#perfect for being angry with the Catholic church but you can only do so much they have a whole frickin area around the damn Vatican

[kfeinf-29jcdei]

I figured out a thing and now I just feel like dora the explorer. No real accomplishment but my own dance with my own backpack THAT I MADE DANCE WITH ME and a fox who steals enough to have a felony. Congratulations, you sing your own songs now too. No help unless we click on your destination for you. Kinda racist, isn't it? Why can't she have a friend with no criminal activity regularly and one more friend that's a person or animal and not her own possessions. YIKES that's evil. That's an only child too, man she's gotta have a shitty home life where is her mother and shit?

Anyway. It's a weird thing I had to like look up the entirety without finishing or going too far into detail to preserve time, world war 2 and then the cold war a little bit. I had no idea Stalin was so horrible he just killed anyone even like the men he used to kill like he wasn't even Hitler, he just gave less than the fucks Hitler had from his drugs and shit. That's my personal opinion people are BAT SHIT on a mission with continuous use of less than he did regularly or can be anyway. So, how is it Christianity and THE VATICAN BEING PUT AWAY ALONE AS A LITERAL LIKE SEPARATE ENTITY. OUT OF COUNTRY ANYONE OF THEM. JUST A FUCKING. ONLY. A. RELIGIOUS. ENTITY.

THOSE CREEPY CREEPS DID STUFF BACK THEN AND LEMME TELL YOU. I know a person who knows how those people operate with like secret secrets secretly hidden in the place that was forgotten by God and remembered by a dead guy who personally knew Jesus. Just by not talking about it. Over time, yes, they're men who wanted their way. With what he told me, I went hold on Stalin separated the Vatican and all. So LOOK AT US. MURICA, MAKE THEM BABIES CUZ POOR PEOPLE HAVE BEEN POOR OVER AND OVER WOOHOO THE RIGHT KIND OF (this is too inflammatory and opinionated but I think most minorities) THAT DIDN'T HAVE A VICTUM MIND SET MY DADDY DON'T LIKE ARE RAISIN BABIES AND FUCKIN LIKE RABBITS YEEEEEHOOOOO.

Like....if it made no sense to keep demonizing the people who aren't like so called church approved gay trans native what have you, why not figure out what God says? NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON HAS BEEN TOLD BY GOD GAYS TRANSGENDERS AND ALL THE REST aren't accepted at the human level. When is it anywhere? I mean, I always hoped and wished I'd see this in person. Because "Wait, you didn't hear the good news about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?" Virgin birth or not, um he ended a lot of people's involvement with Judaism IDC if he was human or an immortal being whatever. They listened to him teach and preserved the message.

Here's what I was made to understand, personally. sodom and gomorrah, the wrath of the divine being we know as God wasn't men having sex with adult men. Men who were raised into homophobic lives went batshit crazy, and it was normal to have children work and what not. Guess what happened? They were somehow (the ones committing pedophilia of course) being overcome with the whatever it is that causes men to rape as a result of a power trip. Then they went well this is a small human, and I have this now and it's better than what they did have or could have. Children in sexual servitude? Oh level the city to the ground and turn who looks at it into useless BS that has no value and won't even stay standing. So how did we get away from that? Idk the Catholics have the methods of prayer the most spot on of them and Christianity idk about Judaism at all. The rest are close in their own ways, but ITS OLD MEN KEEPIN OLD MENS SECRETS AND THEY MIGHT NOT KNOW. THEY PROBABLY BELIEVE REALLY REALLY HARD IN STUFF.

If there's a God just fucking put whatever telepathy everyone found out about in all the nationalism funded research that all of the big countries I believe had something of. We had MK ultra! We still have shit tons of regular people just regular ole people who can do that shit just once in a while boom I did this drug I see you and sucks cause I'm getting all that info out somewhere. God bless who has the ability to communicate it. IM PRAYING FOR THE GROUP OF LITERAL PSYCHOPATHIC DEAD MENS BULLSHIT COMING OFF OF THE RELATIONSHIP THAT THE WORLD HAS WITH RELIGION. I know America is big and loud with these abortion restrictions. If I get pregnant fuck it idgaf who it was he fucking raped me, and I was going through torture. Jail time? Good, keep me with their dicks in jail instead anyway. Look at my logic there, with a few people on my side out loud I'd have instant ignorant support. If women literally just got the ability to restrict access to sexual intercourse like as a sudden attack we could mind fucks them into their own hell or prison after prison.

Maybe if religious bullshit is talked about....maybe this will have nothing to hurt the perpetuating politicians and officials and the whole supreme court at least who went yeah we can do this evil thing...dun dun, or just a little. Let it fizzle out and give up or till the bitter endz make history and be remembered as a random power money and more power hungry asshole with no repercussions or accountability. We will see! Oh, it only keeps going the way you want so long. We get away with a lot with our own people from any government level. It's like a unintentional motivation I think. They're gonna have these people either missing from history or another "THIS WAS ALMOST ANOTHER SLAVERY. FOR A LITTLE BIT IT WAS. LOOK AT THE AFFECTED PEOPLE! SHAME SHAME SHAME DONT SPEAK THEIR NAMES OUT LOUD EW."

I can only repeat it so many times. Maybe God will help, never know. Good big giant clear cut in all languages maybe even sign anyone and anything can see and go "oh good people are all people." Could happen. It'd be cool without the prophet going through the whole entire Bible type thing. I mean why was all of the old testament like....Noah had something to do with Jesus right? I don't remember. What was that? Why? It was a sadists story. God did a thing he never does too like wow ok, kill the girl children, you didn't! Good, I was wrong. UM NO. God made all the breathing things and the plants. No capacity for it. Who else was in there talking? Wtf? They didn't even keep a dinosaur that was small. So we have no mention anyhow. Like I have more opinions but they're too much of a thing you wanna stab a bigger version of church.

Also, if witchcraft is not good what are the Catholics doing on TV? Look up Norse pagans, find the deity Freya okay. Animals, she loves the animals it's tame and you can't deny it! Find me a simple little bit of a cleansing routine with one. Thing. To. Cleanse. With. Compare it to all the smoking shit and the hand motions and the oils and all of it. Sir, you're wearing stuff women were burned for dancing in around fire in Salem and doing LESS. What. Is. This. Shit.

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

At the risk of yelling at clouds, here's one thing you need to know when you become an exchange student that no one will tell you.

You need to listen to your host parents. And I'm not saying that in the "kids these days have no respect" kinda way. Yeah, every year, regardless of your location, there will be a few students who don't respect or listen to their host parents. They're not popular with anyone, and might exclude their home country from being considered for exchanges with their host country in the future. Some organizations offer second chances. Some put you on the next flight home. You'll be warned about that bit. They're not exaggerating.

The second reason, and the one I learned before I ever knew I'd do an exchange of my own, is because There's A Reason They're Telling You That. And, yes, that sounds condescending as all get-out, so here's the story of how I learned that through observation.

Now, just as a preface: this is not an exceptional exchange student story. There's gonna be several people in every exchange program, long or short, who have a story like this. Some more spectacular than others. One fellow student in my year had no one to learn from before her. Her backpack got yeeted off Preikestolen and she spent 6 weeks without personal documents or bank cards. My baby guest sister, the most respectful and meek girl you've ever seen, accidentally committed sacrilege on several levels during Sunday Mass at a Catholic church.

It was the perfect May in Western Europe. Temperatures were in the low to mid twenties, clouds were fluffy, and a local high school my brother went to had organized a two week exchange with a high school in California. The Euros had come back and readjusted, so they imported the baby Muricans and prepared a nicely culture heavy itinerary for the 17-18-yos.

The Californians realized within 6 hours that they could legally get wine and beer. Bars, cafés, supermarkets,... Some had it for breakfast. So, logically, they wanted as much space as possible in their luggage and day packs for souvenirs and... Well, they could get a 12 pack each on their lunch break without anyone batting an eye. As long as the teachers didn't notice you were tipsy, all was well.

They did not understand why their host parents (and local student counterparts) were baffled and alarmed at them going absolutely nuts for it. Ours came home on the verge of alcohol poisoning on the fourth day. I have not heard my mother so angry before or since. She wasn't speaking English, but the gist of it didn't need much translation. It wasn't until I went to university that I saw someone vomit that much. It is still the only time I've seen someone cut back from mindless binge drinking to "nah, three's enough for me, bro" in under 12 hours.

These were not unintelligent kids. They followed their itinerary, they had sourced and packed everything on their supply lists, they checked the weather forecast (even if they didn't understand the commentary) and dressed as well as they could for the weather. Which, as I said before, was perfect T-shirt and shorts weather for the entire two weeks.

The second day we had our adopted West Coast Drought Bunny with us, my parents scraped together their English vocabulary to advise the teens pack a rain coat for their city trip of the day. Not an umbrella, a rain coat. They did the parental thing and repeated themselves several times. My brother demonstrated he had packed his lightweight, wind proof, foldable rain coat and his American counterpart just smiled and assured them he'd be okay.

He came back soaked, having broken one overpriced pocket umbrella sold at tourist traps, switched to one of those thin plastic rain ponchos and ripped that too. He'd also made the genius decision to wear heavy denim jeans and canvas sneakers instead of quick dry cargo shorts and sandals. He had had two hours of sitting in his wet clothes on the bus to consider why he was in this predicament. You can guess what happened next.

Next day, lather, rinse, repeat. Minus the umbrella and jeans, at least. He still was starting to get a full-body rash from being in wet clothes so much.

Fourth day, pre-beer incident, my parents wised up enough to make this optimist with his undying faith in the sunny forecast symbol get out and show his raincoat, and then pack it in front of them, before they would take them to the bus.

This stylish, very expensive, brand name, survival grade rain coat did not have a hood. It was water proof, it fit well, but it assumed weather was a thing that moved straight down at all times, so it is always more versatile to just use a hat or umbrella.

That is not true in spring, or even summer, in Western Europe. Every weather deity has seen the BS that area of the planet has pulled, historically, and is not done punishing them for it. Rain can and does come out of nowhere, most likely with wind, at any angle it damn well pleases, and doesn't leave until it's ruined at least one outfit via the neck or shoulder seam. Maybe it lasts 10 minutes, could be all day. You want a garment that covers your head and core like the least flattering 19th century condom imaginable. Something that won't tear when slip and fall while you run for cover.

He got sent out with my dad's backup coat (approximately 20 years out fashion, five sizes too big and smelling as all emergency clothing does) and came home relatively dry. Progress.

The following afternoon, after a very, very quiet brunch, my mother calmly announced she was taking the boys into town, and our exchange student was going to buy a proper rain coat, because she raised a sensible child who would happily translate for his mother and the store employees, and our guest student had been deemed responsible enough act in his own best interests before he came over. She did not want to call this boy's parents to say he ended up in the ER. Certainly not for pneumonia.

Side fact: if something is commonplace in your host country, there's probably a decent version of it that's affordable in a nearby store. The Californian rain jacket had cost a sum that made my parents question his parents' good judgement. The tiny little "reverts into a silly little pillow you can strap around your waist" thing that actually kept him dry for the next week cost about 90% less.

He didn't complain about it, and my parents didn't report that night of drinking to any teacher. The kids were in 12th grade. My parents knew, from personal experience, that all teens will eventually do unspeakably stupid stuff, and getting tyrannical about it only makes them scared to call home when they really fuck up. They did, however, call all the other parents in class to tell them to check their students' rain coats, and that stores X, Y and Z had a deal on in case they were unpleasantly surprised.

Mysteriously, the teachers reported less "whining" during the second week. Less negative feedback from bus drivers about sopping wet seats. Less blue lips and fingers, because 21°C is way colder when you're soaked than when you're dry. Less vacation pictures with wet hair, too.

So listen to your host parents. About stuff that seems obvious, like maybe not starting your morning with a heavy ale, and about stuff that makes zero sense, like packing a rain coat on the sunniest day imaginable.

[oracleoutlook]

I remember one day in the chapel writing down all the things that “Angry Jesus” said to me. Upon rereading what I had written, I realized that my view of Jesus was more like an abusive boyfriend than a savior or a friend. I had written, Your sin is your own fault and I’ll only forgive you if you don’t do it again. No matter how good your intentions were, you should have known better. I’m just. I owe you nothing. You deserve Hell. I was testing you, you failed. You can do all things through Me. That means if you ever do something wrong, it’s because YOU failed. I always give you “the grace” to do it, whatever that means. I always win this game, it makes me feel better about Myself. You have to believe everything the church teaches immediately, no hesitation, no questioning. Well, you can question, but there’s not a whole lot of point because you KNOW what answer you have to get if you don’t want Me to abandon you. I’ll never abandon you—as long as you do what I want. Be perfect, like Me. Ohhhh, snap! You can’t! Well, maybe if you’re really, really, really good and nice to me I’ll let you in to Heaven. But really, we both know what you really are—say it with Me now—NOT. GOOD. ENOUGH. Oh, you thought that peace and acceptance you felt earlier was Me? Nah. That was your own delusion again. The truth hurts, baby. And the truth is, I’ve never loved you. I’ve taken care of you so I could still look good and be praised. I’ve given you just enough to keep you in line. Even now, you writing all this? It’s blasphemy. You’re just making things worse for yourself. I’m going to demand even more groveling and penance and pain from you now before you can earn your way back into your prison of fear, er, I mean, into My good graces. But that’s how you like it, isn’t it. Because at least you can be sure. You know where we stand, you and I, and you understand this little game we play. You can’t leave Me. You’ll never find anyone as good as Me. Sometimes you suspect that I’M not really Jesus at all, that there is a being out there who placed these desperate yearnings in you and Himself yearns to satisfy them with Himself. Who doesn’t care how broken or wounded you are, who doesn’t need you to do anything except come to Him and who will never cast you out no matter how much you mess up. But you’re too scared to take a chance and that’s the way I like it. I own you and there’s nothing you can do about it. I stopped and reread what I had written. Then I wrote, in big block letters, THIS IS NOT THE VOICE OF GOD. THIS IS THE VOICE OF THE ACCUSER. I HAVE LISTENED FAR TOO LONG. I AM DONE. I LISTEN ONLY TO THE VOICE OF GOD, THE ONE TRUE GOD.

Jesus Is Not an Abusive Boyfriend, by 'Elena', from Christ's Body, Christ's Wounds: Staying Catholic When You’ve Been Hurt in the Church

[loveyourlovelysoul]

I work at a fast food restaurant that's main goal is to "Glorify God".

Best environment i've ever worked in and wouldn't change it for anything.. but working there, as someone who baptized as Catholic (who does not practice going to church or reading the bible) i find it confusing and hard. As a Catholic, though, there's a Saint some of us believe in.. La Santa Muerte. (Which i believe in)

I'm not here to push my beliefs or anything, or tell you Christianity is fake, or spread lies, i'm here because i'm hurt and confused.

As someone who works at that restaurant i get a lot of "God loves you" or "do you believe in God?" Either by guests or my coworkers.

This is what im here for- because at this point i don't know if i do believe in God or if he loves me. Questioning my religious status has been harder to find my answer to then when i have questioned my sexuality.

I just wonder if you feel the same?

I'm stuck with this dilema that i HAVE to believe in because everyone else does and because my family does and if *I* believe in him. I always get angry because someone who has been through a lot as a kid, i always felt like God was never there.

As a kid who needed saving, he was not there. My coworkers tried explaining it to me.. trying to understand their perspective and their faith, but i do not. I cannot.

Because i feel so angry at him. I feel so betrayed, because i needed help and he was not there when i begged him to be. Even trying to open my mind, even trying to go to church or pray, even when trying to confess my "sins".

I don't get the idea of having to praise and let someone in in order to be let into Heaven or in hopes of me being "saved". I don't get it.

When i tell people that i'm here, that i made it further than i thought i would have- especially to my coworkers... i get this feeling like they wanna say "God saved you".

No. I saved myself. No one else but me, i decided i wanted to live and continue, no one- or any "god" did that but myself.

I just don't understand why this religion thing exist. I mean like i get it, i respect it, but it's not for me. I don't agree with it.

Like i believe there is a God, but do i really have to do all these things in order to be "saved"? Or go to Heaven?

I'm sorry, this is a lot.

But im stuck. And it bothers me so much, because i want to believe in him- but my goodness... i just can't.

And i don't even know if any of this makes sense.. but i needed to say something. Because it's driving me insane.

I just want someone to understand.

Hey :)

Maybe you also needed to put down in words what is going on in your mind, which can be of great help in clearing confusions of any kind. We can journal about our problems so to give them a dimension in which they become clearer for us, and more understandable. You can do that everyday, take a few minutes to write down your thoughts and try to districate them slowly. Sometimes is a long process but it's okay. You have time.

What I wanna tell you anyway is that you don't have to do or believe in anything others do or believe in. Especially God, religions or whatever. You're you. Perfect exactly because of what makes you you. And I know feeling "out of the group" makes you wonder if you're wrong or not but, spoiler: you're not. No matter if there's no one else around you thinking the way you do. You're good anyway. You can have your views on everything, and the same way you don't wanna push your views on others, don't let them push their views on you either. That's just plain human (self) respect and boundaries. You ofc should listen and think about what they say (in general), decide if it's something that applies to your values or not, and then welcome that or just push it away. It's all up to you.

Religion (but I'd say spirituality, of which the very different religions are only a part), as sexuality ofc and any other matter that cannot be decided by anyone else but us, is a very personal thing. You can be agnostic, you can believe in the gods of nature (eg.), you can take your time and ask yourself if you really need to believe in an afterlife or not, and make up your own way to see it, if you need. And even find your reasons for why you didn't feel the presence of a God when you needed them to be there.

I'm not here to tell you what to do because I cannot. It's up to you to find your road, and as I said, no one else can impose theirs on you or guide you there. But you need to do it with patience and taking your time to understand yourself. You said you believe there's a God but don't know if you have to do certain things to go to Heaven/be saved. So what is this Heaven about for you? What is "being saved" about? Do you see this according on the Catholic religion you grew up into or something changed? Is it something rooted in you because of your upbringing or surrounding/environment atm, or there's something else? I'm a Catholic Christian baptized and not practicing, I found my place in spirituality not too long ago almost by chance. Imo there's not one and only truth: how many religions exist around the world? Do you think any of these is fake? I personally don't think so, but maybe others do. The human need to have any of these "win" over the others is indeed just... human, to me. The human need to be right and feel better than others. To me, it's just different ways to see the same thing: a way out to be helped, to feel suppported, to go on, to stay in contact with those we loved. To believe there's a way out of our everyday life. I don't see anything bad if anyone on this planet sees it in their own personal way, as long as it helps them in their daily life.

The annoying thing is the confusion we create one another when we want to impose certain beliefs, even on ourselves, cause we fear being judged by others around us. But spirituality/religion, are just so personal that it cannot be done or it'd just create a trauma. We all need to be able, the moment we grow and feel the need to, to find our religious/spiritual way imo. Since the early human communities, we have traces of cults that helped the livings connecting with the other wolrd, staying in contact with the deads, seeking guidance (the Romans and Celts with the druids), paying tributes to have Gods on their side especially before battles (eg. the Greeks)... it's not bad to seek answers from and believe in another world from where maybe our ancestors are looking over us and protecting us. As again, it's not bad to not have this need.

My suggestion is to read around the net about how religions and spirituality were born, what they are based on, and maybe get clearer about each of the cults until you can.. maybe find yours? Or one that makes you feel better, something to start with... if you need to find one ofc. The world is plenty of agnostic people, and if that's what makes them feel good then it's perfect.

Try to start by finding peace of mind and a way out of this confusion, which ofc may get tough seen that you work in a place where religion is often mentioned and at times "imposed"(?) through questions on you. Not sure if I am saying this right, but still... try to mentally get away from that, despite it's gonna be hard ig (btw, you can say you're working on your beliefs atm or also play pretend with colleagues/clients, if that's a way to feel better and work better: you're in fact working there so you can consider it just marketing especially with clients: you don't have to show the real you everytime unless it makes you feel like you're telling lies.. you need to check within). We can have doubts about religion/spirituality, even after years of hard practice, especially when we feel abandoned by God or whatever entity you'll decide is with you, and I feel that place is triggering your past, this religious wound about feeling abandoned in your childhood... so you probably need to explore that first and then try to find out what you need from spirituality/religion, how/if it can help you in your daily life, and rebuild that side of you.

It's probably going to be a long process, but you don't have to rush nor impose anything on you. Just find your own way to see things, explore both yourself and spirituality and don't be afraid of what you'll find.

I hope to have answered you somehow and that it makes sense. Just drop a dm or another ask if you need to talk. Take care :)

[mightymorphingayagenda]

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here,  x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” 

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.  

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.  

Humourless. 

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.  

“This is the part where you-“ 

“Shhh.” 

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.  

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.  

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.  

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.  

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.  

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.  

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.  

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.  

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.  

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.  

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.  

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.  

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. ��If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”  

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.  

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.  

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.” 

Cue phase two of the plan.  

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.  

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative. 

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.” 

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.” 

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.  

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.  

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”  

“Is that a threat?” 

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.” 

Eris said nothing.  

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued.  “To do as you’re told.” 

She gave him strict instructions.  Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me.  Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.   

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.” 

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.  

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.  

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.  

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle:  a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.  

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.  

Who’s your daddy, now?  

- 

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.  

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.  

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.  

“Damn it,”  she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.  

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway… 

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.  

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…  

“Ugh,” she said again, louder.  Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time. 

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.  

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?” 

He meowed again.  

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.  

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.  

Cassian’s jacket.  

Uhg.  

Now she was thinking about him again.  

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.  

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.  

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”. 

He purred.  

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath.  Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him.  The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.  

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.  

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.  

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.  

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.  

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автом��́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.  

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.  

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.  

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.  

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.  

Not a man. A boy.  

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.  

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.  

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex.  Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet.  In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.  

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.  

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it. 

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.  

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her. 

Her screaming.  

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body.  What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.  

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.  

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.  

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles.  And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.  

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.   

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even.  In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.  

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.  

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.  

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues. 

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.  

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.  

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.  

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” 

 Her mother’s last words.  

 Ten numbers.  

 Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door.  All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.  

 “три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.  

 Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.  

 Like a phone number.  

 No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough.  Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.  

 A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.  

 “Здравствуйте.” 

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.  

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.  

“Who is this?”  

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?   

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-” 

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.  

 A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.  

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.  

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.  

Go down for murder.  

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body.  How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.  

 Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly.  Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.  

 Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers.  The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.  

 “If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”  

 “You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?” 

 “Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.” 

 “Woof,” Nesta had said dryly. 

 “Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

 “You offering to adopt me?” 

 “I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.” 

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.  

 “But you ever want job, you call me.” 

 Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.  

 Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.  

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.  

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.  

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice.  Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.  

Until Feyre had moved to the city.  

 Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics,  selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit.  Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.  

 At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.  

 Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner. 

 Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.  

 Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.  

 Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.  

 The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.  

 Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.  

 Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring.  A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings. 

 If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain. 

 It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done.  Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.  

 She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.   

That and the fact they were really very good.  

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.  

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly.  Sinking deeper into the basin.  

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-  

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.  

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.  

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.  

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.   

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.   

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.” 

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.  

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.  

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”  

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully. 

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.  

“You told me to give him a chance.”  

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?” 

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.   

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.  

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on- 

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?” 

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”  

“Ever heard of the third date rule?” 

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?” 

Feyre sighed.  

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-” 

“So why did you send him my way?” 

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.  

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.” 

Nesta rolled her eyes.  

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked. 

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.  

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.” 

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.  

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.  

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.  

“Well I’ve been smoking.” 

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.” 

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.” 

“He only smokes them on special occasions.” 

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?” 

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.” 

“Oh so you did hear me?” 

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”  

She hung up.  

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.  

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.  

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.  

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.  

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.  

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.  

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.  

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and  sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client.  An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could.  Because it was just easier.  

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.  

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.  

Fuck.  

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.  

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot; ��but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.  

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong. 

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.  

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living! 

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.  

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.  

 — 

 Cassian had ignored her calls.  

All three.  

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.  

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator.  Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.   

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy.  She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.  

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.  

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.  

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.   

“All work and no play?”  

Cassian looked up from his desk.  

“I can fix that,” she said.  

He’d never looked more handsome.  

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.  

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.  

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.  

“What are you doing here?”  

Rude.  

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.  

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.  

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.” 

She turned to find him watching her.  

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.  

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.  

“You’re still upset about that?”  

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.” 

“Oh really?” 

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“ 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.   

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.  

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.” 

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” 

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly. 

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.  

It was all very conflicting.  

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.  

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.   

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again.  “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.” 

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.   

“You’re right,” she said.  

Cassian blinked.  

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.” 

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.  

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike.  “Your emergency, of course. Which was?” 

“Nothing to do with you.”  

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.   

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”  

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.  

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.  

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.  

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.   

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.  

“Shit.” 

His head fell into those large hands.   

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up.  So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.  

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.  

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.” 

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.  

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.  

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.  

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?” 

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.” 

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.” 

Nesta slid of the desk.  

“Go on,” she instructed.  

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.” 

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.  

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.  

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.  

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.  

“I can tell.” 

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.  

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”  

Cassian swallowed.  

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.   

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.  

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?” 

“If you say please.” 

“Please don’t screw around with me.” 

Nesta faltered.  

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.  

“I’m really into you,” he admitted.  “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.” 

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.  

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.  

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”  

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.  

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.   

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.  

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion.  “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.” 

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.  

“Nesta-“ 

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.” 

“Someone could come back-“ 

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.” 

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.  

“Nesta-” 

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders. 

“I want you,” she purred again.  

He might have tried to breath.  And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.  

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.” 

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.  

“You want me,” he breathed.  

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.  

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously. 

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.   

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.  

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.  

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.  

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.” 

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.  

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter. 

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…” 

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.  

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.” 

“And I’m saying you could be in me.” 

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.  

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over.  The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.  

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.” 

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.  

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout. 

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.  

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.  

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.  

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.  

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.  

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.” 

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.   

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.  

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.  

“Yes, yes, please.” 

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.” 

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze,  wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.  

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair. 

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.  

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.  

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.  

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.” 

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.  

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.   

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.  

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.  

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.  

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.  

“More,” she demanded. 

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.   

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him.  Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.  

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.  

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.  

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.  

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.  

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.  

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.” 

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”  

His words sent her over the edge.  

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.  

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.  

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders.  Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.  

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.  

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.  

“Then get on your knees.” 

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.  

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.  

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again.  “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”  

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.  

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.  

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.  

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.  

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.  

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.  

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.  

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.  

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.  

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.  

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.  

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.  

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.  

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.  

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.  

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.  

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.  

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.  

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.  

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.  

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.  

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.  

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.  

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.  

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.  

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.  

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.  

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.  

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.  

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.  

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.  

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.  

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.  

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.” 

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.  

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.  

“Down boy,” she purred.  

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.  

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.  

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.  

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.  

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.  

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly. 

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.” 

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.  

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.  

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.  

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.” 

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby” 

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.  

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.  

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.   

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth.  Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.  

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.” 

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew.  His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.   

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.  

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.  

“Cassian,” she keened.  

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.  

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.   

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.  

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.  

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.  

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.  

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.  

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.  

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.  

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.  

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”  

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles.  Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.  

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips. 

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.  

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.  

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.  

“Let me take care of you.” 

“Cassian.” 

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there.  “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.” 

Nesta smiled.  

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.” 

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.  

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.  

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.   

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.  

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.  

It was so good.  

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him.  And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl.  Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.  

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.  

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,”  She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.  

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.  

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit. 

Nesta whined softly.  

“Cassian…more…” 

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.  

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.” 

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.   

“Oh!” 

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.” 

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.  

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.” 

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.  

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”  

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.  

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.  

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.  

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.  

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.” 

She turned her gaze to him.  

“Shame.” 

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.  

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.  

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.  

Cassian grinned.  

“You like Italian?”  

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.  

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.  

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”  

 “Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”  

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.” 

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.  

“Lethal,” he whispered.  

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”  

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.  

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.  

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.  

  Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair. 

Their second date had been incredible.  

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.  

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.  

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.  

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.  

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.  

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.  

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.  

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.  

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.  

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child. 

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.  

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.  

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.  

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.  

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.  

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.  

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.  

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.   

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.  

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”  

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.  

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?” 

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.  

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying.  Which off course only made him like her more.  

“What? Make you blush like a-” 

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them-  like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?” 

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”  

“Says the military man.” 

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.” 

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.  

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.  

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.  

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.  

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”  

“That was so a line!”  

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.” 

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.  

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive.  “Because I’d love to take your top off.”  

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.  

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”  

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.  

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.  

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.” 

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.  

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.  

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.  

“What would you rather we talk about?”  

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.  

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.  

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute.  It reminded you that you were alive.  

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.  

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.  

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.  

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-  

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore.  Tame Impala playing from his pocket.  

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.  

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.  

“Well you’re the only one getting it.” 

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.  

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.” 

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.  

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.  

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.  

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.  

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.  

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly,  hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.  

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.  

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.” 

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.  

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.  

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.  

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.  

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.  

“Yes please.” 

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower- 

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.  

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.  

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.  

“What are you doing?”  

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did.  Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.  

“Congratulations.” 

Cassian grinned.  

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”  

 “Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.  

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.  

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.  

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.  

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.  

“Please do.” 

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.  

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.” 

He pulled back abruptly.  

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?” 

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.  

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.” 

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-” 

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.  

“But I-” 

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.  

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.  

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.” 

“More romantic than that sentence?”  

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.” 

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.” 

“How have you already failed?” 

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.  

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.” 

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.  

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.” 

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.  

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.  

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf. 

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.  

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.   

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.  

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.  

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.  

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.  

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.  

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.  

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.  

“Did you decline my call?” 

“Yup.” 

“Bastard.” 

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.  

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.  

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”  

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.” 

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.  

“That why you’re calling?” 

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?” 

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation.  “Yeah, I’m free.” 

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday. 

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.  

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-” 

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?” 

Shit.  

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.  

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.  

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait.  In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.  

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.  

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-” 

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.” 

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.  

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” 

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.  

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-” 

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.  

“Fine, your stropping-” 

“Fuck off.” 

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.  

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.” 

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.  

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.  

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.” 

“Hang on a minute-” 

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.  

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.  

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.” 

“Alright, alright Don.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.  

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.” 

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?” 

Cassian sighed heavily.  

“This a secure line?” 

“Always”. 

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.” 

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.  

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?” 

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”  

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.” 

“Lucien?” 

“Turns out the kid’s his.” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.” 

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.   

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?” 

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.” 

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-” 

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.” 

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.  

Rhys went silent again.  

“We could always just kill Eris.” 

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.  

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.  

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-” 

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.” 

“Dick.” 

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.  

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-” 

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.” 

“I’m fucking Persian!” 

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.  

“A fanabla!”  

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.” 

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.” 

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-” 

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.” 

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?” 

“If I said yes would you come back to us?” 

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.” 

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.” 

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.” 

“Nesta’s no Feyre.” 

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.  

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.” 

“See you then.” 

 TAG LIST

@featherymalignancy

@sleeping-and-books

@my-fan-side

@hearts-of-persephone 

@witchling13

@theoverlyenthusiasticwriter

@typicalmidnightsoul

@sezkins79

@thebitchupstairs

@fourshizzle149

@monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies

@yikesitsmaddie

@jjellybean

@thronesandstars

@mis-lil-red 

@rhysandsdarlingfeyre

@cf-mist-and-fury

@breezy-freezy 

@dayanna-hatter 

@anishake

@candid-confetti 

@goldbooksblack

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@justgiu12

@twansy17

@caotica-e-quieta

@singinginthedarktimes

@carebear1339

@keshavomit

@januarystears

@bookstantrash 

@illyrianshadowhunter

[crawlingtowardchrist]

Hello. What advice do you have for a 25 year old woman who is trying to get into religion as a whole? I don’t come from church goers, don’t believe I’ve ever been baptized either and am leaving all pagan connections behind. I have 6 tattoos, all of which I can comfortably hide with clothing, but like I have what could be turned into a half sleeve.

Spirituality has been nothing but emptiness. The more I tried to find a group that would accept me the more alone and empty I felt. I was not one comfortable with practicing magic so that left me as an outcast to most and because I’m conservative the rest all but want me dead (liberal witches are kinda insane). The in fighting is mind boggling at times and no one can agree on holidays or important history that is genuinely important and not some made up junk used by a sex cultist.

I feel so lost at times. I was a sick kid growing up and was so angry with god for making me sick. So I denounced religion and god and decided to be as rebellious as I could.

First of all, I'm glad you decided to pursue religion and reject paganism. I can only really speak on Catholic specific advice, but I'm sure some of these points will apply to other Christian religions. I wasn't sure what you meant by religion as a whole, because there are many different religions out there, but since you mentioned Baptism and God, and since I really do believe Catholicism is the correct religion, I will speak to that.

The first thing to remember is that God loves you very much. He has this incredible love that no other being could match, and He loves each and every one of us so incredibly profoundly. So as you're feeling this pull to learn more about Christianity, I want you to realize that God is pulling you toward His loving arms.

The next thing you need to know is that you do really need to reject everything to do with paganism. Christians do not and cannot serve any other gods, because there is only one God. He has three persons, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but all three persons are one being. The Bible and our teaching tells us that every pagan god is not actually a god, but a demon masquerading as something more than they actually are. That's awesome that you weren't comfortable practicing magic, because Christians cannot do this either.

I know that your suffering has put you at odds with God in the past, this is the case with many people. I have certainly been angry with God when I was younger and incredibly lonely. One thing I have learned is that God is there with us in every suffering, feeling everything with us and helping us through it. There's a complicated answer for why suffering exists, and I'm not the best at explaining it. I can say that suffering is a part of life and is necessary, because otherwise Jesus would not have had to suffer so much for us. Jesus also did not try to mince words or beat around the bush with this, He told us we would suffer in this life. He didn't lie and say we would have perfect lives full of happiness. Christ doesn't lie, and is all truth. That may be a small comfort when you take a look at your sickness in the past, but it is important to consider and think about.

I can attest that Catholic spirituality is very fulfilling. It helps us understand how and why we are here. When you learn how important you are to the greatest and most powerful being, who created the expansive and massive universe, you really understand that you are important. What other god dies for you, no matter how many terrible things you might do? What other god makes demons tremble in fear at the mere mention of His name, Jesus? I think what makes Catholicism so fulfilling is it forces us to take a look at ourselves and ask why we reject God. He is all loving and desperately wants us to be with Him. So if we don't feel close it's because of some attachment we have to worldly things, or some vice or sin that is actually bringing us down and destroying us. Catholicism is a realization that we are indeed human, and because of that we have flaws, flaws that need to be worked on. The thing is, since we are so flawed, we really can't do it on our own. We need Christ to make us better, and to bring us closer. So we find ourselves figuring out what is keeping us from God, and asking God to help us with those, and also choosing to do better. Catholic spirituality is deeply personal and intimate with God, a constant conversation with someone who deeply loves you, and that is precisely why I find it so fulfilling.

As far as Baptism goes, you need to speak with a priest to go through a program called RCIA. This is a program that teaches converts about Catholicism. I was a cradle Catholic, so I don't really know what this program was like, but there are certainly some people on this site that can tell you more. Baptism is a part of this program. Baptism is also very important, and is considered an initiation into Christianity. Through Baptism you are marked forever as a child of God, which is a beautiful thing.

I wouldn't worry too much about the tattoos, it's not like you can erase them. And tattoos in general are not necessarily wrong, unless they are specifically pagan or a different religion than Christianity. But even if they're just secular tattoos, they're not really a problem. Just remember they were a part of your past, not your present. They can even serve as a reminder of where you came from and where you are now.

Here's some bad news. You will find in fighting in Christianity as well. There's a reason there's thousands of different denominations, Catholicism being one of them. It's a part of our fallen and broken nature, to bicker and fight, to put ourselves above others. Wherever you find a large group of people, you will find this. Any religion you go to will have fights, because every religion will have people in it. I will say that in my own denomination, while there are some fights amongst the different groups of Catholics, we do know we are all Catholic and there is family there. I think any Trad Catholic would stick up for any Novus Ordo Catholic who's attacked and vice versa. We may like to argue, but we love each other.

One last thing I would say is don't be afraid to pray to God right now. You may not be a part of a Church yet, but God still wants to talk to you and you talk to Him. He will bring you comfort and love.

Hopefully this helps! You can certainly ask more questions if you need to know more. I will pray for you that you find your way home to Christ.

[sunshineseung]

Sinner // Felix

💌 Info: Stray Kids Felix x female!reader smut 💕 Includes: Innocence breaking, first time, degradation, semi-public, exhibitionism/thrill of being caught ✏️ Word Count: ~1.5k

——————————

Felix was every church’s dream child. He grew up strictly Catholic, always attended church, and stayed loyal to his faith. Everyone knew him as “the good child”. Although girls would fawn over him, he would always turn them down, claiming “my parents won’t let me date yet.” He was the perfect kid.

His downfall started on a Sunday. It was the Lord’s day, and he sat under you, whimpering and squirming at every touch. You loved to tease him, but something was so much more fun about palming him in the Church’s quiet attic while everyone else, including your parents, were downstairs in the main hall. 

Felix threw his head back, the pleasure becoming overwhelming although you were barely touching him. You look up to him with a filthy smirk plastered across your face, causing him to wince at the sight of you. Your hand gets more rough against his bulge, and you pull him into a messy kiss, slipping your tongue past his lips.

“Please,” Felix hisses, “touch me.” He moans into your kisses, allowing you to fully take control. He bucks his hips into your hand, becoming harder every second.

“Oh, my dirty little whore is begging for me now, huh?” You tilt your head, watching him bite his lip and look down at your hand. “I thought you were a child of God. What happened to that, Lixie?”

“It feels wrong,” Felix huffed out, bucking into your hand again, “but it feels so good.” Another groan comes from his throat, sounding desperate and breathy. You love to see him so needy, but you also want to get a taste of the untouchable boy everyone adores.

You unzip his dress pants and pull them slowly down his legs. His breathing gets faster as you move your hand over the tent in his pants. You laugh under your breath at the little sounds he makes trying to keep composure. You’re so ready to ruin him.

“Have you ever had a girl touch you like this before?” You know the answer to that question, but you want to hear him personally tell you that he’s a virgin. You move your head just close enough to his bulge that he feels your breath on his cock.

“N-no, Y/n. You’re my first.”

“You’re gonna be my bitch tonight, baby boy.”

You slip down his tight boxers, exposing his cock and making him gasp from the sudden exposure. Your hand gently takes his member and feels every vein on the angel boy’s cock. Felix looks up to the sky; his eyes are apologizing to the lord for what he’s about to do. 

As your hand strokes his cock, your mouth hovers dangerously close to his tip. There’s precum leaking down his cock, running into your fingers. His moans are quiet, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Your lips graze the tip of his member with a short kiss, and he releases the most pathetic moan you’ve ever heard. Felix hates to admit it, but he’s desperate for your touch.

“Please be gentle, Y/n,” Felix pleads, mouth agape from your actions, “I’m not used to this.”

“Calm down. If you speak any louder, they might hear you downstairs, and you wouldn’t want the pastor finding us up here, would you?” You lick a long stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, forcing a gasp out of Felix. He twitches in your fingers, thrusting his hips into your hand for more stimulation. 

“N-no, I don’t. No one can no about this.” His groans get quieter but deeper. His legs shake from the pleasure, so you’re forced to hold one of his legs still while your other hand is still wrapped around his length. 

“If you don’t want them to know, then only speak when spoken to. I don’t like being disobeyed, little boy.” Your hand squeezes around his cock a little too tight for his liking. He releases a loud moan, only allowing more precum to drip down his cock. “Speak when spoken to. Don’t touch yourself or me unless you’re told to. Don’t cum until I say so. Your body is mine, so what I say goes. Got it?”

He nods, lightly whimpering from your harsh language. He loves being your fucktoy, but the logic side of his brain tells him to run and join his family downstairs. His body is at war with his brain, and to his ancestor’s disappointment, his body is winning this battle. “Yes, Y/n, I understand.”

“Good boy, Lix. If you’re good enough, I’ll let you fuck my tight little cunt. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little slut?” You laugh at your own words, fully owning the fact that you’re ruining him. He hums a muffled sign of content, and you take his cock into your mouth. As if he wasn’t close enough already, your wet mouth taking in his length surely makes him ready to burst.

Your free hand moves from his leg to your clit, playing with yourself. You feel yourself get wetter, and eventually you moan onto Felix’s member. The feeling is so foreign to him that he almost cums without your permission, but he’s too scared to disobey your commands. His moans get higher in pitch as he nears his limit.

“You wanna cum, baby boy? Wanna cum for me?” Your head bobs on his cock, you speeding up the pace after asking your mind-breaking question. “Or are you too holy for that? Too righteous to cum for me?” 

His mind is whirling. Although he want to cum, your ending dialogue forces him to reconsider. Just get up, get dressed, and leave. Unlike his brain, his body reacts on impulse and pleads for you to let him cum. His words are filthy, but they feel natural to your ears. You’ve make the good little Felix devolve into a primal whore with the only thing on his mind being his needy, twitching cock and the painful urge to orgasm.

“Please, let me cum. I’m your whore. All yours. My cum is yours. Let me cum.” The words leave his mouth fast and broken, voice cracks being sprinkled in without his intent. 

“First Corinthians 6:19,” you grab his hair and force him to make eye contact with you, your eyes dark and dripping with lust, “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own.” Your hand pumps his cock as you grit your teeth from your quotation of the scripture. “Your body is not God’s. Your body is mine.”

Felix yells aloud, likely alerting anyone outside of the attic. Your reminder of his sins only makes him more hungry and needy for your touch. The tip of his cock is angry and red, begging to cum. 

“Cum for me, Felix. I want you to cum all over yourself.” Your hand continues to jerk him off as it position his cock towards himself. Like a racehorse hearing a gunshot, his cum shoots out of his cock at lighting speed. He covers himself in his own semen, the dim light of the attic making it glimmer for a second. 

You stand up and smile, looking down at him. You feel powerful, almost too powerful. You want to run out and tell the whole church that you made their favorite student abandon his faith to come undone in your hand. 

Meanwhile, Felix looks down to his abdomen, covered in his own release, and his heart drops at the realization of what he’s done. His post-orgasm clarity sends him into a panic, quickly grabbing a spare scarf from a box of old costumes and cleans up his... mess. He throws the scarf into the farthest corner of the room and puts his clothes on, hands shaking while he buttons his dress shirt.

“I... I got to go. They’re probably almost finished.” He heads towards the door to the stairs, but you grab his wrist and turn him around. Your bodies are inches apart, and he loudly swallows in fear.

“You have my number, right?” He nods quickly, hoping to get out of this situation as soon as possible. “Text me when you’re free again. You deserve a reward for being such a good boy for me.”

Fuck, being called a good boy is such a turn-on for him. He feels the blood begin to rush back to his crotch, and he pulls away from your grasp. 

“Okay. Bye, Y/n.”

“B-” before you can finish your sentence, Felix whirls around and darts back downstairs with the rest of the congregation. You didn’t even have time to tell him that there was an all too visible hickey on his neck. 

You head out a minute after him, giving him ample time to rejoin his family. When you go back downstairs to meet your folks, they inform you that you’re having dinner over at the Lee family’s house tonight.

“I’d be happy to go, mom.” You smile innocently to your mother, but your mind is racing.

Teasing Felix in front of his family? Sounds like fun.

——————————

I need to go to church after this one YIKES

[thatsamericano]

I Know My Love Should Be Celebrated, But You Tolerate It

Pairing: America/Romano, human AU

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, mild angst and some homophobia from human OCs.

Word Count: 2100

Summary: Alfred needs to tell his mother he’s engaged, but he knows she won’t be happy for him the way Matthew was when he got the news.

Alfred was sitting on the couch with his hand clasped in Savino’s, staring at the cell phone that was resting on the coffee table. Part of him didn’t want to pick it up to tell his mother that he was engaged now, because he knew she wouldn’t have the reaction he was hoping for.

Last night, he’d called Mattie only a few minutes after Savino had proposed. Matthew said congratulations, told Alfred he was happy for him, and most importantly, sounded completely sincere and not just like he was saying what he was supposed to. He listened while Alfred gushed about the proposal and possible wedding plans and chuckled quietly at some of Alfred’s more outlandish ideas. He was just as amused as he would’ve been if they’d been there in person and he’d been able to see Savino curled up into his side, blushing and with that fond, disbelieving grin only Alfred could put on his face. They talked for an hour and a half until Savino pointed out that it was past midnight, and Matthew might need to end the call so he could get enough sleep before he had to go into work the next day.

Alfred knew that his mother wouldn’t react like that. The first time he’d brought Vinny home to meet his family, his father shook his head and walked out of the room while muttering under his breath. Alfred had heard the car starting up outside as his mom gave them an extremely fake smile and asked them if they’d like something to drink. Later, she’d pulled Alfred aside to scold him for not “warning” his parents ahead of time that Savino was his boyfriend, not just his friend. She asked about his sexuality, and he hadn’t been able to answer to her satisfaction, because to him it wasn’t a question of men vs. women. It was a question of Savino vs. every other human being on the planet. If he couldn’t be with Vinny, he’d rather be with no one at all.

It had been two years since then, but Alfred could still vividly remember the look his mom gave him, which was identical to the look she’d give Baxter when he was a puppy and peed on the carpet. Like she loved him, because Alfred was her son and she had no other choice, but was deeply, deeply disappointed in him.

Alfred stared at the phone and jiggled his leg nervously. Savino squeezed his hand.

“You’ll have to pick up the phone eventually, tesoro.”

Alfred heaved out a sigh. “I know. It’s not like I don’t wanna tell her. I wanna tell everybody. Last night, when you asked me to marry you, was the happiest moment of my life. But I know if I tell her, she’s gonna try to make me change my mind.”

Savino smiled weakly. “But she’s not going to be able to, is she?”

Alfred shook his head and glanced back at his cell phone. “No. Nothing could ever make me change my mind.”

Vinny rubbed his hand over the back of Alfred’s hand. “I’ll be here when you call her. You won’t have to do this alone.”

He could do it. With Vinny holding his hand, he could swallow down his anxiety and tell his parents. Alfred picked up his cell phone, went to his contacts, and called his mom.

The phone rang twice before his mom answered. “Hello, Alfred.”

“Hey, Mom. I’ve got some big news to share with you.” He figured it was best to tell her right away. He glanced over at his fiancé, who was nodding in approval.

“Is it good news?”

“The best news. I’m engaged. Vinny asked me to marry him last night.” Alfred grinned, because it felt amazing to say that out loud. Some part of Alfred still couldn’t believe it was real. He was gonna marry Vinny, who was smirking because he knew it was taking every ounce of Alfred’s self-control to avoid squealing or screaming down the phone line like he had when he called Mattie the night before. Savino was adorable 24/7, but especially when he smirked like that, like he was the lucky one in this relationship. Alfred would’ve kissed him if he wasn’t waiting to hear his mom’s reaction.

He waited. And he waited. As he waited, the grin gradually fell away from his face. Alfred hadn’t been expecting anything different, but the way she couldn’t even feign a congratulations hurt.

“Oh,” she finally said. “I suppose you won’t be holding the, uh, ceremony, in a church, will you?”

“I don’t know. Vinny and I haven’t talked about that yet.” He knew they couldn’t get married in the church Alfred had been raised in, and that they couldn’t have a Catholic wedding either. Alfred noticed how she had avoided the word wedding but pretended everything was still fine.

“Will there be a gift registry?”

Alfred frowned. “Like I said, I don’t know. We just got engaged last night.”

“Then why did you call me?” His mom sounded irritated, like she had when he was five and wanted to show her a drawing he did in kindergarten and ran in while she was in the middle of doing work in her home office. That dismissal had hurt at the time, but not as much as telling his mom he was engaged and getting the same kind of reaction as a little kid clamoring for attention while their parent had something more important to focus on.

Alfred shrunk down mentally to that same age. “I just wanted to tell you because you’re my mom. I’m happy, so I thought maybe you’d be happy for me, even if you can’t be proud of me.” Tears were pricking at his eyes, and Alfred bit his lip so his mother couldn’t hear how upset he was. Savino scooted closer, so that he was pressed up against Alfred’s side. He couldn’t be closer without crawling onto Alfred’s lap.

His mother sighed, and she sounded so tired. Tired of him more than anything else. “Alfred, your father and I have been patient about this. We’ve been as tolerant as we can be.”

Alfred laughed miserably. “Sure. Dad won’t even acknowledge Vinny exists, and you tell all your snooty friends that Vinny is my roommate instead of my boyfriend. But you haven’t disowned me yet, so I’m supposed to be grateful, right?”

“There’s no need for you to get so hostile.”

Right. Because it wasn’t hostile for his parents to treat his fiancé like shit and to act like him being in love and happy was something horrible they had to tolerate and be patient about. Alfred bit his tongue to keep those nasty thoughts inside his head, and Savino nuzzled into his neck.

“I’m so sorry she’s doing this to you, caro,” Vinny murmured. Alfred silently kissed the top of his head and listened as his mother started lecturing him again.

“You’re so young. I remember being that age. You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“I’m older than you were when you married Dad.”

His mother ignored what he said, just like he’d known she would. “I love you, Alfie. And it’s because I love you that I’m trying to help you avoid making a mistake you’ll end up regretting someday.”

Tears were leaking out of his eyes, but Alfred was so angry that his words came out as a growl rather than pathetic blubbering. Vinny deserved better than this bullshit. “Savino is the only person I’ve ever wanted to be with. I told you that two goddamn years ago. He’s been nothing but respectful to you and dad, but you guys never even gave him a chance. He isn’t a mistake, and I don’t regret anything about being with him. The only thing I regret is listening to you put him down for so fucking long.”

“Alfred, that’s—”

“I’m done. Call me when you can at least pretend to love me for who I am, instead of who you want me to be.” Alfred hung up the phone before his mother could say anything else, and Vinny immediately shifted onto his lap and started wiping away the tears from his cheeks.

Alfred sobbed harder at Savino’s kindness. “I hate her. I hate her so much for trying to talk me out of marrying you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and the only reason she can’t see it is because you’re a guy.”

Savino kissed his face and made soothing noises. “I love you so much. I wanted to rip her to shreds the second she made you cry.”

Alfred laughed wetly. “You sound so hot when you say stuff like that.”

Savino rolled his eyes and blushed at the compliment, like he blushed every single time Alfred tried to seduce him, no matter how cheesy his attempt was. “Idiota.”

Alfred surged up to kiss his fiancé, and Savino made a muffled sound of confusion but reciprocated a second later. Vinny was being too adorable and perfect for Alfred to not kiss him, but that wasn’t the only reason. He needed to feel something real, something lasting that wasn’t the rejection of the woman who brought him into this world. Savino’s hands planted on his shoulders, the warm weight of his body on top of him, and the soft pressure of their lips pressed together made Alfred feel safe and loved in a way nothing else could.

By the time they separated, Alfred was no longer crying. He felt significantly calmer as he petted Savino’s hair. “I don’t think I want my parents at the wedding.” It wasn’t a decision he would ever feel completely okay about. In an ideal world, his parents would be there in the front row, crying nostalgic tears as they watched him get married because they were so proud of him. But Alfred didn’t live in an ideal world, and he couldn’t keep pretending that he did.

Savino pressed a tiny kiss to his temple. “If you don’t want them there, then we won’t invite them. We should invite people who can celebrate with us. Unless your parents have a miraculous change of heart, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

Alfred scoffed. “If they decided to come, they’d probably act like they were going to my funeral instead of my wedding. Or they’d try to convince me I shouldn’t marry you, and I’d lose it on them a lot worse than I did today.” Alfred had been putting up with his mother’s bullshit for far too long, and he probably would’ve continued to put up with it if she had only been insulting him and not his fiancé. Alfred could take his parents’ disapproval, but he wouldn’t listen to anyone implying that Vinny wasn’t good enough for him.

Savino hummed in consideration. “We shouldn’t tell them until after the fact. Send them a postcard when we’re on our honeymoon and it’s too late for them to do anything about it.”

Alfred chuckled. “That sounds devious. I like it.” He grinned and rubbed his hands up and down Vinny’s thighs. “You should make evil plans more often. It’s sexy as hell.”

Savino snorted in disbelief, but he was grinning in the flattered, flustered way Alfred was so familiar with as he fiddled with the top button of Alfred’s shirt. “Amore, you’re hopeless. You think the way I breathe is sexy.”

“Anyone with working eyes or ears would. Which makes me a pretty lucky guy.” Alfred winked up at him, which he’d learned early on was a good way to flirt with Vinny. He wasn’t really good at this whole flirting thing, since Vinny was the only person he’d ever wanted to flirt with. All he’d ever been able to do was be a little too honest, recite lines from TV or movies, wink, and carry heavy stuff to show off his muscles. Miraculously, his clumsy attempts had actually worked.

They were working pretty well now, obviously, because Savino was leaning in less than an inch away from his mouth. “We’re both lucky, Fredo. Ti amo.”

Hearing that made Alfred weak-kneed even though he was sitting down. When Savino leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him, a shiver swept through him, even though he wasn’t cold. He grabbed at the back of Vinny’s neck and moaned when Vinny licked his way into his mouth. His mother’s reaction to his engagement, along with any other problems he had, ceased to exist as long as his fiancé was kissing him.

[binniedeactivated]

saint. || soobin (3.1)🌪

pairing: soobin x reader genre: au  word count; 3k

“wow, you’ve really been studying a lot haven’t you?”. you say, seeing soobin’s notebook splayed out on the bed filled with notes that you had no supervision on. you were shocked to know that he took the time to study by himself. he was really taking things seriously. soobin nods, 

“i want to pass”. 

“it sure looks like it. you’re going to do more than pass with all this knowledge”. 

soobin laughs, “good. maybe I’ll earn the ski trip”. 

“ski trip?”. you question, having absolutely no clue as to what he was referring to. 

“yeonjun told me that everyone who does good on the exams earns a ski trip as an incentive”. 

you were kind of amazed, “wow. that sounds fun. when did our school start doing stuff like that? they must really want us to pass”. 

“definitely. and I think if everyone doesn’t do well the school’s going to be shut down. so I already know my parents are to blame”. 

you roll your eyes and smile a bit, writing down your chemistry notes to study. “must be nice having money”. 

“stop saying that. you have money too now”. 

“really? where?”. 

“right here”. 

you shake your head and laugh. soobin eyes you before going back to write his notes. 

“seriously why don’t you ask me for money? you never ask”. 

“you want me to?”.

soobin nods as if it were a stupid question. “yes”. 

“why?”. 

“because why not? I think every boyfriend does”.

“I love how you just call yourself my boyfriend in front of my mom and now that counts as us being an official couple”. 

soobin laughs and takes your hand. you look at him like he was the biggest joke in the world. “what are you doing?”. you say trying not to laugh. soobin was holding in laughter also while attempting to look at you seriously in your eyes. 

“do you want to be my girlfriend?”.

“i hate you soobin”. you laugh. 

“I’m serious I’m serious stop making me laugh”. 

you roll your eyes playfully. “fine. I guess I can be your girlfriend”. 

“good. are we an official couple now?”. 

you sigh scrawling your pen against your paper pretending to be frustrated. “I guess we are an official couple now soobin”. 

“you’re always trying to act like you don’t like me”. soobin laughs again, flipping his notebook page to finish the rest of the notes on the backside. 

“because if i act like I’m in love with you then things will be cringy”.

soobin lays his head on his hand, staring at you. 

“are you in love with me?”. 

you try not to blush. keeping your eyes on your own paper. his stare was eating you alive. 

“of course not”. you mumble jokingly. soobin chuckles. 

“your first time lying to me and this is what you waste it on?”.

you continue laughing leaving his rhetorical question floating in the air. he was still staring at you lovingly. 

“tell me the truth. because I’m in love with you. and I’m not afraid to admit it”.

“why are you in love with me? I’m not shaming you I just kind of find it odd--I’m just a church girl. living a normal middle class teenage catholic life. there’s nothing special about me. and here you are every girl’s dream. you’re rich. good looking. everyone wants to be you. why me? I’m nothing”.

“do you really think I can fall in love with someone whose nothing?”. 

you sigh. “I don’t want to put all my eggs in one basket. I’m scared of getting my hopes up and then one day you just leave. there’s so many girls out there that’s better. look better and dress better. and you can get with every single one of them if you wanted”. you ranted and you didn’t mean to take it this far but it’s honestly how you felt. you couldn’t help it. 

soobin presses his warm hand against your cheek. “why are you getting so upset, princess?”. 

“I don’t know”. you utter being swarmed in a sea of vulnerability. 

“I’m not going to leave you. and if I did who would I even leave you for? some girl who only wants sex and clout from me?”.

“what about the ones who are looking for a relationship?”.

“I’m too in love to care”. 

you sigh again, giving him pitiful eyes. being the cheesy person he was leans in and kisses you. that didn’t stop you from liking it though. 

“I only want you i swear. now please admit to being in love with me because I’m tired of waiting for your answer”. soobin says gradually laughing. you smile a bit breaking out of your sadness. his reassurance was what you needed. to be this deep into a relationship and him leaving you? it was your biggest fear. 

“I may or may not be”. you joked. soobin sucks his teeth playfully. 

“fine don’t admit it then. guess you won’t be getting a car for Christmas”. 

“soobin?”. 

“yes?”. he grinned while continuing his notes, knowing he caught you by surprise there. 

“a car?!”. 

“you heard me”. 

“don’t buy me that it’s way too expensive”.

“i’m totally going to obey your command”. 

“soobin I’m serious”. 

“so am I”. 

“how am I even going to explain that to my parents? they’re going to think I did something for it”. 

“something like what?”. soobin asks knowing exactly what you were getting at. 

“you know. they’re going to think I had sex with you or something for you to buy me such expensive gifts”. soobin waited and laughed once you finally said it. 

“that’s hot. they think you’re like a little churchy prostitute”. you childishly punch his arm. “that’s hot to you?”. 

“if it’s you doing it then yes”. 

“how is having sex with someone for gifts and money hot?”.

“I just like the idea of you being a whore for me”.

you laugh, wondering what else went on in soobin’s mind. 

“you know--like the outfit you wore when you came over my house for the first time--god i wanted to devour you”. 

“oh yeah? why didn’t you say anything?”.

“because you were most likely going to punch me. you didn’t know me yet”. 

“I still don’t. I’m still learning”. 

yeah, but you know enough about me now”. 

“I wouldn’t say all that. how do I know you’re not some serial killer deep down?”. 

“you sat on my face last night I’m pretty sure that whole ‘secretly a serial killer’ bullshit is out the window at this point”. 

you laugh loudly, “soobin!”. 

“you also didn’t call me soobin you called me daddy”. 

“alright that’s enough!”. the both of you laugh in perfect sync. interrupting it was his mother obnoxiously calling him from downstairs. soobin promises you his return before he goes to stand at the top of the stairs answering her. 

“yes?”. he says kind of annoyed. 

“me and your father have a conference to attend. our flight leaves soon. if I come back and find out you’ve studied nothing words can’t explain your punishment. don’t just sit around this house making nothing of yourself”. 

soobin rolls his eyes, “where is your conference being held?”.

“france”.

“for how long this time?”. 

“why are you asking meaningless questions? did you hear what I said?”.

“it’s not meaningless if you guys just came back and spent less than 8 hours in the house with me before you leave again”. 

“soobin don’t start. we’re leaders and we are also missionaries. you know what is required of us”. 

“what about me?”. 

“what about you? study and make yourself useful for something soobin. we were glad finally seeing you out with the sports team and doing things that don’t require a suspension”. 

soobin’s breathing pattern changes swiftly. he could hear the nonchalantness in her tone and he hated it with a passion. 

“study and make myself useful and then what? so you both can come home and beat me and yell at me anyways?”. 

his fathers enters the foyer pointing his finger up at soobin. 

“watch your volume”. 

“for what! for what whose going to hear me?”. 

“for respect soobin! don’t make me come up these stairs”. his father threatens. 

“why should I respect you both if you guys barely respect me?!”. 

“what are you talking about you have a house to live in don’t you? you have cars you have nice clothes you have gourmet food to eat and your bank account surpasses any number of ever seen in my life. you have nothing to complain about you need to be grateful!”. his mother spat. 

“yes you’re right thank you mom thank you dad for subtracting the parental love I could’ve gotten in my life and supplementing it with material things! I appreciate it so much!”.

“what did I tell you about saying that? huh?! we love you. this is tough love”. his father replies. soobin ball his fists. 

“that’s bullshit you’re only saying that because you don’t want anyone in this town to know that the two people they respect so much don’t give a damn about their son! half the shit that you do you only do it so I can never say that I don’t have anything”.

“soobin watch your mouth!”. he father growls. 

“it’s true just fucking admit it and stop getting angry!”

soobin spat harshly and his dad was about to take off up the stairs in a fit of rage until his mother pulled him back. 

“our flight leaves in less than a half hour we have to be at the airport. we can deal with him later”. his dad nods and points his finger at soobin again. 

“consider yourself lucky”. he stated before clutching his suitcase. his mom clutches hers and they both approach the door. she shoots a disgusting look at him. 

“maybe this getaway will help you clean up your act”. she muttered and closed the door behind him.

“What about me!?”. soobin stands at the top of the stairs still yelling.

“your getaways don’t help! they never fucking did!”. he could feel his heart racing and his cheeks growing hot.

“just say you don’t really love me. thats all you have to do”. he croaks without even realizing he was crying. 

you’d been in his room overhearing the whole argument but unable to come out due to you not supposed to even being there in the first place. so you kept silent until you heard the front door shut. you snuck out of soobin’s bedroom to see him down the hallway still yelling, so it was hard to tell if it’s parents really left or not. you approach his tall frame timidly, touching his shoulder. 

“soobin?”. he palms his face sniffling. you wrap your arms around his torso and glance up at him. 

“it’s going to be okay alright? they don’t deserve you. you’ve made mistakes in your life and sure you weren’t the best behaved kid but you are still theirs and they should treat you as such”. 

“I hate them. I fucking hate them both”. 

“soobin don’t say that”. 

“I will say it. because they don’t care about me”.

“look at me”. 

soobin sighs, removing his hands from his wet eyes to glare down at you. he looked so miserable when he cried and you hated it. you’d only ever like to see him happy and laughing. this was cruel. 

“I’m in love with you, okay?”. you say, reaching up to help him dry his eyes. 

“do you mean that?”. he replies. 

“yes I do mean it”. 

“good because I fucking knew it”. soobin admits with a straight face until you playfully slap his chest and laugh. it was a relief to see his reddened face contort into a smile. 

╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱╲╱❀╲╱

“babe! hurry up!”. soobin yells from the living room couch. he had the movie ready and he was just waiting for you to cuddle with him. you figured you couldn’t leave him alone while he felt like this. so you gave your parents your usual excuse for being out so late. 

you promised soobin you’d do anything to help him feel better and guess what he requested? you guessed it. 

four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches specially made by you. and of course the big baby was being impatient. you rushed and slabbed the layer of peanut butter on the last slice and sat all the sandwiches on the plate. 

you carefully walked into the living room with it and soobin started the movie. you sat criss-crossed between his legs on the couch, trying to hand the plate off to him. 

“feed me”, he begs. you turn your body and face him. “you’re a big baby do you know that?”. soobin smirks knowingly. you rip a piece of one sandwich and hold it up to his lips which he munches on adorably. you feed him a few more pieces and watch the crumbs fall from his lips. 

“you’re the only person I know that can get fed and still make a mess”. you use a hand to dust the crumbs off of his lips and hoodie. 

“you’re such a mom”. 

“and you’re such a baby”. 

“your baby right?”. you sigh trying not to blush once again. 

“cmon. it’s okay to admit it”. 

“I’m not going to make things cringy soobin”. you mumble and he immediately tackles you down on the couch playfully. 

“soobin you’re going to make me drop all of these sandwiches on the floor!”. you laugh.

“admit I’m your baby”. he laughs. 

he face was inches from yours. he looked so cute and cuddly in his big sweater and hood over his head. you pulled one of his drawstrings. 

“fine. you’re my baby”. soobin smiles and softly kisses you. 

“you forgot to get me something to drink with my food. I’m going to suffocate from this peanut butter”. 

you laugh, “you didn’t ask for anything to drink”. 

“I know. I should’ve asked for milk”.

“see, that’s your mistake not mine”. 

soobin thinks for a moment before grinning. “i mean--if i wanted some milk I can just--”. he interrupted himself just to snake his hand up your shirt and massage your boob. you cackled loudly. 

“soobin!”. 

and your mornings were usual. this time around though you were encouraging soobin. he’d be taking his first history exam today. 

“remember you got this. you are smart. you can do anything and you studied really hard for this”. you remind prior to kissing him. “I believe in you”. you added. you went into your classroom and let soobin put his skills to the test. he was even more inspired now that he had you rooting for him. 

“I tried to call you yesterday but either your phone was dead or you didn’t pay your phone bill”. taehyun admitted. 

“my phone bill is paid. my phone was probably dead”. you lied. you were declining his calls to keep from soobin’s wrath. 

“we can study today after school if you’re down. I don’t have anything to do and plus the exam is coming up soon”. 

damn. you couldn’t say no to his face. could you? 

“yeah that’s fine. library?”. you ask. 

“yeah that’s cool”. taehyun shortly replies. all the while you were wondering how the hell you were going to continue studying with taehyun behind soobin’s back. it wasn’t like you were cheating on him or anything. just studying. maybe soobin was being too overprotective. 

soobin adjusts his backpack strap and attempts recalling his notes in his head while he walked to his classroom. 

“ayo? you ready?”. yeonjun asked catching up to him

“hell yeah. I actually studied”.

“good. I uhh- kind of have some news for you though”. 

“what is it?”. 

“they found more evidence on the hotel case”.

“shit. why the hell would you tell me that right now?”.

“I’m trying to tell you all the shit I know before anything comes up later so you can be prepared”. 

“how do you know this shit anyways? do you have a part time job at the police station or something?”. 

“I have my connections. and i’ve been following it to make sure they don’t try and frame me”. 

“why would they frame you?”. 

yeonjun shrugs, “I was acting pretty hostile during interrogation. but still”.

“I don’t have time for this shit”. 

“yeah that’s probably why you still haven’t told your girlfriend”.

“don’t start yeonjun”. 

yeonjun shrugs again, “I’m just saying. you keep dragging this shit out she’s going to fuck around and leave you”. 

[gaylord-fagaton]

How to Not Make Friends: A Guide by One George Henry Hodgson

Or alternatively titled: How George Hodgson’s Character Arc is Actually a Story about Trying to Fit in, and then Failing Miserably

Today I’ll be bringing you more Hodgson thoughts, specifically on the question of his place within the group, or rather his lack of place within the group. He exists at the fringes of the Terror’s command team, he’s a part of it of course that’s his job, but he really isn’t part of the group not like Little, nor Crozier, or finally Irving. This is what made him such a good target for Hickey, who is probably observant enough to notice this, his feelings of rejection coupled with the fact that apparently nobody ever taught him about stranger danger had him following Hickey into the tent.

The way Hodgson behaves is the primary reason for him being ostracized from the rest of the terror officers I believe. If you hadn’t noticed, Little is basically depression personified, Irving is well….the way he is, and their captain is an alcoholic angry at the entire world. There is no room for the happy go lucky Hodgson, who is just here to have a good time, not a long time. (Side Note: This doesn’t have much relevance when it comes to the terror as a show, but Hodgson was hand picked by Fitzjames. Can you imagine having your friend asking you to come work with them, only to find out you aren’t actually working with them at all, and are in fact working in one of the most stressful environments imaginable.) It also does not help that a great deal of Hodgson’s attempts of relating to others or bringing levity to situations are generally not particularly relevant or are downright inappropriate at times. I always go back to the “hear, hear” bit when Irving is listing their dwindling food supplies, because it’s one of the best examples, you’re going to starve to death Hodgson what is wrong with you? (Not to insert head cannons into my meta but, George Hodgson autistic). The sheer level of annoyance on the faces of his companions when he does his bullshit, is almost funny. In the aforementioned scene Irving looks about ready to kill him, so does Armitage when he goes on about the origin of the word diet in a later scene.

Not only does the way everybody behaves around Hodgson tell us about the way he is viewed, but so does everybody’s reactions, or rather lack thereof.  Nobody ever responds to him verbally at least; this is except for one notable exception in Hickey. I think this was perhaps a ploy on Hickey’s part at least at first, later it became mocking, he had no intention to really allow Hodgson into his group (more on this later).

I hadn’t really noticed this before, until @gildatheplant​ mentioned it on my newest gif-set, but we really don’t have any shots of the Lieutenants together. This to me, is seemingly done to create a further sense of separation between Hodgson and his fellow command members.

Here the camera pans away from Hodgson leaving only Little, Irving, Crozier, and Jopson in the shot. He was left out, even though he is standing right next to Little at the time.

In this scene, Little and Irving are standing right next to each other, but Hodgson is standing across the room by himself.

I don’t know how much those kinds of scenes really mean in the long run, I just think it’s really interesting to look at. Even without them, Hodgson is painted as quite the outcast from the rest of the terror command. There but not really There.

Here we come to his murder of the Netsilik family, now this is primarily motivated by racist fear. His go too wouldn’t have been fucking murder if he wasn’t a shithead racist, and as I’ve mentioned before his story to Little later when he realizes he might have fucked up on goes on to further illustrate how he feels about the Netsilik people. Beyond the racist fear fueled by a story that sounds like a chain email or a shitty Facebook post, another motivator for his haste in acting, I think is probably a want for some form of acceptance into the group. At this point he’d just been informed of the fact that a command meeting had occurred, and he wasn’t invited, instead he was sent out on the rather unlikable task of burying Morfin. They are sharing important information and promoting new officers, and they hadn’t thought about including him. If he didn’t feel like an outcast beforehand, he must certainly feel that way now, especially as hickey is shoving his rat like fingers into the hole in his heart where friends would go if he had any. So he acts, because if he does the right thing, perhaps this will be enough for him to get the recognition that he wants and craves, and he’ll maybe be a part of the group finally. It turns out, however, that he was wrong, really fucking wrong, and then everything proceeds to go to shit.

When it comes to his placement within the mutineer group, I wouldn’t call him a mutineer but he is also definitely not a hostage like Goodsir. He had a choice something which Goodsir who was forced at gun point to come with Hickey and co. did not, a shitty choice, but a choice none the less. (Side note: beyond referring to the fact that he is to much of a coward to do anything about hickey, I think his “I’m hungry and want to live” line could also describe the circumstances in which he joined up with Hickey. If he hadn’t joined he’d have certainly starved to death.) He is still on the fringes even here, treated like a spectacle, a joke, and has his live threatened by Hickey multiple times. He is neither a mutineer or a hostage, but kind of both at the same time. Hickey was a collector of those who he knew didn’t fit in, and that fits Hodgson.

Onwards to his monologue to Goodsir in the tent, who also doesn’t respond to him rip. In part beyond it being about a strange religious experience, which oof dude you were like 8, I think it is also a tale about fitting in. In church setting like that everybody is doing the same thing, you are a part of a collective in front of god. Which is why tiny Hodgson was so moved to participate because it finally meant he was a part of something. He labels it a “perfect moment in his imperfect life” because it’s what he always wanted, to fit in. Interestingly enough, (Thanks to @gobnaits​ for pointing this out) communion means “sharing in common” and is a sacrament of initiation. (Catholic facts that make you hmmm) He ultimately rejects this because he was taught this kind of community is wrong but also because, I believe that he thought he’d eventually be unable to function within this group. (*Cough* George Hodgson Autistic *Cough*) Ultimately I think George Hodgson’s story arch is about being an outcast and a want for acceptance, which along with his own ignorance is the reason for his downfall.

TL;DR: Hodgson is outcast and it makes me sad. Also I love him.

[taketheringtolohac]

I have like. Barely thought about the Guerra sisters but someone said that they should be Filipino and now I’m VERY 👀👀👀 and I am having THOUGHTS about them and growing up like!!!

Ok I have a lot of thoughts and this got long so if you are interested read under the cut (cw for talks about Catholicism, mentions of weight, and not great family dynamics)

Izzie and Atlas cooking with their Lola who immigrated to the states and who just. Throws money at them when their parents aren’t looking but who cares about them deeply and wants them to have a strong sense of family tradition and thinks the best way of doing that is through cooking and baking for them.

Izzie who really loves their Lola and all the recipes that Lola gave her but hates how religious her family is and going to church and how uncomfortable it all is for her but who always gets a card saying Jesus Loves You for Christmas and hates how her Lola talks about Christianity and the Philippines because she can TELL how much of it is from growing up in colonial Philippines. She doesn’t really know how to feel about being her Lola’s perfect granddaughter who cooks and cleans and listens to her. Izzie doesn’t like being the “good” one and she doesn’t like leaving Atlas behind but she doesn’t want to be treated as badly as Atlas is by their family so she stays quiet because she likes doing all of the stuff her family wants her to be, and when she does the things they like it makes it easier for her to do what she wants to do in her spare time– learn to play blaseball.

Meanwhile Atlas is here and as they get older they just hate how restrictive her parents are and get so FRUSTRATED with all the RULES and like gets really embarrassed by her culture and her parents accent and the fact that she has to take leftovers for lunch every day to school and hates how her family treats her because she’s not as perfect as Izzie and she doesn’t love doing all the housewife training stuff that Lola and their mom taught them. She loves playing blaseball and sloftball and getting rough and singing karaoke too loudly at big family parties but her family doesn’t LIKE that because she’s not PERFECT like IZZIE is and it just makes her madder because why does IZZIE get to be interested in blaseball and get praised for it but when SHE does it they tell her to wear dresses and be more like Izzie.

(Izzie got into blaseball so she could feel closer to her sister, Atlas thinks she’s just trying to take something else from her.)

And then they sign onto different teams and just let their hatred and jealously feed into each other. Izzie signed in KC, near their hometown, and Atlas chose to join a team that was as far as her parents would let her. They never talk at Chicago/KC games. They go to family gatherings even after they’ve both signed and everyone talks to them and praises them and gives them money even though they don’t need it because they’re proud and they all bet on blaseball anyways, its easier and more lucrative than the casino now, and still they compliment Izzie on her playing more even though it was Atlas who was on the team in high school and she should be the one who they should be proud of instead of Izzie who only got into it as a HOBBY but now they’re complimenting her on using their Lola’s recipes in her bakery (that she OWNS and PURCHASED using her blaseball money, the family asks Atlas why she hasn’t done anything useful with her money yet and she just says she’s saving it. She doesn’t want to own a business) and she doesn’t have time to be mad at it just be Tired. They ask her why she hasn’t lost any weight yet even if she’s been playing blaseball all this time and she just shrugs it off because it’s nothing she hasn’t heard before

When Atlas gets transferred to KC in Season 3 she doesn’t know how to feel. She’s mostly angry. Izzie on the other hand is just so scared of doing something wrong because she doesn’t know how to make their relationship better and she KNOWS she’s the one who fucked it up and she wants to make it better but Atlas is so resentful and she knows she deserves this but she doesn’t know how to reach out. She tried to reach out to their parents and tell them to be nicer to her because she doesn’t think that they love her but they just insist that they’re only doing what’s best for her so that she could have everything that they didn’t and then they just start talking about Immigrating to the states and American dream stuff and how Atlas should be more like her and she has to take everything she has to not hang up the phone.

Izzie stops going to church after Atlas transfers to KC. It isn’t immediate but it does happen. Atlas had stopped going years ago when she came out to their parents and they didn’t react well (they didn’t react badly either, but the thought of going back to that church with all those people who she knew were judging her and praying for her family made her skin crawl) but they didn’t kick her out. Izzie saw that and kept her sexuality to herself for YEARS because she was so scared that her parents would hate her for not being the perfect child they thought she was 

When Izzie comes out their family reacts way worse, like she expected, and she’s hurt and sad and doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t want to talk to Atlas about it because she doesn’t want to burden her but she so desperately wants to TALK to her and it’s hard. They don’t really get the chance to until they’re shopping for the things they need to send back to the Philippines one year and it’s awkward but they get through it. They get into some petty argument in the car on the way to their parents house and suddenly they’re shouting and somehow Atlas says something about Izzie being their parents favorite and suddenly Izzie is crying and Atlas is SCARED bc Izzie NEVER cries and Izzie has to pull over to just cry and suddenly she’s telling Atlas everything and Atlas is MORTIFIED because she didn’t KNOW that Izzie was also queer and she felt so bad for treating her like the enemy when really they were on the same team here. And Izzie is apologizing for not standing up for her and for just letting their parents say all that stuff to her and it’s not instant forgiveness because you can’t just erase years of trauma and complicated relationships in a few seconds, but there is understanding.

They aren’t ok right away but they do start talking. About their parents, about their culture, about being ex catholic, about blaseball and just. Start healing. Izzie renames the bakery to what it is now, as a threat to any and all Gods because it’s what tore her family apart and made her and her sister hate each other for so long. Colonialism and religion is what ruined her life and she’s gonna take it all back. Atlas is trying to regain the time spent hating her sister and being mad at the world and trying to do some things to heal, like getting back in touch with her culture after she pushed it away for so long and trying to unpack her trauma in a more constructive way. They both try to start repairing their relationship with their parents. It’s not easy, but they’re all trying.

Eventually, Atlas decides to take up a position in Izzie’s bakery. It’s not perfect and they’ll never be fully ok, but they have each other’s backs and that’s enough for them.

[cicici03]

Conform or Change- Chapter 1

cwrSo hey everyone! I know finally a girl is posting! I have been writing so many chapters so I can just post and go due to college!

With that, I will like to introduce you to a new story called “ Conform or Change”. This is an introduction to the family and the dynamics before we really get into the story.

This story will be post every SUNDAY!!!

Character List/ Face Claim:

Majorie/ Shy Munteanu

Florian Munteanu

Alexundru Munteanu

Marilyn Washington

Elena Munteanu

Earl Washington

Anna-Marie

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

Have you ever heard of the Swinging Sixties? From it swinging around with the ideas that cause major shifts in the 60’s. From the Civil Rights Movement, to the Vietnam War, and to the Feminist Movement. These things change the U.S even though in the future these are still things that need to be fix. However, we going to investigate a story about a black woman, which learn the ways of being a housewife and is stuck in whether to swing or stay.

June 5,1965

Newark, New Jersey

Adeste fideles læti triumphantes,

Venite, venite in Bethlehem.

Natum videte

Regem angelorum:

Venite adoremus 

Dominum.

As the congregation of the Catholic church sung with the choir. There was one pew that was in the middle that everybody knew.

Standing up while singing along, was Florian Munteanu. The man that had power in New York and New Jersey without even holding onto a political seat. As his father was the head of Munteanu’s, a famous mafia in the 20’s to now, people knew not to mess with them.

Florian’s father, Alexandru Munteanu, moved to the U.S for a better life with his wife, Ioana. With that, Alexandru was not only struggling to try and make a good life in the U.S, but he had to do something to get his wife out the slums. 

So, one day, he went to a speakeasy, to get a drink, and with that he realized that he could do it too.

Alexandru started the mafia, Munteanu, to help not only himself, but the people that was in the slums with him. From Italians, to African Americans, the Irish, and many more. He realizes that it will be better to have minorities together than apart.

As the years go on, Alexandru’s mafia started to grow larger and larger. Before you knew it, he oversaw the town. Calling the shots from the Mayors, to Police chiefs, and to Wall Street. As the Great Depression hit, Alexandru help the people that help him.

With that, he moved with many of his mafia to Newark, New Jersey. As he did that, he helps the mayor and aid the homeless from the fallout of the Great Depression.  Then Alexandru got the biggest surprise of his life.

His wife gave birth to that surprise on December 4, 1937,  Florian Munteanu. Alexundru was the happiest he could be and was glad to have his first child.

As life went on, things got better for the Munteanu family. They finally got out of the apartment in Newark and move to a house. Florian was especially excited due to the new scenery and new space. However, things change after Pearl Harbor.

When the Japan bombed the Pearl Harbor, many of Alexundru’s mafia members went out to fight the war: Alexundru did the same. He was gone for year and half, until he got shot in the trenches and was paralyzed from the waist down.

Even though, Alexundru was still the same person. Always happy go lucky and giving to people.

He changed.

 He did not see himself as a man no more due to his disability and it hurt his pride. However, he never let that stop from shining lights on others.

Nobody in the Munteanu Mafia or any other mafia wanted to take over due to Alexandru kind attitude and did not want to create enemies due to them wanting to have control.

As the years went on, Florian grew up and the Munteanu family was living on top of life. With Florian entering his senior year of high school. To the Ioana and Alexundru love growing even more. Everything was perfect.

 Until Ioana died unexpectedly.

Both, Florian and Alexundru, took it hard. However, Alexundru took it the hardest. After the only person that he loved died.

Alexundru died too.

Alexundru just stop talking after Iona death.

He has been muted for 10 years. He makes little gestures and noises whenever he needs something, but most of the time he is mute.

With that, Florian did not know what to do. As things was already worst, Alexundru brother, his closest ally and his only sibling, died and it left him taking care of his niece: Elena.

With life taking a toll on the Munteanu family, it was also taking a toll on the mafia. With that, Munteanu Mafia was in chaos.

As Florian saw his mom died weeks earlier to now his uncle dying: he did not know what to do. Florian knew he had to take care of his dad and of his legacy. Florian made sure of that by dropping out of high school and becoming the leader of the Munteanu Mafia.

As the song ended, Florian shut the hymn book and look to his dad. Alexundru just was looking out to space. Florian went and got the hymn book out of his dad’s lap to close it up for him. As the priest started to pray, a little voice shouted.

“ Mommy, I got to use the restroom!” Andrada yelped in the quiet church. Much of the congregation turn their head to the pew that yelped that out.

Florian look at Andrada, one of his four kids, and saw that he was starting to pull down his pants.

Shy got him before they drop down to the floor.

“Shy!” Florian quietly said with much sternness behind it. Shy, or Majorie, looked at her husband. She saw the embarrassment as he looked around to see if anybody was noticing. As Shy turn around to take Andrada to the restroom, Elena spoked up.

“ I will take him.” Elena said with kindness seeing the tense exchange between the couple. Shy tried to tell Elena it was okay, but Elena gave her look. Andrada walked over to Elena at the other end of the pew. With that, Elena and him went to the restroom.

As the priest started the sermon, Florian threw his hand behind the pew to sit closer to Shy to talked to her.

“ Now Shy, you need to teach our kids some manners. We are the family that this town looked up too and our kids are shouting out! What you think going to happen to the mafia if they see that our own kids do not have no manners! Shy…” Florian said with much anger and passion. However, Shy started to space out like she always did when mainly Florian was the only one arguing.

Majorie “Shy” Washington was born to Earl and Anna Washington in North Carliona on September 12, 1939. As she turned three, her sister Marilyn was born. Even though it was a joyous occasion, Anna died during childbirth with Marilyn.

With that, it just left Earl, Majorie, and Marilyn. As life went on, Majorie and Marilyn was Earl babies. No matter what mischief they done at the house, he always let them go off with a warning. Until one day, they went to prank one of the white women in town. As kids they really didn’t understand the concept of racism, but they knew some of the things. When they did prank this woman, she didn’t see it as kids pranking her, but as negros trying to “kill” her.

This led to a mob of white men coming to the area where all the black folks live at. They set a burning cross in the yard of Earl’s house.

That morning, Earl and many others looked at the cross in the yard. That day, he gave the girls the worst whooping of their life.

He didn’t whoop them because of what they did. He whooped them to teach them to not mess with the white people.

As he said as he was whooping the girls, “ I am not doing this because I am angry, but I am doing this because I love you.”

With that, the girls knew that something about messing with white people is never good.  After the incident, Earl decided it was time for the girls and him to move. They packed up their shed in North Carolina and moved to Harlem, New York.

When they got there, the girls were memorized by the streets and colors of the Big Apple. When finally getting to Harlem, they saw so many black folks move around so freely. Though the Great Depression was happening, FDR New Deal started to rebuild the nation.

As years went on, the girls settling into New York life.

Their father hit big.

As Earl was working for a big-time investor as a janitor, they started to develop a friendship. Earl showed him what could hit big for black folks. From different clubs, products, and much more. In 1954, the investor died due to old age and he didn’t have no wife or kids to leave his fortune.

So, he left it to Earl and the girls. Earl was happier that his daughters could go off to school, travel the world, and not have to struggle.

Earl decided to buy a whole building in Harlem and move his whole family from North Carolina and his sister’s family into the building. With this, Earl knew that the girls could keep this building in the family and make sure that they still have fortune.

Even though, Earl got a fortune and could easily pay someone to clean the large apartment. Majorie, whom is 15, was the care keeper after her sister and of the building. Majorie didn’t have the pleasure of having a kid life due to her mother not being there and her having to replace that spot for her sister.

Majorie made sure that she got rent from family, to keeping the building clean, and to making sure that her sister did good in school. Earl did not want Majorie to do all of that. He wanted her to enjoy life, but Majorie did it because she knew she had too.

Out of the blue, the phone rang. Earl answer and realize that it was from one of his good friend’s son from WWII. His mother died and he was on the list to come to pay his respects. So, the girls and him rode to Newark, New Jersy and went to the funeral.

As they paid their respects, Earl was trying to break through to his friend Alexundru. As he was doing that, Marilyn and Majorie was outside waiting. Marilyn started to talk and play with some of the neighborhood girls, while Majorie stood and looked around.

As Majorie looked up to see who was coming out of the church doors. She saw a group of boys and one stood out to her. He was the leader obviously due to him being in the front and the guys surrounding. His face looked like it was chiseled by Michael Angelo himself. From his hair being low cut, which was unusual due to every man wanting to have the slick back hair.

As Majorie was looking at him, one of the boys saw her. He nudged Florian and point towards Majorie. Florian looked at the girl and was in awe.

From looking at her press out hair that met her shoulders. To her black dress reaching her knees that squeeze every single curve on her body.

Florian realized that something started to feel weird downstairs. Even though he had many of girls, he never had felt like that about a girl straight away. Florian broke through the guys and walked over to Majorie.

Majorie snapped out of it when she realized he was in front of her. She quickly looked down than rather meet them piercing eyes.

“ My name is Florian. What’s yours?” Florian asked her while looking at her. Majorie kept her head down and stay like that. Florian didn’t know what to do and he was kinda shock.

“ So I guess I call you Shy.” Florian laughed out when finishing up.

Earl came out the church seeing Florian and Majorie. Earl made it known that he was there by coughing. Majorie looked up quickly and ran over to her dad while being thankful he came out when he did.

“Well Florian, your dad is a tough cookie. I tried to get him to talk, but he still not talking.” Earl walked over to Florian while giving his hand a shake. Florian shooked his head and understanding Earl, who kept talking, but Florian was looking at Majorie behind him.

Earl notice the young boy eyes on his daughter. Earl was happy that Majorie got attention from a boy because she is always to herself and have not experience the regular teenage life.

“ Florian, bring my baby girl back home by 7:00.” Earl said with his deep baritone voice while walking away from the two. Majorie was in shocked and ran after her dad.

“ Daddy, I don’t even know him! Plus I got to clean the house, finish cooking for tomorrow, and help Marilyn with her homework.” Majorie squeaky, high pitched voice capture her dad attention. With Earl getting to the car, and Marilyn running back over, he turn around to his daughter.

“ Baby, you need to experience life. I love that you step in place for your mother, but you are a teenager! Florian is a nice young man and he can keep you safe.” Earl stated to his daughter. Earl got in the car and Marilyn got in the back.

Majorie watch as they left her.

She turn around with Florian right behind her.

With that, Florian and Majorie went one the local cafes in Newark. As they was walking around, it seem like everybody knew who Florian was. As they went to the diner and ate. Majorie didn���t say one thing at all.

As he was taking her home, Majorie still didn’t say nothing. When he stop in front of her building, he walked her up the stoop.

“Well I had a fun time. Even though I did most of the talking.” Florian chuckled with his gruff voice. Florian looked at Majorie and saw that she kept her head down. Florian lift her head to look at him.

With that, Florian went in for a kiss, which Majorie did not stop.

“ Umm, Majorie I know you are not being a fast tell out here! Plus your father should be down here any second!” Aunt Shirley smiled while yelling out the third-floor window, looking down at her niece. Majorie quickly step back, with Florian laughing at the woman above.

Then, the door of the building quickly open to Earl and Marilyn. Earl smiled at his daughter and step out to wave his sister back in.

Majorie quickly ran inside to the top floor of the building.

“ Well, I guess that means either Majorie is embarrassed or you done something to her son.” Earl said while looking at Florian.

“ No sir, I have not! I really want to court Shy!” Florian blurted out the last part. Marilyn laughed at the boy standing in front of her.

“ Shy, that is a good nickname! She probably will never say anything to you!” Marilyn said with a sassy tone. Earl gave a look at Marilyn, which means it is time for her to go. Earl looked at Florian, whom was a mess due to him blurting out that he wants to court Majorie.

“ Well, just called the house phone everyday at 9:00 in the morning. You can speak Majorie then due to her being the only one at home. With that, son, if you ever hurt my daughter. I don’t mine breaking your face in even if you are white.” Earl finished with the threat.

Earl shut the door leaving Florian for his own thoughts.

One thing, Earl and Florian, didn’t know was that Marjorie was looking out the window at the conversation. She smile at the fact that Florian wanted to court her. She went back inside waiting for the next morning at 9:00 for that call.

That day, Florian didn’t just lose his mother, but he got his girl.

“ Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” Florian Jr yelped to his mother. Shy snapped out of her thoughts. She realized that everybody was starting to leave church. Shy looks to her left to see Florian getting his father to go outside in the summer heat.

Shy got up and picked up Benjamin, 2, who was sleep, and picked up her purse. Anastasia and Florian Jr, 8, held hands with Andrada, 4, to make sure they stick together.

“Do you need any help Shy?” Elena asked with her nasal voice. Before Shy could even answered, Florian answered.

“ Shy got it.” Florian toneless voice said while starting to push his father out of the church. Shy knew that Florian was upset with her, and she knew that this was going to be an all day thing.

“ Okay kids, lets go.” Shy quietly said to the kids. They walked behind Florian and his father, with Elena right behind them. 

Elena looked at Shy and just felt bad for her. It seems like after Benajamin was born, Florian and Shy’s relationship is just not the same.

As they walked out the church doors, Elena heard many things being said about the couple.

“ Florian only married her because he got her pregnant out of wed locked.”

“ He always disrespect her whenever that girl comes around.”

“ I just don’t understand why people want to now marry outside their race.”

Elena knew if she could hear them, Shy could too.

As they got to the bottom of the steps, she saw the red Ford Mustang.

Everybody knew exactly who that was. The Ford Mustang park on the other side of the rode. With that, a tall woman got out of the car. She started to walked over with her high heels and went straight up to Florian.

Shy saw as she walked with confidence and style over to her husband. Shy wished she did have the confidence she had.

Shy walked closer to the two of them to see what is about to happen.

“ Florian, I really need you to come help me with something.” Anna- Marie said with much sweetness behind her voice. Anna-Marie you could describe as the It girl of the decade. Anna Marie knew that she was beautiful and she use it for her benefits.

Florian felt eyes on him and saw his wife looking at the two of them. Anna-Marie smiled turn straight into a frown when seeing Shy. Anna-Marie wanted Florian since childhood. The only person that ruin it was Shy.

“Oh, Shy, I didn’t see you there! Kinda look like the maid with the kids.” Anna-Marie said loud enough to capture other people attention.

“ Now, you little rat, don’t be coming around here being an attention whore. The last time I remember you was a night walker!” Elena said even louder.

Anna-Marie laughed at Elena.

“ Well honey, I still hear that nasally voice. Still haven’t got it fix after your husband punch you.” Anna-Marie said with much fake sadness in her voice.

Anna-Marie turn back to Florian and said, “ Well, I see that you are busy. Come by tonight.” With that, Anna-Marie touched Florian arm and went back to her car.

Florian looked at the woman, and lust after her. Even though, she tried many of times with her forward advances. Florian would never take the forward advances with her because he loves his wife. However, Florian was lusting after the woman in front of him.

Shy looked at Florian as he looked at her. She saw that he was looking at her with the same eyes he  use to looked at her with. 

“Mommy, why are you crying?” Anastasia said with her quietly, squeak voice. With that, Elena and Florian looked at her. Shy shook her head and started to push the children to walk down the sidewalk to the house.

Elena looked at her cousin and shooked her head as she followed Shy and the kids. With that, Florian followed right behind them.

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

Welll then, that was very tense and intresting!

How do you like the characters?

What do you think about relationship between Florian and Majorie “Shy”?

What you think happen to Florian and Majorie to have a tense relationship?

Do you think it is just a marriage “hump”? Or is it something else?

Please Comment, Like, Reblog!!

Taglist:

@19jammmy​ @designerwriterchic​ @queen-zelieonna​ @amethyst09​ @champagnesugamama​ @cocobutterqwueen​ @twistedcharismaaa​ @munteanhore​ @natashacoco

[kimkymury]

Blue Rose Tears - Chapter 13

Hey everyone, another chapter of Pascal x Carl fanfic is here! Sorry for the delay, the next chapters will not take so long to be ready.

 I really liked to write this chapter, so I hope you enjoy the story ~

Warning:  Just a little warning, some characters have distorted views about sexuality, and those views do not represent what I think in real life. This was written on purpose to suit the environment and the time that the story takes place, since at that time people were more closed minded.

The Portuguese Version of this story is avaliable on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1018668258-as-l%C3%A1grimas-da-rosa-azul-cap%C3%ADtulo-13

Under the cut!

Chapter 13

P.O.V Narrator

The words that came out of his monologue did not provoke immediate reaction, the stillness of the laboratory was disturbing, as if both reflected what they heard. He had done what he feared so much, said everything that tormented him and that was in his mind, created a distance both physical and emotional. The two boys no longer wrapped their arms around each other, they could barely maintain eye contact. The sensation of realizing what had just happened took time to reach them, but when he did, it desolated the interior of both, drowning them in even more doubts. Carl deeply regretted every syllable he uttered, but there was no courage to go back, seeing the scientist's sullen countenance was enough to make him feel even more despicable.

Pascal's face was marked by an expression of emptiness, it was not similar to when another one of his experiments failed, or when he was angry with someone, it could not even be compared to the frustration of his own failures. A part of him left him the moment I heard the monologue of the religious boy, he felt totally helpless, what he feared most and what was the reason for his concerns, had finally happened. For a second, deep in his innermost thoughts, the red-haired boy still thought that there was hope. He imagined himself with a different ending, that he could be with whom he so longed for. Frustrations always accompanied him, and the feeling of emptiness was replaced by desolation. He was adrift now, his brilliant mind could not reason in any possible solution, it was not something that involved exact numbers or formulas. Humans were intriguing creatures, he himself had thought this several times, they can be down for something considered so superficial.

"I'm sorry ..." - Carl's voice, which expressed so much unhappiness, said in a failed attempt to lessen the scientist's suffering.

What he had done was considered enmity and could even be worse than betrayal, he had renounced his friendship. The scent of lavender no longer as pleasant as it seemed, made them feel sick, perhaps thanks to the sudden stress. What surprised the scientist the most was the way he received this news, he expected to see a look of anger or at the very least disgust on Carl's face, but the only thing he could observe was the dejection. Pascal sketched an expression of contentment, together with an empty look. He had imagined that there was a possibility that something like this could happen, but he did not expect that the reality could be so distressing. He was angry, not at Carl, but at himself. In other times, he could have been around without even worrying, but now he had ruined their relationship, guilt now haunted him.

"Are you sure about this?" - He still felt a hope within him, an expectation that refused to die, yearning for the religious boy to change his mind.

He remembered all the moments they shared, it was as if they were being reduced to dust, whoever else was at his side was about to abandon him. He could see that the younger boy was not feeling well in that situation, his slightly watery eyes showed everything he kept to himself. He controlled himself intensely not to withdraw everything he had said and ask for forgiveness, but succumbing to his wishes was out of the question. He kept telling himself that he would only do that for Pascal's sake, because he liked him so much that he would not hesitate to guarantee his salvation, even if it meant hurting him.

"There is no other alternative, it is the only way to save us ..." - After nodding, the dark-haired boy answers the question that was asked, hoping that the redhead would understand his real intentions.

Pascal's suspicions were confirmed, he knew that his friend would not be able to face the fact of the attraction he had felt for him without worrying about his own salvation. They were perfect opposites when it came to religious themes, there was not even one topic they could agree on. Carl, was an immensely Catholic devotee, and Pascal, on the other hand, did not believe in the existence of a god or superior force, preferring only to believe in science. Opposites are completed until a shock occurs, where each one see the same situation in different ways. The scientist could not even understand what all this had done to the religious boy's mind, and he did not even know how long this departure would last. What comforted him was Carl's description of his own feelings, he felt the same way, although this news was quickly drowned out by what was to come.

Now he imagined all the suffering he put into his friend, the same as a friend who was always by his side and never knew how to deal with his own thoughts. For Carl, it was all a delight and a torture at the same time, the redhead's presence comforted him and made him fear what was ahead. He was not surprised that he saw the situation so naturally, after all, it was Pascal. He humiliated himself inside his head, both for exposing himself in this way considered outrageous, as well as for everything he felt.

"I will pray for you later ..." - The scientist knew the real meaning of this sentence, and how it could sound ironic, considering his lack of faith.

Still with his head down, the dark-haired boy said goodbye and turned to go, preparing himself for the punishment he would receive for not attending class the day before. Carl would spend more time in the Church from now on, both for his devotion to religion and to redeem himself from his sins. He preferred to think positively, even if he was deceiving himself, and that after a while, everything would be as it was before. His slow steps took him towards the laboratory door, not before holding his books against his chest, in a failed attempt to contain himself. The scientist, who watched everything without spontaneous reaction, thought quickly about what he could do. Everything was over, he had nothing to lose, now would be the opportunity to do what he thought for so many nights. The dark-haired boy might come to hate him, but Pascal couldn't let him go without first admitting what he felt, it would probably be the last time he could talk to his friend for a long time.

"I also have something to say." - The redhead said, taking a few short steps while trying to reach the younger boy, who stopped immediately after hearing these words.

Carl turned quickly, waiting for a sign of understanding or anything to ease his pain. The scientist stopped and stared at him for a few seconds, before lightly pushing his glasses up with his fingers. He imagined the suffering he caused in his friend, he knew about his problems, worries and self-deprecations, and yet he set it all aside for a selfish desire. If this were really the last time that it would be appropriate to talk to the dark-haired boy, he would ask for forgiveness for any affliction caused.

"It wasn't right for me to have acted so impulsively, I'm sorry for all the anguish I caused, I should have think about your emotions." - Pascal said, again without sarcasm, showing his most vulnerable face while asking for his absolution.

That somewhat comforted Carl, it seemed that the rational scientist had finally understood why he was denying his friendship, and being available to collaborate. The religious boy listened attentively, not knowing if it was the right time for an answer or thanks, he chose to wait a longer pause and continue listening to what his friend had to say.

"I don't think there is a need for such a rigid distance, because ... Your presence makes me experience something that is not literally rational, however, it is something I like to feel." -The older boy continued to say, no matter how embarrassing he might say this, since he was not used to expressing himself that way.

Bewildered by what he had just heard, the dark-haired boy reflected on these words again, trying to understand their real meaning. He remained static, just watching while his thoughts took care of the rest, while the redhead approached slowly. They faced each other again, this time they managed to maintain eye contact for longer than they should have, losing some sense of time and space. Pascal seriously considered whether to proceed or retreat, but since he received no reaction from Carl, he decided to continue with his monologue.

"You were the only one who believed in me from the start, the only one who was willing to listen to my daydreams, no matter how bizarre they sounded." - The scientist said being a short distance from the boy who listened without showing an immediate reaction.

"Whether to rejoice or regret, you have always been here, you have never belittled my eccentric way of looking at life or my exotic interests." - He tried hard to sound as honest as possible, not letting his lack of practice in demonstrating complex emotions hinder him. - "Your presence is what cheers and motivates me, I just wish it would never end, that we would stay that way forever."

Open-mouthed, both because he never heard anything like this, and because these words were coming out of Pascal, the religious boy felt his own heart racing. Even though it sounded almost unlikely to happen, deep in his thoughts, he believed that he could feel the scientists' beats increase along with his. The shadows of both mixed on the floor of the laboratory, forming a single figure, thanks to the position of the Sun and the proximity between them. Carl was able to feel his own heat up, as if his own blood was circulating faster, as he analyzed the scientist's expressions.

We are halves of the same soul, divided into different faces. The same reflex seen from different perspectives, created on the basis of the same matter. In addition to being corporeal or mystical, it is irrational and plausible.

For a young man as ingenious as Carl Messier, that situation still seemed extremely confused, his own daydreams did not allow him to see what was right in front of him. All the statements made by the friend the previous day, amid the greenhouse light, made reference to him. Pascal tried to be as clear as possible, leaving no doubt about what his monologue was about, much to the delight and panic of the dark-haired boy.

"I used to think that this kind of feeling was purely rational, perhaps due to the lack of logic that is imposed on it, however, it would be hypocrisy on my part to deny that my feelings for you exist." - Apprehensive, and at the same time, a little indifferent, Pascal expressed his thoughts while preparing to finish.

The words that were usually so simple to understand, seemed to need more time to be absorbed by the religious boy, who tried to calm himself at all costs. The scientist would then say the sentence that would end any questioning that would follow, putting at risk a friendship that, according to Carl, was practically eroded.

"I love you, Carl. It took me a long time to reach this result, but I suppose that is the only conclusion."-

His heart had stopped beating for a few seconds, returning to an accelerated rhythm shortly thereafter, causing even a certain physical discomfort. He felt as if his throat was closed, blocking the passage of air in the way he was used to, which resulted in a failure in his voice. He did not understand what most intrigued him, he had heard these words before, and they were always spoken by his parents or his brother. He wanted to believe that this phrase had a different meaning, something more than a simple fraternal consideration, a sentimental meaning.

Not even a lady had even gone so far as to confess to him in this way, and he never thought he would hear anything like that from a friend. He had stopped deceiving himself some time ago, he recognized that it was reciprocal, which made everything even more dangerous in Carl's distorted conceptions. Both realized that they appreciated each other in ways beyond what was considered acceptable, what they would do next remained a mystery. The dark-haired boy gave himself the task of putting an end to this situation, considering himself a heretic from the moment he started to look at what he felt more closely.

"I'm sorry, but ... that's not true." -Carl replied after a considerably long period of silence, denying what he had just heard.

"I will go to confession before dinner and all this will pass with time, we don't have much contact with women, it can just be the imagination!" - The religious boy said with false hope, in the expectation that his positive thoughts would dispel worries and the desire to go back - "After graduating, we will meet ladies and marry them, and we will not even remember this day."

All torment will disappear, only if we have the strength. Doing what is right corrodes me inside, maybe I can even make myself unhappy. Reality can be cruel to us, although we prefer to close our eyes to this.

The disappointment was evident on the face of the red-haired boy, that was not only the denial of his friendship, it was the denial of the veracity of his feelings. He knew more than anyone about what was going on inside him, he carefully analyzed each behavioral change in order to discover the cause, he understood exactly what he felt. This was no longer just a fantasy or the fruit of his imagination for a long time, he was not a hypocrite and recognized his desires, he could dream of the presence of a girl if he was bored, but even then he was unable to do so. Carl's purity, considered by many to be one of his greatest qualities, could become a flaw in other aspects of his life. The scientist understood that this was the way he saw the world, and did not reject it, it was just another reason that made him be charmed by the religious boy.  With a small, slow step forward, Pascal questions his friend again about the accuracy of what he had said, while giving him a curious look. Slightly embarrassed, both by the situation itself but by the intensity that they looked at each other, Carl nods before saying "yes".

As most of the time it was there, that lab really stopped time from setting it up to determine if this was a quality or defect. The dark haired boy remembered that he should hurry up for his punishment, after all, he felt that he deserved it for more reasons than he could count. It was time to go, he wasn't sure how to end that dialogue, he just wanted everything to go back to how it was before. He lied to himself and to Pascal, he was not sure of anything he said, just did what he thought was right. It hurt, the fact that knowing that if he was redeeming himself from his sins did not help ease the pain, it just made him feel more miserable.

"I'm sorry ..." - The younger boy said, looking at the floor and getting ready to leave.

The scientist did not fully understand that last sentence, because knowing the friend well, he did not know if he asked forgiveness for him or for God. He imagined that the second option was the most plausible, within that context. Comforting people was not the redhead's strong point, he struggled, but his condolences usually ended in philosophical reflections that contradicted religious doctrines. Nothing came into his mind so that he could alleviate the situation of the younger boy, all he wanted was to make him forget what tormented him, even though he knew it wouldn't be so simple. At times like these when the fact that they were perfect opposites damaged their relationship, they did not see life in the same way, and managed to be so close at the same time. He regretted not having said anything, remained silent while the religious boy hurried towards the door, leaving the scientist alone afterwards. The sound of the wooden door closing quickly, but still in a discreet way, was like a sting in Pascal's interior, he knew what was coming next.

He did not plan to inform his friends about this sudden separation, and he imagined that Carl would prefer his discretion, since the reason for his conflicts were more complicated than they would have liked. He did not fully understand, he thought that the reciprocity of the feelings of both would cause a completely different result, his extremely rational mind had a certain difficulty in reflecting on more subjective themes, such as what occurred inside the minds of other people. The scientist returned to the table where he was doing his experiments, stared in dismay at the variety of flowers displayed on the bench, his empty gaze was enough to worry anyone who saw him at that moment. He sat while he leanned both arms on the table, watching the large laboratory window as he felt the sun warm his skin, marked by small freckles. Somehow, he saw himself in Carl's confused and desperate expression, he could slightly understand how he felt about it all. He remembered the moment he realized when these feelings came to light, they were accompanied by a surprised feeling along with several doubts.

He did not consider them immoral or sinful, just pointless, irrational. He believed that a type of attraction that could not lead to reproduction was devoid of logic, which was against his purely rational principles. He knew that relationships of this type were not well regarded by most people, he had used the situation of two close friends as an example, Serge and Gilbert had to endure countless problems, implication, hostility and rejection by the affective bond they had. Why should there be one more obstacle in his life? His life choices and eccentric interests already did the job of complicating everything, feelings, which the scientist deemed as "unnecessary", would only put everything to waste. But there was no alternative, he tried to forget or stop thinking about the dark-haired boy in more affectionate ways than he considered acceptable, and to no avail. Leafing through his notebook, which was on the table, where he recorded each new discovery he made, he decided to reread his notes on the aspect of human feelings.

He was more confused than he could have imagined, what he wrote was perfectly consistent with reality, the mind was an unknown quantity that could hardly be unveiled. He used all of his knowledge to find out what had happened to the religious boy and the reason for his attitudes, and without making much effort, he knew that these were religious matters. Continuing to think about what happened would bring nothing but more frustration, the best thing to do would be to be distracted by something that would grab his attention. Immediately, a white rose stained by dyes of different colors, mainly blue, aroused his interest. He would work on his beloved and dreamed blue rose for as long as he used to, he would spend the next entire weeks focusing only on it, in order to forget what was hurting him. The blue rose was his escape valve, his goal for a long time, he would not be fully satisfied until he completed it. He forced himself to perform calculations and remember chemical formulas while choosing each plant he would use, he repeated to himself that everything would be fine with time, but the image of what had happened earlier was still present in his thoughts.

After some time, the plants were cut, crushed and distributed in small containers. The petals of Violets, Orchids and Lilies formed different shades of blue, which made the scientist observe them more closely. He wasn't thinking about the colors themselves, but about how those colors reminded him of Carl. There was no logical explanation for this, he just thought that blue matched the dark haired boy, it was a color that conveyed sadness and peace at the same time. Reflecting more deeply, the religious boy always had a sad aura, not in a depressing way, but that managed to be melancholy and peaceful. His experiments failed to keep him distracted for so long, as everything reminded him of Carl. Looking at the small calendar that hung on a nearby wall, Pascal could see that winter was approaching, and along with it, the end of the school year. As he had always done, he would repeat another year to continue his research, he imagined that he would see his friends graduate and continue in school.

He had always been determined about this, never thought or cared about the consequences, but this time he hesitated. A few years have passed since he began to dedicate himself entirely to his so unrealistic blue rose, and he did not feel that he was making as much progress as he wished, which brought even more frustration. Everyone in Lacombrade knew his purpose, although they did not always fully understand it, but his great intellect was never doubted. He wondered what he was doing there, he used to reject his father's advice, he had always said that his son should become a doctor, that he would succeed in that way. Pascal always rejected this idea, although medicine was something of interest to him and one of his talents, the red-haired boy still did not approve of the possibility of studying something just for capital. He had a natural tendency, a genuine interest in nature and chemistry, although he was inclined towards biology.

When asked why he was still there, he always answered using the laboratory and his blue rose as a justification, but he used to omit some more reasons. He felt the need to stay in Lacombrade for his friends, especially after getting close to Serge and Gilbert, he couldn't leave them alone without knowing if they would be okay. Also, he would miss Kurt and Neka's jovial and somewhat reckless personality, he knew he would do his best to help the pianist and his blond companion, but he still feared for their safety. Lacombrade was his home, it was where he grew up and lived with people he dared to call his second family, he couldn't imagine himself anywhere else. But, there was one more specific reason that made the scientist not want to leave school, someone who motivated and inspired him. Staying away from the religious boy was what he feared most if he left boarding school, the mere thought of not being able to see him every day as he had always done was a pain. However, he recognized that his presence there could become a burden on Carl's life, and knowing all his motivations for ending that friendship, he imagined that both would suffer from that separation.

He looked thoughtfully at some sheets of paper that were next to an inkwell, considering what would be the right thing to do and becoming even more frustrated by it. His hands were stained by the blue color of the petals, it was as if he had touched a part of the sky.

We feel empty, because we leave a part of us in what we love.

The sun had been covered by some clouds, which made the whole atmosphere of the place a little more gray. The tracks left on the grass around the school indicated that someone had come by in a hurry, perhaps in an attempt to take refuge. It was a few minutes before Carl was due to appear at the Church for his punishment, he felt that the quietest place to wait would be outside, on the outskirts of Lacombrade. He just needed to calm down from everything that happened, sitting and breathing fresh air could help. The sleeves of his coat were busy drying up the few tears that could not be contained, he just wished that no one saw him at that moment. But it was when something caught his eye, from a distance, he saw a pale boy with equally dark hair sitting on an old wooden bench, entertaining himself with a book. Occasions like this were rare, seeing his agitated younger brother, who always ran and played, focused on a single activity.

He decided to get closer, any time they could spend together was good, since they were most of the time apart. It didn't take long for the boy to see his brother walking towards him, he smiled sweetly at him as he watched him approach. Sitting side by side, they started a calm conversation, which was great for Carl, since distractions were what he needed most at the moment.

"It is unusual to see you reading of your own free will, which title did the grace to attract your attention?" -The older boy asked in a cheerful way, both to hide what he felt and to amuse his brother.

The already leafless branches swayed as the wind dragged through them, causing some last leaves to fall around the two brothers. The elder tried not to extend the conversation for too long, as he would be late for his punishment, and the younger brother just had fun without worries. After marking the page he was reading with a small piece of paper, Sebastian closes the book and shows the cover to his brother, not long before saying:

"Sense and Sensibility, a Jane Austen novel." -He responds looking at his brother, showing an excited expression to share something he likes with Carl.

The religious boy had never read the book, although he had heard about it and saw it a few times in bookstores, but he knew that the plot was about themes that little Sebastian might not understand. He had no idea how he managed to get his hands on it, his parents would definitely not gift him with such a thing, even though they were more understandable than they used to be. The school library did not have many popular books, mainly of this genre, being focused only on educational purposes. Carl trusted his younger brother, acknowledged that he was much smarter than other children of the same age, but worried that he was consuming something that was not aimed at someone so young. He wanted Sebastian to live a happy childhood, without the worries he would have when he was older.

"Where did you get that? As far as I know, there are no books of this type in the library." - The older brother I ask curious and somewhat apprehensive, I just hoped that the answer would not be very worrying.

He did not want his question to sound like a sermon, he expected to be seen as companionship by his younger brother, not an authority figure.

"Liliath lent it to me, he brought it with him the last time he went to Arles." - He says looking at the cover of the book for a few seconds, before turning to his brother.

How to explain Carl's feelings for Liliath Florian? The older boy saw him as someone unreliable, had a certain dislike for him, especially after the conflicts he had had with Serge and Gilbert. Even so, that blond boy was still esteemed by some people, had affinities with those considered delinquents and participated in the "Pretty Boys Club". Liliath had the company of some close friends, just like Carl, and such a group was made up of Necroix, Sebastian and a few other members that he did not insist on remembering the name. He did not like the idea of ​​a helpless child like his brother always being with people of doubtful nature, what comforted him was knowing that Necroix was always around, because he knew that his nature was not questionable.

"I don't think it's appropriate for someone at your age to read novels like this, you know you're too young for books of this type." - Trying to appear understandable, but still a little strict, he advises the boy thinking only of his well-being.

"That's what most people say, but I don't mind, I learned a lot about different subjects in books, especially with this one." - The little boy responds, in order to prove to his brother his own point of view.

That sentence might have seemed foolish coming from a child about Sebastian's age, but Carl knew that his brother had the greatest intellect that he could have imagined. He had become accustomed to the boy's precocious personality, but he was distressed by what he might be learning.

"Give me an example." - The elder boy said, curious with possible responses.

"Using romance as an example: during the history of the world, at different times and in different places, there were people who could not be with those they loved by the judgment of others." - Sebastian began to explain what captivated him so much in romance books, in an attempt to convince his brother not to tell his parents about this - "It is a synonym of injustice, there were so many who gave up their own happiness or even their own life, just to fit what was expected of them. "

Admired by what he had just heard, and still reflecting on some information, Carl could feel a shiver down his spine when his brother finished his monologue. He had remembered what had happened a few minutes ago, in that laboratory. He looked at Sebastian with a confused expression that at the same time conveyed pride, he had always been considered the most brilliant by his family, but the truth is that not everyone had the ability to see his younger brother's intellect. He wondered how they could share the same blood and at the same time be completely different, the youngest son in the Messier family was really a mystery.

The religious boy's prolonged silence worried the little boy a little, he imagined that Carl had heard all that with a disapproving look, and that perhaps he would tell his parents everything.

"Please don't tell anyone about my interests, Mom and Dad may find out." - The boy asked his brother, hoping he would understand and help him.

Carl did not consider himself a cruel brother, like those presented in stories, on the contrary, he was overly concerned for Sebastian. He knew that his parents would not approve of him reading it at such a young age, and he would not want to take away a source of learning and leisure from his brother. Throughout his life, he had completely obeyed his parents, reported all the antics done by the youngest son and took responsibility for his well-being. But only this time, he would break this rule, he could not bear to see an intellect so developed having its source of information forcibly removed.

"What I'm doing is not correct, but let's say that no one else but me will know this." -The older boy said, still a little thoughtful about what he had heard.

Grateful for what he had just heard, the boy tries to show his gratitude in some way, even without knowing how.

"Thank you very much Carl, I am glad  we are brothers!" - He says smiling, before being interrupted by the sound of church bells.

It was time for the religious boy's punishment, he should hurry up so he wouldn't be late. After saying goodbye to the younger boy, he starts walking quickly towards the Church of Lacombrade. His legs stop moving when he hears a childish voice calling him, he turns to listen to what his brother wanted to tell him.

"I feel bad about letting you go without a proper thanks, you swore to keep a secret, so the least I can do is return the favor ..." - Sebastian said, trying not to speak slowly, as he saw that his brother was in a hurry - "I promise not to tell anyone that the real reason you didn't attend yesterday's classes involves leaving without permission with Pascal."

The older boy could feel his heart rate accelerating when he heard that, he couldn't imagine how Sebastian knew it. How much did he know? Was he watching them? He had a lot to ask, but the words didn't come out of his mouth and the seconds ticked by as he thought. With an innocent laugh, just like the ones he let out when he was doing some mischief, the younger boy was amused by Carl's confused and frightened expression. This was not his initial intention, but he still managed to be funny.

"Hurry up, don't be late!" - Sebastian said as he watched his brother run towards the large building that was close to the school, wondering what had happened to him.

The temperature dropped a little, which made some students retire into the school, leaving Carl more relieved. As he headed for his punishment, there was someone still in the lab, with his hands stained with ink. Pascal rewrote a letter several times, he just needed to find the right words. He wondered if it was the best decision, but a simple analysis of the pros and cons was enough to end his doubts.  He had at his side a dictionary that helped him to correct his own grammar, as his dissertation must be impeccable. When he finished again, he reread it carefully several times, looking for any errors.  His writing was excellent, the redhead placed the letter, which was quite extensive, in an envelope. The recipient was the Medical University of Düsseldorf, Germany.

His admission letter was ready, he explained all of his goals, from the reason he was still at that school and why he had failed so much. The scientist would finally leave Lacombrade after so many years, become a doctor who had attended a renowned college, and perhaps return to France after many years. Sighing, he closes the envelope and keeps it in a safe place, far from where it could be lost or spotted, was inside one of his favorite books. Writing was not the most complex step, he had no idea how he would tell this to his friends, especially Carl.  He knew the boys would be happy, they would miss him, but he didn't know how the religious boy would react. He didn't want to cause him more pain, that was one of the reasons that made him want to leave.

Church candlelight illuminated Carl's pale face, marked with desolation and anguish, as he repeated long verses from the Bible. His knees hurt, he could imagine they would have bruises, but even the discomfort couldn't bother him. The thoughts of better times were what kept him sane, he just wished he could go back in time.

Continued in Next Chapter

Written by KimKymury, thank you reading <3

[moontheoretist]

HDM s2 ep 3: OMG

"By their fruits shall ye know them. By their questions shall ye see the serpent gnawing at their heart". Well, well. Just like we always said. Asking questions is heretical for faith, because their lies come undone when people ask a logical question to disprove their claim. It's the same as with the catholic church. They do not care about facts, only about lies.

Poor Lee. Also excellent scene. He shed a lot of light on how Coulter was raised. You know, people who were abused to the point of seeing abuse as normal, sometimes or often times cannot see that isn't normal and shouldn't happen to others. A lot of times they need someone from the outside to show them this early on, so they could unlearn this. But often times they also never recover from that, and believe it is normal and just till the end of their life and even if they themselves wouldn't do the exact same to their children, they internalized enough of that logic to hurt their children instead of empathize with them. And that's what this scene shows. That Lee managed to unlearn this mindset somehow and Coulter didn't. That's why she was abusive to Lyra and tried to change her into a perfect child, while Lee accepted Lyra how she was and never let her feel she cannot be herself near him. Coulter and Lee are two sides of the same coin. Two fates of abused children as adults.

It's funny that Will is doing the exact same hard stare as Paddington when Lyra eats popcorn while in the background Paddington says that Aunt taught him to do that when people had forgotten their manners. He is like "Lyra is so without manners". It is funny to see them clash. Lyra being a total tomboy with all those boyish like behaviors which in our society are barely ever tempered by parents and lead to boys not doing much around themselves, while Will is the total opposite. Well-mannered boy, the total counter to what we believe boys be like, because he had to grow up quickly and take some responsibilities to protect and help his mom, so he isn't like other boys which relish in toxic masculinity. No. Also now when you look at him, you can basically say that most of the boys who laughed at him in training sessions were those boys who have to do nothing around the house, the ones whose boyish behaviors are encouraged even when they lead to violence and toxicity, because patriarchy says it's right. Lyra is probably everything now which ticks Will off, but he still likes her for some reason. Maybe he feels that they are somehow the same, but cannot yet properly see it. Just feels they can understand each other and that's why he tries not to really criticize her when she actually tries to do the stuff right, but still tells her off when she acts in this weird possessive, non-mannered way. He is definitely not like Coulter about teaching manners. He doesn't want to make Lyra girly. He just wants her to know how to do stuff around herself properly. He wants her to be able to survive alone, just like he does and not to take his stuff as if they were hers too. Oh, and when Lyra gets pissed because Will got pissed. Ohohoho, they are meshing so well. OMG, bounce off one another like angry birds and this makes every scene with them even more interesting OMG.

Pan watching a movie SO CUTE!

Oh, OH, OH. SHE HELPS LEE. OMG. HE RESONATED WITH HER OMG! She does that for Lyra, but she also does that, because she saw herself in Lee, and she wanted to help him. Not only because he can keep Lyra safe, but also maybe because she herself sees she can't, and if letting Lee, a person who is so much like herself but different, go is what keeps Lyra safe and what makes her atone somehow for what she had done, she wants to do this for Lyra and for Lee and by extension of him for herself. She wanted to help herself through Lee.

I mean, why else she would let Lee go just after she learned that Boreal knows where Lyra is? It makes no sense unless you assume that she knows, deep down, that she isn't the one who should find her just like Lee told her to her face before, because she cannot keep her safe. Also she was probably leaving that night, so she wanted to do what's right by him and by herself just before she left to look for Lyra. Now it's a race to Lyra. She has a head start, but if something happens, she wants Lyra to have someone who keeps her safe.

So, it's complicated, but she is doing it for 3 separate reasons all meshed up together.

OH, OH! I-CHING WORKS THE SAME AS CAVE AND DUST! Also, once again shout out to the author for acknowledging that eastern philosophies understand the world better than west.

OH HOLY FUCK SHE MADE CONTACT FROM AFAR AND MADE CAVE DO HEXAGRAMS!

"To the mind that is still... the whole universe surrenders" I love it. Fuck west.

The way they move around Boreal's house. They never let him be behind them. They are wary and he knows they are wary. Oh, he wants the knife. He cannot enter that place due to Spectres, but they can, so he sends them for the knife and to find Grumman.

[uta-h3m-vcd-tbw]

Who Am I?

I have attempted to dialogue the events in my life at least 100 times beforehand but probably more but could never bring myself to be completely honest.  Call this a personal inventory if you will.  I consider myself a better writer than most however when it comes to writing about myself my brain goes blank.  I know what I want to say, it’s just how do you go about telling anyone....”I am a Heroin addict.”  

I have read a couple books about other addicts & have watched countless documentaries, movies, & shows about addiction.  Always paying close attention to how the writer unfolds his/her story trying to translate it to my own with little success.  I eventually came to the conclusion that so much has happened in the two decades of drug use that there is no way fathomable to include everything...at least not in your standard literary fashion.  

A few days ago I stumbled across a new series on Netflix about a girl that liked to blog on Tumblr & suddenly I felt I may have an outlet to format this timeline of events.  Make no mistake about this...everything I write from this moment on is 100% true whether you choose to believe it or not.  Hell looking back....I don’t believe it sometimes & constantly find myself asking God why am I still here & why have so many perished before/besides me?  What makes me so special?

Most stories I read/watch about addiction are pretty generic.  It typically starts with someone who was injured & prescribed pain killers only to get cut off from the doctor & led down the dark & endless path of Heroin addiction.  They tell stories about the terrible things they did to maintain their habit & of loved ones they hurt along the way.  While I did horrible things as well, hurt & lost too many loved ones to addiction...this story is unlike any of the rest.  This is a story of addiction...obviously...but also one of organized crime, corruption, murder, extortion, jail/institutions, & love but mostly death.  

Every addiction specialist or rehab I have been to always had the same fault....they try to find some underlying reason as to why I started, “self medicating,” & attempt to address it.  I’ve had numerous heated arguments with councilors & doctors who insisted I was suppressing something deep down & may not even know it!  While I have heard of such instances to actually be the case I can very well tell you I am as normal as you are.  

I grew up in a child’s utopia in an upper-middle class suburb roughly 20 miles North of Detroit.  Think of the famous Tim Allen show, “Home Improvement.” Not only was I raised in Metro Detroit but I also come from a family of two parents, still married, & was the youngest of three boys.  I know most people’s perception of Detroit isn’t very high however in the 80′s & 90′s it was a great place to start a family.  Before the auto industry tanked most people skipped college to work on the assembly line at one of the, “Big Three,” (Ford, GM, or Chrysler) & lived comfortably.  My dad was a, “Safety Restraint Engineer,” for a subsidiary company with several patents still in use today!  We spent our days riding bikes through endless trails behind our house, building forts, playing back yard football, & camping in the backyard on warm summer nights.  My brothers & I were raised Catholic.  Went to Church every Sunday & Catechism on Thursday nights.  If I could change one thing about my childhood I wouldn’t.  It was that perfect!  My Father didn’t fail to raise a man...I failed to be the man he raised. 

When someone asks me why I started doing drugs I tell them because it was fun....simple as that.  I know it sounds cliche but it’s true, everyone was doing them.  My older brothers were way ahead of me, listening to Grateful Dead & dropping acid in middle school!  I just liked drugs a lot more than everyone else. My mother knew I had an addictive personality because I would take everything I did to the max & always looked for instant gratification.  I never wanted to wait/work for anything.  I think my brothers were aware of this as well because they would NEVER sell me pot in these early days.  They wouldn’t even talk to me about it.  So as far as being as normal as everyone else....maybe that one’s a stretch.  On the other hand I was years ahead of my classmates & understood how things worked much easier than the majority of my class.  

By the time I reached High School I was selling/smoking pot & hanging out with kids my age but it wasn’t long before I caught the attention of the older guys in the neighborhood.  I had already garnished a somewhat questionable reputation through my brothers by default & everyone knew my name from the paper route I had since I was roughly 12 years old.  At first they were intimidating & I hated whenever I had to deliver papers on one of their streets...praying they wouldn’t be outside playing basketball or something.  They always hung around the same two or three houses depending on who’s parents weren’t home that day.  If they saw me coming every one of them would stop what they were doing & aim their attention towards me.  All of them except one.  I knew his face & heard stories whispered about him in the hallways at school.  His name was Franco & he was not just the leader of their group...he was, “Head Fucking Hancho.”  You know the scene from mob movies where people from the neighborhood come to sit with the boss & ask him all kinds of favors in return for their loyalty?  That was Franco at age 15!  He had everyone’s respect....even that of my older brothers who looked up to nobody.  If you had a disagreement with Franco it didn’t go far.  I’ve seen him hit guys so hard they temporarily lost the ability to speak!  After a couple minutes of hazing from the guys he would shout from the porch telling them to leave me alone & they would scatter like roaches! 

These encounters would eventually lead up to my first drug deal.  Up until that point I had been stealing whatever I could from whichever brother wouldn’t notice at the time & smoking/selling it with & to my friends.  They eventually caught me & beat the living shit out of me.  I don’t think they were actually mad about the missing weed it was more about not stealing from your brother.  The same day I was caught stealing weed I planned on meeting several kids from school at a friends house & of course everyone was expecting me to bring the pot.  To this day I don’t know how I got the phone number or the guts to call it but I reached out to Franco’s best friend Mark.  I don’t really no why I chose him....any of the older guys could have found me weed.....but I knew Mark sold it regularly & to pretty much anyone.  There was no cell phones at this time so I had to call his house.  He wasn’t as angry as I expected & told me to wait 5 minutes before riding my bike towards his side of the neighborhood.  I did exactly as he instructed me to & before I could get to the end of my street he was pulling up in a dark green Ford Ranger...Frank was with him riding in the passenger seat.  Mark got out...threw my bike in the back of his truck telling me to hop in the backseat before getting back behind the wheel & pealing off.  The music was so loud I could barely understand the lyrics over the bass let alone what Frank & Mark were saying but it didn’t matter because they weren’t talking to me.  At the time I thought Mark must want to get out of the neighborhood before doing the deal but after getting to know him I learned...that was his, “thing”.  He loved to drive around, blaring music, & smoking weed with whoever was willing to tag along.  He hated driving alone & his truck was like his office.  Frank acted as if I wasn’t even there...holding a cool composure looking out the window while nodding his head to the music.  Eventually we pulled down a random street, where Mark turned down the music before pulling the truck over.  He turned around & asked me how much money I wanted to spend before opening a large grocery bag filled to the top with little, “dime bags,” or roughly a large gram of weed in each bag.  I don’t know if it was how he had them bagged up but it was more than I had ever seen in one place at the time & my brothers always had a lot.  I had a handful of crinkled five′s & one dollar bills I collected from my friends earlier in the day at school.  It came out to around $24.  I remember it was less than $25 because Mark insisted that an 8th cost $25 & that I was a dollar short.  I didn’t even know what an 8th was or how much it cost but didn't want to screw up my first deal so I pretended it was just an honest mistake & he threw three bags in my lap.  Franco asked where I was going & asked if I needed a ride which I humbly excepted.  

From that day on things changed little by little with every passing day.  I hung out less & less with the kids my age to be around Mark, Frank & the rest of the older guys.  They saw me as the kid who could sell a lot of weed since I already had that reputation from my classmates.  I saw them as a ticket to popularity.  In my mind it was an even trade.  My mother had an entirely different opinion.....constantly telling me I should be hanging around with my younger friends.  To me it was harmless....choosing to see it as normal for a kid my age.  I had no idea where this new found friendship would lead us.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  

As I was saying before....so much has happened since this day that I cannot even begin to piece it all together in a manner in which it flows conveniently into a timeline of events.  This is the beginning of my attempt & you will have to stick with me to learn more as I continue to publish.  I will warn you upfront that I will be changing some names, maybe even places or be vague as I am still getting death threats to this day & also don’t want to negatively impact any of the families that have already been ripped apart from unimaginable losses.  Lastly I am still weary about telling my story in it’s entirety.  I am sure those who are close to me will be able to figure out who I am since most of what I am going to tell you has never been a secret save one part.  I have never told ANYONE the FULL story other than my parents.  I feel it is the main reason I have struggled in all my attempts at telling/writing what actually happened.  Please understand that I take absolutely NO pride in the things I have done & only feel I need to document what I went through so maybe the next kid contemplating the path I chose....will rethink the decision.  I can tell you now their is no glory or honor in what we did & the end result was nothing but pain & suffering for our victims as well as ourselves.  I really hope nobody reads this the wrong way & that I am able to accurately portray the pain/anguish we caused so they realize how brainwashed we were & the impact you can have on others no matter how minor you think it is.  You have to stand up against what may seem to be the correct/hard decision at the time or even a harmless one that you know in your heart/gut is questionable & choose to do what you know to be right.  The definition of the word, “popular,” is; liked, admired, or enjoyed by many people or by a particular person or group.  The groups that are using/selling drugs are the minority & in the end you will find most are not truly your friend.  When I go on social media, looking back at all the kids I graduated with, I realize now that those who did well in school & actively participated were actually the, “cool kids.”  They are the ones posting pictures of new houses, nice cars & beautiful wives with blossoming families.  There is nothing cool about being alone & having nothing to show for the last two decades of your life but scars.  It is not romantic in any way shape or form.  You will not find comfort.  

Stay tuned for more to come! 

[mytargaryenchildren]

How a historical analysis might help reconsider the need to accept Game of Thrones’ TV ending

I’m dedicating this post to @bendthekneejon ❤️

I wrote this weeks ago but real life got in the way of finalizing it, but here you go. Almost 2 months later and I’m still angry about the Game of Thrones ending. And here’s how I am getting over it.

Most people I see online have been upset about the way the Game of Thrones TV show ended, including me. I have been a mega fan since 2013, read the books, spent a lot of money traveling to filming locations and on cosplay, went out of my way to meet Kit Harington, but most importantly I have used the story of ASOIAF as escapism for these past 6 years. It’s so ingrained in my daily imagination, so it’s been really difficult to come to terms with the butchering of characters and their arcs, sexist/racist writing, and an overall unsatisfying ending that we got just for the sake of ‘subverting expectations’.

To come to terms with my disregard for Season 8, I was thinking about a lecture I attended back in 2018 at my undergraduate university by Ayelet Haimson Lushkov. She wrote You Win or You Die: The Ancient World of Game of Thrones as a comparison of the events and tropes within ASOIAF with ancient Roman and Greek history. Usually, the comparison is made with medieval Britain or European history, but I found many of the parallels, especially from Essos, to be more interesting than the typical feudalist reading of ASOIAF that we get by historians. That’s not my main point here, though I would definitely check her book out if you’re a fan of history and ASOIAF like me. My main point is how to reconcile David and Dan’s ending or George R. R. Martin’s future ending with an actual satisfying end, and how modern fandom culture is actually the perfect way to bridge this gap.

Lushkov spoke about the formation of ‘canon’ in this lecture.  She explained how interesting it is how exactly ASOIAF canon has come to be: one author began it, which would usually be considered the one and only ‘true’ canon of a certain media. However, when it went to D&D and HBO, especially once they surpassed George’s books, that canon splintered into two. There’s book and show canon. Up until season 8 I was a fan of both; I liked each one for different reasons. I saw it as getting two separate stories told by two different entities, just using the same characters. In my heart I never preferred one over the other, I saw them as two different canons, two stories. I’m arguing that this is how we must think of the world of ASOIAF now. The book and show are completely different stories, and should remain that way. HOWEVER I’m taking it a step further.

Fandoms are just an authoritative source of canon as the ‘original’ creators. There, I said it. Now, let me explain this view by using Lushkov’s explanation. Because she looked into classical history, she naturally used Homer’s epic poems as a source to compare the content of ASOIAF with. Then she made the parallel, or reverse parallel, with the formation of these stories. First, it is important to understand the theories around Homer. “There are scholars who see (most of) the Iliad and sometimes the Odyssey as the work of a single inspired poet, a genius whom they call Homer.” In my parallel, this theory reflects GRRM and most singular content creators. However, the other argument helps my view, that “the Homeric poems are the product of a long series of compositions and re-compositions,” where “Homer is seen as a ‘movement’ rather than as an individual”. This theory states that the Greek Epics were compiled over time, by many people, until eventually it became one single canon. This isn’t only applicable to Greek poetry. Let’s look at where the word ‘canon’ comes from: religion. The Bible for example was written over time by different contributors into one eventual canon that’s followed by millions today. Each of the four gospels has its own version of the story of Christ, and even they differ from one another within canon!

So, why is this important? What does it have to do with the ending of Game of Thrones? Well, what I’m saying is that if we all agree that Game of Thrones season 8 was the worst thing to happen to the world of ASOIAF, we can throw it out the window of canon if we want. By reversing the formation of canon, us fans have just as much authority over it as David and Dan. Of course I’m not saying that every headcanon is 100% legitimate, no, but what I’m saying is that due to the widespread disdain and hatred for the ending, and overall agreement that it wasn’t up to the standards of the rest of canon, it’s acceptable for us to disregard it completely and feel no guilt in that. I don’t want anyone to say “no, I’m ignoring the final 3 episodes” and then to feel that underlying guilt or belief that you’re turning your back on a story you’ve loved for years. I know how much effort has been put into metas, theories, and fanfics. Some of you have spent way more time on this canon than D&D combined. It’s such a personal thing too, loving these characters, reflecting on our lives through them, and wanting to see them thrive. This analysis should help you disregard season 8 and feel justified about it under the definitions of canon.

Lushkov mentioned that modern fandom culture is so important in the acceptance of canon, and she was the one who suggested this reversal of roles. The definition of “Canon” is where my argument is strengthened: “Canon is a source, or sources, considered authoritative by the fannish community. In other words, canon is what fans agree "actually" happened in a film, television show, novel, comic book, or concert tour. Specific sources considered canon may vary even within a specific fandom.” Note the importance of fan’s acceptance in this definition. In Lushkov’s analysis, the fans play the same role as the original orators of the Greek epics before the Homer canon was solidified. Modern fandom is defined by many people sharing a story, and especially sharing extra content like metas and fanfics.

There’s a precedent for disregarding canon set already, though, and hopefully this can convince you more that you’re justified in throwing season 8 in the trash. When Disney bought Star Wars, they threw out everything that had been done in the Extended Universe and made up their own new canon. The Extended Universe was an example of one canon being created by one person, and then authors taking that and making their own additional stories in universe, that counted as canon. So, are all of their stories, their hard work, is it all invalid now? I wouldn’t say so. There’s just two separate canons now. Also, how many times have comic books been retconned? Just think about how many different superheros have 5 different film versions!  Creators ignore the past, or change it, and then new canon is accepted or not accepted by fans. I mentioned the Bible earlier; even THAT split into multiple Canons due to disdain for creators misusing canon! My years of studying Martin Luther have finally come in handy! Am I really comparing 1.5 million Game of Thrones fans signing a petition to remake season 8 to Martin Luther’s 95 Theses against the Catholic Church? You know what, yeah, yeah I am. 

If 1.5+ million people have signed the petition to remake Game of Thrones season 8, if 90% of the articles I see online hate the ending, if almost all of tumblr discourse says that the ending was gross and sexist and racist, well let’s throw it out the window. Clearly almost every character was acting out of character. The people we saw in the last 3 episodes of Game of Thrones were not the characters we grew to love in the previous 7.5 seasons.

I hope by pointing out real historical canons, as well as modern fandom interactions and media consumption, I’ve shown that the idea of one unifying ‘canon’ has never been as clear cut as one might hope. In this, I hope that everyone who is considering ignoring season 8 and turning to fanfiction to correct the mistakes made by David and Dan feels no remorse in doing so. GO FOR IT!! If Martin Luther could, you can too.