#i had a bailey piece in the works from ages ago

[morgana-ren]

I'll blessedly forget that Degrees of Lewdity exists for, like, months at a time, and then I'll wind up coming back to it and end up reminding myself just how awful and unreasonable my masochism truly is when I fall back in love with Literally The Worst Characters Imaginable™

[catullus0525]

Prologue: The World Forgetting, By The World Forgot

Notes:

This is the full first draft of the biography of Robbie Ross (1869-1918) which I have been working on over the past few months. I am posting it today because today (25th May) is Robbie's 155th birthday. I will be posting it bit by bit over the following weeks.

I will be revising it quite drastically over the next few months when I have a bit more time. It is therefore still an imperfect work in progress.

In line with my previous post, apologies in advance for any inaccuracies or inappropriate language -- I have tried my best when writing to avoid them but as with any first draft they are inevitable.

I am happy to answer any questions & provide references & recommend readings!

I will be vibe-matching songs with each chapter.

I know Oscar Wilde kind of hated Alexander Pope but I quite like some lines from his Eloisa to Abelard I am going to quote him anyway

We may forget those transient things 

That made your charm and our delight: 

But loyal love has deathless wings 

That rise and triumph out of night.

—— Siegfried Sasson (1918), Elegy

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;

And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain;

Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,

And wait, till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

—— Alexander Pope (1717), Eloisa to Abelard

I. 

On 3 June 1918, taking the witness stand in the Old Bailey which Oscar Wilde had saved him from 23 years ago, Alfred Douglas indignantly denounced his ex-lover as ‘the agent of the devil in every possible way’ and ‘the greatest force of evil that has appeared in Europe during the last 350 years’. No longer the champion of ‘the love that dares not speak its name’, this time, Douglas was testifying on behalf of Noel Pemberton Billing, a viciously homophobic proto-fascist politician on trial for libelling the actress Maud Allan known for playing Salomé. Billing alleged that a circle of 47,000 clandestine gay and lesbians tied to not only Maud Allan but also Robert Ross and the ‘Wilde cult’ had been infiltrating English high society to undermine the English war effort on behalf of the German Kaiser. The laws were not on Billing’s side: his entire legal argument hinged on the fact that Maud Allan understood what a ‘clitoris’ was (which, he argued, proved that she was a lesbian), and alleging that Oscar Wilde was aiding the Kaiser eighteen years after his death was legal delusion. But, crucially, the war-wearied, hate-filled, paranoia-driven English public hungry for a scapegoat was; and Alfred Douglas’s testimony gave them exactly what they wanted. In the end, in a farcical turn, the jury acquitted Noel Pemberton Billing and condemned Oscar Wilde. 

Douglas would forswear his statement years later (as he had forsworn many other things in his life), but the harm done was not reparable. For Robert Ross, who had dedicated the past eighteen years to rehabilitating Oscar Wilde’s literary reputation, witnessing his effort turned to dust and Wilde's name sullied once more must have been an excruciatingly agonising blow. Days after the acquittal of Billing, Ross angrily snubbed Sir Charles Mathews, then the Director of Public Prosecutions, ‘the bastard of a mummer’, and sardonically congratulated him on ‘the complete rehabilitation of [his] protégé, Lord Alfred Douglas’ and snubbed him ‘the bastard of a mummer’. Meanwhile, to his friends Cecil Sprigge and Charles Ricketts, Ross expressed his despair over the war-weary English public’s eagerness in ‘kicking Oscar’s corpse’ and lamented that he himself had been ‘used as a piece of mud’ in smearing Oscar Wilde. Four months later, Ross died of heart failure, aged only 49. 

Unlike Douglas, who wrote endless autobiographies regurgitating his narrative, Ross never publicly told his side of the story and left scant traces of himself. Therefore, unfortunately, we would never know whether his official cause of death, recorded as ’gastritis caused by chronic bronchitis’ belied a broken heart. Did the fresh wave of anti-Wilde furore made him believe that his advocacy for the past eighteen years had all been in vain? Did he fear that Wilde’s legacy would be irrevocably tarnished by Douglas’ ongoing vendetta against himself? Did he die tormented by regrets and despair? These we could only speculate. We only know that for a long time before his death, Ross had suffered from severe depression and chronic insomnia which ruined his health and prematurely aged his appearance. This was due in no small part to Alfred Douglas’s relentless persecution of him due to his homosexuality. It would also be reasonable to postulate that the uncharacteristic sarcasm of his letter to Sir Charles Mathews was the tip which belied an iceberg of agony.

Ross left almost everything in his possession to others upon his death. The Oscar Wilde estate was transferred to Cyril (then deceased) and Vyvyan Holland in its entirety. Most paintings in his possession were presented to the British Museum. His personal savings were largely left to More Adey, one of his ex-partners with whom he spent nearly 15 years. To himself, he had reserved only a quiet little enclave in Wilde’s famous Père Lachaise tombstone: unbeknownst to everyone, he had requested a small secret space for his own ashes when commissioning that majestic tombstone. In his will, Ross directed that:

[…] my remains shall be cremated at Golders Green Crematorium with the ordinary burial offices of the Catholic and Roman Church. And I direct that my ashes shall be placed in a suitable urn and taken to Paris and buried in the tomb of the said Oscar Fingal O' Flahertie Wills Wilde. 

Moreover, since the will was penned during his persecution by Alfred Douglas, Ross foresaw difficulties with placing his ashes in Wilde’s tomb. In response, he directed that were burial to prove impossible, his ashes be scattered in Père Lachaise around Oscar Wilde. 

It was as if Ross was being the Heloise to Wilde’s Abelard. In that famous Medieval love story, much like how the illustrious writer Oscar Wilde was captivated by the 17-year-old Robbie Ross, Abelard, the brightest philosopher of his day, fell for his astute pupil Heloise, 19 years his junior. They were not only intellectual partners but also passionate lovers, yet loving Heloise was the beginning of calamity for Abelard. But Heloise’s love was unwavering even after Abelard’s ruin, not unlike how Ross steadfastly stood by Wilde after his imprisonment till the very end. In the end, much like how Heloise demanded to be buried with Abelard 22 years after his death, 23 years after Wilde’s death, Ross yearned for eternity alongside Wilde, beneath the same hallowed earth that cradled Heloise and Abelard.

Yet, unlike Heloise, whose effigy lay proudly beside Abelard's in Père Lachaise and whose name was engraved alongside his in history, Ross deliberately left no mark of his own on the final resting place he shares with Wilde. So whilst Heloise receives countless visitors’ songs and tears alongside Abelard, out of the hundreds of kisses imprinted on Wilde’s grave, none was intended for Ross; and most who wander through Père Lachaise remain unaware that Ross's ashes are silently guarding Wilde’s body.

Such self effacement was despite the fact that Ross had given up his eternal life with God for eternal rest with Oscar Wilde. As a devout lifelong Catholic, in directing his body’s cremation, Ross had denied himself resurrection —— it was not until 1963 that the Vatican finally conceded that cremation was ‘not opposed to the Christian religion' and ceased to deny Catholics wishing to be cremated their sacraments and funeral rites. Although at the time of Ross’s death, the Catholic Church sometimes acquiesced to cremation in practice as a result of  WW1 (as reflected by the ‘the ordinary burial offices of the Catholic and Roman Church’ at Golders Green Crematorium), it was still quite possible that Ross never received the funeral rites which prepare a Catholic’s soul for afterlife. 

What had prompted such grave sacrifice? Perhaps he wanted to take up as little space as possible, lest his presence eclipse the master’s lustre. Perhaps it was his ultimate penance for his incurable sin of loving Oscar Wilde. Or perhaps he saw incineration as the only way to purify his body and to make himself worthy of eternal rest by the artist he had corrupted, just as Alexander Pope had written of Heloise: 

Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;

And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,

Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,

And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

Yet, were it not for Robert Ross, us contemporaries might not have known Oscar Wilde at all. Despite Nicholas Frankel’s brilliant effort to re-write Wilde’s final years as a joyous saga of love and self-acceptance, there is no denying that Wilde died a ruined bankrupt in 1900. Upon his death, he was a persona non grata in England whose name was synonym to scandal, and due to his bankruptcy, everything he had owned was automatically passed into the hands of the Official Receiver in Bankruptcy. This meant that none of the proceedings from Wilde’s works (if there were any at all) would go to his orphaned children. Furthermore, though Salomé was successful on the German stage and The Soul of Man under Socialism welcomed by the bookshelves of Nizhny Novgorod, Wilde’s works were deemed worthless in England: the complete rights to Lady Windermere’s Fan and The Importance of Being Earnest were sold off for the meagre sum of £100 each. Indeed, the Official Receiver had told Ross in 1901 that Wilde’s works ‘would never command any interest whatever’. But Ross’s labour of love worked miracles. In eight years, Ross had accomplished what none had thought possible: he had repaid all of Wilde’s debts, restored Wilde’s children’s rights over their father’s literary estate, and restored Oscar Wilde’s literary name. Moreover, Ross might have taken some comfort in the fact that he had reinstated Oscar Wilde so solidly in literary history that even the setbacks of the Billing trial did not hinder the reading public's rediscovery of Wilde’s genius in the long term. In particular, the remarkable 14-volume Collected Works of Oscar Wilde Ross had almost single-handedly compiled remains one of the most exhaustive collections of Wilde’s writings. To this monumental endeavour we owe much of our current understanding and appreciation of Wilde and his works. Few in history had done so much yet said so little. 

II. 

In the years since Ross’s untimely death, two drastically different images of him emerged. 

To his friends and acquaintances, Ross was a erudite wit with a big heart, selflessly devoted to Oscar Wilde and his legacy but also endlessly keen on supporting other artists. Edmund Gosse described him as a ‘talker’ with rapid thoughts and astonishing breadth of knowledge and an ‘expert […] in the art of benevolence’ who ‘wore himself out in deeds of active kindness’. Siegfried Sassoon corroborated Gosse’s assessment in his Elegy, and added to it endearing snippets of personal stories, such as when Ross put up an umbrella to reassure an old lady bewildered by air-raid during the Great War. Arthur Humphreys remembered him as someone who ‘never talked of anything without touching the salient point at once and bringing his fancy and brilliancy to bear upon all’, who knew more but showed less of their knowledge than most men, who was always eager and capable of giving help to those in need, and who never ‘became embittered’ or ‘say an unkind word of anyone through the trials and tribulations of his life. William Rothenstein praised Ross's ‘genius for friendship’ and his ability to inspire the best in those he admired. Vyvyan Holland cherished Ross as his ‘dearest friend’ whom he could look to when he wanted ‘sincerity and advice’. And The Times wrote in Ross’s obituary that ‘It was his foible to pretend to be a trifler in all things and to gibe at the greatest reputation; but he knew more and did more than many solemn people and, in acts of kindness, he was always in earnest’.

However, to Alfred Douglas (who outlived Ross by almost three decades) and his sympathisers, Ross was a conniving, almost-psychopathic social climber mad with unrequited love for Oscar Wilde and jealousy for Douglas. In his Autobiography, Douglas described Ross as a ‘sinister looking, bloated and bald-headed person’ with ‘snaky eyes’, ‘bulging face and body’ and ’n—er-like mouth and teeth’. In addition, Douglas described Ross as a jealous, embittered man with a ‘subconscious determination’ to ‘get even with’ himself, and a hypocrite who socialised beyond his station by contrived ‘flattery “laid on with a trowel”’. Somewhat corroborating this, Samuel Roth claimed that Frank Harris had once described Ross as a ‘rascal of the first water’ drunk on the illusion of being Wilde’s only lover. Following closely upon Douglas’s narrative, Rupert Croft-Cooke (who was a friend of Douglas’s) wrote in 1963 that Ross was an ‘amusing little queen’ who ‘ingratiated' himself with Wilde with 'feminine willingness’, who ‘had no other serious interest’ beside Wilde, who took Wilde as his life with ‘exhibitionist devotion’, who was tormented by ‘the green fires of jealousy’ after Wilde met Douglas, and who ‘had nothing else to warm his nature but a little rancid promiscuity and a dilettante interest in art and letters’. Caspar Wintermans likewise maintained that Ross was a jealous hypocrite who saw Douglas as ‘an impediment’, who schemed, lied, and manipulated to tear Wilde from Douglas, and who maliciously used Arthur Ransom as a ‘tool’ to ‘get even' with ‘the Adonis [Douglas] who twenty years ago had appropriated Oscar Wilde, relegating him, Bobbie, to limbo.’ In a similar vein, Douglas Murray portrayed Ross as a despondent abandoned lover whose effort in rehabilitating Wilde stemmed from a twisted desire to ‘claim back Wilde for himself’ as a ‘revenge for the back-seat role that the advent of Douglas had forced him into with Wilde’.

Ironically, were it not for Douglas, I would not have embarked on my journey to rediscover Robert Ross. I had knowledge of him as one of Oscar Wilde’s many lovers and literary executor after watching Wilde (1999) and The Happy Prince (2018), and was briefly intrigued by the bickering amongst Wilde’s lovers. However, it was the feud between Douglas and Ross over the publication of De Profundis which really led me down the rabbit hole. 

De Profundis is my favorite work of English prose, not only for its exquisite elegance but also for its delicate balance between truth and deception, and between artistic form and poetic spirit. Because it was composed in prison, Wilde’s genius in weaving beautiful lies ‘lying’ was marred by and married to raw, almost religious agony, producing a unique literary masterpiece which stands out from his other works. On a more personal level, the book had been the healing balm to my soul amidst some of my darkest personal moments, and it has been a source of strength and comfort since. So, quite naturally, I searched for anything and everything related to its composition and publication, which eventually led me to Robert Ross, the man who quite literally made De Profundis.

But before I got to Ross, I first encountered Alfred Douglas’ various autobiographies and biographies which levied extensive allegations against Ross’s character and conduct re the publications of De Profundis. Douglas and his biographers accused Ross of stealing personal letters, acting contrary to Wilde’s wishes, manipulating writers, and luring Douglas into a libel action, all for the sake of destroying Douglas and avenging the loss of his lifelong love (amongst other things). I shall analyse the merits of such allegations at another time —— here it is suffice to say that I was fascinated by the colourful character of Ross their narratives constructed, as I had always been drawn to tragic villains in romantic sagas. So I began my search for Robert Ross, hoping to discover a complex, twisted, and fascinating Jekyll-and-Hyde type character, whose too-profound love and hate had led him to stoop low and weave elaborate webs of lies in the dark to bring down the innocent protagonist in a one-sided romantic vendetta. 

However, what I found was exactly the opposite. 

The more times I read over Douglas and his biographers’ narratives, the more contradictions, inaccuracies, dubious interpretations, and arbitrarily imputed intentions I noticed, and the less convinced I became of their portrayal of Ross. Things simply did not add up for me. I shall elaborate on the reasons I found faults with Douglas’s narratives some other time; in short, I discovered that most of Douglas’s allegations were either unsubstantiated, untrue, or maliciously misconstrued. 

Moreover, as I read into the life of Robert Ross, I realised that he was, or rather deserved to be, so much more than simply a footnote in Oscar Wilde’s story. I found that in his rather brief life, Ross had inspired, supported, and made many great names in literary and queer history. Indeed, as argued, without Ross, us contemporaries might never have had the pleasure of reading Oscar Wilde. I also came to believe Ross deserved to be remembered as a hero (if not a martyr) in British queer history alongside Wilde in his own right, for his remarkable, lifelong courage to live as a somewhat openly gay man and shelter other young queer men from a society which condemned homosexual intercourse to life imprisonment. So increasingly I wanted to extrapolate Ross from the quarrels amongst Oscar Wilde's lovers (which, I believe, are somewhat blown out of proportion by the two brilliant Wilde biography films I had mentioned above) —— I believe Ross deserved to be remembered as so much more than an embittered ex-favourite in an all-male harem, or the male version of a forbearing traditional wife whose sole purpose in life was her man. 

III. 

But I could not help but to notice that, despite all his achievements, throughout his life Ross had consistently erased himself from the narrative. Even at the 1908 dinner which celebrated Ross for his remarkable success in rehabilitating Wilde’s literary legacy, Ross claimed that he regarded himself as no more than an instrument, that it was chiefly to others’ credit that Wilde’s debts were repaid, that he was not the only friend by Wilde’s side over the latter’s last years, and other friends have done more for Wilde than himself. 

Moreover, like T.H.Crosland (out of all people), I wondered why didn’t Ross defend himself when faced with vicious persecution Was it fear —— fear that had he defended himself he would have incurred more severe persecution and be imprisoned for his sexuality like Oscar Wilde? Was it love —— could he have worried that if he had defended himself as vigorously and relentlessly as Douglas did, the squabbles between them could eclipse Wilde’s literary legacies which he had poured his heart and soul into? Or was it simply a lack of time —— might he have told his story had he simply lived a little longer? 

On top of which, I wondered whether Ross would have preferred to be relegated to a small footnote in Oscar Wilde’s story, just as he wanted his ashes to be quietly laid in a secret little enclave in Wilde’s grand tomb in Père Lachaise without his name being engraved anywhere. As Edra Bogle postulated in her 1969 PhD thesis, Ross might have wished to be forgotten himself and have any fame to go to ‘those whose work he hoped to advance’.

Thus, I deliberated long and hard before penning this piece, wondering whether I might be disrespecting a dead man’s wishes in trying to tell his story. But eventually I decided to write, for three reasons. Firstly, with the decriminalisation and increasing normalisation of homosexuality in Britain, the factors which had caused Ross to fear publicity in his time are no more. Secondly, thanks in no small part to Ross’s effort, Oscar Wilde’s position in literary history is so well-established today that no stories of his personal life could have eclipsed his literary legacy. Indeed, volumes had been written on the private lives of Wilde, Douglas, and Ross (albeit with varying levels of accuracies), but none has diminished people’s appreciation of Wilde’s literary genius. If anything, the biographies and films served to augment the reading public’s interest in Oscar Wilde by fleshing out the literary personality. Thirdly, personally, I suppose if Ross had known that ten years after persecuting him into his early grave, Alfred Douglas would continue to not only drag his name through the mud but also refuse to assume any substantial responsibility for Wilde’s downfall, he might have wished to write something.

So, this piece is for Robert Baldwin Ross. It is a labour of love by an amateur Wildean upon the occasion of Queer History Month. I hope to pay tribute to the man who not only introduced us to Oscar Wilde, Siegfried Sassoon, Wilfred Owen, and so many other queer luminaries, but also was a beacon in queer history in his own right. This was a man tormented by his faith and suffered endless prejudices from a cruel society, yet he braved the troubles of his life with heroic resolve. He came out to his family at the tender age of nineteen, never married to conceal his sexuality, and nurtured a generation of queer artists. I hope I could honour his beautiful soul by doing justice to his extraordinary story, a story of courage, of struggle, of sacrifice, and above all, of love.

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

Extra Credit

based on this cause @avhrodite and I were texting, and she told me to write it! so this is for you miss bailey <3

also feedback is always appreciated! literally rb, comment, or an anon ask means the world to fanfic writers, now that tumblr’s algorithm is messed up.

enjoy 7.6k of professor!harry lovelies!

also the intimidating as fuck photo that inspired this, and will be used in the story!

Sexuality Studies. Room 3017.

You had stalled from walking into class with a nervous gut feeling in your stomach with a heavy textbook in your arms, too big to be put in your backpack, but it felt like your book was weighing you down. People were walking around each other to find a vacant seat as you stood there next to the door as you waited till the last minute to walk in and take your seat.

There were a few reasons why you were nervous to walk in. One, it was basically sex class. Your friend had taken the class a few semesters ago, and had told you the basics of it and the rundown. There was a lot of sex talking towards the end.

And although, you’ve had had sex before, you still felt like you were inexperienced. Your sex life was boring, and nonexistent as of a month ago when you broke it off with your, now ex, friends with benefits. He just wasn’t doing the job, like at all. He never made sure you were having a good time or getting off. And that’s just one of the reasons why you broke it off with him. Luckily, he wasn’t mad and didn’t ask questions. Just said ‘oh, okay’ and bid his goodbye. That had made you a bit sad, knowing he didn’t care whatsoever. You two had only been fucking for a month, and the excitement had left your body the first night you slept with him.

The second reason goes along well with the first, and that’s because you aren’t that comfortable. Again, you’ve sex, but you weren’t comfortable in yourself--your sexuality. You never really had time or experience to explore your body or others because you’ve only slept with two people. In that sense, you didn’t know what you liked sexually and what your partner liked, other than blowjobs, handjobs, and being able to cum while fucking you. But there was more to it; you wanted the details, the ticks, sensitive spots, everything. But you’ve slept with lousy frat boys who didn’t care enough to ask if you had finished.

You checked your phone for the time, seeing that you have about two minutes before you have to go in. You take a deep breath, walking over to the opposite side of the wall, preparing yourself to walk in. You don’t know why it was so hard for you to just walk in and sit down. The thought of having to sit through an hour and a half class that is mainly about sex isn’t that hard to deal with either, but your insecurities and anxiety is getting the better of you. With a couple of neck rolls and inhales to deep exhales, you were ready before you heard a voice next to you.

“Nervous about the first day?” You look up to find an incredibly attractive man smiling down at you. His smile had made you blush and his intent eye contact had made you nervous. The way he just looks insanely sexy, and you think his hair is better than yours. He wears a simple button down shirt with two birds next to the collar, along with black jeans and boots. And you think, he’s so good looking and dresses well too. For a student, you don’t see anyone dress or look like him at all.

“Uh, kinda? I don’t know,” you say as you are not quite sure what to answer, so you said the easiest thing that didn’t have to do with how you’re feeling right now.

“No need to be nervous. This semester will go by quickly and I heard the professor is really cool too,” the man says with a reassuring smile, and you felt a bit better because he was right. This class would be a breeze and then you wouldn’t have to retake it, unless you fail.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you. Uh, do you want to sit next to me?” You made the bold move to ask him, and it had shocked you. You never made the first move, but you figured that you needed more friends anyways.

“Oh, thank you, but can’t do that. Let’s go in, shall we?” He waves his hand out, leading you to go first.

You cheeks were filled with embarrassment, thinking that your bold move was a stupid move. Of course, he didn’t want to sit next to you. He barely knows you. You roll your eyes at yourself, making your way to the first row as all the seats behind the front row were taken, and you didn’t want to take the time to look around. You take a seat as your head sank lower from awkwardness you had felt, and you set your book down on the desk and heard your professor speak.

“Hello, class. Welcome to ‘Sexuality Studies.’ I’m Professor Styles. Shall we get started?” Your mouth had been open the entire time he was introducing himself. Shocked was an understatement as you didn’t realize you were talking to your professor outside of the class, but that hadn’t made your embarrassing moment less worse.

How did you not realize that? You should’ve seen it coming because you were thinking about how no student on campus dresses or looks the way he does, and you didn’t think to put the pieces together.

But, fuck.

He was sexy as a ‘student’, but as the professor, that was a different story. You had felt the weird feeling in your stomach, triggering your arousal as you watched him talk to the entirety of the class about what’s to be expected. You turned around slightly and observed the room; noticing that most of the class were girls and there were a few guys, but the female population dominated the class. All the girls had hearts in their eyes, twirling, and biting their lip as they stared at their new professor; probably hoping they would get some extra credit in the middle of the semester to raise their grade or purposefully failing their test so he can call them into his office and they can have classic office sex.

The thought had made your eyes roll. Not at the thought of office sex because everyone knows that’s hot, but the thought of purposefully doing horrible in the class to fuck the professor is beyond you.

The class had gone by rather quickly, Professor Styles only talking about the basics of what everyone is going to learn such as culture, biological, health, anatomy, art, etc.

You walked out of the class in a hurry, not looking at your new professor and anticipated the next time you’ll meet.

The month had gone by rather smoothly, only taking two classes for the semester, so your workload isn’t too bad. The occasional thought about thinking your professor was a student had haunted you, and you think about it a bit more than you would like; feeling quite embarrassed and you’d hope that he had forgotten all about it.

You were sat at the coffee shop, head in your laptop and notes that you had taken during lecture as you were starting on your paper that is due in a little over two weeks. You were so into your introduction that your fingers were typing away on their own, that you didn't feel the presence of someone beside you.

“Hi. You’re in my sexuality class, right?” A voice from your right becomes present, and you look up, seeing your incredibly attractive professor looking down at you with a smile. There was no way in getting out of this one.

“Yes. Mr. Styles, hi,” you say nervously, but trying your best to hide it with your smile.

“Thought I recognized ya. How are you?”

“I’m doing well. I’m actually working on your paper right now,” you chuckle a bit.

“Are ya? What are you writing it on?” You get a bit sidetracked, realizing that he’s still standing and all of your stuff sits on the opposite side of the table. You reach over to move it onto your lap.

“You can sit if you’d like,” you offer. Harry debates for a second, and sees that there’s no harm in sitting with your student, so he gladly takes the seat across from you. “But I’m writing it on the fine line between masculinity and femininity.”

“Ahh, yes. That’s one of my favorite topics that we discussed,” he says.

“Yeah, me too. Pretty important for this day in age.”

“I’m right there with ya,” he agrees.

For the next 20 minutes, you and Harry talk about some main points. Discussing and going over what ideas you had in mind as Harry listens while nodding his head. He notices how passionate you are with the topic of your paper, and he appreciates the passion. Students will lazily write this paper, and it really shows in their work that makes him a bit disappointed because he had thought that he made the class fun; adding a few jokes and having the student participate with the lecture.

But listening to you talk about all the ideas that you wrote down; so far from the earth as you keep talking as he listens intently to you. You’re a sweet person, he’s noticed. You don’t participate all that much in class, but he figured that’s because you’re just a tad bit shy. And he’s still amused at the fact that you thought he was a student, which flattered him. But in all honesty, he can pass as one, and it wasn’t the first time someone mistaken him for a student.

Just as you were finished talking, a hint of pink made your cheeks flushed as you realized you were talking quite a bit, and keeping him from doing whatever he was supposed to. “I’m sorry. I tend to talk a lot when I get into things.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. I’m glad you told me your ideas because I think they’re great.” He checks the time on his phone and sees that he should get going, and his coffee cup is empty already. “But I should get going. Don’t hesitate to ask me about anything for the paper. I’ll see you in class.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles. Have a great rest of your day,” you bid him goodbye as he softly says ‘you too.’

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. Although you had been comfortable talking to him, you have never actually had a close conversation with any of your professors, really. Especially not outside of campus. But you really did feel comfortable. You figured that it’s because Harry is in a way, younger than most professors—at least he looks young.

The rest of your time at the coffee shop was spent finishing up the second paragraph and your coffee before you head back to your apartment.

The paper was due in a week, and you felt confident about turning it in on time and doing a great job on it. But that did not stop you from going into Mr. Styles’ office during his office hours, and he did say not to hesitate to ask if you had any questions, so you were using that to your advantage to make your paper even better.

He was surprised to see you just after two days of seeing him at the coffee shop that happened the week prior; asking him how to rephrase some things and seeing where some ideas fit into the paragraphs that are already written. And Harry happily helped you. Although he thinks you don’t need help at all, seeing as you’re right on track on the topic.

But you had felt a sudden surge of confidence that has never hit you before. And you can tell yourself that you’re comfortable enough to ask him questions all you want, but in reality, you wanted to keep talking to him and most importantly, keep seeing him.

He had this sense of comfort to him that made you feel safe. You never felt the awkward tension that there is in when talking to other professors, and you were glad for it. Mr. Styles had made it a safe space for his students to talk to him. And aside from asking him about school related things, you two had gotten to know each other after the important questions were asked. The conversations were harmless, and you looked forward to them everytime.

A knock was heard on his office door and he told whoever was behind it to come in. You walked in with a smile, laptop and notebook held to your chest, walking in slowly as you closed the door behind you.

“Hi, Mr. Styles. Are you busy?”

He shakes his head, “no, no. How can I help you?” Harry had—and was still trying—to keep it professional between you two. And although nothing had happened, he can’t help but stop the flutter of his heart when you would walk in his class or his office as you gave him a small that he adored. He also noticed how concentrated you are during class; making sure to take every single note and word that he says, making him smile at the thought.

“Uh, I was kind of stuck on something that I could definitely use your help with.” 

“Sure thing. That’s what I’m here for,” he gives you a smile, and you open your notebook, showing him the many marks and scribbles that you had planted out when brainstorming.

“So I came up with this idea because I thought it would be important to talk about the history of masculinity and femininity. I didn’t want to just talk about the modern times as of now. But maybe research how it affected people back in the day when they weren’t acting as their…assigned sexuality, as you could say.”

“That sounds great. You can talk about that and during the times of the first pride march. That would definitely be interesting. But I would say not to go too into it, it’s a pretty straightforward topic, and there’s just a lot that is covered during those times. Just so you don’t get too ahead of yourself,” he gives his opinion. You listen carefully and take in his words as if you’re making a mental list of things you should and shouldn’t write about.

“Sounds good. Thank you.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think so. Just wanted to ask you that,” you say as you close your notebook, but not getting up to leave yet.

“Okay, can I ask you something this time?”

“Uh, sure,” you respond nervously.

“I see that you’re pretty much on track of the paper, like you know what you’re talking about. And you seem really confident in what you want to say, which is good. And I’m all ears when it comes to students wanting feedback, but I just have to ask….” anxiety boils through your throat. “Is coming to see me practically 2 or 3 times a week have to do with your paper?” You take a deep inhale, but don’t let your breath loose. He read you extremely well, you have to say. And it was a bold move on Harry’s part to ask that because if you say the opposite, then he assumed pretty hard.

You finally let go of the breath you were holding in and answered, “no.”

“No. It doesn’t have to do with your paper?” You shake your head in confirmation. “Then what does it have to do with?” He asks, and you think he definitely already knows what’s going on, but needs you to say the words.

“I just…wanted to see you,” you say softly.

“And why is that?” At this point, he’s teasing you already. Probably wanting to make a fool out of yourself so he could go home and laugh about it to his girlfriend or boyfriend, which you assume he has. And the bold assumption that you had thought he felt that pull towards you was enough to make you feel embarrassed for the second time in front of him.

But the remains of the confidence were still pooling in your head, and you figured you had nothing to lose.

“I wanted to see you because… I can’t deny this attraction I feel towards you. And it’s not based solely on your looks either because no can hide the fact that you’re insanely attractive, but I’ve gotten to know you for who you are this past week and we had some good talks, which was nice because no one has ever gotten to know me well enough for me to fall for them within a week.”

You finish your confession with a straight face, but there was still a hint of hope that he would tell you he felt the same way.

“And on the topic of no one getting to know me, and this is a sexuality class and you’ve recently started talking about sex; I’ve never truly had the chance to explore with partners sexually and explore my sexuality more in depth than just someone sticking their dick inside me, and calling it good sex. So, you talking to me and getting to know me means a lot because no one wants to waste their time on what I like and what I’m into.”

You had said a mouthful, and it can be heard as inappropriate to say that to your professor, but again, why would a sexuality teacher judge you based on your past sex life?

A minute had passed that immediately felt like an hour. The only thing that was heard was the ticking of the wall clock, and that made the tension even more unbearable.

You get up from out of the chair, “I’m gonna go. Thanks for the help, Mr Styles.” 

Before you reach for the door, he finally decides to speak, “Wait.” You turn around slowly and watch him get up from his chair, and walk towards you. His eyes are dark, and they don’t leave yours as he reaches you.

The proximity is close enough that you could lean forward and be pressed up against his chest, but you’re afraid that you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself if you do that.

“You’ve fallen for me?” Is the thing that he could respond with after all that you’ve said.

“Yes. I’ve developed a crush on you, well, more than a crush because I do like you,” you say as you look up at him. He looks down at you intently, lips rolled into his mouth. He smells amazing from how close you are, that it’s like a potion that keeps luring you in, wanting more.

“Do ya?”

“I think I make myself pretty clear on that,” you respond with a bit of sass.

“Don’t give me attitude,” his tone changed to dominant, and a pool in your panties made itself present.

“What are you gonna do about it, Mr Styles?” You test, and move closer to him, lips almost touching. You can possibly reach up and your lips will be in sync. A smirk comes to play on his face as if you’ve made the wrong move, but you’re so ready for what’s to come.

And for a split second, it looked like he was leaning in a tad bit to go in for a kiss, but retracts back. “I’ll see you in my next class.” With that, he pulls back and walks back to his chair.

You’re left stunned, mouth slightly open, surprised he didn’t make a move. He didn’t even tell you if he felt the same way, and if it were any other day, you would’ve felt extremely sad, but there was so much tension in the room you needed to go home and take care of yourself.

And that’s what you did.

Once you got back home, you ran a bath for yourself and sat in it as you ran over your skin, leading to where you ached the most. Many thoughts of Mr. Styles doing this to you as he sat behind you in the bath, knowing that you would make a mess on his long fingers and pretty hands. And that definitely helped you reach our orgasm as you moan out his name, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly odd about it.

You finally turned in your paper on the last day it was due, and you were extremely happy with it. You added the history of not acting like your original self, taking Mr. Styles’ advice and not going too in depth with it. This has marked as a halfway point to graduating with your bachelors, and you were ecstatic.

It had also been a week since the tension filled scene that had happened in your professor’s office, and you haven’t been back since. Seeming as you didn’t need to since there were no needed assignments, but you had thought you would visit him in his office everyday after what you had confessed.

It didn’t get easier sitting in his class as he stood up in front of everyone looking so hot as he wore a crisp blue button down with a polka dot tie, and a pink blazer over it. He knew your secret. He knew that you had the hots for him. And he knew that he didn’t say anything to reciprocate those feelings. And you tried very hard not to let it get to you.

The lecture had ted to your paper topic: masculinity and femininity. But this time, it was open for class discussion. You weren’t big on talking in class; just preferred listening to everyone’s opinions and making your own in your head, but the ignorance that someone had made you argue with him.

“I personally feel like men should stay on the masculinity side, and women on the femininity side.” You had turned around to see the guy who had said that. He was wearing a football jersey of the university, laughing with his two friends.

“And why do you think that?” Mr Styles follows up.

“It’s simple. You shouldn’t act as if you’re someone you’re not-”

“That makes a good point in your argument though,” you interrupt, turning in your seat to look at the jock at the top. “You shouldn’t act like someone you’re not, so why would you act like someone you don’t want to be?” The guy had shut up, making you smirk. “I just think that being masculine and feminine as your biological gender is a social construct. It just takes away the substance of that person when people look down on them for being true to themselves. So, why does masculinity only apply to men, and femininity only apply to women?”

Harry smirks at your discussion. It had surprised him that you spoke up in his class, but it didn’t surprise him when you spoke up about this topic. You had definitely shut down his other student, and he was proud of you for that.

The class was dismissed and as you were making your way towards the door, someone stopped you.

“Hey, really great argument back there.” It was the ignorant jock.

“Thanks.” You walked out of the class to get out of everyone’s way, stopping at the wall across from the class.

“I didn’t mean to sound so douchey back there, but what you said really got me thinking, and I see where you’re coming from.”

“I’m glad. You learn something new everyday…”

Harry was watching you the entire time you left your seat to when his student stopped you to have a chat. He had thought you were going to shut him down for being ignorant, but he saw you smile and laugh a little, making him breath deeply as he glared at you, brows furrowed, and coffee cup in his hand. Harry then sees him take out his phone, obvious that he’s asking for his number and he sees you blush as you talk.

Harry tries to control his breathing, and in another world, steam would be coming out of his ears. He walks towards the door, thinking that he was going to call you into his class, but decides against it and shuts the door.

It was already nearing the end of the semester, and you have yet to talk to him.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you had slightly gotten over his unreciprocated feelings, you would have probably dropped out of the class and waited another semester to finish. But you couldn’t let him do that to you; you were way too close to the finish line.

Mr. Styles was in his final topic of speaking about the fun part of sex, and how it could be pleasurable. He talked about the anatomy of it at first, moving onto the techniques. And the techniques he used on how to pleasure a woman and man had you hot in your seat. He demonstrated using his finger, showing the class the way to finger someone, and you couldn’t help but cross your legs. And you were sure everyone was doing so as well.

The simple demonstration of his fingers making a curling motion as if he’s fingering someone made you clench. You had been right about his fingers bringing you to pleasure, and all you wanted to do was rush home and imagine it again since you have a full visual.

“Okay, class. I have an extra credit opportunity for you.” The class perks up at that. You had a low A in the class, and although you were confident about the final, you didn’t want to risk it, so you listened.

“Since this is a sexuality class, I hoped I didn’t make anyone uncomfortable on what I just did,” the class laughed a bit, and you smiled. “For this extra credit, I want you to go to a sex store and buy a toy that can be pretty much anything. Come back and show me, and I will mark you down for points. I don’t require a paper on this, so it is fairly easy, but this is to show that you should be comfortable in your sexuality, and walking into a sex store should be easy for you because there’s nothing wrong with that whatsoever because everyone has needs and if someone judges you, then they’re not getting laid.” The class laughs again. “You can return it if you want after I mark you down or you can keep it. A win win for everyone! Okay, class dismissed.”

You walked out of class with a smile on your face as Mr Styles lightened up everyone’s mood as everyone was stressing for finals. You were glad for it; the weight on your shoulders were still heavy, but a good laugh was needed.

You had two weeks to buy and show him the extra credit, and two weeks until you graduated. The days were counting down at this point, and before you knew it, it was the final week.

You had passed both of your finals with flying colors, and you had the rest of the week to finally relax as you were graduating at the end of the week. The apartment was a mess, and you finally had time to tidy it up a bit; fix the mess of papers on your kitchen table and put your laundry away. You also used that time to finally go out and get your extra credit.

It would be a lie if you had told yourself that you were too lazy to go out and actually buy your extra credit assignment, but that was far from the truth. If you had energy to get up and clean around your home, then you could have easily gotten up and buy a sex toy.

But it was the anxious feeling that you had that you were going to see him so up close, and actually get to talk to him again that stopped you.

The crush on your professor hadn’t died done any less, but it hadn’t increased either. You were stuck in a plateau of not getting over him and not falling for him more. You figured it’s because you see him every week, so you were hoping by this time, you were on your way to getting over him.

You made your way into the sex shop with nerves as you haven’t been into one before, and it was a very relaxed set up. Various of sex toys used for both genders were set against the wall, and a red curtain that led to something in the back that, you assumed, was the more extreme items.

You scanned the toys, figuring that it would be easy to just get a vibrator. Your hands shook as you went to grab the boxed toy, and you remembered Mr Styles’ words; there’s no reason to be ashamed in buying any of these, and that relaxed you.

The employee who rang you up was the sweetest. She greeted you with a bubbly smile, and told you that you had made a great choice because she has the same one. You didn’t tell her that it was for a school thing, because that would sound really weird, and you didn’t tell her that you were planning on returning it later on.

You drove to campus, hoping that Mr Styles was in his office. The drive was a 30 minute drive as you lived a bit far from the school, but you didn’t mind the drive.

Harry heard a knock on his office door, telling them to enter. His eyes perked up as you made yourself present as you opened the door. His heart was beating in his chest as he saw you; remembering the last time you were in his office and missing the presence of you being close again.

“Hi. How are you?” He pointed to the chair, and you sat down. Your heart was pounding as well, feeling nervous about being in his office again.

“I’m doing good. How are you?”

“I’m well, thanks. What can I do for you?” He asks politely. You reach into your bag and grab the box to show him your extra credit assignment. “Ahh,” he lets out as he sees the box. “Perfect. Let me mark you down for that.”

“Thank you,” you say as you put the toy back inside your bag. “Can I ask how I did on the final? If you’ve already finished grading it.”

“Yes. You did really well, actually,” he says as he shuffles through his papers, looking for the grade book. “Ah, here. You got a 95.” That made you smile. You were quite confident for the final, but hearing that you did well brightened up your day. “And that boosted up your grade to a 94, plus the extra credit, that will go up to a 97.”

Your eyes widened; you had passed both classes with an A, and you were extremely excited about that; and it takes everything in you to not jump up and scream. “Wow, thank you.”

“No need to thank me. You deserve it. I’m proud of you,” he smiles at you, and your heart swoons, telling him a thank you. “You graduate at the end of the week right?” You nod. “Excited?”

“Very. I really only needed to take this class, but I was putting it off because my friend took this course and said it was pretty sexual, and that made me a bit uncomfortable if I’m being honest. But I really enjoyed this class…you made it bearable.” Harry blushes, thinking how happy he is that you took the class with him.

“Well, I’m happy you enjoyed it,” he says .

There was silence that washed over you two with the slightest bit of tension; debating if either one should bring up what happened the last time you were in his office. You were feeling so many things at the moment, and he was too, but you were sure it was inappropriate to talk about it when technically, nothing even happened.

“I should get going,” you say instead.

“Sure thing. I’ll see you…uh, around,” he says hesitantly. You tell him goodbye and walk out of his office, probably the last time you would ever see him.

You had finally graduated, and you couldn’t be more happy and proud for yourself. A relieved feeling ran through you when you had put on your cap and gown, and the thought made you tear up. You were done, for now, before you had to go to grad school and get your masters degree. But either way, you were ecstatic.

Now a week has gone by since graduation, and you decided to do some errands. You also needed to make your way to the sex shop and return your item.

As you entered the door you had walked through once before, your eyes immediately spotted the familiar man who had made your heart flutter by the simple act of eye contact. And if it was by instincts, Harry turns his head towards the door and sees you standing at the entrance. He hadn’t seen you since the time in his office and he saw you walk for graduation, if that counts.

There was no way of avoiding him, so you walked over to him. “Hi, Mr Styles.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that anymore. You graduated already,” he smirks, and you chuckle.

“Then what should I call you?”

Yours. “Harry.”

You tilt your head to the side, seeing how fitting his name is on him. “Okay, Harry. What are you doing here anyways?” The question had slipped out of your mouth, but you think that there’s nothing awkward with it.

“Oh, uh, just looking for a cock ring,” he says honestly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m actually returning my extra credit purchase,” you chuckle.

“Are ya? Why don't you keep it?”

“I don’t know…I actually never used a toy before, and I got a bit intimidated by it.” Harry nods understandingly.

“See, a win win for everyone. You either get your money back or you get a nice orgasm out of it,” he laughs, and you agree with him.“I think you should keep it. This is the time you get to explore your sexuality.” You debate a bit. He was right, and you did have some spare time as of now, so you decided to keep it; see what this thing can really do.

“If you’d like…would you like to get some lunch with me?” He asks, taking you out of your thoughts.

Your eyes brighten. “Of course.”

It was like you were waiting for this moment to come. You had waited for him to ask you out and properly get to know each other outside of school. Harry had taken you to a small shop that sold burgers and fries, and you two sat in the patio of the shop; talking, eating, and laughing at stories you told each other.

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, nervously. “When I told you I liked you in your office that one time, why didn’t you say anything back?”

“To be honest, I was nervous. You’re 22 and I’m six years older than you, and although that didn’t matter much to me, you were on the edge of graduating. I couldn’t risk that, even with how much I like you. The thought of getting caught and losing your chance to graduate, and possibly your acceptance for your masters, would just be selfish on my part because I couldn’t keep it in my pants… So I waited until you graduated; didn’t even know if I was going to see you again if I’m honest.”

You understood well on why he didn’t do anything to reciprocate his feelings, and you were grateful he didn’t until now.

By the end of it, you didn’t want the day to end so you invited him to your apartment.

You two sat on your couch, which thankfully you cleaned the place before, and talked some more and put on a movie. You two were inching closer to one another until you both were cuddling. You had rested your legs on his as he runs his fingers over your ankles, scratching your skin lightly.

You were breathing heavily, wanting to just make more than just innocent touches. As if Harry read your mind, he turned his head to look at you; a striking look in his eyes as you both look at each other. The air was heavy, sexual tension coming in hot.

“Harry…”

“Yes, love?”

“Kiss me.”

Harry wastes no time in connecting his lips with yours. The softness of your lips meeting his is enough to drive him crazy. The pull you have on his hair makes him let out a moan into your mouth as you whimper into his. Chests are pulled close together, but not close enough as the hold on each other is tight; afraid one might let go.

Harry found himself in your bedroom, and it seemed like he blanked out during that time. Your kisses probably just pulled him into another world, where he debated if this was real life or if he was dreaming it. It was all real, but it was lovely to dream about.

You sat on the bed as you continued to kiss while Harry was standing above you; him leaning down and you reaching up. You were close to his hard on, and it took everything in him not to drop his pants and have you taste him, but it wasn’t going to be about him.

This is going to be about you.

You’d managed to get both of your shirts off, wanting yourself bare and to see his chest. You were surprised with the amount of tattoos that littered his skin. It was beautiful and raw, and him. You went to press a kiss to the butterfly on his stomach; the only one you can reach, and trailing down to the vines on his hips. Harry throws his head back, loving the feeling of your lips on his. You reach for his pants and before you can fully unbutton, he stops you.

“No, no. Tonight’s about you, baby,” he says as his face is close to yours and he kisses the tip of your nose. You nod slightly, feeling yourself blush; and he pushes your shoulder back so you’re fully laying down on your bed. “You want this, right?” Your head nods quickly, enough to make yourself dizzy. “Need words, love.”

“Yes. I want this so bad.” The words come out quickly, eagerly. Harry smirks at your response, and kisses down your stomach towards the hem of your pants.

He fully removes your bottoms, only leaving your panties, and Harry thinks that you’re just a sight. “God, baby, you’re so beautiful,” he says smiling. His words made you blush, shying away from him by turning your head. “Nuh uh, don’t get shy on me now, my love. It’s just me. You’re comfortable with me, right?”

“Of course,” you respond, remembering that he prefers words rather than gestures.

“I’m glad.”

He continues kissing along the hem of your panties, teasing you slightly by dragging his tongue along your skin. The feeling makes you whimper and buck your hips slightly; wanting more than his kisses.

The fast motion of your panties swiftly being removed catches you off guard as you look down and see Harry looking at your bare pussy with hungry eyes. “Look at you. Fuck.” It takes everything in him to not devour you right then and there, but he wanted this moment to last and for you to enjoy yourself. He has been waiting for this moment the first time you walked into his office, and he couldn’t wait to get a taste of you.

“Harry…” you whimper.

“Yes?”

“Please just lick me already.”

Harry kneels on the floor, kissing your inner thighs before taking one long lick up your pussy. The feeling of his tongue makes you moan out loud from the built up tension that you’ve been filled up with since the beginning of the semester.

“Fuck, so good,” he says, going in for another lick, but doesn’t stop this time. He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it as well as giving it kitten licks. Your hands fall to his hair as you tug, and your face falls to the side as you try and drown your moans against the mattress.

You continue moaning, but they’re muffled and Harry looks up at you. “No, none of that. Don’t hide away your moans. Wanna hear ya, baby. Let me know I’m licking you up just right--just how you like it,” he says and gets back to eating you out. You give him an ‘okay’ before wailing out in pleasure.

The thought had surprised you as you’ve never been with anyone who made sure you were feeling good and alright. And you absolutely loved it.

Harry’s fingers enter you, pumping and curling and finding your g spot. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Who got you this wet?” He teases.

“You.”

“I did?”

“Yes. You, Mr Styles.” Although you have been calling that more than you called him Harry, his name coming out of your mouth as you’re a moaning mess makes his cock even harder. He stares at you above him with dark eyes and nibbles on the skin of your inner thighs.

“You say you wanna explore? That no one has ever taken the time to make you feel good? Is that right, baby?” He says as he continues fucking you with his fingers.

“Mhm. No one has ever fucked me good enough for me to stay,” you say in an innocent and teasing tone, knowing that Harry will be the exact person that will do that for you.

“How about we have a little fun? With a certain vibrator of yours that you decided not to return? Do ya want that?”

“God, yes please.” Harry kisses your stomach, up to your chest, and then your lips before his fingers slip out and he walks over to unbox the new vibrator. It was a vibrator that you were able to put inside you as it stimulated your clit, and Harry has been dying to use one on you the second you showed it to him for extra credit. You heard the toy turn on as Harry played with the settings.

“Ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Harry sets the vibrations to the lowest setting as he starts to tease your clit with it; slowly circling around it as you moan out from the new sensation. “Does that feel good? Do you want more?”

“Please. Give me more,” you say as you palm him over his underwear, but he pushes you away. “Baby, you’re hard. Let me touch you, please,” you plead.

“This is all about you, so be a good girl and just enjoy this,” he says and you close your eyes, waiting for what’s to come. Harry sets the setting a bit higher. The setting is on a medium level, more stimulations to your clit as Harry moves the toy around. “Holy shit, that feels so good,” you throw your head back onto the bed.

“Yeah? Good thing I told you to keep it. You can use this when I’m not here to fuck you, unless I tell you not to touch yourself and have you wait until I stuff myself in your tight pussy.” The dirty talk is driving you wild along with the vibrator. “Gonna put it higher,” he says and doesn’t wait for you to answer.

“Oh my...fuck!” The setting is at its highest along with the part of the toy that is inside you; Harry moving the toy around a bit so it can thrust inside of you. You’re completely thrashing around on the sheets, and Harry has to physically spread your legs apart as you keep trying to close them.

Harry lays beside you, kissing your chest and taking your pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. Your hand naturally finds his hair and pulls on it as you bring his face to yours, and he gives you a solid kiss. You hold him against you as there were no movements of your lips with his; just the touch of your lips together as you try to control your moans.

As you two part, you scream out, “I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“C’mon, let go for me, baby. Cum for me,” Harry encourages you.

After a few more thrusts and vibrations to your clit, your orgasm washes over you and hits you hard. Your back arched, and you turned, still feeling the stimulation from the toy.

“There ya go. That’s it,” Harry says as he slowly pulls the toy out and replacing it with his hand, gently cupping over you and feeling your wetness as you come down from your high. Your moans have been controlled, and you started whimpering from how powerful your peak was. “You’re okay. Shh. You’re okay, baby.”

You buried your face into Harry’s neck, and he scratches your back, calming you down. After a moment, you lift your head up and lazily smile at Harry, causing him to giggle a bit and kiss you. The kiss didn’t last long nor was it deepened; it was a sweet and loving kiss, and a thank you to him.

“Was that okay?” He asks.

“That was fucking amazing. Never came like that before,” you tell him honestly.

“Well, I’m glad,” he kisses your lips briefly as he couldn’t get enough of them.

“So…” you trail off.

“So…” he repeats.

“Do I get my extra credit?” You ask in a playful manner, and he laughs loud making your heart flutter over the beautiful sound of his laugh.

“Oh, baby. You get more than extra credit.”

feedback here <3

MASTERLIST

[lokiondisneyplus]

Although Loki has been a fixture of the Marvel Cinematic Universe since 2011’s Thor, the character has never had his own musical identity. That all changed with Loki - the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s latest Disney+ series - and the music of Natalie Holt. The innovative, versatile score is a perfect match for the God of Mischief’s sensibilities and is easily among the best sonic works we’ve heard in the genre.

As such, we were excited to sit down with Holt to discuss the inspiration behind the score’s instrumentation, sticking up for her music in late-night dub sessions, and being part of the MCU.

I want to start right at the beginning. What was your reaction when you booked the Loki meeting?

I just knew that it was the biggest opportunity I'd ever had, and I really prepped hard. I went into the meeting with my ideas really fleshed out, and quite a lot of my responses to the script seemed to by some lucky coincidence fit with the directors. That was cool. I then got to do the pitch after the meeting, so I had to score the time theater scene in episode one, and I totally went to town on that as well. I really wanted this job so much because I felt that Loki was a great character and I was a big fan.

You and director Kate Herron were immediately on the same page in regards to using a Theremin for Loki. What was it about that instrument that appealed to you for this project?

A friend of mine had sent me ‘The Swan’ by Clara Rockmore ages ago, and I just loved the sound of it. I had also been listening to lots of BBC Radiophonic workshops, and I'd seen this documentary about Delia Derbyshire as well so I had all these 1950’s, analogue-y synth sounds buzzing around in my head. Tom Hiddleston has a Shakespeare-like quality to his performance, so I thought this needs to have some kind of classical, weighty grandness. So it was a fusion of those two things.

You weren’t on set for Loki, and I know that is something you like to do. In the absence of that, what sparked your creativity the most?

It was engaging with the character in a really deep way. The storyline really got under my skin and inspired me. I had the Loki theme in the pitch, so that’s been there from day one. And as for the riffs in the theme, I feel like Loki is the Salieri to Thor’s Mozart, so I was listening to lots of that. There's a bit of ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ by Wagner in Loki’s theme as well. That was all in the pitch. Then I had a month to write the suite. That was the Mobius theme, the Sylvie theme, and the Variant theme.

For all the hi-tech stuff we see in Loki, the TVA is also very analogue in some respects and you’ve clearly taken that into account with the score. How quickly did you catch onto that and are there any other ways that are reflected in your score?

I sampled lots of clock-ticking sounds. I worked with Daniel Sonnabend - he’s got lots of old analog tape machines - and we were messing around with that. The tape machine player almost became its own instrument. We had this big church bell for the timekeepers at the beginning of episode four. That was sampled and then downgraded, so it gets glitchy as it goes on to signify what’s happening in the story. I was just messing around with a lot of that in the background, and it's all over everything. There's always an urgency and a time-ticking feeling in the background of lots of tracks.

How long does one spend listening to samples of clocks before you find the right one?

I've got a lot! I'm sure they'll come in handy at some point.

I’ve read that you wanted a score that “reflected Loki’s personality.” What were some of the characteristics you were looking to emphasise and accentuate with your score?

Something that I touched on with Kate, from reading the scripts for the very first time was Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange. In that film, Alex commits these horrendous acts and he's extremely violent, and yet somehow you connect with him. I feel like Loki is the same. He's a likable villain. In the series, he comes to terms with his fallibility and it is quite painful for him. So I suppose my job is to help him reach those emotional depths. When he sees his mother in episode one, his past is calling to him and that's when we hear those haunting Norwegian instruments that suddenly seem to shine. Yearning for your mother is something we can all relate to.

We’ve spoken a bit about the use of the Theremin. What drove your selection of the other instruments?

I did this amazing lockdown project for an ad agency. They kind of got all of their artists to play Pass the Parcel with a theme, and we just did this lockdown piece. I'm not sure how successful it was, but the person that I got sent the material from was Charlie Draper who's a theremin player and a theremin enthusiast. So he was in the back of my mind, and I knew I really wanted to collaborate with him at some point. He played on my demo. And then the Norwegians... I saw them at a concert in Stoke Newington about three years ago. They're in this group called the Lodestar Trio. They're amazing, and they play with Max Bailey. I've known him for years, and I just went to this concert. He did all these interpretations of Bach, but with a kind of Norwegian folky twist. I just loved the instrument combination of the Nyckelharpa, the Hardanger fiddle, and the violin. It sounds mystical and magical and amazing. It felt like the perfect pairing with Loki’s past.

I read that you started with the finale and worked backward. Is that an unusual way of working for you or do you do that often?

This whole show has been a departure from anything I've ever done before, in terms of the scale of it, and, you know, the resources. It's all just been different. I think Kate and Kevin [Feige], the producer, saw it as a six-hour film. They didn't want it to be a TV show. The thing about scoring a film is that you do have that time to really craft themes and to have more of an overarching narrative than you sometimes get to do in TV because there's usually a quicker turnaround. And I guess because of the pandemic as well, I had more time.

I didn’t want to just work my way through the score in a linear order. I wanted to know where I was going and then seed it. I think writing a suite before starting on a picture, and having those themes in my mind before seeing the footage was super useful as well. I think I'm always going to do that from now on.

Are we ever gonna hear the full suites somewhere down the line?

I had never done one before. And I was like, “have you got any examples from anybody else?” So they sent me suites from a couple of other composers, like Ludwig Göransson’s one for Black Panther. I was totally geeking out on that. I heard Mark Mothersbaugh’s suite for Thor: Ragnarok as well, and that was kinda intimidating. But it was really good to hear that they've all gone through this process.

You get to see these epic moments in Loki before there’s any music to it. Was there any particular moment you watched that you were excited to work on?

I read the scripts, and I had Mobius in my head as something very different. I saw him being a bigger person who was quite slow, like a kind of cheeseburger-eating cop. The way Owen Wilson brought that character to life was so brilliant, as was the chemistry between him and Tom. I loved watching their bromance. It was really fun to score them as their relationship blossomed. When Mobius is pruned, that was so awesome. I loved episode four. I had seeded everything and built their friendship up. That moment where Tom walks down the corridor in slow motion with tears in his eyes… I loved scoring that.

Loki is a man of many multitudes, and the show goes down a lot of strange avenues. I love the tracks where you really get to do something different from the main body of the score, like ‘DB Cooper’ or ‘Miss Minutes’.

I had a bit more time for episodes one and two. Like, I had a month to score episode one. By the time I got to episode six, it was really frantic. So, with the tracks you mentioned, I just had the time to do it. Kate was like, “we've got a source track that sort of works, but wouldn't it be really fun if we could do a version of it with the Loki theme?” And I was like, “yep, cool, let's try it.” It was one of the upsides to the pandemic, that we had more time to work on it and do stuff like that. I did a film before with where I got Chris Lawrence - he's like a bass player in London, and he plays in orchestra’s but he also plays at Ronnie Scott’s - and he did the baseline on ‘D.B. Cooper’. He’s so good. And I sang on that track too!

‘Miss Minutes’ felt like a moment to tip your hat to those sci-fi shows and do a pastiche. So I got the theremin and the choir and had some fun with that piece. And again, that's got the TVA theme in it. I think that’s really nice, and it's something they did with WandaVision as well. There's cohesion in the score. Even when you're hearing this jazzy track, you're still getting the Loki theme and you're hearing a different side of his character.

You mentioned how you had more time to score the earlier episodes. Was there anything positive about having less time on the later episodes? How do you prefer to work?

I remember reading something about people who can see colours with music. I feel that I have the same thing with a scene. I can watch a scene and I can start hearing it in my head, and as I get more into a project... I remember watching episode six, and because I was so into the project and into the characters by that point, I was like, that's what needs to happen. I could hear it as I was watching it. I feel like sometimes if you’re spending ages working on something, that instinct can get a bit boiled down. Episode six felt like my most instinctive version of the music because I didn't have time to fiddle around with it. It just felt like that was my very undiluted response.

I like it. Natalie Holt uncut.

I just kind of sketched it all out on the piano as I heard it. It was very quick.

How long did you have to work on that particular episode?

I think it was a week. It was a very quick turnaround with the orchestral recording, and I thought we were going to need more time.

How involved were you with the track Tom Hiddleston sings in Asgardian?

They had found a Norwegian song, and he'd already recorded it. I was like, I think we need a musician in the background. There should be someone on that train who’s a little bit drunk and has an instrument, and it's a kind of space-age fiddle, and they're going to accompany Tom in the scene and I think that's going to really help. Kate and Kevin were like, yeah, that could really work. So I did a few versions where I just took what Tom had done, added some violins,  and then improvised a bit in the middle where Loki sings to Sylvie. And they're like, yes, we've got to do this. So they went back in and shot a pickup of an alien musician in that sequence because I insisted. I really wish it was me!

We know that season two of Loki is in the works now. They better have you on camera.

Oh my god, I'm so up for it!

How did you find it working remotely? Were you involved in the mixing stage at all?

It was kind of frustrating. Getting picture to work in the orchestral recording sessions was a problem. Marvel is very strict about how a picture goes out because they don't want any leaks, so that was quite challenging. I could never send people the picture to play with. It's kind of nice for the musicians to come in and see what they're playing against, but there was none of that. That was a bit of a downside. With that said, it was easier to get hold of people because everyone was at home and really happy to be working. I don't know if I'd have got the job had it not been for the fact that everyone was suddenly happy to accept more remote working than they would have done in the past. So I feel like it's opened some doors. The frustrations and the benefits seemed to be in balance.

Speaking of opening doors, you’re only the second woman to compose an MCU score (Pinar Toprak scored Captain Marvel in 2019). That feels significant.

We're in a time, certainly, where I think people are very consciously opening up opportunities to all sorts of people that wouldn't have had those opportunities before, which I'm really grateful for. A few years ago, I wouldn't have gotten this opportunity until a bit further on in my career. So it accelerated things. We are moving forward. But the thing that I really struggle with… I went to a state school and I got scholarships to study music. It wasn't prohibitively expensive to go to university. I did a master's and I didn't come out with 30 grand of debt. The opportunities are here for me now, but I think if I was young and I wanted to go to film school I wouldn't be able to afford it.

So what bothers me is social mobility. I still think we're opening up our industry, but we're not supporting people being able to study music and being able to get into film, and being able to spend those years doing low-paid jobs from the ground up. I still think we've got a long way to go with that. But I think at my age and my level, I'm just privileged that I did have those bursaries and those opportunities to study music, and I hope they're still there for my daughter's generation.

You have a lot of synths in this score. How tricky was it to find that balance between the classical and modern instruments?It's a blend. There’s some in-the-box stuff. Some of the synths are recorded, and then I ran them through the analog tape machine to dirty them up. I've got a Juno 60, so I've got some analog synths going on. It's such a weird process, isn't it? Creating something and being like, no, that's right! Jake Jackson - who mixed the score - must feel like I’m a complete control freak. I was like, “yeah I really like your mix but can you just go back and basically listen to my demo?” I was quite specific with him. He did an amazing job. The D.B. Cooper track... I cannot believe that he made it sound like that. I've never worked with him before, and handing your work over to an engineer does feel a bit like, oh, how's this gonna be? But it was a really, really great experience, and I think Jake is a genius. He really gets it, and he was really collaborative and respectful of my intentions with everything. I never felt like he was trying to put his mark on anything. It was a really smooth part of the process.

What conversations do you have about how prevalent your music is in the mix when it comes to the TV side of things?

I was so obsessed with Loki that I couldn’t let it go. I went to the dub even when it was two o'clock in the morning. I just wanted to check in and I was calling Kate and asking her, “please can you turn the music up here?” I was like a dog with a bone until it was ripped out of my mouth and they were like that’s it now, this episode is locked. I definitely fought for things to be turned up.

You had a 32-piece choir for the last 2 episodes. What was it like to get that recording in? Are you watching as they’re recording it from a remote location?

They were a Hungarian choir. The male singers could really go down. I was adding notes in at the bottom for those guys to sing. I didn’t know anyone could sing that low. That was cool. I had never recorded a choir before, so it was a new one for me. I was really lucky to have Andy Brown from the London Metropolitan orchestra. He assisted me with the Brass and singing sessions.

I imagine that one of the cooler things about scoring something like Loki is that you are now part of the wider MCU universe. I think I heard hints of Alan Silvestri’s Avengers cue a couple of times…

I put in a Loki version of the Avengers theme at the end of episode 4. Also, at the very start of the season before the title card, it goes from an Alan Silvestri cue and then segues and then I take it over. It was really cool to get to play around with the multitrack from that. I was always a big fan of the Thor: Ragnarok and Black Panther scores, so those were kind of my inspirations. I was just kind of honoured to be in the same league as those people and those scores because I thought they were great and quirky and had all these interesting flavours and textures.

I love that you’ve been given the freedom to be as bold as you’ve been with your score.

I wanted to do something a bit different, and Marvel's TV ventures... they're wanting to do something a bit different and challenging as well with this new direction that they're taking. It felt like there was a lot of creative freedom being dished out with this series, in every department. Kate was like, “let's try this DB Cooper scene with the theme, if it doesn't work then it's fine.” It was just trying things out and seeing what stuck.

I remember handing over my score for episode one, just before Christmas 2020. I'd scored the whole thing and was very nervous because I think it was the first time Kevin Feige and the execs were going to hear my stuff. I’d really worked hard on it, and it had a lot of live stuff. There was just one note back from Kevin Feige - push it further. I think that's so cool. As we went on the execs were really happy with it, I got calls from Victoria Alonso and Louis D’Esposito [Marvel producers]. They both rang me and just thanked me and they were like, 'we're just so happy that you've taken the ball and run with it'. I couldn't have asked for a nicer bunch of people to work with. I wasn't sure how it was going to be, I was a bit intimidated. I thought it might be a bit more terrifying. But actually, it turned out to be a really amazing, fulfilling experience.

Welcome to the world of Loki YouTube covers! How far down that rabbit hole have you fallen, and how much are you enjoying that side of the MCU experience?

It's really flattering. I’ve posted some of them on my Twitter. It’s just amazing how quickly people will post music from the show after episodes. They sound almost the same as my demo, and they’ve knocked it out in about two hours the minute after they’ve watched the episode.

Once your work on Loki was complete, how did you detox? Do you delete all your voice memos?

I've still got them. The TVA theme actually came to me as I was walking down the high street. I've got some in the bank for the future as well. I'm always noodling and sketching things down on manuscript paper. How do I detox? I just bought a new piano. It’s 100 years old. I haven't had a piano for a bit, so I've just been playing a lot of Bach.

[halequeenjas]

Welcome to Chili’s || Harsh, Nell, & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @nelllraiser @notsoharsh @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Okay, maybe sometimes you do have to perform an impromptu exorcism in a Chili’s. 

Normally, Jasmine wouldn’t be quite so inclined to the “cheap” part mentioned in Nell’s text, but hell, she did love margaritas and Chili’s delivered on that front. She’d gone there for plenty of girls’ nights and happy hours in the past, so she’d been inclined to agree to the outing. Especially since she looked forward to some quality time with the youngest Vural. They’d opted to sit at the bar as they were primarily here for the drinks. It was a nice, relaxing evening and she found it easy to just goof around with Nell. She’d always been so free-spirited and funny. Hell, after a few rounds of margaritas, Jasmine found herself going along with Nell’s attempts to troll the bartender instead of nudging her to stop. “She’s really not messing with you, Josh. The cream in Bailey’s only comes from a very specific kind of cow. You’re a bartender, you really should know this!” She took another sip from her margarita and had a devious look in her eyes. She glanced around the bar and saw a familiar face approaching the bar. “Harsh,” she practically yelled in a voice that definitely sounded a little tipsy. She waved enthusiastically and patted the seat next to her. Thankfully, her enchanted red heels kept her from slipping as she lept up to greet her hunter friend. “You know Nell, right? You should join us. I do still owe you that drink,” she said with a small nudge. 

After looking at the amount of medical bills and debt she still owed the hospital, a long day of checking in on the family’s of those killed in the demon-shark attack, and after the weekend Jasmine had gone through, Nell could think of no better idea than getting cheaply and absolutely sloshed at a Chili’s. “It’s true!” she exclaimed a little too loudly, leaning towards the bartender that continued to consider her and the exorcist with careful skepticism. “First you gotta be named Bailey. Then you gotta name the cow Bailey. And then you have to have a- what’s it called, Jasmine? The guys who are in the courtroom with the baton and the ‘All rise for the honorable judge!’ “ Nell’s nose scrunched as she thought, finding her answer a full and long five seconds later. “The Bailiff! He has to be the one to milk it. Then it’s Bailey’s. It’s like champagne coming from that one place in France!” But then Jasmine was yelling a familiar name, and Nell’s head whipped to find the bearer of said name. “Harsh!” Nell yelled in an equally inebriated tone. “Harsh, come here right now! Park your little butt right here,” she said as she too patted the seat. “He knows me! You know Jasmine?” Nell questioned the man before looking back towards her drinking buddy. “You know Harsh?” Another flicker of thought later, Nell squinted her eyes, asking Jasmine in a far too loud whisper, “Are you flirting with him?”

It wasn’t exactly Harsh’s usual haunt, but hey, he had a coupon. Couldn’t let that go to waste. The plan had been to cruise around, maybe pick out an easy meal as they were heading out the door, but that quickly got scrapped when a familiar voice called his name. Easy grin spreading on his face, Harsh sidled his way through the small crowd of irritable customers and exhausted looking wait staff to the bar. “Well, look who it is, my two favorite ladies. Funny running into you here. Is this where all the cool people hang out now? I must’ve missed the memo.” He gave Jasmine a one armed hug and shot Nell a wink before sinking into the seat beside them. Alright new plan. They both already seemed a little sloshed, someone would have to get them home safe. When did he become such a lame ass babysitter? “I’ll take a drink, looks like I’m going to need a few to catch up with you two.” His grin only grew with Nell’s too loud question. “I like to think everyone is always flirting with me, it makes things more fun.”

Maybe Jasmine should have taken pity on the poor bartender, but she was starting to understand why Nell found this to be so fun as she held back drunken giggles as Nell insisted all these ridiculous steps for Bailey’s to be Bailey’s. The description was making her want a Bailey’s and coffee though she didn’t want to be up all night or mix liquors with the… however many margaritas she’d drank at this point. Before they could further mess with the bartender, they were greeting Harsh. She laughed as Nell seemed confused that she and Harsh knew each other. “Yes,” she said with a nod, “He’s helped me out with some properties in the past. Really multi-talented man this one.” She gave Harsh’s arm a clumsy nudge that would have perhaps lined up with Nell’s next question had she been a little more graceful. She rolled her eyes, “Nell, please. I’m thirty, not thirteen. But I’ve probably flirted with him which I’m hardly embarrassed by. We’re all attractive adults here.” She smiled brightly and took her seat back at the bar as Harsh sat with the pair of them. With a wave, she told the bartender to add whatever Harsh was having to her tab. “Have as many drinks as you’d like… we definitely have you beat. And you know what, I like your way of thinking. It is more fun to just believe the attractive people in your life are flirting with you.” At least right now it felt that way. A margarita or two ago she would have likely scoffed at most who tried to flirt with her, but hell, who really cared. 

The poor bartender was spared from more well-meaning torture as Nell’s attention was sufficiently drawn away by Harsh and Jasmine...and the fresh margarita that had appeared in front of her. Leaning forward to take a quick and messy sip, she wiggled a little as the alcohol slipped down her throat, pleased by the tickle it made. “That’s true- he does have lots of talents. Have you asked him about all the dinosaurs he knows?” she asked, wondering if Jasmine knew of the vampire talents that Harsh possessed. Or was she one of the ones he’d tried to trick into thinking he was a hunter? “I didn’t say it was embarrassing!” she defended loudly. “I was just wondering! Is it illegal to ask?” Then she turned back to the bartender who seemed to look her over with a wary glance. “He’ll have two- no three! Three margaritas for him!” she said while jabbing her thumb in Harsh’s direction. The alcohol might not work all that well, but she didn’t actually care at a moment like this. Maybe if he drank twenty of them, then something would happen. 

This could go a couple of ways. There probably wasn’t any way to tell Nell not to drop any little vampire hints without giving himself away. Shit. Harsh really needed to keep better track of who knew what and whether they were any good at keeping secrets. “Aw c’mon, it’s not like I know them personally. But if a dinosaur showed up, I’d definitely introduce myself at least,” he said, with a light laugh. Maybe Nell would get the hint… if he was ever going to be that lucky. Three margaritas probably wouldn’t do much for him, but hell, he wasn’t going to turn them down. He was sipping at the first as he cast an idle glance around the restaurant. Pretty normal. Loud, crowded… except. Huh. He frowned, squinting for a moment. There was this weird little guy just standing there, looking right at Jasmine as people passed him by. He gave Jasmine a slight nudge. “Uh, hey. Is it just me, or is that guy giving you eyes right now?”

Jasmine found herself characteristically shaking her head at Nell. That girl really did say the wildest things. She nudged Nell and chastised, “Be polite, Nellie. You’re not that far behind us. Keep talking like that and I’m getting you a walker and hard candies for your next birthday.” She found herself laughing and added, “You whispered it loudly like it’d be some sort of secret.” Her eyes lit up when the bartender brought over another round of margaritas. It didn’t take her long to get a large gulp in. She got a bit of a chill, but didn’t think much of it. They weren’t too far from the door and Maine in winter was frigid at best. The nudge Harsh gave her made her a little more alert of the familiar feeling. She turned to look where Harsh was directing her and immediately dropped the glass in her hand. The clang of breaking glass was hardly heard over the crowd in Chili’s. Her hand reached for Harsh’s momentarily as she steeled herself to face Larry Bob here and now. Then it hit her, she dropped the hand and looked at him incredulously, “Wait, you can see Larry Bob, too? How- Okay, not the point right now. Nell, I need you to leave. Now.” She clumsily grabbed the salt shaker and fished underneath the bar for her purse. The ghost approached with a satisfied grin on his face. “Come on, Jas, you don’t want your favorite colleague joining you for happy hour?” The wind around them picked up and Jasmine immediately swore under her breath. Calling him a tacky little man probably wouldn’t help the situation right now. There were far too many people here for him to throw a ghostly temper tantrum, but the flying barstool crashing into the shelf of liquor said otherwise. 

Hm. Maybe Jasmine didn’t know about Harsh being a vampire. Or maybe he was just acting coy about the dinosaur thing. Either way, Nell didn’t particularly care all that much when she was as many margaritas deep as she was. “It’d be rude not to introduce yourself,” was the only comment she made on that as she took another sip of the drink in front of her. Her lips parted to answer Jasmine as well, but as soon as the words ‘Larry Bob’ were out of the exorcist’s mouth, Nell was frowning, brows drawn almost comically close together. “Larry Bob? Fuck that middle-aged, suburban wannabe NASCAR barbecue dad name having piece of shit- where is he?” Perhaps being drunk at a chili’s had left Nell wanting when it came to good judgment and the name calling of ghosts. But...then again she’d never been one to mince words. As the wind began to pick up, her fists clenched at her sides, paying no attention to Jasmine’s demands she leave. “Fuck that ghost! Fuck ghosts! I’m tired of ghosts! They had their lives, and now they wanna ruin everyone else’s! Step the fuck up, Larry Bob!” As barstools began to fly, Nell groaned, knowing this was about to get very ugly very quickly. “Alright! Everybody out!” she yelled over the din of the erupting chaos, trying to usher the normies out of the bar. “Move your asses, or I’ll move them for you!” At least she was coherent enough to make sure people didn’t get hurt.

Eyes widening with the breaking of the glass, Harsh looked between Jasmine and the creep. Wait. What did she mean how could he--oh. Oh shit. Fucking ghosts. At least the asshole had the decency to give Harsh a bit more time to think of an explanation. As the barstool went flying, Harsh moved, wedging himself between Jasmine and the remains of the bottles flying from the shelf. Glass caught his back as panic spread. Nell’s calls seemed to get almost as much attention as the destruction Larry Bob or whatever it was Jasmine had called him was. Harsh grabbed Jasmine by the arm, keeping her behind him as the ghost advanced. “I’ll explain later. Jasmine, tell me what to do. Nell, stay close.” Seeing Jasmine grab for a salt shaker, he did the same, ripping the top off to spread a clumsy line before the three of them. It wasn’t much. This wasn’t his area, it wasn’t even his fake area. Ghosts usually didn’t bother him and he did the same. He should’ve tried harder to keep it that way. 

Normally, Jasmine enjoyed Nell’s colorful antics. However, even in her drunken state, she knew tormenting a poltergeist was a dumb idea. There was no time to tell Nell to can it though. At least she shifted her focus to getting people out of here. That left her here realizing she needed to perform an impromptu exorcism in a Chili’s. At least she didn’t need to direct Nell further. “God damn it, Larry,” she grumbled as she raised her arms and closed her eyes to shield herself from the incoming glass. It caught her by surprise when none hit her. She cautiously opened her eyes and realized Harsh had blocked her from the flying glass. “Thanks,” she said, already a little out of breath. He was asking for direction and she pondered it for a moment, keeping the salt in her hand at the ready. “Try to make sure no one gets impaled. I’m going to try and exorcise this bastard right now.” There was a taunting laugh and another gust of wind that ripped the booths out of the wall. “Like hell you are,” Larry Bob cackled maniacally, “You’re the one who should be the ghost. You’ve always taken what should have been mine.” Jasmine scoffed and fished some salt out of her bag, “Oh, please. I was the best in the office because I actually worked, you snivelling little daddy’s boy.” So much for not taunting ghosts, but she was drunk and she was livid. She haphazardly created a circle of salt on the floor and began chanting the familiar Latin phrases, but found she couldn’t feel a pull on him. Everything just kept flying around her and she could barely keep her balance as the wind whipped all around them. 

Why was everyone trying to baby her? Nell squinted defiantly in Harsh’s direction as he mentioned staying close. Honestly, it was as if they didn’t even remember she’d killed more than her fair share of things. Actually, had she mentioned that to Harsh? She couldn’t really recall while there was a poltergeist tearing up a chili’s, and she was multiple margaritas deep. At least the people had mostly vacated the restaurant now, most of them unwilling to be a part of a freak tornado after reading the paper and seeing that the last two had caused deaths. “You tell ‘im, Jasmine! You’re gonna end his whole career! Oh wait! You already did!” The witch egged the woman on, all for trash talk in the heat of a battle- especially after a few shots of tequila. Nell knew she should stay behind the salt line, but she also knew that Larry Bob needed to be stopped despite her being unable to see him, and the metal legs of the table closest to them were looking awfully tempting. With any luck, they’d be made of iron. “Just cover me!” she yelled as her only warning before darting over the salt line, ducking as a barstool went flying past. It was times like these she was grateful for being small, and easily able to get in and out of tight situations. As she neared the table she slurred out a spell, and in the next instant the wood had shattered into pieces, leaving the legs free for the taking. Grabbing one from the floor, she eagerly hefted the trophy in her hands. “Alright! Where is the fucker?!” She directed her question towards Jasmine and Harsh, ready to smack this ghost bastard into oblivion. 

So this is what exorcisms were like. Harsh had seen one or two in his time, but he usually hadn’t been caught in the middle of them. He was going to have to go back to that after this. Being on the human side of things sucked. Cursing he batted away flying bits of bottles and dishes, keeping the debris from Jasmine as much as possible. She could do her thing, all he had to do was make sure she and Nell were--fuck, and there went Nell. Jasmine had the salt circle, so he rushed after Nell, ducking under another flying barstool as he skidded to the table. Iron, right. That was a good idea. He snatched up a hefty iron rod, turning just in time to smack a chair out of the air, sending it clattering across the room. “You can’t see him?” Ghost rules were stupid. He pointed. “There, he’s right in front of that booth. Help Jasmine, I’ll get him.” Harsh charged, swinging the iron right through the shrimpy little asshole’s spectral form. That wouldn’t get rid of him, he knew enough about ghosts to be sure of that, so he turned, frantic, searching for where the bastard might pop up next.

Any other time, Jasmine would have appreciated Nell gassing her up. This was not one of those times and she did her best to ignore it. Her hand was clasped around her necklace to help her find the focus and strength she needed to get through this ritual. Thankfully, the crowd seemed eager to get out of there quickly which just left her, Nell, and Harsh. That was… better. The last thing she needed was some random person to be standing by because some pathetic poltergeist held a grudge against her. Everything kept whipping around her and she kept going with the familiar Latin phrases that were admittedly much more difficult to annunciate after… how many margaritas had she had? Way too many to be performing an exorcism in the middle of a god damn Chili’s of all places. Her fists were clenched at her side and her voice was shouting over the howling wind. The longer she went, the weaker she could feel her body becoming. Her legs felt wobbly as if she was on rough waters and her voice was no longer carrying the same strong tone. Black was beginning to pinch around the edges of her eyes and she knew they had to finish this soon, but despite her efforts, Larry Bob wasn’t even being pulled into the circle. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nell rip a table apart. God, she hoped those table legs were iron. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up.

Nell wasn’t sure how exactly she was meant to help Jasmine as Harsh has asked. After all, she wasn’t an exorcist in any sense of the word. Sure- Jasmine could probably sap some strength from her if needed as both their practices were centered in magic, but wouldn’t the quicker option be to just get rid of the ghost? Nevertheless, she momentarily made her way to Jasmine, recognizing the signs of fatigue taking hold of the woman. Squinting her eyes against the wind, Nell reached out to place a hand on the exorcist’s back, siphoning her power into the woman so that Jasmine might stand taller. “Is it working?” she yelled over the din of the Chili’s unable to gauge where things were when she couldn’t even see Larry Bob. Once she was satisfied that Jasmine wasn’t going to collapse, the witch hefted her table leg once again- simply itching to run through some uppity trust fund ghost. Spotting Harsh, she made her way back towards him, jamming her hand into his so that he might guide her. “Just take me with you, and I’ll swing where you swing!” Why hadn’t she brought along those ghost seeing goggles she’d won in the arts and crafts contest? Hindsight was truly 20/20. But hopefully the combined effort of their iron would be enough to dispel Larry Bob if Jasmine didn’t get there first.

“Got it.” Gripping Nell’s hand tight, Harsh turned in a quick circle, looking for that little asshole. There. He gave Nell a pull forward. “There, in front of the stupid chili painting with the purple hat,” he said, voice low, though it was unlikely the ghost could have even hard him over the rush of wind and smashing of furniture. “Charge on three. I’ll hit him high, you hit him low. One, two, three--” Did it matter where you hit a ghost? Harsh wasn’t sure. But if they could just disrupt the bastard enough, maybe it would give Jasmine a break, or at least drive him out of this stupid restaurant. On his mark, Harsh lunged forward, pulling Nell along with him. He probably could have just carried her, that might have been more coordinated than their awkward rush forward. With a great swing, he brought his iron rod straight through Larry Bob’s smug face.

Even with Nell’s hand on her back, Jasmine couldn’t seem to banish Larry Bob no matter how hard she tried. Was her slurred speech impacting the Latin? There had to be something, but she had to keep going. There was no other option. That was, until she saw Harsh and Nell charging from the corner of her eye. A protective instinct rose in her despite knowing Nell was more than capable, but it seemed to be for not. As their table legs collided with Larry Bob, he dissipated. He was far from gone for good, but she could breathe again. She let herself fall back against the bar as fatigue overcame her. God, exorcisms and margaritas were not a good combination. She weakly looked between the two before taking in the mess around her. “Thanks,” she croaked, “We need…” They needed to leave. Make sure he didn’t come back. But should they check for people? Everyone had shuffled out pretty quickly and the bar took the brunt of the damage. And she was tired. So freaking tired. “Go,” she finally said though she found herself unable to meet either of their eyes. 

Nell had slashed her iron table leg in tandem with Harsh, and judging by his and Jasmine’s reactions— their attack had been successful, momentarily banishing Larry Bob back to wherever it was he went when he dissipated. Dropping her makeshift weapon where she stood, Nell instinctively went over to Jasmine, leaning herself against the exorcist in an attempt to provide some support in the wake of spending so much energy. Funneling her magic towards Jasmine, she tried to lend the woman more of her strength, knowing she still had more to give, and wanting to have Jasmine steady on her feet. “Yes- we should get out of here,” Nell agreed, looking around the wreckage of the Chili’s. With the spoken words of a spell, and a stomp of her foot, Nell magically scanned the rest of the restaurant for any other life signatures, but the only one’s present seemed to be her and Jasmine. And Harsh, of course— though it was notable that he didn’t show up with the spell. Generally, the magic was still able to sense the presence of the undead, and she wondered if it was Harsh’s lack of soul that was making him undetectable. “No one else is here- let’s ditch this popsicle stand. No good fucking ghost,” she mumbled as she tried to herd Jasmine towards the exit, waving Harsh over as well. “You’re both okay, right?”

The asshole was gone, for now. Stupid ghosts. Harsh really needed to learn more about them, maybe Jasmine had books he could borrow… if she wasn’t about to have a whole lot of questions for him. Maybe she would forget the whole bit about how hunters couldn’t see ghosts. Regrouping with her and Nell, Harsh glanced about the restaurant. No heart beats he could hear, there were some panicked ones outside, but most were moving away quickly, and beyond that… sirens. Fuck. “Yeah, we should go, the cops will be here soon and I don’t really want to try to explain an exorcism to them.” He followed along after Nell, a few quick steps bringing him to Jasmine’s other side as he offered his arm. “I’m good, what about you two? That was rough.” His eyes flitted about as they made for the exit, looking for any sign of that smug ghostly piece of shit. “I’m guessing that was a friend of yours, Jasmine?”

Tomorrow was going to be a hangover from hell, that much Jasmine was sure of though she felt steadier on her feet with Nell’s support. Something about it made her feel a little stronger, too. “Yeah, a little shaken up, but nothing some takeout and water can’t fix.” With the confirmation no one was still lingering around, she followed her friends out and quickly realized she was going to need to take care of Larry Bob sooner rather than later. “An old colleague who blames me for the fact he was in an accident like I was supposed to know the deck he was walking on would just collapse.” She had felt bad he died, even if she had never liked him all that much, but he was certainly making it harder and harder to sympathize. She took slow and careful steps towards her car before throwing the keys to Harsh. “You mind driving,” she asked before adding, “I’ll order everyone dinner once we get back to my place.” As she’d also be hitting the books and hitting up every contact she knew in order to get rid of Larry Bob once and for all.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY - RETURNING HOME

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Count: 2,250ish

Summary: The Team returns home.

We worked for days creating a fully functioning time-space GPS as well as creating a few possible designs for quantum realm suits. Not long after finishing, we packed up a car, said our goodbyes, and left for the Avengers Facility. We were silent for the first few minutes of the drive before Tony spoke up.

“Thank you.” I looked at him confused. He saw that and continued on before I could say anything. “Just let me explain… I… uh… I realize that they called you first so that you could help convince me. Cap knew that I would say no, but he also knew that if he had talked to you about it before hand, that you would help me. So… thank you, B.”

“No need to be thanked. I’m just doing my job as your daughter.” He smirked. “And his girlfriend.”

“Okay…” He shook his head. “Not ready for that just yet.”

“Sorry,” I giggled.

“Now,” he looked at me mischievously, “You ready to go save the world?”

“Always.”

He nodded before turned his head back to the road and pressing the gas. I jolted a little but quickly grabbed on to the handle on the ceiling. We raced to the Avengers Compound. As we raced around the bend of the driveway, I noticed Steve standing outside. He looked defeated. 

“Scott turned into an old man,” I joked. “I don’t even have to look into his mind to figure that out.”

“I’m calling baby. I bet two weeks of weeding the garden on it.”

“Oh it’s on Old Man.”

Tony chuckled as he drove past Steve slightly before backing up and rolling down the window. 

“Why the long face?” Tony teased. “Let me guess, he turned into a baby.” 

“Among other things, yeah,” Steve replied. 

“That means he also turned into an old man, right?” I leaned over Tony and asked.

“Yes…” Steve replied, very confused. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s the EPR paradox,” I stated as I got out of the car. Steve just looked even more confused. “That’s the reason he’s switching ages every time he comes back.”

“Instead of pushing Lang through time,” Tony began as he got out of the car as well, “you might’ve wound up pushing time through Lang.”

“It’s tricky. Dangerous.”

“Somebody coulda cautioned you against it.”

“You did,” Steve admitted. 

“Oh, did I?” Tony harassed. “Thank goodness, we’re here. Regardless, we fixed it.” Tony held up his hand, showing Steve the GPS. 

“A fully functioning time-space GPS… I just want peace.” Tony leaned against the car as he held out a peace sign. 

“Turns out, resentment is corrosive, and I hate it.”

“Me too.”

Tony pushed off the car and took a few steps towards Steve. “We got a shot at getting these stones, but I gotta tell you my priorities: bring back what we lost? I hope, yes. Keep what I found? I have to, at all costs… and, maybe not die trying will be nice.” 

“Sounds like a deal.” Steve reached out his hand for Tony to shake, Tony returned the gesture. 

I walked around to the trunk and opened it up. Tony met me there with Steve following. Tony reached in and pulled out Steve’s shield. 

It had been seven years since Steve had used or even seen his shield. He was nervous to take it from Tony. 

“Tony, I don’t know—“ Steve nervously said. 

“Why? He made it for you,” I said, talking about Howard.

“Plus, honestly, I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding,” Tony said. 

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said, taking the shield from him.

“Will you keep that a little quiet? Didn’t bring one for the whole team.” Tony reached in the trunk, grabbed a briefcase full of the GPS’s, and then I closed it. “We are getting, the whole team, yeah?” 

“We’re working on that right now.” We began walking inside.

“Let me guess,” I started, “you’re sending Rocket and Bruce after Thor and Nat after Clint?”

“Correct.” Steve nodded.

“Wow, I didn’t even need to read your mind to figure that out. Maybe you’re getting a little too predictable, Cap?” I gave him a slight smile.

Steve opened the door for us. “Or maybe it’s just obvious who we’d gather.”

“Could you two just stop your flirting and just kiss already?” Tony said. Steve’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he looked between Tony and I in shock. “Yeah, I know, Old Man.” Tony walked up and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I know we’re good. But if you ever hurt her, we’ll never be good again. Got it?”

Steve nodded. “Got it.” Tony walked away.

I walked up to Steve giggling. I got on my tip toes and kissed his cheek. “I should have warned you before we arrived. Sorry.”

His free arm wrapped around my waist. “It’s just weird to have it out in the open after all this time.”

“A good weird, right?”

Steve hesitated for a moment before kissing my lips. “Yeah. A good weird.” His tone wasn’t very convincing though.

“Hey lovebirds!” Tony shouted. “I thought we had a world to save!”

We laughed before continuing into my old home. Not long after Nat, Rocket, and Bruce left, Tony and I got to work building the “time machine”. We rarely stopped, really only when food was brought to us. Because I felt I needed it, I pressed the button on my bracelet and then kept the bracelet in my room. So I could now easily get into people’s minds, but that also meant that the nightmares and visions would probably come back. Thor and Clint arrived at the same time. I was welding some of the platform together when I felt them. I instantly fell to my knees and began crying. I could feel their sorrows and guilt, see what they had gone through. Their emotions had built up a lot over the past five years, it was overwhelming. And they were both getting mixed up in my mind, not making any sense.

“Bailey?” Tony wondered as he continued working. “You okay?” I couldn’t respond, only sobs escaped my mouth. Tony quickly stopped welding and pulled his helmet off. “Bailey?” He was increasingly getting more worried. He rushed over to my side and ripped my helmet off. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“T-t-they’re h-here,” I sobbed. “I-I can f-feel th-them. I-I n-need…” I was really light headed, Tony could tell. He quickly laid me down with my head in his lap.

“FRIDAY!” Tony quickly called for the AI’s attention. “Get Rogers down here! I need his help bringing Bailey to the Med-Bay.”

“On it, Boss,” FRIDAY responded. A few long minutes later for Tony, Steve and the others came rushing in. Steve and Nat were instantly kneeling at my side. 

“What happened?” Nat frantically asked. 

“She’s feeling their emotions,” Tony responded, glancing at Clint and Thor. He began getting really worried. I hadn’t passed out yet, but I wasn’t really there either. Plus tears were still streaming down my face. “And seeing what they’ve seen.”

“Whose emotions?” Bruce asked.

“Thor and Clint’s,” Steve answered knowingly. “They just got here.”

“We need to get her to the Med-Bay.” Steve went to try to pick me up.

“N-noo!” I stopped him. “I-I need… them.” The last part coming out in a whisper.

Everybody looked at the two. Thor was too drunk to realize what was going on, but Clint had heard enough from Natasha over the years to know what was happening to me. And he began to feel worse that he was causing me pain. 

“I need you two over here,” Tony demanded. “Now!” He began brushing my hair out of my face. He was extremely worried and I began to pick up on that. Both him and Steve were.

“D-dad… stop…” I whimpered, my eyes squeezed shut.

He quickly pulled his hands away. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I forgot.” I weakly nodded in response. Tony looked up at Clint and a confused, drunk Thor. “At least one of you need to come over here… Please?” 

Very few in that room had heard Tony beg like that. Those who had, had only heard him sound like that because of me. Clint knew how Tony was feeling, him being a father too. Clint slowly began his way over, kneeling down net to me.

“Hey, B,” he whispered. “How’s my favorite Stark doing?” I gave a small smile. “Heard a rumor that you can shoot arrows better than me. What do you need me to do so that we can put that to the test?” 

I held my hand up, motioning for him to take it. He quickly grabbed it. I began to see the origin of his pain. The day the snap happened. The day his wife and kids turned to ash. I watched him turn against the world. Against all those bad people who survived the snap. 

I finally opened my eyes and looked at him. I had filtered through his feelings, his mind, but I still needed to do Thor’s. Though I was feeling better.

“I’m so sorry, Clint,” I apologized with teary eyes. “If I thought it would do you any good, I would take it all away.”

“Don’t,” Clint shook his head. He squeezed my hand gently. “You sure have grown up, Bailey.”

“Well, it has been almost ten years since we last saw each other.”

“You feeling better, kid?” Tony worriedly asked.

“A little,” I began to push myself up. Tony quickly helped. “You, though,” I pointed to Tony, “need to tone down your worry. It’s not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“You too, Steve.” I poked at him. He tried to look innocent. “I felt you too.”

“Sorry, doll,” he apologized as he kissed my cheek. I grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

I looked around until I made eye contact with Thor. “Hey, Thor.” I gave him a friendly smile. He definitely wasn’t the Thor I was used to. He looked at me, took a large drink of his beer, then turned around and left. I sighed heavily as I rested my head on Tony’s shoulder and gave Steve’s hand another squeeze. “I won’t be totally okay until I talk to him,” I said. “I saw bits and pieces a few years ago, thanks to Bruce. But, it’s gotten worse… I’ve got to go to him. Alone.”

“I think that maybe you should rest first,” Steve urged. “I can tell all these emotions and the bombardment of visions have taken a lot out of you.”

“No.” I let go of Steve’s hand as I began to stand. Clint instantly helped me up. “I’ve got to do it now.” And I followed after Thor.

“You’ve raised a great daughter there, Stark,” Clint commented. 

“I know,” Tony agreed, looking in the direction I had followed Thor. “She’s too good for the rest of us.”

“I thought that she had more control of her abilities?” Bruce asked.

“She does,” Tony answered. “I think because their emotions are so strong and she’s not as use to them, they really affected her. Plus… I realized she didn’t have her bracelet on that helps with her other telepathic abilities. All of them are heightened right now.”

“You gonna let her time travel?” Clint asked.

“No way in hell… I just haven’t told her that yet. You try telling her what she can and can’t do.”

I found Thor looking for alcohol in the kitchen. I leaned against a wall with my arms crossed, watching for a few minutes. This poor man had lost everything. And afterwards, had really let himself go. His beard, hair, stomach. I really felt bad for him.

“If we’re out,” I began, “I can send someone to go get more… but I really don’t think that it’ll be helpful.” 

Thor was startled but quickly began to act like nothing was wrong. “Bailey! It’s so good to see you!” 

He went to embrace me and that’s where he made his mistake. We embraced each other and I quickly got into his head. It showed me from when his hammer was destroyed to when Bruce and Rocket went to get him. He’s blaming himself for the destruction of Asgard and his people, and for Thanos’ snap. I filtered through his emotions so that I was able to handle them. When we pulled away, he had a few tears streaming down his face.

“It’s not your fault,” I whispered. I still hadn’t let him go yet, holding onto his upper arms. “Any of it.”

“That’s sweet, Little Stark,” Thor said pulling away. “But I could have stopped him… I had multiple chances.”

“And now we have a chance to fix it…” I looked him in his guilt ridden eyes. “I can help you, if you let me… I can ease the pain—”

“No.” He quickly shook his head and took another step away from me. “I need to remember.”

“You will. You just won’t feel all of the emotions that come with remembering." 

“Thank you, Bailey, but no.”

I knew that there was no point in continuing to fight. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

“You have grown into a fine woman.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been getting that a lot lately."

next >

[talesofafangirlwithadvr]

JULY PICKS!

You heard me correctly, I said JULY! Whoosh, this year is going by fast-but not in a good way if you know what I mean. This will be my last monthly wrap up where I am strictly staying home in quarantine as this upcoming week I’m heading back to work in person. Wish me luck!

We had quite the range this month from newly released, reality, musical and then some favorites from last month that I’ve continued watching. Without further ado here we go....

There’s going to be PLENTY of SPOILERS this go round. ESPECIALLY with my first pick of Stargirl. You’ve been warned!!!

DC’S STARGIRL

I need to talk about 1x10 or I’m going to burst!!! As stated above there will be A LOT of SPOILERS IN THIS POST!! So scroll down to the next picture if you don’t want it to be spoiled. 

You’ve been warned...again.

IT CANNOT END LIKE THAT!!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME???? Henry! Wow! 1) Epic fighting 2) The backstory and how he wasn’t going to give up on his dad AND THEN how he wouldn’t give into his dad. 3) HE DIED RATHER THAN JOIN HIS SIDE OR PRETEND (which I honestly felt was going to happen). His character arc and I can’t believe it’s over!!! 4) His speech at the end: *weeping.* I knew Brainwave was going to say he killed his mother. It just felt like the build up. Brainwave Jr. would have been a GREAT ADDITION TO THE JSA! AND OMG THE WAY THE REST OF THEM FOUGHT FOR HIM! I loved how they framed it so you could still see them in the back when Henry spoke to his father. Super heartbreaking. Man, it feels like a lot of people have been killed off this first season (or am I just still thinking about Joey?) 

Side note: Check out the Instagram Live between father and son Brainwave on Stargirl’s CW page. Jake Austin Walker did an AWESOME interview in his take over.

This was one of the strongest episodes overall and definitely one of my favorites so far. I agree with many others that while it is SOO GOOD and I want to rewatch it again, I don’t know if I can emotionally yet. I can’t remember the last time I felt that way about a show. 

Some other thoughts this episode: WAY TO GO BARBARA! Way to record them to translate later (such an awesome app btw, how do I get it?). I’m glad her and Pat came more to an understanding because I love them especially with that glimpse into how they met. Jordan’s parents give me the creeps, like the couple from The Visit vibes. I feel like Mike’s got to find out ASAP, especially because he’s spent time in the garage. Something’s got to show him the truth; because I’m really feeling he figures it out rather than being told. Very curious to see what his reaction will be. SOLOMON GRUNDY. Thank God Beth talked Rick down. She really is like Chuck in being the voice of reason. She did really well in the cafeteria too. While I still don’t believe Starman is Courtney’s dad, how cute was it when she put together her and Henry were cousins? Speaking of Court’s dad, who else didn’t feel like Starman was her dad until they saw that upcoming promo? I don’t know who that impostor is but he is not her dad. Something’s fishy.

Loving this show. So happy it’s renewed for a second season!! 

THE 100

From a show I can’t get enough of to one whose final season is a disappointment. I’m not going to spend too much time talking about The 100 because I feel I’ll just be repeating myself from previous posts. However, I did want to include it because I haven’t spoken much about the previous 2 episodes that I wound up watching back to back and I didn’t overly dislike them. 

As many have complained, when you have a final season you shouldn’t introduce SO MANY new characters and just push aside your originals (or the ones who are left). You also shouldn’t include so many confusing plots that are making it look like were the main points overall (like this many world concept was around since the first grounders) and playing with time in so many episodes is hard to keep up with too. Having so many people separated makes it difficult to remember what just happened to this specific group because I haven’t seen them in forever. ANYWAY, I did promise some positives. I didn’t except to like 7x08 because of it being a flashback episode with brand new people that was just going to feel like a potential spin-off pilot. Well...I actually really enjoyed it and the concept that the bunker was used before One Crew. The characters were easy to like and it was cool seeing Allie again (and this time not as the villain). While it felt forced including the orb (is that what it’s called? If not that’s what I’m calling it), but I liked how all the other pieces fit together (ex: the flame, the grounders’ language). Honestly, I surprise myself to say this, but I’d watch another episode. For 7x09, I liked being on Bardo and watching Octavia, Echo, Diyoza and Hope slowly get “brainwashed” I mean trained. We all knew it wouldn’t work for Hope and if I was them I would rather be on Sky Ring than Bardo (but then I guess I’d go crazy, so...) I enjoy the Octavia and Levitt relationship and would love them to work out, but if this show taught you anything it’s to be skeptical. I also want to shift to the Primes plot, just to showcase John Murphy for a second. THAT MAN! What a character development he’s had on this show. From the first season where I was like come on Murphy to now me awaiting his scenes. From cockroach to someone who won’t view himself as a hero. So good and something that is fantastic about this final season. They might have forgotten about other characters, but they’re doing it right by Murphy. 

Well, that was more than I was expecting. ;)   

THE CIRCLE

It feels like I haven’t watched a lot of reality TV this year, which makes sense because of our quarantine situation (but then again I’m watching World of Dance, but that’s a different because it’s more of a competition/dance show. I’ll stop rambling). The Circle is a reality ‘game’ show that could be easily completed during quarantine and social distancing because the contestants do not see each other in person. They each have an apartment in this complex and only communicate with each other on a social media platform called the Circle. The objective is to become the most popular and an influencer who gets power over who stays and who goes in the competition. There’s some side contests throughout, but most of the show is just people chatting through an insta messenger and trying to learn as much as they can. Alliances are formed and cat fishes try to thrive all for the grand prize of $100,000. (Wow, that’s a lot!) It is SUPER addicting and very funny. Having a voice-over narrator really makes it even funnier because she says what we’re all thinking. Just about every episode a contestant leaves and then is able to meet one other person in their apartment. It’s been cool seeing their reactions as oftentimes it’s someone they did not expect AT ALL. I can’t wait to finish it. If you’re a fan of Big Brother than this is definitely for you. Looks like there will be a second season, which I am excited about.  

THE BABYSITTERS CLUB

Jumping from one Netflix show to another. Released on Netflix on July 3rd, I tried not to binge it all in one day because then it would be over (and we still don’t know if there will be a second season yet). This is definitely my feel good watch for July. If you want something that’s a quick watch and just wholesome and fun to escape our current world than this is for you. I always felt so happy after watching and couldn’t wait to watch another. While I was familiar with the franchise--the 90s movie and of course the books (although I was more of a Babysitter Little Sister fan, so I was very excited to see Karen), you don’t have to have any knowledge of the Babysitters Club to enjoy this show. I was hooked just about right away by this new series shown by me watching the first three episodes back to back. I really like how they set up each episode with one girl as the main focus (just like in the books) where she takes over the voice-over narration. Great representation and made modern to fit in with our current times. The first example that comes to mind is when Mary Ann babysits Bailey who is transgender. I liked how Bailey says those are her old clothes while they’re playing. It’s shown in a way that explains the situation without feeling like a lecture. It fits so naturally into the episode. And then Mary Ann’s speech at the hospital is super powerful for both Bailey and herself. This is just one example of how well represented this show is. Extremely strong cast and actresses who are the proper ages. I also love the adult casting and how they threw in a Clueless reference from Alicia Sliverstone (who plays Kristy’s Mom). As someone who is writing for this age group, I really liked hearing and seeing how authentic this show is. 

FEEL THE BEAT

A Netflix original movie that has been on my list for a while that I just got around to watching. It didn’t come out too long ago. In the film, Sofia Carson’s character is a dancer who is a perfectionist. She gets on the bad side of a big NYC producer when she not only leaves her in the rain as she steals her taxi, but also knocks her, accidentally, off stage and becomes a viral video-this basically blackmails her in Broadway. This all happens within about the first 10 minutes of the film and the majority takes place back in her small home town (very Hallmark-like) in Wisconsin. While there her old dancing teacher wants her to share her Broadway wisdom with her young students. Meanwhile Carson has only been a chorus girl, so she doesn’t really have any. What draws her to helping the young girls is the chance to perform in front of a big choreographer that could get her to be the star she always dreamed of. The catch is that it’s the teacher dance in the childrens dance competition. While this might sound like a movie you’ve watched many times before, it was still worth it and a really fun watch. I think the kids really make the movie. They are adorable, funny and super talented. You feel connected with them really fast and want to see them succeed. I loved Dickie and how he joined the group. I think he was my favorite overall. I loved how inclusive the cast was here too (just like BSC) from a mixed race family, to single parents and even a student who was Deaf. It was great seeing the other actors sign to her. Carson’s character, April, can be annoying at times, but you understand it’s her character and something she needs to overcome. As I said before the plot may seem familiar, but the ending was something I didn’t see coming. Overall, wholesome, feel good and fun for the whole family. You can consider to watch while babysitting. (See what I did there??)  

VIOLETTA SEASON 2

She’s back! I know last month when I included Violetta it was mainly me being excited to see the second season FINALLY streaming on Disney Plus. I had watched a few episodes (remember there’s 80 altogether, so even if I watched 20 that’s still very early on and just a dent in the season) and was still getting used to this season. Well, now I’m happy to report I am in the 40s and more than half way. For a bit I was watching many of these episodes a day, which told me that I was loving it again. Recently, I feel I need a little more of a push to watch, but it’s mainly because of certain story-lines that feel like they’re dragging. (For example: Violetta’s voice. One minute it’s fine and the next she’s like dying). For this section I have two words: LOVE TRIANGLES. And I’m not just talking about Violetta, Diego and Leon. For a bit it felt like each character had their own love triangle, which honestly I was loving. These characters have definitely developed a lot from last season, which allows this to happen. Olga was in a love triangle, which just recently got resolved. I think German is still in one because of his alter ego Jeremias. Jackie was “kind of” in one. For her it was more of a misunderstanding, which is very classic on this show. Lots more secrets have been uncovered in these episodes as well as songs! You know how excited I am for those. Overall, I think I’m still enjoying season 1 songs more (which get referenced enough in this season), but some of the season 2 ones are really growing on me. Specifically Leon’s Entre dos mundos and when he sings with Diego Euphoria in English. Also, Yo Soy Asi has been real catchy. I know Frederico will be coming back soon and I can’t wait to see him again!  

HAMILTON

Like many I watched Hamilton this month-actually on the day it came out. It’s been a musical that I’ve been intrigued by, but never thought I’d get a chance to watch because of how popular and expensive it is to see on Broadway. So, I was very excited to hear I’d get the chance when it was to be released in theaters for a special event. Then because of Corona it was released to Disney Plus, which was EVEN more convenient and exciting. I really enjoyed it and watched it twice within the same week. I immediately downloaded the playlist and started singing it around the house. I do this a lot with many of the plays I see, but depending how good they are is shown by how long I listen to the soundtrack. (Some of my top ones are Bandstand, Once, Newsies and Anastasia.) Because there are so many songs in Hamilton it is taking me a little longer to know all the words, but I feel pretty confident with the first act. It was the perfect timing for this to be released on Disney Plus. Not only because it was July 3rd, but also because of the world we are living in. Lin’s diverse cast brings to life the world of 1776 and the revolutionary war (as well as the time after it), but it’s such a strong commentary on our world today. This is something I am continually noticing with historical dramas/pieces being released within the last 5-10 years. It feels like there’s more we can say in this genre than in a commentary piece. I also like all the analysis videos I’ve seen popping up, which just make it even more powerful. (Like it being Eliza’s story and her putting herself back in the narrative. That the play Hamilton is named for both her and Alexander.) I don’t know if all of what I see were intentional, but  either way well done. I hope it doesn’t leave Disney Plus soon. 

1917

And lastly, 1917. I promised quite the range this month and you can see that’s definitely the case. I always enjoy watching war films and with 1917 there was so much hype (both before it came out and after) that I was interested to give it a watch. Giving the movie to my dad for father’s day felt like the perfect excuse to be able to watch it. Even though our DVD stuck in a few places (still don’t know if it was the player or the DVD itself), the film was very entertaining and I would suggest it to anyone who is a history/film buff. Taking place in WWI, we follow two British soldiers as they attempt to deliver a message about an upcoming ambush that could take countless lives. I feel that I often watch more films revolving around WWII, so it was very interesting to be immersed in the first great war. After watching I am not surprised that the film was up for so many Oscars. While cinematography is the first thing everyone discusses when it comes to this movie (and it should be because the one shot/long shot is sooo impressive and beautiful to watch. It really brings you into the scene and has a way of making you feel like you’re there too. There’s a realness to it that’s raw and new compared to other war films I’ve watched in the past), there’s so much more to this film too. First, I like how it connects back to Sam Mendes’ grandfather, so while it’s not a true story it has real facts in it. I LOVE the score and music to this film. In the scene where George Mackay runs at night through those ruined buildings I could really hear how well the music worked with the action. Because of this I made sure to listen to some of the soundtrack and now I’ve added some of the songs into my writing playlist. I have chills just thinking about it. The other point I want to bring up is the cast! While there are SO MANY big names in this film from Colin Firth to Benedict Cumberbatch, the two main characters are played by George Mackay and Dean Charles Chapman and they are the ones with the most screen time. If their chemistry and acting wasn’t so great then the movie wouldn’t be as successful as it is. Because of this I have been watching non-stop YouTube interviews of the two of them for this film. 

They are so well-spoken, stand-up guys and I can’t get enough of their dialogues with each other and others. (You should watch these interviews too). While familiar with Chapman’s time on Game of Thrones, I haven’t seen him in much else, so I’m excited to see what he’ll have in the future (as well as checking out his IMDB page). For Mckay, I’ve seen him before when I just watched Ophelia earlier this summer so that was my first time watching him act. After that film I was curious what else he was in, but it was only after 1917 that I started doing more research. So far, I’ve only been able to watch the short film he was in called Infinite. While only 17 minutes it was very strong and deep. I highly recommend. As I’ve shared on this page already, in another post, the more I hear him talk the more of a crush I am developing. It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced a celebrity crush this strong so soon. This quarantine has to end so I can make it to England to just casually bump into him like one does. :) 

[tawneybel]

Happy Mischief Night!

I’m on Lo Loestrin Fe for my ovarian cysts. I’ve been in pain since July 15th but it’s greatly subsided because I know the cause of it now! My period started on October 1st after skipping August and September entirely, maybe because October’s my favorite month and fall calms me lol. It also lasted thirteen days. Am I breaking out because I’m on the pill, or because I ate like three chocolate bars and a key lime pie this month? The only time I eat sweets is when I’m menstruating or it’s a holiday. 

My next gyne appointment is in late November and I wonder if I’m going to have to have a laparoscopy, ugh. I haven’t been able to do abdominal exercises since mid-July. Swimming was out of the question because of covidiots. :/ I also need to schedule my wisdom teeth removal.

The rest of this post is about the Ginger Snaps trilogy because I felt that series deserved its own review post. (Even if it’s short.) I haven’t written one of those in a while! There are so many notes on my phone from all the horror movies I ‘ve watched this year. These notes are from months ago so hopefully I remembered everything correctly lol.

Ginger Snaps

Less than two minutes in and a doggy died. But the rest of the franchise makes up for it. The first two are some of the few chick flicks I really like, alongside Carrie, Gone Girl, and Heathers. Brigitte is one of my favorite types of goth characters. You don’t require heavy makeup, all-black clothing, or to wear certain brands. Sometimes all you need are skeleton accessories, mostly black clothing, a dark soundtrack, and of course morbid interests. (The bone pens were so cute!) The Fitzgerald sisters’ fascination with gruesome deaths could be off-putting, but pre-lycanthropy they seemed like they had promising photography careers. 

Ginger and Brigitte’s mom was truly ride-or-die until the end. A deleted scene has her take the blame for the killings. I wish first period cakes were the norm. In a way I got one, because I reached menarche a week before my twelfth birthday. At first I thought the girls were fraternal twins. The silver belly button ring insertion was like a hardcore version of the earlobe piercing scene from The Parent Trap. Ginger Snaps is like a dark inversion of that movie, sortakindanotreally, where the sisters grow farther apart. At the end, they are without their parents. Not because the protagonists are left orphans, but because they felt like they couldn’t tell Mom and/or Dad about the paranormal aspects of Ginger’s belated puberty. Again, if you like Carrie, check this out. 

For a guy with three sisters, Jason sure was a d-bag towards girls. I like how he just walked off with a syringe in his neck. The audience never learns what happens to him. We never learn the identity of the male wolf from Unleashed, but the creators say it wasn’t him or Sam. 

There’s also some excellent dark humor. On hiding bully Trina’s body: “Shallow grave? I don’t know, just seems appropriate. Also, “I can see your gaunch!” Apparently that’s Canadian slang. 

Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed

The first sequel I actually liked more than the original. I plopped it on my fave horror movie list. 

Getting hit on by someone who works at a place you frequent is not usually pleasant. Jeremy was kind-hearted, at least. Too bad Brigitte’s admirer had to off him. Okay, I can’t remember why, but I thought Dr. Brookner was a pervo like Tyler. Tyler’s a horrible person, but a great character. Because he took sex/ual advantage of young addicts, but looked out for Ghost. Again, horrible person, but his character showed you can’t clock a rapist 24/7. Unleashed is also great because it passed the Bechdel test without making a big deal about it. It’s just organic. Female characters talking to each other. 

As I said before, we never learned the Best of Bailey Down nor the stalker’s identity, but it made the movies feel more realistic, not having all the answers. “Beautiful” by Joydrop was a fitting credit song, because it describes Ginger and Brigitte’s relationship prior to the former’s death. 

Ginger Snaps Back: The Beginning 

While this wasn’t as enjoyable as the first two, it’s definitely one of the better pieces of werewolf media I’ve consumed. The Beginning is basically a historical AU, although I think Brendan Fletcher is the only “original” actor besides Perkins and Isabelle.

This movie and THIR13EN Ghosts taught me JR Bourne was born to play a DILF. Teen Wolf introduced me to him, so I was already in love when I got to daddy Russell Lightbourne from The 100. (I have to catch up on season seven, now that it's finally on Netflix. I was having trouble accessing On Demand for a few days, when it took NOS4A2’s second season off. Darn it. The hourglass dude is hot. Still gonna write for it.) Bourne just ages so well. DADDY.

Song of the Day: “Halloween” by Aqua.

[ubernoxa]

So I saw this on tumblr and it inspired me to creat the Director’s (Writer’s) cut for some of my fanfics Please request any chapters from any fanfics I have writen. This was fun!

Chapter 1: The Stupid Dare

So looking back I can’t believe I wrote this December 28th 2019. It’s crazy how time flies. Looking back I don’t remember what inspired the character Delilah. I think I was watching an episode of the TV show Psych where they go to a catholic school and the idea kinda popped in my head.

So as many of you all probably don’t know is that I love the idea of the butterfly effect. Now you’re probably thinking, hey Bailey your story has NOTHING to do with time travel, and you’re right! This kinda stems off of that idea how one small action can cause a ripple effect and change your life. That’s what The Dare is about, the little choices that you don’t ever think are big ones.

I almost didn’t write this fanfic because I was worried about having two fanfics open. At the time I was writing another fanfic called After Dusk which I haven’t touched in ages and didn’t really have any direction for it. Someday I might go back and rewrite it, but for now it will stay where it is. Before I start all of this I just want to say thank you to anyone who has ever read, messaged me, rebooted, or commented. The Dare wouldn’t be where it is a without y’all. So let’s get this going!

It was all a dare.

It was all a stupid dare that shouldn’t have even been said.

That dare was the reason why Delilah and Beth walked the streets of the strip trying to choose the least intimidating bar on the strip to enter.

For me this kinda referenced this one time a friend of mine and I were bar hopping in Colorado and we 100% chose the bar we went to because I looked the least scary.

It all started when after the Friday’s afternoon service when Mark’s younger brother ran into the storage room, telling second hand stories about seeing the Devil on sunset strip.

During every story, Beth would look over to Delilah and Matt to see if they were still trying to contain their laughter. Noticing his friend’s hidden laughter at his younger brother’s stories, Mark ushered his younger brother out of the room to save him from the ridicule and back to play with the other little kids who were a couple rooms down.

They had all heard those stupid stories before. At 18 Mark knew the stories were metaphors or something stupid along those lines, but to his naive 8 year old brother, they were real.

“How about next time you guys don’t make fun of my little brother. He is only eight years old and doesn’t know any better,” Mark almost wined as he plopped down on the large armchair.

Ahh back to when Mark wasn’t a complete piece of trash and dick. You know total bottom tier human. I really didn’t like writing what happened in later chapters, but it had to be done.

“We weren’t laughing,” Delilah said between giggles making Mark roll his eyes.

“Fine, since you think it’s so funny that my brother is scared of those stupid stories then why don’t you go visit Sunset Strip since you’re not scared,” Mark’s words caused the room to go silent.

They weren’t afraid of the ‘Devil’ on Sunset Strip. They were afraid of something more ‘reasonable’, they were afraid of getting caught sneaking out.

Mark sat cockily in his chair as he watched Delilah contemplate it. Maybe she had come to her senses and would go apologize to his little brother. There was no way she would accept the challenge. She wasn’t that stupid. They all knew the consequences of one of them got caught.

Bold of Mark to assume Delilah wouldn’t do something stupid. She hadn’t seen her older brother in years and she wouldn’t miss the chance to see him again. They were close, and she had been trying to figure out an excise for months. She also is a girl and Mark was an attractive guy who she had a crush on and she 100% wanted to impress Mark. As someone who has also done stupid things to impress a guy I can kinda relate. She also wanted to see if she would run into her older brother who had left many years ago. She was one of only a couple of people who knew what actually she was so

“What do if I get into one of the bars?” Mark leaned in closer on the edge of his seat as his smirk grew into a grin. She wanted to make it harder?

Was she seriously thinking about doing it? This was going to be an easy win.

“I will do all of your chores for a month, and if you can’t get in then you’ll do my chores for a month,” Delilah reached forward instantly ready to agree to Mark’s dare. For Delilah that meant the potential for no more babysitting on Saturdays, but for Mark that meant the potential for not mopping the church floors for a month.

The room was silent with the raised stakes. They had wagered chores when playing games before, but never a months work.

Jesus Christ, Beth said under her breathe as she watched Delilah agree to the terms.

“So Matt, what do you think we should do with all of this free time we are going to have,” Mark leaned back in his chair, a smirk covering his face.

“Wait we? I only agreed to do Mark’s not Matt’s too,” Delilah was now on the edge of her seat, panic in her eye and pillow in her hand ready to smack Mark.

“Delilah Marie Sanderson, you place that pillow down and apologize to Mark for threatening him or if you want you can go upstairs and pray for forgiveness,” Delilah sighed as she heard her mother scold her.

She wasn’t actually going to hit Mark with the pillow, and even if she did it’s a pillow. It wouldn’t have hurt.

Part of Delilah wanted to tell her mom that it was only a joke and that she wasn’t actually going to hit him, but she had fought that fight hundreds of times with her mother and had lost every single one. Talking back would only make matters worse.

Foreshadowing?

Delilah took a deep breath and looked towards Mark, “I apologize for my unladylike behavior. Will you forgive me?”

“I do and thank you for your apology, Delilah,” Mark cockily replied.

The second her mother left the back room, Delilah threw the pillow at Mark in attempt to wipe the smirk off of his face.

Unable to control herself and her laughter, Beth fell out of the wooden chair that she was sitting in.

“What did you mean by we?” Delilah asked again waiting for either Mark or Matt to respond.

“Well we assumed it’s the usual 2 versus 2,” Matt shrugged immediately ending Beth’s laughter.

“Excuse me?” Beth only slightly raised her voice slightly in fear of Delilah’s mom coming back from the other room to scold them again.

“You’re excused,” Beth rolled her eyes as Mark and Matt laughed at Mark’s stupid joke.

“What are you afraid you couldn’t get in?” Mark asked Beth.

Beth sat back on her chair and replied, “No I can get in, easily.”

The lie rolled off her tongue in a little more panicked of a tone than she had expected.

—————

For this next part when writing I tried to think of what Delilah and Beth would think of as like what the strip would be. I kinda channeled that inner middle schooler where we were first learning about makeup and wanted to look like the high schoolers.

Delilah followed Beth upstairs to Beth’s bedroom where their alleged sleepover would be taking place.

Once in the room with the door closed, Delilah grabbed the variety of clothing that she brought to potentially alter.

“Which one would be the easiest to modify?” Beth looked at the variety of black dresses that Delilah had brought.

“They’re all kinda the same,” Delilah commented as she held the dresses in front of her. Beth let out a small chuckle and grabbed one at random.

Delilah watched as Beth cut and sewed the modified outfit.

To say that Delilah was nervous was an understatement. She was nervous that they would get caught trying to leave after curfew. She was worried that Beth’s or her parents would catch them in their lie of a cover story that was a sleep over.

Dinner came and went with no suspicion, besides Beth’s mom asked what they were sewing which Delilah answered with, “Beth is adding some color and designs to one of my old dresses.” It was a rehearsed answer, but Beth’s mother didn’t bat an eye at Delilah’s response, as expected.

Rehearsing answer to questions is something Delilah has been doing since day 1. What’s the saying? Overprotective parents raise sneaky kids?

The next two hours were filled with the two girls actually ‘adding some color’ to an old dress, so when asked tomorrow they had proof.

Then, right after they said their good nights to Beth’s family, they got to work on their makeup.

Both girls knew very little about Sunset Strip, but from what they did know, they thought did they an ok job at mimicking.

Saying an ok job is definitely giving Beth and Delilah too much credit.

They both knew that black was a common color on the strip, so both girls wore black with heavy black eyeliner.

They also knew that people on the strip showed skin, and this where Delilah was getting second thoughts about the bet.

Delilah had lost track of the amount of apologies that Beth had given her. Beth has transformed her black dress that rested at the knees to a half shirt and a float black skirt that barely covered Delilah’s butt. One light breeze would leave her exposed.

So Beth purposefully shortened the skirt in hopes of scaring Delilah to not wanting to go. Beth didn’t have the courage to tell Delilah no because she knew Delilah would do it without her. In her eyes Beth was trying to do what she thought was right, and protect Delilah. She was doing it out of kindness (in her eyes) hoping to scare Delilah because Beth couldn’t say no to to Delilah. Growing up it was always her and Delilah. They were both homeschooled and lived closer to each other, so they spent most of their lives together. She was also worried that Delilah would find her brother (Delilah told her the truth one night), and she was worried that Delilah would leave. Later on we slowly learn more about their relationship, but from what is currently known Delilah’s life is very different from Beth’s own.

“I’m sorry,” Beth said again as she caught Delilah messing with the length of the skirt.

“You’re fine, we don’t have time to fix it, so it will just have to work,” Delilah sighed as she tried to pull the skirt down a little more. She wished she had taken Beth up on the offer of trying the skirt on earlier, but now it was too late to be turning the sewing machine back on and make alterations. If the sewing machine turned on, someone would want to know what they were really up to.

Beth and Delilah stared at themselves in the mirror barely recognizing their own reflection.

“I’m going to Hell,” Beth unknowingly said aloud.

At this moment Beth realized that Delilah was actually going through with it. She was terrified. She wasn’t going to hell for going to the strip, she was going to hell because she knew she was going to abandon Delilah in the end. If she stayed with Delilah she would also go to hell so this was a lose lose situation.

“Well at least we will be in Hell together then,” Delilah replied with a reassuring smile.

[beerandpresentdanger]

Something in the Water

These fragments are all culled from a larger piece of work about beer, family, place and memory that is still fermenting somewhere in my head. I was inspired to finally put out a flight of snippets in response to Boak & Bailey’s #BeeryLongReads2020 challenge

* * *

Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent? Oh many a peer of England brews Livelier liquor than the Muse, And malt does more than Milton can To justify God’s ways to man.

A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad

* * *

The first sip of a pint of ale made in Burton upon Trent can be off-putting to a newcomer. There’s something intangibly difficult about it, a shrugging note of unpleasantness that many find unsettling - a mineral toned, brackish kind of scent, that most immediately brings to mind sulphur; that distinct, diffuse, almost rotten egg character that you find in the water of towns that marketed themselves as spas, and once sold their healing properties to gullible Victorians with chronic nerve conditions.

Connoisseurs have a name for it, likening it to the fleeting sensory overload of an old-fashioned match being struck in a dark, draughty room. 

They call it “The Burton Snatch”.

* * *

My father’s family have always lived in Burton and its surrounding villages, nestled among the hills and valleys between Staffordshire and Derbyshire. My great-grandfather was a farmer and a money-lender, who kept a cast iron safe in the living room with a lace doily and a bowl of fruit on top. He would open it up on Sunday evenings to take stock, counting out the large paper notes on his scrubbed wooden table while the rest of the family looked on.

My grandfather, Jimmy, was a promising football player who did a stint with Burton Albion, before going into business in the town, setting up Farrington’s Furnishers in two large units on the Horninglow Road. It was the kind of traditional, rambling shop that doesn’t exist much anymore - a haphazardly laid-out assembly of sofas, beds, dressers and wardrobes, tables, chairs, footstools and chests of drawers. At the back, there was a room full of rolls of carpet, piled high to the ceiling. My father and his brothers were playing there when the news came over the radio that JFK had been shot.

* * *

Brewing has happened in Burton for centuries, but the process really began millennia ago, when the substrata of the Trent valley settled with deep deposits of sand and gravel, a unique and serendipitous combination of minerals that built the foundations for everything that was to follow. An unusually high concentration of sulphates from the gypsum, coupled with healthy reserves of calcium and magnesium and low levels of sodium and bicarbonates, meant that when springs eventually burbled forth from the land around the river, the water had its own particular and unique character, a distinct presentation that the French might call “terroir”.

Beer-making started in earnest when an abbey named Byrtune was raised on the banks of the Trent, and the brothers did as all good monastic orders did, growing their own crops, raising their own livestock, and brewing their own beer. Over the centuries, the reputation for the region’s fine ale grew and spread, until the secret could no longer be kept.

When the canals came to Burton they made it into a city of industry and empire. Tentacle-like, capitalism stretched and unfurled its penetrating waterways across, through and over Albion’s gentle hills, bypassing the wild weirs of the Trent’s natural descent, domesticating the landscape and bringing uniformity, neatness, and standardisation to what was a tangle of disparate places and processes. By the middle of the 18th century, the Trent Navigation had been connected to the Humber, to the mighty Mersey, and down through Birmingham to the Grand Union, and suddenly, Burton was now a central hub functioning as part of a single network that ran throughout the country and onward, through its bustling ports, to Europe, Russia, and all points beyond. 

* * *

Once their children grew up, my grandparents also left for the continent. Nearly every summer holiday of my childhood was spent visiting them in Portugal. Their home, known only as “The Villa”, was an idyllic place, where my brothers and I learnt to swim, where the smell of barbecue smoke lingered over every evening, where the coarse Mediterranean grass hurt our feet when we tried to play football on it. When I was young, I only really knew my grandparents in this sunlit, bright blue light - tanned, shortsleeved, wearing hats. Their accents may have been rounded and roughened in the heart of England, but their very essence to me was more exotic, more glamorous, more European.

Some of my first memories of drinking come from those summer holidays. Sips of pungent sea-dark wine, acidic and overwhelming; a sample of gin and tonic, bitter and medicinal with a gasping clarity; and of course, beer - not ale, nothing my grandfather would touch - but lager, cold and crisp and gassy, a fleeting glimpse of adulthood.

* * *

Beer, like everything else in a free market of money and ideas, has been subject to fashion and changing tastes, and it was a fashion for pale ales that truly put Burton on the map. With the proliferation of the waterways, hops from Kent and barley from East Anglia could make their way to Burton where, combined with the local water, they were turned into a revelatory, and wildly popular beverage.

Breweries proliferated throughout the town. At its peak, more than 30 rival businesses competed for space, ingredients, and workers to keep the kettles boiling and grain mashing. Burton became the brewing capital of the world, home to emblematic firms like Bass, which by 1877 was the world’s largest brewery. Its famed pale ale was so acclaimed and copied that the distinctive red triangle that adorned its labels became the UK’s first registered trademark, a mark of its singular quality.

* * *

Even when my grandparents lived abroad, Burton still pulled my family to it. Christmas called us back year after year, or Boxing Day at least, catching up with uncles and aunts and first and second cousins, some removed, to sit in sitting rooms in front of three-bar fires, eating ham cobs, drinking flat Schweppes lemonade, watching World’s Strongest Man on the television. The arresting vision of a large man pulling a tractor down a runway or throwing a washing machine over a wall would be accompanied by the sound of adult chatter, long-delayed catch-ups on weddings, births, and especially deaths - distant relatives and long-lost school mates, old girlfriends with cancer scares, run-ins with the police.

One uncle, who worked in a brewery like a true Burtonian, kept terrapins. I would gingerly feed them sunflower seeds, holding my hand above the dark waterline of the cramped tank, waiting for the vicious snap to emerge from the depths. “Pedigree doesn’t travel well,” he once told me, referring to a renowned local bitter. Some things cannot leave Burton behind.

* * *

Burton’s skyline doesn’t have church towers, it has fermentation vessels. Over the decades, as companies have merged, collapsed, consolidated or been taken over with some hostility, the name on the side of the largest set has changed, so that what drivers on the bypass see reflects whatever corporate overlord assumes feudal control in that particular age.

In the middle years of the twentieth century, brewing, like many industries, saw the white hot intensity of competition eliminate all but the largest of breweries. Experts will tell you that the beer suffered along with it, accompanied by punitive taxation from the government and a nannying attitude to pubs and drinking, the hangover of Victorian prudishness being enacted by the grandchildren of those who first envisaged it. Tastes changed under the weight of global pressures, and ultimately, Burton lurched along with them, becoming, through a complex web of corporate exchanges, the brewing site of Canadian brand Carling Black Label. 

In the ensuing decades, Carling would become the UK’s best-selling beer, a “domestic” rival to the traditional European lager brands that dominated in Germany, France and Denmark. The attritional battles left their marks on Burton though, as closures and collisions shuttered various facilities and churned through generations of workers, leaving tracts of vacant space even in the centre of town. Coming off the train now, you overlook the whole of Burton, and get the sensation of standing in the middle of a vast and scattered industrial facility, where smokestacks and grain towers overpeer gritted-teeth terraced houses, pockmarked shopping streets and vacant lots.

The make-up of the town shifted too. In the middle of the Midlands (Burton is linguistically and administratively part of the East Midlands, but geographically in the West Midlands) the town received its fair share of immigration. A town my grandparents knew as almost entirely white and Christian is now almost 10% Pakistani Muslim - a thriving community of teetotallers, in a town famous for its beer.

* * *

My grandparents celebrated their diamond wedding anniversary in 2014, flying back from Portugal to hold a party at the National Brewery Centre in the middle of Burton. It was a lovely evening, with a large cake and lots of happy stories, relatives and friends I’d never seen before and would never see again. After an early finish, my cousins and I went to a pub, drinking pints of milk-smooth ale, before ending up in a small, loud, nightclub playing cheesy pop hits. The next morning, hungover, I walked with my parents to Stapenhill Cemetery to stare at the headstones of ancestors I had never met.

* * *

There is a popular documentary series on the BBC which sees celebrity costermonger Gregg Wallace visit various sterile facilities around the UK to witness firsthand how automation and mechanisation has changed food production. Each episode has him walking through eerily empty factories, vast and cavernous spaces where robotic production lines operate 24 hours a day, speaking to the remaining human operators who exist now as mere caretakers, there to tend and nurse the machines like temple virgins, dressed in hairnets instead of togas. It is an uncanny sight. Every installment inevitably begins with drone shots, hovering silently above the landscape, showing the immense scale of these conurbations, raised in places where land is invariably cheap and generations of people have been bred into cycles of tireless shift work. But the workers are not needed any more. Efficiency has eradicated the need for fleshy points of failure.

Now, Gregg can skip through the barren hallways, silent save for the harmonic hum of perpetual machinery, flashing his blinding white overalls and quoting mind-boggling statistics about the weight of crisps the average British child eats in a year. Various natural products are ushered in off the backs of lorries and railway carriages, fed along whirring conveyor belts and pumped through pneumatic tubes, before being baked, frozen, cut, dried, soaked, dessicated, rehydrated and reformulated into whatever bland final product can now be ejected out into the world, via shipping containers and along motorways, all to sit on a supermarket shelf before making an appearance in your cupboard, a moment on your table, and a lifetime rotting away in some far-off landfill.

It was inevitable that Burton’s MolsonCoors brewery, the home of Carling, would get its chance in the spotlight. The programme highlighted the noble history of brewing, from its pre-modern farmhouse days, when fermentation was practically a shamanic ritual, to its domestication and commodification, where each step in the process was refined and perfected, to where we are now, when every aspect has been exactingly costed and painstakingly budgeted to ensure maximum productivity, and maximum profit, with minimal ingredients, energy, or intervention. There has been a backlash to this macro-attitude, of course - “craft beer”, an ill-defined, equally co-optable movement that alludes to provenance, quality, care, and a confused sense of heritage, has become a big business in its own right, backed by venture capital and crowdfunding campaigns - but industrial brewing is still the fixture in the firmament, the thing that keeps the lights on.

When one of the few remaining humans showed Gregg the tiny, almost homeopathic quantity of hops that would add a semblance of bitterness and aromatic flavour to a lake-sized vat of Carling, it felt almost like a knowing wink - look at what we can get away with - one made safe in the knowledge that their beer will still pour in nearly every pub and take up the most shelf space in corner shops and petrol stations across the country. Of course they’ll get away with it. They’ve always got away with it. They will sell us beer with barely a sense memory of taste in it, and we will literally lap it up.

* * *

My grandfather died in hospital, in Portugal, after an indeterminate period of undramatic but gradually worsening health. His four children took turns flying out to spend time with him and their mother in the hospital, sitting by his bed, holding his hand, finishing the crosswords he was no longer able to complete.

He was cremated there, but a memorial service to remember his life was held in Burton on a crisp, February day a few weeks later. Alighting at the railway station, I watched steam from the breweries crowd the startlingly cold air, while waiting for my parents to arrive and drive us the ten minutes to Rolleston Cricket Club where the small gathering would take place. On the way, we drove up Horninglow Road, past what was once Farrington’s Furnishers, now Zielona Żabkal, a Polish supermarket. We got there early and spent some time setting up, arranging the folding tables and stackable chairs, hanging up photos, and laying out some mementos of my grandfather’s happy life - a table tennis bat, some puzzle books, a golf club, his familiar white hat.

I was tasked with approving the beer for the day. There were two casks of Bass on the bar - one which had been there a few days, the other tapped that morning. “I’m a lager man,” the bartender told me, so I tried both to see which was in form. The first had the faintest tang of vinegar that suggested oxidation, a beer that was at the end of its life, drowning in the air around it. The second was lively, enthusiastic, a little overly keen and overripe, but would settle down through the afternoon as the long goose-necked pump poured pint after pint for the guests who shuffled in, in suits and raincoats, shiny shoes and walking sticks, to pay their respects. Everyone told stories. I read a letter on behalf of my cousin, working on the other side of the world. We drank many, many pints of Bass in good nick, then when we were finished, we went to a pub, and drank many more.

When I had to catch my train back to London, I staggered back through the freezing night, to find that the town was mashing in - somewhere in the vast floodlit breweries, a switch had been thrown and malted barley was being soaked in that famous hot water, and the streets were being filled with the scent of porridge and healthy, earthy grains; a warming, nostalgic tide that overflowed down the road and spilled through the centuries; riding, falling, on the biting cold air.

[cxhnow]

Chloe and Halle Bailey, Jeremy Scott’s Newest Front Row Stars, on Beyoncé, Their New Album, and the Black-ish Spinoff

When they first entered Jeremy Scott’s New York showroom Friday, Chloe and Halle Bailey were a bit overwhelmed. They were confronted by a kaleidoscope of colors, a daunting array of garments, and a wide mandate in the designer’s archives. That is, the sisters—who are musicians, actors, and protégées of Beyoncé signed to her Parkwood Entertainment label—had arrived with a deceptively simple assignment: to select looks for the designer’s Spring 2018 show, which they planned to attend that night. But that left them with a lot of choice.They eventually emerged, as they often do, with coordinating looks. “We’re the same, but we’re different as well,” Chloe said. “We like to incorporate that through our fashion.” She opted for a black sleeveless minidress printed with trompe l’oeil butterflies formed out of two pistols in blues, pinks, yellows, and greens, with blue and black calf-hair platform shoes, while her younger sister selected the same print in a silk motorcycle jacket, paired with distressed Levi’s and platform heels in black with yellow flowers—“our favorite pieces, and the ones that were cohesive with one another,” Chloe described.These were the looks that hung in the wardrobe of their Midtown hotel room Friday evening, just more than an hour before the show was scheduled to begin. It was a crisp, early fall night, and as they explained their selection, the doorbell rung a couple times—at one point, to let their dad Doug, who is also their manager and frequent fashion show companion, in, and then to welcome in a room-service delivery of spaghetti. (“I love carbs,” Chloe later said enthusiastically—especially as vegans, which she and Hall have been for more than two years now.)

Though Friday marked their first time at a Jeremy Scott show—and their first show of the Spring 2018 season—the sisters are now nearly fashion week veterans. They attended their first fashion show, Tory Burch’s Spring 2017 runway, almost exactly a year ago, proceeding to sit in the front row at the Louis Vuitton show later that season (along with Sasha Lane, their “dear friend,” as Chloe described her). Then, earlier this year, the sisters got a glimpse of the other side, making their runway debut at Dolce & Gabbana’s Fall 2017 show. They sauntered down the runway in minidresses, tiaras, and red boots—holding hands all the while.“It’s like a different stage,” Halle said, comparing walking a runway to performing music. Still, “it was very different for us because we’re used to, we go on stage, we sing, and we feel this, like…” She exhaled with a sigh, a release of tension. “We worked so hard.” When they finished their brief lap of the runway, by contrast, “We were like, ‘Oh, that’s it? Cool.’” (She added, as a disclaimer, “but it was really fun.”)The sisters had just arrived in New York the previous day, fresh off a week of filming the first few episodes of Grown-ish, the new Black-ish spinoff in which Yara Shahidi’s character Zoey Johnson departs for college. Chloe and Halle already get mistaken for twins “all the time,” they told me in unison (perhaps an understandable misconception, considering they speak in unison, often finish each other’s sentences, and dress in coordinating looks), so it probably won’t help that, in the series, they play twin track stars Skylar and Jazz.The Bailey sisters were already close friends of their co-star Shahidi—last year, she described Chloe and Halle as her “BFFs”; they also share a fan in Michelle Obama—so being cast alongside her, as well as fellow Dolce & Gabbana model Luka Sabbat, was “a great feeling.” And though Chloe and Halle are now best known as musicians, they acted on screen as children growing up in Atlanta, making Grown-ish something of a return to form for both. (Indeed, as we drove to the show later that night, the sisters’ mom Courtney pulled out her phone to show me an image of Chloe, at age three, with Beyoncé, then 21, from the 2003 movie-musical Fighting Temptations, in which Chloe played a younger version of her eventual mentor’s character.)Chloe and Halle were making the most of their New York Fashion Week sojourn. In addition to the Jeremy Scott show, they stopped by a party hosted by Refinery29, where they finally met Issa Rae, the creator and star of Insecure, for the first time. They both avidly watch the series, which featured their song “Red Lights” in its first season, and it appears the admiration is mutual: On Thursday, Rae told them she was “so excited to see you guys’ acting debut,” Chloe recalled with a small gasp. “I was like, You know?”

But for all the activity in New York, by Sunday, they would return to Los Angeles to continue filming Grown-ish. The Freeform series, which is slated for premiere early next year, was just one of several projects Chloe and Halle were juggling. For example, back in Los Angeles, the sisters had the opportunity to pay homage to their mentor (and rumored fellow vegan) for her recent 36th birthday. Her mother, Tina Knowles, “wanted to do something spectacular for her daughter,” Halle said, so she recruited some of Beyoncé’s closest friends and collaborators to recreate a now-iconic image from the Lemonade visual album—Beyoncé in a wide-brimmed hat, a black dress, a bib necklace, and two thick braids. Knowles provided each of the participants—including Serena Williams, Michelle Obama, Ingrid, and even Beyoncé’s daughter Blue Ivy as well as Chloe and Halle—with a hat, braids included. She photographed the whole thing on an iPhone.Plus, earlier in the summer, they released a new project entitled The Two of Us that they described, upon its debut, as neither album nor mixtape, and that presages a full-length album they hope to complete soon.“All of the songs were rejects we knew weren’t going to make the album, but we still kind of liked,” Chloe explained as a makeup artist blotted electric blue shadow onto her lids. “We warped them together into one long song. It was really fun to create, because it’s, like, 25 minutes long.” But their album is coming, too: “It’s like, 85, 90 percent done,” Halle explained, adding that they were hoping to begin releasing new music early next year.They write, record, and produce their own music at their home studio in Los Angeles; once in a while, Beyoncé will drop in like a fairy godmother with feedback.“She allows us to have our own mind and our own thoughts and creativity,” Chloe said. “Her main thing, she wants us to do what we want to do,” Halle added. “She’s like, ‘Let the world catch up to you. You girls’ talent is so immense, don’t dumb it down for the world.’” It’s a message they also communicate on “Simple,” one of The Two of Us’s standout songs: 

“No, I’m not calling anybody out, it’s just people telling us, ‘Oh you know your stuff’s too complex for the average ear to get it. Maybe you should just be simple,’” Chloe murmurs, singsong.“We hope that one day we’ll be legends, because legends break barriers and don’t follow the rules, you know?” Halle said.Though Chloe and Halle had just met designer Jeremy Scott earlier in the day, he has long cultivated relationships with musicians: Björk was reportedly his first celebrity client, and his inner circle currently comprises Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus, and Madonna. The sisters slipped into their Scott-designed looks—“Oh, come on,” their mom, Courtney, cried approvingly when she saw her daughters transformed—and Chloe daubed her favorite oil, which she dubbed “the smell-good” and smells of cotton candy, onto her wrists. A last-minute change of hoop earrings for studs, and they were ready to go: The four Baileys hurried out to the car that would shepherd them downtown to Spring Studios. (Back in Los Angeles, Chloe had just passed her driving test and obtained a bright blue Mini Cooper she christened Cleo, making her her own chauffeur.)When they arrived at the show, Chloe and Halle took their seats just down the front row from Lionel Richie and Jimmy Iovine, who their mother introduced as a “legend.” They sidled up to Erika Jayne of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, of which, apparently, they are big fans, and began chatting animatedly with the reality star. The lights dimmed, and Scott’s retrospective of a show got underway, with models like Karlie Kloss, Sofia Richie, Gigi Hadid, Devon Aoki, Coco Rocha, and even Liberty Ross, the ’90s supermodel married to Iovine, making their way down the runway in Scott’s silver-sequined club kid attire.After the lights came back up and before Chloe and Hall dissolved into the crowd, they offered their final review: “It was fantastic,” Chloe said. “I loved how it shined under the lights.”“I liked all the sparkles,” her sister echoed. “Beautiful.” [s]

[more photos from this event]

[mrs-pissoff]

Your eyes (part 2)

Part 1 here

Pairing: Reader (she/her) x Thane Krios

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mass Effect or its characters.

A/N: This will be a long one. I’m just verbose and love a slower burn. I have no idea how long this story will end up being, but hopefully I can finish it before my muse dies. I can tell she’s getting tired already.

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She retreated to her room hastily after the encounter, and if she wasn't feeling sleepless before, now she was definitely sure she wasn't going to get even a minute of restful sleep. It was all so surreal and his words rang in her mind endlessly.

You intrigue me.

Sitting down onto her bed a heavy sight escaped her lips. She wanted to understand why Thane of all people would say something like this, and to her. Someone who was less than kind to him. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d say such things easily. The thought of him messing with her did cross her mind, but he surely has much better things to do than to get back at her in such a juvenile manner.

The need to remember and analyze her interactions with the drell overwhelmed her. She must have missed something that led to this moment. Surely she has.

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The last time they spoke was a few weeks ago, when he got word of what his son was about to do. The mission only required Shepard and Thane in the end, plus the cooperation of Captain Bailey and C-Sec, but she was still around while they gathered information on Kolyat's target and the person who ordered the hit. She was patiently listening from the sidelines, waiting for the pair to finish talking to Mouse.

She knew very little of Thane and his life. She never bothered to ask. ‘Assassins are not very complicated’, she thought. Meet contact, acquire target, fulfill contract by murder. Easy enough for someone who has the stomach to kill just about anyone regardless of their moral standing. Apparently, Thane was one such man and somehow that didn't make him appear in a more favorable light at all. Of course she was missing many of the pieces here. For example she never knew he had a son until yesterday. Someone was forgiving enough to love a man who kills without distinction if he's told to do so. The world was truly strange.

In hindsight her words seem awfully skewed now. Shepard had told her a few things about him since then, not that she cared to know any of it previously. It may have been better not to learn those things, but it was probably an attempt at trying to diffuse the situation by making her understand Thane's point of view a bit more. Not that it needed diffusing in the first place, it would never deteriorate further. She was done with that conversation, and with him. He was part of the team, and as such had to be tolerated, but that was the extent to what she could do for him. Nevertheless, Shepard, ever the peacekeeper, was relentless and in the end she learned certain things about him. Like how he was raised by the hanar and trained as an assassin from a young age, and how this was pretty much all he knew of the world around him. Seemed like an awfully meaningless life to her, having others make all the decisions for you as if you lacked free will, and being used as a tool. According to Shepard, Thane even referred to himself as such. It's hard to believe that anyone would think of living such a life as great honor. Senseless, all of it. Willingly giving away children to be trained as assassins, stripping them of the opportunity of a healthy and happy childhood. A fate like that can lead to no fully functional adult and Thane is a prime example of that. Life scars us all in different ways.

She knows these things now, but back then, at that moment when she first snapped at him, she didn't. These major differences in their culture flew right by her head and she never bothered to look deeper into why exactly Thane would do the things he had done. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Just because she knows, doesn't mean she has to accept it as well. It's just easier to understand now. But that day? That day when he admitted to abandoning his own son, who was now about to ruin his own life, Thane just looked like a dying coward with a filthy conscience, ready to save face. A man hopelessly scrambling to lighten his soul before the end. She thought his reasons were selfish and wanted to let him know how much of a hypocrite he was, how he failed to calculate the consequences of his negligence which culminated in this unfortunate situation. For the first time since joining the Normandy crew, she abandoned her cautious and reserved manner and let her words flow freely without filter. Words that were meant to tear at him. And she didn’t even understand why.

Shepard had just told him it was not his fault, and like a saint, he said he had to hold himself accountable. That was the last push, she couldn't stay silent any longer.

"How hypocritical of you. Leaving your son behind only to return now. Must have been one long journey finding that backbone." Her voice was low but bitter. She didn't want passersby to notice the conversation, but she wanted him to hear every word. Of course she wouldn't support his son's decision, but it was clear to her now where it was coming from. They never mentioned the possible motive during the debriefing on the shuttle, for good reason it seems.

"He faces a dark path." That much was evident, she wasn't debating it.

"If only he had a good example to follow, huh?" She felt her mood sink further as she faced him, and her tone mirrored that clearly. It was dripping with venom. And Shepard of all people told him just a few seconds ago how it wasn't his fault. There was no one left who was more at fault than Thane. No one.

"I left to protect him. To make sure that he would never be pursued by the people who killed his mother." A sound argument at first glance, but severely flawed at the second. At least he seemed to think it was the right choice, as his answer held a hint of resistance.

"You leaving isn't the biggest and only problem. It's the fact you never returned until now." Her jaw was clenched now and her eyes fixed on the male. His gaze was distant, almost as if a thick mist was obscuring his view. Perhaps she caught him off guard but his silence only angered her more and not waiting for a reply, she continued.

"Has it ever occurred to you that your son would have a different idea of why you left? Have you even stopped to think how it must have felt to him to lose not only a mother, but a father as well? Have you put so little faith in him that you've never considered returning to explain everything to him? You were fine leaving him in the dark all these years, but now that he's doing the only thing he can to understand you better, you decide to return!" Her voice was louder by the end than she would've liked, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. There was no need to draw too much attention to themselves. She wasn't even sure why she felt so affected, both Thane and his son were strangers to her. She couldn't even attach a face to the latter, as she's never met him. But here she was, getting worked up over something that wasn't even her concern.

She took one more breath and glanced at Shepard, half-expecting the Commander to step in and say something in Thane's favor like before. Instead she met Shepard's surprised eyes as they darted cautiously between Thane and her. There would be no fighting, no, Shepard didn't need to worry about that, but she would still bury Thane with her words. "It's almost as if the only reason you're here now is to clear your conscience."

"I wanted him to choose a different future, away from all the suffering I've caused. For him to live a better life than what I could have given him." His voice was almost too quiet to hear, his tone somber and remorseful. Her eyes met his once more.

"And so you decided to cause more suffering by leaving and never returning? So he could only guess why you left? Maybe even feel unwanted or responsible for it? You never gave him the chance to understand your reasons, you never asked him what he wanted and what would have made him happy. You weren't even there when he needed you the most! You hid like a gutless coward instead and would have died knowing that you were unworthy of being called a father!" There was little keeping her volume in check now as she hissed the last words, running out of breath as she finished.

The few concerned glances of the people around them made her snap out of her frenzy. Suddenly she felt more self-conscious than before. She glanced around uneasily before turning back to Thane one last time, careful not to be too loud this time.

"It may not be obvious to you, but it's certainly not rocket science either. Your son may have accidentally found the only way to successfully draw your attention to himself. Just think about how sad this is. Had he not decided to go through with this, you'd have never come here at all. It may not be his end goal to meet you, but I'm sure he hopes to gain an understanding of you at least. For his sake, I hope you can intervene in time and provide him solace. He deserved better."

There was nothing else she could or wanted to say. She felt drained of nearly all emotion, save for a drop of guilt. She didn't even know what she felt guilty for, it was certainly not for Thane. No. You reap what you sow, right? Right. She felt somewhat sorry for Shepard for having to witness this conversation, sure, but that wasn't it either. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd never shown so much of herself so publicly. A selfish reason, but who wants to make a fool of themselves in front of a crowd? Especially knowing how this whole issue had nothing to do with her. If only she managed to take her own advice and mind her business and stew about it alone, when no one was looking. She needed to leave. And right now. She looked up at Shepard, almost begging the Commander with her eyes to break the deafening silence and thankfully, Shepard delivered.

"Come on, we're wasting time. Let's go back to Bailey."

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She spent the rest of the time sitting on a bench not too far from Bailey's office where Shepard and Thane conducted their impromptu interrogation. The waiting was killing her, sitting alone and overthinking her previous outburst wasn't proving very productive. She needed to sleep, or cry, or both. Anything to purge her system.

The pained expression of Thane also haunted her more than she'd like to admit. The man made many mistakes, and paid for most of them. Now it was a possibility that he'd lose the only thing left that he may have held dear to his heart. It really wasn't her place to lash out at him. Of course Shepard's coddling of him also rubbed her the wrong way, for more reasons than one. So, so selfish. The thought of ruining an innocent child's hopes and future still sent her fuming though. Why are children always the ones who have to suffer the most? It was never fair, never. They'd have to carry the burden, be molded by it and grow up with it. If they were lucky, they'd become healthy adults who'll know better than to inflict the same on their own children. If not, then regardless of the reason, they could be tempted to follow a bad example, like Kolyat.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Shepard return, Thane and another drell, his son, being escorted behind her by Bailey and his men. She didn't even realize they moved on from the interrogation. Just how much time has passed?

Thane and Kolyat were led into a separate room, while Shepard and Bailey discussed whatever happened and may come next. She breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes met Shepard's. They were all alive and seemingly well at the very least.

Bailey and the Commander continued talking for what seemed like an agonizingly long time before Shepard joined her. She spoke before the Commander could.

"Reunited at last. Did it go well?"

"Better than expected. We arrived before Kolyat could fulfill the contract. Bailey offered to provide a room for the two of them to catch up and... sort things out. They've been in there for a while now, we'll leave once they're done."

She listened but was somehow still distracted by how easily Shepard could solve problems. Attempted assassination, finding a ship that was lost a decade ago and saving its surviving crew, infiltrating a known criminal's home to steal something, and the list goes on and on. It never ceased to amaze her how Shepard managed to succeed at nearly everything. No wonder people put so much hope into them. But the Hero of the Citadel was still just one soldier and no matter how solid someone is under fire, the pressure of defeating yet another great threat, possibly relating to the reapers, could break anyone regardless of strength, training or experience. It's hard to believe she was a skeptic first.

Time sure proved her wrong.

Realizing that she's been staring blankly out of her head without acknowledging what was said, she nodded. "That's good, they probably have a lot to talk about. And Thane must have a lot of explaining to do." She regretted saying that immediately, fearing that Shepard may misunderstand it. She didn't mean any harm with this statement, not this time at least.

Luckily, before any more could be said, Bailey waved the two of them over, signaling that the family reunion has just ended. They could get ready to leave now. At last.

A silent shuttle ride later they arrived back to the Normandy and departed the Citadel.

The day finally ended, and not a moment too soon.

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I contemplated posting this, I’m not very happy with it, but I don’t know how to rewrite it. Oh well :/

Also, I’m very passionate about parents fucking up their own children (my personal experience is probably coloring my perception on this topic) and it bothered me how we can’t really call Thane out on his shit. I wish we could.

[godlyborn]

discord. | children of zeus and morpheus will fly.

Summary: Chiron reveals a prophecy that will send Rory and Ellie on a quest.

Ellie walked into Chiron's office, her heart pounded. Elliot understood what it meant when you were called into there sometimes. Though, when she saw Rory, she was confused. She barely knew the girl , just in passing and by name and godly parent. She knew that Jesse used to date her sister, but that's about it. She stood at the doorway, hesitant to walk in. Rory was already seated in the office, curling her knees into her chest on one of the chairs, as if that could calm her nerves. Chiron had told her that they were waiting on Ellie to arrive before they got started, so it was just the two of them sitting in semi-awkward silence on Rory's part as they waited. She almost let out a small sigh of relief when Ellie walked in, despite not really knowing the girl all that well, but gave her a small, shy smile regardless. Chiron smiled warmly at Ellie as she walked into his office. He was standing behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back. Rory didn't seem too keen to talk, so he'd simply waited the few minutes before he started asking questions. "Thank you both for coming, I appreciate it. How have the two of you been?" Ellie shrugged slightly. "You know, the unusual demigod things, college and work," Ellie joked. She took a seat in the chair next to Rory. "Sorry, but are we in trouble?" Rory uncurled herself when Ellie walked over, instead tucking them under herself, Indian style. She nodded along at Ellie's answer. "Yeah, that pretty much covers it up for me, too." She glanced over at the other girl. "I don't think so?" She then looked over at Chiron again. "Right?" "Oh no, not at all," he said. "Not in trouble, in fact I'm the one who has to trouble the two of you..." He cleared his throat. "There is a, ah, small quest that the gods have requested I arrange. I wanted to extend the task to you, if you will take it." "Quest? I'm honestly, not entirely sure what those entail," Ellie replied. Rory's eyebrows furrowed. "You need to send the two of us," She wiggled her finger in-between herself and Ellie. "on a quest?" Glancing at the other girl quickly, Rory felt some kind of comfort knowing that she wasn't the only one of the pair who had never been sent out of camp on a quest before, but she knew enough from Alex and Amber's stories. "Why do you think the two of us have to go?" "Well..." Chiron glanced down at the folded up piece of paper in front of him. He picked it up, hesitated, then unfolded it. On the page was a prophecy. "This is what the quest entails." The prophecy read: children of zeus and morpheus will fly  to right the wrong of three decades gone by they travel to a realm of idle bliss and find those lost to the timeless abyss two decedents with oneness of the mind shall the young heroes set out now to find but the true danger does not lie within though many tricks and tests the realm will spin instead the risk lies on the journey home where without care one will be cursed to roam

"I hope you can read my handwriting," Chiron said as he handed the paper over, "I was trying to get it down as fast as I could." "I'm a psychology major, not a english major, I don't analyze poems or whatever the fuck. What does this even mean?" Ellie replied. Rory bit her lip to try not to burst out laughing at Ellie's comment. There's was something that sounded slightly familiar to her, though she wasn't quite sure from where. Maybe heard in passing? "Well," she started when she was safe from laughing. "As comforting as that sounds for us. We're suppose to go find people?" Chiron couldn't help but smile, either. "That, I can explain in more detail. There are two, I suppose grandchildren of a minor goddess, Homonoia, that she would like to us to retrieve. They are believed to be stuck in the Lotus Hotel, which the prophecy seems to imply. Realm of idle bliss, timeless abyss, etcetera." "The Lotus Hotel? Isn't that somewhere on the west coast?" Ellie asked. Rory cursed under her breath when she heard The Lotus Hotel. No wonder it sounded familiar. "It's in Las Vegas. Amber got sent on a quest there a few years ago. But...why exactly do the gods want us to get find someone's grandkids exactly?" Chiron sighed. "I tried to get a straight answer from them but... Alas, this is all I was told. Lotus Hotel, heed the prophecy, find a set of twins. They were lost in the early 90s, I was told, and should be about your age. Now, I promised everyone that I would not force anyone to go on quests, I am sticking to my word. If you want to refuse, that is your decision and I will respect it." "So that's all we get to know? Do you at least know their names?" Ellie questioned. "We just get Lotus hotel, grandchildren, and twins, very fucking vague if you ask me." Rory stayed silent, glancing between Chiron and Ellie, hoping that they would at least get a little more information than that. "Unfortunately we are working with limited information," Chiron replied. "I don't have pictures or identifiable information. They have been missing for some time, and Homonoia does not have the same energy as the major gods. It is not as easy for her to visit and communicate with non-gods, so she only passed on the most vital information to me. If you accept this quest, I will provide transportation for you. Provided you find them quickly, you will be back within the week." Ellie looked over over to Rory. Ellie didn't know much about quests, nor did her siblings ever talk about any. "What do you think?" she asked. Rory turned slightly in her chair to face Ellie a bit more. "I don't know too much about the hotel, Amber didn't really go into detail about it? But, I'm a bit familiar." She shrugged lightly. "I'm if you are." She knew that if she rejected, then Bailey would be the next Zeus kid up, and figured if either of them should be thrown into a dangerous situation, it might as well be her. "We're in this together, I think." Ellie thought about everything her brothers have already been through, they had been vague, but she she could tell it hurt, and like hell would she do anything to put them through more. "Well, I guess we're in this together." Rory looked over at Chiron. "When do we leave?" Chiron released a breath, nodding. "Thank you. Let's give you the weekend to get yourselves ready. You can leave Monday or Tuesday." Ellie nodded. "Okay," she replied. "Any other vague statements that we need to know about?" Again, he couldn't help but look amused. "Not at the moment, but I'll let you know if I get any more messages." Rory mock saluted. "Yes, sir." She deadpanned, moving to stand up from her chair. Ellie stood. "Well, with that said, I'm going to peace, so I can warn my boyfriend and brothers so I don't disappear and they wonder where the heck I went for a week." Rory pointed at Ellie. "Same." She lifted her hand in farewell to Chiron before walking out with Ellie. "I guess I'll talk to you later?" "I guess so," Ellie said. "We got this."

"Yeah, we got this." Rory repeated, letting herself feel a bit more confident.   She started walking off in the direction of her and Keaton's apartment.  "Tell Ben I said hi."

[sassysweetstories]

Need You Back

Request: “Could you do a shawn mendes imagine where you guys have had history (like kind of dating but not really) and you guys broke up like a year ago but you two still like each other and you see him at a festival and you guys were texting like a week before hand saying how much you miss eachother and you two get really close in the middle of the crowd then have a passionate kiss and then maybe go back to your hotel? Haha idk it’s kind of an idea I thought of but I’ve missed your work xoxoxo”

Ship: Shawn Mendes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of heartbreak, sadness, angst, swearing, fluff, minor smut, kissing, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Tagged: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw@anamcg317@bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist @beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19@violence-and-velvet@lachicadelamanzana

Third P.O.V

It had been almost two years since the lovers had yet to face one another. That did not mean they did not cease communication entirely between that time interval. It was impossible, though what they had was somewhat sloppy, it was like any other kind of feeling. A bubbly sensation that formed at the mere sight of the other partner. Shawn would swoon every time he saw her do something as simple as smile. The way her cheeks tightened across and down by her lips made his chest constrict with this sort of bitter sweet pain that drove him crazy for her, and only her. (Y/n) too however, was not free from this torture, either. She loved when Shawn would throw his head back and laugh, his chest and back moving in a clear form of content that made her want to make him feel like that always. Those crystal clear moments made them both sure of how they felt. 

That’s why they stayed in contact for so long. The mere idea of pulling away both frightened and terrified the lovers to no end. Shawn would send her poems and little lyrics throughout the day. Small messages; reminders that his heart belonged to her and only her despite what the media loved to portray. And in return, she would quote bits and pieces of her favorite stories, little puns she’d find online that’d make his cheeks flush seven shades of crimson. Andrew had never seen Shawn so flustered and happy. But there seemed to be an ache they were both feeling. Whether they realized it or not, they needed each other back. It didn’t help that Shawn’s friends adored her, as did his fans. They all felt the missing piece that was (Y/n). A hole that only could be filled by her and her alone. 

When he wrote, he thought of her. The way she talked, moved and provided passion. It was a talented he’d been trying to perfect for ages that she seemed to have the capability of doing effortlessly. And he knew he couldn’t withhold from her any longer. Not after realizing she’d be going to the same festival his friends planned on taking him to. His heart pounding his chest with a different kind of drive and adrenaline. He was finally going to see her. Brian poked and prodded at Shawn, teasing the incessant communication between the two lovers. Silently living vicariously through them. Almost immediately, he leaves his friends behind for her. His chocolate brown eyes scanned the crowd, longing for her form. They cast up and down hundreds of bodies, all more different than the last and all he’s looking for is the one. 

But the moment he stops dead, he see her. They make the most simplest eye contact and his knees almost shattered from beneath him. God. He thinks to himself. She looks so ethereal. Her hair framed her face like a gorgeous painting. A living, breathing goddess. With warm, flustered, rosy cheeks, the sunset seemed to illuminate her features perfectly. A necklace that dripped down her v-neck that seemed to flaunt off the outline of her beautiful breasts. They seemed to look at one another for what felt like forever, mesmerized by the other. Shawn’s cheeks rushed red with rosy delight, a sight she’d long forgotten and craved. His shoulders had gotten broader and his chest, now, so tight, you could see the distinct outline of his pecks and abs. His thick thighs were wrapped neatly together with his skinny jeans, making him look even taller in the sea of people. 

They moved in unison, with an unspeakable, uncontrollable drive. Her strides got faster and he matched with quick intent, wanting nothing more than to be in her arms once more. Weaving through the bodies with light feet until she jumped in his arms. He was quick to pick her up and place his lips onto hers. They were still the same, warm and plump. Just like she remembered. Hers were still sweet and he swooned at the mere thought of being in her grasp once more. He set her down but not once did his arms leave her waist, pulling and tugging at the clothes he wished he could rid. He wants her all to himself. She is his goddess and all he wants to do is pray. Knees weak for her and only her. When (Y/n) finally pulls away, she swears his chocolate brown eyes and curly locks make her heart stop entirely. He’s just so handsome, so immaculate. 

His smile looks like heaven itself and she can’t believe she’s the reason behind it. Caressing her cheek with such sincerity, (Y/n) can’t help but shiver under his touch. “I think there’s a lot of catching up for us to do.” She nodded, pecking his lips before drawing hers up to his ear. “Not here. My hotel room. Also you might wanna bid your friends a goodbye because I don’t intend on letting you go all night.” Immediately his eyes turn dark with ache, love and lust. All things she seems to have control over when it comes to the young musician. He doesn’t bother to look back at his friends, not when she’s finally so close. When they reach the hotel, his hands are everywhere. “Fuck, I missed you so bad.” He moaned against her lips. “Not just this, everything. The way you talk, down to the way you move. You’re my own dose of heroin and I can’t get enough.” 

She remembers the first night they broke up and instinctively pulls him closer. Something simple as skin to skin contact brings her clarity of mind. “I need you back. I can’t lose you again.” (Y/n) muttered against his lips, eyes wide with innocence and honesty it breaks Shawn’s heart. He remembers the way she cried, sobbed and screamed. He pulls her close to his toned chest, never letting go. “I love you so much.” 

(I hope you guys liked it! PLEASE FUCKING COMMENT) 

[casskaykingston]

momma who bore me:

cass & olivia kingston ; sunday, january the 27rd. 11:40 AM.

tw: past and current verbal/emotional abuse

The first time Cassidy Kay Kingston II set eyes on Olivia Charlotte Dean, the first thing he wonders is where she came from, because it hadn’t been from here. He knew Wilmington inside and out, nearly every moment of his twenty five years being spent here, and he knew the townsfolk, their families, their daughters. She couldn’t have been one of them. Because if she had, C.K. would’ve tried to make his move long ago. He spotted her for the first time while at the grocers, Stetson in his hands while he waits to pick up the ham his mother wants for supper, and he sees her. Strawberry blonde hair, the deep blue eyes of an angel, and a smile that quite frankly made his head stop. Little pearl earrings catch the artificial light from above them as she stands on her tiptoes to accept the slice of strawberry shortcake from the baker, and C.K. is momentarily mesmerized by the swing of her light green skirt. Turning around, he kind of stares aimlessly at the glass in front of him, lunchmeat not processing to blue-green eyes as the mental image of that skirt flirts through his mind, taking a few moments before his stupidity hits him like a shock of lightning as he bolts towards the door.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, miss!”

A wrinkle of a creamy brow, and the mystery girl turns, one hand on her car door as she had been preparing to leave. He makes a bit of a sight, scuffed up button down with a kerchief around his neck, cowboy hat being murdered as he crumples it in his hands, dirty blonde hair with a slight cowlick and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He's handsome, sure, but not traditionally so, and it's not the smile lines by his eyes that makes her keep pausing. It's the slow draw of a crooked smile, and the words he lets drop his country boy accent as casual as you please. “I'm sorry for stopping you, but…” he shakes his head, and the wattage in that smile slides up just a tick. “I couldn't let the prettiest thing I'd ever laid my eyes on just up ‘n walk away.”

Months of courtship and a pearl and diamond engagement ring later, and twenty year old former secretary from Virginia has become a wife. Not only a wife, but Olivia Kingston, steadily adjusting to a new world wherein walking out the front door of her home normally greeted her with sweaty men and plentiful horses. Fast forward four years, and she's cradling a baby given to her by the man who'd stopped her, a boy who carried his same name. Crystalline blues blink up at her, downy blond hair on his small head, and Olivia coos at the person who already held her whole heart, rocking him in the same chair his grandmother had rocked his father. “I'm going to love you always, sweet boy.” She whispers to him, thinking there could be nothing more beautiful than he, this child she had made and would try to fill his life with joy. “You can always, always count on me.”

Cut to now, Cass and his mother taking a walk on one of the trails in the woods that framed his house on three sides. There was no snow today, but a cold rain had fallen the night before, the thin layers of ice crunching underneath their boots. Olivia, Hudson's leash in her gloved hands, having been talking to her son for ten minutes or so so far, discussing the plans she has for a new menu once the seasons change once more. That's one area of the business Cass tends to stay out of, leaving it to his very competent and qualified head chef and his only a bit less skilled in the kitchen Momma, especially after her strawberry lemonade recipe was a smash hit and helped put the as then fledgling B & B on the map. Today, however, Cass isn't much interested in what successes they've had in the past adding a specific amount of cinnamon to their French toast recipe. What he wants to do is ask his mother is something he's wanted to know since the time his father grilled him mercilessly at the table because he'd started on his chores late after going to football tryouts. What he'd wanted to know since he'd stopped depending on his mom having his back when it was against his father. It was an uncomfortable conversation to have with a loved one, especially so close on the heels of the catastrophic one he’d had with Amy barely three days before, but it was one he’d already been avoiding for years.

Pushing the past the feelings of dread that wrapped their uncomfortable fingers around his throat every time he'd imagined this semi confrontation, Cass clears his throat, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of the vest atop his fleece lined jean jacket. “Momma, I need to talk to you about something.”

The furrow in Olivia's brow that her son inherited makes an appearance at what he says, pulling a wayward strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. Smile lines crinkle as she frowns, touching his arm. “Cassidy, honey, what's wrong.”

“What's wrong,” her son begins, subtly moving his arm, forcing his steps to keep going and not lose his nerve. “Is Dad. And how I need to distance myself from him. And why...why you weren't there for me. Then. Now.” Cass's hands curl into themselves, hidden by the puffy fabric of the vest he wore, and he isn't sure his lips are cold because of the temperature or because of the words he's trying to push out of them.

“What do you mean? There's nothing you can't ask me for Cassidy; you're my son. I would do anything -”

“Yeah. Anything. Anything but protect me from Dad.”

Olivia falls silent for a moment, Hudson's overly loud sniffing as he inspects a place to pee stopping their progress, causing them to halt. “I know your Dad is hard on you. But he really does love you and want the best.”

“Does he, Momma?” The thirty two year old man's voice is rusty and short, hard on his throat. “Does he though? Did he want what was best for me when he made sure Greer and Bailey knew how much they were loved and cared for and couldn’t do anything wrong? And if I looked in the wrong direction when he was talking to me, I’d get a lecture that lasted for hours and made me feel like a piece of shit. No fourteen year old should feel like a piece of shit, Momma.”

On some level, Olivia had known that the relationship between her husband and her son wasn’t exactly the best. For the few years, maybe there had been the kind of relationship she always dreamed of for them, but when the girls rolled around she noticed a difference. Showering attention on the other two, C.K. treating Cass more seriously and differently. When he got older, and C.K.’s attention shifted to the next generation leading the ranch, Olivia had mostly left it up to the two of them. Bonding time, she thought. Sure, she noticed over the years that Cass hated being alone with C.K. Spent as much time out of the house as he could if he wasn’t working, thin lips and blue eyes that forcibly cleared of pain when they locked on her own. Their moments had been private, private and devastating in a way she wasn’t aware of. Devastating in a way that she was only hearing now.

“In the beginning, it wasn’t too bad. He’d praise me for getting a full day of work done, for making the football team. And then it seemed to be few and between, the kind words. The spaces between them were killed with nasty ones that made me feel like the lowest of the low. I couldn’t do anything to please him, Momma. Couldn’t then, absolutely can’t now. Not when I committed the gross sin of leaving. I wasn’t going to come back, Momma. Not at all. Not when he was what I was coming back to.”

“Cassidy, sweetie - “

“Actually, can you wait until I’m done?” Cass interrupts, shooting blue eyes sidelong to her. He might not be walking to a noose but every moment spent talking about this seemed to tighten around his neck, a suffocating hand of years of hurt and frustration bubbling up and anxious to escape. This isn’t a safe space the same way that Ashley’s office is, and Cass isn’t sure how to operate in it. To reveal the dark truths hiding in his Momma’s house, but then again - hadn’t she been the one to turn a blind eye? Hadn’t she been only a passive ally? It was only after the accident that she started helping him keep distance between he and his father, that dark spectre that had tainted so many things in Cass’s life. Including, it seemed, his relationship with his mother.

“On my sixteenth birthday, he gave me shit for not showing up to work that night. My friends threw me a surprise party at one of their houses, and I thought he’d be fine. He liked that I was popular, after all. A good face for the family.” The bearded man laughs, but it’s not the full and golden one he usually lets out. This one is scratchy and raw from past pains and incredulity of the sheer lack of humanity C.K. had shown him for much of his life. Something Cass would never, ever do to a loved one, much less a kid. Another pang, a reminder of the fight he was struggling through with Amy, and the thirty two year old fights the urge to grab at his heart. It wasn’t going to ease the hurt. “When I got home, you made me a cake. He didn’t sing me Happy Birthday with you and Greer and Bailey - and when everyone else went to sleep, he came to my room and told me how ashamed he was to have a son who rang in such an ‘important’ age with irresponsibility.”

They’ve given up on walking at this point. Hudson, let off the leash, eats snow and bounds around about them until the stress radiating from his owner reaches the point that even the dog feels it and tries to make his owner feel better. Stories spill from Cass, ugly ones with poisonous words and memories that still whip his spirit. The lectures of the way he wasn’t, couldn’t ever measure up. References to him in front of others designed to tear him down piece by piece. At every turn, Cass was a disappointment. A blight to his father and his name. How no matter how long he worked at the ranch, he was still the traitor who’d left the business behind. How C.K. refused to acknowledge any good that Cass did, anything that went wrong automatically was his fault. How scared he would be when bringing home a C, how many nights he stayed up wondering if his father was right. The incidents that he only recognized now, mostly on the other side of it, as anxiety attacks when C.K. was on the warpath. As he continued to talk, Olivia’s hands slowly seem to rise, covering her mouth. Horror is reflected back at him from his mother, horror and a deep seated sense of inadequacy; for all that C.K. had been a bad parent with all the bells and whistles, even if Olivia couldn’t quite believe all of it, she had failed in her protection of him. “I’m sorry.” Is all she manages to get out, whispered at intervals, soft with regret.

“Momma, he’s literally told me the only things he has to be proud of are Greer, Bailey, and the ranch. When Amy came over for dinner, he couldn’t stop talking about how I’d tricked her into being there. How I had to be holding something over her, or she wouldn’t be there. Because who would want to date his failure of a son, huh Momma?” Winter still has its grips on the landscape, inhabiting the seat sized rocks they’d managed to find on the trails, seeping through Cass’s jeans and yet not the cause of the shake in the broad mans voice. Cass was 220 lbs, almost 80% completely muscle, and six three, carrying an imposing figure that few wanted to mess with. Talking about his father, he seemed frailer, weaker, genuine belief in what had been drilled into his head for over thirty years almost making him try and fit into the descriptive terms C.K. assigned to him so many times. “All I’ve ever heard from Dad for years has been that I’m weak. Stupid. Useless. Incapable of doing easy things the right way, and always a step away from disaster. He’s always right. I’m always wrong. I’m not an iota of the man he is, to hear him say it. And do you know what’s the worst thing? It’s that I know I’m not. At the very least. I don’t use my words to hurt people. To make them feel like horse shit on someones shoe is probably of more use than you. But he’s poisoned me, Momma, and I hate it. He’s targeted me so many times that sometimes, my thoughts turn to aiming at others the same way. I just had a fight with Amy - and no, I don’t want to talk about it - and I said horrible things to her. I knew what to say, how it was going to hurt, where she was vulnerable. I don’t want to know where my girlfriend is vulnerable, Momma. If I do, I should only learn so I can figure out how to protect it. Not use it against her.”

A touch, Olivia’s hand on his knee, and Cass looks up at her with eyes that he’d deny to his grave were stinging, shaking his head, not done. “When he discovered that the other ranch hands actually liked me, that working wasn’t as bad with them, he made it a point to give me solitary assignments if I’d pissed him off. He reminds me every moment that the ranch is not mine, that it was his name first that goes on it and all its successes are his, all its failures are mine. If I lost a football game, he’d give me the silent treatment for a week. He’d only talk when at the dinner table, because you and the girls were there. He made jokes about erectile dysfunction when my friends were over. I learned how to stop bringing people that weren’t my forewarned girlfriends over the house so my dad would stop trying to sabotage my friendships. Do you know how long it took me to realize that other kids dads weren’t like that? Too long. I doubted everything. Dad made me believe I was just being overly sensitive, that he was just trying to push me to accomplish more. To reach my full potential. I should’ve known I’d never be enough. I won’t ever be, not for him.” A harsh truth, but one that Cass had come far enough to be able to say. Even if in his core, the root of him, longs for one sign of his father being proud of everything. Despite of everything. Because of everything. Hope, that hardest bastard to kill. His eyes give up the ghost, let tears slip down ruddy cheeks and disappear into a full beard, sparkes of shine in the gold. Hudson’s head is heavy in his lap, big brown eyes concerned whilst Cass’s shaking hands stroke his dogs forehead, gaze dropped as it had been for most of his unloading. Olivia, having long since started crying, just keeps rubbing his leg and nodding her head.

“For years I thought I was selfish for wanting his love, when he only seemed to have enough for my sisters and not for me. This ranch - this damned ranch, this thing that I love, this place that I call home and work and that I pour my existence into to make it work, the B & B that was my brainchild and my greatest pride - it’s a miracle that I’ve gotten to this place. Crazy that I feel about it the way I do. Because for years, I know it’s meant more to my father than my own life. I’m so angry about it, Momma. I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I hate being around him, and you have to let me cut him off. You have to.” Olivia’s arm curls around his shoulders, shushes falling from lips that kissed him on the forehead more times that he could count, and Cass holds on, even as he chokes out the last words,  a show of stark vulnerability he could only show with his mom. “You didn’t protect me then. But dammit, Momma. You’ve gotta do it now. You’ve got to…”

Sure, Ashley’s prompting in therapy had been a big push to getting him there. The recent blow up he’d had with C.K., Olivia absent as always, when he laid into him for the burned barn, disparaging words about being too distracted by his relationship to do his job properly, of blaming him for hiring pyromaniac workers, and more that Cass is sure he would’ve had if he hadn’t found the strength to book it out of there, that probably helped. Whatever the final push, this was long overdue. How his mom would react to it, only time would tell, but he’d said his truth. Laid out how she’d done him wrong, and explained how. She’d apologized. And she’d probably keep doing it, even now when his tears get absorbed by her scarf and she rocks back and forth with the two of them, a woman half his size who’d been tasked with protecting her son and who had failed. Time would tell where the revelation would take them.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - THE NEW FACILITY

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Length: 2,050ish

Summary: Tony shows Bailey the new facility. Thor leaves.

The next 20 days went by fast. Pepper stopped by and visited a few times, mainly to work with Tony on the new facility and Stark Industries stuff. But when she did stop and talk to me, she was worried. Tony definitely had mentioned that something was up and that he wasn’t getting through to me. I kept on top of my training with Nat. Wanda even began joining us. Both her and Vision began to become one of us, part of the team, the family. We chatted a lot. I could tell that they were both keeping an eye on me. Vision knew what was held in those files and was worried that something would happen to my head again. I knew that he would never tell anyone or push me to talk about it. Wanda was the same. 

I didn’t see Steve or Rhodey much, they were too busy helping Tony and Pepper move things into the new facility. When I wasn’t training, I was doing homework. My goal was to get my associates by the end of the summer. It was now the end of May. The morning of the 28th in fact. I was at the island that was in the kitchen on my floor when Tony came out of the elevator. I looked up. He had sun glasses on, slacks, a t-shirt with a suit jacket over it, and he was tossing car keys up and catching them as he walked. We hadn’t had any real or deep conversations since Ultron. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted, walking towards me.

“Hey, Dad,” I responded. “What’s up?”

“Well…” He slid a bar stool out and sat on it. “The new facility is finished and I was wondering if you would like to drive up to check it out with me?”

“When?”

“Right now.”

“Right now? I don’t know… I’m trying to finish up on som—“

“You can finish up on homework later. Come on! You know it will be fun.” He looked over his sunglasses and raised an eyebrow at me. 

“Fine…” 

“Great.” He quickly got up and started walking to the elevator. “Let’s get a move on!”

I hurried at grabbed my shoes and a jacket and put them on in the elevator as we made our down to the garage floor. The car was he had chosen ready and started. It was his orange Audi, one of my favorites. We got in, Tony turned on some ACDC, and then sped out of there. Tony has never been one for speed limits. He was pretty careful in the city but once we got out of there and into the less populated areas, he could have cared less. I stared out the window, watching everything that we passed. It had been about an hour before either of us spoke. Tony turned the music down a little and then cleared his throat. 

“So…” He started. He was nervous about something, I could tell. But I didn’t understand what he had to be nervous about. “Romanoff said that you’re almost done with all your classes.”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, keeping my eyes on what was outside the window.

“That’s good.”

“Yupp.” I popped the ‘p’ for extra sass.

“You know, I’m here if you ever need anything. You know if you ever wanna just talk or—“

“I know, Dad.” I finally turned and looked at him. “I just don’t have anything interesting to say.”

“Are you sure?”

I rolled my eyes. He was trying to get me to talk about my files. He obviously hasn’t found them or he just wanted to hear it from me. “Yes, I’m sure. You’ll be the first to hear if I have anything interesting to say… You know… it’s the same for you. If you have anything you need to say, you can tell me.”

“Actually, I do.” My eyes widen a bit. That was not the answer I was used to. “I… umm… I think I’m going to stop with the hero thing for a bit. Focus on the company more… Focus on you and Pepper more. How does that sound?”

“I… um… Are you serious?”

“I’m completely serious. I’ve thought it through and I need some down time. Plus you don’t like me out all the time doing superhero stuff and we both know Pep hates it.” I nodded in agreement. “I can focus more time on you… We can build things together or go on actual vacations. What ever we decide.”

“That sounds amazing.” Almost too good to be true.

Tony and I looked at each and smiled. He turned his eyes back to the road as he reached out and squeezed my knee. We pulled up to a gate. It opened for us. We started down the long, dirt drive. Trees were everywhere, surrounding the facility. When it was in view, I was in awe. It was beautiful. A quinjet was just landing, people were bustling around. It was awesome. A hidden garage door opened and we parked. I quickly hopped out.

“First impressions?” Tony wondered.

“It’s amazing.” I replied.

“And you haven’t even seen it all yet.” He started for the door. “Come on kid! You’re about to get the grand tour.”

I ran after him. We walked around every part of the facility. People were everywhere and, of course, things were still getting put in their places. The labs were amazing and had all the new tech. The training rooms could run any possible simulation you could be in. It was all so cool! We entered the living area of the facility. There were rooms for every one of the Avengers, even the new additions like Falcon (Sam), Scarlett Witch (Wanda), War Machine (Rhodey), and Vision. I was walking a little ahead of Tony and hadn’t noticed him stop in front of a bedroom door. I turned around when I didn’t hear his footsteps behind me anymore. He was leaning against the wall to the side of the door, arms folded, looking at me.

“Why’d you stop?” I asked, walking to him. “I’m not done seeing the place!”

He laughed. “I know.” He put his hand on the door knob. “I just thought you’d want to see this.” He opened the door and then motioned with his head for me to go in there. 

I slowly walked in. I could tell that it was decorated specifically with me in mind. “Is this— Is this my room?”

“It is. Of course you won’t be living here permanently, you’re not an official Avenger. But when you do stay here for training or to hang out with the rest of the team, this is your room.”

I turned around and ran up and hugged him. “Thanks Dad.”

He wrapped his arms around me. “You’re welcome sweetheart.” He patted me on the back. “Now we have to hurry and met up with Cap and Thor before Thor leaves. Then we’re going to head out ourselves.”

“Thor’s leaving?” I questioned, unwrapping myself from him.

Tony nodded, turned around and threw his arm over my shoulders. “Yeah, I’m sad to see him go too.”

We met Steve and Thor in a long hallway with windows that looked over the grounds. It was beautiful. Tony took his arm off my shoulders and we all started walking down the hallway. I was closest to the windows withTony next to me, then Thor, and then Steve. We began talking about Vision lifting the hammer.

“The rules have changed,” Steve said.

“We’re dealing with something new,” Tony stated.

“Well, the Vision’s artificial intelligence.”

“A machine,” I added.

“So it doesn’t count?” Steve questioned.

“No. It’s not like a person lifting the hammer.” Said Tony.

“Right… Different rules for us.” Steve motioned to himself and Tony.

“Nice guy, but artificial.”

“Thank you,” Steve said as I laughed.

“He can wield the hammer, he can keep the mind stone.” Thor assured. “It’s safe with the Vision and these days, safe is in short supply.”

“But if you put the hammer in an elevator…” Steve wondered. 

“It would still go up,” Tony quickly responded.

“Elevator’s not worthy,” Steve shook his head. 

I laughed. “This is ridiculous. You guys are fighting over picking up a hammer.” The three of them chuckled a bit at my statement.

Thor put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss these little talks of ours.” He commented.

“Well, not if you don’t leave,” I said.

“I have no choice,” Thor responded. “The mind stone is the fourth of the Infinity Stones to show up in the last few years. That’s not a coincidence.” We walked out the doors to the yard. It was busy out here as well. They were training new agents. “Someone has been playing an intricate game and has made pawns of us. But once all these pieces are in position—“

“Triple yahtzee?” Tony joked. I rolled my eyes at him. He just shrugged.

“You think you can find out what’s coming?” Steve asked. We stopped walking.

“I do,” Thor answered. “Besides this one,” Thor gently hit Tony in the chest as he walked away from us. “There’s nothing that can’t be explained.” 

“Don’t stay away too long, Thor,” I flirted.

“Of course not. I’m going to miss your beauty too much, Lady Bailey.” Thor flirted back. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tony tense up. I could tell he was uncomfortable with people flirting with me. And people have been doing it more and more lately. Stark Industry employees may not know exactly who I am, but they are familiar enough with me and some of the guys have started to flirt with me. At first, I was kind of weirded out since I’d never really been flirted with before. Tony didn’t let me go to public school with people my age. I’ve now gotten used to the flirting and quite enjoy it, well, depending on who’s doing the flirting. I waved to Thor as he lifted his hammer up and disappeared. He left a burnt patch in the lawn. 

Tony shook his head. “That man has no regard for lawn maintenance.” The three of us turned around and started walking towards the dirt drive way. “I’m gonna miss him though… And you’re gonna miss me. There’s gonna be a lot of manful tears.” Tony pulled out his key and summoned his car. 

“I will miss you, Tony.” Steve agreed. 

“Yeah?” Tony questioned. “Well it’s time for me to tap out. Maybe I should take a page out of Barton’s book and build Pepper and Bailey a farm, hope nobody blows it up.”

“The simple life.”

“You’ll get there one day.” 

“I don’t know, family, stability… The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out.” Steve and I made eye contact, the conversation from a month ago replaying through my head. 

Tony opened the door to the car as I walked up to Steve. “I’ll see you soon, Cap.” I said, hugging him.

“Don’t be a stranger.” He replied.

I let go and pulled back. “Of course not. You know that I’ll be here all the time and I’ll constantly be calling you. I’m your annoying best friend.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He kissed my cheek.

I blushed a little then walked to the passenger side and slid into the car. I could still feel Steve’s eyes on me. Tony must of noticed something or Steve’s face was off.

“You alright?” Tony asked. 

Steve quickly looked around. “I’m home.” Steve answered. 

Tony smirked and then got into the car. I waved to Steve as we drove off. He smiled and waved back. I faced the road, smiling. For once in a really long time, I was excited for what the future would bring. Tony was semi-retiring, he was also going to let me up to the new facility and train, I was almost done with high school, Steve and I were still best friends. Everything was slowly starting to look up. But, like always, I spoke too soon.

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