#if i had a penny for every time someone said a member of the royal family was not actually dead/missing just going on the masked singer

[jechristine]

You are dismissing how fame has literally driven a bunch of artists insane. It affects musicians more frequently because they have to interact with the public more frequently than actors have to. Being under the microscope 24/7/365 with tabloids and nosey fans unleashed upon you and your family can be hell. Given the changes in the music business, most artists are scraping by receiving just pennies for millions of streams and they depend on live performances and constant engagement with the public (Chloe Bailey recently talked about this).

Also as someone that covers Meghan and Harry, you have seen how they had very little power when the monster of tabloid propaganda plus social media was sicced on them

The vast majority of the rich prefer to work in the shadows with little transparency or accountability

(From last night)

I agree with you that fame seems like the worst way to get and remain very rich. I’m not without sympathy.

That said, I think you are vastly underestimating the benefits of being very rich. “They depend on constant engagement with the public….” for what? To be at the top of their professions? To maintain their lifestyles? It’s up to each person to decide if those benefits are worth the tradeoffs, I guess, and anyhow those things are completely inaccessible to most people.

There are many many many artists who are not famous or rich, who have less opportunity to act or make music because they are exhausted from their day jobs. The music teacher and drama teacher at my school come to mind. And there are tons of professional actors and musicians in my town of Washington, DC, who I’ve seen many times in live theatrical and other performances who are not being driven insane by fame (but who may be being driven insane by the stress of paying rent etc). And if we’re being honest at least those people make humanizing art. Every profession has tradeoffs and many don’t come with even that benefit.

So if fame is too much, celebrities should recede back into anonymity. Take 10 years off, let his money make more money, and then if he’s willing to get certified, Tom could easily get a job teaching drama in my school district! But my guess is he wants more and better professional opportunities, chances to grow as an actor and film maker and however else he wants, and the money that allows him to take a month (or more!) in the Caribbean and to fund all of his own and likely his family members’ wildest dreams. This depends, in part, on selling parasocial relationships to his nosy fans that maybe he’d rather not🤷‍♀️

As for Harry & Meghan, I think that’s a completely different situation. The modern BRF’s whole point of existence is to be prominent ideological symbols—to be famous. For those humans, that’s the end. Harry was born to be sold to the press. It happened on the first day of his life and will be happening on the last. Anonymity is off the table for him and has been always, no matter what he does. If he’s in hiding he will still be fodder for tabloids. There’s no way to opt out. Meghan chose to marry the man she fell in love with, and so now she is in the same boat. Forever. (In fact, she is someone who had a great balance of professional success and relative anonymity, not being driven insane by fame, before she met Harry.) Anyhow, if fame is the worst way to be rich, Royal is the worst way to be famous.

[flowesona]

Voluntary Victim - Yandere! Yoongi x reader

Warning: Sexual content

Finding a victim was like shooting fish in a barrel. Dozens of young men and women surrounded her, each adorned with accessories bought with daddy’s money and high to the heavens on whatever substance they could find.

The boy who had his arm around their waist at that moment seemed a bit more refined than the others - he was worth a million dollars, sure, but he at least seemed to be a bit more modest.

They stopped trying to spy the drunken boy they’d just seen sneak off into the restroom and turned to focus the gentleman by their side.

“Hi! My friends call me Angel.” They shouted over the thumping bass, watching in amusement as the young man’s eyebrows furrowed in trying to hear what they were saying.

“That name suits you. I’m Yoongi.” He replied simply. “Do you want a drink?”

“Of course.” (Y/N) gave him a cheeky smile and took his hand within their own to lead him towards the bar.

“What will you be having?” He called out over the music once they had arrived.

“Surprise me.” Was all they said. A simple tactic really - made them think they cared about his opinion, that they would do as they pleased.

He nodded and as soon as he made eye contact with one of the bar staff they abandoned the gaggle of people trying to flag them down and listened intently as he leaned over to talk into their ear.

That was how they knew they had struck gold. The bartender didn’t even hesitate in making their drinks right away, and the lack of payment screamed that he was on some kind of guest list.

Once he had passed one of the glasses over to (Y/N), the glint in his eye said that their night was going according to plan.

“Are you here often?” He raised his voice slightly, and (Y/N) shook their head in response.

“First time. Maybe you can show me around?”

“What?” He leaned in closer, his body pressing deliciously close to theirs. “I can’t hear you.”

“I’ve never been here before. Are you a regular?”

He shook his head, though they weren't sure if it was because of the question or because of their uncomfortable conditions.

“Should we find somewhere a bit quieter?” (Y/N) nodded, and with their cocktail in one hand and his warm hand clasping their other Yoongi led them through one of the staff only doors - receiving affirming nods from the staff along the way - and into a more secluded lounge.

There were LED lights lining the walls lighting the room up into a rich royal blue, and there were leather sofas and coffee tables dotted around.

“Normally this is where we hold member’s parties. But tonight, Father said I could have it to myself, and whichever guests I please.”

Yoongi hummed, leading them gently to one of the sofas and placing his drink down on the table so that both his hands were now free. (Y/N) took a sip for courage before following suit.

“What do you do for a living then?” They asked, her fingertips subtly rubbing circles into his thigh.

“I’m training to take over my father’s business.” He answered simply. “What about you, Angel?”

“I’m studying English.” (Y/N) purred, leaning in slightly. “But I don’t have any plans for the future, unlike you.”

“Pretty young things like you don’t need a plan when there’s men like me to take care of you.”

“Maybe so. Or maybe I could take care of you.” Yoongi smirked at their comment, leaning forward to grab his drink.

“I’m sure you can, baby.”

They continued to caress his thigh as he drank.

“You know, you seem so well spoken, Angel. There’s more to your pretty little head than most the vermin out there.” (Y/N) wanted to vomit, but they kept up their saccharine smile.

“Really?” It was time to make their move. “I know how else I can prove to you how much better I am than those other whores, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, intrigued, as they pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips.

Their fingers found the buttons on his neatly pressed shirt and slowly started to pop them open.

“Can I ask you something…?” They whispered, their fingertips tracing over the smooth skin of his exposed chest and appreciating how he just barely shuddered under her touch.

Yoongi nodded, imploring them to go on.

“I’ve always wanted to be more… adventurous. But none of the guys I’ve fucked have ever wanted to try anything with me. But I know you’re far better than them, right?”

There was some unknown emotion glazing over Yoongi’s eyes - intrigue, maybe mixed with some jealousy?

“Will you let me…” They dug into their wallet, and pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs. “put these on you?”

He visibly gulped, but (Y/N) could tell by the flush covering his cheeks that they had him hook, line and sinker.

“Please, gorgeous. Make this night special for me?” They purred. Finally, he gave them an apprehensive nod and they sat up with a happy smirk.

Their fingers ran up and down the smooth pale skin of his arm, before they gently pulled on his shirt and pushed him to the ground, right next to the coffee table.

Yoongi’s eyes were shining as “Angel” sat on his lap, looking at them like they were a gift granted by heaven. His breathing only got heavier as they pressed their chest to his, taking his wrists and securing them behind the leg on the coffee table. When they were done, they pressed a kiss to Yoongi’s neck and he felt his face burn up as if he was eight years old.

However, rather than attempting to make any more advances as he was hoping, his companion’s focus changed entirely.

“Your watch is very nice.”Their fingers danced along his wrist, fiddling with the expensive leather. “How much did it cost you?”

“That doesn’t matter.” He huffed. “Chicken feed, darling. Please…?”

(Y/N) just continued to inspect it and ignore his subtle whines for attention.

“I could get a pretty penny for this, couldn’t I?” Yoongi felt his heart drop as he felt them unclasp it and hold it up to the light. “Cartier, one of a kind. Mind if I keep it?”

“Whatever, please just-”

“What else do you have on you?” Tucking the watch into their wallet, they finally made eye contact with him again.

Yoongi didn’t reply, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips.

“Did you bring your wallet?”

He shook his head, but they stuck their hand into his jacket pocket and found the thick wad of leather tucked away. With an impressed whistle they flicked through the cash whilst tipping his credit cards onto the floor.

“You… you can have it all. It doesn’t matter.” Yoongi rattled the chains again, desperately trying to get free.

“Thank you.” They smiled, shoving the wallet into their pocket. “Where’s your phone?”

“My back pocket.” The young man hissed. “Please, if you just want my money baby-”

“Shut it.” (Y/N) shot back as they retrieved his top model phone and chucked out the SIM card. “If you start making a fuss I’ll shut you up myself.”

He blushed. Clearly, he was some kind of fucked up to be aroused by this.

“I think I might- wait, what is this?” A smile settled on (Y/N)’s face as they unclasped the chain from his neck and admired how it shone in the LED lights.

“Anyway, as I was saying, I think it’s time I take my leave. The night’s still young.”

They pressed a kiss to his flushed cheek.

“Thank you for the great time.”

“No, don’t go. Please, you can have my shit, just come back here!” Yoongi whined as she walked away with a spring in their step, shutting the door behind them to cut off his cries from the outside world as they escaped the stuffy nightclub and out into the cool midnight air.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Most people who’d been seduced, tied up and robbed would be humiliated, but not Yoongi. Rather, the only thing he held against his angel was that they’d left him. His wallet could be easily refilled, his jewellery and phone could be replaced, but ‘Angel’ was one of a kind and he wanted to have them.

He’d eventually managed to escape his bondage, tipping over the coffee table and sliding his hands out. Although he had to find one of the employees to help him out of the handcuffs, the embarrassment didn’t set in. Instead, he sought out one of the bouncers and pulled them to the side to ask if they’d seen someone called Angel. After nearly ten minutes of describing their ethereal appearance the bouncer was able to recall their existence, but unable to give Yoongi any more information.

But from that day forward, they had a stranglehold on his mind. His thoughts were overridden with fantasies of what could have happened if ‘Angel’ had stayed - them gripping his throat with those silky fingers, marking his neck with their teeth, unbuttoning his pants and taking him into their mouth…

They were addictive. He found himself trying his hardest to seek them out again - he knew she wouldn’t return to his father’s nightclub, so he explored every other one in the city. He’d scoured the CCTV cameras in the club and managed to find a (somewhat blurry) still, which he’d enhanced and printed out. Not only did he keep a copy to himself -  tucked away in his work diary so that he could see them every day - but he circulated it to all of the clubs he could reach, asking them to call him if they ever saw his angel for a handsome reward.

But months passed with no news, and rather than recovering Yoongi’s obsession only got worse. He spent hours futilely searching for the name they’d given him on the internet with no reward, but he couldn’t stop.

“Can I pay with cash, please?” Yoongi had been half-asleep, the night before having sapped him of all energy that could only be perked up with coffee, when he heard that voice. That unforgettable voice. The one that haunted his dreams every night and the one he’d been craving to hear.

“Of course. Could I have a name for your order?”

“(Y/N).” Yoongi’s heart sunk. Had he gotten his hopes up over the wrong person? Had he been so deluded in his desire for his angel that he’d started to hallucinate about them?

But when (Y/N) stepped to the side to wait for their coffee, he finally saw their profile and he knew they were the one who had captured his heart. That was why it had been impossible to find them, because they’d given him a fake name!

His heart was beating a thousand beats a second as he watched them take the coffee from the barista and flash the worker a smile whilst sliding them a tip. God, how he hoped he would soon be the recipient of one of those dazzling expressions.

All thoughts of caffeine were wiped out as he had now found his real drug, abandoning the queue to quietly follow them out of the cafe at a safe distance.

‘They haven’t changed at all. I guess you can’t improve on perfection.’

Yoongi admired them as she walked. They still had glowing skin, the most perfect body in his eyes, and an unmatched energy that drew him in.

It was tricky blended into the background, especially when the crowds thinned out and he was following them into a smaller neighbourhood. His heart was thudding, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be caught or not. He didn’t know what was driving him to follow them and why he hadn’t already spoken up.

(Y/N) wasn’t stupid. They stopped in place to get out their phone and observed how the hooded man also stopped a few metres away.

“Stop following me or I’ll call the police.” They called out.

Yoongi took a few steps forward.

“What will they do? Give me a slap on the wrist for being a naughty boy?”

Their brow furrowed. Did they recognise his voice? God, he hoped that was the case. He was ready to get down on his knees and beg for their love.

“Whatever. Just leave me alone, freak.” They hissed, unlocking their phone to call their friend, so he could get them the hell out of there.

Starting to panic, he rushed forward and wrenched their phone out of their hands, throwing it to the ground and digging his heel into the screen for good measure. For a second, there was silence only permeated by Yoongi’s heavy breathing.

“Someone-!”

Their plea for help was cut off by his hand pressed against their mouth.

“Can we continue this conversation elsewhere? My hotel room, perhaps?”

The blush on this psycho’s cheeks as his hands grasped theirs sickened (Y/N) to no end. Did he think this was a normal way to hit on someone, by breaking their phone and kidnapping them?

“I’m not going anywhere-”

“I’ll call the chauffeur. Don’t worry, he won’t be long.”

(Y/N) was still trying to pry his fingers from their own, but they were like iron.

“Who the fuck are you?” They hissed.

“You don’t remember me?” His eyes were filled with hurt, and the hand clutching his phone was trembling as he held it to his ear, clearly following through on his words.

“Yoongi. You introduced yourself to me as Angel, I bought you a drink and we went into the private lounge for a chat?”

‘Shit.’

It clicked, (Y/N) knew exactly who he was. They’d made so much selling his one-of-a-kind Cartier watch that they’d been able to move cities and settle into a new profession entirely.

Most rich kids were ashamed when (Y/N) got the best of them, and few chased after them for revenge. But Yoongi had a different kind of fire in his eyes.

“Look, you can have all the money I have leftover you want? I swear, we can replace everything I took-”

“Oh no, it’s all yours, baby. I want you to have that, and so much more too.” Yoongi was way too calm, his smile way too sincere. He was absolutely off his rocker. “Anything you need to take from me, it’s yours. But I want something in return, you understand?”

(Y/N) felt a shiver go down their spine when a sleek black car, with tinted windows, drew up.

“Come on. You still have a lot to prove to me, right?”

[monstersandmaw]

Non-binary lich x reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This has been up on Patreon for a week now on early release. New stories for Tumblr go up on Wednesdays at the moment and are available there for a whole week before they hit Tumblr, so if you want to have access to the next one (it just went up), make sure you’re on the $5 tier. I’d love to have you as the newest member of the Patreon supporters!

Anyway, contents: It's 7688 words long, features a non-binary, skeletal lich, is set in a fantasy setting, and I don't think it comes with any warnings. Looking forward to your reaction!! 

“So, you’re the new librarian…”

The softly rasping voice behind you startled the life out of you, and you dropped the three-volume stack onto the thick, oak table with an undignified squawk. The boom rang out through the castle library and one or two scholars shot glares at you over the top of their research. Turning, you found yourself face to face with a moving skeleton and your eyes widened even further.

Wearing a long, unadorned, shapeless, black robe with the hood pulled right up over the bare ivory of the skull, the figure had a glowing green light in their eye sockets and one of their teeth had been replaced at some point by a silver prosthetic. More than that, you couldn’t say, but it was apparent that their entire body was just a humanoid skeleton beneath the billowing robes.

And then the penny dropped. “Oh!” you gasped, straightening a little. “You’re… You’re Avery… the court mage…” How many liches could one royal castle have after all?

They dipped their head in a curt bow. “Indeed.”

“I’m sorry, I just… wasn’t expecting…”

Another little bow. “It’s quite alright. I realise that meeting a someone like me for the first time can be somewhat… unnerving.”

You opened your mouth to counter them, but realised it was actually true, and just nodded. “How can I help you anyway?” you asked instead.

They seemed to appreciate the segue into safer waters, and told you the name of the tome they were looking for. “It’s essentially a compendium of plants and fungi that grow only on the fringes of Silver Perch Lake in Aragantia,” they added. “A somewhat… specialised catalogue, I’m aware.”

With a nod, you headed to the vast catalogue system and in almost no time at all, especially given how new you were to the post, you and the court mage were walking silently through the shelves of the royal library in search of the book’s location. Avery made no attempt to talk to you, and you assumed they preferred it that way. After all, you supposed, what could a humble librarian have to say to a necromancer and a mage as powerful as them anyway? In your relatively limited experience of mages, they tended to look down on anyone not powerful or supposedly intelligent enough to wield magic.

As you proceeded further and further into the dark stacks, the light dwindled to almost nothing, and in that moment you cursed the innate flammability of paper and parchment, longing for a lamp of sorts.

Slowing, and trying not to fumble, you squinted and ran your fingertips along the shelves to keep a straight course. During your interview for the position, you’d been told about the glowing crystals that the team of three librarians had access to, but apparently you were still too junior to warrant their secrets yet. It had not been expected, it seemed, that someone as important as Avery would require your assistance. Re-shelving returns in the main library was all you’d done so far in your short tenure after all.

“Here,” the lich said from behind you, the word spoken aloud making you jump all over again, and a moment later, a flickering ball of blue light wafted past you to float a pace or two in front of you. It moved when you did, bobbing slowly.

“Handy,” you grinned back at them over your shoulder. “Thanks.”

In the eerie pulsing light, the dark sockets of their skull and the smooth bone looked almost frightening, but you reminded yourself that this was not an old haunted castle from a horror story, and was in fact the hub of a great trading network whose machinations were aided by the work of the court mage, who also just happened to be a lich and, by extension, a necromancer.

With no expression at all to offer you comfort or reassurance, Avery just lowered their gaze and waited for you to move on again.

The book was right where it should have been - thank all the library gods - and once their skeletal hands had taken it reverently from you, little bones clicking softly as they shifted, Avery turned and left you in the stacks with a short ‘thank you’, the light light for company, and a thousand questions buzzing around your head.

Naturally, the first place you went after that was the section on liches and phylacteries, and there you lost yourself for well over an hour.

After that, the court mage found their way back to the library almost every time you were on duty. To your surprise, they were actually quite chatty, answering your tentative questions about their research with long and interesting answers, leafing through the book they’d just taken out to show you a diagram or ritual, constellation, or phase of the moon, and relaying its relevance to their work at the time without reserve.

“I’d always thought mages were secretive about their work,” you ventured one afternoon as sunlight flooded into the open study room at the back of the library where Avery had set up camp for the afternoon.

At your words, they looked up, an oddly tense and intrigued set to their head and you got the impression that, had they had the body to go with the bones, they might have been smiling curiously. “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” you began, feeling a little warm under the collar. Their close scrutiny made you shuffle and turn a little away from them to lessen it. “At the university, your lot always kept to themselves, you know? And no one else was allowed in their section of the library without a mage escort and a note of recommendation from about fifteen different tutors… I got it eventually, of course —”

“— of course,” they interrupted with a wry smile in their voice.

Their tone may have been light and joking, but it carried the weight of enormous respect too, and you choked for a moment before babbling on again. “I’m not suggesting that anyone should just go in and help themselves to dangerous magical texts, don’t get me wrong… It was just… frustrating to be treated like that, that’s all.”

You turned to find them still regarding you with that birdlike curiosity and for a moment you forgot that they were little more than an immense reserve of magic holding together a stack of humanoid bones and wearing a dark robe. It might have been comical to see them that way, but honestly, in that moment, their blazing intelligence and slightly off-the-wall humour endeared you towards them even more. It wouldn’t have been a secret to suggest you had the beginnings of an almighty crush forming. If you didn’t beat it back soon, it would become unwieldy and unmanageable, and it wouldn’t end well for either of you. A member of the castle staff you might have been, but the court mage was one of the most powerful figures in the entire kingdom, and not meant for the likes of you.

And anyway, who was to say that there was anything about you to interest them anyway? The whole point of becoming a lich was to strip away all earthly connections save for the absolute fundamentals - the skeleton - and become an entity largely made of magic, the better to channel it. There were, you had to admit, one or two cases of liches binding themselves to living lovers, and accounts detailing the fierceness and loyalty of those rare unions had left you breathless as you’d scoured the volumes on liches all those weeks ago, but you couldn’t assume that Avery would be such a person after all.

If they had given a reply, you didn’t hear it behind the buzzing, rushing disappointment in your ears at that thought. Closing yourself off a little, you excused yourself politely and returned to your duties in the library beyond, leaving them alone in the study room. After all, Avery still had to figure out a way to harness the power of the sea itself in order to reduce the risk to life of those currently engaged in preparations to dredge and deepen the large trading harbour along the coast. Such complex calculations were hardly in the realm of a librarian.

About a week later, as you sat in the servant’s parlour one afternoon, where most of the castle staff gathered during their time off, a bookish young satyr, with curly, ash blond hair and contrastingly dark brown skin and horns, the stoop of a scholar, and a pair of round, gold-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose, approached and asked for you by name in a warm, stutter-laced tenor.

“Yeah, that’s me…” you said, turning from your conversation with one of the naga guards. “What’s up?”

“Y-Y-You’re the llll… the lllll…” the words just died on his tongue or stuck there like treacle, refusing to leave one syllable and move onto the next, but he took a breath and on the exhale said, “Librarian…?”

“I am,” you said. “If you need something from the stacks though, I think Timothy is on duty today.”

He nodded. “I… I know. Avery… sss-sssent me to… to llll… to lllllook for you. They’d llllike you to… to… to…” At the repetition, his cheeks flushed a bit, but you waited him out and he rallied. “To attend them in their t-t-t-tower to c-c-consult on something.”

“Oh. Really? What… now?” you asked and the satyr nodded. He had a flighty, twitchy energy to him, but his features were kind and open and you decided immediately that you liked him. You turned back to the naga with whom you’d been sharing tea and easy conversation, and shrugged. “Guess I’ve been summoned. See you later.”

She nodded and hissed, “Good luck…” at you and you followed the young scholar out of the parlour. His large hooves clopped conspicuously on the stone of the passageways and he set quite the pace for you to keep up with.

“Are you… like… Avery’s… assistant or something? I’m sorry, I don’t know the technical names…”

He nodded. “Name’s D-Devon,” he said as he ducked left through a doorway and held it open for you to follow. “Apprentice m-mmage and runec-c-caster.”

“Sweet,” you said, impressed. “I studied some very basic runes for another project a long time ago, but I’m not really magical in any way, so… I didn’t pursue it. Is it as complicated as I remember?”

He smiled sweetly and shrugged. “Varies…”

You smirked and said, “That sounds like you’re being modest and generous, but I’ll let it slide. What does Avery need from me anyway?”

With a soft chuckle, Devon pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and shrugged, beginning to climb a tight, spiral staircase. “Nnnot sure. They’ve been di-di-distracted all morning.”

“Guess I’ll just have to find out. I’ve never been up to the mage’s tower.”

The staircase went on and on forever and you actually had to stop for breath twice, rather embarrassingly. Devon was fitter than his scholar’s physique suggested, but he didn’t comment. You supposed doing this every day would build up anyone’s cardiovascular system in no time. “The view had better be worth it,” you grunted as you started up the last stretch of spiral staircase, and Devon nodded.

“Oh, it is.”

“Thank all the gods,” you hissed.

The door to Avery’s study was open, letting light flood in from the room beyond. For some reason, you’d imagined it would be dark and intimidating, and possibly full of bats and spiderwebs and creepy cursed objects in display cabinets, but theirs was a chamber full of bright light and warm colours. Taking half a moment to catch your breath again, you paused on the threshold while Devon headed on inside with evident and easy familiarity to inform Avery that he’d found you.

“Ah wonderful,” came that papery voice from inside. As you heard it, you wondered how a skeleton - with no vocal cords - could produce sound, deciding to chalk it up to magic and move on. “Thank you, Devon. Would you mind running over the plans for the layline ritual one more time while we have a quick chat?”

“Nnnnot at all,” Devon smiled, and disappeared into another room out of sight.

The delicate tread of footsteps on the bare floorboards announced Avery’s approach, and you stepped inside, not wanting to be seen to be lurking nervously. “Hi,” you breathed, still a tiny bit winded, as they moved into view around the huge trestle table that occupied the centre of the room. It was littered with books and pieces of velum, scrolls, and ancient clay tablets, all stacked at frankly alarming and precarious angles.

“Hello,” Avery said with a real warmth in their voice. You could hear the smile, even if they had no lips to form the gesture. “I apologise for making you come all the way up here. I realise it’s a long way from your usual quarters and duties.”

It was true - the library was in an entirely different wing of the rambling old citadel, and your sleeping quarters were again on the far side of that from the tower.

You shrugged. “It’s nice to see a new bit of the castle, I suppose.”

They tilted their head, the movement almost birdlike. “You haven’t seen all of it?” they asked.

You shook your head. “Only the bits I need to. Besides, I’ve only been here a couple of months now.” And in that time, you’d seen Avery almost every day at your library desk. “What did you need me for?” you asked with no small degree of incredulity in your voice.

With a little chuckle that honestly sounded a little nervous, Avery turned to a small writing desk that was tucked up against the stone wall beside a window with a spectacular view. They picked up a scroll and undid the ribbon that held it together, and you found your eyes fascinated by the tiny finger bones of their hands. You wondered what they’d feel like against your skin and flushed hot again, unable to look Avery in the face.  

“This is a copy of an inscription that was found in a tomb just north west of here, and while I am familiar with the writing system used, I cannot crack the meaning of it. I’m sure it’s right there, but… I wondered, since you mentioned you’d studied the Early Peoples, if you might take a look at it for me?”

You blinked. “You can’t read it?”

“I can read it,” they said, “But I don’t understand the words. I know the symbols upon which the language is based, but not the language itself.”

“I thought there was nothing you didn’t know,” you murmured fondly as you stepped over and took the parchment from their extraordinarily delicate looking hand. The urge to touch grew once more almost overwhelming.

A soft snort of laughter almost in your ear sent shivers down your whole right side, the skin prickling into goosebumps. “Please,” they scoffed good-naturedly. “Besides, if I knew everything already, I wouldn’t need to make such frequent trips to the library, would I?”

“And here I thought you were coming all the way down there just to visit me,” you quipped self-effacingly, turning your attention to the inscription and missing they way they went completely still before shaking their head ever so slightly.

It took longer than your pride might have liked for you to figure it all out, and you sent Avery scuttling about their office for three different dictionaries and half a dozen grammar tables before you were happy that you’d got it right. Devon had long ago excused himself for the evening, but you’d barely even noticed him leaving, though the murmur of their soft conversation had drifted around you for quite some time while you teased out a bit of odd grammar.

When you looked up at last, you found Avery standing alone by the window, bathed in the rosy light of sunset. The rich, warm rays made the black of their robes seem dull and almost drab - humble beyond what you’d have expected of a court mage with the coffers of the castle at their fingertips - and the angle of the light blazing into their face almost eclipsed the green, misty glow in their eye sockets. For just a moment, they almost looked like nothing more than an ordinary skeleton in an anatomy lab. When they felt your gaze on them, however, they turned - every bone animated and shifting fluidly, bone scraping with a soft, familiar whisper over bone.

They cocked their head again and you smiled. “All done, I think,” you said, standing from where you’d been hunched over the small, cluttered writing desk, and cracking the tension out of your neck with a grunt.

“Thank you,” they murmured. “I am indebted to you yet again, it would seem.”

You shrugged. “What’s it for anyway?” you asked. “I mean… I don’t really see how knowing that the sun will hit the back of the tomb on the winter solstice is of much use to anyone…”

They gave another little movement of their head that seemed like a pout to you, though you had only the bare skull to go from. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure. The tomb contained artefacts that thrummed with energy, so it would indicate that the Early Peoples had access to - and some degree of control over - magic too. Perhaps that date was of significance to them too. I will have to return to the site on the solstice to find out. Then we’ll know if it was of any ‘use’ as you say, or if it’s just interesting.”

“I see,” you said and your stomach chose that moment to growl at you like a spoiled house cat.

“Would… Would you like to stay here for some supper? I can have food brought up here to my chambers if you’ve missed out…” they said awkwardly, turning away from the window and back towards the central trestle table. As they moved the line of gilded sunlight slid from their delicate brow bones and plunged their skull into shadow again behind the hood. You’d never seen them without it raised. “It’s… later than I realised…”

“I’d have thought you could just magic some food up for me,” you grinned, honestly hoping it would disguise the fluttering nerves you felt at the thought of sharing a meal up here. Plus, their tone had gone inexplicably sad somehow.

They looked down at the table and said, “I could do that, of course, but transmuted food tastes awful, or… so I’ve been told. I don’t eat any more for… obvious reasons.”

“Do you miss it?” you blurted.

They stilled and trailed a bony fingertip across the wood. “Yes and no. I miss the pleasure that eating my favourite things brought me.”

“You still remember the taste…?”

Fixing you with a steady, if sidelong, look, they said, “I’m not that old, you know?”

“I…” you said and then stopped when they started laughing. “What?”

“I have to admit that I find it immensely entertaining any time someone assumes I’m a thousand years old. I’m not. I’m only thirty.”

“Thirty?” you gawped. “That’s… That’s so young to —” again, you cut yourself off before you said something truly insensitive, but Avery didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m used to it. And it is indeed young to have your physical form completely stripped bare in exchange for unfathomable magical power. It’s not a choice made lightly, and it’s not a choice that everyone would be prepared to make. It’s rare these days for someone to undergo it willingly.”

Horrified, you blinked at them. “Willingly? You mean it’s inflicted on people?”

They shrugged. “Rarely. It’s hard to control a person’s soul like that, but with the right runes on the phylactery, it can be done. Mercifully, that wasn’t the case with me though, and if you’re caught, the punishment is severe.”

“So… how does someone so young get the position of court mage?”

With another rasping laugh like dry autumn leaves, Avery said, “As opposed to someone so old and experienced, you mean?”

You shrugged, still kind of mute with surprise at the new revelation, and they laughed again. “Sorry.”

“I went to university with the princess. We became friends, and she saw what I could do. I was still an elf then though.”

“You’re… You’re an elf?”

“I’m a lich,” they corrected, “But yes, I was an elf when I was officially alive. Did my short stature and particularly fine wrist bones not give it away?” they joked self-deprecatingly, proffering their pale wrist towards you to examine.

When you actually reached out and touched them, however, a spark like static jumped between you and you both gasped.

“Excuse me,” they gasped, withdrawing their hand immediately. “I… That hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“What was it?” you asked, rubbing your fingertips and thumb together where the skin tingled. It hadn’t hurt, and it left your entire body tingling all over beneath the skin, and heat was rapidly pooling between your legs.

“My magic,” they said. “It’s usually not as forward and ill-mannered as that. I apologise if it startled you.”

“Forward? Ill-mannered?” you asked, amused and intrigued. “You say that like magic has a personality…”

“It does,” the lich sighed, the bones of their ribs creaking softly.

While, academically speaking, you knew what any elven skeleton looked like, you still ached to know the exact shape of Avery beneath the black robes that draped shapelessly over them; the exact way their bones fitted together; the exact colour; any breaks they’d sustained, leaving the evidence in their skeleton… “Alright, but why… ‘forward’?”

“And here I thought I was being terribly obvious,” they muttered.

“Obvious?”

A tilt of their head in your direction served perfectly as a rueful glance, the ardour behind it striking you in the chest with an alarmingly painful pang, and exactly as it occurred to you that you’d learned to read Avery pretty well by now, you also realised precisely what they’d been insinuating. “Oh…” you said, imbuing the sound with significance.

“Oh indeed,” they said bitterly. “Never mind. I quite understand that the attentions of a lich are not… not what everyone would aspire to after all… I apologise if… if I made you uncomfortable. I will not persist.”

“Wait, slow down,” you said, stepping forward suddenly and trying to catch their gaze with your eyes. It was hard to tell where they were really looking, given that all you had to go on was the rough direction of their head and the soft glow in their otherwise empty eye sockets, but when you got the impression that they were looking directly at you, you spoke up. “I’m sorry,” you began.

“Don’t be sorry,” they hissed, trying to turn away.

“No, wait, that’s not… that’s not what I meant!” Finding you had no choice, you reached out and latched onto their wrist. The bones beneath the long fabric of the sleeves felt so achingly fragile that you almost recoiled for fear of hurting them, but you made your fingers loosen just a fraction and stayed put. You needn’t have worried anyway; Avery was tethered and still at your touch in a heartbeat. “I mean, I am sorry, but I’m sorry for being dense, not that you… you know…”

“That I’ve been so poorly attempting to flirt with you for the last month?” they finished dryly.

“Now that I know, why don’t we start over…?” you said, releasing them and smiling hopefully.

Adopting a truly sarcastic pose and tone, they held out their skeletal hand and said nastily, “I’m Avery, I’m a lich, and I’m apparently an appallingly poor flirt.” The ugliness in their voice was not directed at you, however. Avery had turned it back on themselves and it galled you to hear someone so brilliant sound so defeated.

Unflinchingly, you took their hand and stared fiercely back at the lich who had become your friend in these first months at the castle, and perhaps something more. “I didn’t mean to start over that far back, but I’ll play your game.” You added your own name and profession, that you were human, and finished by saying, “And I’m very much open to being flirted with by you, however poorly you think you do it.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Avery said, their thumb playing back and forth over your skin before promptly changing the subject. “You never did answer me about dinner though. Would you like to stay here and eat? Or would my not partaking make you uncomfortable?”

Sensing that they needed a moment’s diversion, you allowed them to skirt around the issue of being interested in you, and shook your head. “Dinner here with you sounds lovely. Plus the view is spectacular.”

“I knew it. You want me for my advantageous chambers,” they moaned, still deflecting defensively.

“I meant that there’s something to keep you occupied while you wait for me to finish, that’s all,” you huffed in response to their teasing. “But if the view bores you by now, I’m sure you could always read to me from some dusty old volume you’ve nicked from the library and neglected to return…”

“You wound me!” they said, placing both hands over their heart, or at least, where their heart would have been if they weren’t just a skeleton anymore. “Is there anything you don’t eat? Would you like wine?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m good with most things, as far as I know, and…” you bit your lip and then reluctantly admitted that actually a glass of wine might be really nice. Your salary was not so meagre that you couldn’t afford a drink or two in the local taverns, but you suspected a wine from the castle cellars might be a little more special.

Instead of ringing for a servant, Avery picked up a quill and a small piece of paper, and dictated their message aloud after a quick flick of their wrist had brought the quill to life. It skimmed across the page like a breeze-blown willow branch trailing through a pond, and as you watched, you wondered if that was what Avery’s handwriting looked like, or whether the script was a result of magic, or the quill itself. Either way, it was beautiful, and you suddenly thought of the rather romantic notion of having love letters penned to you in that hand…

Their voice turned more confident as they dictated the note to the quill. “I am entertaining a guest in my tower tonight. Please have a fine supper for one brought up to the mage’s tower at your earliest convenience, with a bottle of Aktissian red too, if you please.”

“Avery!” you gasped, recognising the quality of the wine purely from it’s location.

They shrugged and finished off the note with another brief gesture, and you watched as it disappeared with a little pop. “I like to dictate my messages in case the person on the other end cannot read. Not all of the castle staff have been blessed with our educations, after all. In such a case, it will read itself aloud.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” you commented.

They shrugged. “It saves me sending Devon, or going myself and terrifying the wits out of the kitchen staff, or ringing for someone to trudge all the way up here, only to have to go back and return later…” It seemed odd to you now that Avery could be frightening to anyone, but you recalled your own unease at your first encounter, and merely smiled at them again.

Wherever the note had gone, it must have reached the right ears, because twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at Avery’s door and a castle servant entered with a large tray.

“Thank you so much,” Avery said as the half-orc set the meal down on the table.

“Anything else you need, mage?”

“No, that’s all, thank you.”

You chimed in with your own thanks and the servant left.

Avery waved a hand at the table where they’d cleared a space amid the chaos of stationary and books, and you sat yourself down. They lifted the lid of the silver cloche and revealed a beautiful supper that looked fit for the princess’ high table. Eyeing Avery, you caught a little glint in their glowing eye sockets, and you assumed that they were pleased too.

In fact, Avery did not read to you while you ate, but they did watch you rather intently. “You’re going to make me all self-conscious,” you muttered. “This is delicious though.”

“Would you rather I not watch you?”

“No,” you said honestly. “I’m just not used to such… intense attention…”

“You’re gorgeous,” they murmured awkwardly, voice rich and husky, as though their magic was crackling uncontrollably beneath the surface.

After a pause, during which you encouraged your heart to beat normally, and the poor organ took absolutely no heed of your pleas whatsoever, you said, “So are you…”

If Avery could have rolled their eyes, you were sure they would have. Instead, they just pressed their hands to the table and leaned back in their chair. “I’m just a pile of bones and magic now… I’m honestly surprised you permitted me the indulgence of courting you.”

“It’s not an indulgence, Avery. Well, maybe it is, but it’s an indulgence for me. Each visit you’ve paid to the library has left me in quite a state, I’ll have you know.”

The lich went still at that and then very slowly tilted their head to one side. “Oh?” they asked, voice dipping lower with obvious intrigue. “Care to explain that?”

With a half smile, you set down your cutlery on your empty plate and pushed back a little way from the table to make yourself more comfortable. Crossing your legs, you said archly, “Any time you come close to me, you leave me tingling all over. I don’t know if it’s your magic, or you, or what, but… When you were leaning over my shoulder back there —” you nodded over at the writing desk, memories of their right hand pressed to the wood as they peered over your shoulder at your progress, the heady scent of incense and ozone swirling around their robes, the particular timbre of their voice as they hummed in thoughtful understanding at your translation…

“Yes?” they prompted, voice cracking.

Heat coiled between your legs and in your lower body, slowly filling you with a warm, glowing sensation that shot up your spine and made your head spin. “I could hardly think,” you whispered. “It’s a miracle I finished the translation.”

The light in their eyes guttered and flickered before returning with a new, brighter intensity. Where before it had been a pale, pastel green, it now burned with a searingly hot blue.

“Avery?”

The lich sat there and stared at you before twitching their head and shoulders a little. “Forgive me. We… We probably shouldn’t move that quickly…”

You raised your eyebrows. “How quickly?”

“Quickly,” they said. “You deserve to be courted properly.”

“And what if I’m as impatient as you are?” you asked, heart pounding. Gods, you wanted whatever they had to give you and you wanted it now. You ached, inside and out. “It wouldn’t stop you from still ‘courting’ me if you wanted…”

Avery stood and then stalled. “I…” They growled softly in frustration and started again. “I am… I haven’t… not since…”

“Avery… I know what you are. I know what you must look like under that robe, and I still want you,” you said fiercely.

“Gods,” they hissed, turning to face you, eyes blazing blue.

“Your eyes?” you asked. “They’ve changed colour. Is that your magic?”

They nodded. “What… What would you like from me?”

“Touch me,” you said honestly.

“I can conjure… uh… a variety of physical… um… shapes…” they faltered awkwardly and your brain supplied the rest, but they raised one hand and you found that where the bones had been before, they now supported a ghostly hand. They turned it over to show you their palm and then flipped it over again. You could still see the bones through the spectral hand that moved like translucent, living glass.

You shook your head, “Come here,” you said, and they did.

You stood up and ignored their new spectral hand in favour of running one fingertip around the orbital bones of their skull. Avery shuddered, joints rattling audibly beneath the robes as it shivered down their whole skeleton.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked. “Could you create… a tongue for me?”

With a mute nod, looking stunned, Avery opened their jaw and you saw a glowing, green tongue inside, translucent and glistening.

Pressing your lips to their teeth felt odd at first, especially when the cool of that single silver tooth caught your lips, but when the tongue immediately lapped at your lips, begging entry, you forgot the strangeness of it. You came alive again beneath that kiss as Avery’s hands found their way to your waist and then up to the back of your head where they let their bony fingers snake through your hair before gripping you tightly and tugging until you pulled back with a gasp. Panting and dizzy you let Avery nip at your exposed neck, tongue occasionally laving at your skin, shockingly cool and leaving it tingling.

One of Avery’s hands palmed your groin questioningly and your knees nearly went out from beneath you. “Yes,” you gasped. “Oh gods, please… I want… touch me… please…”

Your chest heaved and you let them steer you back into your chair behind you. When you landed, they tenderly began to undo your waistband, and you lifted your hips to slide a little way free of your clothes. Avery’s eyes blazed as they stared at you, your arousal evident with your clothes around your ankles. “May I use this…?” they asked, opening their mouth to reveal that long, thick, prehensile tongue.

“Gods yes,” you blurted, lifting your hips weakly again. “Please… Avery… I need you…”

The lich knelt before you and hesitantly placed their skeletal hands on your thighs. Looking down at them, nestled between your legs, you felt like you could come just from that sight alone.

“I’m not going to last long,” you warned them, practically shivering with arousal. “Gods… Avery, you’re…” Whatever Avery was to you in that moment, you never got the chance to tell them.

The instant their tongue touched you, lapping teasingly at you to start with, magic and sensation roared through you, ripping along your nerves and wiping your mind blank of all but intense pleasure. The slickness of their conjured tongue, supple and almost like a tentacle as it pleasured you, and the coolness of the mouth behind, set against the firm, unyielding pressure of their bare bones digging into the muscle of your thighs hard enough that it would bruise, drove you to the quivering edge in minutes.

Your hands scrabbled helplessly at the arms of the chair, your hips bucked unbidden up into the sensations Avery was offering you, fire danced along your nerves, and your blood sang in your ears. “Avery!” you screamed in warning, and then, with one final flick and press of their tongue against your most sensitive spot, you shattered.

With your mind blank, vision dark, Avery tore your release from you and prolonged it, either with their magic or just by their presence, until you whimpered and slumped in the chair, limp and spent and ironically boneless.

Finally, after lingering just a little longer, Avery sat back on their heels and stared up at you, one hand still on your quivering thigh. “Beautiful,” they rasped. “Gods above and below, but you come so beautifully.”

“I’ve never… come like that,” you croaked, throat raw. Had you come so hard you’d made yourself hoarse?

Avery summoned a goblet of water from the table to their hand and stood. “Here,” they said.

You drank, and as you set the goblet shakily back on the table, you glanced at them and saw a glistening droplet slide down their exposed ankle bone and drip onto the floor. Seeing where your gaze had gone, they chuckled. “Am I expected to remain unaffected by what you just gave me?” they said archly as you did your own clothes up again, just enough not to be completely exposed any more.

“How…? What…?” You began, but then shook your head and leaned forwards. Tentatively, you reached out a hand for the front of their cross-over robes and unbuttoned them at the waist. Drawing the fabric slowly aside, you felt them tense, but you kept going and they permitted it.

As the final fitting came loose, the robes hung open like a coat and revealed their skeleton beneath. To your surprise, they were not merely an empty ribcage and spine, hollow pelvis and slender leg bones. Constantly swirling inside them like a mixture of phosphorescence and ink, was a kind of magical core. Like an entity all of its own, it pulsed and coiled, writhing with tendrils of light and darkness that played along their ribs and teased up their spine like ivy. “Gods, Avery, you’re stunning,” you murmured and looked up to find their face tilted downwards, regarding you carefully.

Your eyes roved down their body to their pelvis, where the phosphorescent light seemed to have coalesced, spiralling around their hip bone like swirling liquid in a glass and… dripping tangibly down their leg.

“Can I… touch it?” you asked and they nodded. There was a long drip of it running down their femur almost to the knee, so you brought your fingertip up and trailed it cautiously through the strange, glowing wetness. “Is it magic?” you asked as your finger went numb and then began to tingle rather enticingly. Gods, what would that feel like against your body… even… inside you? Now there was an unexpected thought.

“It’s… akin to… oh gods,” they hissed suddenly, their hand flying to your shoulder as you traced a circle through it on the very edge of their curving hipbone.

“Mmm?” you asked, not relenting but not moving anywhere else.

Struggling to form words, Avery tried again. “Akin to when a ghost becomes corporeal.”

“Your magic is coalescing like ectoplasm?”

“In a way, oh… oh… ohhhh,” they moaned, staggering as you moved further up the wide scoop of their hip bone towards their spine and back again. “I can’t… I can’t keep upright… if you do that again… I’ll fall… I…”

“You want to move somewhere else?” you asked and they nodded.

Turning and leading you unsteadily without a word towards a closed door that led off from the study, Avery showed you to their bedroom and then hesitated, as though unsure as to quite what you wanted with them now that you had then naked.

“Bed?” you asked and they nodded, encouraged.

The fact that they seemed to be waiting for you to balk and run stung, but it made you more determined than ever to show them pleasure. Especially since they’d apparently not been with anyone since becoming a lich.

“Tell me what you like best,” you said.

“Your touch,” they blurted immediately.

“Alright,” you said with a tiny laugh. That was a start. “Lie back then.”

They lay down on the dark green blankets of the neatly made bed, their robes pooling behind them like ink, and stared up at you as you followed and sank down beside them.

Watching that swirling magical core for a moment, you reached out and traced their wrist first, working up to their shoulder, and then to that ever-present smile on their bare skull. The light in their eyes now burned a softer blue, occasionally flaring to the intense cobalt you’d seen before when you skimmed a particularly sensitive spot, and their jaw worked as if they were panting and gasping but couldn’t summon the magic to make the sounds.

The storm of essence in their ribcage swirled and crackled, tiny forks of lightning dancing through the clouds where their heart would have been, and you watched their spine flex and arch. The bones of their hands clenched the sheets into balls and as you moved lower and lower down their enchanted body, you watched the phosphorescent light begin to condense again as it hit their bones, running down in thick, slow rivulets to pool in the fabric of their robes, leaving only glittering, darker patches behind.

“Where’s most intense?” you asked, assuming you knew already. The point where the two halves of their pelvis met at the centre proved to be extremely sensitive, and as you ran your finger around it, they lurched wildly, the magic in their chest flaring and sparking again. “There?”

“Yes,” they gasped.

The magic began to grow, solidify, and as you circled the cool bone of their lower pelvis, a long, thick tentacle of magic coiled out of it and wrapped around your hand. It was real and tangible, corporeal, and slick as sin. “Avery,” you moaned as it clenched tightly around your wrist like an octopus’ limb.

“Want you,” they said. In the next moment, the tentacle released you and coiled back on itself, creating a soft passage inside them. Taking advantage of this, you slid two fingers into the channel and crooked them against the solid wall of pulsing magic.

Avery yelled with pleasure, spine arching again like a bow at full draw, magic expanding out through their ribs like a storm cloud, unable to be contained. Pressing hard against their walls, you rubbed intense and tiny circles while the magic flared and reached for your hand in return.

Flowing back and forth like waves of the ocean, Avery’s pleasure enveloped you and you felt it in your own mind as suddenly and as keenly as if it were your own. Their magic was reaching out for you and you allowed the connection without hesitation.

“I’m so close,” Avery whimpered, body taut and thrumming.

“I can feel it,” you whispered.

At that, Avery chanted, “I’m… Oh gods, there, like that… I’m… I’m going to… I can’t hold back any more… I…”

“Come for me, Avery,” you begged, and they broke.

Tendrils of black shadow shot out from their body like vines, filling the corner of the room and staying there like webs, while the core of their magic pulsed and throbbed, blazing with blue light. Liquid magic rolled over your hand as they came and came, body undulating and heaving, jaw open wide in a rictus of pleasure. The sight of it was almost enough to make you come too, but instead you simply stared at the magic you’d brought out and the pleasure you’d wrought in them.

Eventually, the black tendrils evaporated into a fine mist and vanished altogether, and the cloud of roiling magic settled down again and retreated back within Avery’s ribcage. The phosphorescent magic lingered on your skin, however, and as you moved to lie down beside them, you slid your hand down the waistband of your clothes and touched yourself with it still on your skin.

Avery was barely able to turn their head to watch as you brought yourself to another blinding orgasm, but their fingertips brushed against your free wrist just as you neared your second peak and you tumbled over the edge with a grunt and their name on your lips.

In the aftermath, you both lay there for a long time before either of you moved. Swallowing, you turned to look at them and found that the light in their eyes had gone back to green again, though this time it was dark and almost imperceptible. “Avery? You alright?” you asked.

They hummed softly in response. “Tired,” they admitted. “That… That was a lot of magic. I didn’t expect…” they huffed a laugh.

“Did I hurt you?” you asked, horrified.

“No,” they smiled, gripping your fingers in theirs for a moment before they lost the strength and went limp. “Quite the contrary. But I’m spent, in more ways than one.”

“Sorry…?” you ventured and they laughed. “Can I stay?” you added.

“Of course,” they replied. “I’m right in the middle of the bed, aren’t I? Do you have enough room?”

“I could use a little more, but if I lie on my side, I can manage alright.”

“I can’t even lift a finger at the moment,” they admitted. “I’m sorry. If you need me to move, you’ll have to lift me yourself.”

The vulnerability they were offering you struck you deeply. “Alright,” you said. “You sure you don’t mind?”

The tiniest shake of their head was all they could muster.

Sliding your arm beneath their neck and your other behind their knees, you tentatively raised them and nearly gasped at how light they were.

As if sensing your surprise, Avery managed a dry chuckle. “Elf, remember? Bones of a bird…”

You set them back down on the further pillow and nestled in beside them. “Can I put my head on your shoulder?” you asked.

“It won’t be comfortable. Bring a cushion over…” they whispered, nodding at the other side of the room where a modest chaise longue, upholstered in what looked like silk, sat against the wall, adorned with a couple of dainty pillows. The sight made you smile for some reason, and you took the opportunity to clean up a little at a washstand in the corner of the room. When you returned with a cushion, you found that the light was completely extinguished from their skull.

The magic still swirled away inside their chest, and as you laid the pillow down on their shoulder and watched their core shifting lazily - contentedly - you found yourself following them into a blank and blissful sleep.

___

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[alice-beaumont-ravenclaw]

Hottest Spot South of Havana (Part 1)

A/N #1: Yay! The first part of the first fic in the Brazilian series is finally here! It was supposed to be a much shorter fic, but turned out way longer than I expected. Thankfully, dividing it into two parts works. The title is inspired by Barry Manilow’s Copacabana (At the Copa). Fun fact: that song is about a murder. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Galeão International Airport. Local time is 8:10 pm, and the temperature is 27°C. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. This will indicate that we have parked at the gate and that it is safe for you to move about. Please check around your seat for any personal belongings you may have brought on board with you, and please use caution when opening the overhead bins, as heavy articles may have shifted around during the flight. If you require deplaning assistance, please remain in your seat until all other passengers have deplaned. One of our crew members will then be pleased to assist you. On behalf of British Airways and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip, and we are looking forward to seeing you onboard again soon. Have a nice stay!” announced the flight attendant.

“I can’t believe we’re finally in Rio!” said Penny as she looked out the small window. 

“I can’t believe we’re finally going to get off that plane! Poor Dennis. Transfigured into a plush toy for 13 hours,” said Tulip, petting a plush frog.

“They wouldn’t have allowed a live frog on a flight. Besides, why didn’t you leave him at home? You’ll have to transfigure him every time we go somewhere,” asked Andre.

“Not every time! He can roam free on the beach. And I would never leave Dennis behind. I’d feel like I was abandoning my child!”

“I’m sure no one will stare at a girl with a toad on a leash at the beach,” mumbled Alice as she took her backpack from under the seat in front of her, the seatbelt sign having been turned off.

“Why couldn’t I bring Newt with me?” asked Barnaby.

“Your bowtruckle?” asked Tonks, to which Barnaby nodded.

“Because they are magical creatures Muggles know nothing about. It’s like if I wanted to bring a dragon…” said Charlie as he took out carry-on luggage from the overhead bins.

“With the big difference that bowtruckles won’t try to burn everything around to a crisp,” said Diego, smirking as he took the handle of his carry-on.

“Dragons are very misunderstood creatures,” said Charlie with a small pout.

“Sure they are,” said Alice, giving him a small peck on the cheek as she took his hand to lead him out of the plane.

After going through customs, the group went to pick up their luggage before heading toward the taxi area.

“Ok, so, Diego, you take one taxi with Andre, Barnaby, and Charlie. I’ll go with Penny, Tonks, and Tulip,” said Alice as they waited in line.

“Why am I in charge of that group?” asked Diego, raising an eyebrow.

“You speak Spanish.”

“You are aware they speak Portuguese in Brazil, right?”

“I know. But no one speaks Portuguese in our group. We speak Latin languages, so we might be slightly better at understanding Portuguese.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh look!” said Andre pointing at a sign indicating “Escada rolante” over an escalator. “They have an Escada up those stairs!” 

“Oh! And they even have a library at the airport. I wonder how borrowing works at an airport library,” said Penny as she pointed at a bookstore with the word “Livraria” above it.

“You were saying?” said Alice, looking at Diego.

“Ok, you might be on to something. But that doesn’t mean we’ll be able to understand when someone speaks Portuguese.”

“Oh, I know I won’t. I thought the flight attendant was speaking Russian after making the English announcements until I realized it didn’t make sense since we were heading to Rio, not Moscow. But we still have a small advantage over our friends.”

“Wait, so the guys will be in one taxi, and the girls in another? What if something happens?” asked Charlie. 

“We are four witches. If anyone tries something funny with us, I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to defend ourselves,” said Alice, crossing her arms as she looked at Charlie, bemused.

“Not to mention, I have a stash of dungbombs with me,” added Tulip, making everyone turn around to stare at her.

Before anyone could say anything, it was their turn to take a taxi. They separated into the two groups Alice had planned and headed toward the Copacabana Palace. In the girls’ taxi, Penny and Alice were busy telling Tulip to be careful with the dungbombs while Tonks sat at the front, trying to have a conversation with the taxi driver. In the boys’ taxi, Charlie sat at the front, keeping an eye on the girls’ taxi, Barnaby doing the same thing as he sat in the middle of the backseat. Andre was nodding off as Diego tried to understand what the taxi driver was telling him. 

When they finally arrived at the hotel, Alice made her way to the hotel’s reception while her friends looked in awe at the lobby. 

“So this is how the other half lives,” said Tonks as she looked at the chandelier dangling from the ceiling.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the top 1% that lives like that,” said Tulip as she stared at the people walking around. 

“I feel so out of place,” whispered Charlie to Andre.

“Don’t. Just enjoy it. Your girl really gave us a treat,” whispered back Andre.

“Actually, it’s my father’s treat,” said Alice as she stood behind them, keys in hand.

“Alice! How long have you…” started saying Charlie.

“Long enough to tell you there’s no reason you should feel out of place. You are a charming young man who was raised by the one and only Molly Weasley. As long as you don’t fart or burp in public, and you don’t walk around public areas stark naked, you’re good,” said Alice, linking her arm with her boyfriend’s.

“So, are we getting to our rooms? It’s like midnight in the UK, and if I don’t see a bed soon, I am crashing on those sofas,” said Penny, pointing at the sofas in the lobby.

“Yeah, yeah, just let me tell the bell boy where to drop our luggage,” replied Alice.

After speaking to the bell boy, Alice rejoined her friends and led them to the elevator. Once inside, she pressed on the top floor button.

“Top floor, huh? Isn’t it usually where the penthouse is?” whispered Andre with a sly smile.

Alice froze for an instant, glancing at Andre, before looking back to the elevator’s buttons.

“Oh. My. God. We are in the penthouse?!” loudly whispered Andre.

“Shhhh! We are in two penthouse suites, but nobody needs to know about the penthouse part,” angrily whispered Alice.

“Like they won’t notice. Are you trying to make Charlie uncomfortable? Why didn’t you go for standard rooms?”

“You think I asked for those rooms? They were the only ones left! Dad didn’t tell me until I was back home for the break. He meant well, but I know it looks like I’m flaunting my family’s wealth,” grumbled Alice as the elevator doors opened.

“Welcome to the Penthouse level,” said two butlers.

“So much for keeping the Penthouse part a secret,” said Andre as he patted Alice’s back.

“Crap. Butlers,” said Alice under her breath.

“Penthouse? Damn, Alice, your father is giving us the royal treatment,” said Tonks, tapping her friend’s back as she left the elevator.

“Are you the Beaumont party?” asked one of the butlers.

“Yes, we are,” said Alice as she followed the others out of the elevator.

“Let us show you to your rooms,” said the other butler as they led the group to two doors.

“Ok, so, we will be four per room. The girls will be in that room,” started saying Alice, as she handed the keys to her friends. “The boys will be in the other one.”

“Wait, you’re not sharing a room with Charlie?” asked Penny, raising an eyebrow.

“Hum, no? Why would I?” said Alice, staring at Penny.

“Well… You two are a couple. And after last summer, I thought…” started saying Penny.

At the mention of the summer vacations before their seventh year, both Alice and Charlie became red in the face.

“Welp! Time for bed! Good night everyone!” said Alice as she pushed Penny inside their room.

“But, Miss, we have to unpack your luggage,” said one of the butlers.

“We can manage, thank you,” said Alice as she quickly grabbed the suitcases before closing the door.

“What just happened?” asked Barnaby as the guys entered their room.

“Not really sure… Wait, did you and Alice…” said Diego, staring at Charlie.

“Yup. They totally did,” said Andre, smirking.

“Do you have to tell him?” asked Charlie, frowning.

“Come on. It was all over your face when Penny alluded to it.”

“What did Alice and Charlie do?” asked Barnaby.

“The birds and the bees, Barnaby,” explained Diego.

“What’s so special about Transfiguration?” asked Barnaby, scratching his head.

“Ok, Barnaby and I will take the room, you two get the rollaway beds,” said Charlie as he entered the room.

“Hey! We didn’t even discuss it!” complained Andre.

“You two can’t mind your own business, so you deserve the rollaway beds,” replied Charlie, slamming the door behind him.

“I think we went a bit too far with Charlie,” said Diego, sitting at the edge of his bed.

“Meh, he’ll get over it,” replied Andre, shrugging as he dropped his bag on his bed.

“Huh… Guys?” said Barnaby, standing in front of the bedroom door.

“What?” asked Diego and Andre.

“You think I can go in there even if Charlie just slammed the door in my face?”

A/N #2: Hope you enjoyed this first part which is basically their arrival in Rio and some info about Alice and Charlie’s relationship. Part 2 coming soon.

[catsnuggler]

What didn't help my whole subconsciously-missionary-minded, silent-echoes-of-Mormonism socialism illusion, which made me think it would be selfish and wrong to demand my own liberation, was the misapplication of standpoint epistemology - put simply, when "identity politics" goes bad.

Putting the rest under a cut, because this is a long post.

While it's crude and ultimately incorrect to only say, for example, "Listen to Black voices", without emphasizing the critical thinking skills and empathy necessary to listen to Cornel West, and dismiss Candace Owens for the right-wing corporate hack that she is, what is for certain is that someone like me, a 100% white American settler of Mormon pioneer stock (on one side of my family, anyway), and with no formal education on the subject matter, doesn't have authority to speak on the experience of Black people in America. I have no argument against that, because it's true.

Continuing further, just because, in spite of the fact neither racism nor colonialism oppresses me, capitalism still does, this doesn't mean I have as much authority to speak on it as a Black member of the working class does, as anti-Black racism and capitalism compound on and depend on each other, making the lives of Black working class people more difficult than the lives of white working class people. Doesn't mean I can't speak on capitalism, just means I'm not the leading voice.

That being said - I'm going to talk as if I'm still a believing Mormon, let alone Christian, in this and the next paragraph, to better explain the subconscious workings of my mind, due to their brainwashing - the difference in our positions can be wrongly perceived, especially by someone raised in the illusory colonial missionary mindset, similar to the position of those with "the gospel" and those "of the world", where those with "the truth" have more, but are, like all, oppressed by "sin", yet at least believe themselves to have the knowledge and wherewithal to resist, while those "worldly" people aren't blessed with the wealth of God's Word, nor the solidarity of the church, and are thus further deprived of the perfection God desires for his children than those of His Flock already are, and must be ministered to, brought into the Fold, and Saved from On High.

Yet there must ever be a humility to such actions, there must ever be self-denial, for all are imperfect, even those in the church, as, just as Christ shed His blood, and allowed His flesh to be pierced, even to His death, in limitless sacrifice for the sins of all of the Children of Men, that they may be redeemed, so have countless socialist, communist, and anarchist revolutionaries died for the cause, and yet all who live, who do not seclude themselves from the world and its markets, facilitate the continued exploitation and robbery of each other by the capitalist class. All are imperfect, and all would deserve bondage and bloodshed, were it not for the bleeding hearts of the martyrs.

So, you see, even someone who consciously attempts to reject Christianity can still fall victim to its logic, even after abandoning the official doctrine of it, if proper safeguards against the general thought processes of it are not taken. Returning to the original point I've tried to raise, I've fallen for a long time to a Christian-esque stance of personal martyrdom for the sake of "saving others" to the point I believed pursuing my own liberation would be selfish.

I'm mentally ill and neurodivergent to the point that getting myself to even get into the habit of seeking jobs is difficult, much more so landing myself an interview; and getting an offer of employment? Only happened once, at the end of my first interview. As you predicted, the job sucked, they were desperate to hire me because it sucks, and it wasn't 3 months before I quit. I quit in late September of 2018. It's been almost 3 years of me not having a job.

I got my driver's license in mid 2019, but got into a minor parking accident that only broke a headlight on the car I drove, and didn't damage the other car, in September of that year. It was over a year before I drove again, because of the depth of my depression and anxiety over one accident, which cost about $150. Since January of this year, I've driven somewhat regularly, and have some measure of confidence, but am still anxious every time I'm behind the wheel. I could drive to and from a job, if needed, but it would be a while before that would be comfortable.

I still live with my dad, at the age of 23, and barely have any friends where I live anymore; those local friends I still have, I haven't seen face-to-face for a long time. My dad... my dad could die any day, and I would be royally fucked. Something happened earlier this month, and he wasn't healthy before, but this was really serious. He amazingly got away with few symptoms, and can make a full recovery with the right effort, except... it could still happen again, it would just be less likely. If it does, he could die. Again, I would be royally fucked. I don't know how much his treatment cost, but I know it must be a pretty penny. There's only so long I can continue like this.

Due to my dependence and general impotent state, I can't do a goddamn thing for what I believe in right now. I have to fight self-hatred with the argument that if I die, I'll have died useless and unhelpful, when I could potentially have kept living til I got my act together and finally done something helpful before passing.

I have a college degree. Not a "real" degree, in the sense of it mattering, but I have an Associate degree, DTA. No major; I never could figure out what I wanted to do. It would have been a close call between anything in political science, which would have led toward a government job, which would be unacceptable as an anarchist, or perhaps a professorial job, teaching would-be politicians and bureaucrats, hardly educating anyone of revolutionary intent; or something in chemistry, perhaps biochemistry, leading to some kind of colonial agrichem shit, or making expensive medicines nobody would be able to afford for private entities' profits, possibly having research appropriated by Uncle Sam for weapons purposes - I don't know, but none of that was appealing. I graduated community college with Honors, as a member of the Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society. I could have had promise as some or other kind of technocrat or bureaucrat - but I wouldn't be able to live with myself. It seems the less one is exploited, the more they exploit others. I don't know what job I can take that would exploit me enough that I wouldn't hurt others so much, while leaving me alone enough that I wouldn't kill myself, which... which has been a temptation, at times. Not too strong, but it is fucking there. I have promise; at short-term memorization and obedience, at least, like a mongrel dog who can read; but no conviction, no confidence, and a surplus of fear.

There are more woes I can recollect, I can continue this pity party in a book, but enough of that. Suffice it to say, all this time, I should have wanted my own liberation. Colonized people (in an American context, Turtle Island Indigenous and Black) have it worse, LGBT* people have it worse, women have it worse, physically disabled people have it worse, people with greater mental disabilities than my own have it worse, and I can't lead any of their struggles. But I do have the right to demand my own liberation, and I shouldn't convince myself otherwise.

*I don't oppose the use of the other word, except people of my demographic have abused that word so goddamn much, I don't want to type it, myself, let alone say it. It's always tainted when it comes from those who aren't of that community. Please don't think I'm either a radfem or a libfem just because I didn't use that word. I support people identifying with that label in using it.

This post became increasingly personal toward the end. However, I hope my flawed perspective, perhaps unique (read: unrelatable) in some aspects, perhaps explaining, at least in part, some of the fucked-up mental hurdles of white socialist "allies" that we need to get our asses over yesterday, might help - whatever I might have illuminated, and whatever I surely missed. I can understand why someone might want to share and add, share and criticize, or leave this alone with a like, nothing at all, or an unfollow.

Not that I can prevent this from being shared in any way, except by not posting in the first place, but I'm okay with it being shared by other socialists, for whatever it's worth... although I understand the more traction it gets, the more likely I'll get anon hate about being full of myself (deserved, to an extent at least), for being some dumb socialist cuck (not exactly wrong, but rude, and likely from a Nazi, so fuck you), or perhaps from non-Mormon Christians accusing me, someone they'd call a Mormon (which is arguably almost a new ethnicity (not race though) as much as it is a religion) of daring to throw the Christian god and Christianity, in general, under the bus, accusing me of being in league with the devil. So be it.

If you're not a reactionary, nor a liberal, nor somewhere in-between, and you want to share this for some reason or another, you may do so.

[olliepig]

Waiting in the Wings ch 3

Finally, I made it through writing this! Many, many, many thanks to @willow-salix for her endless patience, phone calls and editing wizardry. 

As always, the full thing can be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 3

Once back at Creighton-Ward manor, the group settled easily on the couches in the private living room, Cat in particular enjoying the chance to finally put her feet up and relax after the performance. The boys had both ditched their bow ties and jackets the second they were through the door and Penny herself had changed from her evening dress into something infinitely more suitable for relaxing.

As Parker poured the first drinks for them before retiring for the night, Scott took the time to take in the surroundings properly as he had no recollection of ever being invited into this area of the building. Even though their families were close, visits tended to be for work purposes and any time he had spent there had been in one of the more formal reception rooms. He didn’t know why, but the idea that Penny had a comfortable sofa and tv like everyone else amused him somewhat. She had always seemed to him to be so other-worldly and different that it was comforting to know that she was actually just like everyone else.

After the performance Cat had changed into a woolen sweater and jeans, managing to somehow look casual and effortlessly stylish all at once and meaning that she was the only one not needing a change of outfits when they arrived. She was immediately at home in the manor, curled up on the sofa next to Scott and making his heart rate rise slightly with just her proximity.

What surprised Scott was that Gordon also seemed completely at ease as he settled himself on the couch next to Penny. His younger brother was known for being unfazed by new situations but something about his demeanour made Scott strongly suspect that this wasn’t the first time he had been here. Filing that thought away for future examination, he turned his attention back to the conversation.

“So, now we're away from the theatre, what did you guys actually think of the ballet? Did you enjoy it?” Cat felt compelled to ask, almost too scared to hear the answers, especially the one from the man sitting next to her.

“It was amazing,” Scott found himself gushing before anyone else could speak. “You were incredible, I’ve never seen you dance like that. It was a great night and you’ll like this, Gordon even got us ice creams in the interval.” “Well, to be fair it’s been a few years since you last saw me. And you’re right, you can’t go to the theatre without an interval ice cream. It’s tradition.” Cat smiled at Gordon, mentally adding another thing onto her list of reasons why she liked him.

“That's exactly what I said,” exclaimed Gordon triumphantly, warming even more to the dancer and very much enjoying watching his big brother trying to navigate a crush for the first time in years. “So, you two were at school together?” he continued, keen to find out more both about Cat and about Penny’s early life.

“That’s correct. We both attended White Lodge for 2 years - ” answered Penny before realising that perhaps the question had been directed at her friend and stopping suddenly with a flush of embarrassment.

“Until Penny decided that a life on the stage wasn’t for her and decided to go into international espionage instead,” added Cat with a grin aimed squarely at Penny.

“Um what’s White Lodge? Is that the name of the school?” clarified Gordon, realising that he was going to have to work hard to keep up with the two women who seemed to finish each other's sentences.

“Sorry, yes it’s the Royal Ballet Lower School. You go there from 11 til you’re 15 and then to the Upper School at Covent Garden. Penny could easily have been a dancer -”

“But it wasn’t for me,” she finished seamlessly, with an elegant shrug. “It’s a hard life and I just wasn’t willing to devote myself completely to one thing at that age.”

Now that Gordon knew the extent of the training Penny had been through, he could see that her graceful way of moving and lithe form had come at least partially from that time. Not that he was supposed to know exactly how lithe she was, but that ship had well and truly sailed and he definitely wasn’t going to forget the images that flooded his head any time soon.

“So was it a boarding school?” Gordon asked, dragging his thoughts back to the conversation, very aware that sitting was about to become very uncomfortable for him if he didn’t stop that train of thought quickly.

“Yes dear, so we were there for most of the year. And during the holidays Cat tended to come and visit us here so we were together most of the time in those first few years.”

“I didn’t have the best home life when I was young so Penny let me come here and stay instead of going back to the house for the holidays,” explained Cat.  “That actually continued whenever our holidays coincided even after she’d left the school so I’m very much indebted to her and her family.”

“And your family didn’t mind?” asked Gordon.

“I don’t think they really cared to be honest. My dad walked out when I was little and my step-dad didn’t really like me at all. My mum did, in her way, but ultimately she was more interested in her new marriage than me.” Cat looked up and smiled at the expressions of sadness on Penny and Scott’s faces. Her family was something she rarely talked about, preferring to maintain a safe distance from her past and it now barely bothered her to think of it privately. Somehow though, seeing other people's reactions to her story seemed to trigger an emotional response that she really didn’t want to deal with here.  

Scott caught her eyes and Cat was suddenly reminded of how sweet and caring he had always been about her history when they were together and how mindful he had always been of it when talking about his own family. Feeling an ache starting in her chest for his comfort now, she quickly looked away trying her best to maintain her dignity.

As the only member of the group to whom this was new information, Gordon was horrified that someone could be treated that way and his feelings were clear for all to see. Although he obviously knew that it happened and he’d come across others who had been through similar upbringings, there was something about the woman sitting opposite him talking so frankly and openly about her parents not caring for her that broke his heart a little.

“That’s ridiculous! Some people just shouldn’t be allowed to have kids!” he exclaimed loudly, not sure if he was more surprised by his outburst or the sudden feeling of Penny’s hand reassuringly on his arm, its presence instantly calming his temper but leaving him flustered in oh so many other ways. Which were made worse by the fact that his brother was sitting directly opposite him with a strange smirk on his face.

“I know what you mean but you don’t need to worry about me,” Cat continued, taking in the scene being played out in front of her but choosing to let it go without comment, beyond happy that her friend had found someone whom she obviously liked so much but also with a slight pang of jealousy that she didn’t have someone like that in her life. “A lot of people say that they wouldn’t be where they are today without their parents and that’s definitely true for me too, just not in the same way as most others. I threw myself into dancing so I could get away from the house as quickly as possible. It worked - there’s no way we could have afforded the ballet school without financial help but they must have liked me at my audition because I got a full scholarship. I moved away at 11 and that just spurred me on to work harder and harder so I didn’t have to go back.”

Cat risked another quick glance at Scott as she finished speaking and was surprised to find him watching her with something akin to pride in his eyes. She held his gaze for a second and gave him a small smile, enjoying the flutter of excitement that shot through her as he smiled back before she tore herself away and back to the conversation. Mentally, she slapped herself as she looked away. She had promised herself that she wasn’t going to get involved with him and reminded herself again of all the reasons why it couldn’t work. And yet she couldn’t deny that there was something there. Something that she’d been missing for a long time.

“It was at least partially Cat’s work ethic that convinced me that I didn’t want to be a dancer,” chimed in Penny, finally taking her hand back from where it had been resting on Gordons arm, leaving him feeling strangely bereft at its absence. “Do you remember we used to put on ballets in the ballroom during the holidays and make poor Parker watch them?”

“Oh god, yes! The poor man probably still hates me for that, although he did always give us flowers after every show,” laughed Cat, as Gordon and Scott both smirked at the thought of the gruff butler being forced to sit and feign enjoyment through a kids ballet show.

“Well,” Penny turned back to the boys, still smiling at the memory of their childhood escapades, “I used to watch her practicing the same steps over and over again while we were here during the holidays and it was just not something I could ever see myself doing for the rest of my life. Cat used to get the highest marks in the class in our exams and everyone used to talk about her natural talent but I knew exactly how much work went into making that natural ability work for her.”

Cat blushed as she looked up and met Gordon’s russet eyes, filled with knowing appreciation of her dedication to honing her skills. She smiled at the former Olympian, realising that out of all of them, he probably best understood the sacrifices needed to make it to the top of a competitive vocation.

She didn’t even need to look at Scott to know that his eyes would be filled with the pride she could feel radiating out of him. Nevertheless, she couldn’t resist a quick glance and he didn’t disappoint, fixing her with a large grin that left her in no doubt of his feelings and flustering her as she tried to deflect the attention.

“You’re too kind but I didn’t have too much of a choice about working hard - I had to be the best to keep my scholarship. Eventually it just became a habit and it's not something I’ve ever lost. What I remember about school is you absolutely obliterating everyone in the academic exams, Penny. Let's be honest, dancing isn’t the most important job in the world and you’re definitely much better doing, well, whatever it is you do now.” Cat turned to an enthralled Gordon and continued.  “Penny was head and shoulders above the rest of us academically and to be honest I think it would have been a waste if she’d stayed there and become a dancer.”

“Perhaps,” Penny conceded, “but I’m glad I had that experience anyway, ” she continued, deciding the conversation needed moving on and looking between Cat and Scott who had up until then been uncharacteristically quiet. “How did you two meet?”

“Oooh, you’ll like this,” Cat exclaimed, immediately sitting forward as Scott dropped his head into his hands with a barely audible groan, instantly piquing Penny and Gordon’s interest. “I was out at a bar in Richmond with some of my friends from the company when a group of guys came in. One of whom was wearing a pair of rather fetching red PVC thigh high boots,” she finished, fixing Scott with a rather devilish grin, as Gordon exploded with laughter.

“Oh, so you’re ‘kinky boots man’?” clarified Penny, somehow managing to maintain her decorum despite Gordon nearly sliding off the sofa next to her in mirth with tears streaming down his face.

“He certainly is,” Cat answered for Scott, who was still trying unsuccessfully to disappear into the sofa in embarrassment. “We reckoned it was a dare of some kind because, other than the boots, everyone was dressed normally. We sat and debated it for a while and some of the girls were trying to find a way of getting the attention of the rest of his friends but it looked like it would take forever to find out the story and I’m really impatient, so I took myself off up to the bar at the same time as ‘kinky boots guy’ to ask. We got chatting, the groups merged for the night and the rest is history.”

“And what exactly was the reason behind the boots may I ask?”

Scott looked over at Cat and shook his head in exasperation, the effect undone somewhat by the smile that he couldn’t quite keep off his face as the memories of that night came flooding back to him. Doing the best impression of innocence she could manage, Cat smiled sweetly back at him but the glint in her eyes gave her away and he genuinely wasn’t sure if he wanted to strangle or kiss her. Shifting uncomfortably, he turned his focus back to the occupants of the other sofa as he tried to work out exactly how his life had reached this point.

“It was a dare I had with some of the guys in the squadron,” Scott finally supplied, resigned to his fate now that the story was out in the open. “I don’t even know where the boots came from but we found them and decided that whoever lost the next race we did to the mess had to wear them on the next night out. I was the quickest of the lot of them so I agreed but they ganged up on me and kept shoving me out of the way. One of them managed to knock me over a low wall and by the time I was on my feet again they’d all finished. So the boots were mine.”

“That does make more sense I guess,” Gordon spluttered, reaching for his phone. “We had similar things in WASP. I’d give anything to see pictures of that though.”

“Well unlucky for you, there aren’t any. And not a word to the others. Especially Alan. Please?” Scott warned, hating himself for spoiling Gordon’s fun but unwilling to have this conversation repeated to their baby brother by anyone other than himself. He had learned enough about Gordon’s propensity for embellishment to know that he did not want to take the risk with a story that had as many possibilities as this.  

“Well, I could be persuaded…” Gordon sat back expectantly, leaving his phone mercifully untouched.

“We can discuss THAT on the way back home tomorrow,” Scott spoke with more finality that he felt, concerned about the price his brother would expect for his silence but knowing that there was nothing he could do to avoid at least some form of bribery. He had hoped to keep his escapade it the boots private, something he had managed well over the years. He hadn’t factored in Cat however, which he was now realising was a rookie error.

“Well, if that's the best you can do, I think I’m going to turn in for the night, ” Gordon announced with an exaggerated yawn, bringing Scott’s attention back to the conversation from where it had been happily gagging his little brother. “It’s been a long day what with the change in time zones and whatnot.”

Scott’s suspicions were immediately raised. He knew for a fact that Gordon had slept on their journey over to England and that he never willingly took an early night if there was something better on offer and nothing to get up for the next morning. He didn’t miss the look that went between Gordon and Penny as he spoke nor the slight blush that appeared on the Lady’s face in response to it. Suddenly, Scott realised that he may have some leverage against Gordon after all and his worry about everyone hearing about the boots lessened considerably.

“You know which room you’re sleeping in tonight?” Penny checked, making Scott raise a quizzical eyebrow at Cat who smiled and rolled her eyes in response.  

“Absolutely” Gordon grinned, holding Penny’s gaze as he stood up and stretched theatrically. Dragging  his eyes away from the Lady, goodnight wishes were given along with a hug for Cat. Passing behind the sofa as he headed for the door, he trailed his fingers lightly over Penny’s shoulders making her shiver unconsciously at his touch. A cheery wave from the doorway, another lingering look for Penny and he was gone, leaving the others to continue their night.

Settling back down after Gordon’s departure, Scott was glad to realise that he wasn’t especially required in conversation beyond maintaining a polite level of interested mumblings. It had quickly turned to some of the technicalities of the ballet that evening, with Penny giving a more detailed critique than she had earlier before moving on to more general talk about people he didn’t know so he contented himself instead with sipping his drink and watching the interplay between the friends.

Penny’s formal facade had slipped more and more as the night had gone on, especially since she had become engrossed in conversation with her best friend and he found it fascinating to see the real woman peeking through. He’d always known that she must have a more informal persona underneath the layers of etiquette but it still somehow shocked him to see her with her legs curled up beneath her on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, chatting with her best friend.

As the minutes passed however, he was forced to admit to himself that he was increasingly struggling to focus on anything that wasn’t the woman sitting next to him. Every time he started to form any kind of coherent thoughts about anything, he was distracted by the sound of her voice and her laugh.

It had been clear to him from the beginning that he was still very much attracted to her but he just couldn’t for the life of him work out what was going through her head and whether she felt the same in return.

She was still catching his gaze for a split second longer than would be considered normal and there were a couple of times that he caught her glancing at him and smiling in a way that he would ordinarily read as flirting but he just wasn’t completely confident and didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, especially as she was so close to Penny. Generally, he was very confident of his ability to read people but it felt like he had a total block on understanding the one person in the room that he desperately wanted to and it was frustrating him no end.

Sitting opposite her guests, Penny yawned and finished her drink. She had been enjoying watching the interplay between them and was sure that they thought they were being subtle but she could read Cat like an open book and Scott had spent most of the evening gazing at her like a lovesick teen so it wasn’t difficult to imagine what he was thinking.

Swirling beneath her observations however were more determined thoughts that no amount of distraction could suppress. Thoughts that had her glancing over to where she had last seen the young man who had sat next to her until recently, whose fingers had seared trails across her shoulders as he left. Her sense of duty to her guests meant that she stayed until they were ready to leave. Her glass remained empty in preparation for that moment.

Curled up like her namesake on the sofa next to Scott, Cat was taking great delight at watching her friend shift uncomfortably in her seat as they talked, peeking at the door and clearly wanting to follow Gordon but feeling unable to do so until her other guests had retired for the night. To a casual observer, Penny looked to be completely relaxed but Cat had the advantage of years worth of friendship and could tell that an internal struggle was raging between what upbringing told her was the etiquette with guests and her more immediate desire.

Feeling in the mood for a little mischief, she kept the conversation going, extending it at every natural break and enjoying the sight of Penny becoming more and more desperate to make her escape.

She knew full well that Gordon’s departure was the reason but the fact that neither of them had come clean about their relationship meant that it was possible to plead ignorance if ever challenged. She was so entertained watching Penny’s struggle, she almost missed the look Scott gave when Mark, her partner from the ballet that evening, was mentioned.

She wasn’t unaware of how outsiders might view her close friendship with her fellow dancer but it surprised her to see a flash of hurt in his eyes before it was quickly concealed as they returned back to their previous studied calm. Having spent the entire evening hyper aware of the man next to her, she couldn't help but smile at the thought that it might not just be her that was feeling their old attraction again.

Despite her awareness of his every move, as the evening had progressed Cat had become more and more at ease with the man sitting next to her. Being a dancer, she was used to physical contact and, as the temperature dropped with the passing hours, she thought nothing of it when she shifted her position to be ever so slightly closer to him, finding his warmth to be comforting in its familiarity.

As Cat shifted to lean on him, Scott instantly stiffened before forcing his muscles to relax again, despite his brain going at a million miles an hour trying to work out if it meant something. He just had no idea how to act and what was expected of him, caught between not wanting to make a scene in the middle of Penny’s house if he got things wrong and every nerve in his body screaming at him to wrap his arm around her and pull her in against him.

Eventually, after artificially extending the conversation for as long as she dared Cat finally conceded that it was time for her to go to bed too. Scott, who had not been oblivious to what she had been up to agreed readily that bed sounded like a good idea and so the group disbanded for the night, with Penny heading upstairs to her suite while Cat and Scott made their way through the mansion to the guest wing where their bedrooms were situated.

As they walked, Scott took the time to admire the effortless grace of his companion. On the stage she was elegance personified but now, with only the barest smudge of makeup on and her long hair cascading in waves down her back, she looked even more beautiful to him if that was possible. How he longed to run his fingers through that hair again, maybe brushing it gently away from her face before leaning down for a gentle kiss… Pulling himself back to reality for the millionth time that evening, he cleared his throat making Cat look up at him in expectation.

“What’s going on between those two do you think?” Scott wondered, realising that they were out of earshot of anybody who would care. He felt strangely unable to start the conversation he had been desperate to have all night so he had settled on the next best thing available and silently kicked himself for it.

“Scott Tracy, you are a gossip!”

“I am not,” he protested half heartedly.

“Yes you are, and I love it,” Cat countered, catching his eyes and smiling, enjoying once again the flutter in her chest when he smiled back. “But I have no idea what’s happening there I’m afraid. She told me about a ‘Gordon’ who she had taken a liking to a year or so ago and there was something about a moment they had in a temple but she wasn’t very specific. Most likely because she wasn’t telling me exactly who he was.” “I wonder if that was when they got trapped?” Scott mused, more to himself than anyone else, remembering the day they thought they had lost Penny and Gordon on an exploratory study of the Tomb of the Laughing King as it collapsed around them. The memory triggered a flash of anger at that old coot Professor Harold for callously suggesting that they should be sacrificed for the good of archaeology before quickly dousing it with the shame of having to be pulled away by Virgil before he did something he would have almost certainly regretted.

“They got what? She didn’t tell me that part!” Cat exclaimed, completely missing the emotions playing out over Scott’s face thanks to her surprise at his revelation. She had always understood that Penny’s involvement with International Rescue meant that there would be large parts of her life that she wouldn’t be privy to, but somehow it was still shocking to be confronted with evidence of it. “Well, I guess she plays her cards close to her chest, does our Penny. Even with me.”

“I’ve never known Gordon willingly take an early night when there’s nothing on the next day so something has to be up. And did you see the way they were looking at each other?” enquired Scott, giving Cat exactly the sort of look that his brother had been aiming at Penny all evening.

“Oh I completely agree about the looks,” Cat smiled, her heart rate quickening at the sudden tension that had sprung up between them. Something intangible had just shifted and she felt unaccountably nervous, knowing that despite all her promises to herself that she wasn’t going to let anything happen with him, now her mind was filled with desire and not much else. “There’s definitely something going on. I’m sure between the two of us we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“We sure will. Well, this is me here, ” Scott admitted as they slowed to a halt outside one of the many doors. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had a great time.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m just glad you enjoyed it, I was worried you’d be bored.” Cat broke his gaze and looked at the floor at her admission, embarrassed that she still felt that she needed his approval. It had been years since she last thought about him before he waltzed back into her life and now here she was again, desperate for him to notice and appreciate her.

Seeing Cat standing  looking so unsure of herself, it was all Scott could do not to scoop her up in his arms. The difference in her from earlier was startling to him - mere hours before, she had been completely at ease alone on the stage in front of 2500 people, but here in the corridor she seemed so fragile that he longed to hold her tight and protect her from the world.

“You really didn’t need to be. And if you ever want another supporter at one of your shows then I’d be honoured to be there,” Scott added sincerely. He had enjoyed his night at the ballet much more than he had expected and the thought of having more experiences like that at the theatre was something he was very happy to explore. Especially if it meant spending more time with Cat.

“I’d be careful what you wish for if I were you,” Cat joked with a wicked smile, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders now she knew he was serious about his enjoyment of the ballet. “But seriously, thank you. It was really nice knowing you were there tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Scott was at a loss for words. He desperately didn’t want to say goodnight but he couldn’t think of any plausible reason to keep talking either.

“I guess this is goodnight then,” Cat said, smiling ruefully, wishing that there was some way of prolonging the night. If she was honest with herself, what she wanted to do was reach up and kiss Scott, but her fear of being rebuffed was keeping her paralysed.

“I guess so…”

“Goodnight, Scott. I’ve had a really good time tonight. I’m glad we met each other again”

“Me too. Like you wouldn’t believe. Night night, Cat,” he replied softly.

Knowing that she wouldn’t forgive herself if he didn’t take the chance but steeling herself for rejection, Cat could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she reached up to wrap her arms around him. Taking a chance, she brushed his cheek with her lips and Scott felt it like a bolt of lightning. After holding the hug for as long as she dared, she pulled back slightly and felt Scott’s arms stay securely around her waist, just as they had 2 weeks previously.

“Can I ask you something before we head to bed?” he started, more sure of the answer now he could feel her kiss seared onto his cheek but knowing he wouldn’t forgive himself if he proceeded without checking first.

“Of course. Ask away.”

“What’s going on with you and Mark?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Cat laughed. “He’s my best friend besides Penny. I’ve known him since I joined the company and we’ve been pretty much inseparable ever since.”

“Ah, right. I just wasn’t sure when I saw you walking back to the dressing rooms tonight...” Scott tailed off, feeling suddenly stupid for even considering it.

“Well, well, well. Are you jealous, Mr Tracy?” Cat teased, raising an eyebrow as their eyes locked together, the smoulder she found there making her breathing ragged.

“No, I just, um…” The relief Scott felt for knowing that there was nothing stopping him from acting on his feelings was tempered by a sudden indecision as to how to proceed. He was desperate to kiss her but he wanted to take things at her pace. However, a glance down at her slightly parted lips just as she licked them as if in anticipation was enough to burst the dam he had been holding back all night.

Before he knew what he was doing his lips had found hers, crushing them and surprising even himself with the force of his reaction. But what surprised him even more was that Cat hadn’t kneed him in the groin and actually seemed to be kissing him back. Despite that, when he broke the kiss he was still quite prepared to apologise if he had made some massive error in judgement. Instead, he was met by flushed cheeks and a pair of sparkling eyes.

They stilled for a moment, taking in the sudden change in their relationship before Cat reached up for another kiss, barely brushing his lips with her own and making him moan with a delicious mix of pleasure and frustration as she teased him, knowing that he longed for more but unwilling to let him have everything his own way. His lips were perfectly soft, just as she remembered and his kisses generated a burning heat which slowly spread out across her body, leaving her aching to feel his skin against hers.

Gradually she relented to his desire, slowly increasing the pressure and deepening their kisses as she snaked her tongue along the seam of his lips, encouraging them to part. Her lips felt smooth and firm beneath his own as his world ceased to exist beyond the woman in his arms. Memories and sensations from all the other times he had held and kissed her flooded back and he felt his body respond, sending all his blood south and leaving him lightheaded.

Her breathing ragged, Cat pulled back to meet his eyes again, the burning desire in their blue depths ripping through her, stripping away any defences she had built; she could no longer deny that she wanted him and she wanted him right now. A look passed between them that they had shared many times in the past and they simply fell on each other, all caution thrown to the wind.

Scott kissed her again and again, harder and with more urgency which she met with an immediate response. Totally lost in the moment, his knees suddenly went weak and he staggered slightly as her hand slid up to the back of his head, her fingers entwining themselves in his hair and pulling slightly. She was the only one who had ever discovered the way to drive him completely to the edge and it was nearly the end of him right then. Tightening his grip, he was completely lost to her.

Cat smiled to herself at Scott’s reaction, enjoying the sensation of his hand now tangling itself in the long strands of her own hair as he drew her closer to him and pressed his hips against her, letting her feel the unmistakable bulge against her stomach. Desperately, she clawed at his shirt, pulling it out from his waistband and sliding her hands up the smooth skin on his back making him moan again as he kissed her harder while he fumbled for the door handle.

Thinking of nothing but their aching need for each other, they practically fell into the bedroom, not caring who heard the door slamming behind them.

[fixxofvixx]

BLOODRIGHT - VAMPIRE JAEHWAN AU - CHAPTER 7

Yay! I actually finished a chapter lol. I inadvertently went down the manga/manhwa rabbit hole and just now dug myself out haha. I regret nothing~ But I have some cutie/fierce vampire jaehwan for you!

I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️🧛‍♂️

"Have you really killed people before?" You asked him quietly, not confident of the outcome. He looked at you, conflicted emotions written on his face. After a while, he answered softly.

"Yes."

--------------------

Your heart thumped hard in your chest. You knew the answer already but to hear him directly admit to you that he'd killed before somehow felt different.

"Y/N," you looked up at him to see a guilty look on his face, "I need you to understand that I don't just roam the streets killing people."

Gathering your courage, you asked another question.

"May I ask what happened?"

"Would you think less of me if I tell you that I'm afraid to say?"

"Afraid? You?" You never thought that fear was any part of Jaehwan's vocabulary.

"You've begun to lose that look of fear when you're around me. It's not completely gone but it's slowly disappearing. But I'm afraid that if I explain, we'll end up back at the beginning."

"I think a part of me knew already. I mean, you've lived for several decades. I would be a fool not to think that something like that happened. But I.....I would l-like to know more. If t-that's okay?"

"I told you before I'm an open book for you. But, you're right, I have lived for a long time. When I was barely 100, there was a war between two royal families. Another family sought to take over our territories and people. I fought along the soldiers we employed. We even had some humans who were allied with us fighting as well. And, of course, the other family had vampires and humans. I will spare you the details of the specifics of war but I admit I have the blood of others on my hands. I'm ashamed to say that I don't even know how many."

You had kept your eyes on his face as he explained and you could see the regret and sorrow there. Without thinking you placed your hand on top of his head, gently running your fingers over his hair. Jaehwan smiled slightly and then you realized what you'd done. You gasped and removed your hand, ready to profusely apologize.

Before you could, though, Jaehwan took your wrist and guided your hand back to his head.

"Don't stop on my account."

"B-But....."

"I like it." You blushed at his words but continued what you were doing. He closed his eyes with a look of contentment. It was easier with his eyes closed now.

"Did I scare you......down there?"

"With Mr. Timms?"

"Mmhmm..." For a vampire who didn't sleep, he sounded awfully sleepy.

"Not really. I was thankful more than anything."

"That's good." You removed your hand from his head and a look of sorrow flashed over his face for a split second.

"What room is this?"

"My room." He stood and stepped back so you could see the entirety of the room.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I.....I have no idea." He smiled and laughed slightly. You couldn't help but think that he had a nice smile. It seemed to be contagious since you ended up smiling in return. It felt strange to smile so easily.

"Your smile is pretty. You should do that more often." A heavy blush darkened your cheeks and you lowered your head in embarrassment. "But it angers me that it's tarnished by this bruise."

His fingers lightly grazed over the still-throbbing bruise on your cheek. It hadn't been the first time you'd received a blow from that detestable cane but you hoped it would be the last.

"It will fade."

"Yes, well, I would still like to apologize for not being there sooner."

"But.....you still came." You gave him a tiny smile and he nodded, accepting your final word on his apology.

ONE WEEK LATER

"A party?"

You were in the kitchen with Penny. One of the kitchen staff had offered to teach you how to make some desserts when she came to find you.

"Well, not technically a party.....it's more of a gathering of elder vampires. They typically get together every few years to see who can brag more about their so-called accomplishments."

"Oh, will they be staying here?"

"Most of them will. They might stay two or three days, especially the ones that travel a longer distance. The location is different each time they meet and now it's Jaehwan's turn. He tried to refuse but they insisted."

"Why did he want to refuse?"

"Jaehwan is very......protective of his people. He doesn't like people on his turf, in his castle. He doesn't trust a lot of them. And....if I were to guess correctly...he wants to protect you."

"Me? Why?"

"The vampires who attend these sort of things are....shall we say...snobbish bastards with no sense of decency."

"Penny!" You'd never heard Penny use that type of language before and you didn't know how to react other than shock.

"Well, it's true! Those old goats think they're royalty and have to answer to no one. They like to throw their weight around and pretend that they are above everyone else. Jaehwan doesn't pander to their games. They try to push him but they know they can't match the strength of a royal vampire."

"Are they.....mean to him?"

"That would be the understatement of the century. Ever since Jaehwan was born, they have tried to bully him around. But, as you well know, Jaehwan isn't a fool. And they hate him for it."

You mind raced with the thoughts of a young Jaehwan being bullied by the older vampires. The thought sent a pang of hurt through your heart, not to mention anger. Penny must have noticed and patted your shoulder gently.

"Don't let it concern you, dear. Jaehwan is very tough and stubborn. He wouldn't want you to be sad for him."

You smiled and nodded. You were grateful for Penny. In the few days that you had been here, Penny felt more like a mother than the one you grew up with.

"Enough of that! You need to finish your desserts! I expect one when your done!"

"You can eat them?"

"Of course, sweetie! We don't need food but we still enjoy it." Penny winked at you and then bustled off into one of the other rooms. You looked back at your desserts and smiled.

A few hours later, you held a tray containing various desserts that you were fairly confident of. You carefully trudged up the steps towards Jaehwan's room. One of the staff members said he was there.

Although it was about midnight, you knew he was awake. He was always awake. Ever since Penny mentioned that vampires could still eat food, you wanted to gift Jaehwan with the desserts you were making. You made sure to save Penny some, though.

Walking down the hall, you heard odd sounds coming from Jaehwan's room. But it didn't sound like Jaehwan. It almost sounded like someone was in pain. Approaching his room slowly, you saw that his door was partially open. Peeking around the door you found a frightening scene.

Jaehwan was facing you but another person was standing in front of him. A woman, with long black hair and elegant dress. Her head was thrown back in pain. Her eyes were shut and she looked as if she was holding back the screams that should be coming from her. Jaehwan had one arm around her waist and another around her wrist. His fangs were embedded in her arm. He was feeding. The realization of what he was doing sent chills throughout your body. You dropped the tray and ran. You heard Jaehwan call your name but it only caused you to run faster. You headed up the stairs towards your room and spotted Penny.

"What is it, dear? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Not in any state to carry on a conversation, you bolted past her. Sprinting up the steps, you made it to your room and locked the door. You slid down to the floor, your legs unable to withstand your weight. You brought your knees up to your chest and cried. You screamed when you heard a knock on your door.

"Y/N?" Your heart seized when you heard Jaehwan's voice. "Y/N, can you let me in? Please?"

You couldn't speak. Your throat contained nothing but sobs. He knocked once more but then it was silent.

••••••••

Jaehwan placed his head on the wall beside your door. He could hear you crying. It tore his heart in two. He knew he shouldn't have asked for a blood donation but he hadn't fed in two weeks and he needed something. He heard movement beside him and looked up to see Penny. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked pissed. She crooked her finger in a gesture to follow him and he obeyed. Maybe Penny would have an idea of what to do....if she let him live, that is.

Once they reached the end of the hall, Penny turned and leveled him with a glare.

"What did you do?"

"I....I asked for a blood donation. She.....she saw..."

"Dammit, Jaehwan! Have you completely lost all sense of reason?! She was doing so good! She was smiling so much! What were you thinking?! Why ask for a blood donation? She signed the contract, didn't she?"

"Penny....I...can't....she's so....fragile. What if it hurts her too much and she doesn't want to be my donor anymore? Or what if she starts to hate me?"

"Well, you've already succeeded in scaring her. You should have just asked her first. You need to talk to her."

"She isn't going to open the door."

"Then you'll kneel in front of her door until she does!!" Penny huffed and walked down the hall. She was right, of course. He should have asked you.

Sighing, he walked slowly back to your room. He silently prayed that you would open the door. He could easily break the lock but that would make matters worse. When he reached your room he listened but couldn't hear you crying anymore. He only heard the occasional sniffle. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and knocked. He heard your startled gasp and he internally kicked himself again.

"Y/N, could you please open the door? I would like to talk to you. I promise I won't come in." He heard you shuffle and hope soared that you might open the door. The door handle jiggled and the door opened but only a sliver. He saw you on the floor, head down, huddled in the corner next to the door jam. He moved slowly and lowered himself to the floor. He sat next to the door but didn't try to open it. He would let you do that.

"Y/N, please don't cry."

••••••••

You looked at Jaehwan, sitting on the floor, very unlike a typical image of a prince. He wore a look of guilt and you were confused. He wasn't mad at you for interrupting?

"I'm......sorry....f-for interrupting...."

"No, y/n, it's me who should be sorry. I have no excuses. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No, she's one of the members of a blood donation group for vampires."

"Blood donation group? B-But.....I thought...." Did he not want yours? Maybe it didn't suit his tastes?

"I know. You are my donor. I should have come to you but I hadn't fed in almost two weeks and I didn't want to burden you since you had just arrived."

"But I signed the contract."

"I know and I am eternally grateful, I just....."

"Is...does my blood....not suit you? I heard vampires can smell blood. Maybe mine doesn't smell good?"

"Oh, you have that completely wrong. Well, partially. Vampires can smell blood but, believe me, yours smells like the most exquisite banquet you can imagine. I just wanted you to be comfortable here first. I don't want to speak ill of them, but the blood donation group members can't compare to yours."

"Oh....um, she....looked like she was in pain."

"Ah...well, that is part of it. I can't control that."

"Does it hurt a lot?" A sudden new fear grasped your heart. You had obviously considered that someone biting into your skin wouldn't feel good.

"It wouldn't for you. Maybe like a needle prick at first and then I can control what you feel."

"Control what I feel?"

"Yes, whether it be happiness, sadness, or anger. I can control what emotion you feel." You nodded at his explanation. Your heart easing a little at his calm manner.

"Thank you for explaining." You wiped the last traces of your tears from your face and took a deep breath.

"Do you want to try?"

[fortheheavenssake]

💜💜 PG MM Anon 💜💜 Interpretation Collection - 7

Anon said:

You go PG!!! 😊😊😊🌸🌸🌹🐼🐼🐝🐝👍👍👍💖💖💖🌻🌻🌼🌼🌼😊😊😍😍💜💜🌹🌹🌹🌺🌺🌺💙💙💙🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌹🌹🌹❤❤❤👍👍👍👍 Violets 🌼

Anon said:

💗🌲🌞😺 hi Skippy this is for PG and JG🏡🌲🥰🥰🧚‍♀️👑👑🐱🐰🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🐥🌺🌹🌼🌸💐🐿

49.

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

MM Anon

MM ANON (DISCLOSURES)…… A presidential doe in the head-lights/sound/ camera …… POC ?……we’re just-ice wild about Harry…… 🎼 O Island in the second son 🎼…… NO’ there’s bigger fish …… “We’re gonna need a deeper hole”………the royal black-mail…… a reluctant Mantis …… “but it’s non-bloody-profit”…… fishing for chips ……… “For the greater good dear”…… disclosure beckons.

We have an additional word today, Disclosures….is that meaning big news and the end is nearer? We have thought quite a few times the end was near. I think due the historical nature of all that has happened, continue to happen, there may be several different ‘endings’ at different times. For example we haven’t seen mm in public for quite some time, yet her PR churns out gruel as if from a Dickens novel!

A presidential doe in the head-lights/sound/ camera

Doe in the headlights Is someone caught in a state of paralyzing surprise, fear, or bewilderment. Likened to the tendency of deer to freeze in place in front of an oncoming vehicle. So the phrase lights/sound/camera are filming words, lights/camera/action. So who is the presidential doe??? MM ANON could have said deer in the headlights which is most common but she said doe as in female. Someone’s female partner has become privy to some very startling videos in which she sees her presidential partner in , l won’t say further, we all know what l am talking about. Who is the presidential person??? I am not even giving initials, l don’t want a lawsuit thank you, or worse.

POC?

Person of Color, not colour, this is the American spelling. Is this direct part of the previous clue? Than it’s blatantly obvious who is being referred to! My, oh my!

we’re just-ice wild about Harry

Old song l’m just wild about Harry, Harry’s wild about me, LOVE old songs and films! In this case, play on words is justice. In Harry working covertly overtly, my fave phrase l coined lol a few riddles ago. Or has he fallen in with the dark side and will be in criminal trouble like the rest. I believe he would never betray his granny, HMTQ. I think he has been and continues to work hard on the side of justice! He needs a red cape to fly? SuperHarry!

🎼 O Island in the second son 🎼

Dolly and Kenny, love this song too Islands in the Stream….great song and collaboration! Second Son" is a short story featuring Jack Reacher, a fictional character created by British author Jim Grant. JE brother ME is a year and a half younger therefore second son, he now inherits the Island and all its horrors. Who would want it? Bulldoze it and leave it to nature. Harry is also the second son, he has no involvement in JE, however the backers that set him up and paid for mm may well have been.

NO’ there’s bigger fish

So, PA will be left to be, there are bigger fish to fry as the phrase goes. My goodness , l can’t get the actual use of presidential doe, out of my head. Rumours for years but what all is coming to light regarding public officials, politicians, people with immense wealth?!

“We’re gonna need a deeper hole”

Again with the JAWS reference. Bigger hole to bury all the filth they are uncovering. I don’t think this is meant literally, it’s to give us an idea of just the reality of the world tilting on its axis a bit once all names are public. But even then, l am sure some will remain undisclosed.

the royal black-mail

The Royal Mail is the official post, as ours in Canada Post. So here we have it, attempts to blackmail the BRF! This all started planning years ago. Go take another peak at the photos from IG, where mm, dr and ma present Harry with news. It’s obvious in those photos! There is also yet here another colour reference, was that intentional??

a reluctant Mantis

Mantises are insects with elongated bodies may or may not have wings, but all have forelegs that are greatly enlarged and adapted for catching and gripping prey; their upright posture, while remaining stationary with forearms folded, has led to the common name praying mantis.

Mantises were considered to have supernatural powers by early civilizations, including Ancient Greece, Ancient Egypt, and Assyria. A cultural trope popular in cartoonsimagines the female mantis as a femme fatale. Mantises are among the insects most commonly kept as pets.

Well we know who our femme fatale is, however she is anything but reluctant. Who is the reluctant Mantis??

“but it’s non-bloody-profit

This is PP, anytime l see the word bloody l think of him😄. This is PP definitely referring to the Sussex Foundation and that Foundations and any link with work the royals do, is NOT FOR BLOODY OR OTHERWISE PROFIT,,

”

fishing for chips

🎣 fishing for chips, poker chips, microchips? Whose doing the fishing or is it Phishing?

“For the greater good dear”

Decisions and choices must be made for the greater good of the Monarchy even if it means family members pay deep deep consequences for behaviour. ?PA ?PH depending what happens.

disclosure beckons

Disclosure will soon be forthcoming, if l read all these clues right, this may well all be out before Prince Harry’s birthday on the 15th. The sell by date has long past, the truth all of it needs to come forth!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Fantastic PG…I would like to point out PA is also a second son. This is really interesting…thank you PG! So appreciate you doing this!🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

———————

50.

💜💜🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

Sorry it’s so late we had massive t storm at night and hail. Just able to get online a wee while ago.

MM Anon

MM ANON … a trending treasure …… “ how many bloody grey suits does one need”…… “ read this babe ,and try to sound sincere “… SS will delete the mistake …… “What do think? I’m calling it ‘A royal Pregnancy ‘…… “Yes, with Brad and Leo” George is directing …… Push commercial!!!…… “Just do it Harry!!!”……… “first f#@ing day at school” Ahhhhhh!!…… “£#@ Balmoral,and £#@& Sandringham.” 💄💋👄👠👜💍🥑🍹🍾……… tabloid revenge

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

A trending treasure

First day of school, DandDOC took Prince George and Princess Charlotte to school, he returning, for her, it was her very first day. My what a handsome family, Catherine looked beautiful with new haircut and colour. Our Charlotte is really growing up, her face has matured. She is a beautiful young lady, George is handsome, as we used to say, they will be heartbreakers few years from now. The photos are stunning and we thank William and Catherine so much!! For sharing this beautiful moment with the world 💜😊💜

how many bloody grey suits does one need?

We have all noticed the trend by now, old dim grey suit for any non-official appearance and well put together suit for official appearance. It’s more than a coincidence, it’s definitely PH screaming at us take note! Take note!Harry, please know we have taken note! We believe in you! We know you are covert! We love 💜🙏🏻 and pray for you!

“ read this babe ,and try to sound sincere “…

This is mm writing the script with instructions on how she wants him to read it/sound.

SS will delete the mistake

SS, Sunshine Sachs, PR company covers ills using worse ills. She is relying on them to make it all better voila. Them , using methods they allegedly employ, scare me beyond belief. Dark just got darker, and l am not referring to skin tone!

What do think? I’m calling it ‘A royal Pregnancy ‘

Oh my, has she plans for another ‘royal tour fakenancy? Oh, l couldn’t stand another sight of bump cradling, I will go stark raving mad!

“Yes, with Brad and Leo” George is directing

What is this now? She in a film role with the above named? Is this true? Or more of her fairy dust. Brad has been to rehab and has returned from the hell, that was his life with AJ, another fauxmanitarian, birthing his children and adopting in third world countries. Mm in a film with these, believe it when l don’t see it because well,@ l can’t go to movies because of my health 🤣, but seriously l wouldn’t pay a penny for that film. Will never happen.

Push commercial!!!

Pushing in the papers how much commercial flying PH actually does, this is all a distraction, every issue like this is noise, look over here, not there…please let’s look there, see what evil machinations she has continued with. SS of all , again as l said yesterday, the Nazis had an SS as well

“Just do it Harry!!!”

People want him to end it, assuming he is in charge.PH will continue until the need is no longer there, he is serving HMTQ! Remember what l said yesterday about his wedding ring, that’s no ordinary ring. Most British men, royals and friends l have there, men don’t wear wedding bands. So why does Harry? Think about it, remember what l said yesterday about that ring, it’s no ordinary ring folks!

“first f#@ing day at school” Ahhhhhh!!

Self pitying woman, jealous of a beautiful family and children, something she will never have. Catherine turned up with gorgeous new hair, looking gorgeous at 8 a.m. WOW!we love them, but how she loathes them love wins💜💜❤️💜💜

“£#@ Balmoral,and £#@& Sandringham.”

This is her opinion of these two private homes of HMTQ. These are privately owned homes, by HMTQ. This is her exact opinion because SHE HAS NEVER NOR WILL BE invited into HMTQ private residences! Full stop!

💄💋👄👠👜💍🥑🍹🍾

All gussied up and nowhere to go, what we used to say. Is this popping champagne et al getting ready for an African tour? She has no clue. Is she having a surprise interview with Ellen to air on tv?

tabloid revenge.

Tabloids and main newspapers have stopped any use of Duchess title, she is mm. There have been countless stories but SS and the behind the scenes Hollywood scheming is huge news and no amount of SS is going to make this go away. If she was hated before, oh to quote MMANON “ you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

Fantastic job PG….thank you so very much…..😊❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Ask Skippy submission

25 notes

Sep 5th, 2019

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51.

💜💜🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

This late afternoon when l finally got moving l read incredulous things. I think we are finding things never thought and by an unforced on HRC’s behalf. Why come out of the shadows and tweet unveiling herself?? Thank you MM ANON and LG for your never ending work on behalf of HMTQ and British solidarity. I sense as Brexit gets closer more bizarre unexpected names will rise from the depths of the mire. God bless and keep you 🙏🏻🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

MM Anon

MM ANON … Bumbling along …… “( no Ice in my coke”)…… embrace the crowd …… they love me…… TV ‘ it’s a cake walk …… I’m not a royal pawn…… that’s what nanny is for …… the coverage darling,the coverage. …… F#@£ those small minded Brits…… while I’m in control ……… “ But! Nobody knew …… tell SS to put out a denial …… Di knew we’re the bodies were buried ‘ and so do I!! ……🎼 welcome to the Hotel… 🎼

Bumbling along

Bumbling is acting in a confused or ineffectual way; incompetent manner. Is this how they want us to see Harry? Certainly there has been a very domineering intense effort to role switch, she as the royal , he as the plus one. Let’s be certain, Harry is not bumbling, he is in , quite literally the fight of his life, the fight for the Monarchy. The bumble dating app has aligned with Smart Works. $$$$£££££€€€for who?..

“( no Ice in my coke”)

Flying first class commercial, can’t use any substances. Playing on words to flight attendant. Poor pet, that was one major reasyfor flying private but was never given publicly as an excuse. But we’re dumb Brits/Commonwealth we would never think that!WRONG😡 not only do l think it, l know and believe it!

embrace the crowd

Oh embrace the millions of Americans who adore her and will be lining the streets to welcome her home and praise her for all her hard work! 🦗 crickets do l hear 🦗 crickets? Yep no cheers only 🦗 crickets.

they love me

She is so delusional, she really truly believes she is loved and adored in America. Most people there don’t have a clue who she is. Nor do the care.

TV ‘ it’s a cake walk

Oh my, l hope this isn’t a reference to the interview with Ellen rumour. Maybe hoping to meet with her team tonight. Now which team OS that hmmm??? HRC lives in Westchester, NY.

I’m not a royal pawn

She feels that doing anything royal, which was her chosen duty when she married , she is being used. She wants nothing to do with royalty except the fun parts with diamonds, private jets, Givenchy etc.

that’s what nanny is for

Any questions leaving amw, as he is too young and fragile to fly to Balmoral, the nanny can look after him while she is in America.

the coverage darling,the coverage.

The coverage she will get, tv camera will be on her not Serena. Tennis players as are stage actors, notoriously superstitious! I think since Serena lost the last time madam was present, l would assume the last thing she wants is a repeat of that. She has also made a very public concerted effort to remove herself from the friendship. Ie when asked what baby advice she had…you remember that if you saw that. It would not surprise me at all, if madam did this without any consultation with her ‘bestie’ or her managers.

F#@£ those small minded Brits

Her, AND HER BACKERS!!!! Have exactly that attitude about each and every British citizen and by extension Commonwealth citizen. Folks, this is way way deeper of a plot and goes to levels once thought implausible, but that tweet today, that sent it over the edge.

while I’m in control

She seems to think she has the power and control. LG is giving her a few more inches of wiggle room, let her show , l do think the tweet today brought out in public a backer no one could ever have thought. What is going on? If a foreign national marries and tries to undermine the politics of the country she is not a citizen, that is tantamount to treason.

“ But! Nobody knew

Here l shall say, nobody knew HRC was a backer. I have a strong hunch HMTQ and LG and his team know every backer. But as far as l know, nobody had even mentioned her as a possible, her husband involved with JE. Something always thought odd, how such a woman of power stood by a man who so publicly humiliated her. I still can’t, but their mutual lust for power and control supersedes anything.

tell SS to put out a denial

Is this the whole anti-nanny thing? Have them deny that? Why? When there are a zillion other issues , PR lies, just in the last week!

Di knew we’re the bodies were buried ‘ and so do I!!

She still feels she has secret info on the royal family, and maybe she does, but whatever, she is wielding it like a hammer to get her way. Let’s reassure ourselves, this is LG, working with the worlds elite services, they do not suffers fools lightly, HMTQ as well.

🎼 welcome to the Hotel… 🎼

From The Eagles Hotel California, where you can never leave, like the mob, it’s for life. The ship she has tethered herself to, is a lifetime deal, and she has been so blinded by desire for fame, she has become infamous and she will have to answer to her backers because she changed the agenda!! For selfish reasons!!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you so much PG! Fantastic! And the bubbling app and Smartworks.? Wow! 🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

I’m going to say it…I am…a dating app? I’m guessing goes deep into all kinds of things…

Ask Skippy submission

Sep 6th, 2019

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52.

Sept. 7

💜💜🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

MM Anon

MM ANON … Jorges@ros… Thestarchamber… the puppet master maker…the puppet master … the puppet … the strings of PR……A Supreme Monarchy …… A future family … an American sidewinder…🎼”start spreading the news”🎼…… 🎾🎾🎾😱😱😱…… “WHAT!! Bloody New York”…… “September is a wicked month”…… hidden beneath a dress uniform.… BRIDGE-OF SIGHS.

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

Jorges@ros

This l can only find a fellow who works for IBM Cloud services. Might this relate to the Bumble app that our girl and her pals are so vested in!? I really do not know l am sorry.

Thestarchamber

1983 film Judge Steven Hardin is discouraged by the failures of the legal system after seeing hardened criminals go free on technicalities. Acknowledging Hardin’s perspective, his peer, Benjamin Caulfield introduces him to the Star Chamber, a secret organization that condones vigilante action in cases where justice has not been served. However, when the cabal sentences two criminals to death, and Hardin finds them falsely accused, he clashes with the powerful group.

We have long believe a cabal is behind the whole planting of mm and the plan was but she took it much further ie child, merching etc. HRC Instagram revealed her as a part of this group of backers. I feel like l am repeating myself but it’s important! We did not know this until yesterday!

the puppet master maker…the puppet master … the puppet

So what was the impetus for this sudden trip to NYC? Tennis? REALLY. SW has been publicly distancing herself and lost the last time she attended. Not a good thing. The puppet, mm, puppet master? MA,Puppet master maker HRC, GC,RB,LR? I am certain this trip suddenly was arranged by SS, l don’t believe she flew commercial because no one saw her, no photos, didn’t happen. The purpose of the trip on the surface is tennis so she will attend that. She will have had either in person, FaceTime meetings with likely, SS, lawyers, agents, her backers for Sure!!! All under the guise of watching her friend lose again. Oops!😮Hey l’m 🇨🇦,l am rooting for our girl!! The extra benefits of this trip is the recreation, sniff sniff, gulp gulp, etc you get the idea!

the strings of PR

SS is now on board. If you believed no PR before, for sure believe none now! It’s going to get really down and dirty. I pray to a God they don’t go after the Cambridges and their family!!!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻. Be prepared for public misinformation, manipulating, lies like never before.

A Supreme Monarchy

The Monarchy has reigned supreme for over 1200 years and wants to stay that way. There is a well long planned effort to manipulate and possibly destroy it. We must stand firm in our unwavering support of HMTQ. PLease support her and her family, LG and his team in prayer.🙏🏻

A future family

Talking about adopting an African child, but l truly wonder since she did that bump cradling might she do that on this tour as well. Or might she use morning sickness as excuse to get out of an unglamorous tour?

an American sidewinder

🐍 This is definitely the Instagram by HRC yesterday revealing herself publicly as a backer. The nerve of encouraging a foreign national to interfere in the country’s political and upset the Royal procedure. The utter nerve!! The person who represents U.S. interests in the U.K. is the official U.S. Ambassador. What is she playing at. More information for LG, however he probably already knew. They are far ahead of us, knowledge wise of the facts, we know that

🎼”start spreading the news”🎼

The song New York,New York is where she is. Supposedly flew commercial, no photos or reports that l could see in scan of the paper.Did she really fly commercial? Or did SS arrange something more private? That’s just me being suspicious because l believe nothing she puts out.

🎾🎾🎾😱😱😱

Surprise at the U.S. Open. How will she present? I am guessing perfect hair, designer clothes etc etc. SS is on board now. Her public appearance will be vastly different now,,no more rats nest hair style. IMHO.

“WHAT!! Bloody New York”

Utter shock by HMTQ and PP that she has done this flight to New York. She continues to defy everything.

“September is a wicked month”

MM ANON has used this previously, sort of. August is a Wicked Month is a novel by Edna O’Brien. If you recall it’s about a woman so dissatisfied with her husband and life that she leaves for a different city. Will our madam leave be the same? No way, she is staying ‘royal’ $$$$$€€€€£££££ were it a regular person, the IRS would have been waiting and a return to the U.K. without a visa would never be allowed re-entry to the 🇬🇧. They are looking to hook bigger fish, she is a small minnow despite the damage amount she has wrought .

hidden beneath a dress uniform

Dress uniform? Whose dress uniform? I don’t recall seeing Harry or William recently. Is this reference to the kilts at Balmoral and the Highland Games?

Is this reference to SW uniform at the tennis? I just am not certain at this point what this means.

BRIDGE-OF SIGHS.

The Bridge of sighs is a bridge in Venice, Italy. The enclosed bridge is made of white limestone, has windows with stone bars, passes over the Rio di Palazzo, and connects the New Prison (Prigioni Nuove) to the interrogation rooms in the Palace. The view from the Bridge of Sighs was the last view of Venice that convicts saw before their imprisonment. The bridge’s English name was from the suggestion that prisoners would sigh at their final view of beautiful Venice through the window .

Why all upper case? Will there or has there been a lot of interrogation? Or has there been a chase since HRC unforced error of that Instagram post. Certainly obviously, this woman/situation has caused a lot of sighs, frustration, tears, anger etc.

I wonder if our Cambridges are very stressed and sighing as well. Didn’t they look splendid on the first day of school?,

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you so very much. Great job! 🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

18 notes

Sep 7th, 2019

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💜💜💜💜💜 PG Special 💜💜💜💜💜 from Julie

Sept. 7

Anonymous asked:

Skip, Julie here. PG you have the biggest heart and an amazing ability to break down the riddles. We are truely in awe of what you give us because hopefully some of us look at the unravelled riddle and it’s like minestrone soup. Means something but where do I start. PG you look at it and go OK I can see this or that. Every clue has several ways of looking at it. Courts of law wouldn’t exist if we all interpreted the same. You get us to think and debate. You have an amazing skill we are in awe.

I have no idea what PG is apologizing for, but PG is a big reason I enjoy your site, Skippy. PG, I love your analyses. If anyone made you feel you had to apologize for anything you wrote here, I am sorry. You brighten my days. Cheers and thank you!

Dear, sweet PG: You are wonderful and smart (not whip smart, since you’re no heidiho). 😉 Thank you for all you do! Never complain; never explain. 😎 💕…Songbird

For PG 💜💜💜

You are amazing. The riddles are mostly in a fog for me, but I read your solution, and have an “ oh of course” moment. You make it so easy for the rest of us, and we know it’s a struggle for you, with your health, and love and appreciate you being here to help.

I never ever understand the riddles without your pulling them together.

With much love from the UK.💜💜💜

🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧

PG!!! No apologies necessary, ever! You do so much more than most of us here with the deciphering and you are top notch. Speaking for myself (and I’m sure others), I am always so happy that you tackle these and am amazed at your knowledge. Keep going – we look forward to your interpretations! xo

MM ANON …… pg ‘ darling girl stop with the beating yourself up 💜💜💜💜💜💜we love you pg …… LOVE YOU OK. …… your Bletchley Park top code breaker. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦Much love. MM anon.

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜PG ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCKS !! Pg we mortals love you doing what we can’t …… crack the MM ANON riddles …… so thank you for giving us a chance to go ……… OF COURSE!!! Bless 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

PG - message

PG, I’m always impressed by the connections you make or the specifics of things that I know about but in a much more general way.

Thank you.

You do a great job.

You have nothing to be apologize about in my book.

And Skippy, thank you for this. Wow, Things I never thought of.

For you dear PG! You have mail!💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

PG you rock!

Sounds like I don’t need to be here…..😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

41 notes

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💜💜💜💜💜 PG Special 💜💜💜💜💜 from PG

Sept. 7

💜💜🙏🏻Thank you all🙏🏻💜💜

Wow l am overwhelmed. No one said anything bad, it’s just me being self critical when after it’s done, l see mistakes in spelling or oh l should have seen that it’s so obvious now,

💜💜💜💜THANK YOU ALL FOR UPLIFTING ME WHEN INWAS FEELING I HAD NOT DONE IT PROPERLY BECAUSE I TAKE THIS SO SERIOUSLY 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 God bless you all! I am truly humbled 💜💜💜💜💜💜GSTQAOBC 💜🇨🇦

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

—————

53.

💜💜🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

MM Anon

MM ANON …… Bloomsbury NY. ……MADISON AV. …no after party …… 🎼” I’m sitting at the railway station”🎼…… “ missed you,Thank you Markus darling”……… I’m trapped …… Him!!! ‘he’s pale and stale”…… I’ll be back ‘SOON!! …… “This isn’t Downton Bloody Abbey”…… “let her stew, old thing”…… LG gave me the SP…… Duck all in a row ‘ sort off?…… “Him!!!! He’s in the $h!t”… no going back now!!

Bloomsbury NY

BLoomsbury is a part of West End London, Coventry Garden also. However it is a major publishing house, in America. I wonder if she had a meeting regarding the children’s book there had been some talk of a while ago. I also wonder if she is being offered a book deal on a more personal level, then l would think the company would be one that could afford her price tag for a book of that sort.

MADISON AV.

The main advertising businesses , PR firms run along this street in NYC,NY.

Were there meetings or representatives while she was there?

no after party

She certainly was not at all welcomed at the tennis yesterday. In fact it appeared no one spoke to her, she looked completely alone, sadly alone. When she attempted to talk to Serena’s mum she was completely ignored. They didn’t want her there, bad luck and she was. At times near tears, at times talking to herself, sad, sad. Certainly no invitations to after party since Serena lost, and l doubt she felt like a party and l especially doubt she felt like doing it with a jinx who she has been trying to extricate from friendship for some time now.

🎼” I’m sitting at the railway station”🎼

Homeward Bound, Simon &Garfunkel,, you know it, endless one nighters, performer who just wants to go home. Is she finally, seeing a bit of reality? She looked so sad and pathetic yesterday, certainly different than her last visit to New York.No half million dollar party, designers clothes, surrounded by wealthy friends etc etc. She looked a pitiful soul, unkempt hair, alone, l am sure she had security but nothing like we have seen. Does she just want to dump it all and go home? Well it’s far far too late now.

“ missed you,Thank you Markus darling”

No show, she didn’t see him at all. I don’t know if he was even in NYC. Nothing in the paper l read about MA, JM, LR, PCJ, any of her usual besties for a NYC party. I do have a feeling though, because of the massive negative results of the billion dollar baby shower, she saw friends of the down low, oh that word again, l feel twenty years ago when we said that all the time 🤣🤣🤣🤣 even abbreviated to dl , how old am L?😗😗😗😁😂😂😂😂. I am certain 110% even without photos, she saw him, or someone close at Soho, for sniff sniff sniff, gulp, gulp, gulp, aah aah aah😮😮😮😮😮😮😮. I hope that translates!

I’m trapped

She is trapped! But of her own greed and volition. She has made many many poor life choices. This one due to greed and she went beyond the original agenda. Let’s see how her return to the U.K. goes. Will she have a VISA. of course she has magical visas.

Him!!! ‘he’s pale and stale”

She wanted British male, pale and stale with£££££££££££? This reference, SORRY SIR , is DEFINITELY her reference to LG, she does not like being controlled or having rules because she thinks she’s above that. LG SIR, please continue, carry on.😁

I’ll be back ‘SOON!!

She insinuating return to America ? Or quick return to London with fresh six month VISA in hand ready to hit the ground running in SA. Oh l can hardly wait to see her on thatbtour🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂, if yesterday was any indication kids we are in for some great fun. SpongeMeg get ready!!!

“This isn’t Downton Bloody Abbey”

British Royal life is NOT Downton Abbey. Well it probably was at the time early 20th century. But we are 2019, expectations are there? This again given the tone and wordage comes from dear dear PP.

“let her stew, old thing”

No sympathy, no ££££€€€€$$$, she is not part of the BRF. Let her lay in the bed she made, feel the consequences of her decisions.

LG gave me the SP

LG has given the scoop , on the dl, the crack, whatever slang, Scotland we said the crack🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣Memories 🙃. So who did he give it to mm? Or MM ANON to share with us? Hey l am doing my best and today l won’t cry if l get something wrong🤨 or forget something.

Duck all in a row ‘ sort off?

So all is arranged, almost, God please🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 be she gone by Harry’s birthday the 15 th. But more importantly, let them have every duck in a perfect rom so charges stick, there is a conviction!! Or another idea, given the extremely detailed SA itinerary, which seems unusually detailed and written at this stage, maybe this means the SA tour . But l hope the first is the right answer!

“Him!!!! He’s in the $h!t”

PH, poor dear, he’s getting lots of blow back from the media. It’s all the role he’s playing, service to the Realm, HMTQ, so in that he bears the negative criticism. Let’s do remember to pray for him and HMTQ.🙏🏻

no going back now!!

We are all a product of the choices we make in our lives to most regards barring illness etc. But we all know so much that she has done, and has done since the marriage ish day. There is no turning back ever. She has danced with the devil, still is, and trying to make money and changing the agenda is a very very dangerous dance!

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU EVER SO MUCH MM ANON AND FOR YOUR KIND WORDS YESTERDAY🙏🏻💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Amazing job! Thank you dear PG!🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

4 notes

Sep 8th, 2019

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[the-roanoke-society]

How did Mothman come to Roanoke? What was his beginning like?

that’s an excellent question! let’s talk about our boy joseph moretti.

joe, unlike some of our other members, didn’t develop his abilities until a good decade after puberty hit him like a freight train.

he was in college in southern florida when he first began to notice with not a small amount of irritation that he seemed to lose everything he put his hands on—only for it to abruptly reappear in his hands either hours or sometimes even days later. this went on for about a year before one of his rooomates—joe was a member of the alpha phi alpha house on campus, so he had plenty of roommates in his time living in the frat house—suggested that he try to control it.

“dude, dude just—like. focus. do like mr. miyagi said.”

“what did mr. miyagi say that would help in this situation, chris?”

“uh—something something balance?”

“excellent, thanks for that contribution.”

“i’m trying to help you bro!”

it took practice. a lot of practice. joe had to learn how to meditate, how to train his mind to keep things very separate and aimed in specific ways. he’d never sent a person into the nowhere zone (as chris stine had so christened it around 1985), and it wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to try.

but he, like almost all of the men and women who would go on to be members of the roanoke executive board, eventually did learn to bring his abilities under his own control. … at least, for the most part. he would be a grown man before learning the more intimate secrets of the strange unseen universe that was tied to him.

now, all this wasn’t super great for his dating life (he accidentally bopped a few dates in the back of their heads with books, mugs…), but it was stellar for his frat brothers.

you need booze but don’t have an id? you need to sneak something into or out of somewhere? joe was your man. his abilities won him the coveted title of worst-kept secret on campus. worst-kept because chris couldn’t keep his mouth shut, but even with his wide-eyed insistence and stories—most of the student body shrugged it off.

physics doesn’t work like that. impossible. absolutely not. not real.

but the people who believed, the people who saw? they didn’t know it was a peek into something bigger. they just thought joe was—gifted.

and thank god that chris stine had a huge mouth, otherwise it wouldn’t have to led to one joaquin foster—at the time, roanoke’s mothman—to finding him.

of course, it wouldn’t have led to paul todd finding him, either.

once joe graduated, he had already been on the radar for some—we’ll say seedier groups of people. people familiar with drug-running, the business of underground narcotic trails and cartels.

the money was hard to say no to.

joe has not always been as… upstanding, as we know him to be. he thanks all the gods he knows that he didn’t meet louise until later in life, after all of this was nothing more than a shameful closed chapter.

and he decided that chapter would have most likely been titled ‘joseph moretti - the single greatest drug smuggler in the history of mankind.’

he doesn’t like to talk about it much. and even though it was something he was technically good at (and that paid exceptionally well in pretty much every single way you can think of), it didn’t exactly leave him feeling fulfilled at the end of the day, no matter how many people were in his bed with him, how choice the drugs, how luxurious his surroundings.

paul todd was an excellent boss. do what he said, don’t ask questions, and your reward is getting to be a mule and not having to help draw lines through the names on a chalkboard paul kept in his office.

but joaquin would prove to be a bit better.

he trailed joe for a while. a few months, at least. got to witness how easily he committed felonies, the party boy lifestyle that had become the bow that wrapped up his life. but more importantly joaquin knew that once every few weeks, joe would go to the beach all by himself around midnight and stare out into the ocean for hours at a time.

so. he waited until joe was at his usual spot, and silently walked up next to him. his face caught the orange glow of a cigarette. “… penny for your thoughts?”

looking back, joe couldn’t tell you why, exactly, he proceeded to unload every single thought he had onto this man he didn’t know.

but he reckoned that maybe it had something to do with the fact that no one had asked him even a simple ‘are you all right?’ in a very, very long time.

by the end of the word vomit that joe couldn’t quite seem to stop, the stranger had gone through his cigarette and an entire second one.

“… uhm. i’m uh.” there was no easy recovery from this one. “sorry. about that. i’ll figure it out. nobody’s problem but mine.”

and for a beat, joaquin didn’t say anything. until: “… what do you call it?”

“… what?”

he repeated. “what do you call it? the place that you keep the drugs in.”

all the color drained from joe’s face and he found himself rooted to the sand in fear.

this was not one of his college friends, this was not anyone under paul’s direction, this was someone that he’d never seen before in his life and he’d somehow pieced together his biggest secret--which joe was, y’know, pretty sure he hadn’t explained in explicit detail. his existential crisis, yes, but his powers, absolutely not.

but joaquin smiled. he looked like a wolf and joe wasn’t exactly comforted.

he watched joaquin walk closer to the water and realized this guy had no shoes on, and that his pants were rolled up and cuffed just below his knees. then he—started doing tai chi?

joe frowned, staring. nope, not tai chi. what was this dude—

he almost screamed as a glob of saltwater hit him scare in the face, sending him to his knees reflexively. it was so dark that he hadn’t seen it. but when he opened his eyes again, sputtering and tearing up, he did see a second ball of water, rotating in perfect peace a few inches above joaquin’s open palm.

“… please don’t throw that at me.” was what came out.

but what he had meant then, was oh—you’re like me.

“i have some people that are very, very keen on meeting you. and i’ll be upfront, they’re just as interested in what you can do as who you work for now. but could i perhaps take advantage of any curiosity you have in being on the right side of the law?”

“but i can’t—“

“yes you can.”

“but paul w—“

“we can take care of it.”

“but what ab—“

“joseph.” that stopped him. “… we got you.”

joaquin put a broad hand on joe’s shoulder. joe didn’t shake him off, and it felt more like a burden being lifted than a weight being set down.

of course, it took a little bit more persuasion than one inspiring speech on a dark shore. but joseph was instated as agent cambrion before the year was out.

given the space to grow upwards and outwards, he absolutely blossomed under joaquin’s mentorship.

sometimes to get the best out of a person, you just have to give them the circumstances to prove that they can be good. joseph understood that his jagged path had been his own choice, but he’d been walking around completely unaware that there were groups of people—good people, even!—who not only accepted him for who he was and what he could do, but celebrated it. they taught him how to use his abilities for the benefit of others (not the same-shaped benefits from his previous line of work, either—better. much, much better).

he didn’t like to contemplate for too long why he went with paul.

paul had given him an opportunity to be his truest self. in the wrong direction, sure. but joe at the time hadn’t seen any other alternatives, beyond getting inevitably squared into a safe, 9-to-5 cubicle job.

he chose being able to use his powers for nefarious reasons over living a life where he wouldn’t really get to use them at all. he didn’t like what it said about himself as a person, but there had to have been a point, he thought, that he was who he was. there had to have been a reason.

when roanoke found him—the reason found him, too.

of course, there remains the question: how did joe inherit mothman’s title?

joaquin got the honor of being one of the executive offices chosen to go on an initial trip to a new gateway, gate point ninety-three point one, in the early 90s. a kingdom, not too far off from earth’s own medieval history—but with the elements of magic and fantasy that roanoke was familiar with. he tagged joe to come with him.

joaquin, to make a long story exceptionally short—fell in love. both with a place, and a person.

their first diplomatic visit was a success. as were the next two.

but joaquin couldn’t bear to make the trip of a fourth time, mostly because he couldn’t stomach the thought of having to keep making returns trips to a timeline where impa never existed, nor her people, or the royal family they served.

joe was very, very lucky. a lot of agents inherit handles from mentors due to death afield, or other violent circumstances.

joaquin was granted permission to remain a permanent ambassador of roanoke to the kingdom of hyrule. this title translated to captain of king’s guard, which meant that joe wasn’t just given the name mothman in some boring way lined with paperwork—there was an entire knighting ceremony. lilith and the white lady had been one of the few human witnesses.

so. all in all. it’s sort of a good beginning and a bad beginning all in one. joe’s made peace, for the most part, that he needs both parts to make up the whole of who he is today.

and who he is today is pretty damn great, if you ask me.

not that it’s very important to this story, but i would like to point out that almost three decades later, another set of roanoke agents walked into that same castle without having any idea who joaquin was.

“welcome, travelers! i can see by your dress you’ve come a long way. tell me, who sent you?”

“oh! uh—hi! i’m agent seraphim, of roanoke. and this is agent nova and agent zenith. we caught word that something was happening in the far reaches of the kingdom. we’ve come to help. it’s nice to meet you, sir—?”

“joaquin. sir joaquin. … formerly of roanoke.”

[fell-in-love-didnt-you]

Royals; Part 2: SnowBaz Fanfiction

Finally, after a long, long writing process, the second installment of Royals is ready for the public. 

tw: mentions death

Quite honestly, the worst part about the whole engagement thing was meeting Baz’s parents.

Simon had been suspicious as to why Baz had proposed before Simon had actually met him mum, dad, and grandfather (the current king). He knew that he’d have to really fancy himself up before going to Buckingham Palace to meet them all. Jesus, Simon thought. He wouldn’t even get a pass at meeting some of them alone. He’d have to entertain the whole lot altogether. 

Simon knew Baz felt the tension in his body the days leading up to the actual meeting of his family. Simon always drew back when he was tense; he spoke less, ate less, and didn’t have as much libido. That part always made Simon mad. No matter how much he tried, he could hardly get it up when he was stressed. Sex with Baz was always really good, so the fact that Simon’s stupid fear about meeting Baz’s parents was getting in the way of that made Simon so frustrated.

“You’re tense,” Baz commented one night, running a hand across Simon’s back. Simon was face down in the bed, his body tired and mind even more so. Baz was laying beside him on his side, a book abandoned on the beside table and his glasses slipping down his nose. Simon turned to look at him, and he gently pressed Baz’s glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. Baz smiled softly and asked, “Why are you so nervous?”

Simon shrugged, closing his eyes and sighing. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I just don’t think I’m what your family is looking for in a partner,” he confessed.

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Baz insisted, slipping down into a laying position next to Simon and nuzzling his nose into Simon’s shoulder.

“Of course it matters,” Simon replied. “You’re the next heir, Basilton,” he added with an exaggerated drawl. “You’re supposed to make children and marry a beautiful duchess or something.” Simon felt Baz’s leg sling over his own, and Baz’s weight settled against half of his body. Soft kisses were pressed on the protruding parts of his spine, and Baz’s hands began to massage the area around it.

“Shut up,” Baz whispered, still leaving the lingering kisses but moving away from his spine and to Simon’s neck. Baz’s hands made a few cracks come out of Simon’s spine, and he groaned at the relief. “See? You’re too damned stressed,” Baz said.

Simon shook his head into the pillow. He knew he was stressed. He knew he didn’t want to meet Baz’s parents the next day. It was already stressful dating a prince, but being engaged to one and then having to meet a royal family was a fucking mountain of anxiety, as Penny had so lovingly put it.

“What if they don’t like me?” Simon mumbled into the pillow. There was a bit of silence as Baz continued to undo the knots in Simon’s back, and Simon pulled his face out of the pillow to look over. “What if they hate me?”

Baz smiled softly, almost seemingly to himself, and replied, “They can’t hate you, Si. You’re too sunny for your own damned good.” Baz leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Simon’s lips, pulling away only seconds later to lay down beside him. They were close enough that Simon could feel the tip of Baz’s nose brushing his own, and he closed that tiny distance once again to just feel Baz. It was all too comforting having him there. Baz was like an anchor to Simon’s unruly ship.

Simon fell asleep some time later to Baz’s rhythmic breathing and warm arms surrounding him. Simon could live within those arms for years, comforted by the warm circle of Baz’s (albeit a bit muscular) arms.

…

Simon woke up with a bitter taste in his mouth and a lack of warmth. The sheets were up to his chest, pillows spread around the bed, and he could hear the shower running. Simon clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and cringed. He sat up, his head spinning with the daze of sleep and maybe one too many glasses of champagne. Baz had wanted him to loosen up, and Simon felt he loosened up a bit too much.

He slowly flung his legs over the side of the bed, walking into the bathroom and beginning to brush his teeth. Baz walked out of the grand shower then, toweling his hair dry and wrapping a spare around his waist. He walked behind Simon, hugging him as Simon’s weakly protested.

“You need a shower anyway,” Baz mumbled into Simon’s neck, his eyes tracking Simon’s in the mirror. Simon huffed and spat into the sink, washing his mouth out and looking back up at Baz. “You do!” Baz insisted, laughing as Simon rolled his eyes. After a few seconds of silence, Baz added, “We’re leaving at eleven.”

Simon jumped and turned around, yelling, “It’s already nine-thirty! Why didn’t you wake me up?”  He pushed past Baz and immediately turned the shower tap on, testing the water on his hand before stepping in almost immediately. Simon could hear Baz laughing outside of the shower, and he spit water out and yelled, “I’m a mess!”

Baz practically howled at that, and Simon smiled as he heard the bathroom door and then almost close. That was one of the things that slightly annoyed him (in an endearing way) about Baz. Even when they were fighting, Baz always closed doors only slightly. It was almost like he was leaving a space for Simon to be, and that made the blond boy blush even in the lukewarm water running over his head.

The shower was over too soon. If he was being honest, Simon would’ve liked to stay in that shower all day instead of go to meet the royals, AKA Baz’s parents, AKA the people Simon had watched since literal birth. All eyes were always on them, so in turn, all eyes would soon be on him. Of course, he and Baz couldn’t go to one of their private residences because then it would draw far too much attention there. They had to go right for the ugly: fucking Buckingham.

Simon went through and then re-went through his entire wardrobe about five times before Baz stepped in.

“It’s not like something will magically appear there, Snow,” he chuckled, taking Simon’s red-raw hands away from the hangers.

“What the hell are you even supposed to wear to something like this?” Simon demanded. Baz looked so effortlessly casual: black hair swept back with miniscule amounts of product, a nice white t-shirt tucked into black slacks, and polished shoes. Simon would be a mess in something like that.

Baz turned to the racks with a concentrated expression (that Simon could mistake for constipated) and pulled a pale blue shirt Simon almost never wore out from the back. He then noticed the large stain on the front and put it back. “Okay,” Baz mumbled, “maybe this’ll be a bit more difficult than I thought.” He pondered something for a moment before adding, “Care to borrow some on my own clothes?”

Simon didn’t really have time to protest the idea; Baz was already pulling expensive button-ups, slacks, shirts, and even fucking ascots from his side of the closet. Really, though, he had so many more clothes tan Simon that Baz’s side often extended into his own. Simon didn’t mind it usually, but in situations like this…

“What about this?” Baz asked, and he turned around with a nearly identical outfit, except the shirt was grayer and the pants weren’t nearly as nice. Simon guessed the reason behind that was so that if he spilled anything at lunch (and he was bound to), it wouldn’t be so bad.

Simon shrugged and threw on the clothes, checking his watch afterwards. It was ten-fifteen. He needed something to do. Otherwise, he’d stress and eventually psyche himself out of going. However, he knew he really couldn’t just throw his hands up and say no. Baz had looked forward to this for so long. He’d planned the date nearly three weeks ago so that it would align with everyone’s schedules.

As Simon sat back down on the unmade bed, Baz sat beside him. Simon looked over and said, “You know, you never really told me why or even how you’re next in line for this shit.”

Baz flashed his crooked smile over at Simon and replied, “It’s ‘cuz you never asked, git.” Simon smiled back and looked down at his involuntarily moving hands. “It’s a long story really,” Baz added. Simon looked over, and Baz smiled again, though this time it really looked like something that was more private. Sometimes Simon would catch him staring and look away. He felt Baz had these private little moments meant for only himself. This was one of them.

So he listened as Baz told the story. Years ago, before he was even born, Baz’s great-grandfather had inherited the throne. Originally, the throne had gone to Baz’s great uncle, King Rupert. “Until he abdicated the throne to your mum’s dad?” Simon asked. Baz nodded. The official story released to the press was that King Rupert had fallen in love with someone the Church of England had denied, but Baz said something different.

“He wanted an out,” he mumbled, now looking at his hands. Simon didn’t know whether Baz was upset or angry or just tired, but he extended his hand to Baz’s anyway. Baz looked over through his eyelashes and smiled. “He gave the throne to my mum’s dad. His brother.”

Simon unfortunately knew the rest of the story. Princess Natasha had been killed during a rebellion attack just a few years after Baz was born. Simon had been around five at that time, so Baz had been roughly the same ago, and Simon also knew the more troubling part: Baz had watched his mum die.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Simon whispered, and Baz squeezed his hand. Simon noticed how warm Baz’s were in comparison to his own. Baz was always warm where Simon was cold. They fit like a strange puzzle. Baz looked over then and nodded.

After a minute or two, Baz continued. “My father has spent years keeping me out of the throne. He’s pulled every string of possible, but I’m truly of age now. You and I…we’re young, but I can’t hold this off forever. It’s basically been forever in the eyes of every citizen and every member of my mum’s inner circle. They’ve been holding out for me.”

Simon heard what Baz wasn’t saying. “You’ll be just as great as your mother, Baz.” He could feel his cheeks heating up and a swell of tears coming behind his eyes, and he pushed them away. “She would be so proud of you,” he whispered.

Baz nodded and rested his head on Simon’s shoulder. Simon wrapped his arm around Baz and carded his hand through Baz’s black hair that always looked effortlessly wonderful.

…

They tried to go inconspicuously to Buckingham, but there was never a dull moment surrounding it. Rain was pouring down, and even though everything was drenched, there were both tourists and professional photographers there desperately trying to get a glimpse of any members of the royal family. The second one of them caught sight of Baz, it was like it was all over.

Baz pulled a hood over his hair and tucked his arm around Simon’s waist, pulling him close and speeding up as a few guards crowded around them. Simon felt rushed, his feet tripping over themselves as they ascended the stairs to the front door. Someone was waiting there, and they hardly opened the door so that no one could really see inside.

The first thought that came across Simon’s mind was ‘expensive’. There was plush carpet underneath Simon’s soaked, old, and tattered Chuck Taylor’s. He felt immensely out of place here. Everything looked to gorgeous for him to touch. He let himself be taken out of spiraling thoughts when Baz put a hand on his shoulder.

“Coat?” he asked, and Simon nodded, shrugging off his jacket and waiting awkwardly in the entryway. There was only a guard to his right and Baz to his left, and Simon wasn’t about to make friends with the at-attention guard. Even though he was much dryer now without his soaked coat, Simon felt chillier than he had been outside.

Once again, Baz put his arm around Simon’s waist, and Simon looked up at him with nerves clear in his eyes. Baz laughed and squeezed his hip through the button-up. “Relax,” he whispered into Simon’s ear. “They’ll love you.”

Just as he said that, a tall woman in a champagne colored cocktail dress who Simon had seen on grainy televisions years before this moment began to walk down the long hallway before them. It was Duchess of Cambridge, Daphne Grimm. She looked so much taller in real life than Simon ever expected her to be. She was much closer to Baz’s height that his own, and he realized he should’ve been bowing when he felt Baz’s hand press into his back. Simon tried to clumsily follow but nearly tripped over.

Simon expected to see a sneer when he came back up, but he was met by a warm smile and light eyes. The duchess hugged Baz warmly before turning to Simon.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, wrapping her arms around Simon’s shoulders and smiling brightly. When she pulled back, she added, “Basilton has spoken so brightly about you.”

Simon blushed and looked at his feet making the carpet darker. “I didn’t know he talked about me at all,” Simon replied, looking over at Baz through his lashes. He looked back up at the duchess and said, “It’s very nice to meet you as well…”

“Call me Daphne in private,” she whispered with a smile. “The husband would probably like you to say Duchess. Oh!” Daphne walked to the side of the room and back very quickly with a small box, handing it to Baz and saying, “Before I forget, I retrieved what you asked for. Now, time for lunch.” She began walking back through the hallway, and Baz pressed on Simon’s back again.

“Unfortunately,” Daphne began as they walked, “the rain has ruined the plans to sit outside and talk, but my assistant had the wonderful idea of sitting in the sun room. We can watch the weather, enjoy the warmth without the water, and talk there. Sound good?”

“Of course,” Baz replied before Simon could. He leaned down a little to say to Simon, “My dad will tell you to call him Mr. Grimm.” Simon furrowed his brows at Baz, and Baz just shrugged with a lopsided smile.

They turned into a sun room made of light green glass with gorgeous patio furniture. There were cups of tea on saucers at a table around a fancy food Simon didn’t recognize. Daphne led them both to one side of the table, and she took the spot opposite Simon. He internally thanked every being in the world for that. The three of them made small talk (mostly about Simon’s life) until a man entered the room. Baz and Daphne stood, and Simon followed, hitting his knee on the table. He cursed himself under his breath, and Baz looked back at him with wide eyes. Simon looked down at his feet as Baz’s dad entered the room. They only took their seats when Mr. Grimm did.

Simon’s hand flailed for Baz’s and clasped tightly around it when he did. He was a little shaky now. Talking to the duchess was the easy part. She seemed so much more approachable than an actual heir to the throne. While Baz’s grandfather was still in power, soon he would die. After that, Baz’s father would not become King. He was not directly related to the late princess. Baz would be the next heir.

Jesus, Simon thought to himself. What had he gotten himself into?

“Good afternoon, father,” Baz finally said, breaking an awful silence. Baz’s thumb was smoothing over Simon’s hand in a way he assumed was supposed to be comforting. “How have you been?”

Mr. Grimm grunted in response, taking a long sip of his tea before answering. “Why are we avoiding what you have come to talk about, Basilton? You’ve never been one to beat around the bush.”

Simon could feel heat crawling up his neck. He didn’t know if it was embarrassment or just because the room was actually quite warm. Baz sighed beside him and replied, “I held off on introducing Simon to you until we both felt comfortable.”

This was the first time Mr. Grimm actually looked Simon in the eye, and Simon nearly keeled over then. It was like being stared down by airport security even though he rationally knew he’d never done anything wrong. There was an unsettling urge to confess every minor wrongdoing Simon could think of.

“It really is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Simon said.

Mr. Grimm turned his top lip up at him. “What do you do, Simon?” he coldly asked.

Simon swallowed thickly and replied, “I run a floral shop with my best friend Penelope, and I’m studying to get my Master’s Degree through Cambridge.”

Mr. Grimm furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “You hadn’t received it before now?” Simon bit at his lip and stayed silent. “Well, Basilton, you’ve sure got yourself a bright man.”

Simon looked away from the table and to the outside. He could almost feel the glare that Baz was throwing at his father, and the duchess’s eyes were obviously sympathetically on him. If Simon could, he would have called a cab right then and there to go home. This afternoon tea was going worse than he thought it could have possibly gone. Every recording and broadcast he’d ever seen of Mr. Grimm had been showing him smiling and joking with others of his class.

Maybe it was the fact that Simon was wearing Chuck Taylor’s that he didn’t like.

“I didn’t have the opportunity to go to university right after getting out of secondary school.” The words made Simon’s tongue feel bloated. He felt himself needing to explain himself to a man he’d never met that had married into royalty. He wasn’t royal; he was juts rich.

“So you come from a different part of the UK then?” Daphne said. Simon nodded, but he didn’t get to say a word. Baz was there to try and salvage the conversation.

“Simon is from Lancashire,” he sighed, making his voice happier than he actually was. “He moved here to go to school, and I met him through football.”

“You play?” Mr. Grimm asked.

“No, I was working as a glorified ball-boy at the same club Baz went to.” Simon internally cringed. The expression that crossed Mr. Grimm’s face gave away the fact that that was the worst thing Simon could have ever said. It revealed too much about him…about whatever he came from.

An uncomfortable silence fell over them all again. Simon didn’t trust that someone hadn’t poisoned his tea by that point and refused to drink anything. He could see Baz out of the corner of his eye flaring his nostrils in a vain attempt to stay calm. Daphne was taking nervous sips of her tea, and Mr. Grimm was glaring over at Simon.

“Do you live off my son, Simon?” Mr. Grimm asked.

That was Baz’s last straw, apparently. Simon was escorted out of the room by a maid or stewardess as the family blew up inside. He was shown back to the entryway and instructed that a car would be taking him alone back to the flat. Simon quickly gather his coat from the hanger and was finally led out of the awful palace under an umbrella and into the car.

[enbouton]

Better Call Saul Rewatch, Part 7/30: Guilty As Sin

Bingo (Season 1, Episode 7)

Written by Gennifer Hutchison / Directed by Larysa Kondracki

If someone asked me “I want to get into Better Call Saul, what’s a good episode to start with?”, I would tell them “START AT THE BEGINNING and don’t skip anything!!!”, but I would also be tempted to say “Bingo”. It has everything: Chuck and Jimmy together, Kim at work, sweet McWexler moments, inept criminals, Jimmy charming the elderly, a What’s Mike Doing?™ sequence. It’s poignant and heartfelt and makes you feel for our long-suffering protagonist as he’s thwarted once again, but there are notes of hope and optimism too.

Having said all that, it feels weird to pivot and point out that the episode opens with a shot that quite clearly frames Jimmy as a wanted criminal:

Irate Abbasi comes for his notebook, which Jimmy claims to have stumbled upon in the parking lot. Abbasi isn’t buying it, but he can’t prove the theft, any more than he can prove that Mike is the killer he’s after. He leaves after delivering Mike a breathtakingly cruel parting shot: “Hopefully whatever you are didn’t rub off on the rest of your family.” Mike takes it on the chin.

Sending Jimmy away, Mike talks with Sanders, who you get the feeling knows exactly what happened that night in Philadelphia. He says that if Stacey has nothing to tell them, that ends it. He’s not unsympathetic: a lot of people thought that Hoffmann and Fensky had it coming. His younger colleague just needs to learn that “some rocks you don’t turn over”. The world isn’t as black and white as Abbasi would like it to be.

A chrysalis hangs from a leaf in the foreground as Jimmy drives up outside Chuck’s house. He finds Chuck outside, attempting to build up his tolerance to EMFs. After what happened, he says, he has to find a way to get better; it’s a rare, pure moment of hope, and it energises them both. Jimmy brings in boxes of case files, claiming lack of room in his office. He just needs to fill out the 413s on some wills, he says. “You mean 513s,” Chuck corrects him. A deliberate error to entice Chuck? Either way, he takes the bait, and Jimmy watches him through the peephole as he starts rifling through the files.

At a palatial office building, Kim and Jimmy explore a vacant suite. Huge and bright, it could not be more dissimilar to his cramped nail salon digs. “It’s time to invest in myself,” Jimmy says, using the language of self-improvement again. “Gotta look successful to be successful, right?" But he’s saving the very nicest room, the corner office with the sweeping views, for her.

I like the handling of Jimmy’s romantic gesture here. Kim is genuinely touched by it, but her attachment to HHM isn’t something that she can just shake off, nor is she ready to change the course of her carefully planned career. (This is also the first scene that refers to HHM having put Kim through law school and the debt she owes them.) Noting his disappointment, she defuses the awkwardness by saying she wants to see the kitchen. Jimmy lingers in the empty corner office, looking crestfallen.

At HHM, Craig and Betsy sit hand in hand. Kim is outlining a plea deal she’s arranged for them. Betsy hates the very word “deal” (”a deal is what they got O.J.!”) Kim tries the word “arrangement”: sixteen months in prison (down from 30 years) as long as the money is returned. “But there is no money,” Betsy says. Kim— who stays patient and professional despite her obvious frustration— reminds them that if they go to trial, Craig will most likely end up in prison for decades. She asks them to consider their children, “seeing their dad through bars on visiting day”. Betsy coolly tells her that she’s fired.

Howard blames Kim for this, which is the kind of thing you might think would account for a lot of why Jimmy seems to hate him so much.

Called away from the bingo game he’s officiating (the bingo machine on this show always sounds like a pot of boiling water about to spill over), Jimmy meets the Kettlemans at Loyola’s. The moment where the server comes over with coffee and Betsy waves them away just as Craig reaches out his mug is just perfect. The Kettlemans want to hire him, with certain stipulations: zero jail time and no deal. Jimmy, reluctant from the outset, tries to convince them to go back to HHM (sweetly, he adds “and apologise to Ms. Wexler”), but they won’t budge. “If there were any money, there would have to be a full accounting of it,” Betsy tells him. “Every penny.”

(“All of it,” Craig chimes in, after Jimmy has got the message. “That includes the $30,000…” / “He knows, Craig.”)

At HHM, Jimmy finds that Howard has evicted Kim from her office and sent her to the unseen east wing, the “cornfield”. We get a gorgeous repeat of one of ep. 1’s best shots:

In defeat, Kim is wry. They discuss the hopelessness of the case. No deal is possible without the money. Back in his office, Jimmy rifles through legal texts (one copy of the New Mexico Statutes is open to the page headed “Embezzlement”), then looks up. Toward the ceiling.

Mike is up to something. In a lovely, deft, unhurried sequence, he sprays a stack of cash with some substance, puts it on the back of a remote-control car in the Kettlemans’ yard, then retreats to the back wall with his transistor radio and eats apples off a nearby tree while listening to baseball. Several apple cores later, Craig retrieves the money. After the Kettlemans have gone to bed, Mike enters the house and uses a blacklight to follow traces of fluorescent dye to a compartment where they’ve stashed the money. Later, Jimmy ruefully adds the $30,000 he’d stashed in his ceiling to the pile. He’s doing “the right thing”, he tells Mike, making air quotes.

In the morning, Jimmy goes to the Kettlemans’ house— interestingly, he’s back in his dark brown double-breasted suit here, after an episode and a half of Matlock linen— and confronts them. They have to take the deal; the money is on its way to the DA’s office. “Criminals have no recourse,” he quotes Nacho. They could report the bribe he took, but that would implicate Betsy as well as Craig. Jimmy does twist the knife just a bit with the reference to “inter-prison visitation”, but then Craig entreats Betsy to think of the kids, and she breaks down and sobs. The show invites us to marvel at Betsy’s wilful blindness to reality, but when she confronts it at last, it’s not pretty.

Jimmy returns the Kettlemans to HHM, where Kim mouths “thank you” at him through the open elevator doors. It’s a bittersweet victory, though: without their bribe, Jimmy can’t pay for his new office any more. Even the suit he’s wearing reflects that he’s back where he was pre-Kettlemans. Alone in the large, airy suite, he kicks the door repeatedly and cries. Then his phone rings; he composes himself. “Law offices of James M. McGill, how may I direct your call?"

Misc.

“As you well know, there is a 60-kilovolt transformer 200 metres south-southwest of my front yard." I love Chuck because he’s a nuanced, sympathetic, complicated character and also because he says things like this.

Jimmy wants a cocobolo desk. He doesn’t know what it is, he just likes saying it.

For those keeping track of colour symbolism, Betsy wears a bright coral suit to their meeting with Kim; Craig wears pale pink, literally a watered-down version of Betsy’s colour. Later, orange features in both Craig and Betsy’s clothing:

As the Kettlemans hurry out of HHM, you can hear Betsy telling Craig “don’t look back, honey. Always look forward. Always in life.”

Craig and Betsy aren’t sure what elder law is. “Maybe if we were older...” Craig muses.

Timeline: a few days in early to mid July, 2002

Music

"Tune Down” by Chris Joss (2009), as Mike steals the money back

References

Cracker Barrel (hey, I didn’t know what it was until I visited the U.S.) is a Southern-style, country-themed restaurant chain where the front porches are decorated with rocking chairs.

Guy Lombardo, one of Jimmy’s bingo references, was a big band leader and member of the Royal Canadians.

Mrs. Landry’s cats are named after Oscar Madison and Felix Ungar, the lead characters in The Odd Couple (play, film and TV series).

The 25th Hour is a 2001 novel about a man’s last day of freedom before imprisonment for dealing drugs. The reference may or may not be anachronistic; the film adaptation was released in December 2002, a few months after the events of the episode take place. Ned and Maude Flanders, meanwhile, are Homer Simpson’s relentlessly cheerful Christian neighbours.

< PREVIOUS EPISODE: FIVE-O > NEXT EPISODE: RICO

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Part of Your World

Chapter 2: a birthday to remember

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 2011

Chapter 2/11 (All chapters)

Summary: It's Prince Basilton's birthday, and he's prepared to hate every second of it.

Read on AO3

AN: I just did my psych exam today at 9am and am currently studying for my history exam tomorrow at 8am (hahahahaha kill me). So one down, four to go. Posting this brightens my day though. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

Tagging peeps (sorry I forgot. My brain is not functioning, exams have fried it): @ughthatsprettygay @alive-alive-alive

———————————————-

Baz hated parties, he always had. So how Dev and Niall convinced him to have this one was beyond him. Maybe it was because it was on a boat. Didn’t matter, he regretted it. He watched as everyone laughed and drank like the sailors they were, while he was focused on his violin, apparently his only true friend at the moment.

“Ugh Baz,” Dev groaned as he leaned on the rail next to him. “Can’t you play something less depressing?”

“No,” he replied curtly.

“This is your birthday party. You’re supposed to having fun!”

“This is not my idea of fun.”

“It’s everyone else’s.”

“Everyone else is an idiot.”

Dev rolled his eyes over dramatically. Of course that was when Niall decided to flop down on his other side, now mostly empty beer stein in hand.

“Is he still being a stiff, Dev?” He called over, words more than slightly slurred.

Baz glared over his violin at him. “I’m right here, arsehole.”

Niall smiled drunkenly “So you are, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“Thank you for the wonderfully creative nickname.”

“Well it’s accurate,” Dev said with a shrug. “You’ve been in an even worse mood since you came back from that trip to meet the Princess of Glauerhaven. Was she really that awful?”

“Or,” Niall dragged out the two letter word with all the diction and enunciation of a drunk man. “Did she have the audacity to even try to speak to the great Prince Basilton and you insulted her?”

Baz took a long pause to glare menacingly at his friend and cousin. They looked back with smug smiles. He finally put his violin down, hunching his shoulders in.

“I hate you both,” he growled as he stomped off to another end of the ship far away from them.

Of course Dev and Niall didn’t really understand. Baz hadn’t told them the real reason for his sour demeanor. There hadn’t been anything particularly wrong with the Princess of Glauerhaven, really. Except the whole “princess” part. Baz had already told his father about who he was and the kind of person he wanted to be with. But Malcolm Grimm told him those feelings were irrelevant to his marriage.

It wasn’t that Baz’s “preferences” were a forbidden or hated thing in their kingdom of Watford. It was that Malcolm wanted his eldest son to “continue the Pitch royal line.” Like his family name was the only important thing about him. His father wasn’t even technically a Pitch, just the widower of the late queen. Maybe he thought he was honouring Natasha’s memory by making sure her bloodline continued through their only son. Even at the sacrifice of said son’s happiness.

Baz leaned over the edge of the boat and breathed in the salty sea air. He felt better out here. Away from his father and all the expectations he put on Baz. He leaned over the edge, looking at the dark choppy waves below.

“Don’t lean too far out, your highness!” Gareth shouted where he was adjusting a rope up the mast. “You could fall in. And if you don’t drown, the merfolk will get ya!”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “You really believe those old sailor tales?”

“Well I’m a sailor aren’t I?”

“Touché.” He leaned a little farther, gazing over the thundering waves. “You really think there are people with fishtails and magic living down there?”

Gareth hopped down and stood next to him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his pelvis pushed forward (for some reason he really liked that position). “To be honest? Yeah. My good friend Rhys saw a merman once. He was big and gruff, with a thick green tail and a massive gold pitchfork. And when he spotted Rhys, my smart friend wheeled away like his life depended it.”

“Are you sure your friend wasn’t drunk at the time?”

He shrugged up to his ears. “I don’t think so.”

Baz made a “pfft” noise, blowing hair out of his eyes. “I’ll be sure to do the same as him if I ever see a ‘merfolk’”

Gareth looked at him deadpan. Which was an expression Baz could easily return. (It was practically his default.) He wasn’t one for stupid childhood fairy tales, and right now was no exception.

“Hey Baz get over here!” Niall shouted. “Come see your birthday present!”

Baz rolled his eyes but still went. He was somewhat curious, which he’d probably regret later.

The crew and the partygoers, Dev and Niall included, stood around a large object draped in a purple cloth. An obnoxious red bow held the fabric in place. The looming thing had been there the whole party and it filled Baz with anticipatory dread.

Baz crossed his arms. “Do I even want to know?”

“Certainly!” Dev said. “You’re going to love it.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Niall grabbed the bow. “We present to you, you!” He yanked it hard.

The curtain fell down, and Baz’s heart seized. It was horrific. In front of him was a giant white marble statue of a young man, standing triumphant with one leg up a giant seal with a large “B”. He was dressed a puffy sleeved shirt and tight pants and a long cape, long sword in hand. The other hand was pressed against his in a fist. It was bad enough that the statue merely existed. But it was worse that Baz’s face was carved on it.

“My god,” he muttered.

“Happy birthday!” Niall said with a shit eating grin.

Baz rubbed his eyes up and down in exasperation. “You are quite literally the worst.”

“Oh don’t be such a downer, Basil. It’s amazing.”

“I can’t believe you actually spent money to have that made.”

“Lighten up!” A crew member hollered. Baz fixed him with a steely grey glare, which the man immediately shied away from. “I-If you want, your highness.”

Baz scoffed, about to throw another barbed word at his so called friends. But the loud thunder interrupted him. Everyone looked up with shock and horror.

“Oh no,” the first mate whispered.

Another roar ripped through the air, followed by a crack of lightning hitting the water less than a mile away. It was like the sky opened up above the ship in an instant, suddenly drenching them in torrential rain.

“Everyone to their stations!” The captain shouted.

The crew rushed into high gear. They pulled ropes and adjusted rutters. Baz helped as well. He may be the prince but he wasn’t useless. The pounding water blurred his vision, and the rocking sea sent him stumbling him back and forth. Standing his ground was becoming difficult. Lightning once again streaked across the grey clouds. It pierced the sail and set it aflame, spreading quickly through the fabric and to the mast. Fiery wood came crashing down on their heads.

“Abandon ship!” The captain’s voice was barely audible over the storm, but everyone knew what to do.

They released dinghies that crashed into the water. People jumped overboard and scrambled to them. Baz was about to dive off himself, until he heard a voice.

“Help!” Gareth shouted. “I’m stuck!”

Baz whipped around. The sailor’s leg was pinned under a flaming beam. Baz didn’t think twice. He rushed to his aid.

“Baz what are you doing?!” Niall shouted from a distance.

He lifted the wooden beam up with a heave and threw it to the side. With an arm around Gareth’s neck, he hoisted him to his feet. The man was limping slightly but could still move.

“Go!” Baz yelled.

Gareth nodded, then limp-ran to dive overboard. From the corner of his vision, Baz saw the fire crawling towards a chest. The chest filled with fireworks.

“Shit,” he whispered.

He ran as fast as his feet could carry him. Just as he jumped, the world exploded around him in a deafening boom and blinding light, hurtling him forward far too fast. Baz hit the ocean with a painful thwack.

Water filled Baz’s ears. Everything became muffled. His vision was hazy at best. The only slightly distinct thing he could see was a flash of shiny blue race above him. And he swore he felt two arms snake around his torso.

But then everything went black.

———————————————-

Simon didn’t know how long he’d laying on the sand, the grains scratching against his skin and scales, just staring down at him. This human, apparently called a prince, couldn’t be any older than Simon himself. Yet he had risked his own life saving another’s. The other humans had called him Baz. It was such a strange, beautiful name. It fit him perfectly.

Baz was alive. Unconscious and still shivering slightly, but alive. It was an absolute miracle, considering Simon had dragged him through the freezing water for hours. Maybe Simon’s strange, uncontrollable magic had protected Baz. (For once it was useful.) He’d pulled the human to the nearest shore. Along the way he’d picked up Baz’s peculiar device, which laid at his side on the beach. Simon couldn’t have let such an amazing thing be washed away.

The sun was rising now, fiery reds and oranges illuminating Baz’s every gorgeous feature. His soaked black was splayed out, a stark contrast to the blindingly white sand. Simon lightly ran a finger down his jaw then cupped his soft cheek. His skin was cold but thankfully warming up.

“Simon!” Penny hissed from in the water, having finally found him after searching all this time. “Simon, we should to go! What if someone spots you?”

“Just, a little longer alright?” He said to her, before turning back to Baz. He pushed some raven hair away from Baz’s face. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Father says you’re all horrible monsters, but how could he think someone like you is a monster? I-I mean, you make beautiful music, and you nearly died saving that man’s life. I don’t think you’re a monster. I think you’re just...a boy.”

“Si, we have to go!”

He barely heard Penelope though. All he paid attention to was Baz’s soft breathing, escaping from his slightly open mouth, and his steady pulse. With every beat, Simon was reassured that Baz had survived. Simon cupped Baz’s jaw and lowered his mouth closer to his ear.

“You’re incredible, Baz,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that.”

Simon pulled back and his breath hitched. Baz’s eyes were slightly open, a half moon of a grey iris under heavy lids.

“Wha...who...?” The human rasped out.

Shit.

“Baz?! Baz are you there?” The other human’s voice wasn’t that far away.

Simon scrambled off the sand and dove into the water. Penny followed close behind.

———————————————-

Baz sat up with a groan. He hurt all over. Probably because he’d been catapulted off that bloody ship. He looked around at his surroundings. A beach, like the one near his family castle. Wait, no, it was his beach, with it’s bright white sand and jagged cliffs. His eyes widened. On his left was his violin, also wet but intact. How did it get here? How did he get here?

Everything was blurry after the explosion, but there were pieces. Faint shades of blue and bronze, the feeling of arms gripping his waist. And one thing was very clear in his mind. A man’s voice right next to his ear.

You’re incredible, Baz. I hope you know that.

“Baz! Guys he’s over here!” Dev jumped down the rocks and ran towards Baz. “Thank god you’re alive!”

Baz held his head. “Someone saved me. A-A man. He said things...his voice...”

Dev kneeled next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think you must’ve bashed your head against a rock, cuz. C’mon let’s get you home.”

He helped Baz get back on his shaky feet, taking his violin in the other hand. The rest of the crew grinned at and cheered for him from the rocks.

Baz looked back one last time though. And he swore he saw a flash of bronze and blue out of the corner of his eye.

———————————————-

Ah, and so it (sorta) begins. See you all next week :D

[thegiftedoneishere]

I thought white people were evil. I was wrong.

Whenever anyone mentions the historical atrocity of chattel slavery, white people will emerge from the dark crevices of humanity to gnaw away at the assertion like roaches on a discarded Cheeto. They will explain how most white people didn’t own slaves. They will offer a convoluted explanation about the Confederacy and Southern heritage. They will introduce the concept of “presentism”—the idea that we shouldn’t judge the actions of people in the past using modern-day standards—as if the white people of the past couldn’t quite grasp the idea of inhumanity and brutality until 1861.

Everyone knew that slavery was evil. 

Everyone knew that Jim Crow was evil. 

Everyone knew that lynching was evil.

 Everyone knows that any kind of injustice or inequality is evil. These things persist because most white people don’t actively fight to eradicate them.

And most white people don’t actively fight to eradicate inequality and injustice because they usually benefit in some small way. The Southern economy was built on evil slavery. Jim Crow laws maintained a national order with white people firmly planted atop the social hierarchy. Systematic injustice keeps black people in their place, but it also comforts white people to know that the big black bogeymen are being kept behind bars.

Inequality and racism exist not because of evil but because the unaffected majority put their interests above all others, and their inaction allows inequality to flourish. That is why I believe that silence in the presence of injustice is as bad as injustice itself. White people who are quiet about racism might not plant the seed, but their silence is sunlight.

Many of those people don’t speak out because they fear alienation more than they hate racism. For them, the fear of having someone furrow their brow in their direction outweighs their hatred of sending children to an underfunded school knowing that they don’t have an equal chance at success because of the color of their skin.

They know the reality of disproportionate police brutality, but they don’t have to worry about their children being shot in the face. Their kids receive good educations. Their kids can wear hoodies whenever they please. Little Amber and Connor’s résumés don’t get tossed in the trash because of their black-sounding names. Their children’s futures are determined only by work ethic and ability. Therefore, they stay silent on the sidelines.

That’s not evil.

That is cowardice.

“All tyranny needs to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.”

—THOMAS JEFFERSON (MAYBE)

On Thursday, while visiting San Antonio, I was approached by a gentleman who heard my name and wanted to know if I was the Michael Harriot from The Root. He said that he was a paralegal who works with one of the noted immigration attorneys who were all over the news that day (I don’t know which one because I had been traveling and ... Crown Royal). He began to explain how the Trump administration was literally putting children in concentration camps.

Hold up ... before that previous sentence causes Caucasian heads to explode, allow me to offer this definition from Dictionary.com:

Concentration Camp: a guarded compound for the detention or imprisonment of aliens, members of ethnic minorities, political opponents, etc., especially any of the camps established by the Nazis prior to and during World War II for the confinement and persecution of prisoners.

Now back to our previous conversation.

Just before he shook my hand and said it was nice meeting me, he explained that it was entirely possible that those children might never see their parents again. Then he said something that I still cannot erase from my brain. He paused, his hand still gripping mine, and looked past me as if he were recalling something, and said, “This is some Gestapo shit, man.”

I know that sentence gave liberals heart palpitations. There is always pushback anytime someone compares anything or anyone to the führer. Even though there is a literal Nazi movement rising in this country, Hitler is the third rail of every conversation, no matter how apt the comparison.

Despite the similarities between 1933 Germany and 2018 America (a rise in nationalism, a government-sponsored ethnic-cleansing movement, a racist strongman in power, that whole concentration camp thing ... ), the most obvious parallel between the Third Reich and the Trump administration is the willing silence of the majority.

Trump chief of staff John Kelly, Secretary of Homeland Security Kirstjen Nielsen, White House press secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Speaker of the House Paul Ryan and many others refuse to publicly stand up to this insane administration even though they disagree with the policies. Ryan would rather quit. Kelly has reportedly given up. Sanders is reportedly leaving the White House. But none have publicly broken up with Donald Trump.

But it is not just the politicians in the Republican Party who are afraid to speak out against their base; the spineless cowardice of the Democrats has also become increasingly apparent. We expect Republicans to stand with their fearless leader and maintain their grip on power, but Democrats have been so silent that Rep. Maxine Waters’ defiance makes her look like a crazy woman in a tinfoil hat by comparison.

A CBS survey revealed that most Americans disagree with Trump’s “both sides” equivocation regarding the Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Va., last year. According to a CNN/ORC poll, a majority of Americans opposed the white-nationalist-inspired travel ban. Two-thirds of Americans say that separating children from their parents at the border is unacceptable, according to a CBS poll.

Still, most white people won’t do shit.

The crisis at the border is the latest addition to a long list of instances when white people have chosen silence over what is right. Most of the white people who supported civil and voting rights still did not march, boycott or sit in. The white people who shed tears over police videos won’t attend a Black Lives Matter meeting.

Cowards. All of them.

“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”

—DESMOND TUTU

At least once a week, I will receive an email from a well-meaning white person who wants to know what they can do to fight injustice and inequality. The answer to that is simple. Whenever and wherever you spot racism or inequality, say something. Do something.

Every. Single. Time.

If a white person spoke up every time a fellow Caucasian used the word “nigger” in the safe space of whiteness, they would stop doing it. If a white person advocated for diversity and equality behind the closed doors of power, where black faces are seldom present, people in power wouldn’t dismiss the reality of the tilted playing field.

And maybe I should go back and add the word “some” before every mention of “white people” in this article because I’d bet every penny I have that at least one white person with good intentions is reading this while murmuring, “Not all white people ... ”

Which is exactly my point.

“Some” is not enough.

Some white people will speak out sometimes, just like some fish can fly and somebears can ride bicycles. But if a biologist were lecturing on the mobility of aquatic animals or grizzlies, it would be idiotic to interrupt with the rare cases of flying fish or bears that ride Huffys.

Fish swim. Bears walk.

And white people are cowards.

“I always wondered why somebody doesn’t do something about that. Then I realized I was somebody.”

—LILY TOMLIN

There is a quote in the Holocaust Museum by Martin Niemöller, who was imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp for speaking out against Adolf Hitler. The quote reads:

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Initially, Niemöller supported the Nazi Party for years because he “felt that reparations, democracy, and foreign influence” had damaged his country and “believed that Germany needed a strong leader to promote national unity and honor.”

Sound familiar?

When they came for black people, white people, like Neimöller, did nothing because they were not black. When they came for the Muslims, white people did not speak out because they were not Muslims. When they came for the immigrants, white people remained quiet because they were not immigrants.

The most disheartening part of all this is that black people and other people of color alone cannot abolish discrimination and hate. It is a problem created by white America and maintained by the silence of the majority. Every form of inequality would disappear by next Friday if every white person in America used his or her privilege to eliminate it.

It is useless to speculate on the exact reasons why they don’t. Sure, some of them are racists who benefit from the current social order. But many are just unmotivated because they don’t want to upset the apple cart. They will weep at the sight of children being ripped from their parents’ arms and shipped to internment camps. They will say Philando Castile’s death was a cruel injustice. They will tell you they “have a good heart.”

But they will only whisper these feelings? Who gives a fuck about hearts when their mouths are quiet and their hands are idle?

Republicans who disagree with the Trump administration remain silent. Instead of screaming at the top of their lungs, Democrats are calmly suggesting the same electoral solution that put Trump in power in the first place. Moderate whites say nothing behind closed doors. White women still have not confronted the 53 percent of their population who supported Trump.

And that is why racism persists. That is how Trump maintains his power. Injustice is evil. The cowardice of silence perpetuates injustice, and anything that perpetuates evil is, by definition, also evil.

Therefore, silence is evil.

As Leonardo da Vinci once said (I could not find the exact source. I think he said it when he painted the Mona Lisa, fought injustice as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle or starred in Inception): “He who does not oppose evil commands it to be done.”

This is some Gestapo shit.

Until all white people do and say something, people in power will always be able to point to the silent majority and say that no one cares about racism or inequality. Ultimately, whiteness affords them the right to remain silent.

I thought white people were evil.

I was right.

[carry-on-kissing-snowbaz]

Stuck in the Catacombs (COC Day 18)

Day 18: Stuck in a...

This is just an eighth year fic where Simon realizes his feelings for Baz a little sooner. @carryon-countdown

My other COC fics can be found here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Word Count: 1571

Simon

It was stupid for Simon to be following Baz into the catacombs but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He hadn’t been this obsessed with following Baz since fifth year but now that Baz had come back from who knew where Simon had felt like it necessary to follow him again. Baz had been walking with a limp lately and looked more miserable with the world than usual. Simon didn’t want to look into why he cared so much but found that he did and wanted to be there in case Baz passed out or got hurt. And he couldn’t very well offer to go with Baz because Baz would simply snarl at him for even bothering to ask. Which is how Simon ended up following Baz down that night into the bowels of the catacombs.

When he reached the bottom of the steps of the Children’s Tombs he stopped just short of slamming right into Baz’s chest. He was standing there and glaring at Simon with his arms crossed over his chest. Everything about his posture screamed fuck off and his glare was even worse, murderous.

“What are you doing Snow?” he snapped.

Simon froze.

“You knew I was following you?”

Baz narrowed his eyes before snorting.

“You’re not that sly Snow. It’s been a long time since you used to follow me but apparently you haven’t improved much.”

Simon scowled. 

Even if he had felt sympathetic and strangely drawn to Baz lately it didn’t change the fact that he could behave like a royal arse.

“Look,” Simon said, “I’m not trying to spy on you.”

Baz shrugged.

“It doesn’t really matter to me why you’re following me. I just want you to stop.”

“But-“

“Please Snow,” he said, cutting him off, “It’s all I’m asking for.”

His tone suggested that saying the word ‘please’ to Simon took a considerable amount of effort. But Simon could also hear the edge or exhaustion and desperation. Something in Simon’s chest squeezed painfully and he found that even though it worried him to leave Baz alone like this, he wanted to do as Baz wished.

“Okay,” Simon whispered.

He started to go up the stairs and reached for the gate that would lead back to the stairs to the chapel. When he wrenched the handle though, he found that it wouldn’t budge. He rattled the metal grille for a minute or so before sighing and giving up.

“Uh,” Simon called out, “We may have a problem.”

Baz clomped his way up to Simon and glared at him.

“What’s wrong?”

Simon jiggled the locked gate again.

“We’re uh, stuck in here.”

Baz glared.

“Move,” he said.

Simon moved aside and watched as Baz gripped the gate and pulled, the muscles in his back tensing and flexing in fascinating ways. For a moment Simon was so distracted by the sight that he forgot they were trapped in what was essentially a mausoleum. 

“Fuck,” Baz said.

Simon bit his lip.

“I’m not sure why it’s locked. It’s never done that before,” he said.

Baz turned on him, obviously furious.

“No shit Snow,” he said, “Which means we have no idea how long we’ll be trapped in here.”

Simon rolled his eyes and made his way back to the tombs, sitting on the dusty floor. Baz followed him reluctantly and settled across from him as far as he possibly could. 

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Simon said, “Someone will come looking for us eventually.”

Baz raised an eyebrow.

“And in the meantime? What are we supposed to do about food? Or water?”

Simon frowned.

“Do you really think it’ll be that long?”

Baz shrugged.

“I have no idea,” he said, “But I happen to have more experience than I would like to when it comes to being trapped for long periods of time.”

Simon studied Baz. 

“Is that why you were gone for so long? You were…trapped somewhere?”

Baz shuddered lightly.

“That’s none of your business,” he snapped.

Simon crawled over to sit next to Baz, ignoring his slight flinch as he did so.

“I know,” he said, “But I wish you would let it be my business.”

Baz glanced at him.

“Why?”

Simon shrugged, his heart racing, and crossed his legs.

“We’re stuck down here, we may as well find something to talk about.”

Baz studied his face for a moment before sighing, his posture echoing defeat.

“Fine,” Baz said, “I’ll tell you. But only because I know you won’t leave it alone. I was…kidnapped.”

Simon felt like he’d been slapped or like someone had thrown ice water on him. The idea of Baz being kidnapped had occurred to him before but he’d always rejected the possibility as strongly as he’d rejected the idea of Baz being dead; both options were too horrible to consider. Anger bubbled up in him as he realized that someone had kept Baz for as long as they had.

“Who was it?” Simon growled.

Baz looked confused.

“Why do you care?”

Simon blinked and looked away.

“Why does it matter?” 

Baz pursed his lips and seemingly let it go.

“I’m not sure who was behind it,” he said, “But it was numpties.”

Simon cocked his head to the side.

“Uh…numpties?” he asked.

Baz rolled his eyes.

“Yeah I know,” he said, “Anyways it was pretty terrible. But I’m all right now.”

Simon looked at him.

“You don’t really seem all right,” he said, “I mean, you’ve been limping everywhere and besides that you’ve looked really down lately.”

Baz laughed humorously and leaned back against the stone of the tomb behind him.

“You don’t want to know what’s really going on with me Snow,” he said, “Trust me.”

Simon growled.

“You don’t know anything Baz.”

Baz didn’t open his eyes. He just stayed like that, almost like he’d fallen asleep against the cold stone, which Simon guessed was virtually impossible to do. The only sign that he’d heard Simon was the twitch of his mouth.

“So tell me then,” Baz said.

Simon sighed, deflated.

“You wouldn’t want to know what was going on in my head either,” he said, looking at his fingers.

“Then it looks like this is the end of our conversation,” Baz said.

Simon shook his head.

He knew it would be a disaster to tell Baz the truth. That he was pretty sure he was in love with him and that he had no idea what to do about it. And yet, trapped as they were in a room of death, Simon wanted to tell him. He felt like he was choking on the words, fighting them from coming up. 

“What you asked me earlier,” Simon said, “About why I care…I care because it’s been miserable this year without you.”

Baz opened his eyes, surprise on his face.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft. 

Simon felt like something was crashing inside of him, like his refusal to acknowledge his feelings was crumbling into nothingness and everything he felt for Baz was rushing through. 

“I mean that it was torture not knowing where you were and whether or not you were okay. I looked for you everywhere and I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even eat. Nothing about Watford was the same without you.”

Baz’s eyes had hooded slightly, reluctant warmth in his expression.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me Snow,” he said.

Simon sat up and reached for Baz, ignoring the way he stilled as his hand got closer. He reached over and tucked one of the locks of his shiny black hair behind his ear.

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you,” he said, “And that I’d really prefer if you called me Simon.”

Baz’s eyes dropped to Simon’s mouth and then he leaned forward.

When he kissed Simon, it felt as if something had finally been set right. Like all the strange loneliness that Simon had carried over the years, that had been worse while Baz was gone, had been eradicated in one single act. Baz’s lips were rewriting everything in Simon’s mind and he kissed him back to share the story with him. 

Baz murmured his name while they kissed and rain his fingers through Simon’s hair. It didn’t even matter that there were skulls all around them and dirt on their hands. Simon curled his own fingers in the hair at the base of Baz’s neck and pulled him closer, wanting to drink every bit of him in.

They broke apart when they heard the sound of the gate creaking open. Simon looked over, expecting to see a staff member or maybe even Penny and was confused when he saw that the gateway was empty.

“That’s weird,” Simon murmured.

“Yeah,” Baz agreed, “It’s like…something was waiting for that to happen. And once it did, it decided to let us go.”

Simon shuddered a little at the thought. Living as long as he had in the World of Mages, he had to admit that it was a possibility. The thought that someone or something had wanted them to admit their feelings to one another was both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well,” Simon said, “It looks like we’re not trapped anymore.”

Baz looked at Simon’s mouth.

“Can we maybe continue this in our room instead of in a tomb?”

Simon laughed and kissed him quickly.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think I’m okay with that.”

[darallia]

Sapphire (beginning)

Silver cloud academy, a rather odd public boarding school. It is a place of learning for the elite of society and trains those destined to become of the highest importance. Like any respectable establishment meant for polite society, it is divided into four houses: sapphire, ruby, emerald and zircon. It is isolated from the world in a fruitful valley in the northern green lands, away from prying eyes. The story thus begins here:

Daniel Westmarch, was a young aristocrat and by the grace of the King, a nobleman. It was by the shrewdness of his father that he came to possess such great wealth and status. Although he was a highborn, his father was not, in fact he came from the lowest of the low, where not even a penny be sparred. Upon reaching the age of seventeen, his father sought to compensate his youngest son's lack of inheritance by giving him the best of educations and sending him to silver cloud academy, unlike his oldest brother, who would inherit the title given to his father by his royal highness the king. His other brother, Ellis would join his majesty's armed forces and his sister is to be wed to a Scottish viscount. Indeed. Daniel's life was not an easy one, ignored most his life by those that would call him kin, maligned by whomever, felt the slightest threat from him. He wasn't violent but rather too intelligent for his own good. There was a sense of superiority that would be born in those who learnt to use his own kindness against him and managed to dominate a man of his stature: Even though he be kind, his towering height and unsightly appearance would stir up the feeling of uneasiness, when in his proximity or let alone be subjected to his gaze. His parents thus thought of a way to remedy both their problems by sending him away, where he could not spoil their good reputation. An early Saturday morning, they sent for a carriage to escort him from Cambridgeshire to Allerdale.

The ride was long and full of thoughts. He knew nothing of the school to which he was going. He had only once heard of its name, when he had spoken to a young lady who was fond of him, Leonor was her name. She told him that her brother studied there and that it was a rather odd school, with a code of conduct unseen in their time and that they had produced most members of the king's privy council. He also thought of her, would he ever see his only friend once more or will the past depart to never be seen again? He was curious as to why a Marquis's daughter would ever subject herself to him, who was despised by all who laid eyes on him, he correctly guessed that she fancied him. He loathed the idea of having to start anew, and worse of all be forgotten. Whilst thinking, he would look onto the road, the breeze gently caressing his soft skin, blowing his black hair backwards, it would however prove to not be sufficiently strong so as to force him to look away. He eventually grew tired of this and laid his head backwards into the darkness of the carriage. He arrived late at night, to a rather grandiose palace, clearly divided into five structures. They were built of smooth stone and decorated in a baroque architecture. He was in awe; the entire school would prove to be several times larger than Windsor castle.

Upon arrival at the court of honour, he was swiftly greeted by a young-looking woman, she was beautiful. She had black hair, tied up in an elaborate chignon. She donned around her neck a discreet but beautiful collar, made of a mixture of platinum and white gold and encrusted with sapphires. It held the shape of a caduceus. Whilst she stood in front of the carriage door, she introduced herself to him:  

_ " Hello. My name is Alexandra Aurelia Sidhebourne, I am the headmistress of sapphire house", she warmly uttered to him.

_" Hello to you too, my name is Daniel …"

_" I know your name, Mr Westmarch ", she interrupted, all the while opening the carriage door. " Would you care to come with me?", she said whilst extending her arm to him. As soon as he stepped off the carriage, he immediately noticed her stature. Indeed, she was as tall as a man. " Ah, you now see, why I too have been exiled ", she said as a smile began covering her pale face. They entered the main building and soon found themselves walking along a rather long hallway, that lead to a grandiose staircase. As she took her first step, Daniel stopped and said:

_ " If I may be so bold as to ask, may I inquire as to why an all-male boarding school, has a woman as the headmistress of one of its houses? And why exactly do houses require headmasters?". Already on the first step, and eye to eye with Daniel, she answered:

_ " Of course, you may, it is natural that you have questions about our "special" academy. And it might as well be, if we are to live together for several years. Silver Cloud is unique, in that it ignores previously held beliefs, completely. It is a gift, almost a refuge. Here, not even god can reign."  

_ " What? I don't understand." He impulsively replied

_ " I guess you didn't notice the black tulips in the court of honour"

_ " What does that have to do with anything?" He riposted, as he raised his voice.

They were suddenly interrupted by the headmaster. Seen as Alexandra was tall and that the institute was renowned, he expected the headmaster to also reciprocate in height, as well as bearing other prominent features such as a heavy face, broad shoulders and an impeccable physical condition. But much to his dismay, Alexandra was right and there, nothing is as expected. The headmaster of a quite advanced age, was only just about 1,70 metres tall, although he usually wore a rather large hat, that gave him an additional 10 centimetres. His hair was mostly white with a few stray grey strands of hair on the sides. He bore a large and refined moustache, one would expect to only see in caricatures. It too, had its colour worn out. The "sun king" as the student host commonly mocked him, had a conspicuously large belly, from which his epithet came. His attire like all in the school, consisted of a suit, a white shirt and a red tie. He however took on the licence to change his wardrobe to distinguish himself from all others and wore a bow tie. Anyhow, he approached them both at just the right distance so that he didn't have to stare up at them. " Ah, Mr. Westmarch. We've been expecting you. My name is Emmanuel blod, I am the Headmaster of this wonderful academy." He said

_ " Pleased to make your acquaintance." He replied

_ " Would you please come this way, to my office" he said as he began walking up the stairs.

They walked up the red, carpeted stairs, into his office just at the end of the hallway, facing the court of honour.  He slowly opened the door, as if making sure that all was as it should. He then extended his arm towards the inside of the room and invited them in. Daniel let Alex pass first, then immediately followed her, before being himself catenated by Emmanuel. He had a quite spacious office, bearing decoration and wallpaper, with a striking resemblance to the rest of the edifice. They were decorated in a French classicist manner. The walls were white with golden with woodwork attached to them, the floor covered in a red and gold carpet, a wooden cabinet displaying finely garnished Chinas, two ornate wooden chairs, facing a magnificent davenport, with a small yet comfortable chair. Nothing less than as expected from such a reputable and wealthy family. At his request they both sat on the twin chairs, and begin to face him, that is if he like them, were to sit down. He instead insisted on presenting them some sweets, he had previously obtained, whilst away on vacation. Now all seated, he began to inquire about his previous living conditions, status and education: " So, I've been told you...are from Cambridge. Am I correct?" He said, whilst placing his hands together in front of him.

_ " You are indeed, headmaster", Daniel replied.

_ " But, excuse my prying... Why is it that a young noble from Cambridge, who from what I've heard managed to impress the dean of trinity college, would ever step foot in an academy nearly a thousand miles away?", he curiously inquired, all the while attempting to unwrap a candy wrapper. Daniel's face was frozen in both contemplation of his ill-fortune and amazement of the headmaster's deductive reasoning. The silence was then abruptly broken, by the headmaster just having failed to get a hold of his sweet: " Bollocks, why won't this bloody thing open?" He nearly shouted. Upon realising what he had just said, he leaned his head back, with his hand over his mouth and his enlarged eyes. The taken back Alexandra; Then readied for speech, but before she could fulfil her objective, someone knocked on the door. "Ah. That must be Mr. Freudekraft", said Emmanuel, taking the opportunity to let his indiscretion pass unmolested. He then stood up, went around the table and opened the door, which revealed a handsome young man, with dark brown hair, light brown eyes, with a round face and an impeccable wardrobe. He proceeded to walk up to the desk, now at Daniel's right, and presented himself: "How'd you do? My name is Alexander Finnigan Leopold Freudekraft, and I am Sapphire's head prefect, I am here to take you away, so to speak", he said whilst looking exclusively at Daniel. He however, was not paying much attention to what his superior was telling him, but instead focused on the little details about him that have now become clear, due to their proximity. He already had a fully-grown beard, although it was shaven, the marks were still visible. He had a quite round face, with no prominent cheek bones as Daniel had, he however more than made up for it with a perfect white-teeth, genuine-looking smile, that covered his face nearly every time he was in the presence of superiors. It took him a few seconds to snap back into the present, at which time he responded with a swift and shy: "Yes, of course. Shall we?". The headmaster then said his final statement of encouragement, and upon its cloture, Finn placed his hand on Daniel's shoulder, prompting the latter to look at Alexandra who greeted his blushing face with a smile. And after saying their goodbyes to the headmistress and the headmaster, the two young men retired to their house.    

[nigelolsson]

As an Intuitive Drummer, Elton John’s Nigel Olsson Can’t Be Beat

https://lasvegassun.com/blogs/kats-report/2012/oct/17/intuitive-drummer-elton-johns-nigel-olsson-cant-be/ 

By John Katsilometes, Wednesday, Oct. 17, 2012 | 6 p.m.

Nigel Olsson has always wanted to be a showman, but onstage he’s not always so showy.

At times, he might even be overlooked.

It’s not easy to lose track of the drummer in a rock band, of course, except when the man at center stage is Elton John, and his instrument -- and show -- is known as “The Million Dollar Piano.”

But Olsson, the self-described quiet one who took up drums early in his career primarily because it was a safe place to hide when fans in English pubs threw bottles at the stage, has a move that’s all his own. He pivots his body from his right to left and crashes the manhole cover-sized cymbal high atop an oversized drum set fashioned after a World War II Royal Air Force Spitfire fighter plane.

Olsson slams that cymbal with a flourish, part orchestra conductor, part lumberjack. It’s a move made by any drummer, but none strike the cymbal with quite the flair of the man who has played drums for Elton John since 1970.

This isn’t to suggest the 63-year-old Olsson has choreographed this act or is one to throw thunderbolts from behind his drum kit.

“You know, I don’t play hard. People think I play hard because of the way my drums are tuned, which is very low,” says Olsson, whose silver suit on this day matches his hair and drum set. “But I’m proud of the emotion I put into the sound. I hardly ever break sticks. They wear out, but they rarely break.

“The way I play, I want to give the emotion that comes from these incredible songs to whoever is listening. Maybe the best way to say it is I am a very descriptive drummer. I play to the piano, and to the lyrics.”

John’s “Million Dollar Piano” is in the midst of its most recent run at the Colosseum in Caesars Palace. The remaining performances in this spree are tonight through Sunday and Oct. 26-28. (In September 2011, John signed a three-year contract to perform a total of 90 shows, but Olsson said he hopes two more years might be added to that agreement; he would buy a condo in Las Vegas if that happens.)

John’s band is mostly comprised of musicians with whom he has performed for decades, but none dates back as far as Olsson.

The two met in 1969, and the first credited performance by Olsson on any John collaboration was the song “Mr. Boyd” by the soon-forgotten band Argosy. The group featured Roger Hodgson (who later founded Supertramp) on vocals and Reginald Dwight -- later to be known as Elton John -- on keyboards.

Asked about that initial project, Olsson laughs and says, “Wow, that sounds right, probably. I’ll have to check my royalty checks.” Olsson also was a member of a short-lived band called Plastic Penny, which was managed by Dick James Music, which also was the publisher of songs written by John and longtime collaborator Bernie Taupin.

“With me being around the office, I got to know all the guys, and Bernie and Elton were there writing songs for other people,” Olsson says. “I got to know them that way.”

In a nomadic path familiar to many rock drummers, Olsson shifted to the better-known Spencer Davis Group. When that band fractured, John recommended Olsson to play with Uriah Heep, a partnership that lasted “nine dates, and, I think, one record,” as Olsson recalls.

But John had more far-reaching plans, as he had just recorded his eponymous first album (using Terry Cox on drums) and was being sent to the United States on a brief but career-changing promotional tour.

John asked Olsson and bassist Dee Murray to join him for a trip to the Troubadour rock clubs in Los Angeles and San Francisco for weeklong engagements in each venue. This was in the summer of 1970, as the trio were to debut in the U.S. in late August.

The three filed into James’ office to rehearse. Among the songs sampled were “Your Song,” “Bad Side of the Moon” and “Take Me to the Pilot.”

“Within the first eight bars, I knew this was the kind of music I wanted to play,” Olsson says. “It took me totally to a different place. It was inspirational, refreshing. I thought, ‘I haven’t heard this type of music since the Beatles broke through.’ ”

Taken as a whole, the club dates were a make-or-break proposition. If they were well-received, Elton and his little band might well be on their way to international success.

If not …

“(James) said he knew a shoe store down the street (from the Troubadour in L.A.), and you can get a job making shoes,” Olsson says, laughing. “True story. So I didn’t get the job at the shoe store.”

Aside from a 10-year hiatus to pursue his chief nonmusical passion, racecars, Olsson has since been John’s primary drummer. He has been at the epicenter of some of the greatest music and performances in the history of rock music, yet is nonchalant about his rise to fame. From that opening night at the Troubadour (which is memorialized in a color-splashed montage during John’s show at the Colosseum), when Neil Diamond, Quincy Jones, Gordon Lightfoot, Leon Russell and Mike Love of the Beach Boys were in the audience, Olsson has remained hard focused on the music.

“We didn’t have time to figure out what was going on. We were working nonstop,” he says. “We’d go in and record an album, then go and tour. We always were touring some songs that were still in the can, basically, and we didn’t have time to sit back and think, ‘Wow! We’re getting big time here!’ ”

When asked of his music inspirations, Olsson first mentions the Beatles. Many of his references to his playing style, or even his personal disposition -- unassuming, like Ringo -- are geared toward the Fab Four.

“I would say that I’m not a technical drummer at all. I can’t read music. The way I love to play is just putting the headphones on and listening to the Beatles,” Olsson says. “I idolized Ringo. I modeled my playing after him. I loved his work on songs like ‘I Am the Walrus,’ and from him I learned that what you leave out makes it work.”

Olsson favors ballads, quickly listing “Someone Saved My Life Tonight,” “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road,” “Circle of Life” and “Empty Garden,” the tribute to John Lennon just added to the Colosseum set, as his favorites.

“When you play the ballads, you can feel the warmth from the crowd,” he says. “We play the same songs every night, the exact same show, but the feeling from the crowd is always special, you can really feel that each night.”

Asked to name another drummer he counts as an influence, Olsson’s answer raises an eyebrow: Stevie Wonder.

“Believe it or not, yeah, the way he plays drums is amazing,” Olsson says, grinning. “I worked with him on the ‘Songs in the Key of Life’ album because I was doing a solo record in the same studio complex (the Record Plant in Hollywood). He heard my drums that Slingerland (Drum Company) had especially built for me and said, ‘Can I borrow your drums?’ So I called the company and asked if it would be possible to make a drum kit exactly the same as mine for Stevie Wonder. They said, ‘Stevie Wonder? What?’ but stopped the production line and had them sent within a week.”

Olsson stops at that story and says, “Funny, isn’t it? Who you meet?”

But Olsson is not terribly fond of telling Elton stories. Years ago, he grew tired of the questions about the iconic, and occasionally temperamental, superstar. “Everyone wanted to know, ‘How many pairs of glasses does he have?’ Or, ‘How high are his shoes?’ because he used to wear these knee-high boots. It was just so boring.”

But he does speak to John’s brilliance. “There’s no two ways about it. I mean, he’s a genius. He’s so kind to people, even though he’ll throw what we call ‘wobblers’ now and then.”

John threw a "wobbler" during a show at the Colosseum in May, tossing a stool and water bottles across the stage and complaining generally about his management team.

“He’ll get mad if the flowers are dead in the dressing room -- or wilting. There is a certain type of flower he hates, I can’t remember which,” Olsson says. “But he’s such a decent person. Since Zachary came along, the baby, it’s made his life a lot calmer.”

The son of John and his husband, David Furnish, Zachary turns 2 on Christmas. He was born to a surrogate mother and also is remarkable because his godmother is Lady Gaga.

“Elton sent me a video of Zachary in France when they were on holiday, in August,” Olsson says. “He’s eating lunch, and you can hear David in the background, ‘What’s that you’re eating, Zachary?’ And he says, ‘Petit pois! Peas!’ So he’s now bilingual! One of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen.”

Olsson likens John’s band to a family. Longtime members back John onstage at the Colosseum. The graybeards include guitarist Davey Johnston, keyboardist Kim Bullard and percussionist Ray Cooper (whom is a flurry of activity onstage behind Olsson). Percussionist John Mahon and bassist Matt Bissonette fill out the band. Bissonette is stepping in for the late Bob Birch, who died at age 56 of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound in August.

Birch had for years been suffering from pain in his legs and back from being hit by a truck in Montreal in 1995, an accident that nearly killed him. In the shows leading up to his death, Birch was in such pain, he played while seated on a stool.

Olsson says that when it came time to reunite the remaining band members, John pulled the musicians and crew together and said, “We all loved Bob, and we will only think happy, good thoughts about him. There will be no crying, no miserable faces, and we will always have him in our hearts.”

“Of course, by the end of it, everybody was crying,” Olsson says.

He is similarly moved when recalling the “electric” night of Thanksgiving 1974, when Lennon joined Elton and the band for three songs at Madison Square Garden. This was to pay off a bet Lennon had made with John that he would join John for that show if “Whatever Gets You Through the Night” reached No. 1. It did, and Olsson counts the moment as one of the highlights of his career.

“You would not have believed the energy of that night,” he says.

During the show at Caesars, as grainy footage of Lennon charging onstage with John plays on the Colosseum LED screen, Olsson starts the song by stepping into his bass drums with two quick beats.

“Thump-thump” is the sound, and the descriptive drummer is keeping perfect time with every heartbeat in the room.