#i may decide i hate this and unpin. who knows !

[peachpitss]

realized people on mobile can't see my "about" page, so! Abby she/they lesbian 25+ yrs old anti-TERF, pro-BLM mexicana based in california i'm honeynpeaches over on my cringe ao3 i like video games & manga and i’m incredibly sorry

cult of the lamb sideblog: peachapotheosis

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Field of Poppies Part 3

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 3: Amelia questions the Shelbys actions as they establish themselves as bookies. 

March 1909

             Polly said that Amelia wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be joining the family for dinner. The only one who seemed hung up on this fact was Tommy. The others were happy to go about eating and chatting about their day. As John had predicted, Ada seemed to forget what she was crying about that morning. She was all too excited to tell everyone that she had been the best at double-dutch in the schoolyard. Even better than that no-good-pigtailed-bratty-stuck-up-snob Ingrid.

            Tommy wasn’t too interested in the mundane details of his family’s life. His mind was elsewhere, so he finished dinner quickly and headed upstairs.

            When Amelia arrived, Polly had to rearrange the Shelbys to make room. Tommy had to camp out on the couch a bit longer than he would’ve liked because none of his siblings could agree to any proposed arrangement. John and Ada didn’t want to bunk together. Arthur argued he was the oldest and should have his own room. And none of them wanted to be placed with Finn. Finally, Polly put her foot down. Tommy and John would share a room and that was that.

            But when Tommy passed what once was his room, the door was open and it was empty. He frowned and continued down the cramped hall. The bathroom door was closed and he could hear retching from inside. He lightly knocked on the door. “Mel? Alright?”

            The young woman cleared her throat and stood up from her spot kneeling at the toilet. She rinsed her mouth out in the washbasin and opened the door. “I’m okay.”

            “Sounded like you were getting sick.”

            “It’s normal with the baby.” She assured him; a bit embarrassed that he’d heard her.

            “Oh.” He nodded and could remember times when his mother was ill with his siblings. But he hadn’t thought much of it. She had always put on a brave face for her kids. “Pol said you weren’t feeling well.”

            “Long day, I guess.” She moved past him and went back to the bedroom.

            Tommy followed even if she didn’t really invite him to. He leaned up against the doorframe. “Anything you want to talk about or I could fuck off ‘n leave you be.”

            She laughed softly and waved him into the room. “Close the door, would you?”

            He obliged, going to sit on a chest across from the bed, by the nearly empty desk. Even if it was his room, he didn’t want to invade her privacy.

            Amelia sat down on the bed and leaned down to remove her stockings. She felt so sluggish and weary but couldn’t tell if it really was just because of her busy day or because her mind was a factory of worries. She tossed the stockings toward the hamper and began to unpin her hair.

            “What’s on your mind? You look-concerned.”

            “Do you think that not having your father around really…well, I guess that’s a stupid fucking question. I just…” She groaned when she couldn’t find the words to voice her distress. She realized she wouldn’t get anywhere if she was asking rhetorical questions in some roundabout way. “Do you think that my child will hate me because they won’t know their father? Honestly, be honest.”

            Tommy was surprised. He expected she would go to Polly with such a problem. True, they were longtime friends but what did he know about children and parenthood? “I don’t think your child would hate you for anything? You’ll be a great mother, Mel, you know that.”

            Amelia tipped her head up to the ceiling. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and she didn’t want them to fall. “I want you to be honest with me, Tom, not to say nice things. We both know nothing in this fucking world is nice.”

            “Hey, now. Look at me. Amelia, look at me.”

            She did so, reluctantly. A tear slipped down her cheek as she met his blue eyes.

            “Yeah, so the world’s a pile of shit. But there are nice things if there weren’t then what would be the point of living, aye?” He pointed out. “I don’t know what your child will say ‘bout anything. But I know that they’ll think the world of you because you did everything for them. That’s something, right?”

            She shook her head. Everything in her wanted to stay miserable. She wanted to torture herself because she felt she deserved it. All of her actions had led her to that moment. She deserved what she got. But Tommy’s words coaxed her gently to a nicer place. A place where there was hope. There was the possibility that she could succeed in raising her child.

            “I’ll say it again but you’ve got a family here. We’re gonna help you out. And-and if I need to step in as some sorta father figure than I will.” He straightened up a bit as he finished. Suddenly determined to take on the challenge he’d thrust upon himself.

            “Tom…”

            “I’m serious.” He reiterated with a half-smile. “I mean, I may not be any good at it, but I’ll try. I said I’d take care of you and I intend on doing that. I’m not some good for nothing like-” He purposefully didn’t finish his thought. It didn’t need to be finished; they both knew they were talking about Arthur Sr. Tommy strove to be the exact opposite of his father. He wouldn’t beat his children, wouldn’t drink their money away, would provide for them, would make sure dinner was always on the table, would give them a sense of safety and love. He could give that to Amelia’s child, they both deserved to be treated well. Why shouldn’t Tommy be the one to do so?

            “I can’t ask you to do that.” Amelia looked hesitant. Would it be nice to have a strong male figure in her child’s life? Of course. She worried what would happen without one. But to put that responsibility on someone else her age? They were both still so young.

            “You don’t have to ask.” He shrugged and stood up. “Are you feeling a bit better? I could see if they spared you any leftovers downstairs.” He offered as if it were the first thing he could do to prove he was fit to help her out.

            She smiled. “Maybe a bit of bread.”  

            “Alright, just be a mo’.”

May 1909

          After his talk with Amelia, Tommy was more intent on setting up the betting shop as soon as they could. The empty place offered so many possibilities in his eyes. Possibilities that could lift him and his family out of poverty. Both he and Arthur knew it would be an uphill battle. There were already plenty of betting shops tucked away in the dark corners of Birmingham and elsewhere. Using fronts as laundry, pubs, or even butchers. Beyond that, there were men who controlled the tracks. They fixed races to their heart’s delight and didn’t take kindly to others who tried to do the same. Without explicit permission, of course. Their bookies were violent and no one in their right mind would go after them. Maybe that’s why everyone thought Arthur and Tommy were mad.

            And perhaps they were, but that didn’t stop them from beginning to take bets out of the shop attached to the flat.

            Polly wanted to be upset that her nephews were bringing trouble so close to their home. But she couldn’t deny the income that they were starting to bring in. It wasn’t much at first, but it was something. Something that could be counted on for groceries or unexpected expenses. And since Tommy and Arthur had stopped attending school around thirteen, they made mistakes with the odds. So, Polly felt she could step in and mind the books better than they could. She never claimed to be a saint.

            Being a charming man meant Tommy could count on a lot of people joining his little setup. People he’d known for years and could trust. Danny Owens was a good friend with a good heart, Freddie Thorne knew him from Greta’s meetings. Jeremiah attended church with Polly but he wasn’t shy of a little criminal behavior to survive. There were others, but there was a hierarchy of trust that Tommy took very seriously. Family always came first.

            But with the betting shop came trouble. Other bookies weren’t so keen that the Shelbys were starting to dip their toes in the business. There was already enough competition in Birmingham alone. So, trouble started to brew.

            It started with just some harassment. A few threats and taunts. The Birmingham Boys apparently weren’t going to chalk the Shelbys up to just some amateurs. Even if there was a whiff of a potential threat, they learned to step in and snuff out the problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            That’s why, a few months after the betting shop was established, Tommy was jumped by five men. Luckily, they hadn’t roughed him up too badly. But he did look to be in bad shape when he staggered into the flat. He was limping and held a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose

            “Tom!” Amelia gasped in horror when he came inside and ran into her at the base of the stairs. Six months pregnant, Polly had warned her to be a bit more cautious when it came to surprises and overexerting herself. But of course, she couldn’t be prepared for everything Tommy decided to get into.

            “S’alright, s’alright.” He grunted and made his way into the kitchen. He was certain one of his ribs was broken and his nose might have been too. It hadn’t exactly been a fair fight. He was taken completely by surprise as five of the Birmingham Boys popped out around a dark corner and immediately pummeled him to the ground. Once the initial blow wore off, Tommy tried to fight back but there wasn’t much use. Had Arthur been there, maybe they would’ve had a chance. But alone, he was knocked to the ground and had his ribs kicked in as the older men shouted slurs at him.

            “What happened?” She followed him, still in shock.

            “Got attacked.” He answered through the cloth over his nose and mouth. He went to the water pump and tried to get it going but the pain in his side was too much. He winced in pain and stifled a yelp.

            Amelia quickly dragged a chair over to the pump and made him sit. She filled up the basin with a bit of water and found a dishcloth to use. “Can I see?”

            Tommy removed the bloodied handkerchief. The blood seemed to have ebbed by the time he limped home.

            She carefully began to wipe the blood away from his face. “What else hurts?” She asked. They could talk about what happened when she was sure he was okay.

            “Me ribs.” He rested a hand over the painful spot.

            “Alright, well, let me clean you up and I can have a look.”

            Tommy took a few deep breaths. His heart was still racing and of course he was still pissed off that he’d been bested. Of course, he could take some solace that he was severely outnumbered and at a disadvantage. Still, it bruised his ego.

            Amelia tried to lighten the mood a bit. “You looked like this after you beat up Ben Hearn because he kissed me.”

            It drew a smile from him as he remembered the event from when they were around ten-years-old. Tommy was heartbroken when he heard around school that Ben had kissed his best friend and secret crush. But when he got word that Amelia hadn’t wanted to kiss Ben in the first place, Tommy decided to get retribution. Ben had gotten a lucky punch and made Tommy’s nose bleed. But that only angered him more to the point where Arthur had to pull his younger brother off the other boy because it looked like Tommy had murder in his eyes.  

            “You knocked out his tooth.”

            Tommy shook his head. “I knocked out two of his teeth.” He corrected with a familiar smirk. “And he deserved it.”

            Amelia sighed. “You were always getting into trouble back then. I thought maybe it would change when we got older but…” She rinsed the cloth and watched the red water trickle into the basin. “Maybe this betting shop idea is too dangerous.”

            “Mel-”

            “I know why you’re doing it, and I admire your initiative but you have to know what you might be risking. Money won’t do us any good if you’re injured or-”

            “It’s alright. You don’t have to worry.”

            She hung the wet cloth against the side of the basin and turned back toward him. “Tom, if you’re coming home like this then I think I have a reason to be worried!” She exclaimed.

            “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll sort it out.” He promised.

            Amelia wanted to scold him further but didn’t have the heart to. Besides, once Tommy set his mind to something, there wasn’t much hope for swaying him. Getting beat up never stopped him before, it likely wouldn’t stop him in the future. “You said your ribs hurt too?” She asked quietly.

            He nodded.

            “I can take a look at them but if they’re broken you ought to go see a doctor.” She washed any stray stains of blood off her hands and the washbasin.

            “Can’t afford a doctor right now.” Tommy stood up with a grunt and returned the chair to the table. He didn’t want Polly asking questions the next morning if she found the kitchen in disarray.

            “What do you mean? I thought Arthur said you had a good week. Said you had extra money.” Amelia dried her hands.

            “We did.”

            “So, where’s the money?” She questioned further.

            “I spent it.” Tommy grabbed a bottle of stout and uncorked it.

            “On what?”

            “You’ll see tomorrow, Mel.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

            The next day was Saturday and Amelia had the day off. She watched over John and Ada to give Polly a well-needed break.

            The weather was unseasonably warm so she took the two kids outside to play so they wouldn’t be cooped up indoors. Amelia sat on the steps darning one of her stockings while Ada skipped rope and John played football in the street with other neighborhood kids.

            There was a small group of people next door waiting to place bets for the next day’s race. To the untrained eye, they looked fairly inconspicuous. Amelia hadn’t asked what might happen if the cops would catch wind of the operation. No one mentioned it, so she assumed they either had it handled or intentionally didn’t want to think about it. Still, Polly had instilled in everyone that if the police were to come around, no one knew a thing about betting shops.

            “S'cuse me miss, is Tommy Shelby ‘round?”

            Amelia looked up from her stockings and smiled. “Danny?”

            The young man’s face broke into a look of disbelief. “Mellie? Is that you?” He removed his hat and got closer. “Tom said you’d come back; wasn’t sure I’d recognize you.” Danny Owens had been a longtime friend of the Shelbys. As a boy he was much taller than anyone in class but was quite awkward and quiet. He was from a very poor family, just like the rest of them. He was painfully shy from growing up with an abusive father. But once Tommy and Arthur took him under their wing, he became a bit more confident. He wasn’t much for fighting but if it was necessary to protect his friends, he would step in. Though, most kids wouldn’t even try to fight him because of his size and broad shoulders.

            Yet, Amelia had always known him as someone with a gentle side. “It’s been a while.” She agreed. “How’s your family?”

            “They’re good. Yeah, everyone’s good.” Danny fidgeted with his hat as he spoke to her.  

            She could tell he didn’t really want to talk about his family which was all well and good. Amelia didn’t want to talk about hers either. “You were after Tommy?”

            “You haven’t seen him ‘round have you?”

            “He should be in the shop. You can go through the kitchen if you’d like.” Amelia scooted to the side so Danny could get by.         

            “Thanks, Mel. Glad you’re back.” He smiled and walked into the flat.

            As he passed, she noticed his knuckles were bruised and there was a bit of blood smeared over the top of his hand. It sent a shiver down her spine as she realized it wasn’t just Tommy getting into trouble. Everyone she once knew as a child was getting caught up in this violence. It might’ve been small skirmishes, akin to the ones they used to get into in the schoolyard. But Amelia reasonably knew that there were much larger stakes at risk. None of them labeled their actions as organized crime, but that’s what it was. Amelia had heard about large scale gangs in London who controlled a lot more than just horse races. They had control over pubs and other businesses, paid off the police, and there were rumors that they had influence over government too.

            She wasn’t sure that was Tommy’s end game but she also didn’t know if he had any control over that. Could someone remove themselves from the lifestyle? Or were they in it for life?

            With a sigh, she set her stockings aside and checked on John and Ada across the street. There were so many questions about the future that she couldn’t even try to begin to answer. All she could do was see what came of it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            That same night, Amelia was in the kitchen making dinner while Ada rattled on about how she was going to go riding tomorrow and how Uncle Charlie might let her try to jump.

            The front door opened and Tommy poked his head inside. “Mel?” He called.

            “In the kitchen!” She replied.

            “Right, stay there, don’t come upstairs ‘til I say.”

            She raised an eyebrow but listened and continued peeling potatoes while Ada went on about horses.

            There were a few bumps against the wall and the staircase railing after the front door shut.

            “Fucking hell, this thing weighs a ton!” Arthur cursed.

            “Oi, be careful.” Tommy chided.

            “Be careful? It’s gonna damage me ‘fore I damage it!”

            A couple bangs and thumps and swears later, Tommy called Amelia upstairs.

            She and Ada went up and found him and Arthur in the bedroom. She looked confused until she saw the cot in the corner. Her mouth popped open in shock. “Tom?”

            He smiled a bit sheepishly. “For the baby.”

            “But I thought…I thought we would just move Finn’s in here.” She walked over to the new piece of furniture.

            “That thing’s older than any of us.” He shook his head. “Ought to toss it once Finn’s done with it.”

            Amelia ran a hand over the smooth oak wood. It was pristine, no nicks, or peeling varnish to be found. There were even intricate designs in the solid wood side and legs. She felt herself getting teary-eyed. She was didn’t even notice as Arthur herded Ada out of the room and back downstairs. “This is what you spent the money on?” She asked.

            Tommy nodded and shrugged. “The baby needs one, so why not?”

            She sniffled and went to hug him tightly. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

            He hugged her back, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Then adoration swept over him. He hadn’t realized how much he loved making Amelia happy. He was always fond of her, but seeing her smile was one of the best things to see, in his opinion. Maybe he was still too young to know what love was, but he had a hunch that what he was feeling was love.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997

Tag list: @shelbyblinded

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[fiftyshadesofcorona]

Fifty Shades of Corona

A Brief Note Before You Begin

This novel is intended to be semi-satirical and "so stupid that it's funny", so please do not take it too seriously. It is meant to be savored enjoyed, sip by precious sip, like a fine wine…or something…either alone or amongst your most well-humored friends.

Epigraph

“But it is only in epic tragedies that gloom is unrelieved. In real life tragedy and comedy are so intermingled that when one is most wretched ridiculous things happen to make one laugh in spite of oneself.”

Georgette Heyer

Prelude

The forested roads of Northern Washington are eery and empty as I race back to him.

It was the last thing that I expected to happen during the global Coronavirus pandemic.

It came on fast, terrifying and all-consuming—gripping my heart and invading my mind.

I still can’t believe it…

I’ve fallen in love.

I glance over at my phone resting silently on the passenger’s side seat.

My stomach twists with grief and my knuckles go bone-white against the steering wheel.

Why hasn’t he called?!

What if—

I shake the thought away before I can finish it. If I let my mind go there it will be the end of me.

A few days ago, I didn’t even know he existed.

Now I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to exist again without him.

I swipe at my cheeks, hot tears streaking my hand.

This is bad.

This is so so bad.

The seaside exit comes into view.

I lean forward and take a deep breath, trying to compose myself.

Nearly there.

I hope he’s okay.

I hope I can see him.

Even if it’s our last goodbye.

Tears well in my eyes.

I hope I’m not too late.

Chapter One

The Mob

“See you tomorrow, Ana! And thanks for bringing the cupcakes. They were delicious!”

I turn to wave goodbye to my coworker Jessica, who’s still busy stocking the shelves with sewing supplies. Jessica’s the only other worker here at Karen’s Krafts besides myself and our dome-haircut-wielding owner-slash-manager, Karen.

“I’m glad you liked them,” I say brightly. “They’re my grandmother’s recipe. Super easy.”

“No kidding?” she says, looking surprised. “Well tell your grandma her recipe was the bomb.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow!” I begin to clock out of the computer, but stop to add, “And good luck with the crowds. This Coronavirus stuff is crazy!”

Jessica steps back and gives me a look.

“Tell me about it! I’m running low on toilet paper, but nobody has it stocked.”

“Dang. That sucks.”

“Ch—tell me about it.”

I finish clocking out.

“Anyway,” I say, sighing. “I better get going. I have to make a run and try to pick up some…ahem…lady products…if you know what I mean.”

Jessica’s eyes get big. “Oh no, Ana. You can’t be serious!”

“Very serious. I’m all out.”

Jessica frowns. “I would give you some of mine if I had them, but I’m all out, too. Good thing it’s not my time of the month.”

My eyebrows arch up to my hairline. “Consider yourself lucky.”

“Shit, here she comes,” Jessica whispers.

When I look up, Jessica’s back at work stocking the bobbins and thread.

My manager Karen waddles up to the register and lingers over the back of my shoulder. I finish straightening up the counter, trying my best not to recoil from the hot puffs of breath hitting the back of my neck. I peek back at her dome haircut and put on my customer-service smile.

“What’s up? How did you like the cupcakes?”

I try to guess whether she has a complaint or is just bored. Those are the only two reasons I’ve ever seen Karen willingly leave her office. The unpleasant expression on her face tells me nothing, as it is a permanent feature of hers.

“Cupcakes?” she says distractedly. Glancing down, I notice she’s clutching a clipboard with something on it. Her lips move silently as she reads from whatever it is.

I clear my throat. “I brought some cupcakes this morning. German chocolate. Very tasty.”

She says nothing, so I grab my purse from under the counter. “I hoped they might cheer everybody up. You know, with the virus and all?”

“Virus?!” Her head snaps up, eyes bulging. “You have the virus?!”

“No, I made cupcakes to cheer every—“ I start to explain, but stop myself when I see the blind panic on her face. “No. I don’t have the virus.”

She relaxes and heaves a sigh of relief, which hits me square in the face.

The smell! I hold my breath and try not to make a face.

I shift my purse on my shoulder and open my mouth to tell her goodbye when she spits out, “Say, can I speak to you for a sec?”

Crap. This can’t be good.

“Sure,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice. I set my purse on the counter and wait for her to continue. She clears her throat wetly, looks down at her clipboard, then clears her throat again.

Yep, definitely bad news. I brace myself.

“Ana, we’ve decided to let you go.”

My shoulders tense, and there’s a rush of something terrible down in my stomach.

“Today is your last day,” she continues, reading robotically from her clipboard.

Is she serious? I’ve worked here for a year and a half, never been late for a single shift, and always gotten stellar performance reviews. I’m basically a model employee!

“Thank you for the work you’ve done here, and I wish you the best in your future endeavors,” she finishes.

“You’re firing me?” I ask in a small voice that surprises even me.

“Not exactly…but sort of.”

This can’t be happening. “Wh—what did I do wrong?”

“I didn’t say you did anything wrong, did I?” She looks put-out, another typical expression of hers.

My shoulders relax a little.

“Did you even listen to a word I said?” she says, shaking her head. “I said you’re being put on non-disciplinary indefinite leave.”

I cock my head, confused. “Um, I don’t think that’s what you said.”

She huffs and holds the clipboard back up.

“It’s exactly what I said. See, right here.”

She jabs a finger at the page, face reddening as she purses her lips.

Jeez. And I thought she looked unpleasant before…

She slaps the clipboard onto the counter. “Either way I’m saying it now.”

“So, I’m not fired?”

Crap. I’m so confused right now.

“No,” she huffs again. “You’re not fired. But you’re no longer scheduled for any shifts. And we’ll be taking you off the payroll.”

“Um…okay…”

That sounds a lot like being fired, but I decide not to push the subject.

Tears press at the corners of my eyes as I take a moment to process everything. Karen must notice, because she lets out another sigh and steps towards me. Her hand thumps heavily on my shoulder. “But I want you to know that it’s not you, it’s us.” She pats me once, then steps back, looking pleased with herself.

I suddenly feel like I’m going through an awkward breakup. Which I guess I am in a way.

“Wow. Um…What a surprise.” I catch myself wringing my hands so I stop. “Is it because of the virus?”

“Of course it’s because of the virus!” she shouts. “What else would it be? It’s certainly not my fault! I’ll have you know that Karen’s Krafts is extremely successful,” she gestures wildly. “Perhaps the most successful small business in all of Seattle!“

“You’re right, Karen.” I quickly say the three magic words that always calm her when she gets like this.

Sure enough, she lowers her arms and tries to composes herself.

“You probably haven’t noticed, Ana, but we’re not doing as much business as usual.”

In fact, I have noticed. The store has been totally dead for the last week and a half. But I don’t want to risk setting her off again, so I stay quiet. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to expect me to reply.

“Nothing like the grocery stores,” she says with a bitter laugh. She shakes her head and gives a shrug. “Just have to let some people go for the time being.”

“How long until I’m able to come back?”

She shrugs her shoulders again.

“No way to know. I’m only keeping Jessica because she’s my niece.”

I nod my head.

“Right, right. Makes sense.” Not really, but whatever. I’m totally against nepotism. It sucks and it’s everywhere, but there’s no getting away from it—sort of like Coronavirus.

“Of course it makes sense. That’s why I’m doing it!” Karen snaps. She snatches up her clipboard and turns to walk away. “Anyway, if things get better I’ll call you. Make sure you answer.”

“Thanks,” is all I can muster in response as she disappears into the restroom.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, everything sinks in.

I just lost my job.

During a global pandemic.

“Oh, and Ana!” Karen’s voice booms from the toilet.

I knew she’d change her mind!

“Yes?!” I call out brightly.

“Don’t forget to leave your name tag.”

My shoulders fall.

“Sure thing, Karen.” I unpin the familiar badge from my shirt and set it on the counter. It looks as small as I feel. I take a few deep breaths and turn to leave. All I want right now is to get the hell out of here and get home as soon as possible so I can relax, have a good cry, and think over what to do next.

A thought occurs to me.

What am I going to do about my rent?

Crap. I can feel the tears coming…

A second later, my sadness turns to anger, and I clench my fists.

This sucks so f-ing bad. Like, what the heck did I ever do to deserve this! Ugh!

I force myself to remain composed. This isn’t the time to break down into hysterics.

I give myself a little pep talk.

Calm down, Ana. You’re a fully grown, strong, capable young woman. You’ll get through this. All you need to do is grab hold of your big girl panties and ride them clear up the crack of your ass so hard there’s no chance in hell they’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.

Now that my spirits have been sufficiently lifted, I’m ready to take on the world. Or at the very least, my own small corner of it.

I stop in front of the exit to check my phone and notice seven missed phone calls and three missed text messages from my mother.

I roll my eyes. Of course. She’s a typical narcissistic, panicky boomer. At sixty-five years old she’s never worked a day in her life, attends church two to three times per week, and still believes in the magic of prayer. It may sound like I hate her, but I don’t. She annoys me, sure. But deep down I keep telling myself she has my best interest at heart, even if what her heart is telling her isn’t actually what’s in my best interest…if that makes any sense. With that said, whatever she has to say is certain to irritate me far beyond what I’m currently able to stand.

I decide to get it over with.

I take a deep breath and read the first text.

Mom: Ana, this is your mother. Just texting to let you know I called. I’m very worried about you with all of this virus stuff going on. Praying for you. Love Always, Your Mother.

Okay. Fairly normal so far given the circumstances. Maybe I was wrong to judge her so quickly.

I scroll down to the second text, which looks like it was sent…I squint to see—oh yes: exactly three minutes after the first one, and two minutes after the last three phone calls.

Mom: Ana, this is your mother. I’ve been praying and praying for you to call me back. I am deeply worried about you. I’ve tried calling you three more times. It’s not like you to ignore my phone calls, especially during such dark and uncertain times as these. Call me back as soon as you get this. My heart is hurting to know if my sweet little Ana is okay. Love Always, Your Mother.

A little worse this time, but not the worst I’ve seen.

I brace myself for the third text, which I know will be bad because it was sent exactly two minutes after the second text, and one minute after the last three calls.

Mom: Ana, this is your mother. I’m seriously freaking out right now. I keep having visions of you lying in a body bag, stiff as a frozen lamb chop and twice as cold. Why are you being such an obstinate, petulant child? I keep calling and calling, and still no answer. I keep praying and praying, but still no answer. Why aren’t you answering me, dear daughter? Why aren’t you answering me, dear Lord? My heart is heavy with sorrow and worry for the precious daughter I raised and nurtured by the milk of my own breasts. I’m so scared, sweet daughter. My nerves are frazzled and frayed beyond mortal repair. I feel as though I may collapse into a puddle of eternal sorrow. My heart is aching for you, my sweet dear little girl. My sweet, sweet precious daughter. Oh Lord, why have you forsaken her? Call me as soon as you get this. Love Always, Your Mother.

Okay, what the hell? I’m not even going to get started on how freaking weird that was.

I decide it might be better to wait until I get home to call her back. Something tells me the phone call won’t be quick, and I really need to get to the store to get my lady supplies, so I decide to opt for a text instead.

Ana: Calm down, Mom. I’m fine. I just got off work, and now I have to make a run to Wholesome Foods for some supplies. Please don’t worry. I’ll call you as soon as I get home. Love, Ana.

Hopefully that suffices to stave off the insanity.

My phone immediately pings with her reply.

Mom: Sounds good. Love Always, Your Mother.

Simple enough. A little odd, given the texts that came before it, but I’ll take it.

I pause and look out the front door before leaving. Beyond the window, thin sheets of rain coat the steamy sidewalks of Seattle. I notice most of the people who pass by look panicked. Ever since the Coronavirus started everyone has seemed more alert and on edge. At first I found it exciting, because they all seemed less depressed and more alive. But now it’s beginning to worry me.

I finger the small silver cross bracelet my grandmother gave me for my sixteenth birthday. It had been my great-grandmother’s before it was hers, but I never got the full story behind it. I do, however, remember her telling me it was for courage and strength, which is what I need most right now.

I take a deep breath and push through the door.

The door bell dings, and once I’m outside I breathe in the cool damp air. The rain is lighter than I expected—more of a mist really, so I decide to leave my umbrella unopened and gaze up at the silver clouds as they roil and swirl above me. There’s something wonderful about their movement, and I find myself getting lost in them.

DING! DING! DING! RIGHT SIDE!

My peaceful reverie is rudely interrupted.

DING! DING! DING! RIGHT SIDE!

Shit! Cyclists!

DING! DING! DING!…

I leap left at the last moment, barely dodging a small herd of spandex-clad cyclists thrusting through the crowd like they own the street. I brace myself against a tree to keep from falling over, when one of them—a middle-aged man-child with greying temples—looks back at me and scowls.

I put up my hand to apologize even though he’s probably the one who should be apologizing.

He turns and mutters something under his breath that sounds like “Bitch” and keeps pedaling.

I turn and bite my fingernail. What an asshole.

Crap.

I pull my fingers out of my mouth. That’s probably not the best thing I could be doing during a global viral outbreak.

I reach into my purse for some hand sanitizer and slather the cool alcohol over my fingers.

Two steps into my walk, my phone buzzes.

What now?

I check my phone. It’s Stacy, my best friend and roommate.

Stacy: Are you off work yet!?

My thumbs tap out a reply.

Ana: Just got off.

I look up from my phone. A woman who looks like she might have been sane a week ago but who is now basically a bag lady passes by me with a shopping cart full of bathroom supplies, screaming “Fuck you! Got mine!”

As she passes, I look closer at her hand and spot what appears to be a taser.

I pause and make a face. What the hell has this world come to?

My phone buzzes with another text.

Stacy: Cool. Check it. Blue fish bowls. Remember these things?

A cotton-candy-filtered photo pops up of Stacy slurping down a big blue fishbowl margarita.

I smile at Stacy’s exaggerated duck face.

Then I notice Dezzy in the background. Dezzy’s the friend Stacy brought down to Florida with her for Spring Break instead of me. She looks drunk as she flashes a peace sign with one hand and a middle finger with the other. Ugh. Dezzy can be such a… I’m not even going to say it. She’s always hated me for reasons, which is strange because I never had a problem with her. Oh well. Best to ignore it.

Ana: Looks like fun.

Stacy: ’Tis. ’Tis.

I’m tempted to tell her about being put on indefinite leave, but I don’t want to ruin her good time, so I tuck my phone away. The bad news can wait.

I pass by a homeless man trying to sell face masks on the street corner. As I pass by, I notice half of them are covered in dirt stains and are clearly used, and it’s obvious he’s been digging through the local hospital dumpster to find them.

He shoves one in my face.

“Twenty dollars!”

I move away from him. “No thanks.”

He follows me a few steps. “Ten dollars!”

I shake my head, wincing.

“Five!”

“I’m fine,” I laugh nervously. “Really.”

“Fine. One dollar. Final offer.”

“But they look like you found them in a dumpster, sir!”

“Still good. See, clean enough.” He dangles it in front of my face and turns it so I can see all the sides.

I pull out a dollar and hand it to him, but tell him he can keep the mask.

“You need a mask,” he says, and tries to put it on my face.

“Fine, I’ll take it.” I quickly grab the mask out of his hand before he’s able to touch my face with it.

“God bless!” he spits through his last remaining tusk, and turns to his next victim.

I hold the mask as far away from my body as possible, and toss it in the nearest garbage can. When I turn back to see if the homeless man saw me I catch him glaring at me.

“Sorry,” I mouth.

He scurries over to the garbage can to retrieve it.

Shit!

I run through the crowd to get away from him, and I don’t stop until I’m nearly a block away, where I pull out my phone and text Stacy.

Ana: You should see it here, Stacy. Things are getting crazy.

Stacy: Yeah, no shit. I saw the news. Seattle blows. Florida is way more fun!

Ana: I bet. How’s the silver fox hunt going?

FYI, the real reason Stacy’s down in Florida for Spring Break is to hunt for an older man to marry. And when I say old, I mean like really old. See, Stacy’s life didn’t pan out quite like she had hoped. She failed out of college during her first semester and can’t seem to hold down a job. In her mind, the next logical step is to marry into money. And since most guys with money are older, she figures the older he is the more she’s hedging her bet.

I look around at all the depressed and desperately overworked faces passing by and can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s onto something.

Stacy: Sucks so far. Nothing but poor frat guys with big muscles and orange tans. All the silver foxes are holed up in hiding from the stupid virus.

Ana: Dang. Bad timing.

Stacy: You’re telling me. It’s hard out here for a bitch!

I smile, but it doesn’t last long. Something about her comment reminds me that I’m out of a job.

Should I tell her now?

Probably.

Ana: I feel like I’m about to cry, Stacy. Karen basically just fired me.

Stacy: What!? Why would she fire you? You’re like the best employee ever?

Ana: Well, technically she put me on indefinite leave.

Stacy: What the freak is that?

Ana: It means I don’t get a paycheck for who knows how long, and I don’t know when they’ll hire me back…if ever.

Stacy: That sucks, Banana. I’m sorry. How the heck are we going to pay the rent?

Yeah, she calls me Banana. It’s a play on Ana, if you missed it. She’s clever like that.

Ana: It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’m not sure about the rent, though.

But I’m not okay. My eyes grow hot with tears. What am I going to do for money? Where will I live if we get evicted?

Stacy: Shit. I just realized I won’t have any money left after this trip. Hopefully I can find a silver fox fast. :(

Ana: Hopefully. :(

I turn the corner and see a long line of customers waiting outside Wholesome Foods. People are crammed together, yelling and jostling for position, and for some reason it reminds me of the movie The Night of the Living Dead.

Double crap.

A heavy wave of sickness washes over me, and I feel like I might pass out.

I really don’t want to go to the store right now, so I rifle through my purse in a last ditch effort to find a tampon to hold me over until tomorrow. My fingers find a string.

Ah ha!

But wait…

I pull it out.

Crap.

Not only is it out of its wrapper, it’s covered in lint and snack crumbs and looks like it’s old enough to attend kindergarten.

I drop it back into my purse and tap out a question to Stacy.

Ana: Do tampons expire?

Stacy: No, they’re like condoms. They last forever.

Ana: Um… Are you sure?

Stacy: Totally sure.

I want to trust her, but I’m pretty sure she’s wrong. Looks like I’ll have to wait in line.

I step into line behind a mother and her five children, one of whom is screaming at the top of it’s lungs for no reason.

My phone buzzes with a new text.

Stacy: Hey bitch. How’s your depressing life?

What the?

That was out of nowhere. How many fish bowls has Stacy had so far? Jeez.

I try to figure out how to respond when another text comes in.

Stacy: I’m glad you didn’t come down here with us. It’s better for everyone.

I shake my head, confused.

Ana: Excuse me?

Stacy: Sorry, Dez took my phone.

Ana: Oh. That explains it.

Stacy: Dez was just joking.

Uh huh. Right.

The line moves forward a few steps, and when it stops the crowd lets out a collective sigh.

Stacy: We both wish you were here. You should have come with.

Ana: Somebody had to stay and look after the apartment… Besides, it’s probably not the nicest thing to be down there partying and putting so many people at risk.

Stacy: Get off your high horse Banana! You decided not to go long before the virus happened.

I can’t say she’s wrong.

Stacy begged me to go but I opted to save money and get some extra hours at work.

Oh, the irony.

But if I had decided to go on the trip, I like to think I would have cancelled as soon as I knew it would be putting people at risk. Still, there’s no use in arguing with Stacy.

Ana: I’m probably just jealous.

Stacy: As you should be. Florida is so much better than dreary depressing Seattle.

Ana: Yeah, if you like living in a giant trailer park filled with bugs, alligators, and old people.

Stacy: LoL

I laugh a little as the line moves forward a few paces.

Stacy: Seriously though. Take it easy on the old people. They’re my last ticket to freedom.

Ana: I still think you can do better for yourself, but what do I know?

Stacy: Obviously not much. Face it, I’m fucked if I can’t find a rich man to marry.

She might be right, but I refuse to agree.

Stacy: Besides, old guys are hot. I’m surprised you don’t look for one yourself, given your present circumstance.

I can’t say I’ve ever found older-older men hot. Unless of course the guy was only a little bit older. Then I’d be fine with it.

Ana: I guess I just think I have more potential than that. I’d like to earn my own living and independence some day, even if it’s hard.

There’s a brief pause where she doesn’t reply, and I wonder if I offended her.

Ana: At least that’s what I’m hoping for. Who knows if it will happen.

Stacy: You do you and I’ll do me, Banana.

I roll my eyes.

Ana: Come on, I’m sure there are plenty of decent jobs you could get that don’t require a college degree.

Stacy: Ew gross! I’d rather kill myself than work for a living. Fuck that.

I laugh. She’s right in a way. Work sucks major ass. The only times I’m ever truly unhappy are when I’m at work.

Ana: There might be some truth to what you’re saying.

Stacy: Just wait. One of these days some rich older guy is going to catch your eye. Then you’ll change your mind.

I think it over.

Ana: Okay, and say that does happen. How do you expect I’ll get him? It’s not like I have much to offer besides my youth.

Stacy: Not true. You look great, Banana.

Ana: Whatever. I know what I look like.

Stacy: You don't give yourself enough credit. You’re gorgeous. And totally smart.

Even though I know she’s just saying these things to cheer me up, I still can’t help but smile.

Ana: But seriously, how does one go about snagging a rich man?

Stacy: What you need are some good pick up lines.

Right…

I look up and see that the line has moved quite a bit from where I started. At this rate I’ll be inside in no time.

Stacy: Here’s one I’ve been practicing for my hunt… Have you ever been arrested? Because your looks are killer.

I roll my eyes.

Ana: Maybe I’ll give it a try some day.

Stacy: Do it. You won’t be disappointed.

A fight breaks out at the front of the line.

Seconds later, the two guys fighting are escorted away by a masked security guard and the line moves forward to fill the gap.

As I near the entrance, the crowd noise grows louder, and a swarm of customers break through the exit.

Crap! They’re charging right at me.

I quickly side-step out of their way and a middle-aged white woman with a dome haircut shoves past me into the store, making me do a double-take.

Phew. Not Karen.

As the woman passes by, I overhear a small portion of her phone conversation:

“I’m pretty sure I have it. I’m going to the doctor right now. I just have to stop at Wholesome Foods real quick.”

Holy crap. This place is like a war zone or something.

I enter the store close behind Karen Number 2.

Once inside, I immediately notice two things:

1. Nobody in this store seems to be wearing a mask, and…

2. All the grocery carts and baskets are gone.

I take a deep breath.

Everything’s okay, I tell myself. Just improvise and get out as fast as you can.

I hurry past the entrance and into the toiletry section.

Okay…tampons…where are the tampons?

I look down an aisle and see people lined up at the pharmacy, scrambling for asthma medication and pills. Thank goodness I’m fairly healthy and don’t need any medication. If push comes to shove, I can get by for months on my one-a-day multivitamin.

I step into the feminine hygiene aisle where a group of frustrated women are looking around frantically.

One of them says to the others, “Where are the fucking tampons!”

I look over the shelves, and they’re nearly empty.

Come on…tampons…tampons…there has to be one more pack somewhere.

I start digging through the merchandise, checking back behind the other products.

No luck.

Okay. Think, Ana. Think. What could you do?

My phone buzzes with a text.

Stacy: Where did you go?

Ana: There aren’t any tampons at the store! What am I going to do?”

Stacy: Okay. I’m calling you.

American Girl blares through my phone speakers.

I hold the phone out in front of me and right as I’m about to accept the call a scruffy-looking guy appears out of nowhere and sneezes all over the front of my screen.

I look up at him, totally grossed out.

“Sorry, dude,” he says, then disappears down the aisle.

Crap. There’s no way I’m holding this thing up to my head now.

The song keeps playing, tinny notes ringing out.

A rude woman nearby screams, “Answer your goddamn phone!”

“Sorry,” I mutter, and tap the speakerphone button, careful to avoid the spit droplets on the screen.

The first thing I and everybody within a twenty-five-foot radius hears is an obnoxious slurping sound.

Several shoppers turn and glare at me, so I hurry into a side aisle where there aren’t as many people. “Geez, Stacy. What are you drinking?” I hiss at the phone. “You sound like Lord Buttcrack with his ten gallon gas station sodas.”

Lord Buttcrack is the nickname Stacy and I have given our fat, greedy, disgusting landlord, on account of the fact that we’ve never seen him without half of his butt crack hanging out of his pants.

“Hold it right there,” Stacy says. “Don’t you dare ever compare me to Lord Buttcrack. I love you dearly, but that’s taking it too far. Besides, he sounds more like a butthole.”

I laugh at her drunken simile. “I don’t like that image. Why are you thinking about his butthole?”

“Hey, where there’s a crack, there’s always a hole.”

Um…

“As to your first question,” she continues, “I just finished my third Blue Ocean Fishbowl.”

“Holy crap! You drank three of them? Don’t they come in, like, a literal fish bowl?”

“Mm-hm. And the alcohol content is through the roof.”

“Something tells me you’re going to regret this.”

“Doubt it.”

I sigh.

“Anyway, back to my tampon problem.”

“Where did Joey go?” Dezzy’s voice cuts in.

“Who the hell is Joey?!” Stacy shouts.

“The guy with the muscles, duh,” Dezzy moans in the background.

“They all have muscles!” Stacy cries.

“Ugh…the one with the tan!”

“They all have tans!”

“Hello!?” I say loudly into the phone.

“Oh, sorry. Seriously, Dezzy is being such a bitch.”

“You’re the fucking bitch, bitch!” Dezzy laugh-screams in the background.

“Whatever…” Stacy says. “Back to the problem at hand. Can’t you just wear pads?”

“They’re out of those, too.”

A woman nearby overhears our conversation and approaches me.

“Pads? Did someone say pads? Where are the pads? I need more pads! There have to be more pads!”

Stacy starts laughing so hard she begins to choke.

The woman’s frantic energy scares the crap out of me, so I back away from her and hurry into the clothing section, which seems to be the only empty part of the store.

I duck down under some hanging dresses and tops. “Seriously, Stacy. What should I do?”

“Let me think…” Stacy muses. “Oh, I know! A while back I was watching this TV show about these female prison inmates…”

Great.

“Okay?”

“Bare with me,” she says, sensing my doubt.

“K.”

“Anyway, whenever the prison ran out of tampons, the women would just wad up a bunch of toilet paper and shove it up their pussies.”

Genius. Simply genius.

A woman with a stroller opens the clothing rack and pokes her head in. “Could you keep it down with the profanity? Children are nearby!”

“Fuck off, lady!” Stacy screams at her through the phone.

The woman scoffs and throws the clothing rack closed.

“It’s not the worst idea,” I say. “Only problem is they’re all out of toilet paper as well.”

“Hmm…

“I need more ideas.”

“You could just free bleed,” she says.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s when you…”

“Actually, never mind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Totally sure.”

“Fine. Scratch that.. Let’s see…” Stacy makes a weird sucking sound with her mouth while she’s thinking.

Another customer comes by and starts sliding the shirts around me.

“What’s that annoying noise?” Stacy says.

“I’m under a rack of tank tops and someone’s looking through them.”

“Oops, sorry!” The faceless searcher says.

“It’s fine,” I say back nicely.

Stacy gasps. “I know!”

“What?”

“Why don’t you just cut up a tank top and shove it up your pussy?”

I laugh.

“Come on. That’s ghetto.”

“Yeah. But what else are you going to do?”

She’s got a point. What if this is the answer?

“But I don’t wanna!” I groan into the phone.

“I know it sucks, Banana. But it’s probably your only option.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

I crawl out from under the clothing rack and grab three spaghetti strap tank tops.

“Do you think three is enough?”

“Um…probably.”

“Okay. Good to go. Now it’s time to get the hell out of here.”

“You go girl!”

As I’m walking towards the front checkout, I spot some cotton balls out of the corner of my eye.

Hmm. These could be useful.

I snag them off the shelf.

“Hey, Stacy, do you think cotton balls…”

“WHAT!” someone screams on Stacy’s end.

A man across the aisle glares at me.

I mouth “sorry” and turn away.

“Quiet down,” I hiss. “Or I’m hanging up.”

“IS THIS ANA?!”

Shit. It’s Dezzy again.

“Dez, put Stacy back on the phone,” I whisper.

“FUCK YOU, ANA! YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

“Okay, I’m hanging up.”

“WOO! SPRING BREAK!” Dezzy screams so loud my speaker pops.

I hang up the phone and slip it into my pocket.

When I get to the front of the store, I join the back of the nearest line and take in my surroundings. All around me carts are overflowing. Off to my left, a plump woman is loading fifteen large cases of soda onto the conveyor belt, and the guy behind her has nothing but vanilla puddings and beef jerky.

He catches me staring and smiles at me. Holy hell! All his teeth are missing. I don’t even want to guess how he’s going to eat all that jerky.

“Next!” a young female voice calls from the front of the line.

I turn toward the register, but can’t seem to see the girl who said it. All I see is some sort of contraption where the register should be that looks like four broom sticks wrapped in layers of cellophane.

The dome-headed woman ahead of me huffs up to the register and hacks onto the cellophane.

Holy crap! It’s the Karen Clone from earlier!

I leave some distance between us and try not to breathe in whatever she’s hacking.

“Excuse me!” Karen Number 2 brays at the cellophane. “You forgot to ask me if I found everything I was looking for.”

The cellophane sucks in and releases with a sigh, and the disembodied voice from earlier returns. “Did you find everything you were—“

“No. I. Did. Not.” Spittle from Karen Number 2’s mouth hits the cellophane with each word. “And I need to speak to your manager. Immediately.”

The girl behind the plastic lets out another sigh. “Randy! Customer for you.”

A ruddy-faced man shuffles our way, but before he makes it to the register, Karen Number 2 marches towards to him.

“Next!” the girl behind the cellophane says, not caring if the woman loses her place in line.

I step forward to the register.

“I think some people are worse than the virus,” she says from behind the barrier.

I laugh. “No kidding.”

She sighs and the plastic wrap squeaks.

I clear my throat. “Um…What is this thing?”

“Modified spit guard. Courtesy of my dumb asshole manager.”

I laugh. “It looks pretty…um…”

“Shit?”

“Yeah, sort of,” I giggle.

“It would be better if he hadn’t triple wrapped the cellophane. Now I can’t see anything.”

“Why are most managers such bozos?” I scoff.

“Because the owners know if they were too smart they’d quit.”

I think it over. “Then why are some of the employees so smart?”

“Because it doesn’t matter if they quit.”

I laugh. It’s so true!

Then it occurs to me. “Why can’t you just wear masks and gloves?”

“Mr. Bozo thinks it will scare the customers.”

I frown at the plastic wrap.

“Wow. That’s really stupid.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighs.

My heart goes out to the girl trapped behind the cellophane. Her face is so blurred that I wouldn’t even know she was a girl if it weren’t for her voice.

“Nobody sees us and nobody cares,” she says hauntingly.

A chill runs down my spine.

I don’t know what to say, so I look down at my feet.

“Your total comes to $17.20.”

Crap, that’s expensive. I really wish they were carrying tampons.

I pull out my wallet and grab two tens.

When I look up I notice there’s a card reader, but no way to get her the cash.

“Um…all I have is cash.”

A tiny index finger appears above the cellophane, then points down. “Make it rain on this bitch.”

I fold the bills into fourths so they don’t scatter, then toss them over. “Keep the change.”

“Oh wow. Thanks,” She says. Her voice is different this time, less depressed. “Seriously, I need it.”

“No problem. Good luck.”

“Psh! Thanks,” she says with a laugh.

I laugh, too. “K, bye.”

Behind me, the ruddy-faced manager announces that the store is closing in ten minutes, and half the customers groan.

A woman in the cereal aisle screams, “This is bullshit! I need food for my kids!”

Behind me, a mob forms around the checkouts and people flood into the entrance.

Crap. Time to get out of here.

The woman from the personal care aisle who needed pads exits empty-handed in front of me and her face looks absolutely furious. When she gets outside, she turns around, pulls out the waistband of her sweatpants, reaches down between her legs, and rips out a used pad!

I gasp. Oh no!

In one swift motion, she slaps the bloody pad on the grocery store window, where it sticks like a suction cup animal.

“This is what you get for not having pads!” she screams like a banshee.

The crowd behind me groans with disgust.

What in the actual fuck?

A thick wave of nausea washes over me, and I feel like I might puke.

I search for another way out, but this is the only exit, so I step in front of the door and try not to look at the bloody pad stuck to the window. But for some reason I can’t help myself, and when I look up, the door slides open and the pad smears fresh blood across the glass before falling down onto the sidewalk.

Oh my God, WTF!

I throw up a little in my mouth, but manage to make it outside.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, the moment I step out I spot a trashy-looking mother trying to steal a mask off the face of a middle-aged man so her son can wear it.

“Come on,” she says, “he needs it more than you do!”

“Even if I wanted to give it to him, it’s a bad idea,” the poor guy says. “I could be carrying the virus!”

“Bullshit!” she screams. “Hand it over!”

She lurches for his mask and rips it loose.

Holy crap! What should I do?

A loud pop rips through the crowd, and the trashy woman falls to the ground and twitches around like she’s being electrocuted.

I turn and look down at the poor guy’s hand and see that he’s holding a taser.

“Oh my God, did you just tase her?” a woman from the crowd cries out.

“She was trying to steal my mask!” the poor guy says.

“You’re an animal!” a pregnant woman seethes as she clutches her belly protectively.

“How could you?” says someone in the crowd.

“The poor thing,” adds yet another.

The next thing I know, three white knight teenage boys are on top of the poor guy, beating him with their fists.

I cover my mouth with my hand, horrified by their savagery.

People leaving the store join in the fight, and within seconds it’s a full-on mob.

What the crap! It just keeps getting worse! I need to get out of here.

I dash for an clear spot of sidewalk near the curb, but right as I’m about to break free from the hoard, an errant body slams into me, sending me headfirst into the street. The pavement comes rushing towards my face, and at the last moment my hands shoot up just in time to stop me from landing face-first. I slide violently out into the street as my hands scrape along the asphalt, splashing puddle water into my face. The pain is immense and brings back vivid memories of the times I used to fall off my bike.

When I finally manage to look up I see that everything I just bought has been strewn out into the roaring traffic. The tank tops are stained brown and the cotton balls are soaked black.

A car honks and swerves, barely missing my head as my face is thrashed with water.

I gasp for breath as I crawl backwards towards the sidewalk.

Another car roars by, flattening everything I bought into a puddle.

Hot tears well in my eyes.

People behind me are asking each other what to do, but nobody makes a move to help me up.

Just then, a large SUV stops in front of me, and I catch sight of my reflection in the polished silver paint.

I gasp out in horror. The girl I see looking back at me looks like she just crept out of a lake.

The tinted rear passenger-side window rolls down a crack.

“Are you okay?” A dark voice says.

I squint at the tint, hoping to catch sight of the faceless man speaking to me, but all I can make out is a dark shock of hair. I push myself up from the puddle and step towards him.

“Stay back!” he says. His voice is so loud it echoes through the street, startling me.

I shuffle back two steps, look down and ring my hands.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t,” he says, then lets out a long, loud sigh. “I apologize for my tone, but I would prefer not to risk contact.”

“I totally understand. I—”

“Listen, are you okay?” he snaps, interrupting me.

A laugh escapes me. “Obviously not!”

I’m surprised by my own frankness, but something takes hold of me.

“I mean, its not like I just lost my job and won’t be able to pay my rent this month!”

Someone giggles behind me as the mysterious man in the backseat of the SUV remains silent.

“And…and… it’s not like I’m on my period right now and can’t seem to find a box of tampons or pads to save my life!”

A couple more people laugh.

I take a deep breath, about to cry as my voice grows louder.

“And it’s not like spaghetti strap tank tops were the only reasonable alternative!”

The laughter behind me stops.

“Damn!” someone shouts from the silenced crowd.

But I don’t care, and my voice only grows louder still.

“And it’s not like I had to fight through ten thousand assholes just to get that!”

I turn around and see several angry faces staring me down.

“And it’s not like you fucking animals shoved me into the street and the spaghetti strap tank tops I was supposed to shove up my pussy are now rotting at the bottom of a water-filled pothole!”

A pimple-faced teenage boy doubles over in laughter.

“Oh my God!” he says, wagging his finger at me. “She’s good.”

“Fucking animals, huh?!” a man in the crowd yells. “I’ll show you who’s a fucking animal!”

The man staggers forward, knocking into the people around him, and out of nowhere someone punches him in the face.

Oh no!

For a moment he’s dazed, but when he finally manages to regain his senses he throws a wild punch and the crowd resumes its frenzied fight.

I turn back to the window and cover my face, about to cry.

“Where do you live?” the disembodied voice in the SUV says. His tone is unexpectedly sympathetic.

What? Why is he asking me this? Why would he care where I live?

I gaze up through my tears at the window.

Should I tell him?

The thought seems crazy. He’s a complete stranger. I mean, I haven’t even seen his face.

I feel the crowd pushing at my back, and in one swift surge of motion, they shove me up against the window.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” I cry. I try to turn around so I can say it to their faces, but the pressure is too much.

I turn and see two dazzling grey eyes staring back at me through the crack. The expression is fierce and intense, but for some reason I trust them.

“First Street,” I whimper. “I live near First Street.”

His eyes bore into mine as the crowd locks me in place.

Behind me, people begin to scream and shove each other.

The steel grey eyes look past me into the crowd and the next thing I know a folded hundred dollar bill appears next to my face.

I stare at the money, confused.

“It’s for your rent. To get by.”

What the?

I hesitate to take it.

“Take it or leave it.”

I reach forward to take it, and as I clasp the crisp paper, my finger brushes against his smooth, warm skin.

I look up into his eyes and this time they’re black. His brow furrows.

My breath hitches, and something tugs deep down in the pit of my stomach.

Behind me, a shrill woman shouts, “You got any toilet paper in there?”

The crowd moves forward, pressing me harder from behind and forcing my arm through the window.

“Son of a bitch!” the musical voice hisses from inside the cabin.

The crowd keeps pressing, and I scream out in pain.

Another voice from behind me calls out, “Hey rich boy! You gonna come bail us out!?”

The laughter is insane.

Hot breath brushes the back of my neck, giving me flashbacks of Karen standing behind me.

I look into his fierce eyes and for a moment I read an expression that looks like pity or fear, but I’m not sure which.

A gunshot rings out, and the glass on the rear driver’s side explodes into the cabin.

I scream in terror.

“Fuck!” the man says.

I can see people on the other side of the cabin leaning into the SUV.

“Ohh! It’s nice in here!” a haggard woman says, peering inside.

“Get back, you!” the man shouts.

I wish I could help him, but I’m stuck.

He leans forward and screams at the driver.

“Damnit, Calloway! They’re breathing into the cabin!”

“You hear that?” someone behind me says. “Richie Rich doesn’t want us breathing his fancy-pants air!”

“All right then,” an older man with an ugly voice screams. “Let’s give it to him! Charge!”

The crowd rushes forward, smashing me against the window.

I try to escape, but I’m locked in place.

All around me, ugly voices are screaming ugly things in ugly ways.

I suddenly feel like my spine is being crushed from behind.

“Help!” I yelp. “Somebody help me!”

“Fuck it, it’s too late now,” he says, his beautiful voice breaking through the garbled roar of the crowd.

The tinted window zips down and a pair of large hands cup my waist.

“What are you doing?” I say, startled by his strength.

“Watch your head,” he whispers against my ear, dizzying my senses.

The world around me spins, and for a moment everything is a blur. The next thing I know, I’m laying on my back looking up at the ceiling. All around me voices are growing in number, and I instinctively curl into the fetal position, nuzzling my face into his chest and inhaling his clean scent as his strong protective arms pull me closer to him.

Despite all the commotion around me, for the first time in forever, I feel safe.

The vehicle begins to rock back and forth from the thrashings of the human horde.

“Damnit, Calloway. They’re trying to tip us!”

“Can I run them over, sir?”

“I believe that would be unwise,” the man replies with a hint of humor.

The driver rubs his hand back and forth over his buzz cut. “Right, sorry.”

A loud noise startles me, and my hands shoot up to protect my face, smearing mud across the front of his suit.

Oh no!

I look up to apologize, and for the first time I see his face.

Oh my freaking God!

Chapter Two

Dark Knight

His face is perfect.

The symmetry is flawless. The bone structure is divine. His cheek bones are so strong and pronounced, it wouldn’t surprise me if he once was, or still is, a runway model. A thick shock of hair hangs over his right eye in a way that’s pleasantly distracting. If I were to guess his age I’d say he couldn’t be any older than 25, although his expression and mannerisms are more like those of a man twice his age.

His grey eyes narrow at me, and my heart leaps in response.

I try to look away, but my eyes are locked on his.

His pupils dilate, eclipsing the grey, and all at once I feel lightheaded.

Holy crap. What’s happening to me? I feel like I might faint.

His face softens, his eyes blinking gently, and I can’t help but notice his lashes are long for a man’s.

I should really look away, but for some reason I can’t. It’s as though I’m tethered to his gaze by some mysterious force.

In one smooth motion he turns towards the driver.

“Step on it. But don’t hurt them.”

The vehicle lurches forward, and outside the window, the crowd rushes by in a blur.

For the first time I notice beautiful classical music playing from the car’s speakers, a refreshing contrast to the the howling wind and chaotic street noise.

“Mahler,” I whisper.

It comes out unintentionally, and I’m suddenly overcome with embarrassment.

He turns back to me and eyes me with a look of surprise. “You know the composer?”

My heart skips a beat as I stare into his eyes. I want to say yes, but all I can do is nod.

He scowls and turns to the driver. “Turn off the music. It’s mixing with the street noise and giving me a headache.”

The driver nods. “Yes, sir.”

What the? Why why would he do that? Is he mad at me or something?

The music stops, and all that’s left is the howling wind as the world flies by outside the window.

He lifts me up off his lap and places me in a nearby seat. “Can you buckle yourself in?”

My mouth opens to respond, but he’s already reaching across my lap. “Very well,” he says, taking control as he begins to buckle me in. His arms feel good pressed against me, warm and reassuring, and I like the smell of his hair, but something about the aggressiveness of his gesture puts me off.

“I can do it,” I say, but he ignores me.

I bite my lip, unsure of what to do, and look down at his hands. The first thing I notice are his platinum cuff links. The design is simple, but the pieces look intricately crafted and expensive. My eyes wander to his long, tapered fingers as he buckles me in and smoothes the belt up over my chest, careful to remain decent.

Once finished, he sits back in his seat, and I’m finally able to take in the rest of him.

His body is long, lean, and muscular, and his proportions are refined. Besides the mess I’ve made of his suit, everything about his attire is crisp and clean. He’s wearing a well-fitted dark navy suit and slacks, a starched white undershirt, and an intricately patterned silver tie. The outfit looks expensive and custom tailored.

I look down at the used shirt I picked up the other day at the thrift store for a dollar fifty-five, and notice that mud is dripping down through my legs onto the soft leather car seat. I fidget nervously at the sight, and the puddle under me makes a squishy sound.

His eyes dart in my direction.

I lean back a little, revealing the puddle. “Sorry, I’m all wet.”

He purses his lips. “Don’t tell me that’s piss.”

What!? My face flushes with embarrassment. “No! It’s not, it’s just… I’m so sorry,” I mutter, trying to contain the drips.

He sighs and leans forward, flipping open the center console.

I flinch.

He stops and looks at me. “Calm down.”

I nod and exhale, trying to relax.

He pushes a black button and a crystal champagne set raises up from inside the console.

Scowling, he grabs a black silk champagne towel, unfurls it with a flourish, and hands it to me.

“Here.”

When I grab it, his fingers graze mine, and something electric passes between us.

Whoa.

That was crazy. Did he feel it, too?

He leans back in his seat and clears his throat, clearly affected.

He did!

A smile tugs at my lips.

He narrows his eyes at me. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I say, flattening my expression as I dab up my mess. “Ahem…so, where are we going?”

“To your apartment.”

What? A pang of fear courses through me. “How do you know where I live?”

He gives me a strange look. “You told me back in the street. You don’t remember?”

I think back, replaying the awful sequence of events.

“Oh yeah.” I say, shaking my head. “How could I have forgotten? I must have hit my head.”

“Your head is fine. I saw everything.”

He saw the everything?

You’ve got to be kidding me. Face in the mud and ass in the air is not my idea of a great first impression. I can only imagine what he must think of me.

I lower my head in shame, and my hair falls down around my face. When I peek back up through the strands, I see that he’s turned away from me, staring out the window. He looks poised, legs finely crossed, fingers clasped—cool, aloof.

For a moment I wonder if I’m dreaming. There’s no way this could be real. He looks like a movie star or a model in a fashion magazine. What am I doing here with him?

He turns to look at me, and I quickly look away.

Crap. Don’t look again.

But I do, and this time he’s looking at me like he’s in pain.

I look away again.

I should really stop staring at him. This is something Stacy would do. Not me. What’s wrong with me?

A moment later, I can’t help myself and I look up yet again.

Shit. He’s still staring at me.

Okay. At least I’m not the only one staring.

His eyes crinkle in the corners, like he’s laughing at me, his fine mouth twisting into a ghost of a smile.

I look away again.

Crap. He thinks I’m an idiot. What should I do? Should I say something? This is so awkward.

When I peek at him again, I notice he’s clenching his slacks up near his knee. He looks angry. What if he blames me for what happened with the crowd? Maybe I should apologize?

“I’m sorry about what happened,” I say. “I didn’t know—“

He holds up his hand, silencing me.

I turn back and catch my reflection in the window.

Limp, soggy hair.

Mud-flecked face…

Could I look more pathetic?

Hot tears begin to form behind my eyes.

He makes a sudden movement, drawing my attention, and I notice a thin line of blood trailing down along his wrist.

I gasp. “You’re bleeding.”

He stops, turns his hand over. “Shit.”

I lean forward. “Here, let me—“

He pulls away. “I’ve got it.”

I look around for something to stop the bleeding.

He holds up the bottom of his suit coat and sighs through his nose, his mouth twisted with frustration.

I unbuckle my seatbelt.

“What are you doing?”

“Here,” I say, unbuttoning my baby blue cardigan.

“No,” he says, eyes closed, shaking his head. A small smile plays on his lips.

I stop. His smile does something to me I can’t explain, and I have the sudden inexplicable urge to kiss the corner of his mouth. What!? Where did that thought come from?

He smirks at me, like he knows what I’m thinking.

“You really need to calm down,” he says. “Get back in your seat and buckle up.”

I do as he says.

“It must have been from the window,” he says, referring to his bloody wrist. His voice is flat. “I was trying to minimize contact until you showed up.”

Crap. For a moment I almost forgot about the Coronavirus.

Guilt grips me.

What if he has a precondition?

What if he has a family?

“I’m so sorry.”

“You should be.” His expression is serious. “You summoned them to me.”

What?!

“I did not!”

“Did you declare yourself their leader, or were you elected?” he says, his lips suddenly curled with amusement.

I shake my head, confused. “I had absolutely nothing at all to do with them!”

He smiles. “Then why were they all so glad to see you?”

Ah, I get it. He must be joking.

I smile inwardly and decide to play along. “The truth is they were charmed by your carriage.”

His face brightens at my recognition, and he lets out a long sigh. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean what I just said.” He strokes the bottom of his lip with his index finger. “It’s obviously not your fault. It’s the fault of those in charge who allowed the panic to spread.”

I look down at my hands, unsure of what to say.

“Besides,” he says. His voice is suddenly wry with mock-humor. “There are so many ways to die. Coronavirus is just one of them. Something’s bound to get you sooner or later.”

I peek up at him through my lashes. Why does he look sad?

I want to tell him it will be alright, but the thought sounds stupid in my head.

He sighs and shrugs off his jacket to use for his hand.

I sit up.

“Y-y-you can use my sweater,” I say, stuttering for some reason as I gape wide-eyed at the jacket that I’m positive is worth more than my entire wardrobe combined.

“It’s quite alright,” he says, ignoring me.

“No,” I say, gaining his attention. “That jacket’s too thick.”

He stops and examines the jacket, turning it over in his hands.

“Seriously, it’s no big deal,” I say. “It’s the least I could do.”

“It won’t be needed,” he says, tossing the jacket into a heap on the floor.

I shake my head, confused. “Then what will you use?”

His eyes lock on mine as he loosens his patterned silk tie.

Holy hell. He’s getting undressed!

He tosses the tie onto the floor and begins unbuttoning his dress shirt.

My breath hitches as I struggle to avert my gaze.

He shrugs off the shirt, and I barely contain a gasp as his chiseled abs flex under the soft interior dome lighting. The entire time, his eyes never leave mine.

Something tugs at the base of my stomach as I shift in my seat.

He bites down on the dress shirt fabric and tears it into a long thin strip. How does he make it look so easy?

“I can help,” I say, leaning towards him, entranced.

“I’ll manage just fine,” he says through gritted teeth as he finishes two more strips.

He takes three strips and wraps them around his wrist. When he’s finished he holds up his wrist, examining his handiwork. “What do you think?”

I’m so overwhelmed all I can do is nod.

“Good enough,” he says like he’s glad to be done with it.

I spot the tie at his feet and a thought occurs to me.

“You could have just used your tie.”

“Too late,” he says without hesitation.

He reaches down, grabs the tie, then lays it next to him on the seat.

I look away. For some reason I can’t stop smiling. What’s going on with me?

He signals the driver. “I’ll need a new dress shirt before my speech.”

The driver nods. “Ten four.”

He settles back into his seat and begins fingering the shirt-strip bandage.

I clear my throat. “What kind of speech are you giving?”

His brow furrows. “You don’t have to talk like that.”

My brow pinches. “Like what?”

“Like this is an interview.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re up-ending your sentences in an effort to please me.”

I look away, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m sorry. I’m under a lot of pressure right now.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he says, his tone serious.

“Okay.”

His brow arches, assessing me. “I’m Elon, by the way. Elon Carlisle.”

Elon Carlisle.

I roll it around in my mind, savoring the sound of it. The name suits him surprisingly well.

“What’s your name?” he says.

“Nana.”

Crap! What’s wrong with me!? …Nana?!

“Nana?” His brow knits in confusion. “As in, my nana’s just died from Coronavirus?”

“N-no. It’s Ana. Just Ana.”

“Ana?”

I nod. “Ana.”

He leans back, hands behind his head, and repeats my name. “Ana.”

I love the way my name plays on his lips.

His eyes dart back down at me. “You’re sure?” His face lights up with humor, and somehow it’s even more beautiful than before.

I blush and nod into my chest.

“So…Ana. What do you think of all this?”

My eyes once again take in the luxurious surroundings. “The car?”

He makes a face. “No…the virus.”

Duh. What’s wrong with you, Ana? Get it together.

I search for the right word, but all that comes to mind is, “It’s terrible.”

“Indeed,” he says, biting the back of his knuckle.

An awkward moment passes between us, and the tension gets the better of me. “I noticed none of the employees at Wholesome Foods were wearing masks.”

“Yes, I’ve read all about that. Most businesses seem to think it will scare the customers.”

“That’s so stupid,” I say, a little too loud.

He looks up at me and tilts his head.

I shake my head with frustration. “I mean, if we’re going to flatten the curve, we can’t be doing stupid stuff like that. It’s not up to businesses to choose who lives and dies.”

He stops biting his knuckle and stares at me thoughtfully. Why is he looking at me like that?

“I was just on my way to give a speech along the same lines,” he says calmly.

“Oh,” I say. “What for?”

“It’s for a charity banquet. Very tedious.”

“So, what are you? Some kind of politician or something?“

“I’m a CEO. I own fifteen companies on three separate continents, and I employ over five million people.”

Holy crap.

“Wow, very important,” I say, trying to sound unimpressed.

“Indeed.”

Cocky much?

The air in the car suddenly seems too heavy, so I try to lighten the mood. “Well at least the workers of the world will finally get a vacation.”

He eyes me tactfully.

“If you consider the most devastating economic collapse since World War II a vacation, then yes, they will most certainly get their vacation.” So much for lightening the mood. I look down at my lap as he continues. “I believe there is dignity and honor in work, regardless of what one contributes. This pandemic is nothing short of a disaster for everyone involved, including the workers of the world.”

I snort. “Easy for you to say.”

He glares at me.

“Why is that?”

“Because you’re the one getting the lion’s share.”

He scoffs.

“What?” I say. “It’s the truth”

“Somewhat,” he says, leaning forward. “To be more exact, I control the lion’s share. Most of my value is tied up in my companies. If I didn't own at least fifty percent of each company I would cease to be the one in control.”

“So why not give it up?”

“Because without my control they would fail.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

His eyes bore into mine and I look away, a little frightened by his intensity.

“So, you’re doing it for charity?”

He laughs. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“But that’s what you just said. You said the companies would fail without you. But still, you could sell them off anytime, so why don’t you? Sounds like charity to me.”

He thinks it over. “Because it’s not rational to allow that many people to suffer when I have the power to stop it from happening.”

I can’t help but smile.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing.”

He leans forward. “Tell me.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t think you’re being rational.”

“Then what am I being?”

“Emotional.”

He shakes his head.

“I never make decisions based on emotion. I prefer to be able to anticipate every outcome.”

“As if that’s even possible.”

“Maybe not,” he says. “Still, I believe caution and prevention are the foundations of rational judgement.”

“Who did you steal that line from? Dale Carnegie?”

His eyes soften with humor. “You know more than you let on.”

I fold my arms. “Yeah, and you care more than you let on.”

He shakes his head and looks down. “I gave up caring a long time ago.”

I stop and stare at him. His response is more personal than I expected.

“What about you?” he says.

“Me?”

“Yes. Tell me about yourself.”

Crap. What the heck am I supposed to say?

“Um…I don’t know. Let me think.”

“Think away.”

“Well, for starters, I lost my job today.” Heat spreads across my face as I recall my outburst in front of the crowd. “But I guess I already told you that earlier.”

I search his face for signs that he’s about to mock me for the embarrassing scene I made, but I find none. Only mild curiosity lingers in his eyes.

“Where did you work?” he says cooly.

“Karen’s Krafts, down on Main Street.”

“I think I’ve seen it.”

“They put me on indefinite leave.” I make air quotes around ‘indefinite leave’.

He nods his head. “They must be struggling.”

“They are.”

“So, what did you do there?”

Why does he want to know all this? There’s no way it’s boring him less than it’s boring me.

“Hmm…” I say, trying to think of something interesting. “I mostly just stood behind the front desk waiting for customers to pay.” I shrug. “Sometimes I’d help stock the shelves.”

Ugh. It sounds so lame now that I’ve said it out loud.

“That’s it?” He says, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Um… sort of. I mean, I was a cashier.” I sift through my memory for something else to say. “But sometimes I would clean the toilets, too.”

His lips curl into an amused smile. “That sounds very…interesting.”

Crap. He definitely thinks I’m an idiot. Why did I say that? I blush and lower my head. “It was a job, I guess.”

“Well, from what you just told me I wouldn’t be too upset about losing it.”

My face flushes with anger. “It may not sound like much to you, but it was all I had.”

He gives me a surprised look. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant I think you can do better.” He pauses to rub his index finger across his lower lip. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is out there right now.”

“How do you know?”

“That it’s hard?”

“That I can do better.”

He shrugs. “It was just a guess.”

“Based on what?”

“What I’ve seen so far.”

“I thought this wasn’t an interview.”

“It’s not.” His voice is hard.

I cross my legs and fold my arms over my chest. “Whatever.”

I don’t know why I’m acting like this, but something about this man has gotten under my skin.

“We’ll be nearing your place soon, Ana,” he says. There’s an edge to his voice again. “What’s the building?”

“Broadway Building, Elon,” I say, echoing his tone. “But you can drop me off here if you’re eager to get rid of me.”

His brow turns into a hard V and I’m tempted to poke my tongue out at him. What’s gotten into me?

The landscape around us darkens. “This is a bad part of town,” he says flatly.

I nod against the window. “I always know I’m getting close to home because I begin to feel anxious.”

“I know the owner-slash-landlord,” he says. “Or, I suppose the more proper term would be slum lord.”

I laugh despite myself.

“Totally.”

“Totally?”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

His face lights up a little as his eyes narrow in thought. “For some reason all I can remember of him was his ass crack.”

I burst out laughing so hard I almost pee my pants.

He smiles at me.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” I choke out. “My roommate and I christened him Lord Buttcrack once we learned he was a piece of shit.”

He laughs out loud for the first time, and the melodious sound fills my chest.

The driver looks back at us and smiles.

When our laughter finally dies down, I look up and catch him staring at me with a far off look.

I look myself over and check my face in the glass. “What’s the matter? Is there something on my face?”

“No, it’s just…” he says, considering whether or not to continue.

“What?” I say, anxious for his answer.

“You remind me so much of someone I once knew.”

Oh really?

“Who?”

He turns away from me, suddenly serious.

“Never mind. Forget I said it.”

The mood in the car darkens.

“Will you be fine if I drop you off here?” he says. The edge in his voice has returned.

I look around. I usually avoid walking in this part of town if I can. I glance back at Elon but he’s still turned away, as if I’m already gone.

“Here’s fine.”

He commands the driver to stop.

“You’re sure?” the driver says, looking back at us.

Elon nods, his face twisted in what I can only assume is disgust.

I open the door and right as I’m about to step out, a beer bottle crashes against the nearby pavement.

What the?!

I slink back into the car as a middle-aged drunk woman takes a swing at a scruffy-looking old man.

“You motherfucker!” The woman roars. “How you gonna pay the rent! How we gonna eat!”

Elon reaches across me and slams the door shut.

“Drive!”

The SUV lurches forward.

I peer over and see him pinching his brow with his fingers. “That was a close one,” I say, forcing a lightness into my tone.

“Too close,” he whispers, not looking up.

A distance seems to have formed between us that I don’t understand.

I sift through my mind for something to say.

“I’m really sorry for everything. The mob, your clothes…exposing you to the virus. It’s all my fault.”

“As I said before, it’s not your fault. People are stupid, dangerous, panicky animals.”

I stare at him, taken back by his harsh judgement.

The vehicle comes to a stop in front of my apartment and I notice a homeless man is trying to defecate on the sidewalk.

“Gross,” I whisper, turning away.

“How long have you lived here?” He says, his face contorted in disgust.

Something comes over me, a medley of shame and anger, and all at once I have the overwhelming urge to leave the vehicle.

I try to open the door, but it’s locked.

He shakes his head at the driver, and grabs my elbow to stop me. His hand feels good against my skin, but my emotions take hold and I shrug it off.

He sighs and leans back in his seat. “You’re sure you want to go?”

What’s he getting at? A minute ago he was asking me to leave.

“I’m sure. Now can you please unlock this door?”

Once again, he shakes his head at the driver.

What’s he doing?

He pulls out a platinum business card holder, flips it open, removes a card, then flips it back shut. He offers the card to me. “In case you need me for anything.”

I shake my head. “You’ve already helped more than enough. Thank you for the ride and the money… I really mean it, thank you.”

He narrows his eyes.

The driver opens my door, taking me by surprise. “Ma’am.”

I look up and thank him, then clamber out of the car with as much grace as I can scrap together.

“Oh! I almost forgot my p—“

I spin around and see my purse dangling from Elon’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” I say, shifting the strap onto my shoulder.

“You’re welcome.”

Something like a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

What’s that all about?

Before I can say anything, the driver gently shuts the door. “Would you like me to escort you to your door?” His face is serious, but genial.

“No. But thank you, um… I seem to have forgotten your name.”

“Calloway, ma’am.”

“Oh yes. Now I remember. Thank you, Calloway.”

“No problem-o.”

I turn on my heel and hop over the pile of excrement the homeless man left on the sidewalk.

“Watch your step!” Calloway says, laughing a little. “I’d kick it out of your way, but it’s still fresh.”

“I’m fine,” I say as I hop up the steps to the front door of my building, totally grossed out.

Good God. How humiliating.

As I’m about to put my key in the slot, I hear Elon’s voice behind me.

“Ana!” I turn around and see his beautiful face framed in the window. “Be safe,” he says.

“You too.” I take a breath. “…Elon.”

The moment lingers as we stare into each other’s eyes, and I can swear something passes between us again. I can’t explain why, but I feel an inexplicable urge to run back to the car. Does he feel it, too?

He turns his head forward as the tint seals shut.

And then, just like that, the car pulls away.

A Final Note from the Author

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! I hope you’ve enjoyed it so far! If you would like to read the rest of Part 1 through to Chapter 14, the story is currently available on Amazon under the title ‘Fifty Shades of Corona’ by N.O. Shame. However, if you are willing to wait, I’ll be posting a new chapter every week!

Much Love,

N.O. Shame

[recurring-polynya]

a little in love now and then, part 7/? | ao3 | ff.net |

Summary: Abarai Renji doesn’t have a fortune, but he does appear to be in want of a wife, at least in Lady Kuchiki’s opinion. Fortunately, Lady Kuchiki also  has a sister, and a woefully eligible one, at that. (itty bitty Hisana Lived! AU)

Rating: T, for minor cussing

This time: The Truth Emerges:   Rukia and Hisana come to an understanding. A few understandings.

Older parts: | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 |

Rukia studied her own face in the mirror as her maid carefully unpinned her hair. She wondered if she was pretty. People told her she was sometimes. Being pretty wasn’t something she usually cared much about. She had two ice-based sword attacks, a third-rank kidou master certification, and was cleared to use shunpo in combat. She was the Fourth Seat of Squad Thirteen, and ever since she came back to duty, her captain had been making vague little hints about the vice-captain’s examination, something he didn’t do toward Kotetsu or Kotsubaki (both of whom she could beat at arm wrestling).

Anyone who wanted to marry her, she had long assumed, was in it for the surname, first and foremost. And who could blame them?

She was pretty sure Renji wasn’t in it for the surname. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“You have to go, Rukia, they’re your family.”

Rukia chewed the inside of her cheek. She’d grawed over that one for years, like a dog worrying a bone. Why couldn’t he have appealed to her sense of greed? Told her how great the noble life would be, all rich silks and richer food? She could have gone off with a cheeky wink and a mercenary grin. Maybe she could have convinced her family to still let her see him, toss a few favors to someone who had done so much for her in the past. Or maybe she would have just refused altogether, stayed at the Academy, virtuously giving up the fancy life to live according to her own principles. To stay with the only person left of the little family she’d made for herself.

Instead, he had pushed her away, as though the blood that she shared with Hisana had anything on the blood they had spilled for each other, time and again. She loved Hisana now of course, and Touma, and maybe Byakuya, a little, but that was a thing she had decided. A choice she had made-- to give her love to the people who wanted her, instead of the person who didn’t.

But… but maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe Renji had wanted to be the altruistic one, hadn’t wanted to stand in the way of her happiness. Maybe he had just said the first stupid thing that popped into his thick skull. Why had she spent so many years trying to assign meaning to the words of a knuckleheaded boy who used to get stuck trying to jump out of the window of the zanjutsu dojo in his eagerness to catch her attention? More than once, even.

She wondered if he thought she was pretty, either now or back then.

There was a light rap on the door.

Mikan nudged her. “Miss Rukia?”

“Ah, come in?” Rukia called, and Hisana’s face poked into the room. “Oh, hello, Sister.”

“Go have a cup of tea, will you, Mikan?” Hisana dismissed Rukia’s maid. “I want to dote on my sister for a bit.”

“Yes, Lady,” Mikan nodded, setting the last kanzashi on Rukia’s dressing table, and getting up to leave.

“Sooooo,” Hisana drew out, picking up a hairbrush and settling herself behind Rukia. “His manners could use a little work, eh?”

Rukia raised an eyebrow at her sister in the mirror. “Save it for Byakuya. I’m wise to your tricks.”

Hisana grinned mischievously. “So is Byakuya, he just enjoys indulging me.”

“If you believe that, I think he’s finally managed to pull one over on you.”

“Perhaps,” Hisana teased. “But I didn’t come here to talk about Byakuya.”

Rukia set her jaw. Feigning indifference would only play directly into Hisana’s hands. No, directness was her only hope. “He’s not terrible,” she announced. “Abarai, I mean. We both know how terrible Byakuya is.”

Hisana waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, that goes without saying. “Not terrible”? Goodness, I feel like I should order my sister-of-the-bride kimono!”

“Here is my offer,” Rukia plowed on, ignoring this tomfoolery. “I am willing to give Lieutenant Abarai a chance. But in exchange, I need some space. I barely know the man.” She tried to meet her sister’s eyes in the mirror, but Hisana was concentrating on untangling a knot that may or may not have actually existed. “Can you do that? Can you stop throwing lordlings and fancy boys at me for five minutes so I can actually consider one of them?”

Hisana hummed softly. “That seems very reasonable…” she said lightly, and Rukia prepared for the other shoe to drop. “As long as you actually give him a chance, and don’t just use this as a ploy to get me off your back.” Hisana looked up. “You’re very charming, Rukia, when you want to be, and Lieutenant Abarai seems like the sort of upright young gentleman you would rope into helping you pull a grift on your loving sister.”

“Hisana!” Rukia squawked. “He is neither upright, nor a gentleman, and also, I would never pull a grift on you!”

Hisana’s eyes were steely in the mirror. “That’s a rather harsh thing to say about someone you just met. And we both know there’s nothing shameful about an honest, well-executed grift.”

Rukia sighed. Well, she had been looking for an opportunity. It wasn’t a good one, but at least it was an opportunity. “Er, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Hisana cocked an eyebrow. “Has there?”

Rukia picked up one of her kanzashi, adorned with a green and white water lily. She fiddled with it, running her thumb over the smooth enamel. “It wasn’t lying. I don’t know Lieutenant Abarai very well. But, er… this isn’t… exactly… the first time we’ve met.”

“He was involved in your rescue, no? And something about jail?”

Rukia pressed the pads of her finger over the sharp points of the hairpin. “Ye-esss. That’s all true. But also…” She took a deep breath and then forced the words up from her heart and out her mouth at a speed that would have impressed her brother-in-law. “Renji’s from Inuzuri. I knew him there. We came to the Seireitei together, enrolled at the Academy together. I haven’t spoken to him in years. He’s not a stranger, but he might as well be.” There. It was out.

Hisana leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “So, in Inuzuri, would you classify him as just someone you knew, or a friend? Or maybe a… rival?”

Rukia squeezed her eyes shut guiltily. “I may have pulled a grift or two with him!”

Hisana gasped. “Rukia! How could you?”

“I’m sorry, Sister!” Rukia wailed.

“How?” Hisana wailed in return, with the vibrato of a professional actress. “How could my own sister underestimate me like this?” Her face resolved into a deadpan. “Really, Rukia. They do a little profile in the Bulletin whenever someone new makes Captain or Vice-Captain. It listed Renji’s home district-- as if I couldn’t tell he was from the deep South after thirty seconds of talking to him--cripes, that accent is nostalgic. I also happened to notice that he graduated from school the same year you would have. There’s no way you wouldn’t have known him-- you would have met at the Consolidated Shinigami Recruitment Station, if nothing else.”

Rukia hunched with shame.

“I suspected there was something more to it, though-- why else would a young man like that want to work for your brother?”

“The position was open?” Rukia offered hopefully.

“The vice-captaincy of the Thirteenth has been open for years! He didn’t even apply-- presumably he didn’t want to be your commanding officer--”

“I wish you wouldn’t gossip about me with my captain,” Rukia groaned.

“I wasn’t,” Hisana excused. “We were gossiping about Renji. No, Byakuya came home, very pleased about this absolutely excessive job application he had received, the first day the position was open. Mark my words, Renji was waiting for Shirogane to retire. I bet he even hangs out at that awful sunglasses shop.”

“I don’t know why he does anything,” Rukia excused. “I haven’t talked to him in years. Maybe he has a crush on Brother.”

“Byakuya wasn’t the one he couldn’t keep his eyes off at dinner,” Hisana returned pointedly. “That kimono was a good call, no?”

Rukia wanted to shoot off another sharp-tongued retort, but she came up empty. Had Renji really been looking at her during dinner? She had been too grumpy to pay attention. It was highly likely Hisana was imagining things, or at best, exaggerating, but her stomach fluttered at the thought, anyway.

“Childhood friends, I supposed,” Hisana was grumbling. “Academy sweethearts, possibly. But your old grifting partner! I don’t believe this. I don’t believe you.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Rukia excused, knowing full well it had been exactly like that. “He’s the only other person I ever met down there with any decent spiritual pressure. And he’s painfully honest, he wasn’t even a very good con man.” Somehow this lie seemed more disloyal than anything else she had said about Renji. People were always trusting his stupid, honest face. He was creative and charismatic and had an excellent sense of people. He had never once let her down on a job. The only thing that made him a bad con artist was how much he hated doing it.

Hisana’s face had gone still and serious. “You left him. When Byakuya adopted you.”

“We were already drifting apart,” Rukia sniffed. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t enough to cover the larger truth they were both thinking. Of course she had left him. That’s what we do, isn’t it, Sister?

Hisana was brushing Rukia’s hair a bit too roughly, and Rukia let her. She clenched the hairpin in her fist, letting it bite into her palm.

“You’re very lucky,” Hisana finally said, her voice rough. “To get a second chance. Don’t… don’t make too many assumptions about his feelings. People… can be more forgiving than you expect.”

Rukia didn’t loosen her grip on the hairpin. She wanted to absolve her sister, to tell her she had done nothing wrong. But she couldn’t do that without absolving herself in the bargain, and that wasn't something she had any right to do. She didn’t particularly want Renji’s absolution, either, but maybe that’s what it would take to finally prove to Hisana that she really and truly forgave her. “Fine!” she announced, trying to pull the conversation out of this treacherous territory. “What proof do you want that I am honestly and truly entertaining that overgrown doofus as a romantic prospect? Wear his hair ribbon tied around my arm? Buy matching sunglasses? Smooch him in public? I assure you, Byakuya will hate all of those options.”

Hisana straightened, pulling herself back together as well. “Well, you have to stop calling him a doofus, for one.”

“That, I refuse to do.”

Hisana reached around Rukia to place the hairbrush back on the table, and smoothed her hair one last time with her hand. “Maybe you could just tell me how it’s going once in a while. I hear that’s a thing sisters do sometimes.”

Rukia swallowed. “I can do that.”

Hisana smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She leaned forward, and kissed the back of Rukia’s head quickly before rising. “And don’t you worry about Byakuya. I have him under control.”

“Do you, though?” Rukia asked.

Hisana frowned thoughtfully. “Yes. Whatever you decide about Renji, I’ll bring him around.” She frowned. “But, uh, I’ve been playing a little fast and loose with details, so do me a favor, and try to talk to Byakuya about this as little as possible.”

“That,” said Rukia, “is something I can definitely agree to.”

[gumnut-logic]

Wings & Water (Part One)

Title: Wings & Water

Part One

Author: Gumnut

Feb 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “I needed to get your attention.”

Word count: 5451

Spoilers & warnings: Marks & Wings AU, Wing!fic, shapeshifting, Virgil/Kayo, Gordon/Penelope (eventually)

Timeline: Sometime post-‘John’. All the fics can be found on Ao3, the timeline order and artwork can be found on my website.

Author’s note: This is the universe I write when I’m feeling tired, off or unable to write anything else. It is little more than self-indulgence usually, an exercise to find my writing mojo, to play with sensation and description. So tired one night a few nights back I scribbled down what was supposed to be just a scene with Kay and Virgil on the beach. The characters apparently had other ideas and now I have another WIP ::headdesk:: Why do I even try? So, I’ve given up trying to write it in one go and now offer you Part One instead of a complete fic. Fortunately, it does not end on a cliffhanger or anything and could almost be considered complete except for one serious plot thread which is actually quite subtle anyway..

Many thanks to both @scribbles97​ and @vegetacide​ for the read throughs and advice ::hugs you both:: I got wibbly and those who read my Tumblr may recall the ‘floppy’ Virgil post I made in the middle of writing this. Here be the Floppy Virgil I was talking about. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

It had been a long mission.

Virgil hit the locker rooms with a drawn out sigh. The irrational part of him just wanted to shed uniform in a trail behind him, but his disciplined mind refused to let him. So his baldric was shed and stowed for cleaning and redeployment along with his tool kit and harness. His boots did get kicked under the bench and he would no doubt get words about it later, but at this point he didn’t care.

His mark ached.

And his mind was a battlefield for angry brothers.

He shed his uniform, draping the heavy material over the bench. His black undershirt quickly followed and the cool air of the room hit his skin causing it to goose pimple in response.

His groan as he bent over, stretching the dark lines sculpted into his back, came from somewhere deep inside. He needed to lift, but god, he was tired.

A glance at the shower stalls and he longed for the water drumming on his skin, but the cubicle was too small, too confining. He had to stretch out.

The smallest of groans.

It had been a rockslide. Steep mountain side. Small village.

Children.

He closed his eyes.

They didn’t often lift during rescues. The whole mystic behind their wings was something that either terrified the rescuees more or resulted in amazement and a hailstorm of questions, most of which none of them had time or care to answer.

And god forbid if the media was there.

Which in this day and age only had to be a phone.

A little boy had fallen from a height and Virgil had reacted on instinct. Lifting his massive eight metre span within an eye blink, he launched himself into the air just in time to save the toddler from the sharp rocks below.

The film was still showing on loop on CNN.

The questions of his heritage, their history, previous shots of the Tracy brothers flying...it all came up again.

None of them were happy.

John and Eos did their best to contain the outbreak, but there were limits.

Virgil just wanted to hide.

Kay was still inbound. Alan was up with John, and Scott was still on site at the rock slide. Gordon had come home with Virgil, but his brother had spent the whole trip mentally kicking himself and the aquanaut had promptly disappeared after the necessary post-flight tasks.

And was currently circling the Island waterbound.

Water.

A frown as he bent over to pick up his uniform. Perhaps Gordon had the right of it. A swim, to rinse the clammy feeling from his skin, to stretch out, to relax.

The uniform was chucked in the laundry chute and he grabbed a towel, throwing it over his shoulder. Deciding his undershorts satisfactory, he headed down to the lagoon.

-o-o-o-

Shadow was a beautiful ‘bird to fly. Kayo had flown all the Thunderbirds at one time or another, but Shadow was just elegance in the air, a ballerina up against the rest of the fleet’s brute strength.

Of course, this had its downsides. She was quiet, but not as strong as her sisters. More prone to engine damage under stress and she could carry much less. But these were small sacrifices to let her dance in the sky. More the bird of prey she emulated than should ever be possible.

Kayo flew out of the setting sun on approach to Tracy Island, killing her ‘bird’s forward momentum and activating the docking platform, ready to receive. As was her practise, she flew a standard sensory loop around the perimeter of the Island on approach. She took the opportunity to double check the Island’s security sensors with those highly sensitive scanners built into her ‘bird.

It was reassuring to see all the check sums add up nicely.

Particularly considering the media shit storm currently underway.

She had been on the other side of the planet, liaising with Penny. But the moment she saw Virgil on the nets...Penny had urged her to go. Kayo had no doubts the aristocrat would follow shortly as soon as she could tie up their business.

The Tracys hated what the media could do to them.

This wasn’t the first time. Probably not the last. But that didn’t stop it from hurting.

She knew Virgil. She knew it would get to him first.

Scott would rant and rave. John would steam in his station until Eos called for help. Fortunately Alan was already up there so would probably drag him down with the first excuse he could come up with. Gordon would disappear into the ocean.

Penny would have to go fishing, literally.

Alan, out of all of them, cared the least. She wasn’t sure why, but the youngest just turned a blind eye and shrugged the rest off. Though she did have some knowledge regarding an anonymous caller on a late night talk show the last time this had happened. It hadn’t sounded anything like Alan, but the presenter had been verbally shredded in a very exacting way.

Alan was a smart young man. He didn’t take well to his big brothers being compared to water fowl or chickens.

It was the chickens that probably did it.

But no one other than her and Eos knew he was responsible and she planned to keep it that way.

As Shadow banked she flew over one of the beaches and Kayo got a glimpse of a figure in the water. For a split second she assumed it was Gordon, but the more familiar and intimate profile sank into her mind as she turned back for docking.

It was Virgil.

Her heart tightened.

It had definitely gotten to him.

She hurried through docking procedures and post-flight, hitting the lockers and shedding her uniform as quickly as possible. She unpinned her hair, threw on a sports bra and shorts and darted through the house and out into the trail that led down to the beach.

It was the same beach where he did his regular workout. The same beach he had caught her out and kissed her silly so long ago.

It was a beach with wonderful memories. No doubt the reason why he had chosen to come here.

She wasn’t quiet on approach this time. Her flip flops cracked twig and gravel alike. She wanted him to know she was there.

She needn’t have bothered.

He was waist deep, staring out into the water. His whole upper torso was cast in the gold from the setting sun, leaving his mark an iridescent intricacy of a starry midnight of lines and swirls across his back, shoulders and biceps. The light couldn’t touch it and, as always, she found it mesmerising.

Her feet reached the edge of the water and the wavelets of the lagoon caressed her toes.

She opened her mouth to call his name, but he suddenly hunched a little and lifted.

Black feathers splashed into the water and he groaned aloud, startling her.

God, he was hurting.

But before she could say anything, his wings unfolded to their full span, flinging water in every direction.

They never failed to impress her. Black, iridescent and just huge. He stretched them out to their full extent and held them there. His arms appeared above his head and he stretched with another groan.

Kayo threw herself into the water, wading in behind him, reaching up to rest her hands on his shoulders, brush her cheek against his soft downy back feathers.

He tensed for just that second before recognition set in and he melted under her touch.

“Kay.” His voice was rough and ever so weary. His arms came down and his wings drooped slightly into the water.

Her hands slid from his shoulders, brushing gently across feathers enough to make him shiver, before slipping up under his wings and arms to curl around his chest where he caught them and held her close.

She exhaled amongst down. “I’m sorry, love.”

His breath came out as a soft sigh, his body wilting just a little more against her. “Had to do it. Had to save him.”

“I know.”

His head dropped a little more and she needed to see his expression.

Ducking, she dove under his wing and surfaced in front of him, pushing to her feet as water ran off her body.

His eyes were ever so sad.

Touching a finger to his cheek, she leant up and kissed him gently.

His response was immediate, drawing her in with his arms, his wings leaving wake as they skipped across the water surface to encircle her. His kiss drew her in, his passion feeding hers and for a moment there, it was just the two of them.

But reality quickly intruded at that thought because it never really was just the two of them.

She broke off the kiss, wrapping herself around him, drawing his forehead down to touch hers. “Tell me.”

Another soft groan and he looked down.

“C’mon, love.”

“Gordon blames himself. He feels he should have been in place to prevent the child from falling. John disagrees. I disagree. But he won’t listen. He’s hurting and I can’t help him.”

She had done her best to understand the three brothers and their connection. They could hear each other. Not words, just sensations, emotions. The impressions Virgil described were ever so visual, so tied into how her lover’s mind worked, they were quite frankly amazing. He spoke of starlit blues and magnesium bright golds when speaking of his brothers. But how he processed these into interpretations of what they were thinking, she did not know.”

“Can you tell where he is?”

“Circling the Island like a lost soul.”

“Penny will be here soon.”

“Thank god.”

She brushed the back of her fingers against his cheek, nails dancing over two days’ stubble. He was so tired. He needed sleep. But she knew he wouldn’t be able to until his brother found some peace.

A decision and she straightened slightly. “Swim with me?”

He leant in and kissed her forehead, her eyebrow, her temple, her cheek...he trailed his lips all the way down to her mouth and again took moments, his tongue slipping in between her teeth seeking hers. His arms tightened around her, lifting her in the water, almost clinging.

Her eyes closed and her only sensation was him.

-o-o-o-

Virgil sometimes wondered how he had survived before finding Kay’s love. Obviously, he had, and he had been happy as a member of an extraordinary family, but now her touch was capable of consuming him, blocking the world out and giving such comfort to his soul.

He broke off the kiss and ran his fingers through her wet hair. Her hands moved to his chest, brushing through fine feathers and hair alike.

The need to rest was aching in his bones, but the tired spark who was his younger brother was fizzling in the back of his mind and the silent fury of John so far above them was a burn that gave him no relief.

He didn’t blame them. No, there was no fault in this, either in the effect or the reason. All he wanted to do was reach out and reassure. But Gordon wasn’t listening, John was still juggling the after effects as he and Eos took out copies of that damned video and the commentary that came with it.

There were no fuzzy or poorly caught video files. Technology compensated for lighting and speed and the footage of himself running, his feathers sprouting through his uniform as he moved was ever so clear. His yell as he launched himself into the air, even the sound of straining wing beats as he took off almost vertically could be heard. He weighed more with all his kit strapped to his body and it had been hard work to get airborne at that angle and speed.

But he had managed it. Caught the screaming child mid air. He had been forced to gain more height to even out his flight before banking in an arc to land beside a screaming parent.

He didn’t speak her language, but the terror in her eyes as handed the boy over was not only for his safety, but for the man who had saved him.

There had been murmuring as he folded his wings and walked away. He had let his wings go and forced himself back into routine. Just another rescue. Just save as many as he could.

But the staring, the wide eyes, the touch of fear, the question of ‘what are you’ that hung in the air hovering over his bent back as he worked to save a young girl.

The whispering.

The remorse stirring in his younger brother.

He could feel Gordon on approach. He wasn’t far away, still looping the Island. Perhaps...

He shook himself and found Kay staring up at him, worry in her eyes. Her fingers, once again brushed his cheek and he kissed them. Hands on her waist, he turned in the water, taking her with him until he was facing the shore, his back to the horizon. He stepped back and let her go.

“Virgil?”

“I need...” He needed her. God, he longed for her touch. But he also needed his brothers. He needed rest.

He took another step back, moving deeper, his wingtips dragging against the swell.

She frowned at him in worry. “Virgil, what?”

A flash of midnight alarm and he let himself fall backwards into the water.

Virgil closed his eyes.

-o-o-o-

This was all his fault. The child had been part of a group of villagers whose homes were on the top of the cliff that had fractured, taking out the the rest of the village below. Virgil had identified the area unsafe with Two’s scanners while on approach and Gordon had been assigned to shore up the cliff edge with nanocrete. Which he had, using a pod. But he had returned on foot, not convinced it was fully secured and filled a few more cracks to make sure the cliff wasn’t about to collapse before Virgil could finish the evacuation below.

His back had been turned to the village behind him. He should have kept an eye out. Several families had refused to leave their homes no matter what John broadcast across Two’s external loudspeakers in any language.

He had seen the little boy out the corner of his eye and moved to stop him, but the toddler had taken a fright at the sight of Gordon dressed in his protective equipment and the long snake of delivery tube in his hands.

He had yelled in caution, but the child only startled more, a mother screaming somewhere off to the left. The little boy stepped backwards...and was gone.

Gordon’s shock screamed across to his brothers and Virgil responded.

As Gordon hurried to the edge, his brother was already airborne, great black wings beating hard to gain height and the intense concentration of he had to do, foremost.

Virgil caught the little boy, shooting up past the edge of the cliff and Gordon in a great black-blue-green streak.

The little boy was screaming.

His brother circled around and brought himself into land gracefully in front of a tearful mother.

She took her son, obviously terrified and hurried away.

Virgil’s shoulders dropped just enough for Gordon to notice before those wings folded and vanished.

People were talking. Muttering. Words of fear. At least one obvious obscenity despite the language barrier. As Virgil approached Gordon, the words grew louder.

Someone threw something.

Virgil helped him finish securing the cliff edge and then they had flown back down with the pod.

Scott was liaising with local emergency services, but the questions being flung at him when Gordon arrived to report, had nothing to do with the emergency.

“I’m sorry, what you are asking is our private business and I repeat we have no comment. Now can we please save these people.”

One emergency services officer was replaying Virgil’s flight on his phone with several of his buddies hovering around.

While Virgil had donned his exo-suit and was shifting rubble off a trapped family not twenty metres away.

Scott lost it in the calm and deadly way only Scott could two seconds later. Another two seconds and all those emergency personnel were fleeing from Commander Tracy whether they could understand him not.

“Is the cliff secure?” Those angry blue eyes were glaring at him.

“Yes.”

A swallow and a red flush to his cheeks. “Assist Virgil, deploy the pod for anything he can’t lift.”

“FAB.”

Gordon spent the next three hours doing exactly that.

Hardly a word was said between the brothers beyond the necessary. Virgil was very quiet and Gordon even more.

John, so far above them was spikes of anger as he wrestled with both the networks and the language on site. Gordon didn’t need a translation of what was being said with his brother so highly tuned to understanding.

And it was all Gordon’s fault.

If he had been paying more attention.

If he had been fast enough to stop the child.

If he hadn’t scared him further.

Gordon did not have wings. The world did not know of his ability and he was damn glad they didn’t. But his gentle brother had been cornered into lifting a handful of times on rescues and every time it was the same. Curiosity and terror.

Scott had lifted in public before as well, but Johnny hadn’t been seen since the attack and Alan had never been seen at all.

Of course, that didn’t stop the press. There was artwork out there guessing what colour both Gordon and Alan’s wings were, not to mention the conspiracy theories surrounding John’s absence.

If they knew Gordon grew fins instead...

They weren’t the only Aves out there, but the ability was so rare, it was a novelty.

The depressive and exhausted cloud hovering over Virgil just drove Gordon’s guilt deeper.

John instinctively tried to calm him, but the man wasn’t great himself, slowly approaching boiling point like a pot simmering on the stove. There was only so much his brother could tolerate and no doubt the slander was vile.

On the way back to the Island, Virgil had tried to talk to him, but by then Gordon was too angry with himself to respond intelligently. As soon as they landed, he was out the hatch and headed to the water where he shifted and let himself go.

He flew through the ocean, his wings those of his eagle ray form. His change muted his brothers somewhat, though not entirely and he had no doubt they could still feel him.

It was just stupid. He could have easily prevented it, yet he hadn’t and Virgil had been exposed again.

The water blurred around him as his thoughts took him in as many circles as those he made around the Island.

He knew the moment his brother stepped into the water.

Virg.

For god’s sake.

He just wanted to be alone. To think.

An emerald spark shot across the ocean at him. It was full of worry and love and so his big brother his heart clenched.

But he didn’t deserve it.

That didn’t stop Virgil.

A wave of exhaustion, fear for his safety and concern followed that spark.

Virgil was such a motherhen.

And he loved him for it.

But he didn’t deserve it. If anything, he should be apologising to his brother. It was all his fault!

Virgil’s mental sigh was almost a physical thing.

Gordon arced away from the Island and further out into the sea.

As he looped around the familiar beaches and outcrops, anger again sparked from far above and Gordon wondered what the hell his star brother had found now.

All his damn fault.

A spark of blue-grey suddenly radiated from Virgil’s direction followed by a wash of relief and desperate love.

Gordon mentally blinked and smiled. Tin had his brother.

Her touch was like fire to the gentle man. Gordon could not feel her at all, but Virgil’s reactions were enough to alert both John and himself to her presence...which led to interesting times...sometimes.

But for the moment, Gordon was only grateful she had his brother in hand. She would look after him.

Gordon dove deeper, revelling in the cool water streaming across his body.

Tin and Virgil had been a surprise to both John and Gordon. A spark of which neither of them had been aware, burst into flame and both of them reeled as their brother lit up.

Gordon felt it was truly something beautiful. Virgil deserved so much happiness and his sister blossomed as their relationship developed. Gordon wasn’t one to pry much beyond blackmail material, but his brother’s joy just overflowed into everything and everyone around him.

So it was with some shock that he received the first flickers of panic and a sensation of...drowning!

The eagle ray shifted mid beat and was replaced with a shark, the mako’s slim and speed-designed form throwing him through the water towards the beach where his brother was now struggling.

What the hell had happened?

It only took moments for Gordon to reach the waterlogged Ave, Tin struggling to pull Virgil out of the water, his fully spread wings hampering her efforts, his weight and drag formidable.

A leap and Gordon shifted mid-air, landing smoothly on his feet in the chest high water behind his brother and grabbing his feathered shoulders as Tin pulled desperately at his arms.

Between them, they got him upright, his wings still hanging in the water.

“What the hell, Virgil?!”

John was sparking all over the place, fear and fury, the astronaut was getting closer. No doubt, heading down on the elevator.

“What were you thinking?!”

They were both supporting him, one on each side, step by step dragging him towards shore.

“I needed to get your attention.”

“What the hell? By drowning yourself?!”

“I knew where you were. I was safe.”

Gordon stopped in the knee high water, waves muttering at his legs. “Why?!”

Tin’s expression was fast morphing from fear to rage and she yanked on her lover causing him to stumble.

Eight metres of black wings were dragged out of the water and onto the sand. The winged brothers were as nimble in the water with their wings spread as Gordon was in the sky in his ray form. In other words, not at all. They weren’t sea Aves. Their wings were not waterproof and while they did possess enough natural oils to prevent any damage to the feathers, they were extremely cumbersome underwater, heavy and that was why all the brothers let their wings go before diving into the ocean.

“Why didn’t you let them go?!” Tin was furious.

Gordon found it totally understandable since he shared the feeling.

A distant murmur off to the east suddenly swelled to a roar and Thunderbird One shot into the Island’s airspace, hovering a moment before rising up in preparation to dock.

John had obviously let the cat out of the bag. None of the three middle brothers could sense the eldest or the youngest.

But that was what comms were for.

As if to emphasise the point, the faint dot of the descending elevator appeared far above the volcanic peaks and made its way down between the jagged rocks.

A matter of minutes and they would be mobbed by brothers.

Gordon stood in front of his brother and glared. “Explain it to me now.”

Virgil’s whole posture was one of exhaustion. His eyes bloodshot, eyelids at half mast, his wings dragging on the sand. “I needed to break the cycle. you were so angry with yourself.” A hand reached out and landed on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, Gordon. Let it rest. Let me rest.” Please. And Virgil was folding himself up, crouching down to sit on the sand his wings were covered in.

“Why didn’t you just call me?”

“I did. Again and again. You wouldn’t answer.” A sigh. “Too angry.”

Gordon opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. A pause. “You could have drowned!”

“No. It wouldn’t have gone that far.”

“How do you know?!” Tin was livid. “That was stupid, Virgil. You made me watch and I couldn’t pull you up-“ She broke off, struggling to compose herself.

Virgil reached up and pulled her to him. She resisted, but he insisted, and swearing through her teeth, she folded down beside him. He tucked her under his chin, muttering quiet apologies over and over again, his eyes closing.

Gordon took a step back, sensitive to what had suddenly become a private moment.

He looked up as his sense of John swelled above him, to see three brothers gliding over the palm trees. A rush of backwing breeze as six feet hit the sand.

Scott’s silver grey wings folded and vanished first, followed by Alan’s gold-blond flicker of feathers. John’s prosthetics whispered closed with just enough difference to the others to declare them artificial, ever reminding them of what had been done to their brother.

Gordon stepped in between Virgil and their brothers, holding up his hands.

Scott frowned, eyes barely leaving the pair curled up on the sand. “What happened?”

“He’s tired. Leave it. Probably my fault.”

That only served to narrow his older brother’s attention on Gordon. “What happened?”

John broke off with a flash of frustration and stormed past to crouch beside Virgil, his hand coming to rest on his brother’s shoulder. Murmured words Gordon couldn’t hear, but flashes of emotion danced around his head.

It was then Gordon realised that it wasn’t only Virgil who was exhausted.

“Scott, he did it to get my attention. He was successful, if overly dramatic. Blame it on the day if you have to. I’ll kick his ass later, I promise. If he survives Tin, that is.” Gordon eyed the pair. He knew his sister. This wasn’t over and he didn’t begrudge her at all. Of all the stupid things for his brother to do...

“Are you okay?” Alan’s voice sounded a little small.

Gordon sighed and strode over to his little brother who looked even smaller with the lack of shirt. His bro really needed more sun. Too much time spent in space. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up glowing in the dark like Johnny.

He dropped a damp arm around Alan’s shoulders and grinned as his brother squirmed.

“You’re all cold and wet.”

“Comes with the territory, little bro.”

“Ergh.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Scott eyed the both of them, but his lips thinned anyway and he turned towards the huddle of brothers and sister on the ground.

“Scott?”

His brother turned to him.

“Be kind.”

The man frowned a little before nodding once and turning back, his silver mark glittering in the shadow of the vanishing sun.

-o-o-o-

Okay, it was a stupid thing to do.

John’s hand gripped his shoulder like a vice and the short sharp words cut at him. What had he been thinking?

“I don’t know, John. I just...don’t know.” He curled himself around Kay. His wings were sodden and covered in sand, he desperately need to preen them clean, but so, so tired.

He closed his eyes.

The midnight sun of his younger brother swelled and enveloped him. The intensity of worry, anger and love that came with it, his brother’s fingers on his feathered shoulder and two words.

It’s okay.

Virgil’s eyes shot open, seeking turquoise in the dimming light. “John?”

His brother’s eyes widened. Standing beside Alan, Gordon’s head shot up, a worried query thrown directly at the both of them.

But John still hadn’t answered him. John?

Oh, shit.

What the hell?

But Scott interrupted and John shook his head just enough to stop Virgil saying anything.

Kay was staring at the both of them.

The eldest was oblivious to the entire exchange, his focus still on a younger brother who had done something stupid.

“Virgil, I need to know what happened.” His big brother’s voice was calm, but demanding. “John said you were in some difficulty. That you were drowning. Why were you in the water with your wings lifted in the first place?”

“I...” Turquoise, blue, green and brown were all staring at him in the approaching darkness. “It was nothing.” He looked down shaking his head. Please, I just need sleep. God, please just let me rest.

John straightened, his hand still on Virgil’s shoulder. Voice quiet. “Scott, maybe later? We’re all exhausted. Virgil has been awake for almost thirty-six hours.”

Scott’s eyes glittered in the darkness for a moment as they darted to his middle brother. The commander’s lips thinned even further. “We debrief first thing in the morning.” Back to Virgil, his eyes softening with worry. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Virgil blinked, his tired mind frozen in shock. What? He didn’t have to explain?

Be thankful and move. John was lifting him under one shoulder while Kay had slid under his other one. Somewhat dazed, he found himself on his feet, turned around and led back into the water.

Suddenly Gordon was there with Kay. John stepped back and let Virgil go as they stepped into the waves. They went in deep enough for him to fully submerge his feathers, Kay and Gordon helping him wash off the sand.

They didn’t let go of him once.

God, these feathers are huge. Must be heavy. How the hell does he support them? Tank body, tank wings, I guess.

Virgil frowned and stared at Gordon. What?

They’re darker than night, yet catch the light. Gordon had one gentle hand on Virgil’s forewing and was combing ever so carefully through his flight feathers.

Stealth wings. The thought was humorous, but no smile appeared on his little brother’s face, his frown of concentration dominant.

Virgil continued to stare.

Gordon shook his feathers ever so gently. “Okay, bro, I think I’ve got most of it out. Tin, you’re side done?”

Virgil turned to find his beloved Kay finishing up, her touch soft and loving despite the anger on her face. “We’re good.”

“They’re all yours, Virg.” Gordon moved in closer and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t drown yourself again.” A small smile and he walked back to shore.

Something slipped away with him.

Kay was less liking to let him go, scooting in and grabbing his hand, leading him back to shore. As they approached, the four brothers on shore stepped back and gave Virgil room.

The sand was firm under the soles of his feet.

Kay stepped out of reach and he was clear.

Bracing his feet, he expanded his wings fully, ignoring their tired complaint, and shook them. Leaning over slightly, he pushed them through the air, their huge beats threatening to lift him off the beach.

Water scattered everywhere. Wingdraft caught the tideline detritus and flung it across the beach. Two of his brother complained as sand was tossed with it.

Alan ended up with seaweed in his hair.

But god, it felt good.

He wanted to jump into the sky, to fully stretch himself out, the feel the wind in his face.

“Virgil!”

John and Gordon said his name together, both of them frowning as if twinned. It would have made a great photographic moment if they weren’t projecting so much worry.

Or if Kay wasn’t standing beside them, her expression even worse.

He didn’t need to look at Scott to know what he would be thinking, lack of mental connection or not.

Okay.

He slowed his wings, enjoying the feel of the air rifling through his drying feathers. As the draft lessened, Kay approached him, her hands landing on his bare chest, only to slide up to his shoulders and the back of his neck.

Her fingers climbed into his hair and she brought his forehead down to hers.

“Let them go, love.”

He closed his eyes, his hands landing at her waist. One more stretch of his wing muscles and he shook his feathers before folding them neatly across his back.

Then he let them go.

To say she kept him on his feet wouldn’t have been a lie.

So stupid.

So tired.

Kay slipped under one arm and he suddenly found Scott under his other.

Virgil frowned. “I’m fine. I’m not sick.”

“I’ll let the medscanner reassure me anyway.”

“Scott-“

“Virgil, home, medical scan, bed. That’s an order.”

Mumbled. “Not on duty.”

Kay poked him in the ribs. “Move your ass.”

“Well, in that case...”

Gordon snorted and his brothers and his Kay took him home.

-o-o-o-

End Part One

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 14

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification,  mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, dub-con, nipple clamps, breath play (more warnings as the story continues)  

Words: 3.3k

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts 15, 16 & 17 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

The drive from your apartment to Sam’s house takes nearly an hour. The city fades into suburbs and then becomes even more rural as you escape the city. You know this route well, traveling it at least twice a week for the last several months. His modern mansion is tucked away on a sizable piece of land assuring him the privacy he craves. You can’t help but wonder what the night will hold. Your stomach is uneasy, a combination of nerves and excitement that’s all too familiar when it comes to Sam Winchester.

You can’t believe that you actually did it, you went to his office and confronted him about Lexi. It was an idiotic move. As much as you hate to admit it, you care what he thinks of you, a great deal actually. And now you’ve made yourself look like a jealous girlfriend. You can only imagine what he must think. It’s a coin toss how he’ll react once you’re in the privacy of his home. He may reprimand you or perhaps he’s been craving you just as much as you have him. After weeks away you’re hoping for some well deserved relief.

At least your unscheduled visit to his office garnered you an invitation for a Thursday night encounter. Weeknights have always been off limits, but he seemed more than willing to make an exception.

You let yourself in the front door, sliding off your shoes and padding down the hall to the living room where you find Sam sitting in an armchair, reading a book. The sun has already set and the only lights in the room are that of a dim reading lamp and the flame glowing in the electric fireplace.

“Take your clothes off,” he commands without looking up.

You watch a moment as he turns the page, fixated on his book as you begin to undress. You’re well aware there must be something wrong with you because his utter disinterest is sometimes what flips a switch inside you, turns on your need to please him.  Slipping off your dress, you unhook your bra letting it tumble to the ground, leaving you nude in the flickering firelight. Your hair is still up in today’s bun and you unpin it, letting it fall around your shoulders.

He’s moved the coffee table out of the center of the room and there’s a square black box on the floor in its place.

You wait, shifting your weight as your nipples go rock hard, cold shivers traveling from head to toe.

Sam carefully bookmarks the page and sets the book on the table beside him. Then he takes off his glasses, setting them atop the book. He examines you, head tilting as both his arms extend along the armrests of the chair.

“Seeing you in the flesh is much more satisfying than over video,” he comments, even and measured. “Tell me, do you enjoy the things I have you do to yourself?”

You swallow, the ever present blush creeping into your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whisper, eyes locked on his.

“What about it do you enjoy most?” His thumb rubs against his middle finger, a telltale sign that he’s already thinking of new ways to torture you.

“I-” You stop to think about the last few weeks and his box of toys that had you completely and utterly embarrassed and on the edge of pleasure every night. “It makes me feel like a whore, to do those things to myself. I think it’s the idea of you making me do them that gets me off.”

“You could say no,” he offers casually.

“I suppose, but I like to pretend that’s not an option,” you admit bashfully, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. Your clit is already throbbing, the conversation alone sending little waves of pleasure between your legs.

“You like to feel controlled?” he clarifies, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“By you, yes. I love it.” Your confession is not anything you’ve ever said out loud before but it’s unabashedly true. The idea of giving yourself to him for his own pleasure is what most excites you.

“Do you like to be called names? Whore? Slut?” Despite everything you’ve done up until this point he’s never directly called you names. He’s told you to suck his cock like a whore and to fuck him like a slut, but never outright used them.

“Not all the time. But sometimes I think I would like it.” You’re honest because Sam can handle the complexity of your desires. He himself has many layers and understands not everything is black and white, yes and no. “It turns me on the most when you make me say those things.”

“Would you like that tonight?”

“Yes,” you nod, squeezing your thighs together.

“Good. Thank you for your honesty,” he nods, taking a breath, glancing at the mound of your pussy. “Next we need to talk about your punishment.”

“Punishment?” you question surprised.

“Yes. I’ve been unhappy with you twice and we need to talk about both times. First, you came into my office today and questioned me about Lexi. I told you when this arrangement first started that you would be my only sexual partner. That was part of our agreement. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” you nod, looking at the floor. You want to remind him that he also jumped to conclusions about Max, but this isn’t the time or the place. And to be honest, punishments are often one of your favorite activities. "I’m true to my word. Do you understand?”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” You shake your head, doing your damnedest to look apologetic.

“I hate it when you say that. Don’t be sorry, change your behavior. Which brings us to the second issue. When I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you to turn a vibrator on, you turn it on. I don’t like having to tell you twice.”

Something about the combination of his tone and the words makes your legs weak. You’re not sure what’s wrong with you for liking this and you’re probably going to hell for getting off on it, but fuck if he doesn’t make your pussy ache.

“It won’t happen again.” You look up, meeting his unflinching stare.

“I was going to come home and fuck you but I’ve decided that you need a reminder about who’s in charge,” he snaps, jaw ticking.  “Ask me for it.”

“Please show me you’re in charge,” you respond without hesitation. “I need to be reminded.”

“Yes, you do,” he sighs, sitting up. “Open the box.” He gestures to the shiny black box on the floor. You kneel down, taking off the lid to find a series of sex toys. There’s a thick black dildo, several butt plugs in various sizes, a small vibrator, a ball gag, and a ring gag. “We’re only going to use one of these tonight, we’ll save the rest. Take out the largest plug.”

You look up at him, then down into the box picking up the thick, cold metal plug, feeling the weight of it in your hand.

“Now, turn around, get down on your hands and knees. Spread your legs wide so I can see your cunt and your ass.”

There’s that conflicted feeling, the one that all your encounters start with. You turn around, getting into position and presenting your backside to him, knees grinding into the carpet.

“I would say you could use lube, but it doesn’t look like you need it you’re so wet. Stick it in your pussy, get it wet enough to slide up that tight little ass.”

You whimper, a shaky sound erupting from your throat as you reach between your legs and ease the metal into the slick between your folds. You rub the tip over your clit, bringing a jolt of pleasure before pushing it into your dripping sex.

On hands and knees in his living room is about as submissive as things have gotten up until this point but you’re not surprised at the way your body is reacting. This is a vulnerable and shameful position, but also thrilling.

You make slow circles feeling the plug in your pussy before pulling it out. Suddenly his hands are on you, one hand on your hip, the other coming down on your ass cheek with a resounding crack.

“Fuck!” you wheeze, rocking forward.

He takes the plug from you, pushing it back into your cunt until it’s all the way inside, the base between your lips. He leaves it in place for a moment, rubbing your clit with his thumb as you pant, pushing back into him. Before there’s too much pleasure he pulls it out with a wet sucking sound.

“Now,” his fingers are spreading your cheeks wide and the cold wet tip of the plug meets your puckered hole. “I’m going to push this in. While I’m getting it into place I want you to tell me what a whore you are and how much you want it. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding enthusiastically as he begins to push hard. You can feel your body stretching open, the pain and the burn that morphs into liquid heat between your legs. “I’m a whore. I want it deep, please. Oh god, please harder.”

With a final push, the plug sinks in, popping past the ring of muscle. You groan, dropping your chest down onto the carpet as he gives your ass a couple of hard swats.

“Come,” he instructs, sitting back in the chair, spreading his legs. “Kneel here.”

You shuffle over to him, feeling the plug shift inside you, a delicious stretch that makes your empty pussy clench around nothing.

“Now, I think it’s time for something new.” He looks down at you with a dark affection, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb sliding along your lower lip. “We’re going to add a little incentive for you going forward. This weekend you’re only allowed to have an orgasm if you have my cum in your mouth. Which means if you want to cum tonight, you better start sucking.”

You stare at him, genuinely surprised, your cunt and ass tightening around the plug in arousal. Without saying a word you reach out, unbuckling his belt, easing his throbbing erection out of his trousers. He’s clearly been hard for a while, the head of his cock is almost purple and leaking pre-cum as you lean forward and seal your lips around the head.

For the first few minutes, you suck on just the tip. There are times when he insists that you deep throat him right from the get-go, but you prefer this, suckling on him like you’re starving for it as your tongue slides against the little v under the head of his cock. It’s been weeks since you’ve had him in your mouth. This is something you really do love.

With a moan and a breath, you take him deep, your pussy twitching in delight as you taste the pre-cum on your tongue and then he slides down your throat. You moan again vibrating around his shaft and he groans, taking two big handfuls of your hair.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, more breathless than usual.

Bobbing up and down you keep him stuffed down your throat, breathing carefully through your nose, even and measured. It’s a skill you’ve honed over time, and now that you’ve perfected the technique and know how to fully relax your throat, you can stay like this for longer and longer stretches of time.

He tugs hard, hair yanking at your scalp and you come off him with a pop, drool dripping down your chin as you look up, waiting for further instruction. You hand is resting on his thigh and he takes it, guiding you to cup his sack.

“Do you feel how heavy my balls are?” His mouth falls open as you gently roll his package in your hand. “I haven’t jerked off in two weeks. I’ve been saving all this cum for your hot little mouth.”

“Oh god,” you blurt out, the words tumbling out in a whimpering sigh of lust and excitement. Your pussy throbs and you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your nipples now.

“Suck on them,” he instructs.

Leaning forward you let the weight of his spit-wet cock rest on your face as you open your mouth and carefully suck one of his testicles inside. You’re gentle but consistent, rolling him over your tongue as his cock rubs over your nose and forehead. You move to the other side, tonguing him with care until he pulls you back up, ready for you to attend to his dick again.

You engulf his cock with unbridled enthusiasm, making small eager noises as you work the entire length of his shaft.

“Ask me for it,” he grits out, fingers digging into your scalp.

You look up, popping off his cock, wiping your chin with the back of your hand.

“Please cum in my mouth,” you implore, squeezing your thighs together you look up at him, eyes blown wide with lust, one hand wrapped around his length. “I want it so bad, please cum in my mouth.”

“Such a good girl,” he praises, wrapping his giant hand around your head, angling his cock back into your mouth. “Suck. Don’t stop until you have a mouth full.”

Diving right back in, you suck and lick, desperate for his orgasm. This submissive side of you gets almost as much pleasure from him cumming as you do from your own orgasm.

When he gets close he grunts twice, his hips bucking up and tapping the back of your throat, then he finishes. He spurts thick ropes, warm and thick over your tongue as you resist the urge to swallow, keeping all of his seed in your mouth as instructed.

After several heavy breaths he pulls your mouth off him, grunting in satisfaction as you sit back on your heels.

“What do you say?” he asks, stroking his own cock base to tip.

“Hank ooo,” you garble, waiting for his next command.

“Get up here and sit on my cock.” He grabs a fist full of hair, pulling you up into his lap. There are times when he can stay hard after cumming the first time but there’s no real guarantee and that’s what he’s betting on. You’re going to work fast and hard for it if you want to ensure your orgasm.

Straddling his hips you sink down on his erection, letting him sliding into your desperate, drooling pussy.

“Let me see.” He pats your jaw. You open wide, sticking out your tongue, showing him your mouth full of creamy white. “Good girl. Now, use my cock to make yourself cum.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You begin sliding up and down his dick, letting your clit meet the base of his cock with each pass. The stretch is wonderful, between the thickness of the shaft and the plug nestled deep in your backside, it’s almost as challenging as the first time.

Sam takes your wrists, twisting both arms behind your back and pinning them together at the base of your spine. You have to concentrate, keeping your thighs and hips in balance and you ride him.

The taste of him is salty and familiar on your tongue, this new requirement only adds to the building of your own peak.

Keeping your hands in place with one hand, the other hand moves to your breast, squeezing the nipple and twisting hard. You’re there, right on the edge, everything between your legs slick and begging for release.

“An I um?” you struggle to ask for permission.

“Yes,” he twists your nipple just a little further as your orgasm sweeps through your body from head to toe. Just as the satisfaction begins to fan out he gives his final order, “swallow.”

You immediately swallow his load, gasping as your pussy pulses around his cock and your ass grips the plug. You tug at your arms out of instinct but he holds firm while you shudder and shake, cumming hard with him inside you.  

“Holy shit.” You quake, going slack, then slumping forward into him. He releases your wrists, both his hands cupping your ass as you lay your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he sighs, squeezing your ass, seemingly enjoying this part as much as you are.

-

“Tomorrow you’re coming with me to an...exclusive gathering.” He leans out of the closet, unbuttoning his dress shirt with two hands.

“That sounds ominous.” You sit back against the pillow.

“I’m assuming you’ve heard of Nick Luster?” he queries walking from the closet to the bathroom.

“Are you kidding me?” You’re suddenly uneasy. Nick Luster is a billionaire who’s made a name for himself by gaining a reputation as an eccentric recluse. “I don’t think there’s anyone who hasn’t heard of him.”

“He’s having a what he calls a ‘dinner party’ and you’ll accompany me.”

You're taken aback by the statement, but wary for what it means. “I have two questions.”

“What?” He sits on the edge of the bed, tugging his socks off one at a time.

“First, I thought us going to some high profile place together was a huge no-no. And isn’t he a total Howard Hughes type? I’ve heard he hates people and now he’s having a dinner party?”

“There couldn’t be anything lower profile than an event at his home. He’s nothing if not thorough, the guest list is vetted. Every person is scanned for electronic devices, you’ll want to leave your cell phone and purse in the car. Besides this isn’t actually a dinner party at all, Nick and I share what he likes to think of as similar interests. Tomorrow will cater to a specific crowd.”

“What does that mean?” You watch as he gets up, carefully throwing his socks into the hamper and unbuttoning his pants. “What do you mean similar interests?”

“The guests in attendance all live a certain lifestyle.” He looks up, stopping to watch your reaction. “Dominant and submissive.”

“Oh,” you gulp, conjuring up thoughts of The Marquis de Sade. “But that’s kind of...us. That is similar, isn't it?”

“Yes, that part is. But Nick takes it further. He’s deep into BDSM, sadomasochism, various forms of extreme sexual discipline. Most of it is well beyond my tastes.”

You digest this information, trying to imagine what kind of sights you’re going to see. “Why are you going if it’s not what you’re into?”

“Because he makes me a lot of money, millions over the last two years. And he likes to think of us as friends. So, once a year I go to his party and it keeps him happy. You are coming with me because I don’t want to be expected to participate in any of his little scenarios. If I’m there with someone I’ll have an excuse to abstain.”

“Okay.” You watch as he strips down to his boxers. His body is something to be appreciated, long and lean, the line of his muscles are easy to follow. He’s stronger than he appears under his suits and turtlenecks. “This isn’t a swingers type thing is it?"

“Not for us,” he confirms, disappearing into the bathroom as the shower turns on.  

You're left unsure what that means and not entirely certain you want to find out.

[sorenmarie87]

Howlin’ for You

Summary: Winnie and you talk Garth into throwing a Halloween party, but when you can’t find Garth all night, you start worrying.  

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Garth x Reader, Sam x Eileen, Castiel, Dean, Charlie, Winnie (OFC) 

Word Count: 2,051 

Warning(s):  Lots of fluff.  Alcohol mentions.  Sexual comments.  

This is an extra chapter in the Anything For My Lady series.  It’s gonna make more sense if you’ve read it beforehand.  

A/N:  I need to thank @fictionalabyss and @coffee-obsessed-writer for all their help and listening to me ramble on about this story.  

I do not own any of the pictures used in my story aesthetic.  I found them on pinterest.  I also hate to say this but if you’re reading this fic - please be over 18.  

Forever Tags - @lovetusk @coffee-obsessed-writer@mirajanefairytailmage@kazosa@soythedemonqueen@docharleythegeekqueen@holyfuckloueh@ellen-reincarnated1967@ravenangel33 @buckyscrystalqueen@clockworkmorningglory@lefthologramdeer@disneymarina

SPN Tags - @underestimatemethatwillbefun @nyxveracity

You were putting the finishing touches on your makeup for your costume.  Halloween had always been one of your favorite holidays, and with the help of Winnie, you convinced Garth to let you throw a party.   Anyone else would find it strange - werewolves throwing a Halloween party with their Hunter friends but your family managed just fine.  There were never any urges to go out looking for human hearts - you lived off of animal hearts, so everyone would be safe.  

You heard tiny feet run into your room and with a smile you turned around to see Winnie.  “Mommy does this look right?”  You placed the brush down in front of the vanity, taking a glance at your daughter’s costume.  The three of you had binged on The Musketeers recently.  You were going as Constance, Garth was going as D’Artagnan of course, and Winnie decided to go as King Louie.  Her costume looked correct but there was something missing.  “You look fantastic your highness, but your hair is wrong.  Let’s fix that shall we?”  

Like her father, she loved whenever you would play with her hair.  However tonight - she was wearing a black wig to bring her costume together.  Plugging in the curling iron, you called her over to the seat in front of the vanity and waited for it to heat up.  

“Are Uncle Sam and Dean coming tonight?” Winnie asked as you worked on curling her hair.  

“Of course they are.  Uncle Sam is bringing a special friend with him, is that okay?”

“Does that mean I can't marry Uncle Sam when I grow up?”  You chuckled and paused.  

“I hate to tell you kiddo, but I think you might have to find someone else.”  Someone age appropriate, you thought to yourself as you watched her expression change in the mirror from disappointed to happy.

“As long as he's happy, I'm happy.”  She wiggled slightly and you had to remind her stay still.  You told her that she could downstairs once you were finished but she shook her head and clung to your side. “Wanna go together.”  You heard voices coming from downstairs and you felt Winnie take ahold of your hand.  

“Okay, let's go.”

--  

It had been an hour and you couldn't find your fiance.  Garth wouldn't just vanish, so you made your rounds.  Sam and Eileen were chatting with each other on the love seat.  She must've signed something inappropriate because you watched Sam's face turn beet red.  

You practically squealed in approval when they showed up.  Sam was dressed as Hercules, and Eileen was beside him as Meg.  You excitedly signed to Eileen that her costume was perfect and you watched as her cheeks flushed.  Cas arrived behind them and you giggled to yourself.

“Father Castiel, how are you doing?”

“My child, I am doing fine.”  You snorted and watched as Castiel gave a curt greeting to everyone he saw.  Both Sam and Eileen chuckled as they made their way into the house.

You smiled as Winnie ran over to Charlie and practically tackled her to the ground.  “What did we say Winnie?”

“Mama, she's my queen though.”  You watched as she sighed and Charlie smiled at the younger girl as she moved her into her lap. “It's fine, Y/N.”  

“You should see her when she hasn't seen the boys or her father in a while.”

“I can only imagine..”

“She doesn't look like much but that girl is super strong.”

--

“Y/N, hey Y/N…”  You turned around and Dean was standing there with a glass of scotch in his hand.  You got a good look at his costume, and you snorted.  He was in a solid black suit with a matching tie and you let out a low whistle.  

“Looking good there, Winchester.”  He grinned as he stepped further into the light and his usual sandy blonde hair was pitch black.  “I hope that isn't permanent.”  

“God no… “  You chuckled as he ran his free hand through his hair.  

“Hey Dean, by chance have you seen Garth?”  He took a sip from his glass and shrugged.  “Thanks for nothing.”  

--

Winnie was passed out on the couch so you picked her up and took her upstairs where it was quiet.  You laid her down in your bed and sat down beside her.  “Where is your father Winnie?” You brushed a stray curl away from her face and sighed.  As she flipped over, he wig started to come off.  You chuckled to yourself and took a picture before something caught your eye.  There was a garment bag hanging from the closet door with a post it on it.  You smiled at Garth’s handwriting but raised an eyebrow.  ‘Put me on and meet me in the backyard.’  You gasped as you unzipped the bag and peeked inside.  

The dress was beautiful.  It had a deep sweetheart neckline with spaghetti straps and a fitted waistline that flows into an intricately beaded lace overlay with a floor length skirt.  You were trying to remove your costume as quietly as you could but you were having some trouble.  “Mama, do you need some help?”  You glanced over your shoulder at Winnie and laughed to yourself.

“Mama’s arms are kind of short, so I can’t reach the zipper.  Think you can unzip me?”  Winnie nodded as she wiped her eyes and carefully made it to the end of the bed.  Her little fingers fumbled at first, but when you heard the zipper going down, she smiled.  “Thank you Winnie.”  She watched as you slid the dress off and it pooled at your feet.  You carefully remove the new dress from the hanger, unzipping it first and carefully slide into.  Winnie helps zip your dress and kisses your cheek once she’s finished.  

“You look beautiful mama, but I need to go change now..”  She jumps off the bed and practically rushes out of the room.  With the door left wide open,  Charlie peeks in with a giggle.  

“I thought you might need some help, but I guess Winnie took care of everything.”  You chuckled as she entered your bedroom, closing the door behind her.  

“Well not everything.”  You smoothed down the front of your dress and made sure everything was in the right place.  “How’s my makeup?”  Charlie reapplied some light pink lipstick and looked you over once again.

“Looking good mama.  However…”  She moved behind you and unpinned your hair.  You watched her in the mirror as your hair cascaded over your shoulders.  “There we go.  Garth is one lucky man.”  

“He really is.”  

“Okay, you ready?”  The two of you made it into the hallway as Winnie ran past you in a hurry.  ‘Sorry mama!’  You heard her call out and you chuckled.  Dean was waiting at the top of the stairs with a grin on his face.  “You look beautiful sweetheart.  Garth won’t know what hit him.”  He winked and extended his arm out to you.  “I know it’s usually the father’s bride who walks her down the aisle but…”

“I’m actually grateful it’s you and not my father..”  He was the reason you were a werewolf in the first place.  He was also the reason your mother wouldn’t be here either.  You shook your head, trying to get rid of the negative thoughts as you made your way towards the patio doors.  As you put your hand on the door handle, Dean stopped you from opening it.  He handed you a bouquet of Fall colored flowers and smiled.  

“On three, okay Y/N?”  You heard him count to three, as the two of you opened the doors, your jaw dropped.  How did Garth have time to do this?  Sam, Eileen, Charlie, and Winnie were each holding a little jack o lantern that lit up as you walked up the aisle towards Garth and Castiel, who you found out was officiating the wedding.  

Dean released you from his arm with a kiss on the cheek and Garth took your hand into his.

“I was not expecting to do this tonight but we are gathered here tonight to join Y/N and Garth in holy matrimony.  Garth has prepared something special for Y/N, in place of vows.”

“Thank you Castiel.”  You smiled as Garth took hold of your other hand.  “Y/N, there is no doubt that I love you, I mean I have loved you since we were kids.  We have an amazing daughter and a life together that I wouldn't trade for anything.”  You met his eye and he smiled.  “You are the only one for me, everyone would agree.  I will spend the rest of my days loving you, and our children - however many we have.  You make my life so much better.”

You felt him wipe away a tear and he smiled at you, his own eyes misty.  “I love you too.”

“Get on with it!”

“Put a cork in it Unca Dean!”

“Okay Garth, do you take Y/N to be your wife?”

“I do.”  You watched as he slipped a band that matched your engagement ring onto your ring finger.

“Do you Y/N, take Garth to be your husband?”

“I do.”  Winnie pressed something into your hand and you thanked her.  You slipped the ring onto Garth's finger and grinned.

“With the power invested me by Heaven and my father, I now pronounce you husband and wife.  Garth, you may now kiss your bride.”  The kiss only last a few seconds, but as soon as the two of you broke apart, Winnie ran up to the two of you and almost knocked you over.

“Mama, can I spend the night at Aunt Charlie’s ?”

“You don't want to stay with Uncle Dean for the night?” She shook her head and the two of you chuckled.  “Aunt Charlie can watch you, but only if she says yes, okay?”

‘'Kay!”  

You knew this playlist and you laughed as Howlin’ for You started playing.  Garth wrapped his arms around your waist and the two of you swayed along with the beat.  You felt his mouth right by your ear and you blushed as he told you what he was planning after everyone left.  The song changed and Winnie pulled Garth away to dance, and when Dean approached and asked for a dance, you agreed.  

“I never thought I would see the day when Dean Winchester asks for a dance.”  He spun you in a circle and pulled you back in.  His hand was resting on your back and you grinned.

“This is a special case.”  He looked away from you and you heard a low chuckle coming from him.  You watched Sam and Eileen dance in the corner, and even Charlie and Cas were swaying along to the music.  It was your turn to chuckle and it warmed your heart as your eyes landed on Garth and Winnie.  She was standing on top of his feet as the music played on.  “So any special plans for tonight?”

“You know damn well what’s going to go on after all of you leave.”  You wanted to stop there but your mouth and brain decided against it.  “I’m going to tap him like a maple tree, Dean.”  

“Gross, why did I even ask that..”  Dean blanched pulled away and you chuckled.  

“YOU ASKED WINCHESTER, remember that!”  You wrapped your arms around his neck and pull him back towards you.  “Hey Dean?”  

“What?”  

“Garth is going to put piece A into slot B and repeat vigorously.  There’s going to be so much going on tonight that I won’t know where I end and Garth begins.  We are going to hump like bunnies…”

“Stop, for the love of God just stop.”  

“You started this train Dean and guess what?  The fuck train has no breaks.”

“PHRASING Y/N.”  You kissed Dean on the cheek with a giggle after the song ended and made your way back over to Garth.  There weren’t many guests but when one trickled out, the rest went with them.  Charlie had Winnie’s overnight bag on her shoulders and Winnie made sure to get a hug and kiss from the two of you before they took off.  

“Alone at last, Mr. Fitzgerald.  What should we do?”  

“How’s about I carry you upstairs and show you, Mrs. Fitzgerald?”  

[nikanndros]

The Post-Canon Time Travel AU

[Prologue] [Act I: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5] [Act II: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5] [Act III: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3]

Act III, Part 4.

The thought of being away from Damen, when he is so close, is unbearable, so Laurent continues to sneak into his rooms at night despite the lack of courting. Usually, Laurent can leave quietly before daybreak and be back in his own rooms before anyone can notice he left. One morning, this plan is foiled by a late night visitor.

Laurent is sleeping against Damen’s chest when they hear the light knock on the door. It opens slowly, and Damen sits up.

It’s Nikandros, lit by the moon coming in through the windows, and against his chest he holds a whimpering Ione. Nikandros glances fleetingly at Laurent before he focuses entirely upon Damen.

“What’s wrong?” Damen says, his hair a mess of curls.

Nik opens his mouth to explain, but the infant cuts in. “Baba,” she says, tearfully. Then, at the sight of Laurent, “...Mama?”

Laurent picks his head up, and she recoils in shock. “Baba! That’s not mama!”

“This is Laurent,” Damen says. “You met him earlier.”

“Briefly,” Nikandros replies, in defense of the infant clutching itself to his chest. “She had a bad dream and has been crying for you and Jokaste.”

Nikandros then drops Ione into Damen’s lap, and then while Damen is distracted, he finally looks at Laurent properly. Laurent can’t quite read his expression, but he certainly isn’t pleased. “I’m going back to bed,” he says after a long moment. “I’ll take her back before your first meeting.” And then he leaves.

Laurent looks at Damen, who is now cradling his daughter. Ione is gently babbling to him about how scary Vere is and that she wants to go home.

“We’ll go home soon, little one,” Damen says, patting her hair.

She has his curls, and his dimples set into her chubby cheeks. Laurent smiles softly. They make a pretty picture together: someone as indomitable as Damen genty holding an infant in his arms.

She huffs out a breath and looks at Laurent suspiciously.

“Hello,” Laurent says.

“Say hello to Laurent,” Damen prompts.

Ione does an admirable job of trying to pronounce his name.

“When I was your age,” Laurent says, “my family used to call me Lolo. You may too if you’d like.”

Ione smiles. “I like your hair,” she says. “It’s yellow.”

“Thank you,” Laurent replies. “I like your hair too.”

“Cassi has yellow hair,” Ione tells him.

Laurent glances at Damen.

“Cassiope,” he explains. “My other daughter.”

Laurent hasn’t gotten round to asking Damen about it yet, but he has noticed him using plurals when referring to his children. “Do you have any other siblings?” Laurent asks.

Ione looks confused.

“Tell Laurent about your brother and sister,” Damen says.

“Cassi is my sister,” she says. “She’s littler than me. And Leo is a baby. He’s not fun yet, but mama says he will be one day.”

“How lovely,” Laurent replies, and then to Damen: “Three kids?”

“Yes,” Damen replies. “Maybe more in Vask, but that was true of our last life as well.”

By the time Ione falls asleep against Damen’s chest, it’s not long before sunrise.

“I should go,” Laurent says, kissing Damen chastely. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Try to get some more sleep,” Damen replies.

“Fatherhood suits you,” Laurent says, before he leaves. It’s true. He won’t pretend he hasn’t before thought about Damen with children - children that inherit his goodnature and sweetness. But that hadn’t been a viable possibility for heirs when they were both kings together. Laurent is glad that, out of everything, Damen has at least been given this one gift in their new lives.

-

Damen and Auguste actually manage to get along quite well in the following days. They are both naturally charismatic and loving men and so it doesn’t surprise Laurent that the forced proximity in meetings causes them to bond a little.

Damen ducks into Laurent’s rooms after they break for lunch one day. “I think the situation is improving,” Damen tells him, ever the optimist. “He’s still insistent that I cannot court you, but he also admitted that I’m not as barbaric as he originally thought.”

“Only you can take distrustful Veretians and turn them into friends,” Laurent replies.

“Friends?” Damen says, smiling. “Is that what we are?”

Laurent has to pull Damen towards him at that, and kiss him soundly on the mouth.

“Prince Laurent!” Damen says, in a scandalised tone. “In broad daylight!”

Laurent laughs; they are in his sitting room and his newly appointed guard Lazar is off admiring the foreigner’s chitons, so there is no danger of them being caught here. “I can stop if you want me to.”

Damen kisses him again. “No,” he says. “You’ve seduced me.”

He unlaces Laurent’s jacket, with an expert’s proficiency and tugs it off his shoulders.

“Do we have time?” Laurent asks.

“I’m willing to skip lunch,” Damen says. “You are a much more satisfying meal.”

Laurent unpins Damen’s chiton at the top, so that it falls to his waist and reveals his bare, muscular chest. “At least you are in no risk of wasting away from one skipped meal.”

Damen fists a hand in Laurent’s hair - he hasn’t said as much yet, but Laurent knows he likes it long, likes to grip it - and lays down a series of long, heated kisses down Laurent’s neck. Laurent lets his head fall back. The collar of his gauzy white undershirt has been unlaced enough to fall down his shoulders and reveal more skin for Damen to lay claim to.

Laurent makes a small noise of pleasure. They had been voracious lovers before coming to this world, but something about the time spent apart and the uncertainty in their current relationship has lended them to a new level of insatiable desire. Every opportunity they get to kiss and touch and make love behind closed doors they take. Laurent has no complaints about that.

They must look unspeakably erotic like this: Damen, with his bared muscles, taking a flushed and partly unclothed lover into his muscular arms. He softly puts his hands on Damen’s waist. Sometimes Laurent is taken by the urge to clutch Damen tightly to him and drag his nails down his skin in pleasure. He controls the urge, especially now that Damen’s back is a blank canvas again - he will not contribute to marring it again.

Then is the sound of the door opening and Laurent remembers too late that his brother never knocks.

“Auguste,” Laurent says, pushing Damen away.

Lazar is standing in the doorway next to Auguste, looking sheepish. He must have told Auguste about Damen and Laurent fucking. Auguste is silent for long enough for Laurent to realise that this is not the first time in this world that Auguste has walked in on his younger brother in a sexual situation.

Auguste, face filled with a kind off all-consuming rage that Laurent has never seen before, pulls the sword from Lazar’s belt and comes forward at Damen.

Lazar moves to stop Auguste, and gets the solid impact of an elbow to the nose for his efforts.

“Arm yourself, Damianos,” Auguste demands.

“Auguste, stop,” Laurent says, horrified.

“Turn around, Laurent,” Auguste replies. “I won’t make you watch this.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” Damen says. “Calm down.”

“Calm down?!” Auguste repeats, because no one in existence has ever gotten calmer at those words. “You come into my country and defile my brother against my wishes, and you expect me to calm down! Get your sword now or I will fight you unarmed.”

Laurent hates the way Auguste uses the word defile: as if he is something to be tainted or made dirty. It took him years to stop feeling that way about himself, and to hear his own brother say it is deeply upsetting.

“I won’t fight you,” Damen repeats.

“Fine,” Auguste says, and he draws back his sword and lunges forward.

Damen jumps back and Laurent is unwilling to watch a replay of Marlas. He steps in front of Damen, and the strength that Auguste has to put into stopping his blade mid-swing is reminiscent of Laurent getting between Damianos and Makedon all those years ago. It seems his life is just a replay of awful moments.

“Step out of the way, Laurent,” Auguste orders.

“No,” Laurent replies. “Damen go into the bedroom, now. I need to talk to my brother.”

Damen, who has probably never retreated from a fight before in his life, does as Laurent says, ducking into the bedroom and closing the door. He’s probably going to listen at the door. Laurent rounds on his brother, furious.

“I am an adult,” Laurent hisses. “You have no right to tell me who I can and can’t bed.”

“I am your King. I have every right.”

The implication of ownership makes Laurent’s blood boil. He does not enjoy feeling helpless, or without the power to make his own decisions.

“Fine,” Laurent says, and he gets right up in Auguste’s space and his mind is filled with the angry buzzing that lets him know he’s about to say things he will regret. Usually Damen stops him when he gets to this point, but Damen is in the next room. “I am your subject, then. My body is yours to decide what I do with. I’ll let men fuck me only when you say I can, and you can be just like uncle.”

Auguste slaps him across his face and Laurent’s head snaps sideways with the force. “How dare you--” Auguste shouts.

“Fuck you!” Laurent cuts over him. He’s so angry he can’t think. “You were meant to be there for me! We sat in your tent at Marlas and you promised me you’d come back, you promised you’d always protect me. And then you left me with him! And I kept telling myself that you’d help me, that you’d love me no matter what, that you’d forgive me -- Perhaps I am the one who has to forgive you.”

Auguste is breathing heavily, and he faces Laurent with barely concealed anger. “Do what you want, Laurent,” Auguste says. “Fuck who you want. But if you want me to trust you - you will not spread your legs for our enemy. You can decide what you want more - my trust, or to fuck some barbarian you’ve barely met.”

Auguste turns and storms out, sword clattering to the ground. Lazar, nose red with blood, follows him.

Laurent stands alone in the room for a very long moment, before Damen comes out of the bedchambers again.

“Laurent,” Damen says, sounding mournful. “I don’t want to come between you and your brother.”

Laurent clenches his jaw. “Fuck you too, Damianos,” he says, in the iciest voice he can manage. The ice is cracking. “I will not choose between you. Neither of you will make me.”

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4 on Xbox & PlayStation 4: New Game Patch (July 19th, 2018)

There’s a Sims 4 update available for players on Xbox One and PlayStation 4. 

Update: 07/19/2018 – v1.07

Hello Simmers!

What a summer! As you may have heard, we have been hard at work preparing for the arrival of our fluffy companions in Cats & Dogs. We haven’t stopped there though, we have added Households, Lots and Rooms created by members of The Sims 4 Community into My Library and continued to make a number of performance improvements. Of course, we have been gathering and addressing your feedback and reports too.

Rather than giving you a high-level version of what you can expect how about I just tell you.

What’s New?

Performance improvements mean that you should be able to get into your Worlds quicker, loading times will be shorter and things will be smoother.

The Auto Save feature had been a little too temperamental for our liking so we have reviewed the feature and made improvements to the way it works so it is more reliable.

My Library expanded with creations from The Sims 4 Community. The new additions bring Households, Lots and Rooms.

We have also added the Piece of Cake Bakery which you may remember from the Get to Work announcement trailer.

We often get requests for features and one of the biggest requests has been to have the option to scale your roofs. We heard you and we added the feature into Build Mode.

General Issues

Manage Households was a little lacking in the managing part of the name by preventing you from deleting households. You can delete households you don’t need or want any more and truly manage households as you would expect.

If you max out your My Library storage you’ll be informed when you try to save more creations rather than finding out they silently disappeared.

Cursor speed and acceleration settings no longer reset after restarting the game.

While using the virtual cursor control scheme, the acceleration could feel like you were chasing an excited puppy around your lot. We got things under control and switching directions as you navigate the Lot shouldn’t feel so skittish. Remember, you can adjust speed and acceleration in the Game Options to get the feel you prefer.

The camera shouldn’t lose function when toggling bb.moveobjects in Build Mode

Trying to use the Virtual Cursor to live-drag from your inventory shouldn’t feel like a never-ending chore. Now it is as simple as select and drag, just like it should be.

Don’t you just hate it when you finish loading only to be told that there is “Game Loading In Progress” when it looks like it has finished? Us too! When a lot has loaded, it is loaded and ready to go, just like it should be.

Placing a Styled Room from My Library shouldn’t stop your controls from working as expected.

Sometimes you don’t have room in your lot to place a staircase before rotating it, now you can rotate stairs into the orientation you want without having to place them first.

Stairs aren’t the only thing you can rotate without placing them either, you can now rotate whole empty rooms and even walls before deciding where you want them.

Simmers who use the Virtual Cursor control scheme rejoice as the Pin/Unpin Whim option is now open to you.

Virtual Cursor controls have been tweaked, adjusted and tweaked again so now you don’t continue to accelerate and zip around the screen uncontrollably. Switching directions you take the Virtual Cursor in will drop the acceleration to ¼ of what it was so you have more control of where you go.

Changing your mind and re-doing something is part of getting your perfect Sim in CAS. If you do change your mind, we won’t put you into an invisible UI anymore, I promise.

Cell phones are a lifeline for a lot of people and Sims aren’t any different. We spent a lot of time getting them set up with more reliable service so the cell phone works when it is needed and doesn’t stay on screen when it isn’t.

Occasionally, the camera momentum made it difficult to have precise navigation. We’ve made a few passes at improving the camera movement to make is easier to navigate the lot.

Cancelling Save and Play while in CAS isn’t possible anymore. If you did this previously, you might want to check My Library as you might have multiple versions of your Households that you might want to tidy up.

Family is key and if you have babies you’ll know how precious they can be. That is why switching Sims now acts like it should if you have any in your household.

Get to Work

Returning to active lot will no longer spam the action queue while you are at work in the scientist career.

The returning to active lot interaction won’t queue and cancel repeatedly if you decide to idle in the alien world.

In the videos out of Roswell they got up close with an Alien and now you can too while creating an Alien in CAS. Like other Sims, you can switch to detail edit mode and get closer to the extra-terrestrial Sims.

Ever visit a new place only to think that it feels familiar but not quite right in some way? That happened to us when visiting Sixam and realizing that it didn’t look as we expected so we got the ground crew in and updated the place.

Vampires

Receiving a welcome phone call from Vlad can be exciting, I mean, how often do you get a phone call from a vampire? Getting this unique call shouldn’t stop your controls from functioning so we addressed that.

Dine Out

Canceling object placement of objects selected through Lot Type requirements will no longer put you into one of those super-secret areas in the UI.

Editing an employee uniform won’t send your controls across the screen no matter how your employees feel about their new uniform design.

City Living

When you load into San Myshuno the virtual cursor shouldn’t get stuck. It used to, but now it doesn’t.

If you are lucky enough to get an invite to a festival but unlucky enough to have a parent chance card appear at the same time you’ll be happy to know that you’ll keep control of your World and Sims.

PlayStation 4

Pressing X should work when you need it most… When you press the X button.

Improvements to the way My Library saves means you should have more space for your creations.

Celebrate good times but come on, we don’t need to see the pack celebration screens over and over. They should only show the once now and viewed new Objects shouldn’t reset to look like everything is new again.

When you select Save Household you expect the household to be saved, right? Thought so, now your Saved Households will save to My Library as you would expect.

If you chose to change your Display Settings, the virtual cursor won’t be prevented from accessing all of the UI if you opt to display things smaller.

The Action Queue is meant to expand to fit in all the queued actions, that is how we came up with the name. What it shouldn’t do and doesn’t do anymore is expand to the top of the screen just because you chose to speed up time.

Travel and romance are two of life’s luxuries. That is unless you managed to have “Travel” queue up after performing the “Ask on Date” interaction. Then you just had a mini nightmare because you found yourself stuck in Manage World. We released the controls from the UI and now you can take your date globetrotting without the worry of getting stuck looking at where you could have visited.

Xbox One

They say that good things come to those who wait. We don’t like waiting so we have improved the loading times so that you shouldn’t see an extended loading screen before getting into game.

Styled Room showcases will align correctly if you adjust your margins settings.

Does a Sim have an aura? Well they might but it shouldn’t have been as prominent as it was, so we turned down the highlighting of Sims so it isn’t as distracting anymore.

That isn’t it either, we took a look at what was happening on the PC and Mac versions of The Sims 4 and brought over changes and updates to the PlayStation 4 and Xbox One versions.

SimGuruLegacy

[starry--skies]

PrincessTale

Okay okay I know I made a post about this earlier but the thing is that I actually don't remember when I posted that and since then I have come up with an alternative. I really love it and I think I might do more if I can figure out the right scenarios and stuff.

(still kinda new to Tumblr so let's see if I can figure out how to put the story under a cut...)

The cinnamon colorpoint looks around, making sure her hood is secure as she hurries through the capital. Her heart is already aching, but she doesn't know what else to do. They have no idea how to take care of a deaf child; so much of their world is sound. If only she could have been hearing, she mourns. If only she hadn't been born the year after the war ended. If only she hadn’t…

But she is, and she was, and she did. She hates this decision, but there’s no way they can keep her, no matter how much the mother wants to.

The little kitten she's carrying mumbles in her sleep, stretching and shifting. The cinnamon colorpoint has to force herself to keep going.

Finally, she reaches the castle. Exhaling, she pulls the cloak she's wearing away a bit so she can look at her tiny, white-furred daughter. “I hope you’re loved well by them, my little star,” she murmurs. “I only wish we could, too.”

She kisses her head, then sets her by the door, swaddled in blankets with a simple note pinned to them.

Her name is Katherine Joy.

With that, she disappears, running back to her home with a hole in her heart that will never fully heal.

***

Asgore wakes first, as usual. Toriel is exhausted from taking care of Asriel and needs her rest, so the king starts about the house, making breakfast, lighting the candles and fireplace, and making sure the magical crystals are still unbroken, should all else fail.

Toriel joins him after a while, when he's already finished making breakfast. He smiles and kisses her cheek. “Good morning, beautiful,” he rumbles.

“Good morning, handsome,” she answers, smiling in return.

He gestures to breakfast and she helps herself, then they sit to eat together.

“Thank you for letting me sleep, Gorey,” Toriel says.

“It's not a problem. I know you need it, what with taking care of Asriel.”

“I do,” she confesses, chuckling a little.

They chat a little as they eat about various things that they’re dealing with in the kingdom before they both finally hear a tiny cry. 

“Do you want me to?” Asgore offers.

“If you would,” Toriel answers gratefully.

He nods and stands, kissing her head this time as he heads into the nursery. To his surprise, though, Asriel is fast asleep. Frowning, he returns to the kitchen.

“He's asleep,” he says.

“Hmm.” Toriel frowns.

There it is again - a tiny, thin wail. It must be a baby, but it's not Asriel.

So… Who is it?

The monarchs look at each other in concern, then Asgore tries to follow the sound. He follows it to the front door, concern mounting as the wail becomes more clear, enough so he can tell that it's not, in fact, crying, but instead tiny, wailing meows.

He hesitates at the door for a moment, then opens it.

No one is out there that he can see, but it could be a trap. He summons a trident just in case. He doesn't know if a human has fallen, but if they have, and they’ve hurt anyone, they will answer to him.

He waits. No one appears, attacker or otherwise.

The crying stopped when he opened the door, and as he now looks around, assured that everything is alright, he finally spots it.

On the front step, swaddled in blankets, is a tiny, white kitten.

Tender concern finds a home on his face as he crouches, his trident dissipating so he can scoop up the child without harming them. They're so tiny, they fit in the palm of his hand…

Wide blue eyes look at him, then crinkle as the kitten burbles and giggles, waving a paw at him. He can't help a smile as he stands.

Finally, he spots the note pinned to her blanket. Curiously, he unpins it and reads the note. Again, he frowns. Is this child another casualty of the war? He wouldn't be surprised; but then, why would she be left at their doorstep? Unless whoever found her didn’t know what else to do with her. But it’s been at least a month since the war ended and the kingdom was moved to the Underground; why would they wait until now?

Mystified and knowing he may well never know what the answer is, he closes the door.

“Gorey?”

“Everything is alright, Tori,” he calls back, smoothing the kitten's fur on her face with a single finger, being gentle. She coos, a teeny paw grasping his finger.

His heart melts in that instant, and he takes her into the kitchen, grabbing his chair and pulling it over to Toriel's side. She's already spotted the bundle of blankets and is curious as to why someone would leave such a gift. Not that she'd object - stars know they need some for Asriel. It's simply odd.

He sits. “Someone left her at our door,” he says, his voice softening, becoming gentle.

“Her?” Toriel frowns.

Then he lowers the bundle, and she inhales sharply, seeing the tiny kitten inside. “Stars and stones…”

Asgore glances at her. “What should we do with her?”

“I… Well, I'm not sure…” She hesitates, then holds her arms out. “Let me see her.”

He nods, transferring her to his wife's arms. She starts fussing at first, but when she sees another face in front of her, she calms, reassured that she isn't alone.

“They left this note.” Asgore holds it up so his wife can read it.

“That's a sweet name,” Toriel smiles. “Perfect for a little girl.”

He nods, setting it on the table. “I agree. But we still have to decide what we are going to do with her.”

Toriel looks down at the kitten, absently running a finger over the little one's head. She squeals and clutches at it.

Just like her husband, Toriel melts.

“She could be a casualty of the war,” Asgore hedges. “We don't know where she came from, after all.”

“If she were a casualty, we would be bound as the monarchs to take care of her,” Toriel says slowly. “And I'm sure Asriel would love having a sister.” She looks shyly up at her husband only to find him smiling warmly.

“Then it's decided.”

A cry interrupts them, this time more audible and bleating rather than thin wailing. Asgore chuckles a little. “I'll get him.”

He walks to the nursery as Toriel coos to baby Katherine. Asgore sees his son's red eyes, so like his mother's, scrunched up as he cries his bleating cry. “Shh, shh, I'm here, Asriel,” the king says, trying to soothe the baby prince.

At hearing his father's voice, Asriel opens his eyes, his cries dying and replaced by a look of ‘Well? Aren't you going to pick me up?’

Smiling, Asgore does, and Asriel burbles, a tiny hand grasping at his beard. He chuckles. “Come, Asriel. Your mother and I have someone for you to meet.”

He carries his son into the other room and sits again. Toriel has removed Katherine from the blankets and is holding the bare, white kitten in her lap. She'll have to find some kind of outfit for her later, but for now, Katherine seems fine how she is.

Asgore turns Asriel so he can see the other baby, and both look at each other for a long time, almost as if afraid of one another. Finally, on wobbly legs, Katherine ventures tentatively from Toriel's lap over to the infant prince, sniffing him. The tiny prince's wide, red eyes stay on her until she sits and starts to clumsily groom his head, purring. He blinks, then giggles, an arm somewhat going around the kitten.

The king and queen’s hearts melt as they watch the two babies meet and get accustomed to one another. It's too adorable.

“I think you were right about Asriel, Tori,” Asgore says with a soft chuckle.

“I'm not surprised.” She smiles, enraptured by the two adorable infants who are now babbling at each other.

Neither monarch is aware of the true reason Katherine has been abandoned, but at this point, neither cares. She's wormed her way into their hearts, and they intend to raise her right alongside Asriel. She'll have questions that they will undoubtedly be unable to answer, but they'll do what they can for her, just as they will for Asriel.

But still, that question nags at them... Why was she abandoned in the first place?

[musicaltrashno1-blog]

ANGSTY AUGUST # 1: A LAMS FIC

Ansgty August #1: A Lams fic

A/N: Disclaimer: I actually really love Eliza so don’t come after me when you read this. Also I got carried the fuck away.

Word Count: 2853

“Alexander, we agreed on chrysanthemums,” Eliza huffed for the last time. They were standing in the middle of the flower shop arguing. For the second time this week.

“I thought we said hydrangeas, Elizabeth. Hydrangeas,” he said, running a hand through his hair. Eliza folded her arms and turned away. “We’re getting chrysanthemums. They’re classier,” she said.

He threw his hands up in the air. “Whatever!” He yelled. Alex went outside, taking deep breaths. God, she could be so irritable, he thought. They were getting married in exactly 2 weeks. And they weren’t close to ready.

They couldn’t decide on a hall to have the wedding party. She wanted to have the ceremony at a church while he wanted something in the outdoors. They were slowly realizing how little they had in common.

Alexander was losing his friends. Most of them said they weren’t even going to the wedding. The reason was absolutely ridiculous. That he and Eliza shouldn’t be married and they weren’t going to sit by and watch. That was ridiculous…wasn’t it?

Eliza came out of the flower shop at last. “Three hundred and twenty five chrysanthemums,” she said, cheerily. “At least one of us is happy,” he mumbled. “What?” She asked. He shook his head as he often found himself doing.

That night they were getting ready for bed. Eliza sat in front of her vanity, taking off her makeup and applying a dozen powders. “All my family’s coming to the wedding. How about yours? Not all of them have RSVP’d yet,” she said. He ignored her, shrugging off his shirt, changing into pajamas.

She turned around. “Alexander,” she said. He kept quiet. She stood up. “You need to stop ignoring me. Just because you’re upset about something doesn’t give you the excuse to shut down.” He suddenly snapped.

“Not everyone is you, Eliza! Not everyone can just flip the switch whenever they want!” He exclaimed. She huffed. “Don’t yell at me, Alexander! Don’t act like my life is perfect!” She yelled back. “Oh, my bad,” he said sarcastically. “It’s not like you grew up with a trust fund with billions of dollars in a mansion with a dozen butlers and being daddy’s little girl.”

She squinted at him. “Don’t play that card on me! Not today, Alex!” She dared. “You always get what you want so you’re happy. Well, shocker, Elizabeth, honey, I don’t always get what I want!” He yelled. “So I’m not what you want?” She asked, folding her arms.

He didn’t answer, staring at the wall blankly. “Then why are you even marrying me?” She exclaimed. “Oh, I know. Because I grew up with a trust fund with billions of dollars. That’s why.” He sighed. “You know, I really don’t know why I’m marrying you, Elizabeth,” he said softly.

She was quiet now. She sat back down and unpinned her hair, brushing it calmly. She scared him now. Her face was at peace as if without a care in the world. “We’re not calling off the wedding,” she said at last. He glanced at her.

“Millions of dollars went into this wedding. Hundreds of my people are coming. We’re not calling off this wedding. In twenty years, we can reevaluate,” she said. “You’re crazy,” he said in disbelief. “Maybe,” she shrugged.

“But think of it this way. When my father dies, you’ll get his home and every cent to his name.” He was quiet. “I don’t care about the money,” he said softly. And it was a lot of money. Just a quarter of it and he’d be set for the rest of his life with some to spare.

“Sure, you don’t,” she said, rolling her eyes. She stood up and climbed into the bed. She laid down on her side, closing her eyes. “You may sleep on the couch,” she said before falling asleep. He stared at her a second before scowling.

He grabbed a pillow and went into the living room. He laid on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. He was unhappy. He actually looked forward to going to work. At first when he met her she was quiet and conserved, sweet.

Not like Angelica, forward and confident, something he craved in a woman. And not like Peggy, weird and just, well, weird. He had wanted to go for Angelica in the beginning. But she seemed to keep pushing him onto Eliza. He took the message.

Eliza would gush to everyone about him, she’d come home and shower him in kisses and hugs. But she soon grew bitter and manipulative. She’d cry her way into getting what she wanted. Clearly he’d chosen the wrong sister.

He turned on his side and willed for sleep. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t help but feel something missing inside. Something burning. Something he wanted more. More than what Eliza could give him. More than what Angelica could give him. Something not there.

-

John was the only one who’d talk to Alex nowadays. He’d listen to his vents about Eliza. He was the only one who knew how unhappy he truly was. John was his closest friend.

Thomas would call every now and then but had sworn out of the groomsmen party. He didn’t particularly like Eliza. James was neutral at this point, hating any kind of conflict. Lafayette was completely set against the union of the two.

Aaron was Alexander’s mentor, not so much a friend. Hercules was on Lafayette’s side. That left John Laurens. The next morning Alexander would meet with John for breakfast. To talk and such as they always did.

He got showered and dressed and prepared to leave but he was stopped. “Where are you going?” She asked. He sighed. “To meet John,” he said annoyed. “I don’t like him,” she said distastefully. “Well, I do,” he said. “I don’t think you should hang around him. It’s bad for our image,” she went on.

“Well, I don’t care what you think,” he said. She huffed. “Besides we have more wedding planning to do,” she pointed out. “I’m sure you can handle it,” he said, crossing his arms. She rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t make all the decisions,” she said. “You’ve been doing it just fine,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

He got in his car and drove to the local café where he and John would meet. John was already there with two cups of coffee. He grinned when he saw Alexander. Alex had always found John attractive. He didn’t think much of it. It was really undeniable.

John’s golden brown skin and tiny brown freckles. His big brown eyes and soft curly hair. He was almost like a puppy. Very innocent. “Hey, John,” he greeted. These were the few times in between when Alex would smile.

“So what’s going on?” John asked. Alex knew exactly what he meant. He sighed. “We had a huge argument last night,” Alex began. “What happened?” John leaned in. Whenever you were talking to John and he became interested or worried, he’d lean in.

“So basically we’re no longer together. But we’re getting married,” he said. John rolled his eyes. “That manipulative little–” he trailed off. He didn’t like cursing about women. “You two aren’t in love. This isn’t right.” Alex nodded. “I know. But she’s not having it,” he said.

John shook his head. “You’re not happy, Alex. Are you?” He asked softly. Alex looked around the café. The marriage was public, of course. Eliza was one of the most prestigious socialites there were. Everyone knew her and adored her and her sisters. Well, no one knew about that Peggy.

But you could never know who was listening. “No. I’m not happy,” Alex said softly. John looked at Alex worriedly. “You deserve happiness,” he said softly. “Do I?” Alex countered. John sighed. “You do,” he said. Alex looked up at John. John’s soft brown eyes. His freckles on his nose. How he could make Alex smile so easily.

Alex was in love with him. Holy shit, he thought. I’m in love with him. Alex pushed down the thought. He quickly looked away, blushing. “Wanna order something?” He said suddenly, grabbing a menu. John raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said uncertainly. Alex’s heart raced. He was in love with John. Something he’d never thought possible.

He’d always been interested in women. But something changed from the day he met John. He was in love with John Laurens. “Are you alright?” John asked suddenly. Alexander jumped. “Yes, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Are you sure? Your face is turning red,” John said, touching his face lightly.

Alex jumped back. “I’m fine,” he snapped. He stood up and suddenly ran out. John sat there stunned. Everyone in the café looked at him and back at Alex, bolting down the block. All Alex could think about was the way John’s fingers felt on his cheek. The way his heart skipped when he looks in his eyes.

What’s wrong with me? He thought. Is this what actual love feels like? Alex got in his car and drove home, lost in his thoughts. Not only did he loathe the person he was engaged to, he was in love with his best friend. Nothing made sense anymore. He went inside, closing the door behind him.

“Eliza?” He called out. Silence. “Thank God,” he mumbled. He went into his study to think. That was also where he hid his vodka from Eliza. He sat back in his chair in silence. There was nothing he could do about his feelings. For starters, he was getting married. The press would eat up the news and spread it to the very ends of Europe.

Then there was the obvious. John would never love him back. Who could truly love Alexander? He was out of his mind. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Now that he felt it, it wouldn’t go away. Feelings didn’t exactly work like that. A voice shattered his thoughts and struck fear into the hearts of children across the world.

“Alexander, are you here?” Eliza yelled. “I saw your car!” He groaned. “I’m in my study!” He yelled back. She opened the door but didn’t walk in. This was the only place she gave Alexander to himself. “I thought you went to meet John?” she asked.

“I did,” he said quickly. “Why are you asking?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re so manic, Alexander,” she said. “So who’s coming to the wedding on your side? I need to know,” she went on. He sighed. “I’m not sure at this point,” he said. She shook her head.

“I’m getting seats for 360 people. No more. No less,” she said. “Whatever,” he shrugged. She sighed. “I don’t want this anymore than you do,” she said softly. He ignored her. “I think I loved you. I truly did,” she went on. She stood there awhile.

She didn’t say a word at first then spoke. “I hope you find someone. Someday,” she said softly before closing the door behind her. He sighed. “Me too,” he whispered.

-

A week passed with Alex avoiding John. Frankly, Alex avoided everyone. His fiancé, his friends, his family. He couldn’t be bothered. He kept holed up in his study or drowning his sorrows in coffee. One particular night, three days before the wedding, he didn’t sleep a wink.

He tossed and turned on the couch. He listened to the sound of crickets in the grass. When he first started dating with Eliza, they’d moved to the suburbs which meant he’d have to leave his New York City loft. He missed the sound of cars rushing by at night. The laughter on the streets. He missed his old life.

He suddenly got up and put on some clothes. He stumbled in the dark over his shoes. He didn’t exactly know what he was doing but in the car, it hit him. “What are you doing, Alex?” He mumbled. He turned around and went on back home but about halfway he went back around.

He stopped in front of the daunting apartment building and sighed. “Think about this, Alex,” he whispered to himself. He got out and rang the buzzer for apartment 3C. Laurens. He waited. The door buzzed. He went up three flights of stairs until he reached the door. He knocked on it.

The door opened to reveal a freckled, sleepy John. “What are you doing here, Alex?” He asked. He sighed. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “I couldn’t sleep and I just came here.” John stared at him. “Do you want to come in?” He asked. Alex shook his head. “No. I just need to say this,” he said sighing.

“I’m not happy, John,” he began. “Not with Eliza. Not with my life. Something’s missing. And to be honest, I didn’t know what it was for a long time.” John blinked a couple times. “Are you drunk?” He asked suddenly. Alex shook his head. “No. Let me finish,” he said.

“For a week, I’ve been dealing with this revelation. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. And now I know why. It’s you. I need closure,” he went on. John furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?” He asked confused. Alex sighed. “Why is this so hard to say? Damn it, John, I’m in love with you.

“I’ve been in love with you for the longest time and I didn’t admit it to myself until now. I love everything about you. You listen to me. You’re always there for me. You make me feel happier than anyone could ever make me. And I have to live with that for the rest of my life because I know there’s no way in hell you’d ever love me back.”

Alex sighed. John was quiet, staring at him. He couldn’t decipher his emotions. I ruined everything, Alex thought sadly. “I’m sorry,” Alex whispered. But he never finished. John was already kissing him. He pressed his lips to Alex’s, warm and gentle yet firm. Alex was surprised at first but soon fell into it.

They kissed for what seemed like forever until Alex broke off. “What’s wrong?” John asked worried. Alex smiled sadly. “I need to go,” he said, kissing John one last time before running downstairs. He ran to his car and sat in the seat for a while before starting the engine. He was in euphoria.

-

“Not gonna lie, that tux looks nice on you,” Lafayette said, combing his hair in the mirror next to Alex’s. Alex smiled. “And you said you weren’t coming to the wedding,” he pointed out. It was the dreaded wedding day. The groomsmen were getting ready in the back room of the church.

All except one. “Well, I couldn’t miss your first wedding. Trust me, I’ll be happy to go to your next,” Lafayette said. The men laughed. “Why are you doing this, Alex?” Thomas asked from his little corner in the back. He sighed. “I don’t know. But there’s no power in the world to stop this,” Alex said sadly.

“It’s a Schuyler Sister. What can you do?” James pointed out. Alex smiled sadly. The one person he’d wished the most to be there didn’t show up. No one mentioned it but it was definitely an elephant in the room. The wedding planner suddenly opened the door.

“Alex, it’s time,” she said. He stood up. “It’s showtime, boys,” he said. The church was packed to the last seat, some guests even standing in the back. It was hot and stuffy but nothing could cool down the room like the cold shoulder Mr Schuyler had given him.

Alex fidgeted at the end of the aisle despite the minister chastising him twice. The groomsmen were in place all except one. Alex sighed. What did he except? The musicians gave the cue, a tune as old as time. He watched as the bridesmaids came down, winking at Peggy just for the hell of it.

That’s when the marshmallow named Eliza came down the aisle. Her dress was about as big as her, flowing down in rows and rows of ruffles. He couldn’t lie. She still looked beautiful. He forced a smile as he took her hand. She stood across from her, looking near about to vomit from anxiety.

“Dearly, beloved,” the minister began. Alex drowned him out, willing to get this all over with. They exchanged the vows given to them. He didn’t mean a word of them. But neither did she. "If anyone has any reason to object to the union of this couple, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the minister began.

“I object!” A sudden voice from the back yelled. The church gasped. The minister nearly had a heart attack, as if he didn’t know what to do because it never actually happened. Eliza was horrified. Alexander was ecstatic. “John,” he said softly.

C L I F F H A N G E R !

[nurse-franklin]

Roommates

Happy CTM day! so yesterday I saw a bunch of posts about Patsy & Delia and it put me in a writing mood. I’m not quite sure how this story turned out, but I hope you like it! Please let me know if you do :) 

It had been months since Patsy left for Hong Kong, and Delia still felt that a piece of her was missing. It was an indescribable pain that she carried with her day after day, and she wasn’t sure how much more heart could take. She felt more alone than ever, falling asleep each night crying softly to Spanish love poems that somehow managed to sum up the feelings she couldn’t explain. Her arms longed to be around her favorite red head, and she hated having the bed to herself.

Delia and Patsy had gotten into a routine of sending regular letters to one another. Delia waited impatiently for each letter to arrive, checking the mail every day and praying there would be something for her. She cherished every letter that Patsy sent her, placing them each under her bed so that it would feel as though Patsy was there with her. She read and reread each one hundreds of times, committing them each to memory. She would trace the words on the page with her finger, going over each loop and dot of her beloved’s writing. These letters were the one thing she had to keep her on an even keel in Patsy’s absence. Over the past weeks, the letters had stopped coming. With each passing week without the arrival of a letter, Delia became distraught. She was flooded with overwhelming emotions. Sadness, confusion, and worry swirled around in her thoughts.

She confided to Phyllis one night that the letters had stopped coming, after she had consumed one too many cocktails. Over the course of these long, lonely months, Phyllis had proved to a rock in Delia’s life. She was beyond grateful for the bold and headstrong woman, who implicitly offered her support of the young nurse's relationship the day Patsy had left. She had never questioned how Phyllis knew of her and Patsy’s forbidden relationship, nor did they talk about it, but it was comforting to Delia to have a friend who could help her carry this secret.  Tears poured out of her eyes, and the lump in her throat made it hard for her to speak. Phyllis took the young girl’s hand and patted it softly, unsure of how to comfort her. She reminded Delia that Patsy was taking care of her sick father, and that she may be too busy to write. Instead of feeling better about the situation, Delia went to bed that night heartbroken that she could not be in Hong Kong to support Patsy, and her heart filled with worry.

Delia had worked a long and particularly stressful shift at the maternity home, and she had been counting down the hours until she could return home. Sister Douglas had been breathing down her neck, and she could feel that the experienced nurse always had eye on her to make sure she was not making mistakes. Her legs could barely even pump the pedals of the bike, and her mind was so clouded with exhaustion that she had no idea how she even got herself home. She dragged her legs up the stone steps of Nonnatus, barely mustering the energy to push the heavy door open. She stood in the entryway, trying to will herself to move. Her body was screaming for sleep, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had properly hydrated. She dragged herself down the hall, surprised to hear footsteps in the kitchen. No one else should be awake at this hour. She slowly approached the end of the hallway, her fight-or-flight responses taking the place of her exhaustion. Immediately, her mind became flooded with worry, trying to come up with a plan of action in case it was a burglar. Delia could feel her heart pounding in her ears, and her breathing increased as fear took over. She apprehensively crossed the dining room, stopping dead in her tracks when she reached the kitchen. All her fear and worry was immediately drained as she took in the sight of a red-haired woman standing at the stove with her back to Delia. Delia’s heart fluttered as watched as the woman fill tea cups with steaming water, humming to herself quietly. At first Delia thought she was dreaming. She couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing, and she felt frozen in place.

“Pats?” Her quiet voice cracked as she struggled to speak. Patsy whirled around, nearly knocking the cups off the counter.

“Deels!” Patsy smiled widely, letting out a sigh of relief. She was unprepared for the emotions she would feel when she saw her girlfriend for first time in months. Delia stared at her girlfriend in complete shock, tears streaming down her face.

“Only Sister Julienne knew I was coming home. I wanted to surprise everyone, especially you.” Patsy smiled cunningly to herself, satisfied with her successful plan.

Delia suddenly felt her body able to move, and she leapt into her girlfriend’s arms. Patsy took Delia’s face in her hands, fiercely kissing her. At the moment their lips touched, Delia felt a shock wave course through her body. She had been dreaming about this kiss for months on end, unsure if it would ever happen. Delia walked Patsy to the edge of the counter, and wrapped her arms around the redhead’s waist. Patsy unpinned Delia’s hair, tangling her fingers in the gorgeous brown locks as it fell to her shoulders. The two women stood in the kitchen for what felt like forever, unable to break their passionate kiss, trying to make up for lost time. In the heat of the moment, neither Patsy nor Delia cared that a nun or midwife could walk in and catch them. Patsy finally broke the kiss, quickly grabbing Delia’s hand and leading her up the stairs to her girlfriend’s bedroom, locking the door behind them.  

Everything felt right again. The two women laid in bed together quietly, catching their breath after being intimate. Patsy laid with her head on Delia’s chest, feeling her heartbeat, while Delia traced patterns on her girlfriend’s bare back.

“I was worried sick when you stopped writing.” Delia whispered, breaking the silence. Patsy propped herself up with one arm so that she could talk to Delia face to face.

“I’m sorry, love. It was impossible to write while travelling, and I really wanted this to be a surprise.” She looked apologetically at her girlfriend, suddenly feeling guilty for causing so much panic. Delia smiled and cupped Patsy’s face her hands. She leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on her lips.

“It’s okay. I’m so happy to have you here now. For a while I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again. It’s been so hard, Pats… without you here. I’ve never felt more alone. I couldn’t stand to sleep in this bed without you.” Her eyes filled with tears as she recalled all of her unbearably lonely nights. Patsy wiped away the tears with her hands.

“Well you won’t have to sleep alone anymore, because we’re roommates now.” Patsy said it casually, and Delia looked at her confused.

“Roommates?” Delia repeated, a slow smile spreading across her face as Patsy nodded her head.

“Well my bed is taken by the new midwife, and Barbara will live with Tom once they’re married, so that leaves an extra bed in Phyllis’s room. It was decided that I would bunk with her, until she requested to have her own room. Ya know, when you first said in your letters that Phyllis knew about us, I was worried. But I think I’m okay with it now.” Patsy said with a playful smile. She reached forward and grabbed a strand of Delia’s messy hair, twirling it in her fingers. Delia giggled at the thought of them finally having a room together, but then she suddenly remembered Patsy’s father. If Patsy was back for good, that must have meant that her father had died. Her heart sank, thinking about Patsy having to grieve alone in Hong Kong.

“Pats…” Delia desperately wanted to talk to her girlfriend about what she was feeling, determined to not let Patsy bottle this up. Patsy looked up, flashing a brilliant smile, her beautiful blue eyes full of desire and lust. She had a sudden change of heart, deciding not to ruin this perfect night.

“Promise to never leave me again.” Patsy leaned forward and placed a kiss on Delia’s lips. “I promise, I will never, ever leave you.”

[punkpoemprose]

December 18th- Troll Wedding

Part 2 of ? Sequel To : Christmas Eve Wedding Universe: Canon Rating: G (General Audiences) Length: 2450 words

Yeah, I’m still writing these. I mean it’s a couple months late, but still. I’m going to start working on fics in between classes

           Anna laughed aloud as Kristoff carried her through the castle’s front door. He insisted on carrying her over the threshold. Despite their wedding not being exactly what they would have planned for themselves, they were happy, smiling and laughing.

           Anna tipped her head up to kiss his neck for the fifth time since leaving the church and was shocked when Kristoff didn’t lean down to kiss her back. He was too busy staring straight forward, dumbstruck at something that Anna couldn’t see from her vantage point in his arms. When she craned her neck to look straight ahead, she realized why he looked so confused. The front hall of the castle was full of trolls, crystals and candles.

           “What’s going on Ma?” Kristoff asked Bulda, picking her out beside cliff and Grand Pabbie in the front of the mob of grinning trolls.

           “You’re getting married!” she announced, much to the joy of the other trolls, and even more to the confusion of the couple before them.

           It wasn’t the first time he had heard his family say that, but it wasn’t any less confusing this time. Setting Anna down carefully and taking a step towards his very large and extended adoptive family he patted the little ones on their bald stone heads and spoke again to his mother.

           “We just got married Ma. I told you we’d come up to the valley the day after tomorrow,” he said, humor present in his voice. The unexpected arrival of his family wasn’t enough to throw him off or dampen his mood, especially not when he noticed Anna step forward into the candle light and pick up his little siblings and cousins one by one, despite their weight, and give them hugs and kisses.

           “Not in the eyes of nature honey, you need a real wedding, not one without your family.”

           It was then that he noticed Elsa, somewhat in the shadows, walk in with Sven. He couldn’t tell at the distance, but she seemed to be smiling. He should have known that she would have been part of it. Royal expectations meant that they had to have a certain type of public wedding, but what happened in the privacy of their home after was not for the consumption of the public, and Elsa would do anything to see Anna smile.

           Anna perked up at the conversation Kristoff was having with Bulda. Some of the littlest trolls were still clinging to her legs as she stepped towards him, realizing that Elsa had entered the room and that something was going on beyond congratulations. Although she had assumed something was going on when she had seen the trolls and the change of décor, she wasn’t quite sure of what to expect.

           “What do you think Anna honey?”

           Anna, now beside her husband, and the children at her feet, smiled. “What’s going on Bulda?”

           “Oh please honey, call me mom,” Bulda said, reaching up to take Anna’s hand with a smile. “Kristoff and I were just talking about the wedding.”

           “It was nice,” Anna said reflexively, “I’m sorry you couldn’t attend, but Elsa and I were worried about─”

           “Oh honey, I know there were too many of us to fit in that church, I wasn’t talking about that anyhow. I was talking about the wedding you’re about to have,” her voice was warm and assured, there was no room for doubt in her mind that a wedding was about to occur.

           “Oh!” Anna said, the pieces finally making a bigger picture in her mind. Finally, all the candles, crystals, and present company made sense. She smiled from ear to ear. Something had felt wrong about the church wedding. It had been impersonal, and not all the family they cared for had been able to attend.

           Kristoff sighed as he watched Anna’s face light up, and he took the hand his mother was not holding into his own. “If you don’t want to─”

           “Yes,” Anna said, cutting him off in her excitement, “Absolutely yes.”

           “So it’s settled then!” Cliff shouted from his placed beside his wife. The rest of the family, including Sven and Elsa cheered.

           It felt like scarcely a moment after that Anna was being whisked away from her husband and up to her room to be redressed. The trolls seemed to have little concern for modesty and Anna’s possible opinions on it as they stripped her wedding gown from her. Elsa arrived in time to tell them that, yes, they really should leave her corset and underthings on, and that she would be happy to help her sister into her new gown.

           Anna sighed a breath of relief when Elsa took over from the troll maidens and matrons, sending them off to assist with the other last minute details.

           “Did you have a hand in this?” Anna asked her older sister with a chuckle, “Or did they just show up out of the blue and decide I needed to be married twice in one night?”

           Elsa laughed, “I may have invited them and planned a bit, though my understanding was that if I didn’t do so they would be here never the less. If you’re not happy with it though, I’m sure I could talk to Pabbie. He listens to reason and they all listen to him.”

           Anna shook her head as her sister helped her into a much simpler green shift dress, “I’m happy actually. It didn’t really feel like my wedding without everyone I loved there.”

           Elsa made quick work of tying the green cloak around her shoulders, and draping her with crystals, adding a few of her own in ice here and there. “I’m glad to hear that,” she said, relief in her voice as she unpinned her sister’s hair, letting it fall into waves down past her shoulders.

           “Is it crazy that I feel nervous again?” she asked her elder sister as she continued dressing her. Her stomach was a mess of butterflies from the first moment she had understood what was happening. Legally Kristoff was already her husband, but the idea of marrying him in a sense that was amicable to his family and evidently to the very laws of nature, she was equal parts anxious and excited.

           Elsa stepped away from her duties for a moment to stand before her sister. “Not that I have a lot of experience, but I would be nervous too. That being said I don’t know if we can rule out crazy as an answer.”

           Anna smacked her older sister playfully across the shoulder. Elsa feigned pain, but it wasn’t convincing as they both broke into a fit of laughter. If nothing else Anna was happy that her sister would attend her wedding instead of the Queen of Arendelle.

           Anna reached out for the crown of sticks and crystals she had seen once before. It was just as beautiful as it had been the first time the trolls had tried to marry them, but now she placed it upon her own head, knowing what it meant.

           “I don’t know if this is how we imagined it when we were kids, but you’re a beautiful bride Anna,” Elsa said, smiling at her sister and taking in the way she looked surrounded by natural materials. Of course she had always been stunning in green, so it was no surprise to Elsa that she glowed in the gown she had selected for her and the ceremonial garb the trolls had insisted upon.

           Anna smiled in return to her sister’s grin. Hearing her sister’s words, she couldn’t help but ask, “What do you think Mom and Dad would have thought?”

           Elsa didn’t miss a beat, she knew that her little sister was bound to ask the question at some point or another. If it were her wedding she would have done the same. “Dad would have said his little sunflower had grown up and Mom would have told you that you were beautiful while dabbing up dad’s tears.”

           Anna laughed, it was common knowledge between the two of them, despite the issues their parents had, that their mother was the far more emotionally balanced of the pair. “Do you think they would have liked Kristoff?”

           Elsa nodded, taking her sister’s hands in her own and patting them gently, “They always wanted you to marry for love you know, sometimes I would hear them argue with the royal advisors about it.” No one had ever really discussed Elsa’s marriage, even though she was the heir apparent, she didn’t mention it however. “They would have loved him just like we do.”

           With that, Anna seemed to visibly relax. Elsa let her hands lower and hugged her sister tightly, “I’m going to go see if they’re ready for you, okay?”

           Anna nodded at her and sat down in a nearby chair while she walked away. It wasn’t more than a moment before she heard a knock on the door, to which she simply replied, “Come in,” expecting it to be Elsa.

           When the door swung open it wasn’t her sister at all, but rather Kristoff, looking handsome and far more comfortable in plain shirt and trousers with his cape and crown than he had been in full royal attire.

Anna blushed, and quickly hopped out of her chair, “What are you doing here?”

He gave a sheepish grin, “I thought that since we’ve already been married once today I could walk you down?”

Anna smiled and beckoned him in, loving the way he walked up to her immediately and pulled her into his arms. The pressure of his arms around her made all the tension seep out of her body. He loved her, and she could feel it.

“Plus I couldn’t be away from you for another minute,” he whispered into her ear, eliciting a laugh from her in response.

“You couldn’t have waited just one more minute?”

“Nope,” he said assuredly, “not even one moment more.”

She understood the feeling. She had hated being away from him as well.

“Well then I suppose you could escort me to our wedding if it was so important to you.”

He laughed, and with that he lifted her up into his arms, this time not due to her weakness, but rather because he wanted to keep her as close to him as possible.

As they exited the room, they ran into Elsa who gave a half hearted tut about the groom seeing the bride, followed by a laugh and a smile as she followed them closely down the stairs and back into the main hall that was fully lit by crystals.

Kristoff walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to blush as the trolls all awed at him and his bride. He was appreciative that they would be able to see him married to the woman he loved, and admittedly he didn’t mind having a second wedding if this one was on their own terms.

Anna caught sight of the assembly from her place in Kristoff’s arms. It was difficult for her to take her eyes off him for even a moment, but she was happy that she did when she realized that the crowd was much friendlier than the previous one. She saw most of the castle staff including Kai and Gerda, some of the local children she liked to go and entertain when she wasn’t busy, Oaken and his family, and a few of the other assorted characters she had come to call friends over the last couple years. Of course all the trolls were there too, and while Anna was still learning everyone’s names, she at least knew that Bulda, Cliff, and the kids were in the very front.

Sven stood at the very front, beside Grand Pabbie, and when they reached them, Elsa stood on the opposite side.

Kristoff finally allowed Anna to stand when they made it to the end of the aisle, and Anna couldn’t help herself but to laugh as she was set down.

“Dearly beloved,” Grand Pabbie began, “we are gathered here today to witness the joining of these two humans in the bonds of holy matrimony.”

From somewhere off the in the crowd of trolls there was a voice that shouted, “Finally,” that was followed by an immense group laughter.

Kristoff couldn’t help but chuckle himself, his family would have had him marry him upon their first meeting.

The rest of the procession went off without a hitch, and Anna was soon acquainted with the most important part of a troll wedding, the dancing, singing, and general celebration that followed. They danced with everyone. Kristoff even danced with Elsa, and all was a cacophony of joy and laughter by the time Anna and Kristoff announced that they were going to retire for the night.

Although Anna offered to take care of the mess in the morning, the trolls and castle maids all insisted they would handle the job, and Elsa said she would oversee the rest of the celebration.

Anna laughed as Kristoff lifted her up, for the third time in the same day, and carried her up the stairs to their bedroom. It wasn’t the sort of wedding she had imagined when she was a child. Pressing a kiss to her husband’s jaw she decided that it was even better.

[fanfic-reliquary]

The Thorns of Time

Chapter 6 part 2

He seemed to shift expression, if only slightly. "What you're proposing is unsanitary and I won't have it."

"Well, there is another way you could convince me."

"And what is that?"

"Swear on your real father's honor that you're not up to anything suspicious. If you can do that, I'll forget this all happened." I said.

He visibly flinched at that. Maybe I was wrong about his poker face. Maybe I just hit a nerve. Either way, I upset him, as evidenced by the uppercut to the jaw I received.

My neck cracked as I pushed his fist down with my chin. "I knew it. You know, I had some faith in you when you were younger. I can see I was wrong to do that."

Dio realized the awful mistake he made by incriminating himself. He uncoiled his hand to try and choke me, but Over The Edge was faster, pushing his hand away and slicing a huge chunk of flesh out of his hand in the process. He toppled down the few stairs that led to the bottom, undoubtedly earning some scrapes and bruises along the way.

I was flaming mad, and Over The Edge reflected that. "I will protect the people who are kind to me no matter the cost, even at the price of my own life." I said, cold and barbed like he had been to me. I bent over and picked up the packet that had dropped a few steps in front of me.

I don't think I realized I had an actual aura until Jonathan put his hand on me. I initially whipped around, still angry, but calmed down when he was scared of me.

"Sherri, what was that?" He asked, fear laden in his voice.

"I hate to say it, but Dio is the poisoner. When I questioned him about this, his squirrelly actions betrayed his mind." I said, opening the packet. Sure enough, there it was. Arsenic in its white powdered form. I breathed on it, and it started to solidify into a bronze tarnish. I looked down to where Dio had landed, and saw that he was gone, a trail of blood behind him.

"We've got to get an antidote." I noted.

"Sherri, I don't want to offend, but doesn't your time have a cure for something like this?" Jonathan asked.

"We have several drugs to combat poisoning, sure. But they're incredibly hard to get, and furthermore, they contain many chemical syntheses that may do more harm than good to someone as frail as your father. We have to do this your way." I said.

"My way?" He asked.

"Yes. How do people of this time go about curing poisons?"

Jonathan scratched his head. "Well, we should probably look in London for an antidote. Dio grew up there, he probably returned there to get the poison. You said it was arsenic?"

"Yes. We would need a chelation agent. It binds to heavy metals and metaloids like arsenic and removes them from the tissues. In an ideal situation, hemodialysis would be the way to go. Unfortunately, science and technology we need to preform an even remotely successful blood filtering is too bulky, as well as it won't be invented until 1920 at best."

Jonathan frowned. "I'll organize a cairrage to take us into London. Start packing."

I nodded. If worst came to worst, a guy at the pharmacy owes me a favor.

As I packed up my gear, I couldn't help but feel unprepared. We were going to stop his murderous brother, and I wasn't even a sure chance we could. All that uncertainty was going to add up.

I packed my single backpack into the passenger seat of the carriage, and it felt pitiful considering Jonathan had packed a couple suitcases.

The ride into London was pretty awkward, but that didn't stop us from discussing the situation and making a plan. I explained to Jonathan how arsenic and other heavy metals affect the body, and why chelation agents worked. He asked me about my childhood, and even though I didn't want to talk about it at first, it really helped.

For two days, we searched all over London for anyone who sold chelation agents. Nobody had anything. I was about to give up and accept the fate of losing another father, when Jonathan said that there was one last place we could try. A vast network if alleyways called Ogre Street. Apparently it was the most dangerous area of London due to gang violence. I agreed that if we had any chance of saving George, that this had to be it.

"Sir, I have to advise against this." The cab driver said when we arrived there at the dead of night in the middle of heavy snowfall. "That's the most dangerous street in town."

"We know." I said. "You're free to drive home if you want, but we can't leave until we get something."

We both stepped into the snow, which came up to Jonathan's shins and my knees. At least it was light, so I could slosh through it.

"We should split up. We'll cover more ground. You can defend yourself fine, right?"

"Yes. But a lady like you shouldn't be alone."

"Jon, you've seen me take a chunk out of your brother. I'll be fine."

Before he protested more, I trudged off into the blizzard.

I had read on the Aethernet once that the reason the second leading cause of death was heatstroke was because the overall temperature of the earth had shot up nearly fifty degrees since 1900. This was due to Card taking the world's biggest superpower out of a pact that was supposed to manage global climate change. With this information in mind, I now understood the meaning behind these thousand layered dresses that women were forced to wear in the 1800s.

I was sure I was getting frostbite by now as I clutched my shawl close to my body. I had been out here for over an hour and found nothing. Only the backs of buildings and brick walls. No gangs either. I guess even they weren't crazy enough to be out in this weather.

I sighed as I hit another dead end. Obviously I wasn't gonna give up after just an hour of searching, but it was still discouraging.

As I turned around, I jumped at snow rustling. Out of a snowball popped a feral cat with a dead puppy in its mouth. I wish I could say that's unusual for me to see, or that I thought it was horrifying. It's unfortunate for sure, but every creature needs to survive.

Caught up in my thoughts, I barely registered a whistle in the back of my head. I turned my head, and barely saw three people making a mad dash at me from the other end of the alley to my right. So someone was crazy enough to be out here after all.

Still, I didn't have time for this. I pretended to ignore them at first, but when two of them pulled knives on me, I knew I had to act. I used Over The Edge to deliver swift but non lethal jabs to their guts. Can't be responsible for murder, after all.

Over the whipping winds of the blizzard, I knew the person in front of me was saying something, but I couldn't make it out. I only got my real clue when my instincts reacted for me, summoning my wings to block an object they threw at me. As it clattered to the ground, I was thrown off when I found that it was a hat with a sawblade rim. Who does that?!

I decided then I was done with their shit. With my Bull's Feet on, I charged them and rammed them hard with my shoulder. They went flying into the snow, seemingly knocked out from the blow. That seemingly proved to be wrong, because as the blizzard winds finally slowed, I could see in front of me.

The person had very clearly been a man. And he was very clearly not unconscious. Stunned for sure, but not unconscious. I took the opportunity and used Over The Edge to pin him by the limbs. He struggled, but made no progress.

"Listen, chill out. I just want some information. It could save a life."

"And? There's a lot of lives I wanted to save." He said vehemently.

"Where can I find a cure for arsenic poisoning?" I demanded.

"Let me answer your question with another one. Why did you hold back? A witch of your power could easily slaughter an army." He asked.

"I'm not a witch, just genetically mutated. And I didn't come all the way here just to kill gang members I have no grudge against. I'm looking for an antidote because my friend's dad is dying. We desperately need it, he might already be dead." I explained.

He seemed to be thinking intensely. It was only now that I realized that I was being watched. By hundreds of angry eyes. I unpinned the man and prepared for the fight of my life, but he stopped them.

"No one lay a finger on her. I forbid it. " he said, getting up. "Take me to your friend and we can discuss this. I know a place. Owner's as sly as a fox, he might have what you need."

"Sounds good. Unfortunately my friend went off in the other direction, it might be hard to-"

"Sherri, is that you?" I heard Jonathan shout across the alley. Upon turning and confirming that it was him, I ran as best I could and hugged him.

[bwthefinalproject-blog]

The Naked Monologue - 05/02/2017

As an ensemble we decided to create individual monologues/inner voice of the act of getting undressed. We feel that this is a good, initial idea that may propose other questions and help with the direction of our final project. Even though we are unsure of what direction we want to go in, we all want to show our own individuality within the performance. The Naked Monologue is a great way to see the difference in perspectives towards our bodies.

Before I wrote this monologue I decided to get undressed in my room, and to actual take a moment to reflect on each act. For instance taking my time peeling my tights or unbinding my bra latch. I felt that the practical element aided to writing of this monologue.

Here is the initial writing of the Naked Monologue:

I’m stood there in my room with only black briefs with a patterned bra I found on eBay. I’m not really arsed what I wear, if it’s 2 pound or under and my size then don’t get in my way. I love clothes but I hate the price tag, I feel like if I go and buy out of a normal shop, how unjust is it if I find the same thing in a charity shop. They are who need my money, not the commercialised, consuming big, bigot companies who treat staff unfairly but they don’t advertise that. They advertise the slim, longer than long model who you wish you could look like. I don’t actually want to look like them, I feel nice as a curvaceous lady and love my curves, lumps, stretch marks and bumps. They make me who I am. Anyway, I’m standing and looking at myself in the mirror, I like my pants to just cover the slight overhang of my belly, and the side of my knickers to just hit half way over my hips. I feel my most comfortable then. I decide to start with the bra, unpinning the 3 binding latches to unleash the beasts that I’m sure weigh a stone each. I’m a size 38F which means my boobs are massive, and feel massive too. I take the bra off, relief. If only I didn’t have to wear a bra but then again my swinging sisters would be having a field day. They hang, just above my belly button is where they stop. I always taught people and say they have nipples the size of a quarter pound burger patty. I’m going to let you in on a secret, I think mine like half a pound burger patty. I just look at my belly full of stretch marks and see that it sticks out if I look straight down.  These are not mummy strips, honourable tiger strips, just me loving food and not being able to stop munching strips. I feel like it’s a comfort more than anything. When I’m sad I grab the biggest bag of Doritos and reveal in them. I know it’s not normal but fuck it. I’m not here to please people and if I don’t mind then who cares. Now for the big reveal, the slipping off my black, stretchy pants. You might think it will reveal a bush of almighty womanhood. It doesn’t though. I just look and see an overhanging belly and a massive fat piece of skin than somehow hides any promising factor of a vagina. That is me naked. All wobbly bits and bobs. I like it though, I might take the piss but who cares, its mine not yours.

I feel that even though we decided to leave the writing style down to the individual, I feel I swayed more towards the comedic style. I think that this is a reflection of what I feel about myself. I like to make a joke so that others are unable to do it first. I also feel that this monologue is a reflection of my lack of confidence due to hiding behind comedy in order to truly reflect on the realism of my body and size.  

I also think that this text links with the work of Sarah Lucos 

http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/lucas-self-portrait-with-fried-eggs-p78447

[thevintagebluebird]

Unpinned - One Pan Autumn Chicken Dinner

I know, I know. It’s not autumn. It’s not even close to autumn, it’s the blustery end of winter. But a recent snow day prompted me to spend a little time in my much-neglected kitchen, and invite a few folks to trudge through literal ponds and ice mountains of sidewalk to come over and eat. I bring you: One Pan Autumn Chicken Dinner. In two pans.

I came across this recipe a long time ago, and it’s been languishing on my Pintrest board forever. Now (despite it, again, seriously not being autumn) seemed like as good a time as any, and it seemed kinda easy-ish. I wandered over to Cooking Classy (With a Sprinkle of Fancy) which is just too whimsical for words. Jaclyn says that “I’ve never really cared for novels but I’ve always loved cookbooks and food magazines. They have pictures, novels don’t.” As a book dealer, I want to cry. As an art book dealer, I kind of get it. Ah well, her recipes look nice.

Verdict:

Is the Pintrest photo complete bullshit? - Mine actually came out looking more like the photo than any recipe I’ve ever done O_O

Is it crazy expensive/time consuming/confusing? - It’s silly easy and can be pretty inexpensive, especially considering how much food you get.

Does it taste good? - YES.

Bring on the tasty goodness!

Please excuse our unwashed, unkempt selves - it was 5pm on a snow day and we were definitely still in our PJs. No regrets. Countdown to guests: three hours.

One Pan Autumn Chicken Dinner

Yield: About 4 servings

Ingredients

4 - 5 (6 - 7 oz) bone-in, skin on chicken thighs

4 Tbsp olive oil, divided

1 1/2 Tbsp red wine vinegar

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 Tbsp each minced fresh thyme, sage and rosemary, plus more for serving

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 large sweet potato (peeled if desired), chopped into 3/4-inch cubes

1 lb Brussels sprouts, sliced into halves

2 fuji apples, cored and sliced into half moons about 3/4-inch thick

2 shallot bulbs, peeled and sliced about 1/4-inch thick

4 slices hickory smoked bacon, chopped into 1-inch pieces

Directions

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Pour 2 Tbsp olive oil, red wine vinegar, garlic and herbs into a gallon size resealable bag, add chicken, season with salt and pepper then seal bag and massage mixture over chicken while working to evenly distribute herbs. Set aside and let rest while chopping veggies.

Place sweet potato, Brussels sprouts, apples and shallot on a large rimmed baking sheet. Drizzle with remaining 2 Tbsp olive oil then toss to evenly coat and season with salt and pepper to taste. Spread into an even layer then set chicken over veggie/fruit mixture. Sprinkle bacon (separate any pieces that stick together) evenly over veggie/fruit mixture. Roast in preheated oven until chicken and veggies are golden brown, about 30 minutes (chicken should register 165 in center). Broil during last few minutes for a more golden skin on chicken if desired. Sprinkle with more herbs and serve immediately.

Just to make this extra difficult on myself, I decided to cook not one but TWO recipes at once: the chicken in a pan, and another batch of the Italian Wedding Soup from last week. We were going to have a total of six diners, and my deepest, darkest fear is hosting a dinner where not everyone gets enough to eat. So two dishes it is. This is vaguely what we needed for the chicken and maybe a bit of cross-over with the soup.

Step one: pull out your turkey bacon (pigs are awesome) and attempt to wash your chicken. Realize you do not own any gallon-sized Ziploc bags, so reuse a grocery store produce bag. Somerville has outlawed plastic bags, those things are like gold now. Seriously, I steal them from family when I visit CT.

Told you I was in my PJs. Bemoan your fate of washing frigid chicken while your S.O. laughs at you.

Not-quite-a-Ziploc bag. Throw in your ‘other stuff’. Ravage your poor herb plants once again and sprinkle their leaves in your bag. It literally looks like I’m filling up a garbage bag with kitchen scraps. Forget all the spices the recipe actually calls for, all we have is sage and basil. Use what you got. Shout out to last weeks guests for the Lovecraft-ian plant growing in the background :)

Now you realize how many things you need to chop, and you’re on your own. Your S.O. has abandoned you to go shovel out your car because he’s awesome, but now you’re starting to panic a little because your prep time plus your cook time is starting to get REALLY close to your guests-arriving time. You also still look like you just rolled out of bed. You may smell funny.

That face when you’re not sure there’s time to both cook and put on real clothes before your friends arrive. Crap.

Chop all the things!

Nice! You got some raw cubes on the pan! Good job!

YES. Your car has been dug out and you can put your assistant to work making the soup meatballs while you panic. Also ignore his pants. Those are his Grinch pants and I hate them with the passion of a thousand suns.

CHOP MORE THINGS. Also hurray for finding and chopping shallots for the first time ever! Who knew they’re just basically oblong red onions? Not me. Also I found the single remaining Fuji apple in the entire store. Apparently Somerville’s pre-blizzard shopping habits have expanded from just milk and bread to an entire display of Fuji apples.

Not one pan but TWO, because you’re cooking for six! This will be important later, when only the top pan cooks fully in the oven and the bottom pan needs extra time so that you don’t give your guests salmonella.

THE GUESTS! Thankfully you had just enough time to put on a shirt and pair of pants, and your wonderful friends get to chow down on soup while your semi-raw chicken finishes!

THE FINAL PRODUCT! Doesn’t it look like the original photo? I’m almost sort-of proud. Never mind that for this photo the second pan was getting a few extra minutes so it stopped being, y’know, raw.

And here they are, all horrified and disgusted with the mess I have served. JK, I told them to look disgusted. Actually I think everyone cleaned their plates so it couldn’t have been that bad!

Final final verdict: Would totally eat again! Will make again! Will maybe wear pants next time! This one wins!