#i love a good extended campaign but that held no interest for me

[mistyunmoored]

now that the shock has died down, I have both good and mixed feelings about a Mercer D20 campaign. on one hand, it was pretty much inevitable after exu calamity and aabria bouncing around everywhere to complete the trifecta, and I think if he has the right cast it could be really magical. d20 clearly wants to have a mix of folks behind the screen for different campaigns, and as they continue to be a huge name in the ttrpg space he was bound to come in. that being said, i don’t really vibe much with cr’s extended campaigns? i’ve tried, but I only really loved exu calamity, which i started watching for obvious brennan and lou-related reasons, and loved because of the tight plot, brennan’s mastery of storytelling, and the cast being laser-focused on it. 

this might mean that matt’s style might work much better for me in a shorter campaign. or it could be really jarring and too condensed and weird without him in his usual element with his usual players. idk. i want it to be good, but i don’t think dropout should have teased it in the middle of the current season with JUST matt’s face and nothing else, it leans a little too hard on him as advertising. it’s clearly gonna make a lot of $$ for dropout, which we do always love to see. 

[strangersatellites]

happy valentine’s day steddie nation! have some lumax & steddie shenanigans as a treat! i love you all! 🫶🏼

February 11th, 1987

It’s not that she’s particularly interested in watching E.T. again. It's more so the fact that the back of the VHS box has enough words that she can pretend to read it for an extended period of time without looking suspicious. 

See, Max is a planner. She plans. Plots might actually be a better word. Perhaps even schemes.

Whatever. She plans. 

When the time is right, she executes. 

Luckily, Lucas is good for two (2) things. 

Anything and everything Max asks of him

Causing problems on purpose

That’s how she finds herself here. Pretending to read the back of a movie she’s seen at least ten times while she acts like she’s not able to hear the conversation happening at the Family Video counter.

“Oh come on! It’s for Valentine’s Day!”

Steve stops whatever he’s trying to do on the tv and props a hand on his hip while he levels Lucas with a look.

“What makes you think I don’t have plans already, Sinclair? Huh? I could have my own date to plan for all you know.”

Lucas snorts. “Yeah, right. Please, Steve? I already told Max you said yes so she’s expecting it to be a whole thing! I’ll ask Eddie to drop us off and everything! Plus, my mom said we can only have a date if you chaperone and no offense, but I’m not taking you to a restaurant.”

“Well maybe we need to practice honesty in our relationships,” Steve says, pointing the tv remote at him. “You’re lucky Max is my favorite, or else you would’ve been in deep shit. Now what did you tell her I was cooking?”

Max has to hide a giggle behind the horror movie display at the way Lucas visibly sags in relief. He throws her a wink when Steve turns back to the screen. 

*****

February 12th, 1987

Finding the money is easy. 

It’s not Max’s fault Eddie is an absolute idiot and leaves his wallet in his unlocked van during Hellfire. 

The man is just asking to be a victim of petty theft.

Plus, she doubts he even pays enough attention to the amount of money he has in there anyway. He probably won’t even know it's gone. 

Picking the flowers out wasn’t difficult either. 

Steve’s favorite flowers are tulips, and under any other circumstances they would be the obvious choice. But everyone knows a dozen red roses means true love. 

And it's Valentine’s Day. Come on.

The florist had watched the pair look at all the flowers with a twinkle in her eye. No doubt she thought Lucas was buying them for Max. 

Gross.

Convincing her that they needed them delivered to Family Video on Valentine’s Day was a little trickier.

“No they’re not for me, ew.” and “They’re for a friend.” and “Yes, we know it's last minute.”

But arguably the most difficult part had been choosing what to put on the card. 

They’re sitting on the sidewalk outside the arcade writing and crossing out and writing again while everyone else is inside.

“Lucas, are you kidding me? We can’t just say Happy Valentine’s Day. That’s so lame.”

He throws his hands up in an exasperated gesture. “Well what else? We can’t be all ‘roses are red, violets are blue, I’m a big dumb idiot who won’t make a move.’”

Max snorts a laugh and gives him a conspiratory smile before she starts writing on the back of a receipt.

“No. But you know what we can do?”

*****

February 13th, 1987

“I don’t know… this feels a little risky.”

Max swats at Lucas’s bicep and glares. 

“Just trust me. All we have to do is get Eddie there and his own desperate need to be nosy will do the rest.”

Lucas takes a deep breath in and accepts his fate. “If this doesn’t work it's your fault.”

She just rolls her eyes and shoves him up and off the couch. 

They’re in the Wheeler’s basement finishing up yesterday’s campaign so they can all have Valentine’s day to do their own thing. Eddie called for a ten minute break after Mike and Dustin had to very nearly be physically held back during an argument about what move they should make next. 

He’s propped on the arm of his chair and writing something in a little notebook when Lucas approaches. 

“Uh hey, Eddie? Can I ask you something?”

The older boy raises his eyes up to meet Lucas’s and squints at him.

“Roll for charisma.”

Now it's Lucas’s turn to roll his eyes. “Are you serious?”

Eddie breaks into a bright smile and settles into his seat with a laugh. “Nah, man. What’s up, Sinclair?”

“Are you busy tomorrow? Do you have any plans for Valentine’s Day I mean?”

Eddie’s brows furrow and he tilts his head a bit. “No way, dude. I’ll be sitting at home with a movie and a bowl of Wayne’s spaghetti if the past is any indication of how my day will play out. Besides, you know how I feel about all that shit.”

Max squints from her place on the couch braiding El’s hair. She does know how he feels about all that shit. She heard him telling Robin alllllllll about how he wanted to have a real Valentine’s Day date one day. 

She’s grateful at this moment that he’s publicly sticking to his guns. No “forced conformity” in sight.

That would’ve ruined the plan.

“Perfect!” Lucas claps.

Max cringes but he recovers.

“Uh, I mean– I mean that’s perfect for me then! I was going to ask if you could come pick me up from Steve’s tomorrow. He told me he’d let me go through his closet and pick out something to wear.” He looks down and picks at a string on his jacket and Max has to hand it to him. His acting skills are pretty impressive. “I’m taking Max on a real date tomorrow.”

Eddie’s face softens and he cuts the shit with his false bravado almost instantly.

“That’s sweet, man. But why can’t Harrington drive you to Max’s exactly?”

And shit.

Max didn’t think Eddie would question him. Not with the way he drives them places all the time. 

Then again so does Steve. So maybe that was a bit of an oversight.

But Lucas takes it in stride. “Oh he said something about cooking for his own date when I leave.”

Max might be a bit more worried about Lucas’s ability to lie off the cuff if she weren’t so impressed.

Eddie just nods. “Sure, kiddo. I’ll be there at 7 o’clock sharp.”

Easy.

Now they wait.

*****

February 14th, 1987

Max is sitting on the counter swinging her feet while Steve and Robin bicker back and forth about what order the new display movies should go in.

It’s ten minutes before six and she’s starting to get nervous.

Her inner monologue is screaming, “I knew she would forget to deliver them.”

Just about the time she’s going to ask to use Keith’s phone to call Lucas, the florist van pulls up.

Steve furrows his brow and looks at Robin. She just raises her shoulders and shakes her head. He opens the door and leans against it.

A young girl hops out of the passenger seat with the prettiest bouquet of red roses Max has ever seen. She has to bite back her own smile. 

“Hi!” The girl greets while rustling through the leaves to find the card. “Delivery for uh– Stevie?”

Robin snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and stutters out a “I’ll just get those. Yeah– yeah thanks. Have a good one,” and comes back inside.

Max puts on her game face when he puts them on the counter and steps back with his hands on his hips. 

Robin has propped her chin in her hands and is looking on with barely concealed glee.

Max levels him with a bored look. “So… What does the card say?”

He reaches for the card and reads it quietly to himself. If Max isn’t mistaken, his cheeks are dusted with a pink flush.

He smiles and laughs. “They’re from Eds.”

Eds? Gross.

“Dear Stevie, something happened and I'm head over heels. Happy Valentine’s Day. Love, Eddie.”

Robin mimes being struck by Cupid and Steve giggles at her antics and thumbs over the petals of one of the flowers with a soft smile.

Before Max can unpack that, the door bursts open so hard the bell swings into the glass with a clang.

Steve’s head snaps to the door with a “LUCAS!” already ringing out through the store.

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture and catches his breath.

“Sorry! Sorry! Max, you ready to go?”

And, oh. Right. 

She hops off the counter and grabs her bag. Spins around to Robin and Steve with a smile.

She leans in to whisper, “We’re going somewhere on a date tonight. He thinks I don’t know.”

Robin bites back another smile and salutes Lucas while Steve laughs under his breath and grabs his own keys and the vase off the counter.

“Have fun kiddos! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Robin calls out as they take off out the door.

*****

As riveting as the idea of hiding in a bush and watching Steve cook and sing to himself for an hour sounds, in practice it is painfully boring.

“Seriously? We couldn’t have just gone to the arcade until 7 o’clock?” Lucas angry-whispers.

Max adjusts her elbows on her knees so her binoculars are steadier.

“No. We need to be here to make sure everything goes to plan.”

Lucas groans and Max gives him an aggressive shush.

“Steve already liked the flowers and he double checked with me yesterday that you still wanted his homemade pizza. Literally all Eddie has to do is show up and take the bait.”

Now it’s Max who’s groaning. “Ugh, I don’t know, okay! But it's like five minutes ‘til seven anyway so it doesn’t matter.”

It’s just when they see Steve set the plates on either side of the bouquet on the table that they hear the sound of Eddie’s van turning into the driveway.

They both inhale sharply and duck further behind the bushes. 

When Eddie climbs out he looks… nice.

Nice for Eddie at least. 

There’s no chains, no dirty sneakers. Instead there’s a black button up and his nice boots. He’s got his hair half pulled up and all of his earrings in.

Max and Lucas share a bewildered look. Surely he didn’t lie about not having plans tonight, right?

Realistically the two know they’re too far away to hear or be heard but that doesn’t stop them from holding their breath as Eddie knocks on the door.

Steve opens it with a towel slung over his shoulder. He’s dressed the part too. Dark jeans and a dark red sweater, looking exactly like a parent chaperoning a kid’s date.

His smile is bright as he opens the door and gestures for Eddie to come inside. 

They stand beside the foyer window and chat while the two look on through binoculars with bated breath. 

“Surely Eddie’s noticed I’m not there by now, right?” Lucas questions.

Max hums and nods. “Yeah and I’m guessing that Steve has realized Eddie isn’t dropping us off either.”

The two boys throw their heads back in what they can only assume to be hearty laughter from their lack of sound. Steve nods his head towards the kitchen and Eddie gestures for him to lead the way.

“It worked! Max! It actually worked! He’s staying!”

Steve pulls out Eddie’s chair and lights the candles; dims the lights, and takes his own seat.

Max just laughs. “Of course it worked. They’ve been into each other for months! They’re both just too stupid to notice it without a little push!”

They look on in silence as Steve has magically procured a bottle of wine and two glasses and is filling them while they talk.

Lucas smiles and nudges Max with his shoulder. “Dude. Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

She smiles back and punches his arm. “Yeah. Best one ever.”

*****

Meanwhile in the Harrington House

“So, should we tell them?”

Eddie snorts. “Tell them what? That we knew they were trying to set us up or that we’ve been together for four months?”

Now it’s Steve who’s laughing. “I was thinking more about the fact that we can see them in the bushes.”

“Nah. I want to keep that one until I need to sandbag them for something.”

Steve shakes his head and looks at the table.

Eddie grabs his hand and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Hey.”

Steve looks up and meets his eyes, gets a little lost in the way they sparkle in the candlelight.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

He lifts Eddie’s hand and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles, the new devil ring Steve gave him before he left this morning.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eds.”

Maybe if Max and Lucas had looked a little closer, they would have noticed that the plates on the table didn’t have homemade pizza, they had spaghetti.

That the bouquet on the table wasn’t a dozen roses.

It was tulips.

[caesarflickermans]

What's sparked the rebellion? Was it Katniss' volunteering for Prim, Rue’s death, the berries, or was it before all of that?

How does many THG victors joined or being recruited for the rebellion?

Thoughts?

Thank you 😊

@curiousnonny

What's sparked the rebellion? Was it Katniss' volunteering for Prim, Rue’s death, the berries, or was it before all of that?

i'd reject the notion that there's "the rebellion". if we talk about the capitol group around plutarch (and tigris and cressida and caesar) then we inevitably are talking about people who

"[...] have been, for several years, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol" (CF)

but that means little to bonnie and twill, where their home district has only been plotting since the 74th games, so roughly six months at best:

Ever since the Hunger Games, the discontent in District 8 had been growing. It was always there, of course, to some degree. But what differed was that talk was no longer sufficient, and the idea of taking action went from a wish to a reality. The textile factories that service Panem are loud with machinery, and the din also allowed word to pass safely, a pair of lips close to an ear, words unnoticed, unchecked. (CF)

in mockingjay, haymitch asks during what moment katniss alone had touched the rebels. many come up with different opinions, and while i'd argue it's the accumulation, the total sum of them all, that made katniss the mockingjay, personal rebellion, the want to revolt, can start at many different times:

"[...] So, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where she made you feel something real." (MJ)

The moments begin to come thick and fast and in no particular order. When I took Rue on as an ally. Extended my hand to Chaff on interview night. Tried to carry Mags. And again and again when I held out those berries that meant different things to different people. Love for Peeta. Refusal to give in under impossible odds. Defiance of the Capitol's inhumanity. (MJ)

so i'd say there's many different moments for the 74th in particular, and for rebellion in general.

but i'd like to return to the captiol rebellion, because that's my small litte niche interest, and i'd like to point to several things here:

SC: Propaganda decides the outcome of the war. This is why Plutarch implements the airtime assault; he understands that whoever controls the airwaves controls the power. Like Snow, he’s been waiting for Katniss, because he needs a Spartacus to lead his campaign. There have been possible candidates, like Finnick, but no one else has captured the imagination of the country like she has. (Collins interview, 10th anniversary)

“Not just against the other tributes, but the Capitol, too,” I say. “You know they didn't expect that to happen. It wasn't meant to be part of the arena. They never planned on anyone using it as a weapon. It made them look stupid that he figured it out. I bet they had a good time trying to spin that one. Bet that's why I don't remember seeing it on television. It's almost as bad as us and the berries!” I can't help laughing, really laughing, for the first time in months. Peeta just shakes his head like I've lost my mind—and maybe I have, a little. “Almost, but not quite,” says Haymitch from behind us. I whip around, afraid he's going to be angry over us watching his tape, but he just smirks and takes a swig from a bottle of wine. So much for sobriety. I guess I should be upset he's drinking again, but I'm preoccupied with another feeling. (CF)

those statements have made me develop a theory, namely that plutarch gained inspiration from haymitch's games and the first bread crumbs of a rebellion began right then and there. haymitch's backstory is given a whole chapter in catching fire, and it feels a rather purposeful decision to give so much time to the second quarter quell. outside of the obvious "haymitch's end is shown as a warning to the younger generation and serves as a warning to katniss and peeta, too" i feel like the connection with the rebellion nonetheless exists: the forcefield. using the forcefield against the capitol happens in both, an it was enough to make me think:

what if plutarch gained inspiration from the second quarter quell, and in turn haymitch's games, and began to think on a rebellion through using the arena to his advantage? he is young enough for it to aid in his ambition to become head gamemaker--a strong enough person who can manipulate and aid from the outside.

katniss and haymitch are mirrors of the other, so why not a mirror in this regard, too? after all, we know that plutarch has been waiting for a mockingjay for at least ten years--since finnick's games, as SC mentioned him--so his initial inspiration lies before that. there's no other relevant event mentioned other than the second quarter quell.

How does many THG victors joined or being recruited for the rebellion?

this, again, is my personal headcanon.

other than haymitch, the other person of note we know existed back then was caesar flickerman. he's seen interviewing haymitch. i headcanon caesar to have been in his first years of his career, and having went from excited to reserved; he's noticed there's something off, that the capitol has been manipulating their perception on the games, and he's grown to resent what they present. with a closer touch to the tributes, plutarch decides on the brave step of recruiting caesar to the cause--not without some hiccups.

together, they are the mind (plutarch) and the heart (caesar) of the rebellion. plutarch does the planning, recruits the spies, finds opportunities to exploit the system where he can. caesar recruits the victors; he's always been close to them, always been kind (katniss herself observes that about caesar). caesar is the best person to ask for propaganda on both sides; he can let tributes rise and fall, he can determine who receives attention an who does not. he can use the interviews to the advantage of the rebellion.

out of all people within the capitol, katniss is in contact with people who are directly responsible to her district. her prep team. cinna. portia. effie. outside of those, she only really is in contact with caesar. and caesar, in contrast to the other ones, knows every tribute, every victor.

if you are planning a rebellion through the arena, you'd ideally want someone on your side who can read the tributes and their potential, and who would be close enough to recruit them without making it seem suspicious.

caesar is the only one who fits that bill, and he's the best person to recruit the victors.

[mypoisonedvine]

peaches & cream || soft!dark Jake Wyler x reader

for @stargazingfangirl18​'s 5k challenge! I used the prompt, "the town golden boy isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks."

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut (noncon), stalking/obsession, some degradation/negging (but lots of praise during the actual smut), kinda yandere vibes?, touch of breeding kink at the end, definitely flirting with the boundary between soft!dark and regular dark but I like to think it’s a fine line

“Sorry, but that’s a seasonal flavor,” the girl at the counter explained in a snarky monotone.

“Well, yeah, but isn’t it still… the season?” you pressed; normally you weren’t the sort of person to argue with a cashier over a milkshake, but the look she was giving you made you feel like she was holding out on you— especially when the promotional poster for the very thing you were trying to order was just behind her head, and said the flavor was available for two more days.

“We’re out,” she answered firmly, but then her face suddenly shifted to a much more pleasant expression as you heard the chime of the front door opening behind you.  

You felt his body hovering behind yours just as his hand laid on the counter beside you, caging you in.  It was even more unsettling with the context that there was a whole line of people waiting behind you already.

“I’ll get your usual,” the girl promised to the man beside with a flirtatious smile as she disappeared to the back, returning almost instantly with a shake in her extended hand.  “Peaches and cream milkshake— extra whipped cream, no cherry.  Enjoy!”

Your eyes widened at the reading of your own order.  “I thought you were out!” you protested, going completely ignored.

"If you were my girl, this sort of thing wouldn't need to happen."

You recoiled from Jake's voice in your ear, and he smiled in spite of your snarl, bringing the straw to his lips slowly.  With a shudder you walked away, deciding it was probably better to forgo a milkshake anyways— especially if it was a chance to avoid everyone’s favorite senior, the football king who basically owned the whole town for no other reason than being good-looking, athletic, and allegedly “charming” or whatever.

Of course, he followed you, sitting across from you in a booth and silently shooing his posse of fellow teammates to go off and give you two some space.  If only he would give you space.

“We can share,” he offered as he held the milkshake out towards you.  “I know it’s your favorite… it’s mine too.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you explained quickly as you pulled a book out of your backpack, intent on ignoring him since you couldn’t physically force him to leave.

He shrugged and returned to sucking on the straw, watching you unwaveringly as you tried to read your book— staring at the page was going well, but you couldn’t seem to actually get any words down.  Had you forgotten English as a written language or something?

“Could you leave?” you finally asked as you groaned and looked up from your book.  “You’re distracting me.”

“I’m literally just sitting here,” he reminded you.

“And it’s distracting!”

He smirked proudly.  “My presence tends to have that effect on people.  Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You rolled your eyes, burying your face back in your book.  “You know, you may have everybody else fooled, but someday you’re gonna have to leave this pathetic little town and go into the real world where throwing a ball isn’t a career and nobody fawns over you just because you have the audacity to be attractive.”

He chuckled lightly.  “Right, because you have those big city dreams of yours, but believe it or not some of us like this ‘pathetic’ little town.”

“Well, of course you would,” you snorted.  “Your dad’s the mayor and your girlfriend’s the head cheerleader.”

“My ex-girlfriend,” he corrected, finally getting your attention enough to make you shut your book.

“What?” you blurted out.

“Yeah, she dumped me,” he explained plainly.

“Why would she do that?” you asked, making him look much too proud of himself again.  “Finally snapped out of the brainwashing, huh?” you added, effectively killing his smug expression.

“I guess you could say that.  She met some college guy from out of town… I think her parents liked me too much, she needed a bit more rebellion.”

“Well, my condolences to you,” you smiled, “and my congratulations to her.”

“I thought you hated her,” he scoffed.

“Well, now she and I have something in common: a complete lack of interest in you!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t go that far,” he smirked, “she still comes over every now and again to suck my cock.”

You choked on nothing, face getting warm at his crude language.  He didn’t talk like that with anyone else; it was so cruel the way he kept everybody in town under his spell except you, the way he let you in on his real darkness with no one else to confide in or believe you.  

It was so fundamentally lonely, being the one person who wasn’t in love with Jake Wyler.  It was even worse being the one person Jake Wyler loved.

At least, that was the word he used multiple times in his semi-anonymous letters, his incessant calls and emails, his speeches outside your window.  He’d actually cooled off lately, you wondered if maybe he had finally let go of this ‘the one thing I can’t have’ obsession and learned to appreciate his girlfriend (who, for all her personality flaws, was objectively gorgeous, and seemed to at least be nice to him if nobody else).

But now that she left him (which you were still trying to process, honestly), you were surprised he hadn’t already moved on to the next best wannabe model and/or reinstated his campaign to win you over.

Then again, the look in his eye kind of made you think you were about to witness the second one.

“You know, when she does come over, I can only ever finish because I’m thinking about you,” he revealed in a low voice.  You grimaced and slid out of the booth, stuffing your book into your bag and barely managing to throw him a goodbye before you dashed out.  

It wasn’t like you really thought you could get away from him— he had made it clear over and over that you couldn’t— but the idea of being crammed in that booth with him, surrounded throughout the diner by his adoring fans who somehow didn’t manage to overhear him when he said those awful things, made you feel nauseous.

What you should’ve considered was that, fans or not, those people were witnesses, and now that you were running out into the dark streets of the town and he was chasing after you, you didn’t have any.  It was just you and him, and when you turned into an alleyway to try to get home faster, even the dim glow of the streetlights couldn’t see you anymore.

“Hey,” he stopped you with a tight grip on your arm, pulling you back into him.

“Let me go!” you whined, trying to tug yourself away but only ensuring that his hand would leave a bruise on your arm.  

“I will when you just hear me out, okay?” he hissed, spinning you around to look up at him.  "Why don't you just give me a chance?  Don't you wanna be popular?" 

"I don't want to be anything that requires being within ten yards of you!" you spat.

He seemed bewildered, but you knew he wasn’t actually that stupid.  "Why?"

"Because you know why!"

He sighed, slumping his shoulders a little.  "Are we still on that, really?  I told you, you should take it as a compliment.  You know how many girls would kill to catch me jerking off in their panties?"

"You're sick, Jake,” you sighed, “and you're really good at hiding it from everyone else but I know what you really are.  You told me you needed help with algebra and I actually believed you, for months you were lying to me to get close so you could perv on me when you already had a girlfriend and two side chicks anyways— god, Jake, you're crazy!"

You yelped when he pinned you to the wall, blue eyes darker than ever.  "I really, really hate that word."

Against the wall, your back straightened as you felt the tone shift completely for a moment before he was back to his jovial self again, giving you a somber but almost-genuine smile.

“The only kind of crazy I am is crazy about you,” he defended with a laugh, leaning in a little closer.  “Why can’t you see that?”

As his eyes moved from your own to your lips, a renewed sense of fear shot through you.  “Jake…” you mumbled, apparently your feeble attempt to ask him to stop.

“Just one kiss,” he bargained, “and then I’ll let you go.  Okay?  That’s all I need.”

“N-no,” you whimpered, turning your head away as he leaned in even further.  “Stop.”

“Come on, it’s just a kiss, baby,” he cooed.  “Then you can leave.  Hey, you might actually like it.  You know, I think that’s what you’re really scared about… and I get it!  When I first realized I was in love with you, it was scary for me, too— I mean, I’m the most important guy in town and you’re just some bookworm, it’s sort of social suicide for me so I had a lot to worry about.”

There he went with his negging again, trying to bring you down to his level.  Your brain knew that, it saw right through it, but your gut still sank with doubt.

“But I know now that love is nothing to be afraid of,” he concluded.

“No, Jake,” you whispered, feeling tears well in your eyes, “I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me if I don’t do what you want.”

“Well, that is something to be afraid of,” he replied with the coldest laugh you’d ever heard; you didn’t hear any agreement, but the lack of denial was deafening.  “So just be my good girl and let me kiss you…”

You swallowed dryly, your eyes wide open and searching for anywhere to look but up at him.

He was so close now that his lips brushed against yours with his command: “say it.”

You stammered over your breath, not sure exactly what he was asking for, and you winced as you felt his grip tighten on your arms.

“Say, ‘kiss me’,” he clarified in a harsh whisper.  “Say, ‘please’...”

“Please,” you repeated awkwardly, hearing it in your voice but so clearly not your own words, “kiss me.”

He let his mouth intertwine with yours and your eyes were still wide open as he let his own fall shut, moving his hands to clutch your face gently instead as you gave a weak effort to kiss him back.

Objectively, he was good at this.  A lot of things were objectively true about Jake: as much as you forced yourself not to see it, he was handsome; as much as it didn’t really matter to you, a boycotter of all things sports, he was talented; and, as much as no one else realized it, he was completely deranged.  For every word of kindness from him there was another of anger.  For every love letter in your locker, there was a threat left scrawled on crumpled paper inside your bedroom, just so he could remind you that your parents would let him into the house if he asked and never question it.

Which was why it was extremely important that you did not enjoy this kiss.  You needed to hate the way his fingers traced over the pulse in your neck, the way his tongue tickled yours, the way his teeth just barely grazed your lip until your knees went a little weak.  

But wow, there was something primally satisfying about melting into his arms, feeling his strength support you like it was nothing when he held your waist and pulled you closer.

You could almost forget that it was him.  But then he mumbled your name into the kiss, nearly moaned it in fact, and it pulled you back to reality.  With a gasp, you pushed him away and blinked your eyes open, not even realizing you’d closed them; hating how quickly you’d started to give in to him.

“There, one kiss,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.  “I’m gonna go home now—”

“You can’t be serious,” he laughed incredulously.  “You’re gonna kiss me like that and tell me you don’t feel this, too?  We’re so meant for each other— we even order the same milkshake!”

“That doesn’t matter!” you denied.

“I love you!”

“That doesn’t matter either!”

You turned to leave but he grabbed you again from behind, covering your mouth with his hand when you opened your mouth to scream.  “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he hissed in your ear, “and don’t walk away from me.”

Fighting against his grip did nothing but exhaust you: he only needed one arm to hold you back as he dragged you deeper into the alley.  Your legs swung wildly and landed a kick to his shin, and he plugged your nose while he was covering your mouth so you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen to me, you stuck up little bitch,” he growled.  “I’m really sick of this ‘hard to get’ act.  I know you want me.  So shut up and let me show you what you’ve been missing out on, okay?  You gonna be good?”

In that moment, you would’ve agreed to anything for a chance to fill your lungs with fresh air, and so you nodded, the back of your head rubbing against his chest.

“You gonna be nice and quiet so nobody catches you getting fucked like a whore in this alley?”

Another nod, more feverish than the last, ended with a sharp inhale as he let go of your nose.  But he was still covering your mouth, his arm around you now feeling less like restraint and more like an embrace.

"I've wanted you for so long, you can't even imagine," he explained softly as he leaned down and kissed your neck, gripping your waist tighter.  "You and this perfect body of yours.  This smart little head that thinks too much…"

You swallowed dryly as his hand trailed lower.

"This pussy you've been hiding from me for much too long," he added darkly, roughly shoving his hand up your skirt.

You whined behind his hand but he didn’t seem to care; he pulled your skirt up and grinned at the sight of your panties— because he recognized them.

“I remember these,” he purred.  “They look good on you, baby, but they looked better covered in my come.”

Your cheeks burned with shame— you already hated yourself for still wearing the pair he’d tampered with, but it was harmless after a few runs through the washer, right?  You weren’t going to stop wearing your favorite panties just for him, that would mean he won, in a sense; or, that’s what you told yourself to justify not burning them.

“Don’t worry, they’re gonna be soaked by the time I’m done with you,” he purred, slipping two fingers between your legs and growling slightly.  “Well, actually, you’ve already done a lot of the work for me.”

He pulled the fabric aside and explored your pussy instead, tightening his grip over your mouth as you made little muffled yelps.  The rough pads of his fingers found and targeted your clit instantly, that megawatt smile pressed against your ear as he started to rub your bud harder.

“Mm, feels good, huh?” he taunted, moving even faster as your hips jolted unintentionally.  He stopped only to bring the fingers to his lips, humming at the taste of you which he sucked off of them.  “So sweet, babygirl— better than any peaches and cream milkshake, that’s for sure.”

The wet fingers trailed down your body again, finding your entrance that he suddenly pushed into; it was a little too much without any warning and it made your eyes shoot wide open, a squeak barely escaping your throat.

"Just as tight as I imagined, baby,” he sighed, “all those times I used your panties, or hooked up with somebody who almost looked like you from behind.  You’re gonna feel so good on my cock, I know you want it so bad.”

He took his fingers out of you to reach back and open his belt with one hand, the sound of the buckle matched in upsettingness only by the sound of his jeans sliding down to his thighs.

You heard your own breath loud and heavy against his hand as you felt his hard cock press against your thigh, a drop of precum smearing on your skin.  Your breathing halted suddenly, though, when he slid himself between your legs to rub his cock over your exposed and swollen pussy.

“Oh, babygirl, you really are too good to me,” he grinned, kissing your ear tenderly.  “So fucking wet and ready for me, huh?  You need it that bad?  You’re gonna get it, baby, ‘m gonna give it to you so good…”

Bracing yourself as best you could, you felt the head of his cock push against your entrance before he slammed in all at once, making you hiss in pain.

“Oh god,” he groaned, “fuck, you’re so warm…”

Already he was fucking into you roughly, pumping faster and deeper, paying no mind to your choked sobs of pain from the wide stretch.  Even when it stung it felt oddly good, and the underside of his cock seemed to slide perfectly over your g-spot with each movement until your eyes began to roll back in your head.

“So fucking good,” he moaned hoarsely as he braced you against the brick wall for leverage, reaching back down with his free hand to rub your clit again.  He chuckled when your legs quivered, and he must have felt your walls tighten around him, too.  “I wanna hear those pretty moans, baby, if I take my hand away are you gonna be good?” he asked darkly.  You nodded, enjoying the brief feeling of freedom that came from not having his hand over your mouth anymore.  But then again, it was humiliating that now he could hear your panting breaths, your desperate mewls that you failed to swallow down.

He made a sound that was almost like a laugh as he watched you squirm in his arms, one more way he had to lord this all over you, as if forcing you to take him in an alley wasn’t enough on its own.

His breath against your ear was hot and strained, each meeting of your hips to his accentuated with a little grunt from him.  It didn’t help at all that his fingers were rubbing you just right, with so much skill that you wondered if he’d somehow figured out how you touched yourself when you needed to get off.  Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him to have spied on you before, even if you couldn’t figure out when or how.

The hand that used to cover your mouth slid up under your shirt and pulled your bra down, a large, rough hand groping each breast and pinching your nipples until you bit down on your lip to stay quiet.  For all the mocking and teasing he’d done before, he was pretty direct now— like he was trying to make you come as fast as possible, overloading your body with sensation.  

And did he have to be so fucking good at it?

“I know you’re close, babygirl,” he whispered in your ear, “just let go…”

“Jake, please,” you sobbed, too far gone to appreciate that no begging would make him stop now.

“Come for me,” he demanded roughly, fucking you even faster as he sucked a mark onto your neck, and finally it all came crashing down with a choked-out cry of his name and a gush of warmth dripping out around his length.

“Ohh fuck, there you go, fuck it feels good when you come for me,” he grunted, thrusting even faster.  “You’re gonna milk my cock with that pretty pussy, babygirl— you’re gonna make me come…”

“J-Jake, not inside!” you interjected, getting his hand back over your mouth in return.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, “waited too long for this to pull out now.  Feels too fucking good.”

Behind his hand, the difference between whines of hatred and moans of pleasure was irritatingly subtle.

“I love you,” he reminded you in a voice exhausted yet heavy with desire, “so fucking much…”

A few more erratic, brutal thrusts accompanied by heavy pants and he was gone; you could feel his cock pulsing with each rope of come that filled you, so deep that your head fell dejectedly with the realization you had no hope of washing it out now.

His hand fell from your mouth but he didn’t pull out for another few moments as he caught his breath, gently peppering your neck and cheek in slow kisses.  “Baby,” he finally sighed, breaking the crushing silence, “you’re so fucking perfect.  I knew you were made for me.”

I hate you, you wanted to cry out, but words escaped you as he hugged you tightly and pulled your panties back into place, soaking them with his come as it leaked out of you just like he’d promised.  He stuffed his cock back into his jeans and helped you adjust your clothes back to looking almost presentable, finishing it off by turning you around and smiling at you with serene pride before kissing your forehead.

"You're gonna make such a beautiful prom queen," he cooed, “especially if you’ve already got a nice little bump showing…”

His hand rubbed beneath your belly button for emphasis, making you whimper and force your eyes shut as tears rolled down your cheeks.

"Shh, don’t cry, baby,” he soothed, kissing your cheek softly.  “Trust me, you're gonna love being my girl."

[maedre13]

FIC RECS FOR THE UNTAMED / MO DAO ZU SHI

Love Song In Reverse https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790154/chapters/57151447 Wei Wuxian gets resurrected, loses his memories, and falls in love.

there's no promised goodbye here https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104454 Jiang Cheng stares at him. “Didn’t you say you broke up five months ago?” “Yeah.” “So why do you have a picture of you two kissing taped to your fridge?” “Because we’re too broke for magnets,” Wei Wuxian explains, then considers that statement. “Well, I’m too broke for magnets. Lan Zhan probably refuses to buy them because he’s trying to have lofty ideas about the moral failings of materialism.”

Work-Life Balance is Not A Thing https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370074/chapters/61516378“Is it the salary,” Lan Zhan asks, head tilting in a question. He looks gorgeous and Wei Ying hates him for it. “No, the compensation is very generous.” “The hours,” Lan Zhan guesses, and that gives Wei Ying an idea. “Yeah, the hours are too much,” he says, putting on his whiny voice, “I’m still in my twenties, you know? I want to go out and eat with my friends, and, and maybe find a boyfriend and get married, have a few kids, adopt some cats.” Lan Zhan looks at him as if he has gone insane.

Regrets https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240526 Wei Wuxian dies in Nightless City when Lan Wangji accidentally stabs him. Then he and Lan Wangji open their eyes to find themselves on another rooftop, four years in the past, with a chance to fix their biggest regrets.

rerun from the outside https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636791 A few months into their stay at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian wakes up weird. He goes from bothering Lan Wangji incessantly to avoiding him completely, and from getting punished practically every day to being a model student. Jiang Cheng is willing to roll with it - although it is strange that Lan Wangji seems so very determined not to be ignored...

a quest (for kisses) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477325 Wei Wuxian demands nothing but kisses now that he knows he can get them. Lan Wangji is happy to oblige. Ghosts Shouldn't https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310006 Wei Wuxian's spirit lingers.

Take Root, Come Home https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273312 Living with Wei Ying is a dream come true – Lan Wangji has nothing to complain about… Except. Except one thing. A small… thing.

between the shadow and the soul https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761475/chapters/62562805 They whispered of a demon leashed to the throne of Lotus Pier. A monster whose song devoured. your very soul, a nightmare made flesh who obeyed the last of the Jiangs and no other.

decay https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292231/chapters/66681946 The Lans agree to take in the DafanWen after Wei Wuxian rescues them from Qiongli Path. Their only condition: that Wei Wuxian lets himself be purified of resentful energy. Lan Wangji thinks this is how he will finally get his Wei Ying back, free from demonic influences. Wei Wuxian thinks this is a fancy way of saying "execution."

if you go chasing rabbits https://archiveofourown.org/works/27266011 Wei Wuxian is a witch, Lan Wangji is sent to be his familiar. They figure it out. Hello, IT. Have You Tried Turning It Off and On Again? https://archiveofourown.org/works/27760618/chapters/67954183 Lan Wangji is the respected Head of the IT department. Wei Wuxian is a graphic designer in Marketing with computer problems. He mistakes Lan Wangji for tech support and just... doesn't stop calling. Lan Wangji lets him.

See Me, Feel Me (Listening to You) https://archiveofourown.org/works/27768139/chapters/67974790 Letting himself get cursed may not have been the smartest thing Wei Wuxian has ever done, but he'd argue that it’s completely in character. So he should earn some points for consistency, at the very least. Besides, when the spirit had been explaining it, the curse hadn't sounded too bad. Maybe a little bothersome if he underestimated how many people felt strongly about him, but surely, surely, it wouldn't be enough to hamper him in the long run. Let it be known that Wei Wuxian is an idiot.

Possession https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857223/chapters/49578047 When the Wen Empire launches a bloody campaign to extend the reaches of its borders, their first target is the Kingdom of Gusu. Between the might of Emperor Wen’s army, the leadership of his two biological sons, and the dark, unorthodox powers of his adopted son, Wei Wuxian a.k.a. The Yiling Demon, Gusu is quickly crushed. As the spoils of war are divided and the surviving Lan disciples are taken as slaves and prisoners, Wei Wuxian shocks the cultivation world by claiming his first and only war prize: the young enemy prince, Lan Wangji.

true gold fears no fire https://archiveofourown.org/works/23812717/chapters/57213883 Lan Wangji encounters a mysterious stranger on his rooftop. Alternatively, the Emperor of China has heard rumours of an intruder sneaking into the Forbidden City, a shadow that has eluded the best of his guards. (Alternatively, Wei Ying just really wanted a drink.)

the wei to the kingdom (is through the prince's heart) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17877590 It was supposed to be a simple tournament held to celebrate the Kingdom of Gusu’s recent victory over the Wen Kingdom. Wei Wuxian has no idea how it suddenly derailed into a free-for-all contest for Second Prince Lan Wangji’s hand in marriage.

it goes like this https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736247 Wei Wuxian finds that he has no idea who his soulmate is. Enter Lan Wangji, resident unapproachable genius, who suddenly requests to be his lab partner.

dream of a funeral; hear of a marriage https://archiveofourown.org/works/23581942/chapters/56581120 The news spread around the cultivation world quickly: Hanguang-jun would take whomever was skilled enough to take the Gusu Jade Token from around his neck as his cultivation partner and spouse.

one good thing https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759226 Wei Wuxian has been haunting his childhood home for three years. He's perfected the fine art of scaring away all the tenants, and has grown used to living with the dying flowers in the garden as his only company. When Lan Wangji buys the house, Wei Wuxian fully intends to drive him off too. Except Lan Wangji is beautiful, and interesting, and captivating company - even if he supposedly doesn't know Wei Wuxian exists.

[tanyawritesstories]

Caged | Anakin Skywalker x Reader

I've had this fic sitting for a while so it was time I published it. Setting is: Anakin meets the Admiral's wife and falls for her. @anakinswhore I know I've told you about this so here it finally is 😊

Word count: 4,629

Warnings: fluff, blood, mentions of smut, intimate touching, fighter crash, space battles, I suppose I should put infidelity too

•••

The sound of the ship’s guns fueled your feet to run faster. The adrenaline was already pumping through your veins and you weren’t even in a ship yet. You continued your mad dash to the bridge of the Resolute, dodging pilots and officers, a smile plastered on your face. You finally reached the doors, stopping to smooth your dress and fix your hair. You didn’t want to look like you’d just been running half way across the ship at full speed. You took a few breaths to try and calm your nerves, once convinced you looked proper you entered the bridge. Your eyes widening at the scene through the massive viewports. Your feelings were a mixture of horror and awe. There was a huge battle going on outside, pilots on both sides firing nonstop blasts of red and blue energy. Clone officers were scurrying around communicating with the pilots outside and providing a constant stream of information to Admiral Yularen who stood giving orders and observing the chaos. You walked closer to the viewports, mesmerized.

“Darling what are you doing up here?”

You turned to see your husband walking to your side. “I just wanted to see what was going on,” you explained, “Is there any way I can help?”

Admiral Yularen reached you and took your hands in his, “I’m afraid not, my dear. The men have this under control.”

Just as he finished saying that the force of a ship blowing up a little too close to the viewports shook the bridge. You grabbed onto your husband's arm and he put his arms around you in a protective way.

“What’s going on out there?” He asked. “We’re losing men, sir,” a clone officer reported. Your husband slowly let go of you once he made sure you had your footing. “Get General Skywalker up here!” He ordered. “Right away, sir.”

“I can help,” you chimed in. “It’s far too dangerous,” he answered, crossing the room. You followed him, “Wullf, please. You know I can help, let me help,” you begged. “There is no need,” he said, turning to you, “Skywalker will be up here soon and he can manage it.” “But what if he’s not enough,” you suggested.

“Trust me, my dear, he will be.”

Just after that the bridge doors opened again to reveal a man clad in dark Jedi robes, messy brown hair and striking blue eyes.

You had never met Anakin Skywalker before, in fact this was the only time you were allowed on the war front. You had heard your husband talk about him, from the way he talked you could tell that Skywalker must be somewhat of a pain in the ass. But your husband did respect him and the fact that he got things done, even though he may not like the way he goes about getting them done.

“Ah, General Skywalker, just in time, we’ve got quite a mess on our hands,” Wullf addressed the General. “I can see that Admiral,” he said with an amused look, “I assume that means you need my help to clean it up.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” your husband said sternly, you could tell he was irked. You bit your lip and looked away to try and keep yourself from laughing as you stood at his side. “Well, it won’t be easy with the small amount of pilots we have left, but I’ll do my best,” Skywalker affirmed. You couldn’t keep quiet this time.

“See, that’s how I can help! My fighter is in the hangar, I can easily jump in and help lessen the number of droids out there,” you rambled. Your husband gave you a stern look and you shrunk back a little. “And who might you be?” Anakin asked with a smile. Wullf put an arm around your back, “General, allow me to introduce my wife: (Y/n) Yularen. (Y/n), this is Jedi General Anakin Skywalker.”

Anakin reached out his hand and you took it, he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. You couldn't be much older than him, quite young to be married to the Admiral who was much older than you. “A pleasure, m’lady,” he said. Your cheeks flushed slightly at his actions, “The pleasure is all mine and call me (Y/n) if you don’t mind.” Anakin nodded in acknowledgment. “Are you a pilot?” He asked. “One of the best in my opinion,” your husband answered, “She has quite the reputation on our home planet, but I thought it best for her safety to keep her out of the war.”

Your face hardened and you looked away again. You knew Wullf loved you but he was keeping you from using your natural talents to help save lives, something you desperately wanted to do. It felt wrong that you just sat in your comfortable home all day knowing there were people out there fighting and dying to keep you safe. Not to mention your husband putting himself at risk too. That was why you had begged and pleaded with him to bring you along on his latest campaign, an idea he wasn’t too fond of. You had listed all the reasons you had behind wanting to and promised you wouldn't get in the way but you would help wherever you could. After pestering him for three days, he finally relented and let you come along.

“I think you made a wise choice, Admiral,” Anakin stated. You rolled your eyes. Great, another person who thought you were some damsel in distress who couldn’t hold her own in a fight. “However,” Anakin started, your attention being drawn back to him “Considering the circumstances I would be very grateful for her assistance.” Your husband’s jaw dropped, “You can’t be serious? It’s a war zone out there! She could be killed!” You stood in front of your husband and put your hands on his chest in an attempt to calm him down.

“Wullf, I’ll be fine. Did you forget that I was the one defending our property and myself from pirates and bounty hunters while you were gone? Have I ever failed? Have I ever been hurt?”

He sighed, “No, you haven’t. I just wish there was some way I could protect you.” “You can,” you smiled, “I’ll be flying outside, you know what my ship looks like, you can keep an eye on me.”

“If it’s any consolation, Admiral, I can send my padawan out there, she can keep an eye on your wife,” Anakin offered. He looked between you and Anakin, making up his mind. “It would make me feel better, yes. Alright, you can go, but be careful,” he warned.

A huge smile spread across your face and you threw your arms around Wullf’s neck. You pulled back and gave him a big kiss on the lips, his eyes widening in shock as he tried to process your reaction. You pulled away before he could even think of kissing you back and ran to the door,

“C’mon no time to waste, let’s go!” Anakin watched you run to the door, his eyebrows high up on his face, just as shocked as the Admiral at your outburst. He turned to face the stunned man. “She’s your wife?” He asked with disbelief. “C’mon Skywalker no time to lose, the men need our help!” Anakin smiled and joined you at the door. “Don’t do anything reckless!” Wullf called. “No promises,” you and Anakin replied at the same time. You both laughed before running out the door, leaving your husband shaking his head and already regretting his decision.

You ran alongside Anakin as you both dashed to the hangar. He was a little surprised that you could keep up with him considering you were wearing a baggy floor length dress. A dress, how were you going to fly in that?

“I don’t know how you’re going to fly in that,” he addressed, looking at your dress. You stopped running, Anakin stopping a few feet ahead of you. “No worries,” you said. You undid the back of your dress and let it fall to the floor, revealing the pilot jumpsuit and gear you had been wearing underneath it. Anakin stared, impressed. You picked the dress off the floor and threw it into a nearby maintenance room. “Good to go,” you said and began running again. He watched you run for little before catching up with you, he liked you a lot already.

You were about halfway there when Anakin tapped the comm device on his wrist. “Ahsoka, I need you in the hangar.” A spritely voice responded through the device, “Already there, master. The last of our pilots are heading out.” “Good, I’ll be down there soon.”

You and Anakin made it to the hangar and he led the way over to a couple of Jedi fighters. There was a young Togruta girl talking to a high ranking clone in blue armor who promptly ran to his men after she motioned to them. You and Anakin approached and she turned to face you.

“Are we all set, Ahsoka?” He asked. “Yep,” she chirped, she noticed you and curiously looked you up and down. “This is (Y/n), Admiral Yularen’s wife,” Anakin introduced. “I didn’t know the Admiral was married,” she replied. “Neither did I but according to him she’s quite the pilot and she wants to help, I need you to keep an eye on her.” Ahsoka looked taken aback. “Hey, why me? If she’s as good as he says she is can’t she look out for herself.” Anakin’s eyes narrowed at her for a second, “I’m sure she doesn’t, but I promised the Admiral we’d both keep an eye on her.” She crossed her arms, “ok.” You liked her, she reminded you of yourself at that age.

“Don’t worry about me Ahsoka, I can handle myself,” you assured. “I’ll see you out there.” You began jogging to your ship and Anakin soon caught up to you. “Mind if I take a look at your ship? It won’t take long.” You agreed and jogged to your ship.

It was an interesting looking thing, definitely customized. It held the same shape as his Jedi fighter but with three extending wings on each side, there was a blaster cannon at the end of each wing. There was a green and orange astromech on the front right side just above two holes that looked like they were for missiles.

“Wow,” he said, “Where’d you get it?”

“I made it,” you answered. “I took parts from about 50 different ships and threw it all together to make this beauty. Three wings on each side, the top and bottom ones flare out, the middle one is stationary,” you moved to the back of the ship and Anakin followed you. “This compartment down here contains droppable bombs and seismic charges.” “Where did you get weaponry like this?” Anakin questioned. “When your husband is in the military it’s not too hard,” you informed him with a smirk. You moved to the front, “The holes here are for missiles, tracking torpedoes, and occasionally Ion shot. And, of course, you have my R9 astromech in front.”

Anakin was impressed, beyond that, hearing you talk about your ship with knowledge and admiration was incredibly attractive. More so, it was hot. He wondered for a moment how you ended up marrying someone as boring and serious as Admiral Yularen when you were so clearly his opposite.

“An R9, huh? Where did you come by one of those?” You placed your hand on the droid's head. “Traded an old ship for him, he wasn’t in the greatest shape when I got him, so I polished him up, added some new parts and now he’s good as new.” You said proudly. Anakin crossed his arms and smirked at you, “Impressive, can’t wait to see you in action.” He winked at you and took off to get in his own ship.

You found yourself blushing again and you climbed into your ship. The cockpit closed and you powered up the ship by pressing a number of buttons and switches. You opened your comm channel and could hear the other pilots communicating. You raised your dual steering handles and the ship lifted into the air. With a turn and twist you were shooting out into space. You flipped a switch and the wings on your fighter fanned out, the guns were ready to go. The battle came to you the second you were out the hangar doors, you swerved and dodged avoiding the bullets being shot your way. The familiar tingle of adrenaline started coursing through your veins making the hair on your arms stand up.

Go time.

You thrusted the handles forward and rocketed into the fray. “The cavalry has arrived, boys,” you heard Anakin say over the channel. You smirked and picked out your targets heading for two vulture droids that were chasing another pilot. You pulled up behind them and easily shot them both down, picking out four more targets. You swept under the pilot you saved and sped to take down the others. After taking out at least a dozen droids in only a few minutes, the clone pilots had noticed you.

“Who is that?” You heard one of them ask. “It’s (Y/n) Yularen at your service, thought you boys could use some help out here,” you answered. “It’s appreciated, sir,” another pilot answered. Ahsoka and Anakin kept a lookout for you though you were proving you most definitely did not need it.

~~

It had been at least an hour and you were no closer to winning. You had shot down 76 droid fighters but they just kept coming. "We need to take down those enemy cruisers or we'll never win this battle," you said.

"If you have any ideas let us know!"

You quickly thought of something you hoped would work. "Bridge, patch me through to the Admiral," you requested. "On it, sir." After a couple seconds your husband's voice came over the comm, "(Y/n), you doing alright out there?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I have an idea on how to take out those cruisers." There was silence on the other end, "I'm listening." "Ok, my seismic charges will blow through anything. If I can get close enough, I can drop a few and take out one of the cruisers."

"Tell me you're not serious," he replied, "That's a death wish!"

"No," you bargained, "I can get past their defenses and take one out, I know I can!” “(Y/n), reinforcements are on their way, just wait-” “But Wullf I can finish this!” You pleaded. “No!,” he snapped, “You’ll stay near the ship and take out the smaller fighters, that is an order!”

Your mouth opened in shock, he had never ordered you to do anything and never used that tone of voice with you either. It sent a twinge of pain through your chest, your eyes brimmed with tears but you quickly blinked them away. “Yes, sir,” you answered, sadness in your voice.

Anakin was angry, plain and simple. He knew you had the power and ability to end this battle and your husband wasn’t letting you. To add to that, Anakin could tell that you wanted to help more than anything, and it was awful to hear the Admiral yell at you over the comm channel. But what had sealed the deal and made Anakin seethe was your reply, your tone clearly betraying that you were on the verge of tears and hurt by your husband’s words. He saw your ship turn and continue to shoot down droids, staying within the vicinity of the bridge viewport. He was being too controlling, not letting you be who you wanted to. Anakin liked you, maybe a tad too much.

About several minutes passed and you noticed another thing coming from the enemy cruisers. Bombing ships. They started flying towards the surface and you knew exactly what their plan was.

"Those bombers are heading for the surface," You called out, "I'm going after them."

"No! (Y/n), stay up here," Wullf said. "I don't have a choice," you turned your ship to follow the bombers. "(Y/n), I'm warning you-" You clicked off your comms and shoved your control handles forward, heading full speed towards the bombers and the surface of the planet.

Meanwhile, Anakin was witnessing the panic on the comm channel. The Admiral was shouting your name, wondering why you weren't answering. Other pilots and officers were responding saying you'd turned off your comms. Your husband was trying to order some of the pilots to go after you, but he had a better idea.

"Admiral, I'll go after your wife and bring her back safe. Ahsoka, stay up here and help. Make sure Obi-Wan gets here and those droids are taken out." He flicked a couple switches and followed after you. "Will do, Master," Ahsoka responded.

~~

You shot towards the surface, hot on the trails of the four bombers. You pulled up close behind one and lowered your ship. You targeted the bomber in front of the last one and fired a torpedo. Your weapon hit its target and exploded, taking out the last ship. You dodged and followed the other two ships into the planet's atmosphere. You aimed and easily shot down the second to last one. You aimed again but the droid bomber gave chase and you followed it across the surface of the planet, taking sharp turns and spins. Finally, you had it in your sights. You focused on your targeting computer and waited until the lights blinked then fired. Torpedos shot out and the ship burst into a cloud of fire and metal.

“Woo!” You celebrated. A sudden blast rocked your ship and looked behind to see another enemy ship had followed you. You went to turn but it was too late, the droid shot at your engines and they immediately caught fire. Your ship hit the ground and one of the wings caught on a boulder sending your ship spiraling along the ground, tossing you around in the cockpit. You tried to stabilize yourself but it was impossible, your head hit the metal of a control panel and your vision went black.

Anakin saw the droid fighter take its shot and the instant fire in your engines. He fired and took out the fighter just in time to see your ship rolling along the ground headed right towards a huge cliff. He ejected himself out of his ship and landed on the ground, holding out his hands to stop your ship from rolling over the edge. He stopped it upright and ran to it, climbing on top. He looked inside and saw you slumped over in your seat unconscious with blood covering the left side of your face. He ripped the hatch off with the force and gently took your body in his arms. The movement shook you back awake and you clung to Anakin as he lifted you out of the burning ship.

“Can you walk?” He asked. “I think so,” you responded, wincing.

Anakin put your arm around his shoulders and you both moved to get away from the ship. You were going as fast as you could when there was a huge explosion behind you and Anakin shoved you to the ground, covering your body with his and also trying not to crush you. You held onto him for dear life until he said it was safe to get up. The first thing you saw was what little remained of your ship, flames and hunks of metal scattered around, it kind of made you sad.

“I’m gonna miss that ship, she served me well,” you reminisced. “Let’s get away from this, we need to get you patched up somehow,” Anakin addressed. Your legs were jelly and he kindly offered you his arm for support.

Now that you were calm you could actually take in your surroundings. The top of the plateau you were on was a meadow, the grass wasn’t too long and there were flowers growing throughout. There was a tree line not far away and a decent sized stream that ran out from the trees and tumbled down the cliff. You were vaguely aware of your injury, the pain hadn’t set in yet and you hoped Anakin could get it dressed before that happened.

“Let's sit you down right here,” Anakin said, he took hold of your arms and lowered you to the ground. “I have bacta patches in this,” you pulled a small container off your belt and handed it to him. He gently dabbed at the blood and pain shot through you. You grabbed his arm and bit your lip to try and keep from crying out. He apologized and continued cleaning the wound. You sighed and Anakin could sense you were upset but it wasn’t about the injury you had sustained.

“Wullf will not be happy when he finds out I got hurt,” you pondered, “I’ve never crashed in my life.” Anakin couldn’t stop the words that came out of his mouth.

“Do you care if he’s happy?”

“Excuse me?”

Well, there was no going back now. “It seems to me like he gets in your way a lot,” Anakin said as he applied the bacta patch. “No, he just.. well, yes but.. he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

Anakin lowered his hands from your head but your hands stayed on his arm. You noticed and took your hands away, “I should comm him and tell him I’m alright.” Anakin removed the comm device on his wrist and handed it to you. “Here, use mine.” You smiled and thanked him, getting the device working in seconds. Your husband answered and you told him you were alright and that Skywalker was with you.

“Good, that makes me feel somewhat better. General Kenobi is here and as soon as we end this battle we’ll send a gunship down to get you,” Wullf informed. “Sounds good,” you replied, making sure to sound happy, “He and I have plenty of resources around us, we’ll be fine.”

“That’s good to hear, you’re not hurt are you?” You paused and looked at Anakin to find him already looking at you, curious as to what you’d say. “Nothing but a few scratches, darling,” you reassured, “Stay focused, I’ll see you soon.” You clicked off the device and exhaled a sigh of relief, handing it back to Anakin. You mumbled an ‘excuse me’ and stood up, walking a few meters away to sit next to the stream and splash water on your face. Everything was slowly hitting you now, you had disobeyed your husband and nearly gotten killed, your ship was destroyed and Anakin’s had gone off the cliff while trying to rescue you, and the only emotion you could find for the whole situation was anger.

“Do you lie to him often?” You turned to see Anakin standing a few feet away. “I try not to, but he gets distraught over me easily.” Your anger came to the point of not caring who you were talking to, you needed to let it out.

“I don’t understand how he can boss me around like I’m one of the officers he commands? I’m his wife! Yet all he does is toss me in a dark corner and tell me not to move. It’s unfair! I want to be out, in space, flying and fighting. I know I can help, I know I can do more but he just won’t let me!” You ranted. You leaned your back against a large rock and huffed, “I just don’t understand.” Anakin sat down next to you, “You’re a wild one,” he observed, “and Yularen is trying to tame you.”

Anakin was still, if not more, angry at the Admiral, but right now he just felt sorry for you. You were like him: reckless, energetic, adventure seeking; he didn’t understand why the Admiral wouldn’t want someone like you. Anakin knew he did, and he knew your husband was treating you wrong. He couldn’t help but think how much better he would treat you if you were his.

“I just always feel limited, like I can’t do anything I want to do,” you continued to rant, “I want to fight in the war, and fly to as many planets as I can, and go galavanting after evildoers. He doesn’t let me do anything like that.” Anakin took your hand in his, “You feel like you’re in a cage, don’t you?” Your lips parted and you began to calm down, “Yes, exactly.” He moved his hand from yours to rest it on your knee, “I’m sorry.”

You unzipped the front of your pilot jumpsuit down to your stomach and opened it a little, allowing for air flow to your upper body. You didn’t care that you were only wearing a bra underneath it, you trusted Anakin and you liked him, a lot. You both had so much in common and the thought of him being your husband instead of Wullf passed through your head briefly. You knew it was wrong, but you were drawn to Anakin, he had everything you wanted.

The fact that he was now at a near perfect angle to see the cleavage you just exposed did not help Anakin’s current situation. He was already falling for you, the thoughts of stealing you from the Admiral now passing through his mind without shame. You had already stirred his system earlier when you were swaying around your ship, proudly showing it off. Even while you were angrily ranting about how your husband doesn’t treat you right, all Anakin could focus on was your flushed face and how your chest was rising and falling between breaths. You were hot when you were mad and he would be lying if he said it didn’t go straight to his groin.

Now he was staring unashamedly at your breasts while you looked off into the distance. He couldn’t resist and began slowly moving his hand up until it was resting on your thigh. Your thinking was interrupted by the sensation of fingers dancing on your inner thigh. It was pleasant and sent tingles through your legs and abdomen. You looked at Anakin and his face flashed with panic as he quickly removed his hand.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” you cut in, “Please, don’t stop.” Anakin’s eyes darkened and he moved closer so your shoulders were touching, you sounded so desperate, like you had been deprived of touch for years. He put his hand on your cheek and pulled your face closer to his. He looked between your lips and your eyes, silently asking for consent which he found when you nodded. He pulled you to him and your lips connected in a heated exchange. Oh how wrong you knew this was, but you were addicted first try. Anakin tasted like mint and sweat and you were hooked. His hand moved from your cheek downwards, he found your breast and squeezed lightly. His actions sent heat directly to your core and you moaned into his mouth. Anakin broke away and observed your reaction, your eyes were clouded with lust and he could sense just how much you wanted him.

“When was the last time he touched you?” Anakin wondered. “Our wedding night, a year and two months ago,” you confessed. “That’s a long time to go without any special attention,” he spoke, voice smooth, “I bet you need some, huh?”

You whimpered out a yes. “You want freedom don’t you?” He pushed the top of your jumpsuit off your shoulders. “Come here, I’ll show you what freedom tastes like.”

[bre-meister]

This one is actually a continuation of that ask from a while back: “I heard you had lunch with ___”

Hope you enjoy!

Leon Kennedy was many things. He was a D.S.O Agent, a close confidant of the President, and, most importantly, a husband and a father. But, at the end of the day, Leon Kennedy may have been all of those things, but he was also just that, a man. And like many men, he got jealous.

His conversation with Claire about her boss, Neil Fisher, had put a lot of things into perspective for him. He knew that Neil was not a threat to him - never was and never would be. However, Leon would be the first to admitted that he has somewhat of a...possessive streak especially when it comes to his family. Personally, he thinks it’s a holdover from his line of work - keep his loved ones close and no one can hurt them. Whether that was true or not didn’t negate the fact that his slight possessive issues were very much present and when that mixed with his jealousy, Leon was a force to be reckoned with.

So, while Neil possessed no problems within his marriage, he had shown an increasing interest in his wife and that was something that Leon could not just let slide. Thus, his master plan had been birthed.

He hid his intentions from Claire; if she found out he would most definitely end up in the dog house. That was a place he’d learned from experience that he did not want to be. So this operation had to be top secret - even if Claire would be involved later. 

He planned and he waited - patience was a virtue of course. Finally, the perfect moment presented itself and Leon was poised to strike. 

Hunnigan mentioned on Monday that this would most likely be a slow week - at least as slow as a government agency that deals closely with both the President and B.O.W attacks could be. She suggested he take advantage of that and use some of his accumulated down time to spend some time with his family. So, he planned to take off for just a few hours that Thursday to have a nice lunch with his wife. He’d arrive early to make sure that Neil would see him sweep his wife off of her feet right before taking her out for a nice, well deserved lunch between just the two of them - a feat that they don’t accomplish often now with a baby in the house.

So he planned and he waited - just a few more days. He thought up idea upon idea of how he could make it obvious to Neil that Claire was most definitely (and happily he may add) taken without all but saying it. PDA had never really been his thing - it kind of made him uncomfortable to be honest - but he was prepared to feel a little uncomfortable to make Neil uncomfortable enough to control his wandering thoughts about his wife.

                                                        _________

Thursdays were always interesting days for Claire. They were far enough into the week that one was most definitely ready for the weekend and terrible at the same time - taunting almost in the sense that the weekend was so close but so far away, safeguarded by two full days of work. It was good work; the work of a rescuer as her husband would say. It needed to be done and Claire enjoyed it - the knowledge that she was helping people. But, sometimes she wished that work didn’t involve so much paperwork. She briefly wondered if Leon ever felt the same way. She’d seen the stacks of reports that had to be filled out after each of his missions and assignments; there was no way any of that was particularly pleasant to fill out. 

So, as Claire got ready that normal Thursday morning, she found herself preparing for a hopefully boring day doing good work to help good people. And as she sat at the breakfast table watching Leon make goofy faces as he fed their daughter, she couldn’t help but wish the weekend would arrive just a little sooner. She was already making plans to spend as much time as she could with her family. 

It seems that everyone had been making plans that day, because when Claire made it to the office, she noticed that Neil had apparently planed a whole day of work for their team in what, she assumed, was a bid to grab her attention for a large portion of the day. Claire being more experienced in most aspects of bioweapons made her the perfect person for a go between her team and their boss as they created a campaign to bring more light to Umbrella and the viruses that still wracked the world even as the company began to sink.

Neil pretended to need extra explanations of certain aspects of the plan in order to extend their time together. Claire knew he was putting on a front, Neil was a smart guy, he wouldn’t have his current job is he wasn’t. But, Claire humored him against her own personal wishes, afterall, he was still her boss.

In terms of personal feelings against the man, Claire didn’t have any in particular. Neil seemed like a nice enough man but she was aware of his feelings for her and she was a happily married woman. Even though she had told Leon he had nothing to notice about -  and he didn’t - but she felt it was still best to limit her interactions with Neil as much as she could.

It came as no surprise to her that when the typical lunch hour rolled around, Neil began to insist that they spend it together.

“I think it would be a great opportunity for you to further explain this brilliant plan of yours.”

“I’ve already explained every minor detail to you. Now I think it would be best if you just read through the proposal on your own, maybe that way you can figure out whatever is confusing you. Sometimes it’s just the way someone is explaining it and not the content itself.” Claire began to gather her things and move to her own office to grab her purse and head to lunch. She had somehow managed to forget her pack lunch on the kitchen counter and would now have to go buy one.

“Well, then we could use this time to get to know eachother better. Every boss should know his employee’s right? Especially ones he tends to work the most with.”

“Well, if we’ll be working so closely together so often then I fail to see why you would want to spend more time with me.” She had reached her door now. Turning the nob she prayed she would be able to slip in and close the door on Neil without too much resistance.

“Who wouldn’t want to spend more time with you Angel?”

She froze. Looking up she was shocked to see her husband sitting in her chair, a bouquet of red roses sitting in front of him on her desk.

“Leon? What are you doing here?” she shook her head, moving to embrace him as he stood, “i mean, not that i’m not happy to see you but still, what are you doing here.”

“Well I just missed your smiling face so much I had to rush over immediately to see you.”

She fixed him with a look that said she was not amused (even though she was).

“It was kind of a slow day at the office and Hunnigan suggested I use that to my advantage. I noticed that you left your lunch at home so, being the chivalrous, caring man that I am, I decided I would come and whisk you away to a well deserved lunch. Just the two of us...alone...together.”

By this point she was completely wrapped in his arms. That familiar, calming sensation was enough to distract her from noticing how intently Leon was looking over he shoulder and through the doorway.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, “That does sound nice.”

Leon leaned down with, Claire assumed, the intention to place a kiss on her forehead or cheek like he was known to do in public. What she was not prepared for was a deep, heated kiss that would have been classified as that type of PDA that makes everyone around incredibly uncomfortable. The exact kind of kiss that Leon planted on her right in the middle of her office - a fact that was confusing to Claire considering she knew how much Leon preferred to avoid PDA.

The sound of someone clearing their voice is what finally caused them to pull apart. Claire would be the first to admit that she was a little sad the kiss ended so soon - having a baby on top of their already busy schedules didn’t leave much time for them. They were always Claire and Leon, Isabelle’s Mommy and Daddy. Or, Claire and Leon, Terrasave and the D.S.O’s best. Even Though she loved her daughter with her whole heart and believed just as strongly in the work she was doing, sometimes she just wanted to be Claire and Leon - that’s it, just them.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who was behind her - the smirk on Leon’s face told her it was Neil. Suddenly, Claire was begging to put two and two together. 

“Hi, Neil right?” Leon jumped right in.

“Um - “ Neil was not able to get a real word in before Leon interrupted him,

“I don’t think we got to properly meet at that event the other week, what with me technically working and all. Leon Kennedy,” he held his hand out for th either man to shake, “ Claire’s husband.”  Neil’s grip tightened at that. 

Claire could see the pride flowing through Leon at the small slip in Neil’s outward stature. When he dropped his hand, he immediately snaked it around her waist, pulling her close. Even Claire thought that his hand was a little too close to her ass considering her boss was standing in front of them. Then again, that was probably part of whatever plan he had concocted in his jealousy. 

“I forgot my lunch at home so Leon is going to take me out.” Claire stepped in, hoping that neither Leon nor Neil would make a fuss about the whole situation.

“I see he also brought you flowers...how nice.” Neil’s body language was stiff, it was obvious he was trying to restrain what was probably both disappointment and some varying degree of his own jealousy.

“Only the best for my Angel. She deserves flowers as beautiful as her but, alas, no such flower exists. So, I settled for roses.”

Claire loved Leon and so, she tended to put up with a lot of his antics. This one, however, was starting to irk her and the confidant smirk on his face really did it in for her. She was done being a things for these two men to fight over - one of which who definitely had no right to.

Claire shrugged out of Leon’s hold, moving behind her desk to grab her purse.

“Well, times wasting. Common Leon, let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and began to pull him out of the room. She was thankful he didn’t resist. As the passed him, she turned to speak to Neil one last time before leaving,

“ I have some time after lunch if you really need me to go over the plan again. I still suggest you go over the proposals on your own first though.”

Neil let out a mumbles “of course” but Claire was more focused on getting Leon across the open office space, into the elevator, and away from Neil.

                                                      ___________

“I’ve gotta admit,” Leon looked up from his fries to his wife as she spoke, “that line about the flowers? Some of your best work.”

Leon chuckled but looked back down at his plate. Apparently once they’d left the office he had found his shame at the way he had reacted even after being told by Claire he had nothing to worry about.

He’d insisted that Claire pick where they go to dinner. She had decided on a small dinner not that far from her office that they used to frequent often on impromptu dates not unlike their current one. The milkshakes here were her favorite.

“Ya well, it’s true.”

She reached across the table to hold his hand, milkshake forgotten in front of her.

“As much as I love beautiful flowers and amazing lunch dates, you know that you really don’t have anything to worry about. Neil is just my boss - a pretty poor one - but my boss none the less.”

“I get it, I do. I know you would never but, “ he sighed, “ I can’t help it Claire. I saw the way he looked at you and it just - forgive me?” He looked her in the eyes, his own wide enough to portray all the remorse he truly did feel about what was probably an overreaction.

Claire just smiled, she could never stay mad at him. She knew that they hadn’t been able to spend any real alone time together lately and that probably exacerbated his feelings threatening his fragil, male ego. Besides, she couldn’t say she didn’t enjoy that kiss earlier. Perhaps she should take Jill up on her offer to babysit more often.

[moonsubinpr]

[Lee Soo Hyuk — 35 — he/him] Introducing MOON SUBIN. Word on the street is they are a PRESS SECRETARY FOR THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY affiliated with the DEMOCRATIC PARTY. Though they are RESERVED and INTIMIDATING, they can also be DEPENDABLE and HARDWORKING. In the chaos of New York City, they’re sure to fit right in.

Biography. Ask. Wanted Connections. 

I. WRITER’S INTRODUCTION

First of all, I want to introduce myself. You all can call me Jackie, and I am a twenty-one year old graduate student residing within the Eastern Standard Timezone (EST). I have been roleplaying for about 10 years now, however, I took a hiatus from writing on Tumblr due to migrating to other platforms that are more mobile friendly in terms of writing. Now that I have a greater availability, as well as not fond of the newfound style of roleplay on platforms such as Twitter or MeWe, I have returned in hopes to better develop characters and build better connections with other writers. Aside from writing, I enjoy spending quality time with my cat, going out to explore newfound areas, thrifting, reading, and watching random reality television shows. I look forward to getting to know everyone! Feel free to message me for plotting, headcanoning, or for a casual conversation. 

II. BASICS

NAME: MOON SUBIN

AGE: THIRTY-FIVE 

DATE OF BIRTH: 1986 MAY 31

GENDER: CISMALE

PRONOUNS: HE / HIM

SEXUALITY: PANSEXUAL 

HOMETOWN: IOWA CITY, IOWA

AFFILIATION: THE GOVERNMENT

JOB POSITION: DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S PRESS SECRETARY 

EDUCATION: BA IN JOURNALISM FROM NYU

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: SINGLE

CHILDREN: NONE

POSITIVE TRAITS: ELOQUENT, INDEPENDENT, INTELLIGENT, RESPONSIBLE, MATURE, REASONABLE

NEGATIVE TRAITS: RESERVED, BLUNT, INTIMIDATING, DEMANDING, SARCASTIC

FACECLAIM: LEE SOO HYUK 

III. POINTS ABOUT THE MUSE

Moon Subin was born into a rather average household in Heukseok-dong, Seoul, South Korea. His mother, a down-to-earth woman with a contagious smile, worked alongside her mother as a food vendor in one of the city’s largest market. The two were acutely known for their blood sausages as well as jangeo-gui (grilled eel). In fact, this is how the young woman met the young businessman. Running from a class with only a few cash in hand, he stopped at mother’s spot, asking for anything he could get with the amount of money available. She laughed at his lack of time management, and he only stated that he’ll make time to see her better next time. The following day, he returned and sat to chat with the woman. 

Subin was unplanned. The two were not yet wedded when discovering that the woman fell pregnant. However, never did the young couple refer to the baby as a mistake. Rather, they saw Subin’s life as a blessing to better plan for their fast approaching future. During the time in which the woman was pregnant, the man was offered an opportunity to continue his university studies abroad. Sent to Iowa City, Iowa, the young couple packed their belongings and settled within the United States. It’s in this city where Subin would be born, granting him American citizenship despite his parents yet to become naturalized citizens. 

Falling in love with the environment, the mother and father went through various means in order to further extend their stay within the country. From a student visa to a work visa, the father was granted more time to better prepare for the examination of becoming U.S. citizens. While his father began to work in a local company specializing in medical prosthetics, his mother worked at a local Chinese restaurant where she befriended Chinese immigrants who helped her with assimilating into the culture. 

Subin grew up in an environment where he witnessed the benefits of hard work. His parents worked many hours in order to provide for him as well as to their community. He found this to be admirable, and this encouraged the young boy to succeed in his academics so that he could provide for his parents in the future. 

He became interested in the field of communications due to constantly acting as the translator for his parents when making doctor appointments or trying to pitch the best deal at a cars dealership. Words were fascinating, and he especially thought this was the case after reading a number of novels written by authors such as H.G. Wells and Amy Tan. His interest in communications got him involved with the morning news at his middle school and high school. During his four years at high school, he also participated in Model UN and the Debate team. These involvements were the result of his great achievements in social studies courses, and his teachers encouraged him to get involved with these extracurricular activities. 

Due to awards achieved in high school, he was granted a scholarship to attend New York University in New York City. Although his parents did not want him to leave their home, they eventually came to terms that this would be good for his future successes. Thus, he went to attend NYU for a Bachelors in Journalism with a minor in Politics. Thanks to amazing professors and establishing connections through networking events, the young man was able to maintain a number of internships---such as volunteering for the current Governor’s former campaign in the creative team for marketing. He later volunteered alongside CNN professionals, and he gained an internship experience with the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office as Press Office Intern. By the time he graduated from university, he’s already met a number of influential, powerful people of the big city. 

 Upon graduation, he was able to get a job at the Manhattan District Attorney Office as Press Officer due to his wonderful performance during his internship with the office. He held this position for two years before being promoted as Deputy Press Secretary for the office. However, in less than 2 years, he was able to maintain the Press Secretary position due to the former Press Secretary’s leave to another office. In another year, he was granted the position of Deputy Director of Communications for the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office. Subin held this position up until he was given the opportunity to work as the city’s District Attorney’s main Press Secretary. 

During his years working for the city and learning about the mishaps behind the scenes, Subin has been able to learn a lot about the dirty truth. He is aware that some of the crimes dealt with in the office are a result to the existing gangs within the city. Although his DA remains slightly oblivious to the people surrounding them, Subin maintains awareness due to the connections he’s established during interviews as well as conferences. They threaten Subin to keep quiet. They ask Subin to twist the truth. He does what keeps him safe, but he holds the knowledge close to his heart. The quiet man knows a lot----perhaps more than what the gangs wish for him to know, and this can be dangerous. One never knows what he can do with all of this knowledge. He could expose them to the public whenever he dares to do so. If he really wanted to, of course.

But, for now, he keeps quiet. He does his job and remains cordial with those he establishes some sorts of connection with. If someone he cares about, though, ever gets hurt, he’s not sure what he’ll do. No one knows.  

IV. WANTED CONNECTIONS

Any and all possible connections within the Government. I would love to further develop and establish connections within the affiliation in order to better understand Subin’s position in the government as well as with Law Enforcement, for he works within the District Attorney Office; therefore, he has connections with lawyers as well as officers. This can be good or bad, I am open to all possibilities. 

For those in Media, Subin is responsible for addressing those in Media in order to report information given by the DA. Those in media could have interviewed Subin, have gone to a number of his press hearings, as well as questioned his intentions or morales within this position. Anyone who does not trust him is very much wanted. A person who trusts him a lot is also wanted. 

To those in any gang, people who has paid him or threatened him to withhold information from the public is very much wanted. Give me some angst in regard to perhaps threatening his family. Perhaps people question how Subin can offerd such a luxurious home or car, and this could be due to payments accepted from those within these organizations. I am open to anything.

I am also interested in a secret relationship that should not be a relationship, however, the two continue to pursue one another in sexual and romantic rendezvous. Subin is not entirely the most relationship-orientated person, however, due to a lot of stress within his career, some fun would be favorable. 

[ms-march]

12 Days of Turn- “Festival”

uhm yeah you’re not being deceived by this header collage.  Happy day 3 of 12 Days of Turn!  Here is a collaboration with @tallmadgeandtea​ on a ss:sp and lbl crossover!  While it is not inherently holiday themed, like at all, it was just too good to not post for the prompt “festival.”  If you like it please be sure to give it a like, comment, and/or reblog!  Disclaimer: there will be some serious lbl spoilers ahead!

May had blossomed in Virginia once again, and Belvoir’s grounds were as beautiful as always.  Ever since John had resigned as an aide de camp and taken a fighting command in Nathanael Greene’s Southern Army, Adrienne had occupied herself by taking trips and hosting extravagant parties at her childhood home.  The guest lists and menus never ceased to distract her from whatever certain peril John placed himself in daily.  Today she dressed in a blue and yellow polonaise gown with a blue brimmed straw hat for a garden party, hosted in the extravagant and freshly manicured gardens behind the Manor.  Her blonde curls were arranged perfectly atop her head as she walked down to the large main entrance hall with a grand doorway leading straight out into the gardens behind it.   

Adrienne stood atop the landing on the grand staircase, and the footmen opened the large front doors, two more appearing and stepping outside to assist guests out of their carriages.  Adrienne gladly smiled at each of them, motioning them behind her and out the doors to the garden.  Most of the guests were members of Virginia high society: Martha Jefferson, Dolley Madison, Elizabeth Wythe,  Martha Washington, Elizabeth Randolph, Catharine Greene, Dorothea Henry, Anne Lee, and many more.  But none of them piqued Adrienne’s interest as much as the additional guest requested by Martha Washington.

Adrienne had known the older woman for as much of her life as she could remember; the woman was as a mother to her, so she was more than willing to grant such a request when it was brought to her.  Upon hearing the name Mrs. Elizabeth Tallmadge, however, Adrienne became excited.  She held Major Tallmadge in high esteem, considering him a friend of hers, and was more than delighted to extend an invite to his wife, even if she would likely be unused to such luxury as was provided at Belvoir.  Adrienne trusted Martha would make her presentable, but when Martha began to ascend the stairs, there was not some pretty faced and practical middle-class girl following her, rather a well-dressed and beautiful tall blonde woman.  She was mesmerizing to Adrienne as she climbed the staircase, her blue and white chintz gown brushing the steps.  It was slightly clear the girl had no governess or formal studies of such, but Adrienne was entirely confident that she could perform to the highest tier without so much as a headache appearing.

The blonde had a radiant and warm smile, complimenting Martha’s own motherly grin, as she looked around the extravagant hall in awe, admiring the murals across the walls and the marble of the stairs.  Her hand hovered over the ornate railing as she floated up the stairs.  When she finally joined Adrienne and Martha atop the landing, Martha smiled, waving the slightly shy girl over to them. “This is a lovely house, madam,” she spoke clear and confidently, “It is certainly a rarity in the colonies.”

“Yes,” Adrienne offered her own warm smile to the woman, seeking to ease her shyness, “It is solely a European style house, based around the classics of Hampton court and the elaborate plaster halls of the baroque style.  My father’s pride and joy.”

She nodded politely, and Martha began to speak, the motherly smile still soft across her face, “We shall see you in the garden, dear.” And the blonde was whisked away, her eyes lingering on Adrienne for a moment as she was led by Martha.

When the long parade of guests had all arrived and been accordingly received, Adrienne slowly made her way to the doors leading to the stone staircase leading down into the gardens.  She took her time as she descended, allowing the chatter to wash over her in waves.  The musicians began to play their light and jovial music- the newest pieces straight from London - as Adrienne exited the doors.  There was no need for the crowd to hush and greet her- this was not a formal ball after all-but there were still a few who made to greet their hostess once again, giving her curtseys as she passed.  Adrienne nodded at each of them with a respectful smile as she drifted through the group of merry guests.  She floated happily from table to table before stumbling upon Martha engaging in a conversation with Catharine Greene, and the blonde from earlier observing the party from an ornate bench with a small flute of cherie in her hand, untouched.  

“You do not drink?” Adrienne asked as she approached, “I can send for another beverage if you would like, madam.” 

“Oh,” the girl startled from her observations, flushing light pink in the cheeks as she gleaned down at the untouched glass before looking back up at Adrienne, “No, that is really unnecessary.  I just find this place too intriguing to be bothered with my drink.  There is far too much to observe.”

Adrienne smiled.  This woman was undoubtedly Major Tallmadge’s wife. “It would be no trouble,” she assured her, “Please notify one of the servants about or myself if you should find yourself in need of anything at all.”

“And if I find myself in need of your name, madam?”

“Then it shall be readily given,” Adrienne smiled brightly, “Lady Adrienne Fairfax Laurens of Virginia. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam.”

The blonde answered her own question in response. “Mrs. Elizabeth Walker Tallmadge of Philadelphia,” she bowed her head for a moment to acknowledge Adrienne’s title, “My Lady.”

Adrienne’s face turned to a quick shock, followed quickly by excitement as she rushed to sit beside the woman. “Walker?” she asked excitedly, “As in the same family that owns the mysterious Walker Manor?’ An amused nod was given to signal that her assumption was correct, allowing Adrienne to continue in disbelief, “That old brick house with closed gates, locked doors, and empty grounds?  No one has been seen living there for years!”

Elizabeth laughed at the younger girl’s seemingly naive antics, “I have indeed been living there, though mostly alone for the past 10 years.”

“Alone?” Adrienne asked, astounded, “Without so much as a governess?” Another nod, “Then I should imagine you cherished social outings during such a period, madam, for I cannot fathom such a miserable experience.”

Elizabeth shook her head in dismissal, “Unless you count Sunday church as a social outing, which I am sure you do not.”

Adrienne’s jaw dropped open slightly, her eyes widening slightly, “How horrid!  I do believe I would suffer greatly under such circumstances.”

Mrs. Tallmadge looked around the gardens at the decor, servants, and guests galore before responding, “I do believe that you would, my Lady.”

“Oh!” Adrienne reached out, placing her gloved hands atop those of Elizabeth, “Please call me Adrienne or Miss Fairfax at the very least.  I do believe it is well deserved after allowing me to pester you so carelessly.”

“Oh, it is no problem at all, believe me. I rather enjoy being pestered.” Elizabeth grinned at her, allowing a happy laugh to escape, with Adrienne’s own laughter joining her. “Now, allow me to pester you in return,” she continued, “Are you at all perhaps related to the Laurens’ of South Carolina?  I am friends  with Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, who has recently retired to a field command in the southern campaign.”

“Yes, I am” Adrienne spoke, and forcing a smile, she felt a good deal of joy seep out of her body at the mention of her reckless husband, “I married Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens in 1778- our son is inside with his own governess as we speak.”

“Oh!” The woman sounded shocked; Adrienne supposed it was from the lack of such knowledge.  She was sure that John did not speak of her often, if at all before he resigned from the northern campaign. “You must be delighted.  He is a good man. I was married myself in ’78. He attended our wedding.”

“He is a good man,” Adrienne sighed, attempting to keep the smile on her face, “Even if he is occasionally a little too reckless for my liking.”

“Like taking up a field command in South Carolina?” the older blonde asked, lips pulled into a humorous smile with knowing eyes and raised brows.

Adrienne did laugh lightly as she sighed, stress seeping into her voice, “Yes, precisely like taking up a field command in South Carolina.”  

This time it was Elizabeth’s turn to reach her hands out to hold Adrienne’s, “I am sure he will be ok.  He has the tendency to pull through even the most difficult of situations, I assure you. It is something he and my husband have in common.”

A servant came around to Adrienne’s side of the bench from behind, presenting a singular letter upon a tray.  Adrienne took the letter carefully, curiosity seeping through her fingers as she broke the seal.  Her hands unfolded the paper delicately, and she held it in her lap as she began to slowly scan the words.  

“On May 12th, 1780, Charleston, South Carolina, was captured by His Majesty’s Royal Army forces under the direction of Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Clinton.  Major General Benjamin Lincoln provided them an unconditional surrender, turning over himself and all 3,000 men under his command to the mercy of the British.  Those included in these troops are as follows…” 

Adrienne’s eyes scanned quickly down the list, heart pounding against her chest as they searched for the one name that mattered the most to her.  Her heart ceased in its incessant pounding, stopping entirely as her eyes glazed over the words on the paper before her.

“Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens”

Her throat was dry, and her layers became constricting.  She did not notice as the blonde’s astute eyes beside her examined the paper in Adrienne’s hand.  Until Elizabeth  spoke up, “Adrienne, I am sorry-”

She stood abruptly, swallowing thickly, “You will have to excuse me, Mrs. Tallmadge.  I need to get some fresh air.” Adrienne hurried away as quickly as she could into the house and to the room directly to the right of the garden’s entrance, drawing Martha’s eyes and mind from her conversation with Catharine Greene.  She excused herself from the woman and began to make her way into the house, Elizabeth trailing closely behind.  

Adrienne had called for her son, just a year old, and swaddled in blankets.  She sat on a chaise against the wall of the entirely empty bluish-gray room, the letter lying face-up beside her.  She did not look up the sound of heels on the tile, attention focused solely on her child.

“What happened?” Martha asked Elizabeth as she rushed through the doorway.

“She got news of her husband,” she replied, electing to forgo discretion in this instance, “And it is not all good.”

“Not good as in he prefers the new position or not good as in he is dead?”

“Neither,” she replied as they rushed into the room, the swishing noise of their silks and the click of their heels across the tile having no effect on the young girl who sat, holding her child. “Charleston has been lost and the Lieutenant Colonel taken prisoner.”

“Oh, not good,” Martha spoke, cutting the conversation off as they approached.  Martha took a seat on one side of Lady Fairfax, moving the letter to her hands so that she could sit, with Elizabeth sitting on the girl’s other side. “Adrienne, dear,” Martha spoke, placing a hand on Adrienne’s forearm, “Tell us what has happened.  We only wish to help.” She continued trying to soothe the distraught girl for several minutes to no avail.  Martha finally excused herself to send for some cold water and a washrag, hoping that would be enough to pull Adrienne out of the shock that had overtaken her body.

Elizabeth stayed with her, observing the young woman as she cradled the baby in her arms, holding him close against her chest.  She watched as Adrienne softly shushed the baby, bouncing him just slightly. “May I hold him?” she asked, pulling the girl from her stupor.

Adrienne’s eyes glanced over to the woman in blue beside her before clearing her throat and snapping to attention, “Yes, of course, you may.” She carefully handed the bundle of blankets over to Elizabeth, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “Be gentle with him,” she spoke in what sounded a bit like a plea, eyes still focused on the baby’s face, “Little John is still just barely a year old, and he is very precious to me.”

Elizabeth nodded, the baby taking her full attention as well.  A happy smile rested on her face as the baby cooed, but unlike Adrienne, she made no attempt to shush him. “He is named after his father?” she asked the young girl softly.

“Yes,” Adrienne smiled in a similar way to Martha Washington as she looked upon the baby, “He shares his father’s eyes.” The baby whined, prompting Adrianne to reach out and caress his soft cheeks and comfortingly hum to the child, Elizabeth recognizing the song as the chorus of “In Days of My Youth.” When the boy finally quieted, satisfied with her attentions, “And his temper as well.”

Elizabeth laughed a little at that, making faces to baby John. “He is an angel,” she whispered to the young woman beside her.

“He is incredibly well-behaved today,” she agreed, “But do not let him fool you.” She whispered, caressing his cheek, “His lungs are as strong as can be.  I should think he could give Colonel Hamilton a run for his money once he is older.”

“As his father already does?”

“Precisely,” Adrienne replied, prompting the two girls to begin laughing once more.

A moment of silence passed over the room and between the young women, the coos of the baby being the only things stopping the room from falling into complete silence.  Finally, Elizabeth spoke, turning to look at Lady Fairfax, “I could write Benjamin for any news on Lieutenant Colonel Laurens if you would like, Miss Fairfax.  It would be no trouble at all.”

Adrienne opened her mouth to reply before closing it with a sigh, “No, it is likely the news has not yet reached the northern campaign.” Elizabeth opened her mouth, no doubt to offer a statement of hope or a plea to at least attempt the contact, but Adrienne waved her off kindly with a tired smile. “There is very little General Washington could do for John, besides make his situation worse.  No,” she brushed invisible dust from her skirts, “I shall go to Charlestown.  As a member of the British Aristocracy, I benefit from accommodation by any of His Majesty’s forces.  And they will be forced to heed to my wishes out of respect for the hierarchy of British society.”

Mrs. Tallmadge placed a concerned hand over Adrienne’s own once more, her brow furrowed in concern, “Are you sure that is a good idea?”

“It is the best idea I have got, and the best chance John has got,” she spoke, attempting to sound convincing, to herself as well as Elizabeth, “Even if he will be cross with me for my interference.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips slightly, trying to pull them into a smile as she did so, “Are you sure you do not wish for the General to interfere on your behalf instead?”

“Yes,” Adrienne nodded, forcing out a shaky breath, “Unveiling any further connection between the Lieutenant Colonel and Uncle George will only make easing his situation even harder.  They will make it worse, attempting to dangle him before the General.”

Elizabeth nodded, observing the girl a little closer upon her comment, ‘Uncle George?  That is certainly new.’  

Adrienne looked away from the older woman, down to the baby now sleeping peacefully in her arms.  Adrienne laughed quietly at his little snores, “Would you mind coming with me to put him to bed?  I fear it will wake him if I were to take him.”

Elizabeth nodded and rose slowly, following the shorter blonde out the light blue room’s large entranceway, farther into the house.  She followed Adrienne up an elaborate white staircase, across an upper terrace of a small tiled ballroom, through a paneled door to a less ornate but large room of yellow and green.  The room had a plush alcove bed with two doors on each side of it, several chairs, and a chaise.  There were toys of obvious expense that the baby could not yet hold arranged decoratively on the floor.  Adrienne led her to the bed, instructing her to place the baby atop of it.  She pulled a little lever connected to a wire with her finger and sat on the edge of the bed.  Elizabeth watched as she sang softly to the baby in the bed.

“From the court to the cottage convey me, away for I am weary of grandeur and what they call gay; From the court to the cottage convey me, away for I am weary of grandeur and what they call gay.  Where pride without measure and pomp without pleasure, make life in a circle of hurry decay.” Adrienne continued to hum the melody softly until the door left of the bed opened and a woman, a servant, stepped out, curtsying to the two ladies.   She rose wordlessly, smiling warmly at the woman as she took a seat in the room before ushering Elizabeth out of the room with her. “I like to have someone watch over him as he sleeps,” she explained to the older woman, “It makes me feel better when I leave him to rest.”

Elizabeth nodded at her, smiling back to Adrienne, “A mother never stops worrying about her child.”

“Are you yourself one?” Adrienne asked politely as they stood in the hall outside the bedroom.

“No, Miss Fairfax,” Elizabeth smiled sadly, “As badly as I wish for a child of my own, my husband wishes to wait till after the war. Though I cannot help but agree with him. I can not imagine how hard it is to be a mother during times like these. And who knows how I would manage.”

Adrienne smiled comfortingly up at the tall woman, “And I have no doubt you will make an excellent one.” She offered her arm to Elizabeth, who looped their arms together as they walked down the hall, turning before reaching the terrace they had crossed originally, slowly strolling down a long and wide hallway with a series of proudly displayed portraits.

Elizabeth’s eyes scanned the walls, recognizing one of them, a very young little girl with blonde hair with a white linen gown and blue silk sash wrapped around her waist.  It was Lady Fairfax, she realized.  Her eyes darted away, noticing another young woman, not as young as Adrienne, but a child nonetheless.  She had wavy brown hair and wore a solid blue dress similar in shade to Adrienne’s own.  There was a plaque underneath the portrait that read “Lady Anne Fairfax 1748-1763.” The girl was only a mere fifteen years old at her passing.

The next portrait that caught her eye was one of a man in a blue and gold silk coat, this was also labeled, “Viscount George William Fairfax 1729-” there was no year of death, and Elizabeth realized he must have been older than the General.  The final portrait that caught her eye was not dressed in blue or white, but pink.  The plaque read “Sarah Walker Fairfax 1719-1754” and Elizabeth paused, jerking Adrienne’s attention to her.  1719, that was a Walker older than her own father.

“Is everything alright, Mrs. Tallmadge?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth cleared her throat, giving the girl a smile, “I was just admiring this portrait, and the name startled me.”

“Oh!” Adrienne exclaimed with a large, genuine smile, “That is my grandmother, of Virginia’s original Fairfaxes.  Do not let her poise fool you.  She was born in the Colonies, rather than England.  Was raised in the Caribbean, actually.”

“And born where?” Elizabeth asked curiously.

“Pennsylvania or Maryland, I think,” Adrienne replied, “I am not sure.  Why do you ask?”

“I have seen this portrait before,” Elizabeth spoke, eyes examining the painting, “In the storage of Walker Manor.  Every time I asked about it, my father would simply ignore me.”

“Walker Manor,” Adrienne asked, moving to stand beside the tall blonde, “Do you think she could be related to you in any way?”

“Who were her parents?”

“I do not recall her mother, but her father was a man named John Francis Walker.”

Elizabeth gasped, turning quickly to Adrienne, “That is my uncle!  I have never met him, he has long since passed, but my father has spoken of him several times when complaining about old fixtures around the house. He likes to say he was the one who inherited both the Philadelphia status and the messes that came with it.”

Adrienne’s face lit up as well, not caring about the previous comment by Elizabeth’s father.  She reached out to hold each of Elizabeth’s hands in her own, “That is very exciting, madam, that I could have just met you today only to find out that we are related!”

“Indeed it is!” Elizabeth spoke happily as she laughed at Adrienne’s childish joy. “Though I suppose it is not too surprising. Old Philadelphians may complain about Old Virginians, but we have all found a way to get into each society’s most prominent families.” She turned to face the rest of the hall, eyes scanning portraits until they landed on a pair of paintings, each of a young man in a red and blue military coat.  She walked to them gladly, Adrienne trailing behind her.

“Oh!” Adrienne exclaimed as she realized who the two twin paintings that hung from the walls were. “Those were gifts from Mrs. Mary Ball Washington.  The one on top is Uncle George when he was a Colonel in the British-American Army during the French-Indian war.” She pointed up to it, “And the one below it is his elder brother, Lawrence Washington, a Major in His Majesty’s Army.  I was engaged to him for a short period between the deaths of my sister, Anne, and his own.”

“His elder brother?” the woman asked, astounded, “But the general is approaching fifty years of age if I am correct!”

“Yes,” Adrienne laughed, “There would have been quite the age gap between us.”

“Would a child even be possible in such a match?” Mrs. Tallmadge asked as they continued to walk along, turning from the hall and down a separate set of marble stairs with even mural-sized portraits lining the walls.

“Yes,” Adrienne replied, “But I would have been married far younger.  With Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, I was given the luxury of time, and I am very grateful for it.”

The women descended the stairs, and Adrienne ushered her out the door underneath the staircase that led out to the gardens. “I must collect Martha.  We will return to the party shortly,” she assured Elizabeth, “I have already been absent for too long.  It is unbecoming of a hostess to abandon her guests in such a manner.”

Elizabeth reached out, grabbing Adrienne’s elbow as she turned away from her, causing Adrienne to look back at her as she stood in the doorway. “If you ever should find yourself in need of anything, please, let me know,” she smiled softly, letting her hand fall back to her side.  There was a knowing gleam in her eye, “I have a way of getting things done.”

Adrienne smiled brightly back at her, laughing happily at her statement, then turned around entirely and disappeared down the sunny corridor.

[syntheticpoetry]

The Ghosts That We Knew

See my original post on the origins of this story here!

Summary: Blaine Anderson is no stranger to hospitals and has been volunteering on the pediatric unit of Lima General Hospital for years when Kurt Hummel comes along.  After Blaine is attacked at his school's Sadie Hawkins Dance, he has his best friend Kurt to help him deal with the aftermath. And when Kurt becomes the target of the McKinley football team's bullying campaign, he can count on Blaine to have his back.

AU where Blaine transfers to McKinley instead of Dalton. Set during season 1.A story of two best friends finding courage to face their bullies and discovering love along the way.

Author’s Note: Blaine has a reason he has been in an out of the hospital since childhood that will be revealed, but if you are overly cautious of the level of angst surrounding it I can assure you it's nothing heartbreaking/super serious. It's actually quite common.  I cannot thank @esperantoauthor​ enough for beta reading this for me and really helping me whip it into shape!

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Chapter 1: Of Viral Videos and Disney Princes

The last time that Kurt Hummel remembers being in a hospital, he told his mother that he loved her for the last time.  

That was six years ago.  

As he walks through the lobby, towards the directory by the elevators, he keeps his gaze fixed forward, careful not to spare a glance at the waiting area to his right.  He spent so many months in that waiting room.  Entire seasons, multiple holidays spent watching people receive good news and bad news, with his father stoic and silent beside him as his mother underwent procedure after procedure.  Until it was their turn to be the family that received bad news.  The doctor sounded sincere as he said a lot of big words Kurt could not quite understand at the time, but he understood the look on his father’s face.  He took to studying the ugly designs on the carpet to distract from the tight clench in his father’s jaw, the way he kept himself so still and barely blinked through the entire explanation— Kurt knew, even at eight years old, what it was like to use up all of your willpower to hold yourself together for the sake of someone else.  To this day, he cannot look at paisley print without thinking back to that awful day.

Kurt scans the directory before punching the up button to call the elevator and folds his arms across his chest, tapping his foot as he awaits its arrival.  When he first heard about the volunteer program on the pediatric unit he was naturally hesitant to return to the place that held some of his worst memories.  He had been on the fence about it all summer, torn between the desire to give back to the hospital staff that had gone above and beyond in their attempts to cure his mother’s cancer and wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the place where they finally had to say goodbye to each other.

Until he saw that YouTube video.  

A curly-haired boy with big doe eyes and an unwavering grin, guitar in hand, leading a Disney themed sing-along with a group of elementary school age kids.  The warmth that spread through Kurt’s chest was almost overwhelming as he watched the boy march around the room performing Hakuna Matata with the parade of children trailing behind, mimicking him raucously and off-key.  It was the first time Kurt had really smiled in a long time.

So he had decided to look into the program.  Mostly because witnessing the boundless energy of pure joy from each child singing along in that video elicited memories of countless nights of living room performances with his own father, both of them puffy-eyed and exhausted but still managing to find the stamina to sing at the top of their lungs, using the furniture as stage props.  They were two lost souls attempting to cling to each other through tidal waves of insurmountable grief, and those nights together— well, those nights wereeverything to Kurt.  He had never felt closer to his father than when they were both breathless and laughing their way through the most eclectic collection of songs imaginable, hugging each other tightly at the end of each performance.  

And if Kurt happened to run into the boy from the video along the way, well, that would certainly just be an added bonus. Kurt did have eyes after all.  And there was no denying the boy’s natural charm or the air of confidence with which he carried himself.  

Truth be told, entering yet another school year with no friends was beginning to take its toll on Kurt and the possibility of finding camaraderie with a cute boy who seemingly shared similar interests was certainly enticing.

Ding!

The doors slide open before him revealing an empty elevator.  Kurt steps in and presses the button for the fourth floor.  He thinks about that video and jumping on armchairs and couches in his living room with his father for the entire ride up.

***

He has to be buzzed in to enter the unit, which he thinks is strange.  But the woman who greets him, a young nurse with bright green eyes and deep auburn hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, explains it is the protocol for all pediatric units in order to prevent children from wandering away or being kidnapped.  There are security bracelets around each patient’s ankle that trigger an alarm if they are taken past a bright yellow line painted on the floor.

“Who would kidnap sick kids from a hospital?” Kurt asks, looking absolutely horrified.

“You would be surprised at how common it is.  Parents fighting over custody, usually.”

He nods and guesses that makes sense, but the thought is still deeply unsettling.

The hallways are empty as she leads him to a room behind the nurse’s station.  The unit is certainly much different from the one his mother had been on.  The walls are covered in murals of different cartoon characters and scenes from popular storybooks.  While the nurse punches in a code, Kurt studies a painting of Rapunzel in a high stone tower, golden plaited hair strung over the edge of the window for a handsome prince at the bottom. The door buzzes and she holds it open for him.  “I’ll let my supervisor know you’re here.”

Kurt thanks her and takes a seat at one of the tables to wait.  On the far wall he spots a bulletin board covered in an overabundance of overlapping photos, hand-drawn pictures and a variety of cards both homemade and store-bought.  He casts a quick glance towards the door before crossing the room to investigate.  He cannot help but smile as he scans over the collection of memories, reminiscing back to his own pile of hand drawn cards for the staff on the oncology unit.  

Then something catches his eye.  

It’s the curly haired boy from the video.  He’s standing, guitar in hand with the strap over his shoulder, in the center of a group photo, surrounded by children of varying ages and the unit staff.  His outfit is different from the one in the video though.  He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a printed T-shirt, only the edges of the otherwise obscured design visible from behind the guitar over his torso.  In the video he had certainly seemed more, well, put together, to say the least.  He had worn light grey slacks and a navy polo shirt accented with a white bow tie, which Kurt could not help but notice because he could count on one hand the amount of teenage boys he had ever seen wearing bow ties in the state of Ohio, himself included.  

Kurt wonders how often he comes by to visit and volunteer.  Maybe there is a chance they will be able to meet after all.

The faint beeping of the key code and jiggling of the door handle to his left draws his attention and he turns in time to see an older woman with ashy blonde hair and huge round glasses that take up half of her face walk in.  Her scrub top is printed with different Winnie the Pooh characters.  She smiles and approaches him, extending her hand.  “Hi, you must be Kurt.  I’m Jeannie; we spoke on the phone last week.”

“Oh! Yes,” Kurt shakes her hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Shall we?” She gestures to a table and Kurt takes a seat opposite her.  “So we just have to get some paperwork in order and then we can take a little tour around the unit so you can meet the kids.”

“Okay.”

“This is your first time volunteering, right?” She opens a Manila folder and begins rifling through a large stack of papers.

“Yes.”

“What drew you to it?”

Kurt steals a glance towards the bulletin board, lips curling up into a half-smile.  “I heard about it through my school a few months back, but honestly? I spent a lot of time visiting my mom in this hospital when I was a kid and when me and my dad would get home he would always try to cheer me up.  We put on a lot of concerts for my stuffed animals in our living room.  And I mean… like a lot .”  

Her eyes are soft as she listens, a piece of paper held loosely between both hands just inches off of the table, almost forgotten, and gives him an empathetic smile.

“I saw that video of the Disney sing-along online and I just really wanted to be a part of it, helping kids, especially with music, because it’s really helped me through some tough times.”

“Well,” She straightens up and slides the paper across the table towards him, “I think the kids will really love having you around.  Do you play any instruments?”

“Never missed a piano lesson,” Kurt says, grinning.  “But mostly, I love to sing.”

The paperwork consists of a lot of signatures.  Kurt is not to discuss any of the patients or their health conditions with others in order to maintain privacy regulations, not to post anything to social media without permission, and just a lot of general information about the hospital’s protocols such as what to do in the event of emergency scenarios (of which there are many ).  By the end of it, Kurt has a pretty sizable stack of papers to take home with him and a dull cramp in his wrist.  

“I know it seems like a lot of information, but nothing you have to memorise.  You’ll always be with other staff members who will guide you through every step of the way.”

Kurt releases a nervous laugh, “Okay, good.  I can save my highlighters for school work then.”

***

Jeannie leads the way to the playroom which, she explains, is a safe space for all the children on the unit that remains open every day until 7 p.m.  No medications or treatments are allowed to be administered to a child in the playroom, they must be brought out first.  There are about ten kids inside, ranging from toddlers to older teens, all of whom have seemingly gravitated towards splitting into their own little cliques based on ages.  As soon as they enter the room two of the younger kids, a boy and girl no older than three or four, look up from a mountain of blocks and start crying.  Kurt casts an alarmed glance at Jeannie.

“It’s okay, you can keep playing.” Jeannie kneels down and stacks a loose block onto their small tower.  “Everyone, this is Kurt, he’s going to be coming by to help out and spend some time with all of you.” She stands up and backs away from the two toddlers with the blocks to stand beside Kurt again.  

“It’s the uniform,” she says quietly to him.  “Some get scared when they see us come into a room cause it usually means it’s time for medicine or treatments.”

“Hi, Kurt!” A small girl with bronze skin, a round face, and long thick black hair comes over and takes his hand.  “I’m Melanie! You wanna come draw with me?”

She does not wait for an answer before she starts tugging on his hand and walking back towards a small rectangular table covered with construction paper and crayons.  She climbs into one of two plastic blue chairs which are far too tiny for Kurt to fit in, so he sits on the floor beside the table, crossing his legs.  Melanie slides a piece of yellow construction paper towards him and pushes a pile of crayons into the middle for them to share.

“Did you draw all of these?” Kurt picks up a red crayon and starts sketching.

“Yes! My daddy brought my big brother to visit and we draw together,” she says, shading in what looks like a sunflower with a purple crayon.

“They’re very beautiful; I like that one a lot.” Kurt taps the one she is currently working on.  “I’ve never seen a purple sunflower before.”

“I’m gonna invent them one day,” she says matter-of-factly.  Kurt smiles and returns to his sketch of a new outfit design that has been floating around his mind for the past week.  

“Woah!”

Kurt begins to lift his head up to locate where the voice has come from when he spots movement beside his left elbow.  To say the boy is small would be an understatement.  He is tiny .  A pale, skinny little thing dressed in Batman pajamas that look two sizes too big on him.  He has wide, bright blue eyes and is wearing a charcoal grey beanie.  Clutched between his toothpick arms is a stuffed rabbit with drooping ears the size of its entire body.  

“Hello,” Kurt says as the boy leans forward to peer at his drawing.

“You can draw,” the boy says, clutching his rabbit closer.  

“Would you like to draw with us?”

“Can’t draw,” he says.

“Oh, I bet that’s not true,” Kurt says and holds out the crayon to him.  “Everyone can draw.”

The boy looks at the crayon then up to Kurt and shakes his head shyly before raising the bunny up to his chin, hugging it tightly.

“What’s your name?” Kurt asks.

“Jason,” he says quietly.

“Well, would you like to watch me and Melanie draw?”

“I’m really good.” Melanie looks up at him.  “You can sit next to me, I’ll show you.”

Kurt spends the next hour drawing with Melanie while Jason continues to peek curiously between them.  The other kids begin to trickle out of the room, some led by nurses, some by visiting family members.  Pretty soon, only the three of them are left until Jason’s mother comes in to collect him.  Before he leaves, Kurt holds out a piece of paper to him.

“Something tells me you like Batman,” Kurt says as Jason’s eyes widen at the image of a child-sized Batman with bright blue eyes.  “How about next time you can draw me?”

“Okay.” Jason grins, slipping the picture between his stuffed bunny and his chest to hold it there safely.  “But you’re gonna look like a potato.  I really can’t draw.”

It is the most Kurt has heard him speak all afternoon.  Something about the way he talks contradicts the way he looks. Kurt wonders how old he actually is; the boy looks smaller than most five year olds he’s seen but definitely talks like an older child.  Kurt makes a mental note to find out next time.  “Deal.  I can’t wait to see it.”

Jason’s mom gives Kurt a parting smile before she shepherds her son away.  Soon after, Melanie’s nurse comes to collect her as well, leaving only Kurt and Jeannie in the empty playroom.

“That went well,” she says.  “You’re a natural with them.”

Kurt beams back at her, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.  

After his dad comes to pick him up, Kurt spends the entire car ride home filling him in on the events of the day, excluding Jason and Melanie’s names.  He goes to bed that night with his mind already buzzing with activities for the next visit.

***

Kurt starts volunteering two days a week after school and over the course of the next month, he becomes very familiar with some of the regular kids on the unit.  Jason, he discovers, is actually nine years old, has leukemia and is in his final round of chemotherapy by the first week in October.  Melanie has sickle cell anemia and had been hospitalized for something called ‘sickle cell crisis’— she had gone home two weeks after they first met, but Kurt learns that she usually returns frequently for the same problem.  There’s a teenage boy not much older than Kurt is, but taller and skinnier with jet black hair and sad eyes, named Julian who has cystic fibrosis— he usually keeps to himself, oftentimes choosing to sit in the back corner of the playroom and silently watch everyone else.  

The rest have been a whirlwind of faces and names with a variety of issues such as pneumonia, appendicitis, broken bones and asthma attacks.  There have also been quite a few cases of children who have come in with injuries as a result of abuse at home, more so than Kurt would have imagined actually occurred.  He finds trying to interact and engage with those kids to be the most heartbreaking.

Some of the kids are not as keen to warm up to him as others, keeping to themselves or staying with their families while Kurt leads sing-alongs, painting lessons, hosts movie nights, and reads aloud during story time.  He has developed a steady routine in the five weeks since he began volunteering.  So on the Tuesday during the second week of October he waves hello to the security personnel by the front entrance like he usually does.  He rides up the same elevator and is buzzed into the unit by Rosie, the first nurse he met with the auburn hair.  And with his usual wide smile in place, he strolls into the playroom with a new four-pack of Disney themed puzzles under his arm.  

But when he walks in, the kids are already sitting in a circle, staring up at a boy with loosely gelled curls coiffed into a fluffy side part, bright hazel eyes, and a sapphire acoustic guitar perched on his lap. Kurt is caught completely off guard as he realises, Oh god, it’s him! It’s the guy from the video!

He looks shorter in person than Kurt assumed.  In both the photo on the bulletin board and the video his hair was ungelled and wild.  Kurt vividly remembers his dark curls bouncing as he bopped his head along to the music while impersonating Timon and Pumba for the younger kids.  He’s dressed in another carefully selected outfit though— bright red pants, a black polo and a white bow tie with black polka dots on it.  

“Kurt!” A few of them yell excitedly.    

“Ah, so you’re the famous Kurt I’ve been hearing so much about,” The boy with the guitar says, that same unwavering grin already in place.  “Nice to finally meet you, I’m Blaine.”

[hyena-frog]

I personally don't understand people who think that Virginia 'can't win on her own'. As if she has to prove herself or she is 'too nice' and has to learn 'how to violence'. Just because Sevro's solution for everything is cutting some fingers or worse, doesn't mean he is always right or that Mustang's work to keep that balance and play within the designated lines is not badass or interesting. She is the only demokratic ruler and her own people gave her absolute power of decision making to end the war at any cost. What's not great about that!?

If Virginia was indeed 'too nice', she would have perished long ago - last absolute cinnamon roll we saw was Julian and we all know what Society thinks about people like him. Just because she plays by the rules, doesn't mean she has no claws - she wiped a terrorist's memories away for fuck's sake. Now that the rules have been extended, you can bet your ass that she'll take more than one page out of Nero's playbook. After all, she said it herself, she tamed herself, but it's fun to let the lion out.

Agreed 110%! I don't understand people who give Virginia shit in general tbh. I mean, how do you not fall in love with her immediately? How are you not ride or die for her from the get-go? It boggles the mind.

Those arguments, being "too nice" or being unable to win on her own, are reaching and easily debunkable. The lack of reading comprehension. 😒 If you don't like her, then whatever. I may not understand how that’s possible, but it really isn’t necessary to make shit up, you know?

Virginia can't win on her own, huh. The nerve! Where would Darrow be without her? Dead. Many times over. He would have bled out after Cassius stabbed him if Virginia hadn't helped him. And it was Virginia who brought the Howlers back from the Rim weeks in advance of Darrow actually needing them, just in case. So many things would have gone wrong in Morning Star if she wasn't at Darrow's side (and if Ragnar hadn't gone out of his way to make sure she'd be there, the absolute legend).

Perhaps it's Darrow who can't win on his own? But that sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? All of his successes were achieved through teamwork. Darrow acknowledges this many times. It's the same for Virginia. While it's simply not true that she can't win on her own, it’s also untrue that the inability to win on your own is a bad thing. The whole argument doesn’t make any sense.

The idea Virginia still needs to “prove” herself despite doing so plenty of times already throughout the series is frustrating. The fact of the matter is, the success of the Rising relies just as heavily on Virginia's intelligence as it does Darrow's battle skills. The Solar Republic simply wouldn't exist without her. Fitchner never had a clear vision of what "after the Society" would look like and neither did Darrow for a long time. The war effort needs a conscience and a vision for the future, otherwise it's just endless bloodshed. Virginia helps Darrow see beyond the bloodshed. Plus, Darrow has no interest in politics. He'd be the first to admit he’s not good at the slow game of political maneuvering. But Virginia thrives in that environment. In Dark Age, Darrow even admits his current predicament is a consequence of not trusting his wife's way of running the Republic, and he vows never to do that again.

Sure, Virginia doesn't get into physical fights often, especially now that she is Sovereign. But politics is no less perilous a battlefield. I feel like because the political battlefield isn't as flashy and fast paced as a literal one, people forget the constant danger she is in, even before the Senate's betrayal. Silenius' Stiletto is a delicate tightrope act she has to perform every day to drag progress forward while keeping her opponents in check. This requires a level of self-restraint, clear-headedness, and badassery, that no other character can achieve.

Virginia is not "too nice." She is practical. And often, is it practical to play nice. Not every confrontation is best solved through violence Sevro. We all know the line: Virginia is the mustang that nuzzles the hand; people know they can work with her. That’s why the people chose her consistently for ten years, over literally everyone else in the solar system, to run this new government. And her steadfast resolve to gain Imperium legally, to not force her will on the people, proved to them again that she won’t abuse this ultimate power to end the war.

No, Virginia may be reasonable but that doesn't mean she is too nice. If she was too nice, she wouldn't have used her relationship with Cassius to protect her family. She wouldn't have shot Cassius in the throat with an arrow. She wouldn't have promised Ephraim he would "die shitting in a foreign bed" if he skipped about on their bargain to return the kids. She wouldn't have zapped the Duke of Hands' entire personality from his head. Like you said, she never would have made it this far if she was truly toothless. She's practical, and sometimes the practical solution doesn't require violence, but creative thinking.

Speaking of creative thinking, one thing Virginia doesn’t get nearly enough credit for is abolishing the death penalty immediately after Adrius was hanged. That wasn't her being "too nice" or too lenient on her caste. Yes, she feels life in prison is the moral option over the death penalty. But she knows her people. The punishment for the worst criminals in Deepgrave is a Gold's worst nightmare. Life in prison denies a Gold their desire for a glorious death, to be remembered through the ages for their deeds in battle. The Republic's justice system sends a clear message: "Mess with us, and you won't get your notoriety or fame, you'll only get obscurity and shame and sucking algae through a tube until you die naturally of old age." That to me is crueler than hanging.

Virginia’s mind is her greatest weapon, but more than that, her greatest strength is how she applies her intelligence. Her ability to read people, and to communicate, is greatly underappreciated imo. These skills require nonviolent interaction yet they yield great results. There are many examples of this. She used her natural charisma to gain Octavia's trust. She brokered an alliance with the Rim when she thought Darrow was dead. She held the Republic together for ten years despite constant, increasing animosity from the Vox. She refused to torture Lyria and was able to see she was not lying about being an unwitting pawn in the kidnapping scheme and was rewarded with information and a new ally. She figured out exactly what Sefi was planning for Cimmeria, even manipulating the situation to her advantage without Sefi realizing it. She knew Victra was going to bargain with Sefi for the kids, without being told. In her own words, this is simply what she does.

There is a quote in Iron Gold that caught my eye: "Communication is the soul of civilization." (532) Now, this line has nothing directly to do with Virginia. This is Ephraim trying to get a rise out of Gorgo. But it fits Virginia perfectly, doesn’t it? The Republic is able to exist as a civilization because it has such an amazing communicator at its center.

Virginia is such an excellent communicator that she is even able to get parties who refuse to communicate with her initially to reciprocate communication eventually. She convinces Sevro, Dancer, and even Victra to stop freezing her out and work together. She does this by speaking their "language." She knows exactly what to say or what to do to get them to finally listen to her. Revealing she already knows exactly what is going on works for Sevro, providing hard evidence of conspiracy works for Dancer, and proving her actions (showing her scars) works for Victra. This isn't to say she never makes mistakes. She shouldn't have called the Wardens on Darrow, for example, just as Darrow shouldn't have kept the meeting with the Society "diplomats" a secret from her and the Senate. But more often than not, her nonviolent communication skills yield valuable results.

As for Virginia apparently needing to learn how to use violence… While Victra and Sevro’s feelings were justified, their actions at the end of Iron Gold and the beginning of Dark Age were just wrong, wrong, wrong imo. Freezing out Virginia did nothing but delay the return of the kids. It's frustrating to think how much heartbreak could have been avoided if they'd just put their heads together from the moment the kids disappeared. And what exactly did Sevro's rampage through Luna's underground accomplish? Some dead Syndicate thorns, sure. But that tantrum put a huge target on Sevro's back. As Virginia said, one lucky sniper and boom, no more Sevro. What would Victra have done then?

While it may feel like Virginia would have achieved more if she just beheaded some people, she has a responsibility as Sovereign to consider the bigger picture. She has to consider the Stiletto. If the Vox saw her offing some fools it would have added credibility to their smear campaign. The people would have lost faith in her and think she turned into another Octavia. Whoever replaced her could use her actions to justify their own dictatorship. Violence was simply not practical for her until she legally gained Imperium. Now though… 😈

Virginia's over here playing 3D chess while everyone else is playing Connect Four, but this still isn’t enough for some people. After the clone gets the better of her, she gets flack for not being an omniscient god and just knowing her twin brother laid out a plan to clone himself ten years ago. Tut, tut, should have seen that one coming, despite the lack of evidence. If only she’d punched some people. (Can you see I hate this argument with every fiber of my being?)

In Dark Age, Ozgard says this about Electra and Pax: "She is better fighter. He is more dangerous human." (184) Well, Pax gets it from his momma. Pax and Virginia may not be able to throw devastating punches but in many ways, their intellect is what makes them the greater threat to their enemies.

Thank you for the ask!

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Shelter (Part One)

I promised that I had something in the works for Jay White and I thought I’d share some of it since it’s gotten away from me a little. Thus far, I’ve written nearly 11,000 words and I have a fair chunk to go yet. (I expect that there’s another third of the story to be written. The good news is that I’ve figured out what is going to happen, whereas for a while, I was sort of waiting on the characters to tell me what was up.) 

This is only the second historical piece I’ve written (the first being The Escape Route, which was also the first piece of fiction I posted here) and I know that there are inaccuracies in it. The setting is northern England in the high MIddle Ages (13th-14th century) but I’ve assigned the place names and titles sort of randomly. 

Up front, I’ll confess that a number of people may find this section dull. It’s more of a “setting everything in place” part. This information will come in handy in subsequent sections, I promise. 

As to when those sections will be posted, my answer is that I’m typing as fast as I can and am actually making good progress. That means that there is definitely a lot more coming in the short term. (Of course, there may also be some other things forthcoming in the short term, but that’s a whole other thing.)

I still don’t know that I’ve posted enough stories here to warrant a master list but if you’re curious, all the fiction I write is tagged “wayward wrestle writing”. 

Pairing: Jay White x OFC (first person)

Word count: 3,933

Content advisory: Literally nothing in this part. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you. Seriously.

Married life was not what I had envisioned. My sister Elizabeth and I were taught to read as children and among the texts we’d devoured were the increasingly popular French romances. I understood that marriages were not like those stories. My older cousins, male and female, had had their marriages arranged by their families and usually didn’t meet their wife or husband until the day of the marriage. Nevertheless, Elizabeth and I both dreamed of being wooed and won, perhaps by a knight returning home from the wars abroad, or by a handsome noble traveling in disguise across the countryside. As our time came closer and our parents sought to finalize arrangements for us to marry, we hoped that we would at least find ourselves with a husband who would treat us as a friend and partner. But we secretly still held out hope for the dashing hero. 

As the elder, Elizabeth was married first, to the Earl of Louth, a vastly wealthy and powerful man whose connections saw him well received even by the King. Rumor had it that he had personally funded several of His Majesty’s military campaigns. Their wedding was a more sombre affair than others I had seen, with few minstrels and a longer mass, for her new husband was very devout and preferred something that honored the solemnity of their union. Nevertheless, her letters to me indicated that he did not impose his conservatism on her, and saw to it that she had ladies to keep her company, musicians to entertain her, and whatever books, clothes and jewels she could wish for. His avuncular indulgence became even greater when she bore him a son in the spring following their marriage. 

I knew I could not expect my own husband to hold such a high position since Elizabeth was the heir to our family’s estates and fortune. However, our stature was such that even a connection with us was desirable, especially for newly created gentry who sought to legitimize their positions. My father had found such a man but he died from fever before the marriage contract could be made. Eventually, I was given to Symon, the fifth and youngest son of the Duke of Cumbria. While he, like I, had no expectation of inheritance, he was more able to take care of me and his father was eager to reinforce his flagging influence by forging an alliance with a family in another part of the north. 

I tried not to be disappointed with Symon when I met him but he was immediately a hard man to love. Still young, his body showed the signs I had come to recognize as the result of heavy drinking and little sleep. His pale skin had crimson blooms over the cheeks and nose and his body was unevenly distributed, with thin limbs and a bloated belly. When I touched him, I was reminded of the texture of cloth left in the rain: limp and saturated. 

When I was moved to his estate in the eastern reaches of his father’s sphere, I soon found that he was indeed saturated most of the time. Our home was a constant stream of guests seeking nothing but a place for a good time and to indulge their vices. It became clear that our marriage had been a project of the Duke’s and that Symon had no interest in having a wife or being a husband. Nor did he have any skill at running a household and so it fell to me to manage as best I could, ensuring that we had all we needed, that our lands were tended to and that we maintained good relations with the other nobles and landowners. It was difficult, especially at first, since many of the servants spoke with an accent I could barely understand. After a few weeks of forced sociability, I barely saw my husband. 

I asked him on numerous occasions to allow me to invite Elizabeth and her family to visit, however he disliked the idea that he might have to play the host and refused. Nor would he allow me to accept one of her many invitations to visit her. I knew that what he really feared was their judgment, which would be harsh. Elizabeth would despise him for the way in which he treated me and her husband would be appalled by his louche lifestyle. 

Most worrisome was that Symon showed no interest in fathering children, despite his father’s obvious desire for him to do so. A child would truly bind our families. Nevertheless, while my sister was delivered of a second son by a man with grey hairs in his beard, my young husband refused to touch me. I overheard gossip among the servants that he said I was barren. I knew enough to understand that this could not be the case, or at least that he had no way of knowing, but it was troubling because I was of no use to the family if I could not bear children. If I could not fulfill that one obligation, the Duke would order his son to set me aside so that he could forge another alliance. 

Thus were many of my days spent in anxiousness, unsure of what I was doing to drive my husband away while at the same time praying that I might be able to accept him despite his failings. My letters to my sister were my sole outlet, although my lady-in-waiting Hannah was some comfort. 

It was late autumn when the spare routine of my life was interrupted in the dead of night. Hannah and Branwen, one of the house maids, arrived in my chambers, waking me none too gently to tell me that a travelling party had arrived unexpectedly. 

“If there are guests, you need to bring them to his lordship,” I grumbled, wiping sleep from my eyes. “His companions have nothing to do with me.”

“His lordship is indisposed,” Hannah responded, pinching her features to indicate her distaste. “And I do not believe these are kin or companions of his.”

“His lordship is always indisposed. And I am expecting no one, certainly not at this time of the night.”

“”Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Branwen interjected, “but the watchman says that the woman says she’s your sister. And the carriage bears the crest of the Earl of Louth.”

This roused me immediately, of course. I directed Hannah to fetch some robes so that I could appear at least somewhat decent and told Branwen to send word to the watch that the party was to be admitted. My heart pounded fast in my chest because I knew already that there must be bad news. Elizabeth would never arrive unannounced like this under normal circumstances. Nevertheless, I also felt excited at the prospect of seeing her again. 

When I was finally ready, I descended the stairs to the great hall where Elizabeth stood at the center of a small party, less than a dozen. Neither her husband nor her children were with her, only servants and guards. 

“Have you been unwell?” she asked sharply. 

“No, not at all. I’m perhaps a little tired.”

She extended an arm and pinched my chin, turning my face for her inspection. 

“Your complexion looks like you haven’t seen the light in weeks.”

“Elizabeth,” I insisted, pulling back from her grip, “I am fine. And while I am thrilled to receive you, I am a little confused as to what brings you here.”

“Should I stable the lady’s horses, ma’am?” the watchman asked nervously. 

“Yes.”

“No,” Elizabeth contradicted. “We’ll not be staying long enough to warrant it.”

For the first time, she pulled me close and I felt her hands tremble on my shoulders. 

“Ella,” she whispered, using my pet name as she always did, “mother and father are both taken ill. It struck him first and then her. No one seems to know what it is but they’re both sick. The Steward sends word that his life is in the balance. I’m on my way to them and I knew you would want to come.”

It would have been simple enough to send word to me that I should return home, however by now Elizabeth knew that going anywhere for me was going to present a problem. She had gone significantly out of her way to collect me herself, knowing that my husband would be unwilling to sanction my travel. 

“You mean to continue soon, then?” I asked her, feeling a little weak at the thought of my parents suffering. 

“Within the hour. And I mean to take you with me.”

The proper thing to do would be for me to summon my husband, no matter what state he happened to be in, and request his permission. I knew full well, though, that it was pointless. He would never consent to me leaving for any reason. I glanced around the room, noticing that a few of my servants had arrived to see what the commotion was. They’d be quick to tell on me if I left. But could I really risk never seeing my parents again simply to placate a man who refused to honor even the most basic tenets of our marriage?

“You’ll need some warmer clothes, my lady,” Hannah muttered, moving close to Elizabeth and I. “I shall have them brought down while the two of you are talking.

She turned a stern face to a couple of the younger girls and began issuing commands. The others stood in place, not daring to act while I was still in the room. 

Hannah returned and wrapped a thick cloak around me. 

“The girls will give some more to the carriagemen, if that is acceptable to her ladyship.”

“More than acceptable,” Elizabeth replied, her grey eyes sparkling. “You must be Hannah. My sister has written to me often about your kindness to her here.”

“It’s no more than she deserves, your ladyship.”

“And will you be accompanying us.”

“If my mistress will have me then yes I shall,” Hannah declared.

“Are you sure?” It was one thing for me to go running off in defiance of my husband but I never expected that Hannah would accompany me.

“I go where you go,” she said gently. “Besides, I should like to see the coast you’ve spoken of.”

Along with extra clothing and blankets for the journey, I bid the servants gather some food from the pantry for us to take with us. Elizabeth had brought what she believed she needed but I knew that the country between here and our parents’ home could be rough. Parts of it were lawless and the roads ill-tended. The going would be slower than it had been for her coming to collect me. 

She was quite surprised at the condition of the roads and the land as we rode. In many places, the roads were so decrepit and narrow that the guards flanking us were forced to ride single file, slowing us down so much that we could have walked faster. I had never seen this part of the country, having taken a longer but pleasanter route after my wedding, but Hannah and some of the others had prepared me for what to expect. Forbidding and desolate as it was, there was a kind of excitement to knowing we were crossing territory that was outside the command of any lord. We felt like we were a very brave group indeed. 

After two days ride, however, our party came to an unexpected halt. We heard men’s voices and then James, the senior guard assigned to Elizabeth, opened the carriage door, his face full of concern. 

“I’m sorry for the delay, but it seems that there is a problem.” He nodded in the direction that we were headed and continued, “A small company of soldiers just passed us on the road. They’ve told us that the road ahead is impassable and that there have been incursions all week by the Scots. Even if we could get through, there’s a great risk you could be taken hostage or worse.”

“How long will it take us to go around?” Elizabeth cried. 

I couldn’t help but give a mirthless laugh as I saw James’s face tense. “There’s no way around, Elizabeth. This is the only road through these parts. If we want to take another route, we’d have to go back six hours’ ride and then circle around well to the south, which adds another three days to the journey.”

All of us exchanged depressed looks until I thought of a possibility. “James, did the soldiers say how far ahead the road was blocked?”

“About five miles or so by their reckoning although they could not say for certain.”

“If I’m judging our position correctly, we’re not so far from Marlborough Castle, is that right?” I continued. 

James smiled a little and nodded, seeing where I was headed with my inquiries. “Not so far at all, ma’am. And the road should be open as far as the spur that leads to the castle.”

“Marlborough is the seat of John White, the Earl of Barr, who is a cousin of ours,” I explained. 

“A distant cousin. And I thought the Earl was dead?”

“The old Earl, yes, but you’re forgetting his son. Remember how they visited our home when we were young? There were two or three summers we passed together.”

“Oh yes, of course. I’d forgotten that was them. They were a kindly family.” Elizabeth’s face picked up immediately as she realized that things were better than they had seemed. 

“There’s a small problem, thought,” James added hesitantly. “That road is narrow and steep. There’s no way the carriage is going to manage it.”

“Well, I have an idea,” I responded. “I’m a good rider and so is Hannah. Let us go with a couple of the guards on horseback. Once we’ve spoken to the Earl, we can ask him to send some men to help move everything else to the castle. And hopefully he can help us come up with a plan to get past the danger.”

“I’m not going to just sit here and wait hours for your return, Ella. I should be the one to go.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I rebuked her. “You only gave birth a few months ago. It’s dangerous enough for you to be travelling at all, let alone going on horseback through the moors. Besides, I’m the better rider.”

Elizabeth seemed to argue but then a smile spread across her lips. “Oh yes, I just remembered their son Jay. He must be the Earl now. I’m sure you’re eager to see him.”

I felt my cheeks turn hot. “I’m simply thinking of the fastest way to get us to safety.”

“And not at all of the boy you were so enchanted by the last time you saw him?”

“We were children, Elizabeth. There was nothing romantic about it.”

Hannah could not resist a quiet laugh and James looked desperately uncomfortable. 

“Tell me, James,” Elizabeth asked slyly, “what do you know of the young Earl? Is he said to be very handsome?”

“Quite handsome,” Hannah piped up. “And very much sought after, as he’s never taken a wife.”

I shot her a dark look but at the same time, I felt a slight tremor in my heart. I did remember Jay White very well, despite the fact that it had been years since I’d seen him. He was a quiet boy for the most part but we had spent much of the time his family had stayed with us conversing about books and about history. It had been some time before I realized that such conversations were not common between men and women and it made me value their memory all the more. 

“Myself and Henry can accompany the ladies to the castle,” James offered. “I shall leave word that if we are not back by moonrise that the driver should return to the last town and see that you are sheltered there for the night.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “because if the Earl cannot or will not help us, it would be safer to meet there to determine what is to be done.”

*

The narrowness and steepness of the road were bad enough but there was also a high wind that made it even more difficult. It took us well longer than I had anticipated to make the castle gate and the reception we received from the guards there did little to inspire hope. They were surly and at first unwilling to send word that we had arrived and that we were seeking shelter. 

“You try my patience with this behavior,” I upbraided the head of the guard. “I will ask you a final time to tell the Earl that his cousin, the Lady Estella Fannon of Northumbria and Cumbria, seeks shelter with him for the night.”

The mention of my full title seemed to grease the locks, as a messenger was dispatched and quickly returned to say that we were to be let in. At the same time, as we passed, I was chilled by the look on the messenger’s face, as if we were game headed for a trap. 

There was a lot of activity in the castle, servants scurrying about and laughter reverberating through the halls and while it made for a warm atmosphere, I also knew too well what was likely happening. At least, I told myself, I had some experience negotiating with drunken young men, even if I hadn't always been very successful at it. 

Hannah cut a dubious look at me as we were ushered from the entrance hall into a large salon filled with people. As soon as our eyes adjusted to the blazing lights from the sconces and the fire, I felt James place a heavy hand on my shoulder and push himself in front of me.

Many of the guests were in various stages of undress, including at least two who appeared to be agents of the church. Mixed in with the wealthy were a number of low types including several women whose profession seemed obvious enough from their attire and demeanor. The addition of commoners to a party was something I wasnt used to but the rest felt familiar.

"My lady, you and your companion need to go back to the hall and wait while I speak to the Earl," James muttered.

"There's no point to that. I'm the one claiming kinship and the one he's met. Besides, I'm not fragile."

He still insisted on staying a step ahead of me as the curious crowd parted before us and we approached the lord of the manor.

Jay White was much changed since I had last seen him. He now wore a beard, trimmed in what I believed to be a french style, which on its own made him look more a man than the boy I remembered. However, he seemed to have changed in almost every way. His previously slender frame had filled out, which was all the more evident because he lay stretched over a sofa, his shirt undone and his muscular chest bared. I could see the bulk of his shoulders barely covered by his tunic. What was most striking, though, was the change in his expression; boyish enthusiasm and gentility had been transformed into something hard and cold, a downy chick grown into a falcon. I recognized the intelligent blue green eyes I had known but there was something unsettling about them now, something dangerous.

I tried to avert my eyes from his body in the name of modesty and to avoid looking at the woman next to him, whose clothes were in a state of disarray.

"My noble cousin, I am sorry to arrive so unexpectedly and to come to you in need. My sister and I were making our way to Northumbria but we have been advised that the road is impassable. So although it has been many years since we have met in person, I find myself forced to ask for your lordship's hospitality and assistance."

He took a long swallow from the bottle of claret in his hand, his eyes moving over me with an intensity I found difficult to bear. His gaze flitted briefly to the other members of my party but quickly returned to me before I spoke."

"My lady," he drawled in a mocking tone, "how pleasant it is to see you again, even if it is in difficult circumstances. I notice that your sister isn't with you. How is it that you came to be separated?"

"Our carriage could not manage the road down the hill and I thought it best that I go ahead with this small party while she and the others waited with the carriage on the high road."

"Goodness. I hope that she won't encounter any misadventure. The Scots have been making attacks in these parts since midsummer and the anarchy they bring creates a haven for criminals."

"All the more reason, sir, why we are forced to place ourselves at your mercy." 

At the word "mercy", a sneer spread over his features and I felt like the young man who had passed the summer with us had been devoured by this vicious creature. He paused before addressing himself to his guards, who had entered behind us.

"Geoffrey, convey the two gentlemen to the visitors' quarters and the Lady Estella to the chambers in the west tower. Her handmaiden can take the room adjacent."

A look passed between master and servant that made me want to tell him that we would find our own way, as madas that seemed. But Geoffrey and his men quickly herded James and Henry away, while another guard instructed Hannah and I to follow him.

"Will you be able to send your servants to find my sister and the others?"

"I shall make sure that they are brought here before you wake in the morning."

The chambers where I was brought were considerably rougher than I would have expected. The room was small with a tiny antechamber only large enough for a bench that allowed one to sit and look out the window. The bedding was thin and the mattress made of straw that smelled damp and old. It was some time before a maid even arrived to light the fire.

"I would like to see my companion," I told the woman as she furiously worked to get the fire to take. 

She said nothing but gave me a suspicious look. 

"If you can just direct me to her room, I shall go speak to her myself."

I rose to leave and immediately the woman gave a loud cry. Two guards rushed in to investigate and I repeated my request to them.

"The Master decides those things. It's up to him when you all see each other."

"Well then please tell the Master to come and speak to me right away."

The guards glanced at each other with a dry laugh. 

"We shall do what we can, mistress."

Whether they even conveyed my request, I did not know. I know that I sat for hours on the bench in the window, watching the moon rise in the dark sky and wondering if White's men had reached Elizabeth and the others before they headed back to the town to seek shelter for the night. When everything seemed at its quietest, I thought to try to find Hannah’s room myself, only to discover that the door to my chamber was locked.

[politicalsci]

Jeremy Corbyn helped my dad when nobody else would

By Sophia Leonie 9th December 2019

One day, my dad asked me to drop him to the airport. I couldn’t – it was last minute and I had other plans. When I asked what the urgency was, he said that he needed to put up a headstone for his recently deceased mother and attend her memorial. He had been going back and forth to Zimbabwe for years. I wished him a safe trip and hoped the memorial went well. We expected to meet and have lunch the following Sunday.

But he never came home.

My father, Francis Mtandwa, was one of Jeremy Corbyn’s constituents. Jeremy did everything in his power to bring him back. As the mainstream media continues to slander Jeremy and lifelong Labour supporters across the UK consider voting Tory, painfully against their own interests, because they fear he’s a racist, I can only despair.

I am happy and proud to call myself British. I’m mixed race. My mum watched my grandmother, fresh from Germany, deal with the hostility of a patriotic postwar Britain. My dad, who came to London in the 1970s from Zimbabwe, wanted a good education and had high hopes for a successful career. But upon entering the UK, he soon became a victim of unimaginable racism. Not just from a hostile public, media and fascist political parties like The National Front – but from the police too. Dad told me stories of frequent stop and searches, then named SUS laws. Once my parents married and with mixed race children in tow, racist abuse intensified. It was the 80s – Zimbabwe had just gained independence from British rule and Nelson Mandela was still in prison. Things were changing and a lot of people were unhappy about it...

Upon attempting to return from his trip to Zimbabwe, my dad was denied re-entry to the UK. The government wanted 30 years of proof that he had lived and worked here. No problem, we thought, the records all exist. But there was a catch: the Home Office said they would not seek out anything pre-digital, so it was up to us to find them. Friends and family all helped where they could, trying to contact people and organisations from years ago. Then our case suffered a massive setback. My father was in a house fire in Zimbabwe. He received 75% burns and suffered a stroke. Now severely disabled and with his speech affected, we were unable to continue our efforts without his guidance.

Desperate and distraught, my mum and I met with Jeremy Corbyn at one of his local constituency surgeries. The first time we tried, we attempted the walk-in clinic. The line reached far down the street and eventually we headed home and decided to take another approach. We emailed Jeremy, explained the situation and were invited down for an appointment a few days later. He came into the old church where the meetings were held, wheeling his bike. Taking his helmet off he looked at us, smiled, and apologised for being late. We followed him into a side room and I began to explain what had happened to my father. He listened carefully, making notes and asking questions. He said he was sorry and that he would write to the government, asking them to search their archives for records.

His request was eventually granted and working with Jeremy, we were confident we would have dad home in the next few months. But before this could happen, my father suffered another stroke in Zimbabwe. He passed away.

My dad was one of the earliest victims of the Tories’ “Windrush scandal” (which extended beyond the Caribbean, to other Commonwealth countries). Before it had a name, media coverage and national outrage, Jeremy cared. After my father passed, we immediately received a heartfelt letter from him sending his condolences and showing his support for our family at this tragic time.

I’m not saying vote Labour because Jeremy was nice to me and tried to help my family when nobody else would. I’m not saying vote Labour because my story is just one of many. I’m saying vote Labour because Jeremy is one of the only people in a position of possible real power, that truly, honestly cares about the vulnerable, the exiled, the poor and the disfranchised ahead of his own interests.

Which other politician has spent a year volunteering in Jamaica? Which other politician would happily be arrested fighting anti-racist regimes like apartheid? And again in 1987 when the Tory government called the ANC terrorists? At the Battle of Wood Green on 23 April1977, the National Front planned a march through Turnpike Lane, North London, to celebrate Hitler’s birthday. Jeremy, then a Labour councillor for Haringey, helped to organise a powerful counter-protest, involving approximately 3-4,000 people, who successfully stopped the Nazis from marching through the busy multicultural high street that Saturday afternoon.

Labour’s leader has also forged other long-standing relationships with constituents, which he goes out of his way to maintain. My aunty Katrin, who also lives in Islington, told me of how he would often pop round and visit her and her husband. “The last time he came we chatted in the hallway for ages and before he left he said: ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ – I looked at the four bikes in my cramped hallway and said  ‘A bike shed would be nice!’ A few months later, guess what? A bike shed appeared by the flats.”

Another Islington resident, Tina, told me of how, in the mid-2000s, she and other local residents went down to Islington Town Hall in an attempt to save their local community centre from closure and Jeremy was there. He sat next to her and as they chatted, he mentioned that he had just returned from East Timor (an island nation near Indonesia) earlier that day and had to be at the BBC at 7am, but wouldn’t have missed this. That is the real Jeremy Corbyn.

The relentless, constant media slander of Jeremy really tries to make people forget this – but we must not. With people like Rachel Riley literally trying to erase his history of anti-racist activism, the history of Jeremy’s passion for human rights, his kindness and absolute love for people of all races and backgrounds will always be firmly cemented in the minds of us in Islington North.

The mainstream media are throwing everything they have at Jeremy right now, shamelessly weaponising what little they have in bad faith because, if in power, Jeremy will challenge the right wing press, and they know it. So if you’re a Labour supporter with a zero-tolerance for racism and have been confused recently about whether Jeremy’s politics align with your own – don’t be. Look at his record. Jeremy has spent his entire life fighting against racism.

For the rest of us trying to navigate post-Brexit racist Britain, with debt, insecure living arrangements, trying to get on the housing ladder, juggling zero-hour contracts, the Labour party offers an alternative to capitalist struggle. If you look beyond the smear campaign, the media bias, and the non-polished suit, you’ll see a man who is disliked because he is simply unwilling to look and behave like other politicians. A man who cares about substance rather than surface. A man who, just as he helped me, can help you too.

[x]

[donnerpartyofone]

A few years ago there was this moment where I got a ton of anonymous messages from some far right asshole about the usual shit--Hillary, the corrosive force of immigration, inherently evil ethnic and religious groups, etc. The messages were weird in that most of them seemed to be copied and pasted out of the middle of some article somewhere, but there was never a source mentioned, and there was never enough information for me to get the whole picture even if I really cared about all this "proof" that black and brown people should be kicked out of Sweden or whatever the point was supposed to be. Some of the messages were actually written by the sender, and they all sounded pretty stereotypically crazy: rude, vague, delirious references to conspiracies, pedophilia, brainwashing, etc on the left, or really just orbiting around Clinton. (This is totally tangential, but to this day I'm convinced that all these reactionary nutbags just want to fuck Hillary Clinton, I mean the enduring, overheated obsession with her has extended so far beyond the the sphere of her electoral campaign or any threat of her achieving greater power that there has to be a reason these freaks keep bringing her up, bringing up the fevered vision of a woman dominating them along with the entire country, a compelling reason, perhaps a BIOLOGICAL reason) I'm still embarrassed about this, but I engaged with this person, posting their inane drivel to try to vivisect it, to explain why it was so stupid and ineffectual. I wasn't that worried about giving them a platform, since the messaging was so primitive and hard to understand if you weren't already on his side, but that was exactly my point: When you make yourself sound like an escaped lunatic in a doomsday sandwich board sign, who is supposed to take anything you say seriously? How could it have any effect besides undermining whatever you're trying to support? That effect, and the strengthening of convictions held by lefties like me, who would naturally like to be as opposite of your raving inarticulate ass as possible? And besides all that, my blog had a pretty apolitical appearance at the time, so why was anon assuming I was this passionate Clinton shill? I mean, fuck him and his bigoted garbage, OF COURSE, but I couldn't figure out how he had targeted me personally for this treatment.

The point that I wish I had gotten then was, it didn't matter. It might have been the result of one of those things you hear about from time to time, about how supposedly a bunch of mean jerks from 4chan (or whatever the current iteration is) are going to conduct a "raid" on Tumblr, like they're going to seek and destroy liberal snowflakes and precious cinnamon rolls with their, uh...incredible verbal prowess I guess. Surely the point was just to get me all riled up so someone could say that they pwned me, although I don't know what the reward of this pwning was supposed to be besides the "made you look!" thrill of tricking me into talking to or about them. I'll never understand the perspective of the kind of person who thinks that you "win" something when someone blocks you online, as if blocking isn't just a way of saying "You are literally worthless." It's interesting how that line of troll thinking works, it seems to suggest something like, "Ah, you should have KNOWN that I was nothing but an insignificant piece of shit with nothing to say, but you treated me like I was worth talking to, so therefore I WIN!" I strongly suspect that all of troll culture (I mean, not LEGIT trolls who bait you with patently stupid decoy ideas, but these little garbage people who bait you with their real actual opinions) is predicated on an urge to masochism, that this kind of person is always a spineless perverted weakling who craves insults and punishment, who feels in their very bones that they deserve the worst, who is at all times secretly drooling to slurp on the delicious bootheel of Hillary Clinton, long after her rally balloons have been found deflated and dangling from the network of powerlines crisscrossing the Real America...

But that reminds me of another self-loathing lunatic of my acquaintance, my ex-boyfriend. Yes, really, but I swear to god this is going somewhere. He was an intelligent guy, a lit major who had graduated with honors from a reputable liberal arts school, an editor at a respected arts & culture publishing house who fancied himself a progressive thinker who stood up for the freedoms of others--and who, I slowly found out, used his enthusiasm for Obama and The Daily Show to mask the noxious brew of casual racism and virulent misogyny that made up his fuel for living. When we were dating, I thought that we had problems, and I thought dealing with problems was a normal part of adult relationships; I thought the opposite of constantly struggling for peace, honesty, and respect was "expecting life to be like a fairy tale", which I certainly did not want to be accused of. So I didn't get what was going on when he would choose some arbitrary trigger for an abusive episode, and I would try, and fail, to resolve whatever was bothering him. I bought in to the idea that we were both intelligent people with respect for one another's intelligence, and that it was possible for us to get at the heart of any trouble through calm and rational discussion. He often gave me plenty of breadcrumbs to follow, indicating that there were REASONS that he was angry with me, which led me to believe I could fix everything by clearing up misunderstandings, since I had never conspired to do anything to him but try to love him. (Although sometimes he wouldn't even tell me what I had supposedly done, intoning "You're a clever girl, you'll figure it out" in a sneering Joan Crawfordesque voice--I should have known then that he didn't need or even want a good reason to attack me) But, his debate style, if I can call it that, involved screaming, changing the subject, repeating whatever I said back to me in a "r*tard voice", impugning my character (or that of my family and friends) in ways that had nothing to do with the argument, and other tactics that ensured that his opportunity to hurt and terrorize me lasted for hours or days. I missed the fact that for him, the fight wasn't a resolvable interruption of our relationship, it was the entire point of the relationship.

The most brilliant thing he'd ever done--though I don't want to call it that, since this has more to do with base instincts than brains--was to use my intelligence against me. If I had placed more importance on my own feelings than I did on "being fair" and "making sense" of our conflicts, then I would have escaped before I had to develop this whole behavioral theory that I am delivering to you now. By producing "reasons" for his anger, he made me think there was a debate to be had, and that the person with the superior logic would win out. I was convinced that would be me, since I knew the Truth, and he was just confused by his inner demons (drugs and alcohol, his shitty friends who "made him" do bad things, his supposed trauma from the last relationship he deliberately destroyed, his inferior parents who made him look bad by being "visionless ant people", and whatever other excuses he surfaced whenever it benefited him to play the tragically injured good guy). What I know now is, all abuse is the same, and it doesn't need or want to justify itself. Its only aim is the free reign of violence. It has no interest in truth or justice of even the most deformed variety. Its goal is to give unfiltered vent to all forms of hatred. The fact that it disguises itself with a mask of rationality, made up of straw men, false equivalences, dubiously construed "facts" arranged into artificial patterns, and other distractingly logical-looking tactics, does not mean that what is inside operates on, or is vulnerable to, actual logic. It's all just id monster shit. Do not interact.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Valentines in Tibet: Celebrity is as celebrity does

(Newtina ❤️. Thanks @possibility-for-joy for the dialogue prompt, which inspired me to revisit Chamber of Secrets which was a muse for this one-shot. Writing this has been something different for me — fun and hopefully not too contrived. Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone.)

***

February 14, 1990; International Task Force Headquarters in Tibet; International Confederation of Wizards Summit regarding prevention of Muggle sightings of Yetis

***

“Orchideous,” with a whisper, Newt conjured a tiny flower in Tina’s palm.

“It’s beautiful.” She breathed in the flower’s fragrance and filled his hand with hers. For more than sixty years she’d been holding his hands. When their fingers entwined, it always felt like the first time.

“I appreciate you coming with me,” he continued to speak softly, “I recognize that the Tibetan Plateau is far removed from a typical February get-away.”

“When have we ever done anything typical? Besides, it would have been difficult to say no to a personal request from Albus.”

Years ago the professor invited the Scamanders to please use his given name. Tina took to it readily, but Newt still felt more comfortable with the age old formality of ‘Dumbledore.’

“Since the delegation is so small, he appointed someone to oversee the summit in his stead, but he wants us to keep an eye on Lockhart and make sure the Task Force receives accurate information.”

“Having read Lockhart’s books, I admit I’m curious to meet him,” Tina said, “Where is he anyway?”

“Perhaps waiting to make a grand entrance. Based on Skeeter’s reporting of him in the Daily Prophet, that seems his style.”

“You’re still reading that rubbish? I thought we were using Queenie’s subscription to line the Kneazles’ litter boxes.”

“You sound like me, Darling. I can’t seem to help myself. It’s like a train wreck — difficult to look at, yet more difficult to look away.”

Newt and Tina had already taken seats near the podium while most of the delegates and Task Force members milled about the room engaging in conversation. A fire burned in the hearth. The temperature outside was below freezing, and Newt’s bones ached a little. Some days he felt his age.

Tina caressed his palm as they waited. She felt so good, so good to him always.

The Acting Supreme Mugwump, Babajide Akingbade from Uganda, connected briefly with them on his way to the podium. “It’s wonderful to see you, Mr. Scamander, Mrs. Scamander. The Confederation is honored to have you travel so far to share your expertise.”

Newt reluctantly disengaged from the softness of his wife’s caress to shake Akingbade’s extended hand. “It’s good to see you too, sir. I’m happy to help.”

Akingbade greeted Tina with the same expression of gratitude.

“You received the agenda?” he asked them.

Just then, the door burst open, and Gilderoy Lockhart stepped inside with a flourish of his cloak. His personal photographer followed close on his heels.

“I apologize for my delay,” he announced to the room, flashing a broad vacant smile and extremely white teeth, “My publisher insisted I make a brief stop at the capital city to take photographs for inclusion in my upcoming autobiography... Magical Me.”

He paused for a moment to smooth his hair and adjust his lilac-colored ascot. Tina rolled her eyes. “Is this guy for real?” she whispered to Newt.

“I’m not sure yet.”

Akingbade greeted Lockhart and pointed him to his seat on the opposite side of the podium. Lockhart caught sight of Newt and Tina and approached, snapping his fingers, “Photographer! One with the Scamanders.”

Lockhart positioned himself behind Newt and Tina, and placed his hands on their shoulders. “Fellow heroes,” he spoke of Newt and Tina without actually saying hello. The camera flashed. “Fame is a fickle friend, ...unless you work at it, of course.”

He slapped them on the shoulders and winked at Tina. She feigned a cough to conceal emerging laughter. Newt watched with keen interest as Lockhart made his way to his seat.

“Everyone, please be seated,” Akingbade announced before diving into the Summit.

“Thank you all for being here. The Task Force has called our attention to Yeti activity which over the past year has become an increasing threat to Clause 73 of the Statute of Secrecy. In lieu of continuing to fine the region. the Confederation has responded by convening this meeting with two experts, Newt Scamander and Gilderoy Lockhart, who each have extensive experience observing and interacting with the Yeti. Our goal is to develop improved strategy for the Task Force to prevent the Yeti from revealing the Magical World. Our first speaker...”

Lockhart stepped up to the podium. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

The Acting Supreme Mugwump stepped aside.

“Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, inventor of Occamy egg yolk shampoo which guarantees locks of luminosity, and, thus far, three times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award. But I don’t talk about that. ...I didn’t tame a wild Yeti by smiling at him, now did I.”

He removed his cloak and tossed it into the audience. The witch who caught it blushed noticeably.

“We’re just going to listen to this idiot?” Tina muttered under her breath with fists clenched, “He uses unhatched Occamies to make shampoo?!”

“It appears we don’t have a choice right now but to listen.” Newt covered her hand with his and stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “It’ll be alright. It’ll be alright.”

Occamies had been in some respects the beginning of everything for them. An Occamy hatchling had been the first magical beast that Tina had ever held and looked at with wonder. She was very protective of them.

Lockhart continued, “Can everybody see me? Can you all hear me?” He glanced around the audience to ensure nobody’s view of him was obstructed. Nodding heads assured him.

“The books I’ve written detail my encounters with dark creatures and provide instructions on how to safely repel them: Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, Break with a Banshee, Gadding with Ghouls, Holidays with Hags, Travels with Trolls, Voyages with Vampires, Wanderings with Werewolves, Marauding with Monsters, and Year with the Yeti. The latter may be most relevant to our task at hand, but I’m sure you’ll find the others thoroughly enjoyable. They can all be purchased through Flourish and Blotts.”

A wizard on the Task Force raised his hand and asked, “In your year with the Yeti, how did you tame them? They’ve been pushing at our borders. They devour everything that strays into their path, including Muggles. The only thing that’s been working to repel them is fire.”

“Well it was simple really. I gave them head colds, and they returned to their ice caves. For full details, see my published work.”

Realizing this discussion was going nowhere, Akingbade stepped up to the podium. “Thank you, Mr. Lockhart.” Several witches and a couple of wizards initiated a round of applause. Lockhart took a bow before returning to his seat.

“Now, Mr. Scamander, can you please offer us further enlightenment?” Akingbade asked.

Newt stepped to the podium. His silver hair reflected the firelight. How attraction could grow finer with time, Tina didn’t understand, but it was the case with them nonetheless. She loved to watch him work, in all of his capacities.

He looked at her before beginning his speech. Her eyes were reassuring, eternally reflective of the fire within her spirit, ageless in a world growing old.

“Hello. As we talk about the requirements of the Statue of Secrecy, we must not forget the primary intention of Clause 73 which is expressed in its introductory language, ‘Each wizarding governing body will be responsible for the concealment, care, and control of all magical beasts, beings, and spirits dwelling within its territory’s borders...’ The word there that I haven’t heard mentioned yet today is CARE.

“We have a responsibility to care for these creatures and consider their needs along with our need for secrecy and Muggle safety. Without the protection of this Task Force, Muggles would hunt the Yeti. Some already claim to. The Yeti would soon face extinction.

“During my time studying the Yeti, I observed that individuals have seasonal migration patterns and often must travel long distances to hunt and forage or else suffer starvation. Many also travel far to seek out mates. This ensures a genetically healthy population. Please consider the Task Force may be too severely limiting their natural range, and the Yeti are merely pushing those borders in order to survive.

“Also, consider the possibility that Yeti unrest is mirroring recent civil unrest in the region. My wife is more versed in Muggle politics. Tina, can you explain.”

Tina looked to Akingbade who nodded. She said, “When monks in the Drepung and Sera monasteries started protesting for the independence of Tibet, the Chinese government halted reforms and started an anti-separatist campaign. Last June, thousands of students demonstrating in Beijing with a hunger strike, sit-in and occupation of Tiananmen Square were massacred by their government. Muggles of the region are wanting more freedom, fundamental liberties, and so may be the Yeti.”

Newt added, “Also, with the exploding human population in the region and worldwide, more communities are pushing up into the mountains which are the Yetis’ homeland.

“Safer measures can be taken besides flaming torches to force the Yeti into reserved areas too small for their hunting, foraging, and reproductive needs, then slaughtering those that continue to venture beyond the boundaries set by the Task Force. Broader boundaries, wider use of protective enchantments, a larger Task Force including intensive training in memory charms...

Lockhart jumped in, “I have exceptional talent with memory charms.”

Newt ignored him. “Our responsibility to ensure the Yeti’s concealment, protection, and vitality is not simply dictated by this Confederation and Clause 73 of the Statue of Secrecy. ...We know it in our hearts. There is a strange beauty and resonance with these creatures. Though savage and untamable, they are an integral part of the ecology of this region. They have a right to the fundamental nature of their existence. ...Each of you must know that. In your hearts, you must know.”

The room was silent. Hearts and minds were opening. Newt’s means of gentle education was one of his most unique gifts, honed throughout his lifetime.

“That’s all I had planned to say.”

Akingbade began, “Thank you, Mr. Scamander, Mrs. Scamander—“ when he was suddenly cut off by a cacophony of hooting and screeching on the roof. A wizard opened the door and at least a hundred owls swooped in, dropping pink and red envelopes in the vicinity of Lockhart.

“Ah,” he said, “This happens to me every Valentine’s Day. Celebrity is as celebrity does, you know.”

Tina’s earlier question rang through Newt’s mind along with the incessant hoots and screeches. We’re just going to listen to this idiot?

They looked at each other. Tina’s eyes were burning with annoyance, a look which Newt unfortunately knew quite well. They had listened long enough.

“Well, we must be going now. Tina and I have another engagement. You’re welcome to contact us with further questions ...that is, when the owls are available again.” The birds continued to swoop overhead.

He held Tina’s hand.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“After putting up with this, Love, the choice is all yours.”

“As I said before, when have we ever done anything typical? The day is still young. Let’s get out of here.”

She apparated them to their next adventure.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Power Play

A/N: FINALLY. The last Billy smooch is here! This one makes #7 for Mr. Russo and #20 over all. I have had a blast coming up with all these lip locks, so thank you to everyone who sent in requests!! I’ve got one more smooch coming as a cracker jack bonus prize to all these kisses, and that will hopefully be up sometime this weekend. In the meantime, have some cocky Anvil Billy for your Friday.

Word Count: 3,224

Prompt from: @suchatinyinfinity who wanted “Billy at a party/ Power”

Billy noticed the man’s presence the second his shoes crossed from the cream colored marble onto the diamond patterned floor of the Oak Room’s back bar. Shit. He’d been responding to a work related message, phone in hand and typing furiously, when instinct told him to raise his eyes to the door. He’d always had an uncanny way of sensing an enemy’s presence, a constant vigilance that transferred from the battlefield to the boardroom and everywhere in between. He felt his top lip curl in an involuntary snarl, disgust growing with each step the man took. He turned slightly towards the bar for a second, nostrils flared and lips pressed tightly together. Giving himself a moment to reset his features in a neutral expression, he finished the message and slipped his phone back into his pocket. Raising his glass, he pivoted back towards the room, eyes dark and focused as he let the smooth amber liquid roll onto his tongue.

His name was Jacob Eldridge and he was the CEO of Eldridge Security, the only name in private security that Anvil really had to contest with. Like Billy, Jacob was former Special Forces, and his company was endorsed by several high ranking military officials. He was charismatic when he needed to be, ruthless when he needed to be, and stopped at nothing to get the job done. But unlike Billy, Eldridge inherited his company from his father, simply stepping into the shoes that another man had already worn down to the soles rather than breaking them in himself. Unlike Billy, Eldridge came from wealth, and that gave him an edge among the political elite- money can always sniff out money, and trust flows more easily when the handshake comes with the residual feeling of large sums of cash passing over that palm.

Swallowing the smoky liquid, Billy observed as Jacob fully entered the room, smug smile topping off a perfectly tailored suit. He couldn’t help but notice the flash of silver on the man’s wrist as he extended it to greet another attendee of the fundraiser. New watch. Son of a bitch didn’t waste much time celebrating. Eldridge Security had recently won a bid with a Maryland Senator who had just announced his intention to run for President in the following year’s election, and the Audemars Pigeut that hadn’t been there three weeks ago when Billy had last seen his rival, boasted at least $20,000 of that contract’s earnings. Needs everyone to know he beat me. He set his empty glass down on the dark wood bar top, seething silently to himself. He’s not gonna beat me this time.

The crowd of well-dressed individuals who had gathered in one of New York’s most sophisticated venues was there to show their support for another political candidate, this one for the office of the Mayor of NYC. But there were always secondary motivations in military and government, and Billy knew that Eldridge had been invited to present the mayoral candidate with a bid for a security detail to cover the campaign. He knew because that was the reason that he had been invited as well, and from the research that he did on the potential client, he knew that it was down to Anvil and Eldridge. In the week leading up to the event Billy had sharpened his focus on finalizing this contract, meeting twice with the client to go over some details before the presentation. Eldridge’s facility was based in D.C., so Billy took home turf advantage, wining and dining the interested party, building a relationship that can’t be established over the phone. It wasn’t as large a contract as the one he’d lost that had resulted in Jacob’s new watch, but the benefits of getting his foot in the door of the office of one of the most influential men in one of the country’s most influential cities were profound, and Billy was hell bent on winning this one.

He knew that Jacob hadn't seen him yet, so he continued to quietly observe him from across the wood paneled room. Evaluating a target from afar was nothing new to Billy, and he watched every movement the man made, looking for a crack in the veneer; a sign that told him that Eldridge was nervous about closing the deal, a weakness, something to go after. But Jacob's posture was tall and straight, his chest puffed out before him, the set of his eyebrows and the quirk of his lips giving off an air of self-importance. One hand was wrapped around a tumbler of Scotch, held in front of him as he gestured with it animatedly while he spoke with an old business acquaintance, the other hanging down at his side, not fidgeting, not in his pocket, hiding nothing. There's always a crack, keep lookin'.

Eyes still trained on the enemy, he picked up movement in his peripheral vision, and that’s when he saw you. He narrowed his eyes as he watched you, deep purple dress clinging close to your curves and tear drop shaped diamonds dripping from your ears. Your smile was practiced and plastered on, sparkling just as much as the stones in your jewelry, though clearly only on the surface. Billy watched as you stepped up next to Eldridge, the man barely acknowledging your presence as your fingers found the creases in his suit jacket sleeve, resting in the crook of his bent elbow. You directed your attention to your date, the man’s focus not faltering as he continued to speak to the business contact that he was engaged with. If anything, Billy thought he saw a brief moment of annoyance cross Jacob’s face when your delicate touch made contact with his arm, that theory confirmed when he moved his arm so that your hand fell away. Bingo.

A small smile climbed up one side of Billy’s face as he found the crack he’d been looking for. He continued to watch as your expression changed slightly, a glimmer of frustration showing in your eyes as you pressed your lips together and scrambled for somewhere else to place your hand since you’d been denied Jacob’s arm. He’s gonna tell her to go get him a drink. Billy recognized the arrangement instantly. He knew that there was always more to business than business; he knew that bringing the right date to an event like this could make a good impression, and he knew that bringing someone to one of these fundraisers- unless they were your spouse but sometimes even then- was essentially the same as renting a high end car for the evening, or making sure that your wealth was on display in the form of a new watch. It was all for show. Smile climbing another fraction of an inch, curving maliciously to lift the crest of his cheek almost into his eye, he saw that he was right as Jacob downed the rest of his beverage before turning to you with a forced smile and placing the empty glass in your hand. He made the request of you, sealing it with a tight little kiss to the corner of your mouth. When you turned towards the bar he saw you wipe at the spot where Jacob had kissed you with your thumb, your expression sour.

Billy turned back toward the bar, ordering a glass of water as you reached the dark lacquered bar top. He pretended not to notice you for a moment while the bartender filled his glass with ice, looking in your direction only when he heard your exasperated huff and the sound of Jacob’s glass hitting the wooden surface. He thanked the bartender for his water, taking a drink as you placed your order- a Scotch for Eldridge and a glass of champagne for yourself. You rested your elbows on the bar, another small huff escaping your perfectly painted lips, and that was his cue. “Not enjoying yourself?”

You turned in his direction, and your mixed reaction to his question almost made him laugh. It was clear that your intention was to shoot him with a glare, show him you weren’t interested in whatever he was trying to pull, that you were just there to get your drinks and that your date was waiting for you. But the look died on your face as soon as you laid eyes on Billy’s tall, lean form, casually standing with one hand in his pocket and the other lowering his glass from his lips. He watched, smugly, as you noticed his suit and the way it complemented the taught muscles beneath it, his neatly trimmed beard, and the strong jaw it covered, his dark eyes and the spark of intrigue that they held. Almost more annoyed at your obvious attraction to him than the fact that he’d spoken to you, you rolled your eyes and reached for the fluted glass that you’d been served. “I’m fine, thanks.” You rapped your manicured nails against the bar, waiting for the bartender to finish pouring Jacob’s drink.

Billy took his hand from his pocket and copied your stance, resting his elbows on the bar and leaning down to mitigate the height difference. “Could have fooled me,” he said, tilting his head toward you so that a few pieces of hair fell over his eye, bringing one hand up to tuck it back in place. He watched as you followed the movement of his pale fingers in his dark hair, that inward smirk growing. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t love these things either.” He raised an eyebrow and made a small gesture around the room.

You licked your lips before raising your glass, the bubbles rising from the bottom in a string of pearls. “Well cheers to that, then.”

He clinked his water glass to yours. “Cheers to that.” You took a sip from your glass and he looked over your shoulder to where Eldridge was still talking to his contact. He noticed the slight frown on the man’s face as he finally eyed Billy and measured his proximity to you. ‘Bout time, asshole. “So, what’s a girl like you doing in the lion’s den?”

You straightened up as the bartender passed the second drink across the glossy bar, the amber liquid catching the yellowish light from the chandelier above. “Showing my support, of course.”

Billy nodded. “Of course.” He saw Eldridge shake hands with the man he’d been speaking with before he made his way over to the bar. “And who is it you’re showing support for?” ‘Cause I doubt it’s your date.

“Jefferson, obviously,” you named the client that Billy was hoping to land, the man of the hour, guest of honor at tonight’s festivities.

“Obviously,” Billy repeated with a wink. He was sure he caught your lips quirk up into a smile before they were hidden by the rim of your glass.

A small laugh bubbled forth as you swallowed your drink, and you brought the back of your hand to your mouth to catch any spilled liquid. But before you could respond, Jacob’s hand was on the small of your back, his eyes stern and fixed on yours. “Darling, did you get lost? What’s taking you so long?” He purposefully ignored Billy’s presence, knowing that you hadn’t ignored him at all.

Again, before you could answer, you were cut off, this time by Billy, extending his arm out across you to greet his rival. You’re not gonna ignore me, jackass. “Jake, nice to see you.” He laced venom into the man’s name, knowing that the abbreviated nickname was like nails on a chalkboard to Jacob Irving Eldridge III. He reinforced the proposed handshake with a smile that was made of pure sarcasm.

Jacob turned, acting like he’d noticed Billy for the first time. “William.” He spat the same venom back at Billy, knowing that he despised being called by his full name. “Didn’t see you there.” Yes you fuckin’ did. He gripped Billy’s hand and shook it, abruptly withdrawing his hand, rubbing his fingertips against his palm as though he’d touched something unclean. He turned his attention back to you, speaking your name with an authoritative tone that made your eyes flash. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.” Drink in one hand, the other firmly clenched around your elbow, Jacob started steering you away from the bar.”

“It was nice talking to you,” Billy said through his smirk as you looked back over your shoulder at him. You responded with a smile and a nod before turning back to Jacob and the hushed admonishment he was giving you for fraternizing with the enemy. He chuckled darkly to himself as he heard you hiss “how was I supposed to know that? You take me to these things and then you shove me off to the bar…”

As he watched Eldridge retreat back across the room to a group of familiar faces, a pair of footsteps came up behind him. It’s time. He took another small drink of water to wet his throat, swallowing it down and turning before the approaching party had time to call out to him. “Mr. Jefferson, how are you this evening, sir?” He waited for Jefferson to close the last few feet of space before holding his hand out in greeting, shoulders squared and charm in full swing.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

The encounter had been brief, which surprised Billy who had been prepared to dissect every detail of the contract, to ensure every point and explain the execution of every contingency plan. But the outcome had been favorable regardless, Jefferson telling Billy that he’d decided to go with Anvil days ago, that he only needed to invite Eldridge as a professional courtesy. He’d ended the short discussion with another handshake, this one less formal and more comfortable. “Pleased to be working with you, Mr. Russo. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go have a word with Mr. Eldridge.”

Billy was only too happy to excuse him. This is the best part. Eyes trained on Eldridge, he watched as Jefferson approached the man, as the asshole turned to dismiss you, as you made your way back to the bar. Getting the bartender’s attention, he ordered a glass of champagne for you, the pour finishing as soon as you reclaimed your spot on the rail. He licked his lips and offered you a grin. “Welcome back.” Fingers on either side of the stem, he slid the base of the glass over to you.

You threw him a sideways glance, trying to keep up your aggravation but failing the moment he widened his smile. “Thanks, William.” You reached for the glass, but Billy didn’t let go and your fingertips brushed his knuckles causing you to look up, a slight pinkish tint to your cheeks.

“Billy,” he corrected you, “And it’s my pleasure.” He withdrew his hand, keeping his eyes on you as you took the glass and brought it to your plum colored lips, watching as they parted to allow the pale liquid entry into your mouth.

Jefferson’s discussion with Eldridge was taking far longer than the quick decision to choose Anvil, and Billy was relishing every frown and squint he’d caught the man make. He’d been keeping tabs on the conversation that was happening somewhere over your shoulder, grinning to himself as he chatted with you and watched his rival squirm.

“So, Billy, how do you know Jacob?” You asked, eying him from over your glass.

“Oh, Jake and I are” he paused, scrunching his brow to look for the right word as you nearly spit your champagne out at Billy’s continued use of ‘Jake’. “Business… peers.”

“Uh huh…peers.” You rolled your eyes and inched closer to Billy.

He laughed. “Yeah, peers. How do you know him?”

You rolled your eyes again, taking a long sip before answering. He and my brother were in the same fraternity. They love loaning their sisters out to each other.”

Billy raised an eyebrow. “So it’s not serious or anything?” He leaned closer, one eye on Eldridge who had one eye on him in turn.

“Well, you cut right to the chase, don’tcha Billy?” You laughed, but your hand fell on top of his, right where he left it, calculated and precise.

“Yeah. Yes, I do.” He nodded. “And if you’re not serious about Jake over there,” he tilted his head in Jacob’s scowling direction.

You shook yours, your earrings swaying and sparkling. “I’m not.” You pressed your lips together to plump them and then let them fall open.

“Good.” Reading your cues, he turned his hand on the bar over so that your wrist fell into his palm, and used it to pull you closer, your waist sliding along the curved end of the bar until there were only inches between you. He could feel Jacob fuming from where he stood and it only fueled his actions. Get ready to lose again, Jake. “’Cause I wanna try somethin’.”

He dipped his head and brought his free hand up to the side of your face, palm sliding over your cheek and fingers toying with your earlobe as his lips found yours. You made a surprised noise, but didn’t pull away, kissing him back, letting him taste the bubbles that were still on your tongue from your champagne. Your lips were soft as they moved with his, and he enjoyed knowing that they wouldn’t be wasted on Jacob anymore. Billy felt your free hand rest on his shoulder, and he dropped his from your wrist to your waist, daring to tug you even closer. He pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down briefly before releasing it and pulling away from you. Jacob’s footsteps were coming up behind you as Billy ran his thumb over the spot where his teeth had just been. “That was somethin’, alright,” you said through your stunned smile.

“Russo.” Jacob hissed. “What the hell are you… “ he turned to you and barked your name. “What is going on here?”

Billy simply draped his long arm around your shoulders and faced Jacob with a cold glare. “What’s going on, Jake, is that she’s with me now.” He looked down to you, changing his expression out for a warmer one. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” You swallowed and nodded and he flexed his fingers gently around your arm in a light squeeze. “Why don’t you grab your jacket, we’ll get out of here.” You nodded again and slipped from his grasp, brushing passed Eldridge whose top lip was curled, beady eyes flaming with contempt. Billy smiled after you as you headed for the coat check, waiting for you to be out of earshot before addressing Eldridge again. “She’s with me, Jacob. And so is Jefferson. You lost. And you’re never gonna beat me again.” He took the same path that you had, bumping into Jacob’s shoulder much more forcefully than you had. “Have a nice night, asshole,” he said it low enough so only Jacob would hear, and through a casual smile that anyone would take for friendly.

He left his nemesis seething behind him as he joined you and helped you into your coat, arm winding its way back around your shoulder as he led you out into the night.

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