s squinting down at some of the tiny desks’ interactive holo-projections. You see your name on one of the files he’s peering at through comically large anti glare glasses.

You don’t sit. You are too stressed. He hasn’t noticed you. He picks up one of the water bottles and carefully opens it with his monster hands. They look travel-sized compared to him. He sips it and notices you.

“Hello!” You greet.

He finishes it in two gulps and sets it down slowly, as to not disturb the other bottles.

“Okay I don’t have a lot of time left, so let’s cut through here… you work for the guys in the PR department-“

“Ah yeah, they are a very friendly bunch down there! That is until you get to know them!” You blurt out. He looks up at you with tired eyes and swipes through the files without looking at them.

“Says here you were demoted from vice head PR accounting a while back, but you attached a note saying you have an alibi? Let’s hear it.”

“Uhhh.”

“C’mon I don’t have all day.”

“There was a payment discrepancy, uh, I was given a raise but I noticed my boss didn’t update it for a whole month. He was on vacation and wasn't answering my calls, so... since he left the finances to me I updated it myself… And I got into trouble BUT it was technically not embezzlement, so I was given an ultimatum to either move to a lower department or get fired, so-“

“Self-reliant. Got it. There's a note from your current department head saying she's been notified anonymously that you've been paying for Alchemax home services with gambling money, what do you have to say about that?"

"I- that is a th- thing with SoloGameMedia, ah, they are a parent company to a gambling franchise, therefore every transaction from them is registered as gambling profit- but I test games with- from them directly! It's a side hustle- thing, I- that, I DO NOT playtest games during work hours! Only on-"

"Why do you think I should hire you?”

You are caught off guard by the most basic interview question.

“Hhhhhh WELL… because you need a secretary now?”

He’s already looking back down at the files again. You can see NYPD files, apparently he’s now looking at your small criminal record. You also notice his shirt is unbuttoned on the top. For curiosity's sake, you discreetly raise up on your toes to see down his cleavage. It's deeper than you expected. One mighty flex and that shirt will send buttons flying everywhere. He looks back up as you quickly drop back down on your heels.

“Yeah. Mmm. Ok. So you are way in over your head in college and credit debt, you have been gambling as a means to get by- really don’t care about that, and you did not dispute your boss's ultimatum when you had the chance."

"Wait, what?"

"Four years ago, when your boss gave you the ultimatum to get demoted or get fired. His proposal was ILLEGAL."

Your gut twists.

"That- that was illegal?!"

"You had six months to report him and you didn't. Why?"

"Be- because I just thought he was being fair, I-"

"I'm sorry, but you got screwed."

He looks sincere behind those nerdy lenses with his pout lips. You really want to throw something right now.

“I… oh…”

"Look, the most I can do is re-open your case," he says as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge, "You might get a small settlement out of it, but even that isn't guaranteed."

"So... I'm not getting the job?"

"How do you expect to get hired with such an unexceptional history of white collar crime and a meek attitude that's gotten you nowhere? Hey Lyla? Is this all we have?”

An AI assistant pops up from the interactive desk.

“This is the last one, sir.”

“Okay, cool. Look I’m sure you’re actually great at your job, but I have places to be-“

“Wha- well so do I!”

“Uh huh, nice talking to you,“ he scoots his chair back and hits his knee on the tiny desk, sending empty bottles scattering all over the room. He cringes.

“Well if I’m so unexceptional, why was I accepted for an interview?!”

“I’m gonna guess because of some algorithmic lottery? Probably to do with the amount of experience you have in your department, I dunno,” He guesses as he attempts to gather the bottles by sweeping them under the desk with his shoes, “If you wanna blame someone for the short interview time, thank those other time-wasters who came before you. I gotta go.”

“Now WAIT a… minute”

He stands up from his tiny desk as you say that. He’s towering over you with a tired expression and loose strands of hair about his face.

“What?” He asks, all friendliness gone.

“Can we continue this interview at a different time? You obviously haven’t found a secretary you want, but you still need one, right?! I could be the one you need even if I’m not the one you want!”

It takes every inch of your being to not slap yourself on the forehead. He is scrunching his nose, squinting down at you with mild contempt. You get a good look at his sharp, broad temples and cheekbones, complete with a hardened jaw. His thick dark lips are pulled to one side in annoyance and are accentuated with a pair of jowls that look poised to bite at any time like some kind of deep sea angler fish. His eyes are very dark. They almost look red…

His expression goes blank as he sighs.

“Okay.”

“Great! Ah, when?!”

“Tomorrow, same time.”

“Grabsolutely- Great- fantastic! I won’t let you down!”

“Uh huh.”

He leaves. You assume you should leave too. You awkwardly follow him. He grabs his coat off a nearby chair, and you get a brief display of his amazing body shape as he flips the coat over his shoulders. You avert your attention to the floor, already feeling disrespectful after having looked down his shirt. Now you are both in the elevator. You are doing all in your power not to pass out over your small lucky break.

O’Hara pretends you aren’t there as he looks at his phone and chats with his AI assistant.

“Lyla, push the evening meeting to tomorrow as well, except an hour earlier.”

“Roger that!”

“I need coffee.”

“Roger that also!”

“Please, PLEASE tell them to not add cream. I really hate when they do that.”

You wanna ask him if he’s lactose intolerant but you already pushed your luck today.

Apparently he is exiting the building in the same way you are going, but he's booking it with long ass strides and it's difficult to keep up. You both end up on the same elevator again, this time with other people. He awkwardly acknowledges you with a blank smirk and brow raise, then promptly looks back down at his phone. Everyone else is trying not to bother him.

"Hello, Mister O'Hara, I didn't realize you were here! Hi!" says a lady who is shooting her shot at a social connection (she totally knew he was there.)

"Ah, hey. Miss...?"

"Stacy Brian! We met at the Student Festival earlier this year."

"Oh, right, right! Miss Brian, how are you?"

"Doing well! I didn’t know you wore glasses!"

"Oh- I totally forgot these were on my face," he admits while taking them off and trying to find a place to stash them, "I actually don’t wear glasses, it's- um, I have issues with bright computer screens."

You discreetly watch him in the elevator wall reflection as he quickly swaps the lenses out for a pair of red sunglasses. The elevator doors open and everyone flows out into the foyer. You realize you never got his card.

"Hey one more thing, sir!" You call out to him.

"What?"

"I don't have your number! What if we need to reschedule?!"

"Ah, right. Get your phone out, please."

He turns back around and searches for something on his phone. With a swift flick of his hand, he air drops his ID and number to your device.

"Thank you!"

"¡De nada!"

He swiftly leaves through the front doors and trots down the steps. You watch this huge marvel of nature hail a cab. The automated transporter car is so small that he has to bring his shoulders in tight to fit through the doorway. This seems to have more to do with him not wanting to snag his nice jacket.

A man of this position and wealth... hailing a cab? Must be in THAT much of a hurry. You look down at the data he sent you. His ID photo looks like they took his picture after pulling an all-nighter, and his half-hearted smile reveals his crooked teeth. But somehow he still looks great in an unconventional way.

•°《💀》°•

You drive home, feeling both anxious and also deflated. Miguel O'Hara was a mixed bag of what you expected. Speshall hyped him up as a sexy hunk of the year and Brody felt so intimidated that he went on an unwarranted Alpha Male rant, but the guy was so awkward with his tiny desk and water bottles and weird glasses, and he was whining to his AI helper about his coffee. He’s a large… finicky… lactose-intolerant nerd, but he's also got the moxy to move mountains. What’s more, now ya gotta think of what to say to him in the next interview. What could be expected of a guy like that? What if he cancels the meeting and your chance is lost forever?

Your car makes it home and you sit in it for a moment. Speshall left you a text asking about the interview.

Went weird, you text back.

"Welcome back, tenant 27," the AI apartment valet greets.

You open your car door and notice you've been parked over the grates again. You remember when you last dropped your phone in this spot, the fucking thing went right in between the grate holes and you couldn’t get it back for a week. You have the presence of mind to upload the latest bit of information (O'Hara's phone number) to your data cloud.

You walk through the parking garage. You know all the safe routes. It didn’t matter who you were, Nueva York was never safe at night.

You hear footsteps to your left but it’s just a couple of people walking together, a man and woman trying to huddle. The garage opening is just ahead. You go ahead and march out, not looking back.

You step out into the warm breeze of middle-class Nueva York. The wind is artificial, billowing from the hydro-electric plants that keeps this city running. It took you forever to get here, a lot of cheap-skating, white lies, and debt piling to maintain this life, but you are here! Unapologetic holo screens buzz near you as you walk, begging you to spend money as they light up the way to your apartment. There's no point in tapping their "no" buttons since that just wastes your time. The screens showcased brand-new cars, beautiful clothes, and radiant health. If you had more money, at least some of that could be yours. You hate that people roll around in all the wonderful things this world has to offer while you have to make do with decade old clothing and over-processed food. Where the hell is everyone getting it all from? When the hell will you get yours?

“Hey! Wanna buy a shared data cloud?!”

You are now being bothered by a salesman. You say nothing and keep walking. Even saying no opens more dialogue. He gives up but another comes at you.

“Wanna be a part of the elite task force that edits any and all articles about Thor?! It’s a paying job! $100 an hour!”

As dystopian as it sounds, $100 an hour won’t get you far in Nueva York, not in this era of quadrillionaires.

“Hey, I saw ya on da street earlier! Ya walked into traffic!”

You accidentally glance over at the familiar voice talking about the familiar subject. He’s got you. Your eyes are fixated on a creepypasta face, his irises flashing in a hypnotic pattern. This was way worse than the idea of the guy being just a flasher.

He’s a black market demon. The worst street hawker known to man.

You can’t remember much else besides him taking you by the hand and leading you away.

_________________________________________

Next: ACT 2 | BLACK MARKET DEMONS

[skoulsons]

It’s really tiring hearing so many complain about how there’s not enough violence or action in the show. Sure, these people don’t dive as deep as we do. They don’t listen to the podcast or look at the inside the episodes or look into the micro expressions in every scene and listen to the way certain lines are delivered or what have you. They haven’t heard Craig talk how it’s a love story or about why they toned down the violence so that, when violence does happen, it’s more impactful (ie QZ soldier, Bryan, sniper section, the guy at the university, and we know what’s to come in the last two episodes which I believe they’re saving the bulk of it for, iykyk).

But what I don’t get is people saying there’s too much talking and drama. Yeah, majority of the game is actually playing the game, and what ‘playing’ is is action and actually doing something, not being in constant conversation. That would make for a boring game if all it was was talking. I understand the notion of wanting more, considering the people who’ve played the game would want something like the game gives them. But it is a video game. That stuff is made extra and couldn’t happen irl, like listening mode?? Or Joel surviving his game injury?? Or the fact that none of it is real??

Even in the game, there’s still so much talking that goes on, even in gameplay. In those little conversations. Some being optional, some not. It’s not like talking isn’t a thing. It’s not like drama is nonexistent.

But this game, this story, is a drama. In a way it is for me, at least. It’s about Joel and Ellie. It’s about love in the midst of an incredibly broken and terrifying world. It’s about these two people finding each other and being the parts of each other the other needed. Even parts like the cache of guns (car battery in show) is still drama. Having to smuggle Ellie. Even the fireflies are drama in their own sense. Ellie finding her worth in her immunity. Joel trying to get rid of Ellie. Joel and Ellie’s growth into father and daughter. Something like that isn’t just the flip of a switch. Things actually have to happen, and those ‘things’ aren’t violence; its bonding on their journey together. The main themes in the show are drama between characters and the fate of the world as they know it. It really is the whole point.

They’ve balanced and adapted the show very well, I think. And to hear a lot of these people saying “it’s not faithful!!” Or “there’s too much talking!!” Is getting annoying. You want a faithful adaptation? Good luck, cause I think every other video game adaptation has been shit on. As for not liking the amount of talking and not enough violence, go play Dark Souls or Assassins Creed to fuel your need for murder. We will not wait for you to come back

[panelshowsource]

this is such a great episode!

for anyone who hasn't listened yet — it deals with some heavy things including food addiction and eating disorders, death, and more, so anyone who wants to check it out should be aware it's about richard's own history and his self-identified "failures", and it's not particularly light-hearted or funny even though it's endearing and inspiring in many ways

i really appreciate his honesty and how carefully he speaks. he has every right to be angry — with his father leaving, with his relationship to food and shame, with the ever-present confines of modern masculinity making life so lonely for men — but he never seems to be. he just cares about being the best, healthiest version of himself. and i appreciate that he doesn't talk at people, preach, act like he knows more or best; he just knows what he knows all while seeking to always be learning more. i really appreciate him!

i've never heard of a podcast by tailors, how interesting! i listened to the episode with alex and it was really sweet! i'll post this in case anyone else wants to check it out :)

(of course 💜)

same, i'd only really heard of it because i got a bunch of messages about it! (i was a little unplugged from scripted tv when the first series came out 😅)

TOTALLY AGREE about jon pointing! his comedic timing, his facial expressions, he is just too hilarious — even though...can i just say...why was that old ass man playing a uni student X_X

anyways — i knew him from plebs!! that's quite a famous itv2 series, so you should check it out and see if you like it! i love tom basden ugh and if you check my non-panel shows masterpost i have live at the moth club and he does standup in ep1!

i am somewhat familiar with it as someone who likes to watch some of the nextup specials (alistair barrie was one i enjoyed recently!) and tries to keep abreast of the festival nominees & winners, but i don't have as much time as i'd like to really weed out my favourites only because there isn't enough time in the day and i'm already trying to watch 100 things a day 🥲

one thing i find funny is how i pay more attention to who would do well on tv opposed to who is just GOOD. like, i didn't get john kearns until stopped thinking about him in the context of dictionary corner and started acknowledging his written set as a very, very specific piece of work that really shouldn't be disassembled and consumed in morsels. but i do see my interest in — and potentially my preference for — panel shows reflected in some of the circuit guys i like, such as alasdair beckett-king, huge davies, larry david. i just know they would kill panel show world if they were pushed properly :')

i find that i like standup a lot more live than i do on screen — which i think a lot of comedians would understand!

as well, i find the discourse about how difficult it is to get started/off the ground now that edinburgh fringe is becoming less and less accessible extremely fascinating and try to listen to all of the podcasts/convos about that that i can. it's costing comedians upwards of 5k just to debut a modest set at edinburgh — which is madness. here is tom mayhew talking to bbc news about this just a couple of weeks ago...

anyways, is there someone you wanted to recommend? i would love to check out anything 😚

—

daniel sloss standup — added a couple of those to drive! god i looooooved him when i was in high school and still do! highly recommend him on roast battle uk if you need extra sloss content. i'll work on the others over the next couple of weeks

alma's not normal — added to drive!

here we go — i know exactly where this is so i can hook you up but imma need you to dm/ask me off anon for the deets!

hold the front page + the unofficial science of home alone — sorry anons i don't have these on me but they're very easy requests someone can hook you up with on r/tv_bunny, so post them there!

—

PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS / NON-PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS FAQ / TAGS / ASK

[mariacallous]

The good folks at the Know Your Enemy podcast (Matthew Sitman and Sam Adler-Bell) did a recent episode w/ Erik Baker called “Bomb Power,” named after the 2010 book by Garry Wills, Bomb Power: The Modern Presidency and the National Security State.

As someone who spent the first half of his career doing guns-and-bombs security studies, I can’t believe I hadn’t heard of this book before listening to the podcast.

Upon Google-Scholar-ing Bomb Power, I discovered it had 166 citations—very, very modest for an author as well-known as Wills. And scanning through who’s been citing it, I see mostly historians (not international-relations or strategic studies scholars). So I suppose my ignorance about the book is normal within my field.

But their discussion on the episode triggered me in a few ways, leading me to ponder what happened to the conservatives who support peace—that used to be a thing.

A “Don’t Break Things” Conservative

Wills’s politics don’t map well onto our current context.

He had ties to William F. Buckley and the National Review crowd. And his prolific writing often went after liberals, especially Kennedy (though his book Nixon Agonistes was a masterclass and did not spare Nixon of his critical prose).

But Wills recognized that power had a tendency to corrupt. That America itself had been guilty of great evils whose consequences it never repaired. And that if a preference for limited government meant anything at all, it meant a commitment to limiting the power of the national security state—there was no military exemption from the “limited government” mantra.

When I was finishing my PhD at the Catholic University of America (I enrolled there having no idea about its very conservative reputation), I studied under and socialized with conservatives like Wills. They mostly hated the Bush administration, generally thought the Iraq War was insane, and were critical of what had become the imperial presidency. (Before you romanticize them too much, they also hosted Brett Kavanaugh and Newt Gingrich at various times, they largely believed in civilizational (as in clash of civilizations) politics, and some of them seemed to think race science had merit…)

These days, it’s fairly common for people to claim they’re progressive while actually being center-right economic liberals with limited tolerance for anything redistributive. Wills cut in the opposite direction. As the Know Your Enemy guys talk about in the episode, Wills at times took up policy positions that we would think of as progressive, but he identified as a conservative. Why?

Aside from personal affection for the label, I suspect this has to do with his Burkean “don’t break things” sensibility, as well as the sense that 1) the common good is achievable within the nation-state itself, 2) the Founding Fathers had something to teach us and/or were extraordinary, and 3) the Constitution is a holy-adjacent document.

I think that perspective is intellectually unsatisfying and a political dead end. But YMMV.

The important thing is that folks who believe that stuff are folks you can work with sometimes. And if you’re in mortal danger, they’re the kind of American who just might help you out. More importantly, if any part of the right is recruitable into an antifascist coalition, it’s the “don’t break things” conservatives.

An Endangered Species

You can still find conservatives like Wills out there in American society. I know of one or two pundits who would fit this category of principled, preservationist conservatism. And, funnily enough, there are a lot of these types in New Zealand (a country with every type of conservative).

But in Washington, this species of conservative doesn’t exist. Not a single Republican official can claim fidelity to the Willsian template. To a man—and they’re mostly men—the electoral GOP has repudiated everything meaningful in the “don’t break things” tradition.

Talking Like a Peacenik

The remarkable thing about Wills’s Bomb Power is how much it reads like a leftist critical text. It would go too far to call Wills a historical materialist, but his implicit philosophy is not incompatible with it.

His invocation of the national security state—a term with which any Un-Diplomatic reader is by now very familiar—originated with Marcus Raskin, a co-founder of the Institute for Policy Studies (the first progressive think tank in Washington). IPS was and remains an expressly antimilitarist presence in Washington, and one of the few institutions there that can claim ties to the peace progressives who constitute what I think are the grassroots of the Democratic Party.

Wills’s reference to permanent war and the economy that supports it owes to Seymour Melman, a left-aligned peace intellectual who popularized (and possibly coined) “permanent war economy” through a series of books and essays that deserve a much wider reading.

And Wills’s claim that nuclear weapons are fundamentally tools of despotism that have permanently disempowered democracy is a pretty common view on the left going back to George Orwell’s classic essay, “You and the Atom Bomb” (which I still teach!).

What all this suggests is that Wills was a conservative who read widely. You might even say he was open-minded.

As such, he made analytical use of the criticisms against the powerful rendered by people with whom he likely disagreed. And he did so, at least partly, in the name of peace. Good luck finding someone like that in the Republican Party today.

[thisaintascenereviews]

AJR - The Maybe Man

Up until listening to pop-rock / indie-pop AJR’s new album, The Maybe Man, I only knew that a lot of people hated them. I had only listened to a couple songs, and I never thought they were outright horrible, but I wouldn’t want to listen to a full record of that. Well, things change, and I decided to be morbidly curious about The Maybe Man, both because I had never heard a full record from these guys and because the circumstances behind it were interesting. This record was written either before or during their father’s passing, as AJR is composed of three brothers whose first name comprise the initials of the band, so they were really going through it. I also listened to a podcast that they were on and talked about the record, so it made me want to hear it, since they seem like great, earnest, and down to earth guys that love music, so I hunkered down late last week and spent some time listening to this record. Is this band as bad as most stuffy online critics make them out to be?

Honestly, no, not at all. While I won’t say that this is the best album of the year, it’s a genuinely good one that kind of surprised me. I had a lot of fun with this, and I found myself surprised by how solid it truly was. I don’t want to oversell this album as some kind of masterpiece, because it’s not, but this record is a lot of fun and oddly poignant in some ways. This album is kind of rooted in rather sad themes, with a lot of songs being about disillusioned with fame, dealing with mental illness, struggling with getting older, and their father’s passing. This album has some good hooks, such as “Touchy Feely Fool,” “Yes I’m A Mess,” “Intertia,” and “Hole In The Bottom Of My Brain,” among others. Hell, the song “Steve’s Going To London” is a song that’s kind of a commentary on how songs don’t need to be about anything. The first half is a bunch of nonsense lyrics about a bunch of people doing unrelated things, and the song jumps into a bit of meta commentary on how they tried to a write a song that tries too hard to be about writing a song.

The album’s centerpiece, though, is the second to last song “God Is Really Real.” This is the track about their father’s passing and it’s honestly kind of a tearjerker. You can really feel the band’s pain as they come to terms with it, but some of the song is about how they’re in denial of their dad’s illness. It’s not attempting to be corny, silly, or over the top, but it’s grounded in more reality. The title is also rather interesting, because one of the biggest lines in the song is “God is really real when you really, really need him,” and “God’s fucking fake ‘til he’s not,” which is a variation on the idea that someone is only an atheist until something bad happens and they need to pray, but it weirdly works.

At the same time, I can understand why people wouldn’t like this. This album is a bit overblown in spots, and some of the lyricism is very corny (there’s a kind of cringy reference to Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming Pools” in “Steve’s Going To London,” but it works okay for what it is), but they downplay the over the top sound that they normally have. This album is more stripped back, despite having some moments that bombastic and over the top, and it feels more like a straightforward pop album. It won’t blow your mind, by any means, but if you never liked these guys, I’d check this out, even if it’s out of pure curiosity. I won’t say it’s amazing, or even great, but it’s still really good.

[beetlegoose01]

Home

A Foot Too Big Ending Rewrite

Read on AO3

~•~

Donatello stood tall, resting his palms against the mahogany banister barely keeping the porch, let alone the entire cabin together. He found himself listening to the sounds of the woods. The wind wisps about, the birds chirping their midday song, and the rustling of leaves flowing in the breeze. 

He closed his eyes. He had never experienced anything like this. Being in nature was a foreign concept, having lived in the sewers of New York City for most of his life. And the moments he did leave the sewers, he and his brothers were left to deal with robots, ninjas, and mutants. 

And now, apparently Bigfoot too. 

If someone had approached him saying Bigfoot was real, that all the conspiracy theories from those podcasts he listened to were actually legit, he would have believed it without a second thought. He was a mutant turtle after all. Nothing surprised him anymore.

 Yet despite this, he was still utterly surprised at seeing how Bigfoot truly was. It- no, she was an enigma in her own right. 

She was no mythological creature made up by bored humans to scare others and spread conspiracy theories. She was real. She was real and alive and...obsessed with him. To a creepy degree. She was affectionate, sensitive, trailing him around like a hungry puppy looking for a snack. It was tiresome. It was embarrassing. 

"Now you know how April feels." Raph's voice echoed in his mind. 

He knew what that meant. It took a while, but he finally did. He was Bigfoot to April. A disgusting, sad individual who followed her around and embarrassed her. It was why she cringed after he made her the music box gift. It was also why she smiled at him, and hugged him with some devotion, but no true love behind her eyes. 

He had fucked up. Badly. 

"Hey stranger!" April chirped from behind him. 

"Gah!" He yelped in surprise.

She grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I...thought you heard me walk outside. Guess these slippers are too quiet." She gestured to her rainbow narwhal slippers. 

Even with how beautiful she was, he felt sick to his stomach. 

"Everything alright? You look as concerned as Mikey did when I told him we ran out of frozen pizza last night." 

That made him chuckle a bit. "Yeah I'm fine. It's been...a weird day. 

April snorted.  "You can say that again. 

With mischief dancing in his eyes, he said it again.  "It's been a weird day."

"Smartass." 

He smirked. "It's what I do best. So...listen, about earlier---" His expression turned to that of pleading and anxious. "I'm sorry about the music box. I thought you would like it, and I dunno, I wanted to show my appreciation for you and it backfired and made me look desperate and-" 

April's expression softened. "Donnie, please."

He couldn't help but hide his face in shame. "You must hate me now." 

"No, Donnie, I could never...I would never hate you. Ever. You're one of my best friends in the whole world. I- I know I haven't exactly been the greatest friend ever, but I want you to know that I appreciate you guys so much. Even when I've acted off, you've always stuck by my side. I know it hasn't been easy to deal with me.

We've been through so much. So much loss."  

Donnie realized that she was not only talking about her father, but Splinter, and the city too. 

April exhaled. "Before Leo woke up, I was terrified we would lose him too. And that...we could all lose each other at any point. And that scares me so much." Her voice trembled slightly. 

Donnie's heart wanted to hug her. To comfort her, to let her know that he would never leave her. But something in the back of his mind held him back, to listen. 

"Donnie, I'm scared I'm going to lose you," She whispered. 

"You won't." He assured her without missing a single beat. 

"I already have."

Donnie blinked incredulously. "What? No, no, no you haven't. I'm right here, I promise, I will never leave you. You can count on me." 

April traced the banister with one fingertip, not looking back at him. "I've been having visions late at night when I can't sleep. They were like nightmares, but instead of forgetting them in the morning, they stuck around. And they're so clear and vivid too, I can't possibly forget them." She turned towards the stars, squinting as though she was recalling everything in her head. 

"I feel tension. Hatred. Discomfort. And then...nothing. Like it all disappears. You're all gone." 

"Gone?" He echoed. 

"Yes, gone. Like I said, it's only visions. But sometimes, I worry that it's already happening. You know---" She pointed towards herself, then back at him. "Your whole vendetta with Casey."

Donnie winced. "Oh...with me and Casey." He swallowed and folded his hands. "It's, well, I thought you knew but ah... The truth is April, I like you a lot. As in, more than friends." His cheeks heated up. "I realized Casey had feelings for you too, and I guess I felt jealous. I went to extreme measures just to get you to notice me." 

April's eyes widened, stunned. "Oh Donnie...I'm so sorry I---" 

"I know, I understand now after I dealt with Bigfoot. I'm this sad thing that follows you around. I'm just a mutant." 

"What? Donnie, I'm a mutant too! Have you already forgotten that?" 

"That's different, you're---"

"Human passing, I know, and I will never truly understand the struggles you and your brothers have gone through. Our experiences will always be different, but my point still stands." 

She reached out her hand, but the purple turtle pulled his away. "What about Casey?" Donnie asked. 

She frowned. "What about him?" 

"Ever since he joined our group, he's been...closer with you. I always felt so frustrated and angry, and maybe a little jealous. It's like he was intentionally getting under my skin by flirting with you." 

"Right..." April couldn't hide the slight discomfort in her expression. 

"And I guess I assumed you liked it. Him. You like him." 

She groaned. "I feel like no matter what answer I say will be the wrong one."

Donnie stared at her, startled. "What? 

"Like I'm a mouse running through a maze, but all the corners are closed in."

"That's not true--- it's your feelings." 

"Is it?" April chuckled half-hardheartedly to herself. "You just said how Casey made you feel uncomfortable every time he was friendly with me. Because we're friends." Donnie was surprised to see her scoff, almost cynical with her response.  "It was never about my own feelings, it was all about you and Casey's. Because if I pick one of you, the other will be upset. And if I pick neither? Then I've ruined everything." 

"But why do I have to make the big decisions? Why do we have to make everything so complicated? I just want to get along with everyone. I wanted friends, I wanted ...a family I---" Her voice cracked, and Donnie swore he could see her eyes glisten with tears that she roughly rubbed away. "I'm ..." 

"April...I'm so sorry." 

"Don't. Please. I don't want to hear it. I just want it to stop. I want my dad back. I want our home and...our lives to be normal again. I want to stop the Kraang and remain friends forever." 

Donnie nodded firmly. "I want to fix this." 

"I should be the one apologizing.  I shouldn't have acted the way I did. Especially after everything we've been through. I guess...I was just so focused on impressing you, and making you like me that I lost sight of what's really important." He smiled. "The bond we have as friends." 

April lifted her head slowly. 

"I know....words can't repair what I've done. I know I've hurt you.  But if you'd rather be friends, then that's cool with me."

"Really?" 

"I respect your feelings too much to let you get worked up over something like this. I actually like us being friends more, now that I think about it."

"Oh..." She wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace. "I'm so relieved to hear that, D. I'll tell Casey too!"

The truth was, nothing had changed between them. Their friendship and love for each other was as strong as ever. 

Perhaps even stronger. 

[strawberryezpls]

why will i always feel like this?

I literally hate everything and I understand why i wanted to kill myself so bad whenever i did (back in may lol) ummmmmmmmm this time around of the year is lwokey a little bit triggering because i was just depressed as fuck! and why is my mom making me give my father money for my own good(like a charity) when i don't see or even heard of them doing that to my grandparents like ever? and it doesn't look like it ever did them any good. I graudte from community college this year and i can finally go live in he dorms WHICH IS A ECCESITy cuz if im not living in the dorms im still not living at home. It actally crazy how i have zero support from my family at all. Like they all tell me to study hard and get good grades and blah blah but it's like once I try "oh why aren't you helping around the house" and its not a good feeling. Omg and I think i have autism like for real, or something cuz i have all the traits and i would just be a high level of mask. or am i just overlooked and im not realling masking i'm just brushed off as that's just me. imagine it really is just me. I also don't feel like living for anythign rightnow. I did see nicki minaj yesterday which was ENLIGHTENING she was like 2 hours late but idc and i somehow didn't get caught hehehehhe. um i have to get my wisdom tooth out in like 3 weeks and my finals are almost over. Omg that bullshit about me waiting for the right guy bitch I went right back to the guy i left for the clairty of my mind. and then we've been together ever since. But here's the thing he said hes observing now bc of the way we handle arguments. Like shouldn't you know what you want and how you want it. idk sometimes i feel like im being used and i don't understand how why he even wants me around i feel like i don't do anything for him at least emotionsally or mentally or like what i'm supposed to be. Which like i was fine with being in a sort of situationship with him since january but i think since we wenton our first one on one date a little after valentines that we would be together together but i guess not. And i don't really want to be with a amn now that's like im observing bc of the way we agrue which is like whatever. also wtf is knock knock ginger? sorry i'm listening to a podcast. omgi think being in ramadan which i s gonna sound sad and probably wrong for a moment but bare with me. like everytime Ramadan comes around i just don't feel good bc i feel like i was taught islam wrong like i just don't believe everything or anything someone from my country is saying abt it spefically my dad. like it just gets me so angy bc i could've been those girls who love their religion and I wanna do that but I want there to be people who als understand me and shit. I really love how im college educated but you would think 9 year odl wrote this pls. speaking of idk how imma do it living with a random person like i don't evn like living with someone else, like i love my bed yall. i also need a car with a door handle and the bumper not falling apart. I also wanna be boy free for a while bc it's just something abt it yk. I also don't trust anything anyone is saying and everything everyone says no matter who it is is annoying as fuck and they need to stop talking and im talking abt people who i don't even know too. Like why is everyone annoying all of a sudden b4 i didn't feel like that. wait it priobanyl bc i have to fucking be sober for the next month. saye but at least i get to turn up on my birthday I think. idk i'm scaed to smoke too early ater my surgery. which speaking of i NEED to do something fun and i need tolook good on my birthday like fr. Like i would want to do something even by myself just because i deserve it but my parents be pocket watching me like its not my money. anyways i really wanna get my lashes and nails done really bad. I think I'll just buy a wig and wear it that day and then i could get my own outfit yk. I literally cannot wait broooooo I don't know where imma be eating and whos ocming and whos not yk but yeaaaaaaa. I got too many people who would overlap and i don't want to

[ear-worthy]

Ed Mylett Podcast: The Best At Helping Listeners Be Their Best

 I received a press release from Karen Glover, the excellent Director Of Marketing at Cumulus Media. If you don't know, Cumulus has 403 owned-and-operated radio stations across 85 markets, and many world-class partners across more than 9,400 affiliated stations through Westwood One, the largest audio network in the U.S.

In other words, Cumulus is a massive company with a large podcasting footprint. Typically, for me, a podcast that becomes subsumed under a large network isn't news to report to Ear Worthy readers.

Out of respect for Karen Glover, I decided to listen to several episodes of The Ed Mylett Show. I wasn't expecting much, and I had never heard of Mr. Mylett.

After listening to 10 episodes, I was pleasantly surprised and delighted with his podcast. 

At first, I thought Mr. Mylett was another Tim Ferriss. You know. Up at four in the morning, 500 pushups by 6 AM, a massive to-do list, and a can-do anything and everything attitude.

Instead, I found Mr. Mylett to be thoughtful, considerate of his listeners, an excellent interviewer, a superb teacher, and an all-around good human being. 

He's Joe Rogan without all the misinformation miasma, crazy conspiracy theories, and audience pandering.

AND -- Mr. Mylett has his own jet! Finally, a nice guy with his own plane. Take that Jeffrey Epstein, Elon Musk, and Donald Trump. 

Ed Mylett's background is impressive.  As a young man, he attended the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, where he was a three-time academic All-American before an untimely injury ended his dream of playing in the major leagues. At his father's urging, Ed became a counselor for disadvantaged children in what turned out to be one of the pivotal turning points of his life. It was there he first started to appreciate the importance of serving others and laying the foundation for success principles he would put into practice later in life. Ed Mylett has been named one of the Top 50 wealthiest under 50 and is the youngest person ever named to the President’s National Leadership Advisory Board. Mylett has been involved in several tech, real estate, medical, and food ventures, among many others, leading him to be named a Success Magazine SUCCESS 125 most influential leader in 2022. Mylett has a passion for mentoring and coaching others on what it takes to become a champion. That expertise and passion for coaching and mentoring does come through loud and clear in his podcast. Unlike an Anthony Robbins, Ed Mylett doesn't talk down, or at, his audience, but tries to convey actionable steps for personal success. On his show, Ed Mylett interviews peak performers across all industries – including business, health, collegiate and professional sports, politics, entrepreneurship, science and entertainment – sharing their journeys, knowledge and thought leadership to help inspire listeners to become their best selves. 

Ed Mylett is also the author of “The Power of One More.” Since its release in June 2022, this peak performance book has landed on several bestseller lists. In addition, he has built a loyal following as the host of the television show Change with Ed Mylett. 

  Ed Mylett is well known for combining spirituality, faith, the inner workings of the mind, and tactical thoughts and actions to help people produce real changes in their lives. He attributes his good fortune to his faith in God, his mentors, and the lessons his father taught him throughout life. 

I enjoyed the episode on December 21 about "12 Steps To Becoming A Master Listener." On this show, Mr. Mylett goes through actionable and supportive steps to become a better listener, and that instruction was helpful.  What impressed me here was that Mr. Mylett spent some time discussing his pitfalls with listening, namely interrupting people to insert his thoughts. 

I also enjoyed his story about having a passenger on his plane that he admired who talked for the entire three-hour flight about himself and never asked any questions about Mylett. 

On the September episode with comedian Tom Papa, Mr. Mylett and Papa commiserate on the state of our culture today, with people feeling the need to declare their political "team" upfront. As Mr. Mylett and Papa reiterated, we should try to connect with each other instead of splitting us apart as a society. 

Mr. Mylett is also adept at celebrity interviews, specifically with singer Jewel and singer / actor Jason Derulo. He doesn't pander or pontificate, but listens well and subtly draws out their stories for the benefit of his listeners. The Ed Mylett Show drops a new episode each Tuesday and Thursday, with The Cumulus Podcast Network distributing, marketing, and monetizing the show. On the off chance that Mr. Mylett reads this review, I recommend and implore him to interview these independent podcasters on his show. As I'm sure Mr. Mylett knows, independent podcasters are the ultimate bootstrapped entrepreneurs driven to succeed.

They are: The Life Shift podcast host Matt Gilhooly, who has candid conversations with people about the pivotal moments that changed their lives forever. 

Two adult adoptees, Sarah Reinhardt and Louise Browne, who decided to delve into all things adoption on Adoption: The Making Of Me.

Evan Stern, creator and host of Vanishing Postcards, a documentary travelogue that invites listeners on a road trip exploring the hidden dives and histories found by exiting the interstates. 

[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

7/21/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription

Hosea 8 - 14

Today’s the 21st of July, I'm Jill. Welcome everyone to Daily Audio Bible Chronological. If you're new, we're so glad that you're here. Grab a cup of coffee. Get yourself a Coke, Iced tea, lemonade, whatever. They just come on in. It's so good to be here with you as we read through the Bible in chronological order. We do it every day and we get through the Bible in its entirety in a year. Where in the Old Testament Still going to be here for just a little bit more. And we're making our way towards the new, which is sort of metaphoric, sort of symbolic, and sort of real life, at the same time living in the newness of what is and looking to God to see what it is that he would want to Resurrect and redeem in our own lives. So we'll just take a deep breath together here, And hold it just for a second. And let it go. And we'll let go of all distractions around us, let go of all of the demands of life. If we don't, they could literally eat us alive. We'll just take the next couple of minutes to center ourselves around the scripture reading for today and see if God might want to speak some things to his kids. We're continuing the book of Hosea today and we are going to finish that little guy. Some harsh language in this little guy. But we hear the heart of God calling for his people to return to him. And so we will pick up where we left off yesterday Hosea chapters 8 through 14, and today we're reading the New Living translation, Hosea, Chapter 8.

Prayer

This concludes the prophetic book of Hosea. Father, we thank you for your word today. Thank you for being here with us, meeting here with us as we journey through the word of God together. I pray that we would be a people that give you thanks and praise in the plenty And and want. That we know you in every season of our lives. And that we choose to remember Your goodness in all of it. We pray this now and the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Announcements

Daily Audio Bible, That's home base. Check it out if you have not. Take a look around.Check out the store, there's some fun things there. They're intended to enhance your journey through the reading, if you Journal, pencils, T-shirt, coffee, coffee subscription, and have it mailed fresh to your door every month. If you would like to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you so much for your partnership. We could not do this without you, so grateful that we do not have to. If you're giving by mail, DAB PO Box 1996, Spring Hill TN 37174. Or hit the give icon up at the top right hand corner of your mobile device. And lastly you can look for the give icon on the website. If you need prayer or if you would like to pray for someone that's previously called in several different ways for you to do so 800-583-2164 or utilizing that mobile app. Once again that the red circle button up at the top right hand corner of your device, you have two minutes on the prayer line. Hit Submit. At the end and then turn the wheel over to Chronological and it will get to the right place.That's it for me today. I'm Jill. We'll turn the page together tomorrow. It's been a joy and an honor to be here with you, Until then Love One another. 

Community Prayer Line

This Is Saved by Us Grace and Happy Valley. China, I just listen to the Your July 15th podcast and I have to admit, I kind of snickered when you Talked about How stupid it seemed that The kings of Israel and Judah had heard the warnings from the prophets, and still they turned from God and worshiped other gods. Because I thought, Good grief, think of  this country we've got. Well, especially our political leaders are prime examples of that, and there are so many people that don't Don't go to church, and possibly never have been to church. It's obvious that This nation has turned away from God, as have many nations around the world. Oh, then a lot of the churches, Teach their people to hate sinners rather than listening to Jesus who says love one another, even your enemies.The only way to bring sinners to Jesus So he can work on them. Is to love them. I have to admit, I find it a lot easier to love sinners than to love the haters. I really have to work on that. So pray for me, please. But we need to heed the lesson from today. We have God's word We've got it all spelled out for us, and still so many have turned away. God bless you all. Bye. 

Hello my DABC Family. This is his Hands on me tea. Today's date is July 15th and I just want to pray for a couple of people. I want to pray for Lakisha and family. Whose sister lost her baby and her life doing childbirth.  Lord, I just pray that you wrap your arms around this family who is broken, who don't understand, who is hurting, who have so many questions right now. Father, I pray that you send your healing. Hallelujah. I pray that you send your deliverance. I pray that you send your comfort, and I pray that you send your peace in Jesus name. And Father, I pray for Cory's from Texas, whose mother-in-law is in the hospital. And she's going through kidney failure, and she has fluid on her lungs, and she's suffering from suspects. Lord, I pray that you touch her body, make her whole Father, God, in the name of Jesus, I pray that you touch this family who has been at the hospital 24/7. I pray for Cory's wife that you give them peace, you give them comfort. I pray that your will be done in this situation. I pray that you will wrap your arms around this family. Let your your peace that surpasses all understanding be in their hearts and in their minds is in Jesus name. I also pray that you give the doctors wisdom and knowledge on how to properly treat Helen, God. In Jesus name. Amen. 

Good morning DABC Family. This is his faithful one in Arizona and I am calling on Sunday July 16th and I just wanted to say thank you for those of you that prayed for my husband To to find work. I really appreciate the prayers. He will be starting a part time teaching job in August and He's got a few tutoring jobs that he's going to be doing throughout the week. And so I just think you and I praise God for those that have come in. Uh And I just want to ask for your continued prayers for him. As he continues to push against God and just try and do everything on his own. I see him Being independent and Just Not wanting to submit. He's He's fully vested on He is the one that's going to solve the problems and he's the one that's going to make things work. And just giving up on God, God can't help him, and so I just ask for your continued prayers for him. I just want to tell you guys that I am so appreciative of this community. This is only my second time calling and I just have been feeling the urge to call back and keep you guys posted with things that are going on. So I thank you. I pray for you guys as I hear the prayer requests come in and I praise the Lord with you with your praise reports. So keep them coming. Keep encouraging 

Hi DABC family. This is under construction. I'm sorry for another prayer request, but.So Heart broken and beat and exhausted. And it's just I feel like this relationship is just killing me slow. Before I met my other half, I prayed and I prayed and I prayed for God to bring me an Angel.Add instead.I got the devil.Wrapped in a pretty package.I had so many hopes and dreams.I wish just for us.And instead I live in hell.My own little hole.Hidden behind a facade.That everything's OK.I don't.Really know what to pray for?How to know that I don't want to give up?I'm fine giving up on Earth.If you're better if we went our separate ways.I have really got to work a miracle for that to happen.No trauma.No extra.Just.Please keep me in your purse. 

[quillquiver]

On SPN, Burying Your Gays, and Being Heard

I am shaking, I feel sick, I feel like I’m insane. And did I run a little wild with the theories? You bet. But you know what didn’t help? The botched clusterfuck that was this entire goddamn finale debacle. How was I supposed to believe anything they said in panels when M&G dialogue would leak saying the exact opposite? How was I supposed to grieve and move on when there was nothing from the cast and crew? Nobody said anything! And any info leaked just destabilized what we already knew or directly contradicted what we’d been told. In light of that, how was I supposed to trust anything anyone said? One rogue translator reciprocated the love confession and I was practically sold, because there were so many questions surrounding the English text that this was something good, something that logically fit, and something I wanted to hold onto. 

Because they hurt me. This is about so much more than one episode or a ship; for years queer fans have seen ourselves in these characters and been told that we were crazy. That we were reading too much into it. I’m not sure how people get upset and offended when a storyline that doesn’t exist... doesn’t exist! said Guy Bee (2013). And then, after all of that, they turned around and said magnanimously, you have your version, I have mine... and that’s okay. But it’s not okay. It’s not okay, because that doesn’t erase what came before - that doesn’t erase the baiting and the gaslighting, and that invalidates everything we felt in the time leading up to that episode. It gave them an open window for all the subtext that came after. It allowed them to brush us off.

And then we got Cas’s love confession. I watched that scene about 500 times. Added to the rest of the season - to the fandom avatar being presented as successful and intelligent, to arc being the death of the author - I felt seen. Really seen, by a show that made it its mission to erase me. I had been okay with Cas dying at first because I had been sure the romance arc would carry through. I had been convinced that after everything, there was no way they would give that to us and then take it away.

But they did, because this is Supernatural. To anyone saying this is not bury your gays, I implore you to read up on the Hays Code. This link is to an amazing queer history podcast and the episode that covers it. In short, the Hays Code was a legal document that came about in 20th Century Hollywood during the puritanical war on the American entertainment industry,  and it stipulated what was not allowed on screen. Not all of it was queer - there’s a whole section about kissing - but what the Code is most remembered for is that queerness was not allowed on screen. But queer people are resilient, and so they started testing the waters... and it turned out that you could in fact code queerness into a narrative, as long as it was subtextual, or as long as the queer character died/was punished, or both. The point is that the character is not allowed to live their truth openly. They are buried, either in the ground or punished in the narrative. The former is normally what we refer to these days, because the latter just doesn’t really happen anymore.

Until Supernatural. 

Castiel is immediately punished for speaking his truth - and please don’t tell me he leveraged that punishment and so he had agency. Literally the only thing that could make him happy was confessing his feelings, and so the Empty deal was directly related to this idea of queerness-as-punishment. That being said, Bobo wrote a beautiful scene. Cas’s confession was a love letter to queerness and coming out... but everything that came after buried him. Castiel may have ended the series alive but he was effectively written out of the last two episodes, and that means that he actually never really got to live his truth. He was silenced by the narrative - that is punishment. 

Dean is a whole other can of worms. Does one rogue translator confirm canon bi!Dean? Or do we have to read our own version of the text? The fact that we even have to ask these questions firmly places us in the realm of queerbaiting. Were the writers trying to get bi!Dean approved but were unable to? I have no idea, but queerbaiting requires proof that the writers encouraged a reading they had no intent of following through on, and we certainly don’t lack in evidence of that. Not from this writers room, but from those of previous eras. Did these writers try? They might have, but the funny thing about queerbaiting discourse is that there has never been a show to bait this long, and I’m making the call that even if you tried at the end, you baited me with half the ship and all the years that came before. 

Of course, the narrative leaves open the possibility of bi!Dean so if you do read the show that way, that means Dean also falls into the bury your gays category; if you read the show this way - which many of us do - the mere suggestion that Dean Winchester was bisexual was enough to punish him. And he was punished. We’ve all written extensively on this, but he was given a random death, on a case his father never finished. All that growth, all that time spent having him accept himself, love himself, that was all taken away. He died the way he always thought he would: as a tool, in service of his father, protecting his brother. He had always believed he’d been a body to throw on the sword and in the end that’s all he was. And when he gets to Heaven? He’s also silenced. He barely speaks in the episode except to monologue during his death, and that is 100% Sam-centric. He is scared. 

It was horrific to watch. I sobbed so hard my roommate was seriously concerned. 

I had been fully prepared for Supernatural to end disappointingly. I had figured everything would end with a huge heaven reunion because white, straight, cis-male S&F writers love the idea of death as a reward, but instead of being disappointed I felt like I had witnessed a slaughter. Every single one of the queer themes intrinsic to the show: found family, resilience, speaking your truth... were gone. And I know we’ve talked about this too, but it bears repeating, because in doing this, in writing the queerness out of its narrative, Supernatural effectively looked every one of us queer folx in the eye and said: you are not important. You don’t matter. All of that stuff that came before is all good and well, but what really matters at the end of all things is blood family. It’s two brothers in a car. Life sucks but at least we get to die and go to paradise - real paradise, that your angel buddy died for and then made for you and who we never hear from again.

I felt insane. I felt cheated. I felt humiliated. I felt devastated. I still feel all those things, but listen to me. You have been heard. Not by Misha Collins, who is a great guy, but doesn’t get it. Not by Jensen Ackles, who is a similarly great guy, but also just doesn’t understand. And not by anyone else who worked on this show. 

You know who heard you? Me. The people who follow me. The people who follow you. We saw each other, and heard each other, and we gave each other a leg up. We made memes. We wrote fic. We drew fanart. We made gifs. All for ourselves and all for each other. We broke Tumblr multiple times. We donated over $60,000 USD to multiple different causes. We got multiple hashtags trending at multiple different points, and today kept it up because we demanded answers and then we got them. There were at least 5 articles written about the show today. We made that happen. We made people listen. 

Supernatural didn’t deserve me, and it didn’t deserve you. It didn’t deserve Dean. It didn’t deserve Cas. It didn’t deserve Misha and Jensen. But this show ended with a bleak, awful message and we turned around and showed them that love is loud. So what about all of this is real?

We are.

[nikethestatue]

La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think. 

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

 Azriel

 Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

 Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

 Elain

 “He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

 Azriel

 Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

 Elain

 Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

 As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.  

 The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn��t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

 ********************

 Azriel

 Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

 Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

 It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

[apinchofm]

@katrie-reads I was listening to an All Souls podcast and one of the hosts posited a theory that Stephen Proctor was actually from the past and time walked to the future as a child to get away from the weaver hunts by other witches in the past. Not your usual thing, I know, but it made me go “oh! I want to write that” and then immediately slap my own hand because I’m already horribly behind on arc 3, which is due to start publishing in March or April. So, if you have any interest, it could be fun!

ooh, firstly, this is such an interesting theory and would explain so much about Stephen's character - his sympathy for other species, his dislike for Knox, reluctance to be around other witches and why he was so secretive!

Anyway, had a go and I hope you like it!

1692

"Grab him!"

Stephen ran through the woods, his familiar flying behind him. He dodged witch fire. His father John had already been tried and executed. In the midst of it, his familiar appeared. Other witches knew what that meant.

A weaver. A threat.

He closed his eyes, and ran through the forests of Salem, wishing for safety. Somewhere where he would be safe.

Goddess, please help me

1945

He opened his eyes, having fallen onto a field. He was no longer in the forest outside of Salem. He was in a garden

A little girl, around the same age looked at him in surprise before smiling.

"Where am I?"

"Boston." She replied, "Are you a witch too?"

Her parents came rushing out. The father looked remarkably like his own. His magic told him these were his relatives.

"He's one of us." David Proctor said. He had always heard the story of his great grandfather's brother who disappeared when the Puritans did their witch hunts. The lost son of John Procter.

"You'll be safe here." He kneeled in front of young Stephen, promising him this.

The benefits of money and magic were that no one asked questions when Stephen became visible. The son of a cousin who had died during the war. And he learned in secret, in the dead of night to control his power.

And how to conceal it.

1972

The downside to being in Massachusetts was the amount of witches. He was invited to the Equinox by Peter Knox's father. It was more of an order.

A beautiful, blonde witch bumped into him, hiding in the same corner he was.

"Hi,"

"Uh, hi."

"You're Dr Proctor, right?" She asked.

"Uh, yep. That's me." He says.

"I'm Rebecca. Rebecca Bishop."

"Bishop. Wow, pleasure." He shook her hand and she smiled. He remembered Bridget Bishop. A kind witch who stood up for herself. She refused to marry, which upset other witches and simply made humans suspicious.

"Well, you're a Proctor. You guys are pretty legendary."

Stephen shrugged, as he always did, "Well, I'm pretty unremarkable."

"That isn't true! I read your study of European society in the 1600s. It was really interesting." Rebecca gushed and then blushed, feeling embarrassed, "Sorry, this is a party and I'm talking about work."

"I'd prefer to work, really. But Knox asked me to come." He was relieved she asked about his work rather than his powers. Knox Sr. had been inquiring about the kind of power he had, which he covered up by messing up one of the written, more simple spells.

They left him alone. For now.

"Peter's dad? Yeah, they are a forceful bunch." Rebecca frowned. "But he is on the Congregation, so it's a do or die kinda thing."

She suddenly grabbed his hands, smiling brightly at him "Wanna get out of here?"

They spent the rest of the evening in a little cafe nearby, talking about history. And Stephen knew he was going to ask her to marry him there and then.

1974

He and Rebecca lay in the field behind the Bishop house, looking at the stars above. The newly married couple decided to spend the night in the quiet after the festivities of their wedding day. She pointed out constellations.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He asked.

"Of course, you can tell me anything."

He sat them both up and took a deep breath, deciding to show her. He demonstrated the first four knots of magic, clumsily but he managed to demonstrate what he wanted. What he was.

"You're a- no way!" She excitedly, "You're a weaver!"

"Yeah," Stephen replied nervously. But she didn't look fearful as other witches had. Instead, she looked intrigued.

"Well, no wonder you're such a loner!" She playfully shoved him, "I thought you hated me at first."

He smiled self-deprecatingly, "I could never hate you."

"I get it. I mean, not completely. My visions can be... overwhelmingly accurate. Peter always says they're a gift but..." Rebecca explained.

"You wonder why on earth it scares others so much?" Stephen finished and she nodded.

"I won't tell anyone. I swear it." She promised. She meant it.

He then told her everything. When he was really born.

Rebbecca blushed and sighed, "I knew that."

He looks at her, dumbfounded. How could she know?

"That night we met when I went home. I had one of my dreams. I saw a boy, running, terrified. It was horrible. I'd never had visions of the past. But his eyes..." She gently stroked his cheek, "I know those beautiful blue eyes anywhere."

Stephen nodded, "I was being hunted. I accidentally timewalked into 1945 and well, stayed. My family in this era protected me."

"So technically..."

"I'm over 200 years old. Yeah."

"Wow.." Rebecca takes in, "And people thought our fifteen year age gap was bad."

Stephen nervously looks down and fiddles with his hands. Rejection and fear from other witches he could handle. But not Rebecca.

"Are you still the same dorky professor who has terrible blazers I will never throw away?" Rebecca asked after a while.

He laughed, "Unfortunately." She leaned against him and kissed him, pressing her forehead against his.

"Then you will never be alone. Never." She promised, "We are in this together. Until death do us part."

1976

Cradling baby Diana in his arms, could feel her power and he knew. She was like him.

Is this how his father felt all those centuries ago? Choosing to be executed to save him?

"We will do everything to keep you safe." He whispered, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.