#i don't think it's a case of not knowing what you're doing if this PA did not ask permission before accepting a private preclaim on...

[pocket-pal-salt]

They demoted the person who posted that WIP of an adopt that got anonymously preclaimed. I really do not think that the mods or the owners know what they're doing... They should have rules set for this type of thing me thinks. Do not post this if it isn't anonymous!

ミ★

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I’ve been on my criminal minds rerun and it made me come up with this Spencer request if you’re taking them right now! Something along the lines of the reader and Spencer being together and she becomes pregnant but he pieces it together before she does!

tysm for requesting! hope this is ok♡ 1k

cw fem!reader has a positive attitude towards her pregnancy. vaguely adult theme

"I really don't think I can go," you say, flopping down on the bed. 

Spencer laughs and shakes out the shirt in his hands, hoping the creases from the dryer will iron themselves before dinner tonight. "You always say that."

"I really mean it this time. I miss Hotch, I do, and I'm glad he's out of WITSEC, but thinking about the restaurant is making me queasy." 

"Really? I looked it up, it's a nice place. They have their Grade A, it should be spotless in there. I'm pretty sure they almost got a Michelin star." 

You groan, turning onto your side. "I looked too. The entire menu is seafood," you whine. 

"What's wrong with that?" Spencer asks, giving you a quizzical look. 

"The smell." You rub your nose against his pillow and sigh. "I don't feel good. Didn't rough me up in my sleep, did you?" 

"I would never do that," he says, putting the last of the laundry aside to sit by your hip. His hand rests naturally against the slight curve of your side, fingertips pushing the hem of your shirt up enough to steal a glance at your back. 

He wouldn't say this aloud and it doesn't matter, but you've gained a little weight recently. Actually, it does matter in that he thinks it's adorable, but he knows that telling your partner they've gained weight is a faux pas. He likes it, anyhow. It's happy weight. 

Things are so serious now but they don't feel serious. There's no solemness in your relationship, just comfort. He's putting on weight in tandem. 

"You really don't want to go?" Spencer asks. The earlier he lets Hotch know the better. 

You wrap an arm around your stomach. "Sorry, Spence. I'm so sorry, I've felt sick all day and I think it'll just be a repeat of yesterday morning." You puked before breakfast, the smell of eggs too much to bear.

Spencer feels it click into place then and there. The weight, the puking, your changing taste. Your sore chest and lower back, your sensitivity. 

He pushes you gently, a hand on your hip to encourage you down. Careful, he lays down next to you, propping his head on the pillow as he brings hand up to hold you. He can't know for sure… but if you're pregnant as he suspects, it fits. And more than that, it's insane. He doesn't know how to handle this besides wrapping you up in his arms. He'll keep you forever, if he can. 

"Don't be sorry," he says, his voice faraway. You relax completely in his arms, sliding your leg over his to lock him in. "Does your back still hurt?" 

"My chest, Spence," you lament, "it feels like I'm winded. I think I'm coming down with something. Maybe you shouldn't be near me." 

"In that case, I'm staying right here." 

You laugh softly, the warmth of it a circle on his shoulder. "I can call Hotch myself and say sorry. I'll feel better in a few days, and we'll reschedule, and I'll pay even if he tries to." 

Spencer draws a line up your back. Now or never. 

He steels his nerves, the beginning of a hypothesis hesitating on his tongue. Your symptoms in addition to your irregular period and your regular sex lives points toward pregnancy. How does he say that? How should he say it? Should he even bring it up? Perhaps he should wait until you discover it yourself. And you aren't definitely pregnant, it's just a possibility. Maybe you're simply sick—

"Hey, earth to handsome," you whisper, cupping his cheek in your soft palm. You smile as he snaps out of his thoughts. "Hey. I lost you for a few seconds, where'd you go?" 

"Nowhere. I'm here." 

Your smile gets impossibly fond. It's not dissimilar to how you usually look at him. "Are you okay?" 

"Fine. I love you." 

"I love you," you say. 

There's something about you now, this gaussian blur to you. Sunlight seeps in lazily through the blinds thick as honey, a golden kiss to your skin where you lay face to face with him, and your I love you makes him want to cry. This is all ridiculous and amazing and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to make his mouth move into the right words. 

"What is it?" you ask. You know him better than anyone. 

"I think you're pregnant." Spencer winces, though he can't beat his smile into submission. "I mean. You could be pregnant." 

"Why do you think that?" you ask, visibly startled. 

"Your sensitivity to strong smells, your soreness, your late period, to name the more obvious. That's not factoring in your worsening low iron lately, and your headaches." You make a strange sound he doesn't like. "What?" he asks worriedly.  

"I'm late," you say into yourself, looking past him as you puzzle it over. 

"It's a good thing, if you are. I mean, it's an amazing thing if you want it to be. I'm saying everything wrong. It's only amazing if you want it to be, I want it to be. But I'm on your side no matter what." He grimaces into his hands, rubbing his face with both palms. 

You sit as he panics. He clicks his neck looking up, racing to follow you, alarmed as you shimmy down the bed toward the ensuite bathroom. 

"What are you–" 

"I'm gonna take a test." 

"Wait a second." Spencer catches your hands before you can get too far, pulling you back to the end of the bed to sit down. "Wait. Is it– is it bad? If you are?" 

You look down at your stomach briefly. Anyone else might miss it, but Spencer can't not follow your behaviour, and the way you're acting now makes him think he got it wrong. That you won't be happy. 

You grab Spencer's hand. "You know, it's not funny. All our friends are gonna ask how I found out, and I'm gonna have to admit that you noticed it first." Your eyes track up his face almost shyly, and soon your smile is as blistering as his. 

Spencer bends under your weight as you jump up, throwing your arms behind his neck, your lips smashed to his ear. "I love you," you whisper urgently, "so much. This is good, right? This is really good." 

"Are you kidding?" he asks incredulously. 

Spencer takes your face into two hands and kisses you as hard as he ever has. He realises a second in that he'd much rather be squeezing you, caging you into the circle of his arms unrepentant. 

"We have a really good excuse to miss dinner," Spencer says.

He sounds close to tears. You're worse, laughing wetly as you pull him into the bathroom to take your test. 

[narcjsistx]

Good morning/afternoon/evening/night! I hope you're doing well<3 sorry for bothering you but can you do big brother Izana headcanons? Like what if Reader was getting bullied, what would Izana do?

HI! thanks for the request, hope you have a good day 🤎 and thx for the support!

— Izana Kurokawa as a big brother HCS ᡣ𐭩

To say he is possessive of you is an understatement. You are literally his last piece of biological family, he would never let you go anywhere without him or at most Kakucho

You are literally one of the most protected people in the world. I don't think anyone wants to mess with Izana Kurokawa and his younger sister, so bullying doesn't even remotely exist for you. In case there was someone who even dared to say something against you, well, this someone no longer exists. Murdered or suicide? Only Izana knows...

During the time in the orphanage with Kakucho and you, Izana often joked that sooner or later you would fall in love with Kakucho and abandon him. Paradoxically, for him Kakucho would be the only one who would leave you having half the problems he would have with someone he doesn't know. He knows how loyal you are to him and so you would still be protected

You are the vice captain of the Tenjiku. No matter your skills, whether you're great or terrible at fighting, the role is yours regardless. You are also called "the queen of Tenjiku" since you are the last girl, but since Izana is now known as "the king" you don't really like this nickname they gave you

Kind of brother who shows his love with pats on the head: it's a gesture that you've been doing since you were a child, and it remained until you grew up. We know that him is not the exact representation of contact for love, but this gesture moves him a lot

As a child he did everything, AND I MEAN EVERYTHING, to get you adopted. He wanted you to end up better than him since he already knew where he would end up, so he often intruded on visiting parents by pointing out that you were a lovely little girl. He even sent a letter to the director of the orphanage threatening him that if he didn't find you a family he would scratch his car

At first, he was afraid to let you meet Shinichiro. He thought you would become as fond of him as he did and that Shinichiro would become your favorite brother and not him. He only realized it was bullshit some time later, realizing that you too needed to have someone else in your family besides him. So yes, as children it often happened that all 3 of us went out together

He talks about you by the nickname "Bunso", which means "sister" in Tagalog. Since you were a child you have tried to learn your native language, and in the end, despite not living in the Philippines, you managed to have a good level of the language. It often happens that to communicate things in code with each other you speak in front of others using this language. Often at Tenjiku meetings Shion says something annoying, you turn to Izana and say "Ang tanga-tanga naman nito. Hindi ko nga alam bakit nandito pa siya" —> "This guy is infinitely stupid. I wonder why he's still among us". Shion laughed more than a few times thinking you were paying him a compliment

[reiderwriter]

🎱 Trust In Me When I Say 🎱

Chapter Four of That's What You Get

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Female Reader

Summary: What happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas, and now that you're back in Quantico, you and Spencer decide to seek some advice.

Warnings: none!

A/N: My laptop gave up on me tonight, so this one was typed out on my phone, just as the fanfiction gods intended. This one was fun to write, though, and I'm so excited for the next few chapters! Hope you enjoy it!

Check out the series masterlist and my general masterlist. Requests are closing in September for 1 month!

Spencer slept all the way back to Quantico, not once budging his hand from your leg or letting you know peace. You enjoyed the warmth of his hand between your legs, but masking your expressions after your original wake-up time was like working on a case all over again. 

You wished you could just curl up into his side and sleep again for another ten hours, still feeling the exhaustion of your night out. When the PA system pinged with an alert from the Pilot saying you were close to landing, you panicked slightly about how the hell you were going to get the man off of you. 

If you pushed his arm away, surely they'd see the movement under the blanket and think you had been doing something way less innocent than you had. If you just stood up and let his hand fall from your lap naturally, you'd be stuck awkwardly standing in your seat with nowhere to go. If you woke him up, there was no way of knowing how he would react. These thoughts chased each other around your brain the entire descent, while he slept on peacefully. 

Luckily, the landing seemed to wake him up naturally. Without a chance for second thoughts, you grabbed and squeezed his hand under the blanket, pushing it so it wouldn't move too much as he rose from his slumber. 

"Well, good morning, Spence," JJ laughed as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

"Looks like someone had a long, sleepless night. What was it? Got drunk and did some math for fun?" Emily teased. Your heart was jumping out of your chest now, praying that he wouldn't make any sudden movements and would realise the situation he'd gotten himself into. 

"Yeah, I guess it was a long one," he yawned out, finally moving to stretch his arms a bit when he realised the position they were in. He made a small jolt, the kind that you'd only know was a reaction if you were looking for it, and luckily, you didn't think either woman were. 

He turned his head to you, tracing his glance down his own arm, down to your lap, and pulling it back up to your face before sending you a questioning glance. He gently turned his hand over so it was facing palm up, and you held it in yours for a second. He squeezed it as if to ask what was going on but you shot him a look that said "don't ask," and thankfully he was able to understand you. 

"Hey, Y/N. How's your head today?" he asked, initiating the conversation so that your prolonged eye contact wouldn't be seen as suspicious. 

"Pounding. Uncomfortably. What the hell did I drink last night?" You let go of his hand now and bought the leg that he had been gripping desperately in his sleep up now, crossing it over the other. The movement was large enough to mask his hand, pulling away, and luckily, he did just that, taking the chance you gave him. 

"Three tequila shots, five high balls, six Long Island Ice Tea's, an ill-advised Jello shot from a promoter on the street and… And after that your guess is as good as mine." You rolled your eyes at him. 

"Listen up, team, the Director has taken into account the hard work we've put in this last month and granted us some special leave. You're free for the next four days unless there's something urgent." Hotch announced from the front of the jet, letting you escape the eavesdropped conversation. 

You hung back as everyone exited the jet, still trapped into your seat by Spencer, who was taking his time moving and grabbing his stuff. 

"You two coming?" Rossi looked back at you, the last of the team to exit before you. 

"Yeah, if wonder boy ever gets his move on. We'll be right down," you answer for the two of you. Rossi nods and doesn't ask any follow-up questions, leaving the two of you alone on the jet. 

"What the hell was that?" You whisper-yell at him quickly, somehow still afraid of being overheard. 

"I'm sorry it wasn't intentional! How long was my hand…. down there?" You could see him blush as he asked, and you had to hold back a laugh, entertained by his meek reaction. 

"Practically the entire time you were asleep, Reid. God, I know we've grown closer in the last twenty-four hours, but you don't need to be attached to me physically, you know?" 

"It was an accident, I swear!" he moved away from the seat now, his hands coming up in a surrendered position. "Why didn't you push my hand off, we were under the quilt. They probably wouldn't have noticed."

"Because I remembered a certain somebody blabs in their sleep if they're moved or disturbed, and I didn't want to explain why you were saying my name in your sleep."

"Oh, you think I'd say your name, Y/N? Do you think I was dreaming about you?" he questions you, suddenly growing in the space, standing a little bit taller, more confidently. 

"Yeah, I just– I just assumed you were… YouYou had that vice grip on my thigh and…" you tried not to stutter, sending a stressed hand through your tousled hair. You had just assumed that his dreams had been similar to yours. That he'd wantes you so badly that, even in his sleeping state, he'd reached out for you unconsciously. 

"Y/N, if I was dreaming about you, I wouldn't be mumbling your name in my sleep," he said, matter-of-factly, grabbing his bags and making his way to the exit. You stood silently waiting for him to continue. 

"I'd probably call out for my good little girl instead," he smirked and quickly left before you had a chance to hurl the blanket in your hands at his head. 

–X– 

You quickly followed him down the steps after that and joined the rest of the team back at the bullpen to collect your things. Rossi and Hotch had retreated to their respective offices by the time you reached your desk, never ones for letting paid leave get in the way of them doing their jobs. Penelope had also practically sprinted back to her tech cave, and you could hear her cooing sounds as she checked in on her system. 

"Well, I, for one, am heading out." JJ spoke confidently, grabbing her car keys and making her way to the elevators. 

"I'm right there with you, blondie," Derek said, stretching out his arms. "Four days off does not sound bad right about now." 

"Are you coming, Y/L/N? Reid?" Emily asked, making her way to the elevator ahead of you. 

"I'm gonna finish up a case file so I don't have to worry about it when we get back," Spencer replied. 

"I'm gonna check up on Penelope before we leave, see if she needs a ride." She shrugs but doesn't question the two of you, and you wave them all off to the elevator. 

Once the doors are fully shut, you're left alone with Reid in the lobby. Putting his earlier teasing aside, you turn to him with a serious expression. 

"What do we do now? Surely we have to tell Hotch, right?" you ask, finally acknowledging your marriage outside of Vegas. 

"I don't know, I don't particularly want that lecture." 

"Yeah, he kind of just has a way of staring at you that makes you disappointed in yourself." You shudder at the thought.

"We have to start somewhere, though, right? And it's not like Hotch was one of our witnesses. He'd have sooner arrested us than let us do that." You mutter to yourself.

"What about Rossi?" Spencer poses the question to you, and you look directly up at him for a second. He has that look on his face that he gets on cases where his eyes glaze over, and you can see he's remembering important information that could be relevant.

"Rossi's third marriage was a Vegas marriage, and they separated pretty quickly. It might be useful to go to him first. At least we'll get no judgement." He looked up at you when he finished, his eyes soft with a hopeful look, desperate to see if he'd made a helpful suggestion.

"Yeah. Okay, let's go ask Rossi."

You made your way up the stairs quietly, doing your best to act natural. Luckily, Hotch's blinds were drawn, and he seemed deep in paperwork, so he didn't notice your unusual path.

Spencer led the charge and knocked on the office door quickly twice before opening it.

"Spencer, Y/N, I thought Aaron was clear when he said we had time off now. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He looked up at the two of you from his desk,and you awkwardly glanced at each other before turning back to him, unable to find the right words to say.

"That bad, huh?" He laughed up at you from his desk but still waited for you to talk.

You took the plunge first.

"We fucked up and we need your help,"  you blurted out quickly, unable to stop the rambling when it took hold. Rossi only raised a single eyebrow at you in question, so you powered on.

"We got super drunk last night and ended up at the marriage licence bureau and now we're legally married and we need your advice because this happened to you before, too, and we thought it might be helpful to ask you for your opinion on what we should do next." You hardly took a breath throughout,only cutting yourself off when Spencer grabbed your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, I'll be damned," Rossi pushed himself back in his seat, looking upon the two of you with fresh eyes.

"I guess celebrations are in order, correct?" He chuckled as you squirmed under his stare.

"We just wanted to know what the best way to go about this is. Should we register the marriage with the bureau, let Hotchner know, that kind of thing?" Spencer managed to ask, his fingers entwined with yours and his thumb drawing small circles on the back of your hand. 

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," was all Rossi offered from his desk, and you snapped your eyes back to his. "But I don't know what advice I can really offer you right now that doesn't come straight from the FBI Handbook, and I'm sure you have that memorised, right, kid?" 

"All interpersonal relationships must be reported to your direct supervisor or team leader. Failure to do so could lead to termination or suspension if it is deemed to negatively affect your work," Spencer approximated the official guidelines.

"Here's what I will say. Take some time with it, but only a week, tops. If your problem goes away in that time, perfect, nothing to worry about. If it doesn't, tell Aaron at least." 

"So tell Hotchner in a week that we're getting a divorce, great, thanks," you tried your best not to sarcastic but you were tired and you were stressed and the words had a mind of their own.

"Hey, what was that thing you said to me a while back, kid? You never know when you're going to get the chance to experience new things at your age?" He smirked up at Spencer, happy enough that he got to feed him that line back from the case you'd worked in Atlantic City.

"Give it a week and tell Aaron. I don't care what you tell him, but only a week, okay? Because if you don't, I will. I don't particularly want to acclimatise to your replacements when you're fired for not disclosing this."

You nodded your goodbyes to the man and swiftly exited his office, making your way back down to the bullpen.

"I think Rossi's right. We should wait and tell Hotchner after we've got this annulment thing finished. And we still have to figure out who our two witnesses are." You let out the sigh as you turned to face Spencer, quietly engaging him in conversation. 

"Yeah, that sounds good. How about you meet me at my place tomorrow and we can talk about details and get the ball rolling?" he asked, looking at you with hopeful eyes. "Maybe we could see if we can jog our memories a bit as well, I have a few books on memory loss that I've been meaning to read recently, I'll get through them tonight and maybe they'll have some tips to help us figure out what happened." 

"Yeah, yeah, perfect. It's a date!" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and you had to stop yourself from instantly clapping a hand over your own mouth in surprise.

"Like an appointment, something scheduled, not like a… not like a date-date. You know what I mean." He laughed at you a little before looking side to side, checking if anyone was in the vicinity. When he saw that there was no one around, he stepped closer to you, closing the gap between the two of you, and placed a small soft kiss to your temple before moving away quickly.

"It's a date. I'll send you my address later, but for now, you should go check on Garcia. Keep up our cover story, right?" He began walking backwards to the elevator  having grabbed his bag while you were stood mouth slack in surprise. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go do just that. Bye."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Reid," he said, stepping into the elevator, the doors closing before you had a chance to chastise him. 

You stood there for a solid two minutes, just staring at the place the man had been, desperately willing your heart to go back to beating at a respectable rate. When it didn't, you knew you were in trouble.

Turning on your heel, you ran down the hall as inconspicuously as possible before throwing the door to Penelope Garvia's office wide open. 

"Penelope, I fucked up and I need your advice." 

🏷 @w-windy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @bluecandycake @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @daddy-dotcom @zaapsite @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @kat453 @ferrjulie @kapeyama @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @sharkcat1928 @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @alyssaxstan @ghostheartbeat @zada-quinn @beguiling3lavender @Casss2111 @zatannas-wand @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @kspencer34

@academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @cow-parsley @wakaladjarin @itsyagrillkat @ratbastardchild @crazyforreid @mcira @danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @myinnerwonderlandmind @axionn @bastard-chicken-3 @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @doriantomybasil @shqwqrma @shits8gigs @rosiehale23 @sadroses97 pt. 2 of tage in the reblogs!

[fanartlover1234]

GAME OF FEELING

Hook always flirts with Y/n.

Daughter of Eris x Captain Hook

Made by a request in dm

Can u do one where the reader plays hard to get with hook?

Eris as her mother most parted way when she came, too afraid of whaf she might do, her mother was the godess of chaos after all and who knows what her daughter might bring as rumors spread that her father was a powerful wizard.

Y/n liked it that way, it ment she had never have a need to worry for someone crossing her as Uliana herself never dared to touch her.

It ment they feared her and if there is something her mother teached her is thay fear is power.

Everthing is going smooth untill he shows up.

Captain fucking hook himself, almost always at her side amd before she knew the rest of his gang was always around her aswell.

As now she was sitting at a table her elbows rested on her knees as she watched some kids run around.

She flicked her finged amd they triped when a ruck suddenly lifted from the ground and chaos was made.

Hook leaned to her ear and his lips brushed the shell of her ear when he spoke "I love it when you are wicked"

The girl turned her head to him their lips mere inches apart.

"Fuck off hook" she said before getting up amd walking away from the group.

Or

Few days ago, to get a flower they had to kill the deadly bugs around it.

Y/n took her bracelet amd used magic to turn one of the emblems, the scorpion, into live creature.

"So they are deadly right?" Hook asked leaning over rhe girls shoulder to look at the scorpion.

"Yeah like you after a bad nap" she said looking back.

"Maybe it would be better if you were next to me" he said.

"Ill send one of these on you"

Few day pas and the girl wanders around as a soft melody plays in the back round and she sings.

"If theres a prize for rotten jugdement, i guess ive already won that, no mana worth the agroovation thays ancient history been there done that"

The muses come out joining her in her song of heart " Who d'you think you're kiddin'?He's the earth and heaven to you Try to keep it hidden Honey, we can see right through you Girl, you can't conceal it We know how you're feelin', who you're thinkin' of" by muses

"I wont say it"by Y/n

"You swoon, you sigh Why deny it? Uh-oh" by muses

"Its too cliche i wont say im in love, I thought my heart had learned its lesson

It feels so good when you start out

(Ah) My head is screaming, "Get a grip, girl"

"Unless you're dyin' to cry your heart out"" by Y/n

"You keep on denying

Who you are and how you're feelin'

Baby, we're not lying, hon we saw ya hit the ceiling

Face it like a grown up

When ya gonna own up that ya got, got, got it bad?" By muses

"This scene won't play

I won't say I'm in love

You're way off base

I won't say it

Get off my case

I won't say it" by Y/n

"Girl, don't be proud, it's ok, you're in love" by muses

Music comes to an end as the girl whispers the last words to herself "at least not out loud, i wont say im in love" she whispers to herself as the nex part, the only time she will ever say it out loud " im in love with the captain of the seas"

[kpopsexstories]

One-shot #16: WayV Ten Tries Straight Sex Pt. 2/2

This is the 16th story (second part) of my broader Mixed One-shots series.

Story: Ten is gay and tries straight sex with you, his female friend. Taeyong is watching you do it, but is it really Johnny you want there in the room?

Celebrity: Ten (ft. Johnny & Taeyong)

Sex Content: Missionary, Taeyong is watching

Type of Sex: MEDIUM/UNCONVENTIONAL

Word Count: 2.7k (5.6k including Part 1)

Read part 1.

Ten is standing on his knees between your legs, with his recently lubricated hard dick in his hand, and confusion written all over his face. “But where does it go?” he asks.

Both you and Taeyong raise your heads to look at him. “In the hole!” you exclaim simultaneously, and all three of you laugh out loud.

“Yes, I know that!” Ten says. “But… how?”

“Don’t think so hard about it,” Taeyong suggests. He's seated in an armchair in the corner. “Just… point and aim.”

You look up at the man, who is in the room by your invitation, to help guide Ten in this endeavor. “That's terrible advice,” you say.

“Okay, yeah,” Taeyong says. “I mean, don't think about it. Just relax.”

The light mood helps. Ten does feel more relaxed now than last time you tried. The laughter and Taeyong's words help ease his mind. Maybe he has been too technical about the whole thing in his head, and Johnny was right in suggesting that he's been overthinking things. He just needs to enjoy it and go with the flow.

But he's already in place over you, and he already has his hand on his dick ready to guide it. He will let go of his inhibitions and just let it all happen naturally, but he wants to be certain that he can he penetrate you first. Now that Taeyong is in the room watching, the last thing he wants is to be a disappointment to not just one, but two of his friends.

“Imagine it's an asshole,” Taeyong's voice says from the corner, mostly just as a joke.

Ten scoffs quietly. He doesn't need to imagine things to enjoy having sex with you. There's no way he isn't going to be able to penetrate you in this position, with a full view of what he's doing.

You close your eyes and wait for something to happen. You've been staring at Ten's chest and crotch, now you feel him moving closer over you between your legs. You wait with anticipation and the fact that you know Taeyong is watching adds so much to the thrill.

Maybe the issue has been that it isn't as easy for Ten to enjoy it as he'd like to pretend. He is gay after all. Or maybe it's been your fault, challenged by the fact that he's your close friend. Whatever the case, Taeyong's presence is more crucial than you've realized.

Ten has a hand on your raised thigh and gently pulls you closer. He plays with head around your folds, observing how your vagina functions and reacts to his movements. Slowly, he pushes the head inside and expands your hole.

You're not wet. All the talking has been fun and exciting but not arousing in that way. The dick, however, is. The slippery gel has been smeared around the entrance. Your body is more than capable to receive it.

The hard and throbbing shaft slips further and deeper inside you. Slowly it expands and fills you up. For a moment you actually forget all about Taeyong’s lingering presence, and the fact that Ten is your best friend.

Until about a week ago you never imagined you'd have sex with him. Now, in the very moment he slips inside you, it's the only thing you want in the world.

You open your eyes when Ten has come all the way in and slowly pulls back again. You catch him staring straight down between your legs with a serious expression on his face, at his erection and the small reflections in the transparent gel on the condom and around your lips.

He feels you looking at him. He lifts his gaze and meets your eyes as he pushes back in again. You burst out in big smiles, and you suddenly remember how much you love the man.

Taeyong has been sitting silent and still in the corner. Secretly he's incredibly hard. He has a huge boner in his pants, and now he suddenly clears his throat and adjusts his position in the chair.

He pulls on his tight pants to make his boner more comfortable. “Good job,” he says and quickly removes his hand from his crotch when you suddenly look up at him.

“It's okay,” you say and chuckle. “You can touch yourself.”

You haven't confirmed it with Ten, but you feel certain that he's totally fine with it. He's always been so open and confident about sex. If there's anything you've learned recently it's that his friends have seen and heard even more than you ever have. He's likely told them the same wild and crazy sex stories he's told you, but unlike you they've sometimes been in the apartment while they happened.

Ten doesn't even seem to care about Taeyong's presence behind him though. He remains fully fixed on you, or rather on his dick and the technicalities of your activity. You start to realize this when he plants his hands on either side of you and leans forward over you on his out-stretched arms.

His eyes return to the shaft between your legs as he studies the effects of his movements. You put a hand on his chest and look up at him.

“Ten, look at me,” you say in a soft voice. “Just go with the flow.”

“Okay, right,” he says and smiles sweetly. He finally comes down to give you a kiss on the lips, and the sex can begin for real.

Ten may be balancing on the edge of giving in to the moment and thinking about the technical side of things. Taeyong, however, is getting increasingly comfortable with the situation. He has quietly decided to take your words seriously, and he's no longer ashamed to hold and rub his boner over his pants.

Several times while Ten is rocking back and forth in your arms you turn to glance at the man in the corner. You smile at each other, a satisfied look of approval.

Ten's body has been sliding back and forth as he pushes and pulls his dick into your hole with his elbows pressed into the mattress. Now he starts moving his ass up and down, intensifying the wonderful sensation his warm body and strong erection produces in you both.

The bed gently squeaks with each thrust. The lube has dried up but you no longer need it, because Ten feels amazing and you find the situation to be incredibly hot and arousing.

Your lips are dripping and the dick remains slick and slippery. It fits you naturally and its rubbing and throbbing has you so fucking horny.

Whether it's Ten or Taeyong who does it for you is unclear but it doesn't matter. What matters is that it feels so good, and that both you and Ten are relaxed and totally into it.

Taeyong, however, grows increasingly hot and suddenly feels uncomfortable the way his boner is trying to escape his pants. Eventually he can barely stand it any longer. You're taken out of your intimate bubble of pleasure when he unexpectedly stands up.

“I've got to get out of here,” he says when your eyes meet. His face is flustered and he turns his hip away from you, suddenly feeling like he has to hide his bulge from you.

“Why?” you ask. Ten gradually stops thrusting in your arms and looks up.

“This is too hot,” Taeyong explains.

It makes sense to you that he's too horny to just sit there, not being able to do anything about it. You know he isn't uncomfortable with watching you. But you also wonder why that means he should leave. If you're all enjoying it, what's so wrong with him at the very least jerking off beside you?

Taeyong is already at the door and he quickly opens it. To your surprise, Ten is the one to initiate an escalation.

“You don't have to go,” he says and twists his neck to look at his friend in the corner of his eye.

“I can't stay,” Taeyong insists. ”If I do I'll explode.”

Ten giggles. “So explode,” he says. Then he turns to look down at you. “It's okay, right?”

He knows you well enough to feel certain that it is. While you've never done anything like this together before he's not the only one who's open and likes to share his sexual exploits.

“Yeah,” you say and smile wide.

Taeyong is suddenly hesitant. He doesn't actually want to leave. In fact it's the last thing he wants to do. If he can help it he'd love to stay on the chair, watch the act, masturbate while admiring your hot bodies as Ten fucks the first woman of his life.

This is a milestone moment to his friend, and an incredibly hot experience to himself. Of course he wants to be there to witness every second of it.

His mind is racing to make a decision. Should he stay or should he go? If he stays, what would he even do?

Does he take off his pants to be able to stroke his dick? Is this in fact what you're suggesting or is his horny mind making assumptions? Do you mean that he should join you in bed? God knows Ten would love that, but this is his straight moment and Taeyong isn't going to ruin it for either of you.

He's about the close the door and return to the chair but doesn't get a chance to. He's revealed his location in the dorm and Johnny has returned home. A curious head suddenly pokes in and the situation is about to take a drastic turn.

“What the hell is going on?” Johnny asks and laughs out loud. You see his figure appear in the doorway over Ten's shoulder.

“Ten is having sex with a girl,” Taeyong says with a grin. It's a fact and what else is there to say in a moment like this?

“Congratulations!” Johnny exclaims. He means it and the word is not just directed to Ten, but to you as well.

“Thanks,” Taeyong says, the only one the word was not directed to. He wasn't at all uncomfortable with watching you have sex, but it's getting clearer to you that he is uncomfortable with standing there horny and hard with Johnny right next to him.

You were caught in the act by Taeyong earlier. Now he's the one who feels caught.

“So what are you doing here?” Johnny asks.

“Helping,” you say in a happy tone on Taeyong’s behalf.

“Oh,” Johnny says. He looks at his friend with a puzzled expression. “How?”

Now, that is a good question. It's not certain that any one of you have the answer to it. But you are certain that you don't want Taeyong to leave, and you've got to find a way to make him stay.

“Wanna join?” you ask without thinking.

Johnny and Taeyong both quickly lift their heads to look at you.

“Who?” Johnny asks.

“Both of you,” you say and wink at him.

“Guys,” Ten says before the bewildered men have a chance to respond. He adjusts his hips and you feel his dick expanding inside you. “We're kind of in the middle of something here.”

Taeyong chuckles. “Sorry, we're leaving,” he says.

“No, that's not what I meant,” Ten says to stop him. He looks you in the eyes and smiles as he speaks to his friends. “Just get in the fucking bed, okay?”

Johnny and Taeyong look on with their mouths half open and thoughts racing, as Ten begins to thrust inside you a few more times before pulling out. He rocks gently back and forth while pushing himself up on his arms. He looks down between your bodies and carefully studies your lips around his shaft as he pulls out, with genuine curiosity.

It's funny. A week ago you were honestly disappointed by the sex which never happened. Now you couldn't be happier with how things have turned out. For a gay guy and considering that you're just good friends, Ten feels pretty amazing to be with.

And he is feeling great too. He smiles wide when he sits up on his knees and the dick falls out of your hole. You close your eyes and let your hand glide down his chest and stomach when you feel your lips release the throbbing, slippery boner.

Behind him, Taeyong and Johnny look on with fascination. They've helped you make this happen and now you've invited them to join. Or is that really what you've done? They struggle to believe it, because it sounds too good to be true.

You suddenly feel kind of naked, figuratively speaking, now that Ten's body no longer covers your bare front. You lay there flustered and exposed for his friends to see, and Johnny and Taeyong certainly have a hard time keeping their eyes off you. You like the feeling a lot.

Ten gets out of bed and stands naked and hard beside it. Taeyong's eyes follow his movements as he pulls the condom off the shaft and tosses it in a bin. Johnny comes to sit down on the bed beside and you catch him eyeing you from head to toe, while Ten bends over and opens the bedside drawer.

Your friend takes out two wrapped condoms. He smiles at you and throws one to you. You catch it mid air, look at it, then smile wide at Johnny's exhilarated face.

You're all thinking the same thing, or at least very similar things. You reach a silent agreement with Johnny, and simultaneously Ten does something that takes you by complete surprise.

He walks naked and with confidence toward Taeyong and gives the man a kiss on the lips. Taeyong responds well to it. They immediately begin to make out, and Ten's hard dick rubs against Taeyong's hip and still large bulge. They touch and kiss as if they've done it many times before, and the truth is that they actually have.

Ten has always been open with you about his sex life. He's told you all the stories. But he's never mentioned Taeyong by name in this context. Now, as you look on with shock and amazement, it dawns on you that the clues were always there.

It was never your body Taeyong was looking at. It wasn't you who turned him on so bad. At least not only you, though maybe you did help and play a small part in it.

As your friend begins to take off the clothes of his lover, you realize that Johnny isn't going to make a move on you. He's only just arrived after all, and though he appears calm this must all be a surprise to him too. Not Ten and Taeyong perhaps, but your naked presence on the bed.

He’s sitting right next to your naked body, looking at you with a grin on his face. He seems completely unfazed by what Ten and Taeyong are doing. You have a condom in your hand and Ten obviously meant for you to use it. Is there something the three men know that you don’t?

The pieces are beginning to fall into place. Something clicks in your mind. You hold up the condom in front of you and smile at Johnny, whose name you called out when Ten initially failed to penetrate you.

“Do you wanna?” you ask.

Johnny's eyes widen and his smile expands. “I thought you'd never ask,” he says.

Ten was perhaps intrigued by the idea of having sex with you – a woman – but Taeyong is the one who really turned him on. And, he might have realized it way before you even did. You never wanted to have sex with him. It was his friend, Johnny, whom you desired.

That was always the case. And now, it appears as though you’ll all be getting what you wished for.

[toxycodone]

Hey Toxy! Sorry for the sudden radio silence on asks from me, but I got nasty icky sick.

Any quick thoughts on the Touden Party (post Falin being revived) with a gn!reader or fem!reader who got sick (stomach bug or flu is okay with me)?

Thank you again! Love your blog!

-Deer Anon. 🦌❤️

NOOOO OMG...im so sorry to hear that i hate. the flu. I had it in the beginning of this year and when I tell you I was DYING. ugh.

Laios

Probably the most visually affected. Literally says out loud "that's awful!!" when he hears you're sick. Bro is not having it

He's not squeamish, so he volunteers to check on you (along with Falin, theyre a duo).

He holds your hair back when you throw up. King

I think he spends a lot of time unintentionally fretting about you. Will you be okay? Getting sick is the worst. He just ultimately feels bad.

I think he tries to distract you by reading or trying to play games. The others have to keep him from you because he's so eager to just hang out and doesn't really think about the reality that hey. you have something infectious!!

Falin

She's genuinely an unbothered queen in the best way possible. Because she doesn't freak out or anything. Falin is just like "okay" and comes up with her game plan

She's good at nursing you back to health but she doesn't overdo it. Falin is really lowkey and honestly an excellent caretaker. She's the one monitoring your temperature and making sure you get enough fluids and she doesn't cringe when you vomit everywhere. Just frowns and gets to cleaning up.

She'll use her magic to help alleviate your symptoms before she goes <3

Marcille

Instantly freaks. Because ew germs and being sick but also like are you gonna be okay?? Marcille wants to like consult every medic in town before Falin reassures her its cool

Marcille makes the best herbal tea for you...since Falin has you covered with the magic, Marcille focuses on her home remedies and such.

SHE WOULD DO YOUR HAIR. It's an act of love. Usually people don't think about that but having icky hair when you're sick is the worst and Marcille won't have it.

Chilchuck

Oh I know he's immediately thinking of a lecture. He wants to go to you and tell you about how he told you so and you shouldn't have pushed yourself

But when he sees you he just sighs. You look terrible (affectionately) and he just feels super bad. Chil presses his hand to your forehead and tsks and immediately starts doing the mental checklist of what he'd do for his daughters when they were sick

He kinda chides you, but ultimately he settles to change your bedding when it gets too sweaty and make sure you're getting some sort of bath/shower.

He also does that dad thing where he comes into the room and just looks at you when you're sleeping to make sure you're good

Senshi

SENSHI THE GOAT IS MAKING AN IMMACULATE CHICKEN SOUP FROM BONE BROTH HE MADE PREVIOUSLY AND STORED. He is so real.

He doesn't pressure you to eat and just like, makes sure you're at least drinking the broth to get your strength up.

I also like to think he'd attempt to make the Orc medicine he learned while living with them too, just in case. Even small doses of that could hopefully get you feeling better.

But he's helping Chil with the sheets and washing dishes and such. Senshi also stays in the room with you when he has down time during the day and will read you pa

Izutsumi

Eh...do not expect much from her. But she assists the others in the background. Mainly by helping Senshi or Chilchuck take care of you.

She could probably tell you were sick like the day before and avoided you or mentioned you having a strange smell.

But when she hears you're sick she's like :/ "called it"

When no one else is there she "begrudgingly" sleeps at the foot of your bed. It helps you with the chills but also when you have a fever you're really warm

(She probably also gets sick then you have to help her out since its "your fault" hehe)

[impala124]

Bad Buddy Ep 6

My thoughts on Ep 1 | Ep 2 | Ep 3 | Ep 4 | Ep 5

Me, at the end of this episode:

Something about the way Pran buttoned his shirt all the way up to the collar, like it's suffocating for him to share space with Pat for the first time since their rooftop kiss, is making me unwell.

Why is Pat's father on my screen? I do not like that man. He makes Pran uncomfortable and I can't allow that. Why does Pran make himself look small when interacting with Pat's dad? Is it just his way of showing respect for an elder or is there something more?

"We know how it's going to end; isn't it better not to start at all?" Pran, bestie, are we still talking about music here? It hasn't escaped me that Pran is leaving the guitar with Wai after Pat kept it with him for 3 years before returning it to Pran. I just hope Pat doesn't find out about this.

Now, What is Pran's mom deal? You're on a timeout along with Pat's dad. Go sit in the corner for a while.

Pa is a child of (PatPran's) divorce at this point. She has to put up with Pat wreaking havoc in his room with the drums.

Pa out her assuming that everyone likes Ink because she likes her. Understandable, bestie, but you're way off in this case.

Pat following Pran to the architecture faculty volunteer camp strengthens my belief that Pat is just a lost puppy following Pran around.

The irony of Pran ignoring Pat by using the earphones that Pat gave him isn't lost on me.

Pran hasn't counted on Pat's pesky persistence. I'm cheering you on, Pat; make Pran go off-kilter.

Now, let's all thank Uncle Tong for coming up with these activities at a volunteer camp and divine intervention for actually pairing them together.

PAT USED HIS HAND TO PROTECT PRAN'S HEAD FROM THE FALL.

Wai is officially on my shit list. Why is he being so damn possessive of Pran? Pran can make his own choices, and if he weren't comfortable with Pat lying on him, I can't imagine why he wouldn't be, he can take care of himself.

Pat, bestie, I love how brazen you are, and I appreciate it.

Pran saying, "Someone like him will quit bothering us when he has had enough," in relation to Pat, and Pat coming with a chair to settle between Pran and Wai is just too fucking funny.

Now, Pran is being the physical embodiment of "My having feelings for you has nothing to do with you. Don't talk to me."

Pat is using the child, Junior, as their unofficial couple's counselor.

So, the trip to the market counts as a date, right? Glad we agree on that. Even the vendor thinks that they look cute together.

PLAYING IN THE WATER TOGETHER!!! This episode is a gift that keeps on giving. The conversation by the beach.

Okay, but what did Pat do to have Pran transferred from the school? I get his anger at his mom, but what did Pat do other than be a part of the band?

I love how, although there isn't any direct mention of homophobia (yet) in the show, their (familial & faculty) rivalry, that they didn't ask for but was imposed on them, feels like an allegory for it.

Without people around, I can sit next to you just fine. But when there's other people, talking to you feels like amatter of life and death. What can we do? We were just born this way.

OMG. Their hands touched, and Pran didn't pull away!!!!

I'm not even mad about the product placements, and that's how you know the show got me hooked.

Wai and Pat sharing a room will be interesting for sure. I don't trust him, though; he looks like he's planning to hurt my boy.

I love how Pat has zero chill, just bulldozing his way to Pran.

Wai, you fucking asshole, who do you think you are?? Pran, save your man!!!

And he does. Pran's on-the-spot lore cooking skills need to be taught in school. It's a survival skill if I'm being honest. He wasn't lying, though. His first love did fall in love. WITH HIM.

Pat CAUGHT Pran's hand and stopped him from leaving. ASFFGHDGJ—

Oh, nothing to see here, just a pair of lying liars sitting by the beach and lying to each other.

Pat's face lit up like a Christmas tree when he heard Pran say It is so obvious that you like me.

Gotta love Pat's tenacity and how he maneuvered Pran into being the recipient of his flirting.

Everything's gotta be a competition with these two. However, in this scenario, both of them are going to win and have fun along the way.

Let the (flirting) games begin!!!

Pran's definition of flirting is licking Pat's finger. SIT WITH THAT INFORMATION!! Pran, my beloved, you are a fucking menace for pulling the big guns out this early in the game!!

Tagging the usual suspects: @shortpplfedup, @incandescentflower, @starryalpacasstuff, @7nessasaryevils, @greenteadumplings, @grapejuicegay, @madworld-bbs, @usodeshou. If anyone wishes to be tagged in the future, let me know.

[emilys-bangs]

Plant mom Prentiss strikes again! I can't stop thinking about her 🥺 How much she learns about then and start to appreciate every plant you've gifted her. I think she'd realize gift giving is sort of your love language and maybe, just maybe you'd like her.

Would she invest in some of those special lamps which help plants to grow and set couple in her office? Would she rant about Bailey or another annoying person to her plants because you said one day that plants supposedly like it when you talk to them. It could be bullshit for all Emily knows but she loves you so she'll listen to everything you say and would do anything you say. Would you walk by her office and hear her talking to an especially stubborn plant who looks like it's on the verge of death but yet persist?

It dies. But you replace it with a new one when Emily's on a case with the others (knowing Emily really liked that one and would have been upset) and you're stuck with Penelope in DC. Good thing is you get to play plant mom to Emily's growing plant collection.

One day when you're visiting Emily's apartment you noice how there are more plants than last time. You're sure there were none the last time you came over.

Would you consider writing a fic about plants mom Prentiss?

-🔮

Same!! Plant mom Prentiss is canon to me now idc. When she started off with taking care of them it was really only to oblige you, but along the way she started getting interested in them on her own! She starts adding to her collection that you've gifted her; I think she’d be particularly interested in herbs and growing her own—mint and basil and rosemary to include in her cooking (Dave has been telling her to for YEARS and she always ignored him, wonder why she’s finally getting on it now?). She has them all lined up on her kitchen counter, and they’re lush and green and fragrant, her kitchen smells heavenly.

I’m dying at the visual of her ranting to a plant about Bailey, she’d TOTALLY do that 😭😭😭 (with the blinds closed ofc, but sometimes her voice carries). When you teasingly tell her she's supposed to tell the plants nice things she rolls her eyes, but then she sees the wilting plant and whispers to its dying leaves that she thinks you've bewitched her—there's no other explanation, because she realizes that this is borderline insane. A tiny part of her hates herself for talking to freaking plants, but eventually it feels like talking to Sergio, although she never does either in anyone's presence. The thought idly registers to her that she's not only a cat mom now, but a plant mom, too (what even is her life?). She's already subjected to so much teasing from the team now that her office has become a greenhouse, but maybe she would have a grow lamp or two at home🤔 she'd keep them safe in her home office to keep Sergio from destroying them. Speaking of Sergio! When Emily learns more about all of the plants you've gifted her, and more specifically the fact that they're all non-toxic to cats, she goes all mushy on the inside and decides that's it, it's time to ask you out on a date (the bau breathes out a collective sigh of relief). (But the plants don't go away.)

Honestly I think a plant momily fic is inevitable at this point....with pa!reader, too....anon you really cooked with this one

[gofancyninjaworld]

No one is born knowing how to communicate

A: And that's okay...

Dr Kuseno made it look so easy. He just swanned into Saitama's apartment, proferred him a gift of beef and the hero's hostility melted away.

Fubuki felt positively foolish, and yet encouraged.

Since then, however, she's found that the only thing meat bribes pull in are dogs. Literal dogs:

And even dogs need more than meat to be loyal.

What gives? Well, it's obvious that Fubuki mistook Dr Kuseno's gift for a bribe: more on that later. Probably. And yeah, it's funny, but it's more interesting than that.

Learning how to communicate is complex. There are a ludicrous number of unspoken conventions and rules in every human society, so much so that we don't fully learn how to smile socially until we're in our forties. Dr Kuseno carefully judged his gift: he had a legitimate reason to offer Saitama a gift in the first place, out of gratitude for Saitama going out of his way to mentor Genos. Then he chose a gift Saitama would be sure to appreciate and presented it at a time when Saitama would be thinking about dinner. The worst that could have happened is that Saitama took the gift but insisted on the doctor going home (and taking Genos with him) -- it would still have left the desired positive impression. And things went really well. Kuseno made it look effortless.

Fubuki is only in her early twenties and her experience to date has been far from typical. She's learned that either she can intimidate people or she can flatter them into doing what she wants. With Saitama (and later Bang, Bomb, and Kuseno), she has to learn how to talk to more powerful people whom she cannot overpower, over whom she has no leverage, and who are unimpressed by her looks, simpering, or flattery.

Fortunately, Fubuki is nothing if not astute. She's worked out that she needs to develop complementary skills if she's to make herself useful to the S-Class heroes she wants to hang with. How to talk to them to get the help and cooperation she desires? Ah, that's a work in progress.

B: ...Unless it's not

Let's move onto another miscommunication.

Something that I hadn't before was that, unlike the webcomic version where Saitama only thinks to himself that Genos seems depressed, in the manga, Saitama out and out asks him if this is the case. He wants to know.

It mirrors King asking Saitama that very same question and getting Saitama to open up and be vulnerable for the first time (ever, in any version of the story). So it is very appropriate to see Saitama trying to do the same for Genos, particularly as he is openly fond of the guy.

However, it goes wrong. Saitama feels himself under pressure to say something wise to make it better. So he puts on his best 'confident' face and inadvertently makes everything much worse. Oh dear. What makes this particularly painful in the manga is that Saitama is much more invested in trying to reach Genos, and it's made Genos think that Saitama saying that he doesn't see what he's doing must mean that earlier times when he's praised him must have been just Saitama being nice. For sure, Genos could have pushed back and made Saitama clarify what he meant, but he's even worse at communicating: and Saitama's glib remark about being bright struck him square in the insecurities.

I'm going to come to something that I only realised once I started typing this up. Even though I've pointed out their abilities to communicate, neither King nor Kuseno have the perfect words to say. Kuseno started out by first committing a faux pas in bringing his great big outside boots into Saitama's flat, then nearly boring Saitama to death with a long-winded explanation. King started out by trying to guess what was bothering Saitama. Both, however, did the most important thing about effective communication: they picked up on their going wrong and changed tack.

It's not about saying the right thing: it's about responding to the person you're talking to.

The thing that King did that Saitama was trying to do for Genos was to ask Saitama open questions, and shut up in the interim, letting Saitama talk to fill in the silence. He'd only speak to ask more open questions when Saitama ran out of things to say, and through that, gently started to challenge Saitama's thinking.

But doing so means being comfortable with several seconds of silence. And that is excruciating. It is almost irresistible to jump in and say something, anything. And it would have been a longish wait, for Genos to slowly sit down and decide to start speaking, which might well have started being about something only tangentially related to his worry. King did that for Saitama: Saitama started out talking about what was bothering him on the surface -- being too strong -- before eventually coming to what was really bothering him, feeling lonely and profoundly isolated from everyone around him. Saitama does not yet know how to wait a person out.

It's a problem in this case because it's introduced a big barrier between those two, not an insurmountable one for sure, but one that could easily compound later.

Ah well, no one is born a communicator. We just have to wait and see if they work out a way to open up and be honest with each other. So it goes! There's more ways to introduce conflicts than to have a monster trample Tokyo, after all!

And so help me, the struggle to learn how to communicate is 1000% worthwhile.

[kuiperblog]

Book Review: I'm Starting to Worry About This Black Box of Doom

I have finished reading I'm Starting to Worry About this Black Box of Doom by Jason Pargin.

The premise of this book is simple, and rather than trying to summarize it myself, I will give you the author's blurb:

One day, a woman you've never met before offers you $100,000 in cash to drive her across the country—half now, half when you arrive. It’s a 2,600-mile trip, but there's a catch. She has a large, locked black box, big enough for someone to crawl inside. You're not allowed to look inside the box or even ask questions about it. She insists you leave behind all devices that can be tracked—no phone, no laptop, no credit cards, no GPS. You'll be paying with cash and navigating with a paper map the entire way. And finally, you can't tell anyone where you're going. There's no time to think; she says you must leave now. You hesitate, and she doubles the offer. Would you do it? Maybe, if you're brave or desperate enough. And besides, you think, what’s the worst that could happen?

I read it. I enjoyed it! I think it's my favorite Jason Pargin novel. One of the things that I have always liked about his novels are the fun action set pieces, and the way he builds tension throughout a scene, and across an entire book. He delivers on that here, and I am incredibly impressed with how he managed to stick the landing on this one: near the end of the book, I found myself thinking, "there's no way that this could have a climax that manages to surprise me without being a total letdown," but he proved me wrong: the big climax was completely unexpected, yet expertly "earned" by all the little bits that built up to it. It really all came together in the end in a way that far exceeded my expectations.

Jason writes humorous books, or so I've been told. I enjoy his Zoey Ashe books, and they are fun, but I've never found them to be particularly "funny." The Zoey Ashe series presents lots of absurd situations that entertained me, but none that really tickled my funny bone. However, Black Box of Doom made me laugh out loud multiple times. Maybe it's the fact that, unlike Zoey Ashe (which is science fiction), Black Box of Doom is set in "our world" in a way that feels incredibly true to life. And it feels like "our world" in a way that a lot of "real world" stories don't, largely thanks to the specificity.

Rendering the world we live in with high specificity is risky, because it's the sort of thing that is prone to "age rapidly," but I think that in 10 years, people will look back on this as an interesting period piece about 2020's culture. When Jason Pargin writes about TikTok, and Reddit, and Twitch, and the way the characters in his book engage with these platforms, you get a sense that he understands them deeply, and he is more interested in rendering them in high fidelity than he is in making a value judgment about them, or trying to poke fun at them. And yet, because he understands them so deeply, he also understands all of the things about them that are deeply funny and absurd, and so he can render those parts to great humorous effect without ever having to exaggerate. The moments of absurdity that manage to be pointed without feeling artificially "heightened" are some of the funniest, and give the book a very Dave Barry-esque quality.

Pargin ends the book with an afterward about karma how does not exist in this universe: this is a book where bad things can happen to people who behave well, and good things can happen to people who behave poorly. That much seems obvious enough that it seems unnecessary to explain it in a disclaimer, but Pargin wishes to disclaim something more specific: he wants us to know that if good things happen to a character, that is not a case of the author "rewarding" the character for being "right," nor are the bad things that happen to other characters in a case of Pargin "punishing" them for being "wrong."

Before editing this post, I wrote the previous paragraph about how "sometimes good things happen to bad people, and sometimes bad things happen to good people." But I rewrote those sentences, because I think that Pargin would reject the essentialist framing of "good person" vs "bad person." Everyone you know has done bad things at some point in their lives, and everyone you know has good qualities that might cause you to like them in certain contexts. Can anyone really make a judgment about whether that makes them a "good person" or "bad person?" If you go through someone's life looking for the one piece of evidence that will allow you to render a "good person or bad person" view of them, you will end up with a pretty low-fidelity picture of who they are, and a pretty low-fidelity picture of how the world works. All of the characters in this book do things that you probably don't approve of. Some of those things might even make you dislike them. But all of the characters in this book are fun to spend time with.

There are two interesting tricks that Jason Pargin pulls in Black Box of Doom that played with my expectations. One of which comes near the beginning, and one of which comes near the middle. Anyway, this is the part of the review where I get into descriptions that are specific enough to feel like spoilers.

First, the part that you learn as you read the first chapter:

Part of what Pargin does with his blurb is invite you to consider: what kind of man would be brave or desperate enough to accept someone offering $100,000 in cash to transport a mysterious black box across the country with no phone or GPS? What kind of hardened badass would accept a deal that is obviously pulling him into a world full of legally-questionable shenanigans and people who are obviously up to no good, with the confidence that he'd be able to handle himself in that hardscrabble world and come out alive?

And the answer is that the main character is none of those things. He's not brave; he's cowardly. He's not strong; he's weak. In fact, that's how he gets roped into this situation: he's anxiety-ridden. He's really bad with confrontation; he doesn't know how to handle conflict. And that is why he essentially allows himself to get bullied into participating in this insane errand: he doesn't know how to put his foot down and say "no." He tries to take the path of least resistance, basically procrastinating on the task of saying "I'm sorry, I can't help you," thinking "maybe if I go along with this, there will be a better opportunity for me to say no later," and of course once the ball gets rolling he can't stop it.

So, in a sense, the main character is kind of the opposite of who you think he would be based on the elevator pitch, and it's funny, and yet true-to-life, and makes for a story full of ways to put that socially-anxious guy into all sorts of crazy situations that he things are way beyond his capacity. And yet, of course, he deals with all of them, as best he can, because he must, and that's what most of life is.

Then there's something we find out partway through the story, closer to around the middle of the book.

You see, Jason Pargin has done yet another head fake with the main character, leading us to think one way before revealing something that feels almost the opposite. There is a real sense in which this story starts off with a poor put-upon guy who is roped into traveling across the country with a mysterious woman. You spend a good portion of the early part of the book fearing for his safety. He's here, but he doesn't particularly want to be here, and it's deeply unfortunate that he's stuck with the woman who roped him into this tense and chaotic mess.

But this is a road trip novel, and as the story goes on, you get a better sense of who these characters are, the cowardly driver, and the woman who hired him. You see more and more glimpses of the sort of people they are as they confront various situations. And, over time, you shift from feeling like he's deeply unfortunate to be stuck here with her (and gosh I'm terrified of what might happen to him if things go wrong), to starting to think about how deeply unfortunate she is to be stuck with him (and gosh I'm terrified of what might happen to her if things go wrong).

Just in the same way the blurb book invites us to think, "what kind of brave or desperate person would accept this insane business proposition," we're also left to contemplate, "what kind of brave, desperate person would offer this kind of insane business proposition?" What kind of woman would find herself in a situation where she was hailing a Lyft, and then ambushing the driver to tell him that she was ready to pay him six figures, in cash, to drive her and a box to the other end of the country?

That is one of many questions that is answered by the text of the book. I enjoyed discovering the answer, and many of the other answers we encounter along the way.

[ae-azile]

Emergence: Chapter 9 Preview

TW: Talk of suicidal ideation

At first, they plan on sending Chet. It makes the most sense. Fadel and Bison are keeping low profiles for a reason. Kant is still weird about the water. Style is currently scoffing at the idea of waiting at least a week before considering suicide. Chet makes the most sense.

“I want to go,” Style says, fully dressed and ready despite falling back into bed, “If you're forcing me to stay alive and I am staying out here with you, then I want more clothes. There’s a mall near the shore. I’ll go there.”

Style had just been telling them they suck for locking up the knives two hours ago. Fadel really doesn't want to take him on a boat he can jump off of, or to an area where he can walk into traffic. But at the same time, him getting out of the house may help. Even as he makes threats or tells them to fuck off, he wouldn’t get out of bed.

Even as he claims he wants to go shopping, he won't get out of bed. Apparently some part of him does want to go. But why is he back in bed if that's the case?

“You expect to go out in an environment I can't fully manage when you are saying you want to kill yourself?” Fadel asks, “No.”

Style groans and sits up, “I'm fine. I'm not going to traumatize people when I kill myself. Not my idea of a good time. A public suicide won't happen.”

Fadel squats down so his face is centimeters away from Style’s, “You literally got mad we locked up the knives.”

“Because it showed you look at me as if I am a child!”

“No,” Fadel counters, “You're someone who is currently sick and not thinking rationally. And that's my fault. Okay? I didn't know about the meds, but it isn't like I would have let you pick them up before I abducted you. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I love you so much and I'm the one who made you feel like this-”

“Quit angsting,” Style says with a snort, then throws the blankets off of him, “You're acting like I couldn't get away from your grumpy ass. I was literally driving the car.”

“I had a gun to your head-”

“Like you would have pulled the trigger,” Style cuts in, then points at him, “You should have. Don't get me wrong. You should have-”

“Stop it, Style!” Fadel says, standing up at full height again.

“But I knew,” Style continues, standing up too, “You weren't going to kill me. I knew as soon as the chloroform wore off and you were saying you were keeping me alive to find your brother. Bullshit. You knew I wasn't going to be able to do shit to find him and Kant. You could have killed me at the edge of that pool and went off on your own and you didn't. You can use the excuse that your arm hurt or that you wanted to bury me and Kant together, but that isn't true, is it? You were never a risk to me. I could have picked up my fucking meds. I just didn't think about it. I was too worried about my friend because your brother is as crazy as I am but in a very different way, but more than that? I was excited for our road trip. I never went on a trip with someone I was into before. Even with the chloroforming, you are still by far the nicest person I have ever dated.”

Fadel stares at him in disbelief, “Who the fuck else have you dated?”

Style shakes his head and puts his hand on Fadel’s shoulder.

“Let’s go pick up my pa and Babe.”

“...No,” Fadel says, shaking his head, “You're tricking me. You're going to try and do something as soon as we head out.”

Style rolls his eyes and walks towards the door, “I'm not. I have more people than ever who are preventing me from doing what I want. I might as well get the fucking meds, get them back in my system, and feel like my mind is a failure, all while feeling better. I logically know why I am like this right now. I'm not stupid.”

“Huh?” Fadel says, then starts sputtering, “You…You told me…Why did you act like I deserved better than you and demanded I let you go, only to ignore me when I pointed out the lack of meds were making you think that way?!”

“Because it's true!” Style says, “You deserve better, Fadel! Truly! I am disgusting! I also verbally abused you multiple times in the last couple of days. You need to find someone on your level. Someone rich and successful-”’

“What are you TALKING about?” Fadel says, turning him back around, “You make decent money! Why do you keep acting like I should date some asshole with a bunch of money? That's the part I get the least about all of this!”

Fadel can only watch and feel dumbfounded as Style sighs and crosses his arms, “I have plenty of reasons to feel that way.”

“Name five.”

“I’ll give you one,” Style says, barely compromising, “If you are going to be treated badly, it should be by someone who can send you on a luxurious international vacation as an apology. I can't do that-”

“I don't NEED that,” Fadel cuts in, “I need you. I need you medicated and feeling like yourself, but I would take you like this over anyone else.”

Style tsks at that, “Fadel, that's just sad. You should love yourself more.”

Fadel can't help but gape at him, “I should love myself more? Have you heard yourself the last few days?”

“But I have reason to feel that way!”

“What reason?!”

Before Fadel can get some ridiculous and heartbreaking answer on that, there is a knock on the door, only for Kant to peek his head in shortly after.

“What's the plan?” Kant says, “Bison and I keep going over pros and cons over who is going. We could send Chet and just give him Jay’s and Babe’s numbers, but Bison is worried because he's never met them before. He has looked all over the news to see if the police or interpol have released anything about you two being wanted. Nothing. It's strange. We might just go and get them ourselves.”

Style nods, “I'm going too. I want more clothes. There is a mall near where the parking lot is. We should go shopping. We’ll find a weighted blanket for Bison too. I think he would like one of those-”

“Is this normal?” Fadel asks, gesturing at Style, “He wants to go, but he also just talked about killing himself yesterday. Now, he's saying if we won't let him kill himself, he might as well take the meds and get out of the house for a shopping trip.”

Kant studies Style for a moment, only to look back at Fadel, “He's been known for moments of rationality while he is like this. It's usually when he knows he won't get away with anything.”

“And I am NOT the type to kill myself in public,” Style says, almost sounding triumphant on such a take, “Or in front of anyone. It seems like it should be something done in private. None of you are leaving me alone enough to gather the courage to do it. You all suck.”

Style pushes past Kant and pauses in the doorway, “But I realize when I am outnumbered. I think you should all just move on, but if you won't, then I might as well start feeling better.”

With that, Style goes downstairs.

“I don't know if I like this,” Fadel mutters, running a hand over his face.

Kant sighs and looks at the doorway, “If it makes you feel better, this isn't his worst incident. There was one time that he was about the same as he is now and he got deterred from his suicidal thoughts by go-karting. He didn't crash once, purposely or accidentally. His competitive streak kicked in and it gave him some dopamine until his meds kicked back in. This…I know it's going to make us nervous, but he hasn't actually tried anything. He just looked at the knife drawer. He hasn’t even tried to get into it. If you and Bison aren't going to be arrested, then maybe we should just…go get them so he can get a dose into his system a little sooner, and then let him enjoy himself as much as he can in the situation he is in.”

Fadel lets the advice sink in before he closes his eyes, “You aren't worried?”

“Of course I am worried,” Kant says with a shrug, “But I think Style knows there is a light at the end of the tunnel now. He may have complex feelings about the the source of the light, but he knows it's attainable. If anything, I am more worried about you and Bison. Considering Captain Christ said he was going to arrest you, there should be a warrant. But Bison used the computer to look into the internal database. I still don't know how you guys do that.”

“Compromised logins, people on the inside, and we were trained to hack into relevant systems,” Fadel tells him, then lets out a breath, “Still nothing?”

“Nothing,” Kant confirms, “Considering who it is, I suspect that he wants the arrest for himself. Or he wants to use you guys as informants and hold a potential arrest over your head.”

“Like he did to you?” Fadel asks, raising his eyebrows.

Kant nods and looks away, “I did it for my brother.”

Fadel knows that. He would go as far as to say he empathizes with it at this point. But he doesn't think it's the most important conversation to have right now.

“If Style even tries to jump off the boat, let Bison and I handle it,” Fadel says, “Stay near the center. Only intervene if we have trouble holding him down.”

“Uh…” Kant starts, “Hopefully it doesn't come down to that.”

Fadel hopes so too. He hopes this trip is as non-eventful as possible with no suicide attempts or arrests in sight.

[ostensiblynone]

I AM DISTURBANCE

British GQ | February 1998 By Max Bell

And so's my brother...but not for long. After four years of tours, scraps, hits and hedonism, Liam and Noel Gallagher are settling down, buying Alsatians and getting some planets on their bedroom ceilings. Shrugging off a music press backlash and rucking wrinklies alike, The Brothers Gram invite GQ into their world of Concorde and crisps, gold rings and toasted sarnies. Still sounds good to us. "Whoof! I'll do the lot of them!" We heard it there first - Liam's infamous rant in full

"All these old farts, slagging us off - they'll be dead and buried by the time we start getting senile and shitting in our pants. And we can remember all their shit tunes. 'I've Got My Mind Set On You', 'When We Was Fab'. The quicker they fucking go, the better for everyone. Anyway, John and Ringo were The Beatles. Isn't It A Pity? It will be when I meet George Harrison. I'm gonna stand on his head and play golf. I'm gonna do me Roy Castle impersonation on his head So who wants a fight? Any old fart who's allowed out of the rest home wants a fight with me, yeah? After I've had me steak and kidney pie, I'll be ready. Do you want it? Any of you senile bastards want a ruck? I'll meet you in the pub, six o'clock. Yeah, it's unlikely, you never know, they might turn up. Whoof! I'll do the lot of them. That should be the headline: 'I'll do the lot of you.' I had a dream where I drop-kicked him in the throat, George, and smashed McCartney from here to Jupiter and back. He didn't have his seatbelt on. My name is disturbance. I love the music. I played the game. Thought I wasn't bothered. Then I thought - I do want it. Keith, Mick and any other old bag who decides to get out of bed in the morning to slag us off. Dirty old nipple. Sweaty old mushroom. I wanna meet you in the middle of Primrose Hill. Thursday afternoon, 12 o'clock, on the green. They say they got misquoted. I won't be misquoted. The main thing we're talking about here is this: any dick who wants it, regardless of what time or day or what shoes I've got on. Anyone who wants a rumble will get it because the man is mad for it and that's the end of it. I don't like fighting but you've not been slagged off like me. And there'll be no big chaps around, man. Just me and me dick, man. And I'll hit him with me knob. I've said I wanted to chill, but I've got loads of knobs picking on me anyway, so I might as well say - 'Let's have it!"

It's half past two on a beautiful autumn day and the people in this pub are the rich and the idle. Jacks and gins are spread around, the noise level is deafening and Liam Gallagher is standing on top of the table and offering out the world. He's giving the performance of his life: finger flipping, come-and-have-a-go-if-you-think-you're-hard-enough, the lot. "My name is disturbance," he shouts. He's not wrong there. You've seen him in magnificent spate on stage, but you've never seen him like this.

The day will end in mayhem and a full on display of punctured ego bravado as Liam and Noel take over Steve Lamacq's Evening Session on Radio One, open the box mark controversy and offer out every old legend who ever go on their case. Right now, the man who has spent a small fortune on Beatles memorabilia and turned photo opportunities with Paul McCartney into a way of life wants to fight Paul, George, Mick, Keith and any other "sweaty old mushroom allowed out of the rest home". Liam'll get to this, assures the entire pub, as soon as he's had his steak and kidney pie. But before he's talked down from the table, this bawled litany of violence has taken an almost surreal twist as Liam says of the former Beatles lead guitarist: "I'll hit him with me knob." It all started off very low key. Two hours ago, this big Edwardian pub on Primrose Hill was Thursday lunchtime quiet. Through the door and there was Liam. Up at the bar, too handsome to live. Squeaky clean hair, those eyebrows, the face of a Celtic god - the full Liam John Paul Gallagher experience. He offers a warm handshake that feels like a brick. Let's have another look at him because he's gorgeous. His clobber is super mod - the kind of brown, beige and camel coloured gear that doesn't need a price tag; the sort of gear that makes Paul Weller look casual. There is barely time to clock the presence of brother Noel at another table, or manager Marcus Russell, or the 300 kilos of smiling minder muscle looming from the shadows like a heavy in 'Performance'. Liam's sound: "Y'Alright? What you drinking? Seat over there be OK?"

It won't last. Less than an hour later, Liam intercepts a phone call from GQ to Oasis' press officer. Only Liam being Liam, he cuts the call off by mistake. He doesn't see it that way, though. "Fooker's put the phone down on me! Right, that's it." He grabs my bag. "Give us the tape. Give us the film." No. "Come on, I want that tape." No. Liam's minder gets up: "Sorry, if he says he wants the tape you'll have to give it to him." No. The phone rings again. Liam answers again. The moment passes and the minder sits down. It never happened.

What's the subtext here? After three years of nonstop adulation and horrendous overexposure, Oasis are feeling the draught as the temperature at street level hits chill factor. Be Here Now sales are huge but the brothers are hurt by their heroes disdain. They may even be secretly rattled at the competition offered by their old friends The Verve. Whatever, they will react like wounded animals; they will not go down without a fight. Not now, not ever.

Liam is pacing around between tables and doing his mental shadow boxing. An interview? Can he be arsed? He says he's not nervous, doesn't get nervous. But maybe he does. "What's GQ stand for? Good questions?" He puts a fistful of coins into the record machine: Rod Stewart's 'Angel', 'Band On The Run', 'All The Young Dudes'. He sits down with a pint of Lowenbrau and a toasted cheese sarnie, idly rolling a B&H between his chunky fingers. He gives the Liam locks a quick once-over, adjusting a newly acquired pineapple tuft. Here we go.

"You can say what you want about me. As long as I know who I am, I'm cool. I am mad for it, yeah. It's only the slags who get on me case, who don't wanna talk about muuu-sic. I am the most spiritual person in the world. I have feelings no-one else has, but I'm not gonna tell some15-year old kid who just wants a tune. I can't spin their heads on that. I can spin me own head but it's only the music that changes people."

Somewhere along the road Noel had shown up, proudly clutching his latest acquisition - a cherry red 1966 Epiphone Sheraton guitar. "American. Only 53 ever made. As rare as a song written by Liam Gallagher, as they say," was his description. In fact, Liam ("Our kid", they are both "Our Kid") had just had his first non-Oasis hit, having written the words to 'Love Me And Leave Me' by the Seahorses. A pretty good song too, if you like John Lennon. "John Squire come round me house one night for some aspirin and we ended up having a rant - a bit of this, a bit of that -and the paracetamol was a bit too strong for him, so we wrote that song. I've had this thing in me head for ages - I don't believe in Jesus, I don't believe in Jah - I don't believe in religion basically. I was brought up going to church and after circumstances in my life changed, I thought - fuck Jesus, fuck 'em all. It was because of me Mam and her divorce, how she couldn't take the Body of Christ anymore. They're telling her it's a big sin, she can't go to heaven and all that bollocks. She's put her whole faith in the church, but where's their faith in her?"

Some people think that there is less to this man than meets the eye, but in reality there is far more. He has multiple personalities, and eventually we witness the way Liam's mood can swing - like a Newton's cradle made out of loose cannonballs. One on one, however, Liam is an alluring, mixed-up vibe merchant for whom the term "charismatic" is an insult. At one point he says that he's sorting out the demons because he's tired of his life, tired of fame: "I'm bored with it to be honest. That's why I've stayed in for so long. I haven't been out for a year and a half. I like going out, but it's become shit. Been there, done it, seen it. I'd rather stay at home with the curtains closed, put the candles on. I've got music: me own, Beatles, Stooges, Sex Pistols, Burt Bacharach. Got me wife and me stepson, James. We do what we do."

It's been a struggle sometimes, ignoring the voices that whisper in your ear, yet Liam acknowledges that home life with Patsy Kensit and five-year old James has mellowed him out: "Course it has. I've got a bit of responsibility, something which I choose. I'm into having a family. I can't be out every night getting off me head. My trouble is I'm easily led - I don't know when to say no. But now I've got Pats, I'm happiest with her. It makes me grow up. I could go out tomorrow, but it'd just be doing the same things - snorting lines in bogs. That's not for me. I've just bought a massive fucking house for £1,250,000, and it's already worth £2,000,000. It's wicked, man, seven bedrooms, all old English oak. I wanna do it up the way I want it 'cos it's top. It's a palace, man."

Obviously, this version of Liam and Noel has traveled a long way from Burnage, but in earning their full-frontal rewards they haven't lost the background picture. Liam doesn't balk when I ask him about the soft stuff. Yes, he wants kids, he says, undercutting the pathos with market stall cockney: "I'll 'ave a bash, I'll 'ave a bang. I'm the right age,25, gotta house, still in a job." Yes, he likes animals: "I'm gonna buy an Alsatian next week and call him Hendrix. I want to be able to hold his head and stare into his eyes, see what he's thinking, 'cos I'm up for having an animal in my life."

Even during the mayhem that later ensues when he leaps atop the pub table and offers to meet Keith Richards, Paul McCartney and George Harrison at 12 o'clock on the top of Primrose Hill for fisticuffs - "and any other dribbling fucker who wants to have a go, I'll twat the lot of yer" - I'm more impressed at the way he breaks off to sign a boy's autograph book, tousle its owner's hair and sit down with the lad's dad.

"Well I missed out on all that," he says. "It was always me and me mam, which was fine, but I'd like to be a proper dad to James. I'm his mate, I make him laff. What does he call me? He calls me 'stinky arse' when I fart in his face. Sometimes I take him to school. I did it the other day 'cos he's changed schools and I met his new teacher - this old nun - and I nearly shit me pants. She didn't look freaked out to see me. I thought she was gonna kick me head in or keep me behind in detention: 'You haven't done your lines!'"

Liam enjoyed school for a mess-about, but was gutted when he left. Damn his ed-u-cay-shee-un. He's started regretting the fact: "I didn't learn fuck all. That's why I'm no good with words. And I do want to write songs, I want to learn the guitar. I don't think I'll write personal songs. I'm better with psychedelic words, painting pictures. I don't want to show people the inner words. They don't deserve to know what I'm about because they know that already."

Liam is not always the unreconstructed Mancunian his mythology suggests. "I've got loads of books; I buy books all the time - I just haven't got the time to read them. Or I haven't got the patience. The best book I ever read was 'The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe', when I was ten. I want to read that again now. I love the idea of opening a cupboard door, you step inside and there's a lion and you're being chased through the snow. James doesn't like me reading to him but his mam is top at that. She does all the voices, the Mr. Men, all those. His room is great. It's painted sky blue with loads of little stars, and I've got him these mobiles - 20 planets hanging from the ceiling. He's mad on 'Star Wars'. There are half-planets coming out the walls and in the middle of the room is the Death Star. Sometimes I say to Pats: "'I'm sleeping with James tonight.' And she goes: 'Come to bed, Liam.' And I'm like: 'Well let's have our room done like this then.'"

Both Liam and Noel Gallagher wear the gold Claddagh ring, the old Irish symbol of eternal affection. Theirs are ruby red hearts studded with diamonds. I can see Noel's ring now because he's got his hands behind his head and he's lying down in a backstage chill-out room at the National Indoor Arena in Birmingham. Noel is five years older than his brother and a few inches smaller. He's more worldly and a little less street, "I get the geezers who walk past me and say: 'Respect!' Whereas Liam gets the post office van geezers who pull the door open and shout: 'Oi! Wanker!'" Noel mimes the five-finger shuffle to illustrate the point and opens his third bag of crisps.

This is four weeks before the Radio 1 run-in and Noel is stone cold sober, even though the dressing room is tempting. What have they got? A bottle of champagne, a litre of Jacks, a bottle of white wine and a bin full of beer. A bottle of the Sheridan Double Liqueur that tastes like sick, cartons of Cranberry Classic and one of those baskets of cellophane-wrapped fruit you get at hotel conventions that never gets opened. A pic'n'mix selection, jelly babies, popcorn, playing cards, football, TV and nuts. Ten Bensons (just the ten) and The Verve's 'Urban Hymns' CD.

Noel reclines on the sofa in his Norwegian fleece. He's wearing a Verve T-shirt, combat trousers and average trainers. He is friendly enough, courteous and calm, even though I've asked him to consider the Oasis backlash. "Yeah, it's started. People are getting fed up with us or we're not trendy any more. The NME's got it in for us, the slags. They think we're shit and we play like cunts. I never believed in that 'build 'em up, knock 'em down' thing. Anyway, sales-wise, we're just too big to be knocked over. In America, the album only went to number two. Obviously that's considered a failure [Puff Daddy denied Oasis by 800 units]. I can look at it two ways: fucking hell, we only got to number two; or, fucking hell, we're number two in America! Personally, I don't give a flying dogs bollock whether Prodigy got to number one or not. Doesn't concern me. I've done my years of competing with every other band and we've achieved what we set out to do." Which is? "Easy mate. To be the biggest band, sell out the largest gigs and sell the most records. It's all been done."

A story Noel told in the pub in Primrose Hill goes as far to illustrate his confidence and state of mind as regards his rivals or detractors. "George Harrison, right, I'll tell you about him. I met his son Dani in New York last week, waiting to get on Concorde. He was already pissed, on the flight back we had about 25 Bloody Marys and he arrived at Heathrow rolling - I had to get his bag and stick it on the trolley. Guess who's waiting to meet him when the doors open? George Harrison, who's been slagging my brother off. I've got my arm around his son, and he's smoking four fags. He's as pissed as a fucking arse. He goes: 'Hey dad, he's all right you know.' And I say: 'Hello George, here's your son. You have just been Gallaghered. Go and puke up in your Ashford home, while my stomach gently retches."

In retrospect, it isn't hard to see why Oasis '97 has taken a toll on all concerned. Perhaps as an actor defiance, the Be Here Now songs have swapped pop sun-shee-ine for a metallic infusion which even Creation boss Alan McGee has likened to AC/DC. The tunes are long, guitar soaked and last for 70 minutes, while the lyrics often dwell on the downside of life, as if Noel was getting in his excuses early. Noel had most of DM and WTSMG? in the bag long ago. They were written in gray and rainy Manchester, whereas now he had to go away and write to order. After a momentous three years, climaxing in a brace of Knebworths, Noel found himself with a pretty tough act to follow. His own.

Holing up in Mick Jagger's Mustique pad may not have been such a great idea. Next time, Noel says he'll go the jungle, or buy a place in Ireland. In any case, he's got between 15 and 30 new pieces to consider, all tucked away in plastic bags in his safe: "I'm very organised. I've got to be clear-headed. The days of the fucked-up, half-pissed, half-stoned pop star with black leather kecks, winkle-picker boots and long black hair, staggering down the corridors of an arena clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels and thinking he's Keith Richards are over. It's not that I sit in an office with a fax machine, but I keep an eye on what's going on."

The presence of The Verve is never far away these days, what with everyone saying they've usurped Oasis (of course they haven't). But having accepted the glory, Noel now seems quite happy for someone else to relieve the pressure. In fact he's magnanimous: "I hope they sell more records than we do. Richard Ashcroft is such a brother of mine that it's not a competition with them. We've had it quite easy compared to the shit they've been through."

1997 was obviously a watershed year for Great Britain: New Labour, Blair, the death of Diana and the tabloid backlash. Noel was hardly immune: "I've been in that position myself, speeding in a car through the streets of London with Billy and Harry from the News Of The World after you on motorbikes because you're going back to your house with your missus and a couple of supermodels..." Like you do.

"Yeah, well, like I do," he laughs. "That's scary. I have to tap the driver on the shoulder and say, 'Would you like to slow down now please, there's a 40 mph speed limit round here and you'll get arrested, you cunt.' Then I get home - Supernova Heights - they all know where I live; my street is really fucking posh, tree-lined, all white houses with the big steps on the front. Except mine isn't white. Mine's covered in graffiti - the front wall, the pavement, the trees outside the front door and even over the gates which are permanently locked. It looks like Abbey Road. We have to paint the neighbours' walls every six weeks, 'cos when ours are full they write on their houses."

Noel says he's not complaining, he isn't whining. Once he's inside, with the doors closed and the curtains shut, he can do what he wants. "I can run around naked with a toothbrush stuck up me arse - it's my house. As long as they don't damage my scooters or the missus' car. Anyway, I don't mind signing autographs. I get kids outside the gates saying, 'Can I take a picture of your house?' And I say: 'You fooking paid for it, course you can.'"

Perhaps it's a peculiarly British irony that the whispering campaign against Oasis started when Noel accepted Blair's invitation to Number Ten. Liam wasn't invited ("cos I'd have got pissed, lost the plot and knocked things over"). So are they the New Establishment? Noel fights his corner with aplomb. "It was weird and it was embarrassing. I shouldn't be doing that apparently, because I'm rock'n'roll. I had to satisfy my curiosity. Everyone gave it the big 'un, but the thing is, I know what's behind those four walls now, and you don't. So shut it. We didn't sit in a back room and plot the downfall of England. The funniest thing was that the Queen's got her own bog at Number Ten, and I've had a shit in it," he says proudly. "One of Blair's schleppers let me in. So only me and the Queen have ever shat in that bog, ever. Which is great, innit? A big Gallagher turd next to a royal one, floating through the U-bend." What a charming image. During the Birmingham Oasis concert, I wander into the box office to find Noel's wife Meg helping out at the VIP window. A steady stream of footballers and Page Three girls are queuing up for their tickets and for passes to an after-show party which none of the band will attend. A girl in a dirty shirt (Dries van Noten by the looks), clutches a can of Pils. She's rock-chick tanned, so you can see the blonde hairs on her legs. "You were at the party at the Roundhouse weren't you? We didn't go to bed for two days..." That party, thrown by Creation as a kind of thanks-for-everything-guys, was where I caught my first glimpse of the craziness surrounding Oasis. Held in the Roundhouse, an old London & North Western Railway locomotive turning shed, now owned by Camden philanthropist Torquil Norman, this bash took place amidst Jill Furmanovsky's photographic exhibition, 'Was There Then'. Armed with a stream of Cape Cods I went on reconnaissance and found Jarvis Cocker studying the pictures intently. I bumped into Alan McGee, Mr. Creation, eating a tub of Ben & Jerry's and desperately trying to leave. Where's the band, Alan? "Och, I dunno. In there mebbe. It's not worth it. It's a sweatbox." Richard Ashcroft wandered past telling Bernard Butler: "The fooking thing about Wigan is..."

Except this wasn't really the party. The party took place in an inner Roundhouse sanctum draped in white cloth, with a psychedelic light show and dub music drowning out the kind of inane chatter you get at 3am when everyone's leathered and the queues for the toilets are like those for the Ark: the animals going in two by two. I stumble into Kate, Helena and John Rocha but don't give it a second thought because I am now being formally introduced to Noel and Meg. We shout about the football results. That afternoon Manchester City have beaten Swindon 6-0 and Leeds have seen Manchester United off at Elland Road - double whammy. Noel is a happy man. He isn't going to bed yet. Liam Gallagher isn't there, Furmanovsky has already told me: "You must be joking...he wouldn't fight through this scrum."

"When I do a gig, that's me going out. That's my vibe and my parties." Liam is explaining the live phenomenon from the singer's point of view. I tell him that I think he's confrontational in an entertaining way. "What's that mean?" Well, there aren't many performers who react to laser pen abuse by addressing the miscreant as "a fucking cockney Darth Vader" and then tell him that if he does it again "I'll come down there and stab you in the throat with me credit card". Liam laughs. "He'd be lucky. Throat slit from here to here with my platinum."

Actually, Liam says he's calmed down. As a kid he was, "double loud, because I ate too much Weetabix. Six every morning. With all the sugar on top." According to Noel, Liam's intake of refined roughage accounts for his hyperactive personality. It's got to come out somewhere. "On stage I'm free. I've got no responsibilities. Nothing. Bang, I've been let out of the cage. I have me moments. Like at Earl's Court, which took it out of me completely. I was a completely goosed, so I did a runner afterwards. I had a bath, man. I couldn't move. Too much singing. But if I'm not singing right, I don't want to know."

The kid says he's got no nerves: "Never have been nervous about a crowd. If I don't do it, no-one else will. No, once in LA I was nervous. I hadn't played for a year and I forgot all the words. Soon as I heard the guitars I got hold of it again. I was away."

By Liam's own admission Oasis have arrived at the crossroads of their turbulent career. Other bands have started playing catch-up, so he says it's time they broke away from the pack again. He doesn't want to play with the reserves. "Nah. People in groups come up to me and say, 'We could never say we are the best band in the world.' Well I do say it. The shit you get, the press camping outside, who cares. As long as you're at the forefront of anything, that's all that counts. I couldn't be in a group and pretend I wanted some other geezers to be top dogs."

"I know we've been in people's faces too long. I knew it before, but I haven't acknowledged the glory yet. I haven't come down from Knebworth or from writing Morning Glory. I'm still on a trip 'cos I'm glad to be alive. I don't think we're great, I just know how good we are. We've not believed our press. We've made our own press. I've not heard anyone slagging us. I don't buy press, I don't read it."

Liam suddenly rubs his eyes like a distraught kid and squeals: "Oh leave us alone!" Then the defiance rushes back and he leans forward. "I'm going to take our music by the edges and turn it round, splash some paint on. Like The Beatles did after Revolver. We're gonna get psychedelic."

Although it seems unlikely that Oasis will now grow moustaches and dress up as comedy bandsmen (Bonehead in orange satin?), it must be galling for them to be branded as derivative upstarts by their Peppery heroes. For Noel, it's a sad case of "old men slagging off young groups". For Liam it's a gauntlet thrown down by fiftysomethings who haven't made a decent record since 1970 - hard to measure your length or your worth against that: "I love it. George Harrison slagging me off. I love The Beatles and I love him, as a Beatle. I always will do. But for him to get up in the morning and slag me off, to join the club like he's a journalist, that means he's woke up with me in his mind. Me! A Beatle's woke up with me on the mind, and he's gone, 'He pisses me off.' That shows they are jealous."

While the living Fab Three have all taken a pop at Oasis, that hasn't stopped the brothers becoming avid collectors of chic John Lennon memorabilia. Noel owns a rug that used to lie on the floor of Lennon's library at Tittinghurst, and for Liam's 25th birthday present he bought him a necklace the Beatle had donned when he visited the Maharishi. "I've never worn it, 'cos it's framed in a box. One day I'll brick it and put it on. It's top, man. Big white thing, all darned. I might do a naked photo with it covering me balls." He leaps up for a demonstration. "And there'll be Patsy turned the other way, naked, showing her arse."

Liam also owns the watch Apple Records gave to Lennon in 1968 - "I've got Lennon time on me wrist" - and a rocking chair snaffled from Sotheby's. "Phone bid. I'm Beatles'd up. Well, you gotta bring it home. Better me than some Arab have it, spinning it round and selling it on for profit. I want that stuff, it ain't going nowhere. It's staying right...in...my... house."

He won't let on how much he paid to get close to Lennon's DNA, but he tells me the price of fame. "I can't go back to Manchester to see me mam because I get spotted coming off the plane and then her house is full of press - 'Can I have a word?'" he mimics a wheedling reporter. " All I want to do is see her and look at the garden, 'cos she's into her gardening. She's fantastic, me mam, but I have to get her down here instead. So if people up north think I sold out, then fuck 'em. There's just too many people on me case."

So Liam knows that fame is false, even if it's better to be noticed than ignored: "Sometimes it's alright. I keep it behind me shoulder and when it does me head in, I give it the elbow. When I'm on stage it's different; I'm a rock'n'roll star tonight. That's what I came here for. Other times, it's not alright. Like the other day, I came in here and had me four pints of lager and didn't want to speak to anyone. I was on my own and the pub was full and people were coming over and saying: 'Can I join you?' No. 'Why not?' Cos I don't want you to. 'Why are you being like that?' Because I've come out for a drink and to be on me own and read the paper. Other times I'll come in here and sit down with all the old men - wahey! - no problem."

That's about it. Liam rejoins his brother and I can see why they aren't Cain and Abel. This pair is a mutual protectorate. The look of pride on Noel's face as Liam warms to the rant that will rattle the pots on tea-time radio says everything about this odd couple; the more pleased Noel looks with him, the more emotional Liam gets. They're laughing and hugging. They're two kids back in the playground, looking out for each other. Flesh and blood. Oasis. They won't give it up.

"I rate him," Liam says of Noel. "I don't hate him. How could I? Except for days when I could hate anyone, including meself. He doesn't hate me, either. He'd have nothing else to write about, would he? And he lets me sing his songs. The best songs. I love him. He gave me a ticket to ride."

source: [supersonicgal's tripod]

[yzashifts]

Announcement:

I decided to make it third person since its kind of easier to write

Ghost of you

Chapter 3

You don't go home.

You walk.

You don't know where you're going, or why your legs are still moving, but you can't stop. You'll stop if you stop, and you'll think too much. You'll think too much if you stop, and you'll fall apart. And you've fallen apart enough already.

So you walk.

The city is not interested that the ground just opened under you. People pass by you, laughing, scrolling, chatting as though the world had not turned on its side. The sky is that gentle gray-blue that it becomes before the sun fully disappears, and the wind burns enough to char your lungs slightly when you take a breath.

You hold your hands in your pockets.

Like if you don't touch it again, it'll vanish.

But it doesn't.

You can sense it.

Thin. Gentle. Loaded with meaning.

His number.

Jungwon's script.

The note burns a hole in your pocket like a whispered promise to be voiced.

Finally, you stand along the river—the place where you went with him. When life was uncomplicated. Before death. Before this living iteration of him marched back into it.

You glance over at the same bench you were sitting on, the same bench he informed you his favorite song wasn't his favorite, just that he liked the way you sang it. You recall rolling your eyes and not wanting to smile.

You're sitting there now in the same place, and your body doesn't feel like it belongs there anymore.

You draw out the note slowly. You open it as if it would fall into pieces if you're not in a hurry.

His handwriting meets your eyes.

Every digit is looked at by your eyes, every curve and loop and line.

How long has he had this number? How many times did he thought of giving it to you? Did he simply sit down and jotted it out, or did he continue keeping it in his pocket—awaiting a moment like this?

A million things go through your head, yet none of them feel right.

You close your eyes and settle back on the bench.

The last time you sat on this bench, it was different. The sun had been hotter. His arm had been around your shoulder. You'd been discussing something trivial—about your ideal vacation, or what animal he looked like. You don't remember the specifics, only the heat.

And now.

Now all your memories are suspect. Distorted. You wonder if you ever actually knew him. Because if he was able to just vanish like that—if he was able to make you mourn and never make contact with you—what else was he hiding?

And yet, still, you can't help but deny not having seen him to bring something out in you.

Hope.

Grief's wicked twin.

You're annoyed that it is. You're annoyed that your heart racing when he laid his hand on your wrist, when he uttered your name as though it mattered once more.

You're annoyed that a part of you longs to be rational.

You re-fold the piece of paper again. To check. Just in case it isn't true.

It isn't even a word. Merely a numeral. Merely his phone number.

And somehow, it is stronger than any apology.

You fantasize about calling.

You'd hear his voice again.

You don't know if it would break you or fix something broken together.

You fantasize about his voice on the phone—gentle, tentative.

"Hello?"

You fantasize about silence. The kind of silence you used to have without needing to fill it.

Would he tell you?

Would he tell you what had happened?

Would he lie?

And worse—if he was being honest, would you even care to know?

You press the note to your chest and let your chin drop forward. The wind whistles across your cheeks like a specter. All of it is too quiet.

How do you grieve someone who isn't lost?

How do you release someone who's standing in front of you, smiling with another person's lipstick on his shirt?

And why do you still yearn to turn back to him?

You sit for so long.

Long enough for the sky to darken to black.

Long enough for the first stars to cut through.

Long enough for the heat in your pocket to be overwhelming.

You don't call.

Not yet.

Instead, you fold the paper once more, gingerly, as if it were a holy thing. You place it in your wallet, along with the picture you still possess of the two of you on your final excursion—his arm around your waist, his eyes on you and not the lens.

You're not ready.

But one day, perhaps you will be.

And when that day arrives…

You'll call the number.

And perhaps—perhaps at all—finally, you'll know what actually transpired

(please like and reblog if you like this tyy 😁)

[neuroticbookworm]

Boston and his "friends"

Last week, after I watched Boston get wrongfully branded by Atom as a sexual predator and isolated from the group, I was seething with rage and wanted to see Cheum, Mew and Ray to fall at Boston's feet and beg for his forgiveness after the truth comes out.

But today, honestly, I think it is a better character arc for Boston if he doesn't get that resolution from them. Because he fucking doesn't need it. He has defined a wonderful relationship with Nick, his first love, that will give him joy until he leaves for New York (cc @lurkingshan) and he has listened to Atom's grovelling apology. He has no other hangups tying him down.

Cheum, Ray and Mew, on the other hand, do not have the conviction to confront the truth in their relationships. They accused Boston of being duplicitous but none of them approaches their own problems with anything even remotely resembling a healthy communication.

Cheum heard her brother tell her that he lied about Boston taking advantage of him and all she could say was this:

She did not feel horrified that her brother chose to slander a friend, and she does not feel any remorse for her actions. I bet she thinks it's all fine because Boston is a slut anyway, he slept with Top and ruined Mew's relationship, so why does it matter that he was wrongfully accused this one time. Well, Cheum, it doesn't matter to him, but it will matter to you as you have not learned the integrity to face your mistakes and apologize for them. An apology should not be made expecting forgiveness in return, and it should not be valued based on the moral standing of the person you're apologizing to.

Mew. Oh, Mew, Mew, Mew. @lurkingshan pointed out during our post-episode conversation that Mew cannot stick to his schemes, he peters out at the first sign of stress and gives in to the status quo. He wanted to give Top a second chance, and then Boeing showed up. After understanding that Boeing is playing games for his own revenge-on-Top agenda, he initially goes along with it to spite Top. And after all the scheming has made both of them utterly miserable, he listens to his parents and finally decides to give Top an honest-to-goodness second chance. But, he doesn't give it after going through the painful process of self-reflection, and communication where both of them can set clear boundaries and understand where they each stand. Nope. Instead, they just casually agreed to push it away to deal with it in the future.

I declare my love for Theory of Love as loudly and passionately as I can whenever I get the chance on this hellsite, and one of the main reasons why I love that show so goddamn much is the conversation between Khai and Third in the Theory of Love Special Episode, where Khai admits that a girl kissed his neck at a party and how he tried so hard to keep Third from finding out. Third then tells him that he has known about the kiss the whole time, and how Khai need not worry; he knows the difference between an accident and a kiss with purpose. He then tells him that Khai is not the only one trying to make this relationship work, he is trying too, because Third also loves Khai and wants to be with him.

This is what healthy communication looks like. The issues and miscommunications must be tackled head-on and resolved before moving on, so they don't fester into an even bigger and more painful problem later. You can't "leave the problems to the future" and expect it to work itself out. In case y'all don't remember, Khai had to step on literal broken glass to stand his ground and plead his case after a miscommunication, and it was still not enough. That's how painful this process is and I will bet my bottom dollar that Mew has exactly zero percent of the fortitude it takes to talk through a relationship faux pas.

Ray, the human embodiment of a fucking dumpster fire. All he says to Sand after accusing him of taking money from his dad in exchange of taking care of him is "I'm sorry" and Sand immediately takes him back into his arms (I'm so embarrassed that I was briefly rooting for Sand at the start of the show). He does his community service with Sand for a hot minute and then immediately plans an overseas trip to whisk him away. He spells it out, yet again, how he is always looking to "buy" Sand (cc @wen-kexing-apologist)

Buying Sand, ya know, the exact same thing he was mad about, one episode ago.

Trying to prove that Ray's communication skills are severely subpar and unhealthy is like trying to prove that the water in the ocean is salty; the more time I spend on this, the stupider I would look.

All of this is a long winded way to say that Cheum, Mew and Ray will be too busy trying to escape their own trappings, the ones they built for themselves while they convinced self and each other that they are better than Boston; while Boston moves on with his life, living unapologetically as he always does. They can keep their apologies -- I don’t need it, and neither does Boston.

[fideidefenswhore]

It is interesting that Catherine of Aragon was as strict as Anne Boleyn when she believed that others violated her will Catherine's relationship with Spanish servants is very interesting

Well, if anything Anne would have been at pains to be stricter. Nobody cast doubt on Catherine's legitimacy as Queen of England until Henry did (well, save the Bishop of Tarbes...maybe, it's debated).

Assuming you're indicating the parallel of 'strictness' re: unapproved marriages, I mean, sort of, yeah? I don't think it's a 1:1 equivalency or parallel necessarily tho.

Let's preempt this: among 16c royalty and nobility, ladies in waiting marrying without the consent of their parents, their 'mistress' (at the highest level, the Queen), the King, etc was more than a faux pas, it was taken very seriously, particularly women marrying men that were much more lower status than them. The legal term for this was 'disparagement', and the man in question could actually be severely fined for the offense.

Now, there were some exceptions to this rule, widows, for example, generally had more autonomy, but overall it was a hard and fast rule. It is not palatable to modern views, but their respective reactions are quite understandable in the context of the era in which they lived

That being said...the situation with Catherine as 'Dowager Princess of Wales' in and of itself was a bit unusual. According to her own allegations, her household was kept in relative penury. So yes, Francesca de Carceres had committed an offense in marrying a wealthy banker without the permission of her mistress...however...it was again, an unusual situation. Catherine had apparently not been paid her proper per annum for years at that point, and all her ladies were subsequently feeling the pinch.

So, when I read about the case of Francesca de Carceres, and Catherine's extreme reaction, even knowing the broad context, but also knowing the narrower context, I sort of went...well, yes, she wasn't supposed to do that, but what was she supposed to do, girl?? You weren't paying her (ik this was probably not Catherine's fault, but that was the situation) 😭 Of course she took that lucrative opportunity, and decided better to ask forgiveness than permission.

And if it'd just been left at that, Catherine doesn't forgive her, she won't accept her back into her own household once she's Queen, that would be one thing. But she goes rather further, actually: when Francesca de Carceres, after her rejection from Catherine's household, seeks employment in other royal households, Catherine not only refuses to reccomend her, but exhorts these other royal women to never admit her to their households, nor to ever reccomend her to another, because she says she 'would not reccomend an untrustworthy person'.

So, her grudge against her was intense enough that she potentially, seriously inhibited her future livelihood.

Again, that in and of itself...I mean, it's not especially endearing, but when it's thrown into relief with her reaction to Fray Diego's scandals, it's quite galling. It was alleged that he had slept with numerous women, married and unmarried, his response to his exile from court was to hint at blackmail (his letter to Henry was something to the effect of you don't want to do this, I know state secrets-- ??), and Catherine still reccomends him to her father and claims he's been slandered-- mind, this after he's blackmailed her husband-- and he was the best confessor she could ever have had, etc.

I have my own speculation about Francesca de Carceres. Certain stans in past times have melted down in my inbox and insisted that my assessment of this was unfair, actually everybody loved Catherine, 'if she hated her so much why was she a witness in her favor at the Trial of Zaragoza, hmm, CHECK AND MATE', well...actually, she wasn't. Francesca was mentioned via hearsay, she never testified herself or signed any witness depositions.

I think Francesca de Carceres was compartmentalized by her mistress in the same way Alessandro Geraldini was (speculation). It was their understanding (speculation, insofar as de Carceres, this is just my theory, but for Geraldini there's substantive evidence) that Catherine had consummated her marriage with Arthur. This was anathema to her. If true, this explains the extremity of her reaction (she knows Francesca might bear a grudge in mutuality, she doesn't want her spreading lies-- or, 'lies'-- about her in the royal households of other women).

OK...so onto the parallel with Anne as Queen...

Well, I think the reason her exile of her sister, Mary, for her marriage to William Stafford usually gets a more emotive reaction (besides that it's more popularized in fiction) is that Mary was her sister. She was also a widow, sometimes people point to the example of Henry's sister, but that was a very different sort of Henry, a very different sort of Queen (acknowledged as legitimate, as I said above), but importantly as well, she was a Princess. Henry's 'compromise' could be to severely fine her and her husband (a Duke). Stafford was not wealthy or titled, there was nothing to fine (this was probably why Mary asked, in her letter, for William to be granted some post at court, besides income and proximity to favour, possibly an 'offset' for the offense?), Mary's dower and jointure were not significant enough to fine, her son was already Anne's ward.

But Anne was already disparaged for her 'low birth', for her comportment not being 'queenly' enough. The Boleyns and Howards not only lost a potential marriage alliance to strengthen them, but one of their own had 'married down', which marred their image. Altogether this better explains the reactions Mary cited in her letter (of Lord Rochford, her brother, and Norfolk, her uncle, especially being 'so cruel against us').

And, you know, we don't have the benefit of time to estimate the strength of the grudge. Anne relented enough to send her sister some money and a gold cup, she never allowed her and her husband back to court, but we don't know what Anne might have or might not have done as the years continued, because she was executed not even two years after this banishment.

I suppose the similarity would be how intensely they felt the betrayals due to the intimacies of the relationships. Francesca was to Catherine, probably like a 'surrogate' sister, with her since she was a young teenager, her 'dresser and confidante', there for her pivotal moments, her arrival into England, her marriage to Arthur, her widowhood, her betrothal to Henry, etc. Mary was obviously literally Anne's sister, they had their shared childhood and had been there for the pivotal moments in each other's lives: Chateau Vert, George's wedding, Mary's widowhood, Calais, the coronation, etc.