#retrospectively; and two in person conferences in: I am not made for this

[thesecondface]

well, I spent the whole conference hiding. truly I have done a fantastic job of diving into aisles, marching purposefully with no destination, and finding dark corridors to skulk around in, in avoidance of the masses. shrivelling and withering.

[crowfootwrites]

Devotion & Diplomacy

I am nothing if not an impatient b, so I'm moving forward with posting! Tagging a few who asked/I think might be interested! This story is currently standing at 10 parts, so if you wanna be added to a tag list, lemme know! @horta-in-charge @deepspacedukat @bigblissandlove1 You can also read on AO3!

Daro doesn't make his first appearance until Part II because this first part is a lot of setting things up and getting to know our daring OC. We do, however, see some other familiar faces!

For some background, the Federation-Cardassian Armistice was signed in 2367; the Phoenix Incident occurred this same year, which helped settle the formation of the Demilitarized Zone. The Occupation of Bajor ended in 2369, at which time Cardassia withdrew from Terok Nor. There is a 3 year gap between when the armistice occurred and when the Federation-Cardassian Treaty was finalized in 2370 – this story will take place in 2367, with the understanding that our OC is basically traveling to and from Cardassia Prime frequently in order to broker peaceful relations and encourage the signing of the treaty.

Warnings: none really in this part; Jellico being a dick (canon-compliant) | Words: ~2,450

Anyway, without further ado:

Emrys sighed quietly and pinched the bridge of her nose as the voices of the men down the table from her increased in volume, desperate to be heard over one another. She’d been sitting at this table far too long for her own liking and it still felt as though everyone was talking in circles. It’d be a miracle if they accomplished anything today.

A familiar voice began climbing, adding to the chaos. Without looking, Emrys could identify it as her one-time communications partner, Varsek – a hulking Aenar with limited patience. How he’d managed a career in communications, Emrys would never know.

As had been the case over the two weeks, Emrys knew that once most of the Cardassians and Federation members present, Starfleet officers included, had descended into a rage-fueled argument, there’d be no progress for the remainder of the day. Out of the corner of her eye, Emrys spied the only person she could count on to always remain calm - another Federation delegate, the Vulcan, Romar - but even he was sporting a raised eyebrow. As the highest ranking Starfleet officer and only woman present, Emrys was disinterested in the prospect of another pointless day and opted, yet again, to put her foot down.

Placing her finger and thumb between her lips, she let out a short, shrill whistle. The yelling halted immediately, with all eyes suddenly on Emrys as she rose from her chair and planted the palms of both her hands on the long conference table before her.

“Gentlemen,” she began, before anyone could interrupt. “We are getting nowhere, and quickly.” She made eye contact with each participant around the table in turn, recognizing the importance of acknowledging everyone present, if only to soothe their pride. She found in the responding gazes of the Cardassians genuine frustration and hostility, but perhaps also some desperation there. And in her fellow Starfleet officers, exasperation and some retrospective shame.

“We’ve agreed that shouting will not solve the issues we’ve come together to discuss, but we seem to end up engaging in this behavior with every meeting,” Emrys continued. “It is unbecoming of us all.”

In her momentary pause, she was interrupted by the Cardassian Gul-Tar Ziven, who also rose from his seat. She met his gaze with a calm confidence that she hoped belied the feeling of overwhelm that had been slowly settling in her stomach. Failing in this mission could mean losing the peaceful relations between Cardassia and the Federation that had only so recently been won. And given everything that Emrys had lost in the Federation-Cardassian War, she couldn’t allow that to happen.

Stoic as ever, Ziven’s expression gave nothing away as he addressed the men and women, so recently enemies, gathered around. “Lieutenant Commander Beck makes a fine point,” he declared, his voice a peal of thunder across the table’s expanse. The lighting deepened the shadows beneath his eye ridges, his face a series of sharp planes in black and gray. He made for an imposing figure among the brutal Cardassian architecture of the room and clad in solid brown armor, and Emrys took a deep breath to try and remind herself that this head of the Cardassian Union was no longer her enemy.

“Perhaps it would be best,” he suggested, planting his clenched fists on the table before him, his widening stance reinforcing the power he commanded over the room, “if we took a recess.”

As Emrys opened her mouth to respond, Ziven held up a hand to silence her. “The short breaks we’ve been taking have clearly not had a lasting effect. I suggest that we adjourn for a few weeks, giving us all time to review proposals and consider our options individually. Perhaps when we reconvene afterward, we will all be more amenable to compromises.”

Emrys’ lips pursed into a frown as she exhaled hard through her nose. Although she agreed that a longer break might be more effective, she was loath to leave Cardassia Prime without anything set in stone. Peace was too tenuous at this point to feel confident that it would continue, especially without near-constant Starfleet presence to remind the Cardassians of what they’d lost in the war and why they had signed the armistice in the first place. The prospect of having to report yet another extended recess back to Captain Jellico and Vice Admiral Nechayev, without any results, also sat heavy on Emrys’ mind. They were sure to be displeased, and neither were known for mincing their words.

“I propose that we reconvene in three weeks time, so that our… esteemed guests,” he added with a hint of sneer that Emrys wondered if anyone else caught, “will have adequate time for travel in addition to this little hiatus.” Emrys glanced around at the various Federation members present, recognizing that some of them genuinely looked like they needed a visit to their homes. They had already been on Cardassia for two weeks, and for some, like Emrys, this was only the most recent in a long string of visits designed to soothe tensions with the Cardassian Central Command as they collaborated on developing a more formal treaty. 

“We are in agreement, Gul-Tar.” With a conciliatory nod, Emrys took her leave. She wound her way through the broad, windowless halls of the Central Command building lost in thought, and made for her temporary quarters. She hated the gloom of the capital buildings on this planet - it was much more pleasant outside, in the bright and balmy sunshine. But inside, surrounded by intense and inhospitable architecture, with dark halls and rooms bearing strange combinations of outdated construction and modern technology, she felt out of place and unwelcome. Like many of her fellow Federation members, she was eager to get off-world, although she would not have time to go home.

Not that she had a home to go to. 

In her quarters, she contacted Captain Jellico, trying to maintain composure despite her frustration as his face appeared on the viewscreen. 

He gave her a tense smile. “Beck. The negotiations?”

Emrys sighed. “Ziven has called for a three-week recess.”

“Three weeks?” His clasped hands on the desk before him tightened.

“Aye, sir. As I’ve mentioned, there has been significant opposition to the points presented in the last couple of weeks, and today’s session was devolving into absolute chaos, frankly. I will have to rethink our approach for when we reconvene. I believe we can still make progress, but there are some items that I don’t believe the Cardassians are willing to compromise on, such as their continued contact with the Xepol-”

“Commander, it sounds as though you might be losing some control here,” he cut in, sounding aggravated.

Emrys opened her mouth to object, but he continued on. “If you cannot bring the Cardassians to compromise on the Federation’s priority points, we will need to bring someone else in. This peace was too hard-won and is too precarious for us to allow the Cardassians to continue drawing this process out.” The edge in his voice had Emrys’ hackles up and she took a deep, discreet breath to calm herself. Jellico might be her superior, and one of the people who had helped initiate the truce in the first place, but he could still be an ass. Emrys knew from experience.

“Sir, with all due respect, you say that as if we have the power to pressure the Cardassians into meeting our demands.” She hinted at what she knew the captain wouldn’t say out loud, wouldn’t confirm, not to her anyway. “We don’t have that kind of power right now and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Cardassians knew as much.”

“Enough,” he snapped. “That is beyond the scope of your rank. Your job is to follow orders and they have already been given to you.” Emrys sat back in her chair, aware of the ticking in her jaw. 

“You were selected for this position for a reason, Lieutenant Commander. Arbitrate, make them settle. Preferably in short order,” he demanded, glancing away from his screen for a moment, as though someone had come into his office.

Given a direct order from her superior officer, there was little she could say or do next.

“Aye, sir,” she replied through clenched teeth.

She watched as Jellico was handed a PADD by someone off screen. He reviewed it for a moment, then turned back to Emrys.

“The USS Enterprise is currently passing near the Cardassian border on a mapping survey before returning to cross Federation space. I am arranging transport aboard for you - their findings may be useful in nailing down some coordinates on the Demilitarized Zone,” he said almost dismissively. “They’ll be in touch to pick you up.”

Emrys sighed, barely managing to suppress the desire to roll her eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

Jellico ended the transmission without another word and Emrys tossed her head back against the top of her chair, heat rushing to her face as Emrys vacillated between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. She settled for neither, instead hanging her back over the deeply uncomfortable chair and gazing around at the temporary quarters she’d been assigned - a room that reminded her a little of a prison cell.     

— — —

Emrys clasped her hands tightly behind her back, her shoulders drawing upwards instinctively as she rematerialized aboard the Enterprise – transporting always made her stomach turn. With a deep exhale, she glanced around at the familiar faces gathered in the transporter room and smiled. 

“Welcome back aboard the Enterprise, Lieutenant Commander,” Captain Picard announced, and Emrys stepped eagerly off the pad to shake his hand. 

“It’s been a long time, Captain,” she replied. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” Without waiting for a reply, Emrys glanced to the Captain’s side and her smile grew into a grin as she launched herself into the waiting embrace of Counselor Troi. 

“Deanna!” she exclaimed, pressing her face into her friend’s shoulder, letting her excitement run rampant, knowing that Deanna would feel the wave of it and realize just how much she’d been missed.

“It’s so good to see you, Emrys,” the counselor murmured, squeezing her tightly. The two women had attended the academy together and been fast friends ever since – but their veering career paths had led them away from each other for far too long. 

As Emrys withdrew, she noticed Captain Picard tempering a grin of his own as he cleared his throat and moved to introduce the other crewman present. He motioned to the handsome human man with striking blue eyes standing beside him. “You know my first officer, Commander William Riker, I presume?”

“Of course!” Emrys exclaimed with a firm shake to Will’s hand. “Good to see you again, Will.”

“Good to see you, Emrys. Glad to have you on board,” he said with a wink. 

Deanna ushered Emrys into the hall, the captain and Will lingering back in the transporter room. “I’ll show you to your quarters, and then perhaps we can grab some dinner and catch up,” she offered. Although she and Deanna corresponded regularly, Emrys was excited for the chance to catch up in person, and eagerly agreed.

After tossing her bag atop the bunk in her quarters, she and Deanna headed for Ten Forward, grabbing a table near one of the large glass windows. Emrys’ shoulders relaxed at the sight, glad to be back in space and off Cardassia Prime for a while.

“So, how have you been?” Deanna asked eagerly, a spoonful of chocolate ice cream halfway to her mouth.

Emrys groaned. “I’m better now,” she muttered. “But long stretches on Cardassia listening to men argue about exact coordinates of the Demilitarized Zone hasn’t exactly been pleasant.”

“I take it the peace talks aren’t going well?” she murmured, glancing to make sure no one could overhear her. Emrys appreciated her consideration. The last thing the Federation needed was more worried citizens.

Emrys shook her head behind her glass of Alvanian brandy. “We’re a little… stuck,” she said quietly. “I think it will turn out alright, I mean, negotiation is an art, you know? We have to cycle between slow and quick progress. If everything happens too quickly, or we push too hard, the Cardassians may find themselves having misgivings. We could wind up right back where we started. But my superiors don’t seem to agree - it’s like they expect progress at warp nine.” 

Deanna patted her hand empathetically. “Yours is a difficult spot to be in. I certainly wouldn’t want to do your job.”

Emrys snorted. “They’d shit themselves if you offered. They’d consider your abilities to be giving them the upper hand.”

Deanna smiled around a spoon full of ice cream. “That’s why I’d never offer,” she muttered. She paused thoughtfully before pinning Emrys with a meaningful stare.

“Have you been home recently?”

Emrys sank back into her seat. A pang of guilt settled below her heart. “I haven’t had a lot of time to make it all the way back to Earth,” she muttered, not meeting her friend’s eyes. “And… with Silas gone, there’s really no reason to.” She shook her head slowly, trying to clear the dull ache that was forming behind her eyes as she thought about her brother. 

Deanna, perhaps sensing Emrys’ discomfort, changed the subject. With a sly grin, she sat back and crossed her legs. “And have you been… seeing anybody lately?”

Emrys laughed harshly, the sound carrying in the mostly unoccupied Ten Forward. “Yeah, a whole bunch of angry Cardassians.”

Deanna snickered, but doubled down, wanting an actual answer. She waited, gazing at Emrys with a raised brow.

With a sigh, Emrys shook her head. “This post has been taking all my time and energy. I go where they tell me, leave when they tell me - I’m always working or on my way to work, essentially.”

“What about that Vulcan on your team? What was his name? R-”

“Romar,” Emrys groaned after another pull of brandy.

“Romar!” Deanna repeated excitedly. “What about him?”

Emrys shrugged, trying not to call to mind her efforts to become closer to Romar, only to be brutally (for a Vulcan) rebuffed. “He wasn’t interested.”

With a frown, Deanna grasped one of Emrys’ hands. “I’m sorry, my friend. It seems like you don’t have a lot of time for yourself right now, and I can’t imagine how difficult that must be,” she fretted. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Emrys pulled her hand from under Deanna’s, only to place hers on top and pat Deanna’s hand softly. “Let’s just talk about you, hmm?” She gave her friend a small smile. “I’ve missed you, you know?”

With a hum and smile tinged with heartache for Emrys, she nodded. “I’ve missed you too.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Okay rockstars, settle down

rockstar!bucky barnes x assistant!reader x rockstar!loki laufeyson / masterlist

summary; having previously worked for loki, it causes a heat to burn within bucky’s already accumulated hate towards the musician / warnings; threesome, smut, mxf and mxm sex, mentions of sex with other characters, oral sex (male and female receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, double penetration, degradation, swearing, orgasm denial, cum eating

“Can’t believe you worked for that wanker.” Snarked Bucky as an image of the well known, musically spread, and acoustically acclaimed, Loki Laufeyson was shown on the screen of the dressing room television, as the other artist stretched his clothing bare arms across the back of the couch. “Come here sweet cheeks.”

At his command, you dismissed the paper work for a moment, trailing over and straddling the inked hunk’s chain belted lap, digging your manicured set of nails into his shoulders, as you seated yourself over his crotch. “I’m happy I work for you now Buck, you treat me so good.”

Punctuating your words, you pressed your teeth into your bottom lip, giving it the appearance of being more plump, as you batted your dark eyelashes up at your employer. “I do, don’t I?” He rhetorically asked, skimming his fingers across the length of your arms, before moving them to sloppily cup your jaw, ensuring that you would not look away from his wild and dilated pupils. “Tell me what I do better than the lead singer of the god of mischief.”

At his words, a small yet peaceful contortion of uncomfortableness split a skin grafted line through the centre of your forehead, stating that you had no wish to do so. And thus, as punishment for your self aversive silence, Barnes braced his knuckles into your skin, causing you to keen out, and tap his shoulders in verification for surrender.

In turn, you lowered your hands, dragging the tips of your nails, absentmindedly running them down the expanse of his waxed chest, conveniently passing the silver hoops that were attached to his nipples on the trail to a less dominant ground. “I prefer the way that your songs have a heavier bass and-“

“Uh uh uh, not the music. Think of something that has you, let’s say, screaming, but definitely not in a crowd. Though, we may have to try that one sometime; show the world how hungry you are to assist me.”

“You, James Bucky Barnes,” he loosened his grip to your relief, which lead to you hugging in spite, “are the best fuck I have ever endured. Loki has nothing on you, he deems himself a god of the arts, but he doesn’t see how you paint me so perfectly with your cum, nor how you bend my body to your whim, as though I am a tool in the midst of your creations, useful, but disposable.”

“I like the sound of that doll. Disposable, now that really does you make you sound like my personal cum dump.”

“That’s was certainly interesting to listen to...”that voice had your body jolting in shock, and it appeared that Bucky too was surprised by the presence, though, he steadied his well versed hands on your hips, claiming you to the intimate spot.

“What the fuck are you doing in my dressing room you greasy haired weasel?” Bucky sneered, his nose turning up at the sight alone of his competition in the lyrical world. Loki, he had graced you with his presence, and you had to look away; he admittedly looked good.

His shirt was open chested, leaving you with the memorable impression of all the times that you had left crescent marks upon that particular surface, a few times you had even drawn blood, but that had only fuelled his mission to fuck you into a propeller of urgency.

“Our new album Laufey has just been released, I can confirm my dear, you shoulda stayed around and knelt in our success. The records are certainly going to have more sales than what was it called again? Ah yes, the red star. I could tell it was about this one, so much passion, a sultry tune, that did little to justify what it means to be with her.”

Loki’s hands waved around as he spoke, and you could only picture the past whence he penetrated your with those long and talented fingers of his. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you, resulting you to be nothing more than a withering mess, as he digressed the option to simply stop. There was nothing simple about him, nor the time that he demanded that he shared you with his brother.

That thought alone had you mindlessly grinding upon Bucky’s covered cock, plucking at your lip with the keys of your teeth, though Bucky’s voice brought you back to reality, causing you to pause your movements embarrassingly, venting a clear out of your head to process the situation that was before you. The two were bickering like two teenage girls, and it was quite exhausting to listen to.

“Answer the question trickster, else I’ll have you fed to the infamous black panther, and let’s just say that he is the best bodyguard I have ever hired. So, are you going to speak, or will I have you dragged out of here like a damned serpent with a noose around its neck?” Bucky threatened, gritting his teeth together, his nose straining in frustration, drawing more attention to the small stud on the right side of his nose.

“Looks like she needs me Barnes, perhaps your reputation does not proceed you. But to answer in full, my band have made quite the rise, and I thought it would be... fitting to pay you a visit. Though I had no idea that this wonderful woman would be here, pining on your lap like some feline in heat. I see she’s fucking you now, after all my suspicions are never wrong. Or we’ll, Heimdall’s train of thought always ends up at the right station.”

“Can the pair of you stop, for one goddamn minute!” Your hands obscured a path into your hair, as you glared back and forth between the pair of rival rockstars. “I am here, dammit! Stop talking about me as though I am not here, a part of me wishes that I wasn’t so I didn’t have to listen to your bitching.”

Without any thought, you clambered from your perch on Bucky’s lap, walking towards the raven haired gentleman, pointing your finger in his face as you accused him. “You’ve got your point across, but I’ll tell you something. If you don’t leave, Heimdall will see me putting my foot up your ass.”

“Does she speak to you like this Barnes? I thought she had loosened up in more ways than one when I allowed Thor to stretch her cunt, but it appears that that mouth of hers has gotten a little out of hand also. You should do something about that, or else you’ll lose her to someone else like a did. Who knows, could be Romanoff, heard she has a thing for brats.”

Natasha Romanoff, a diverse woman in her ways and songs. She was the queen of the rock culture, tormenting her workers with her verbal abuse and it would undoubtedly be no different for her assistant. If you were to be under her employment, it was certain that you would not get out alive, nor work for another talented person for the rest of your life. To cross her, was a vow to sign your own death certificate, it was plain stupidity, yet people still hustled with her and her limits, resulting in their chances of ever getting hired for any job, vastly slim to none.

At the lack of defence that Bucky provided you, you felt small, your shoulders slacked as you were tortured with Loki’s cold and silky gaze, more so when the man stood up, pressing his bare chest against your back. You could feel the rings that hung off the buds that adorned his chest coil and dig into your back, shrouding your demeanour substantially.

A part of you wanted nothing more than for Bucky to abuse Loki’s face with his fist, specifically the right, since it was the bearer to a chunky silver ring. It’d leave quite the print, however, the unexpected unravelled as his enquiring tone was aimed not at you, but Loki instead.

“You let your brother fuck her, hmm. Maybe she should learn her manners by being shared, that way her retrospective spattering of bullshit may be contained, to a limit of course.” It was unbelievably, you could not believe that Bucky was conferring with the enemy! And not only that, they were talking about experiences of having you literally become speechless from their unprofessional administrations upon your body. “I’d get T’Challa in here, but I know she’s already fucked him. Can’t quite fire him for it though, because who could ever say no to those pretty eyes, and that mouth, god, it is definitely one of her most persuasive attributes.”

“Bu-“ you didn’t even get to finish imploring his name off your lips, about to defend yourself and your previous actions, though, you were interrupted, starved from the opportunity of coming up with an explanation.

“No.” Loki told you, the roles now reversed as he was the one with his index finger aimed at you. He tapped your nose with it, as he began to pace in the room, his wild locks remaining in their place as he spun, before facing Bucky, a sly tranquility of a truce veining out from the pools of his evergreen orbs. “You don’t speak a word to me y/n, not whilst I’m having a conversation with James here.”

James. It was too far a polite way for him to address your boss. They were all hot and ready to tear out each other’s throats a moment ago, and now here they were, having a silent conversation without your inclusion. It had you reeling your mind as to why, until Bucky gathered your hair in his hand to the side, sliding you y/h/c locks over your shoulder, and finally deemed it acceptable for you to hear his voice.

Though, he still was not directing his tensive words in your direction. “Since you had dealt with this subordinate behaviour from her, perhaps you’d like to join us; help me train her to become more...” His breath fanned your the top of your ear, making your skin crawl by not only his warm and inviting breath, but also the offer that he had supposed to the other man.

“Obedient?” Loki asked in turn of his wispy ended offer of optimism, his leather, sharp tipped boots taking a prominent, heart clenching step towards you. He reached his finger out, grasping a loose strand that had fallen out of Bucky’s grip and before your face, tugging lightly on it, as his lips came dangerously close to your own. “Rules aren’t your forfeit, are they my dear? The best assistant I ever hired, with all those unique ideas floating around in that independent head of yours, but you’ve always been troublesome. I remember the time that you bit my cock that day you had attitude. I reckon Bucky here could do a better job.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” You hissed as said man tugged on his handful of your hair, instantly making you regret your phrase in the moment. To a halting surprise however, Bucky released you, lightly shoving you to cause you to fumble forwards, and away from him.

“Maybe I will.” He dared, earning a nod from Loki, whom seductively began to unzip his loose trousers, as Bucky descended to the ground, his hands running up his rival’s thighs, as the material dropped around Loki’s ankles. It would seem, that he had gone commando, and as Bucky grasped Loki’s shaft, you felt a pull in your chest inherently demanding that you play some part in this fornication.

“Wait.” Your hand shot out, as though you had some force to stop them from continuing with their war path to exact all of their developed spit onto you. “What about me?” You were ss

“Oh no doll, you are not pulling any strings here, if you wanna do something useful, come here and warm my cock, you can watch me blow your old associate.” A slither of a whimper fell from your lips, it wasn’t exactly what you were prying towards, but you sure as hell were not going to refuse the contact that Bucky was obliged to give you.

Thus you wandered towards him, your pinkies curling around one another, as you sashayed to the ground beside him, watching as he paid Loki no mind for a moment, ruthlessly in a desperation fuelled motion, unbuckled his thick belt, and shoved the material of his leather trousers to be held accountable against his lower thighs, just above his tense knees.

He too, as their exteriors supposed, had forgone the extra layer that kept his cock tucked away, though it was exposed as he tugged those tight trousers down, and the sight of both his and Loki’s cocks bobbing in the same vicinity had you close to quivering.

It was somewhat of a dream portrayed in the viscous space of reality, the two men half undressed in then proximity of yourself, it was something that you had always imagined, even before you had left Loki’s side, and opted to work for Bucky, but the idea was definitely short lived. They hated each other, but apparently they were willing to put all their issues aside to prohibit you from freely running your mouth.

Bucky’s cock twitched as he patted his own thigh, ordering you without the aid of his voice to commence it as a servant’s throne, or in your case, a stool for you to rest on as he tended to intimate needs of the man that you had once worked for. Finally, with the decision of better judgement, you allowed your grey jumper dress to slide down your body, leaving you nude, and the aspect of the two men’s unforgiving and locked gazes.

“No underwear, and you wonder why your men have no difficulty in her allowing them to fuck her.” Bucky took ahold of his cock, squeezing his cock with one hand, whilst his other aided you in sitting on his muscular legs, as he lightly growled up at the opposing rockstar.

From the stiff grip that Bucky affirmed around his sceptre, Loki gasped, his pale lips instantly shutting once the sound wantonly abandoned him. The last thing that he wanted was for Bucky to see him in vulnerable poise, though with that said, it’d be rather difficult considering the smutty circumstances.

Bucky took Loki’s long, alabaster prick into his mouth, starting from the primrose tip and descending down, reciprocating the action that you did yourself as you sheathed yourself onto his cock, but instead with his lips. A grunt rendered along Loki’s length as the man bit back a whimper, the vibrations running through his veins like a transpiring pulse of sorcery.

Bucky opted for bobbing his head, as you endured the liberation of his very slightly gyrating movement inside of you. Though, despite him being almost completely still and leaving you full to the brim with his thick length, his balls resting against the partition where he was delved into you, you remained transfixed.

The motion image, recording first hand through your own eyes, of him blowing Loki was sinful, but you were drawn to it. If that made you a sinner, one endorsed by the graphic scene, licking your lips from the sight of Bucky running his studded tongue up the length of Loki, dipping the ball of silver metal into his slit, then so be it.

Your heart raced as you were met with an opportunity. A globe of saliva, strung by the lapping muscle of Bucky’s tongue dropped down; you practically saw its fall in slow motion. It was done before you could register your actions, you had leant forwards, catching the trickle of spit in your mouth, thinking not for a moment as you gulped the subjective liquid down.

Bucky’s pace increased, he gagged lightly as he jolted him further down his throat. Loki hummed, harshly grabbing Bucky’s dark brunette locks, biting his lip as he reimagined your little catch. It had him feeling close, and just as he was about to finish, precum furiously pooling out of his tip, Bucky pulled back, a smirk marking his features.

“You’re not cumming in my mouth, I don’t mind sucking dick, nor swallowing, but I have to practically listen to you jizz over your own talent, and prowl over my girl.” The name he labelled you with had your heart fluttering, but not nearly as much as when he lightly pulled out of you, infuriating you with the lack of any pleasurable esteem. “Don’t you worry babes, you can finish with me inside of you, like always.”

That used to be him, Loki thought with a brewing rage in his chest. Though he instead shrugged out of his dull patterned striped shirt that was already loose on his shoulders. The fabric hit the floor, leaving all of you barren to the subject of nudity.

“Always doesn’t suppose the past Barnes.” Loki stated, referring to all the various times that he had found refuge in your spongey walls, you willingly clenching around him, and pleading for him to hit a deeper spot within you. “And I do not prowl, I don’t need to. The evidence is there between her legs, coiling in juices surrounding her ever so willing folds, that are prepared to endure the harshest of penetrations.”

“What are you trying to do, write a fucking song about this?” Scoffed Bucky, rolling his crystallised orbs at the guts that this man had. If he so much as wanted to, he could stop this passage into a three way all together, but he did not, at least he had yet to. He was enjoying the way that you were squirming to yourself, thinking that he didn’t notice, squeezing the sides of your thighs together in an aroused matrimony.

“A fucking song would’ve the correct term - literally.” Was the affirmed words of Loki, as he shoved Bucky to be sat beside you, tilting his messy brush of crazed hair, his untrustworthy eyes drifting to you. “Who’d you want to fuck you, you fangirling slut?”

It was truthfully a difficult decision. “Both.” You admitted, your bones jumping as Bucky pinched one of your erect nipples, continuing to hold a sturdy clasp of his pads around the sensitive flesh; you couldn’t jut choose one of them. Not when they were both in such close range, bore in nothing more than their birthdays suits, talking about your quivering and diversely accepting cunt.

They knew that you couldn’t possibly refuse one or the other. You were vastly too hungry to be filled like you had never been before, shagged by two of three most well known artists in the industry, earnestly and mindlessly earning yourself a title within the circle of uptight yet simultaneously chill performers.

Perhaps, if Bucky we to ever potentially fire you, there would be another pursuer for your articulating talents on standby, awaiting for the moment that you walked out of his complex door to swoop you up as though they were a predatory falcon, flying off into a stationed sunset, those around seeing you as nothing more than a shadow of the ambient orb, but the one who had employed you finding you to be a sufficing inspiration.

Large hands swallows your hips, firmly controlling their angle as they grasped you in their strong, almost super human hold, lifting you so that you were tentatively tucked in a reverse cowgirl position on Bucky’s lap. It was the third time that you had been this close to him, it would almost be intimate, if your legs weren’t strewn in an open, all revealing splay, so that Loki could see your boss tease his tip around your entrance before sliding you down his length, extracting a strong wail from your churning throat.

Your own hand resented down, applying swirls of pressure down on your clit; it appeared that they were willing you to continue without interruption. Bucky lightly, despite the power that he was promoted to in this position, began to bounce you on his shaft, spewing small mewls out from your agape mouth.

Fisting his cock, Loki approached, Bucky reachin this seen hands down to spread te lips of your pussy, so that the other man was guaranteed a crude glimpse of you being stufffed. Though, you weren’t quite filled enough, for Bucky raised a brow and prompted Loki to allow himself to be pulled closer by your axed and whining aura.

He brushed his tip languidly against your buzzing clit, dragging through your slick and jab i at your delicate fingers before probing at the base of Bucky’s cock, and pushing inside, right along his rival’s length, the pair moaning out in a pleasured union. On the other and, you had tears falling from the crescents of your eyes, the stretch so much that it was a blistering pain to your cunt.

“Don’t go all meek dear, you and i both know this is far from the first instance where you’ve had more than one cock in this nasty, betraying cunt of yours.” Loki taunted, gripping the vulnerable expanse of your throat from behind, his icy glazed skin sending provocative shivers down your spine, making your pussy pulse from the chill that ran through your body.

And then, i a split instant, both cocks began to piston into your walls, as though you were nothing more than a rag doll, meant o be thrown around and handled in a disorderly fashion. They ere ruthless, groaning out symphonies in the cursive air around you, as your walls engulfed their pricks more than snugly.

You felt so wide down there, they were taking a pirating toll on your body stealing every breath that dared wither from your lips, tweezing their nimble fingered around various parts of your body, all in due retrospect or coerce you into fucking them back, making all actions in the mass of bodies a mutual effort.

Loki lowered his head down meeting Bucky for a sloppy, brash kiss. It was clear they were simply doing that part to fulfil a greedy desire in your stomach, but you were not one that minded. It was, like the rest of their frenzy of collaborations, a competitive mess. They nipped harshly at each other’s lips, ravenously all in the meanwhile ploughing your body with their har girths.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Your tongue dribbled, earning satisfied, lust induced smirks from both parties that were currently penetrating you, making you writhe harder against their lengths a new flow of moisture weeping out from your hole, lubricating their movements further, it encouraging them to do nothing more than continue what they were doing, despite their better judgements.

The truth was, they were rockstars. They had no better judgement, which is why everyone like them needed someone like you. Their thought were clouded with one mission, and for once in their spent lifetimes, it was not to beat the others, at least not to a certain extent anyways. It was their assignment, delivered by their own hands, to bring you to the edge, and that’s physically what they reformed to do.

One of them were groping your nipples, whilst the other confined the same treatment to your ass cheeks. Loki found your Rocky enables of positive feedback to be icicles and they were beautiful, he stared at them, as though they were divine ploys extracted from the mythical kingdom of Jotunheim, their residence in the realm to be the peacemakers of all bountiful creatures, much like himself and Barnes.

A rich euphoric groan exuberated from Bucky as he allowed himself to spoil, but he tutted whence he watched Loki’s features suppose that he was to follow shortly behind. “Not inside of her.” Bucky growled, sufficing Loki to roll his eyes, and pull out, the man behind you furiously replacing your hand, rolling our clit in his grasp until a sinful scream enveloped the air, commencing them all to the fact that you had just came.

Loki found the show to be unfair, and instead, spilled his priceless seed onto the huffing skin of your stomach, you eyes fluttered shut at the warm feeling pooling onto you. You leant back, drawing your neck into a crooked angle as you swiped your tongue wordlessly over the piercing on Bucky’s right nipple, metal providing a relief to the heat that your body was and had been swarmed with. “ Last chance you’re gonna have t taste her sweet cunt.”

“You do certainly have some faith in this one Barnes, but I do doubt that it will be the last instance in which i am todo so.” His silver tongue pried at your cum soaked flesh, drinking up all the essence that you had to offer, onshore the flavour that Bucky had brought to the table, i the form of a succulent drizzling of Snow White cum.

As Loki finishes swabbing his tongue over your cunt, Bucky adoringly kisses you, much sweeter than he has before. It was sort, and almost chaste, but his blue eyes roamed your face, delicately observing the high points of your face, that were covered with a sheen of great force making you as he would put it, glow.

The pair of you weer exhausted, there was still some swollen was to his lips from where he had sucked off Loki. His hands cradled you around your waist, his feet kicking Loki back as you whimpered from opaque sensitivity. “I guess that was you bidding me a dew.” Sneered the trickster, fishing for his clothes, as he spared you a spark filled glare, to which you ignored.

Once he was situated back into his attire, he left the sex scented room,a hollow smirk chapping his lips as he strutted th a purpose out into the hallway, taking a left instead of a right, and creeping into barnes’ studio to see what the man was working on in the midst of his enduring tour/ He was always the trickster, and nothing different was to ever be expected out of him.

“That was good.” You mumbled, rubbing your ode lovingly across the scruff that coated his jaw. His fingers made small circles upon your tummy, humming contently as he remained sheathed inside of you. He had to admit, he preferred it when it was just him, but his lonesome, sheathed within your walls, feeling the small trembles of your walls around him. It was practically heaven, and he would say so if he believed in such a place.

A deliberate knock ruined the moment, as the man entered,he quarrelled with himself where her to casually look in the direction of the pair of you or to avert his sight around, and blankly at the all. “What is it T’Challa?” Grumbled the man inside of you, quirking a thin brow at the timing of his presence.

“Loki; he managed to get into ur data, and he’s leaked a whole bunch of your music.” Of course, Loki would not come here to simply gloat, there was alas something extra up his green sleeve, and now it was revealed.

“Son of a bitch!” Bucky made a move to stand, but instead prohibited a whimper out of you as hi ships jutted angrily tip on instinct. “Get Odin on the phone, we’re going to have a little chat about his slippery hands son!” Barked Bucky, prepared t do anything to bring his greatest threat down, compiling him into the put of hate industry, until he was forgotten about, unable to ever produce new music again.

“Talk to Sif.” You whispered, becoming the image of his assistant once more, even if his cum lathered cock was prevailing within a rut of required stress relief, growing in the conjunction of your wall with his body guard there. “She loathes him, and rightfully so. He got her kicked out and she has dirt on him that nobody else has ever heard. If you want to take I’m down, she is your in.”

The strict tone grammatically supported by your logical information was definitely turning Bucky on again. He could handle you more than fine without Loki’s aid, he was just a means to an end, as it was clearly shown in his priorities.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I met my wife when I was, I think, fourteen, maybe thirteen, I remember seeing her at a church retreat and thinking she was very beautiful and probably quite mean

I had almost no ambition in my life whatsoever, I thought dimly I might be an artist but I didn’t feel like I was banking very heavily on it, and figured I’d just go to school and be a high school teacher or something because I wanted to have summer vacations. My wife was achingly desperate to travel to interesting places, a desire I did not share in the least.

In the summer of 2012 when I was looking for jobs after finishing undergrad my wife applied to a job teaching English in Japan, almost as a gag. Neither one of us thought very seriously about it but she was invited for a Skype interview and when they found out that she was married they wanted me to apply and interview too.

I remember in the whole application process several strange coincidences seemed to come together, a sort of planetary alignment that everyone involved but me thought must have been divine intervention. It was a Christian school, which is very unusual in Japan. One of the application requirements was that you be able to sing, which was something I was routinely told I could not do. There was a portion of the Skype interview where you had to sing a line or two just to make sure that you could carry a tune. I figured that would be the end of it, did a couple lines of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and the interviewer approved to my surprise.

They had us come out to Chicago (well, O’Hare) to do an in-person interview with about half a dozen people who’d flown in from Japan. That October they called us to offer us a job, a yearlong contract starting in March 2013, though they made it clear we would be encouraged to stay longer if we wanted. The HR guy in particular would talk about how God had brought me there and wanted me to be there, there had been times in the past they’d had people they wanted to bring over but something would go wrong in the application process but my wife and I made it. 

We left for Japan in January for a month of training. After that month, they brought my wife and me into a room to tell me I wasn’t working out but my wife could stay on. I asked what it was, they said they couldn’t point to anything specific, it was just me. I asked the HR guy about God wanting me to be there and he concluded they had been wrong.

In retrospect there were some strange coincidences that made our departure quite clean--they brought over about a dozen people and they set everyone up with an apartment but because of the way the year’s schedule was working out the apartment they’d set aside for my wife and me wasn’t ready yet and so we never signed the lease. We had several opportunities to sign up for mobile phone plans but decided to put it off. I remember sitting in a room with several of our coworkers trying to plan a trip to Disney in Tokyo one evening, my computer in front of me with everyone’s tickets in the cart and everything for that summer, and we couldn’t all agree on a date and decided to put it off. So in the event we didn’t have to break any leases or contracts or anything of that nature. All we had to do was close our bank account--we still have those old Japanese debit cards in a little box on my wife’s dresser. Perhaps the apartment thing was because they had reservations about me but the phone and the tickets for that summer were in my hands and it’s strange they didn’t pan out. Providence, perhaps. He gives and takes away.

No more talk about travel after that. A few months after we got back to our hometown my wife got pregnant and moved on.

Back in 2019 I went over to the UK and France for an academic conference, alone. Now I am off to the UK and Germany for an academic conference alone. In a month I will be off to the UK again for a semester, alone. I’m sitting in the airport now next to a carry-on bag my wife and I bought in the Narita Airport in Tokyo in March of 2013 on our way home to replace the one we’d brought over. Stopped right in the airport to unpack the old bag, pack the new bag, and put the old bag in the trash.

The flight is boarding in twenty minutes.

I don’t like travel

[whitehotharlots]

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc. 

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism. 

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable. 

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself. 

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing. 

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want  students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse. 

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back. 

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure. 

[ikingsley]

Ina x MC: That Day

Ina x MC: That Day

Loosely based on chapter 6 of QB. Read the other parts of the series here: The Dance, A Small Detour, One Chance.

Summary: Ina and Luna discuss their past.

Warnings: Sadness, I guess. Warning for coming out stories?

Tag: @samanthadalton @domakir @kulaykape @hellyeah90sbaby @dopeyouth @kwaj05 @thedaft1​ @swimmingshoebakerydreamer (Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)​

Author’s Notes: Sorry, I’ve been real busy, but here’s another installment of my series.

——————————————————————–———–———–———–

Luna strolled into Ina’s office at a quarter past seven. It’d been a long day for both of them. Ina had a full day of lectures and quizzes while Luna had midterms approaching. 

“Professor,” Luna said, putting down her bags.

“Good evening, Luna. How are you?”

The two made small talk while Ina pulled the stack of quizzes she needed graded. But as well as Ina could hide her emotions, Luna felt there was something off about Ina.

“Here’s the answer key,” Ina began. “It’s all multiple choice so it shouldn’t take too long.” 

Ina handed Luna a red pen. But Luna wasn’t paying attention to Ina. Instead, she scoured through the stack of papers, pulling one out and comparing the answers.

“Whose is that?” Ina peered over Luna’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s right. You took this quiz today.”

Luna hummed in reply. “Aww man. I got one wrong.”

This time, it was Ina’s turn to tease Luna. “Nerd,” she scoffed.

“Shut up.”

The two worked in silence, except for Ina going ham on her keyboard. That research paper wasn’t going to write itself.

“Why are you typing so vigorously?” Luna commented absent-mindedly.

“Hmm...I don’t know, maybe because this paper’s due at midnight,” Ina said quite uncharacteristically. Ina, the polite and beloved anthropology professor, was not one to be so brash.

Rude! For no reason! Luna thought. While Luna was pondering the true reason for Ina’s disrespect, Ina stood up and began pacing back and forth. Finally, she stopped, slumping onto the couch that sat at the corner of the room.

“Ina?” Luna questioned, getting off of her chair. Like usual, her initial intuition was spot-on, something was, in fact, off. 

Ina laid on the couch, her head resting on the couch’s arm. When Luna finally approached it, she took a look at Ina. Her face was slightly glossy, tear-stained.

“Scoot over,” Luna said firmly.

Ina huffed a little, but she moved further into the couch. Luna faced Ina, acting as a handkerchief, wiping away Ina’s tears.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Luna finally broke the silence.

“No.” 

“Okay. We can just lie here together. It’s okay.” Luna wrapped her arms around Ina. Ina subsequently buried her face in her shoulder, her tears falling slowly, wetting Luna’s shirt.

The two stayed like this for a few more moments, until Ina sat up, wiping the lasts of her tears. “I apologize, Luna. I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t need to-”

“Please, I want to. I feel like you should know.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Ina had gained her confidence back. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I trust you. Maybe it’s naive or too early, but well...I feel like I could tell you anything, and you wouldn’t judge me. So here goes.” 

And boy, did Ina open up. It was unlike anything Luna had ever witnessed from the mysterious professor. But she wasn’t complaining. This was arguably what she loved most about Ina. 

“It was my freshman year of high school and I was sitting in my US history class. I was such a little nerd,” Ina recalled fondly. “Anyway, this girl walked into my class and god, I was smitten. What she made me feel...I’d never felt before. I mean, I hadn’t been with any guy, but this was different. Sure I’d thought some guys were attractive, but every time I looked at her, I got butterflies.”

“Aww! I’m imagining a little nerdy Ina staring at a pretty high schooler now.”

“Mhm. Well, we got assigned each other for a project. And we hit it off. She was brilliant, passionate, caring...I really liked her, but I thought it was just as friends. One afternoon, we went to the library together to prepare for the presentation of the project. She asked me if I liked girls, and I hadn’t really considered it. Some sort of internalized homophobia, I guess. I went home that day just deep in thought. But God, she made me feel so alive. It was something I’d never experienced before. And then I just started thinking of kissing her and I never wanted to stop. I think I knew then and there that I liked women.”

“Well? What happened after?” Luna asked, invested in Ina’s anecdote.

“A few days later, some teacher was berating her for not knowing an answer to something rather trivial and I found myself defending her. I guess my protective side came out.”

“Not the only thing that came out then...” Luna smirked.

Ina scoffed but had a huge grin on her face. But just as quickly as it appeared, her smile faded.

“When we left school that day, she uh thanked me with a kiss. And that’s how I knew for sure that I liked her. A lot. I asked her out a few weeks later and we were together for a little over a year. At the time, she meant the world to me. We’d do everything together and she was my first for a lot of things, my first kiss, my first love...”

“A year? That is...surprisingly long for a relationship at that time. Why’d it end?”

“Her parents were incredibly supportive. They knew about us since the beginning of the relationship. Mine...did not know. I had told Lilian, and she listened and supported me a lot. We were always pretty close. Well, after a year together, Emma asked to meet my conservative parents. I was both giddy and nervous, but I thought I was ready. I truly thought love was unconditional. Maybe I was naive to think acceptance was guaranteed. And well, I told my parents that I had someone special for them to meet. In retrospect, I should’ve told them more details. Maybe they were expecting a dashing young man that could escort me to Prom in the following year or whatnot. And well, Emma came over for dinner and I told my parents about us. They...were shocked. Their perfect little nerdy daughter was gay. They didn’t handle themselves well that night. They said some unforgivable things to Emma. We tried to work through it, but we were young and broke up a few weeks after that.”

“Ina, I’m so sorry.”

 “I...it’s okay. It’s been a while now. They didn’t throw me out of the house, but they didn’t talk about my sexuality at all. Emma was always my ‘friend.’ No one in the extended family knew. It was like they were ashamed of me. Lilian was the wild child and I was the apple of my parents’ eyes, but they never looked at me the same after that dinner. It was a tough time. Lilian and my friends at school supported me. If it weren’t for them...I don’t know where I’d be now.”

Luna caressed Ina’s check, wiping away the flowing tears.

“I just existed in their house for a while. I had a brief period of dating guys who were’t too good for me, probably out of my parents lack of support. Trying to be straight. But there was never any feelings between the two of us. They just...weren’t Emma. The last guy I dated was sweet, but I felt nothing for him romantically. And then Lilian was pregnant. And that was the last straw for my parents. They kicked out Lilian and I left with her. After all those years of her supporting me, I needed to support her. They said some inexcusable things to her and I’m glad we left. But it was incredibly difficult. Lilian and I struggled a lot. We had to work odd jobs just to pay rent whilst still going to school. Today’s the anniversary of them kicking us out. Today I have to be strong for Lilian’s sake, but I lost my parents that day too. I guess it all just hit me now.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Come here.”

Luna wrapped Ina in her arms once more. Then, she held Ina’s face, staring intensely into her eyes.

“You are the strongest woman I know. Strongest person I know. But it’s okay to not be strong too. You don’t need to pretend to be strong 24/7. Strength and weakness...that’s what makes us human.”

Ina smiled at Luna, tears falling freely. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Ina then leaned in, closing the gap between them. She captured Luna’s lips slowly, but as the kiss prolonged, the passion increased. When they finally pulled away, both women were out of breath.

Ina cleared her throat, standing up and beckoning Luna to get on her feet.

“Dance with me.”

Luna took a second to play a song on her phone, but she then gratefully accepted, leaning into Ina’s arms as they moved slowly.

Tu cabeza en mi hombro 

Quiero yo tener siempre

Acaríciame, cielo

Si me quieres tú

Ina smiled again at Luna, a hand rising from Luna’s waist to cup her cheek.

“I hope your coming out story is better than mine,” she jested.

“Well, yeah I guess. When my family moved to the States from Venezuela, my mom always emphasized the importance of getting a good education, being prudent, all of that. I was very involved in high school, and I was a part of a lot of science extracurriculars. My freshman year of high school, my mom forced me to join mock trial to improve my public speaking. I thought it was useless since I knew I wanted to do neuroscience. She drove me to every practice, every conference...I fell in love with it. The more I did research for trials, the more passionate I became about public policy, law, and civil rights. And of course, gay rights. I guess that’s how I knew. Mind you, I was one of those kids who cuffed their jeans and got called out for not sitting in chairs properly.”

“It makes so much sense now. And you are...extremely well-spoken. Anyway, how’d you tell your parents?”

“We were at a mock trial competition. I had just used Obergefell v. Hodges as legal precedent to win the trial. My parents picked me up and I told them all about the case. My dad kinda stopped me mid-sentence and asked me if I had anything to tell them.”

“And?”

“I told them, but they said they already knew. They didn’t care who I’d be with, as long as they’re someone decent, kind, protective...the whole nine yards. The only problem is that they’re just very nosy about my love life. If I texted someone and smiled they’d look to see who it is. They also acted as if each person I’d bring home to meet them was the love of my life.”

Unreasonable jealousy flashed through Ina’s eyes, but her voice remained steady. “Did you bring a lot of people home to meet your parents?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Luna smiled smugly.

[paperclipninja]

Younger post-ep ramble 7x01

I joked in my finale ramble at the end of season 6 that the episode was called ‘Forever’ because that’s how long it would feel between seasons...well joke's on me because now, after 587 days, we are FINALLY here. The Younger drought has been a tough one, but we have been generously compensated by getting the first four episodes all at once, which is both exciting and also, turns out, incredibly overwhelming. As usual the thoughts and feelings are many, mostly feelings (read: I am NOT ok) but let’s start off with a delve into the premiere episode, ‘A Decent Proposal’.

The episode picks up within minutes of where the season 6 finale left off, with Diana and Enzo not wasting any time to hot foot it out of their wedding reception and into their happily ever after (Arrivederci bitches!). Of course I’m very happy for Diana and her happiness but there’s only one couple’s happiness that I am on tenterhooks about now that Diva is sorted and that is Charles and Liza, as they watch their sprinklers fizzle out in some sort of awkward, symbolic, anti-climax. 

You may recall that mere moments earlier, Charles had popped the question on the dancefloor before the two were separated by an obligatory conga line, and Charles quickly assumes that Liza’s lack of enthusiasm to shout her answer across the reception of another person’s wedding is an answer in itself. As anyone who has read my rambles before knows, I unapologetically fly the Team Charles flag, and let me tell you, despite her supreme stalling techniques (you’re not divorced yet, we should probably speak to the children blah blah), hearing Liza say, ‘my answer is, I love you’, my jaw hit the floor. I’m sorry, did Liza Miller just declare her feelings openly and directly and with absolute certainty??? We’re 33 seconds into the new season and I AM SHOOKETH DARREN. 

Speaking of declaring feelings openly and directly, I love absolutely everything about this opening scene. The music choice was perfect and really helped build the moment, as Charles told Liza he understands her hesitation before un-asking her to marry him (so that when the she’s made her mind she can pop the question - I kid you not, this has always been my dream...). The music cutting out and just hearing the crickets as Liza asks if he’s really withdrawing the proposal, his quip about her having to make the next move, assuming he’s still on the market (I love/hate this foreshadowing btw), it is Charles/Liza banter at its best and my sappy heart was soaking up every morsel. Throw in some CGI fireworks and the observation that they are sign (which may or may not play out at a later date) and you have yourself a pretty darn near perfect start to Younger’s final season.

Speaking of talking openly and directly, one of the staples of the Youngerverse, the Maggie morning debrief, is back as our way to gain insight into the thoughts, feelings and ponderings of Liza. Straight off the bat I am very pleased that Maggie has fully committed to ‘Chaz’ for Charles and I’m even happier that we actually hear these two talking about what’s going on because honestly, the last couple of seasons the Maggie/Liza convos, which we traditionally rely on heavily to know where Liza is at and to hear Maggie’s sage/sometimes terrible advice, have been skimmed over or felt rushed. We are also reminded that Liza has indeed seen Charles’ goods (the Empiriconda, she’s meaning the Empiriconda) and that the sex is hot, because we need to have all the information on top of the declarations of love to highlight how their relationship is pretty much perfect so that what transpires is even more painful.

Other things that are painful include the fact that Diana will be decidedly absent for most of the season (to be fair scheduling/covid are pretty legit reasons and in ep 1 we can chalk that up to her honeymoon, so more lamenting on that later), but early on it provides some pretty fab Lauren Diva-worshiping. Donning a baroque print Moschino suit that would’ve made Fran Fine jealous, Lauren is clearly distracted by the responsibility of her interim role at Empirical, as her mother frets about the theme for her 30th birthday party over face-time.

Keeping up the chaotic energy, we also discover that Kelsey has to go and let Quinn know she no longer needs her money (these characters’ ongoing relationship with the woman who has tried to ruin all of them at some point really needs unpacking with a good therapist at this stage) and Josh is in full frantic dad mode because he thinks Clare is trying to kidnap Gemma (lol that Lauren straight up calls her out on it later). Two quick points here:1) love seeing this side of Josh and 2) love Kelsey’s calm, measured reassurance that of course Clare would want her family to meet Gemma. I will say though, Josh meeting Rob for the first time when he’s about to go with Clare and Gemma to Ireland and hearing this guy he doesn’t know from a bar of soap exclaim, ‘I’m just in love with your daughter’ was super unfair. Not cool Clare, not cool. 

Kelsey keeps her cool as she breaks the news of her change of heart to our fave resident villain, who comes complete with a bowl of fortune cookies she ominously encourages Kelsey to consult while also enjoying her own fortune, ‘a new love will come into your life’. It’s all very OTT and ridiculous in it’s obvious foreshadowing and I am here for every minute of it because I sincerely love to hate Quinn very much.

My love of all things over the top is further fed by Lauren entering Diana’s office and making her way to the desk - the music, the way Lauren looks at the framed picture of Diana and Enzo before relegating it to the drawer, any moment I was expecting her to utter ‘my precious’ as she became more and more entranced by the power of the neckwear, before Liza abruptly broke the spell by asking what she was doing and warned her off her consideration of claiming Diana’s office as her own. Very much appreciated the continuity later in the episode when Liza is very distressed that Lauren has gone full-Trout with the chunky baubled ornament around her neck, though Lauren is less Invasion of the Body Snatchers and more Nancy Drew at this point, as she has caught wind of Charles’ proposal while reviewing video footage from Diana’s wedding which she decided, for some reason, to show Josh, who was ‘still not interested’ (we hear your words Josh but your face says otherwise). I am very on board the Liza/Lauren dynamic and their ‘circle of trust’ as Liza asks that Lauren keep the proposal to herself (we really haven’t seen the friendship between these two much) and Liza’s gratitude, ‘Thank you...Di-va’, is hilarious, as is the response, ‘my pleasure, Queen’.

We get many fine moments in the office this ep, the first meeting when there are formal announcements and speeches made welcoming Kelsey back...to a conference room of Charles, Liza, Lauren and a random guy we’ve never seen or heard from before and never will again it seems. It makes me laugh that every person in the room except the dude we’ll never know already knows everything but hey, formality is important I guess? The pitch for ‘Little Women in Space’ by an author played by an actress who is friends IRL with Sutton Foster and they were in the musical Little Women together is honestly too much but also just the right amount and this show does meta so well (not to mention Lauren’s excited outburst upon realising her party theme plus her making sure Liza knows that she knows about the proposal. Subtle as a sledgehammer is our Lauren). 

One not-so-fine moment is the extremely out of left field resignation of Zane followed by the completely douchey moment of him breaking up with Kelsey via face-time with the line, ‘I love you Kelsey, take care’. I’m sorry, what?? On the one hand, I get it that CMD wasn’t available for the season so in some respects better to deal with it swiftly and move on, but it was very abrupt and strange. I had zero investment in the pairing so it doesn’t overly affect my viewing, but any fans out there shipping those two, are you ok? Because that was a brutal way for a pairing to simply cease to exist.

So we have I love yous being thrown around by Kelsey and Zane as they break up because that makes sense (in retrospect I should’ve seen what was coming because these words clearly mean NOTHING *breathes deeply, exhales slowly*) but thank goodness Liza is there to comfort Kelsey, whose statement that she really doesn’t care would be a lot more convincing if she wasn’t crying inconsolably. We get a beautiful transition from Kelsey’s office to Charles’ with a sweeping aerial shot across the autumnal canopy of Central Park along with the gentle music adding to the relaxed pacing of the episode. Liza doesn’t want it to be weird between her and Charles now that the proposal is out there (well actually, its 100% in her court but yes), so he reassures her it’s not weird at all by planting a kiss on her that almost triggers the sprinklers because friends, it is HOTTT. Cue super cute exchange about pro and cons lists, lovingly looking into one another’s eyes and then, another ‘ I love you’ from Liza to Charles followed by Charles responding, ‘I love you too’, and despite my deceased status at this point, it was magical. But also WHAT. IS. HAPPENING. 

These two are so enamoured with one another and it’s as though it’s something they just say to each other all the time, but this is literally the first episode we’ve heard any kind of expression of feelings to one another since the season 6 premiere and even then it wasn’t this direct; Liza ran away and Charles told her he didn’t mind not being at the office because he did it for the woman he loves followed by a cute story about how he can do maths because he’s had feelings for her for 16 years. Don’t get me wrong, the entire scene this episode was perfect and it was SO well done in the way it captured the best parts of their dynamic (damn you Darren Star for being so good at what you do), but it also felt like we were being shown the dream version of what could have been before it’s all snatched away.

Not unlike Millennial, which is like naming a business Boomer Print according to the table of boomers at the investor meeting who blindside Kelsey and Charles by voting to restore the name Empirical (head boomer has clearly had it with millennials, indicated by his statement, ‘who gives a shit about millennials any more?’) and so it is done and Kelsey is officially having a very bad week. It is while enjoying a quiet bourbon in the bar that evening that Charles is joined by Quinn, who is allegedly on her apology tour to explain to investors why she dropped out of the Senate race, but also offers Charles what seems to be a sincere apology for treating his company like a toy (prediction: nothing is ever as it seems with Quinn). I have a confession to make and believe me, I don't like it any more than you do - they absolutely nailed the set up of tension and a little bit of a spark between Charles and Quinn in this scene IMO and I...I *whispers* I liked it.

What I liked even more was Lauren’s completely in character entrance to her own birthday party, omg it’s so ridiculous and perfectly her and Denise telling her daughter, ‘fix your crotch, good girl’ had me chuckling. I feel like we’re getting Kelsey’s set up for the season at this party too, as she’s feeling unsure of what defines her now, and the conversation about defining things carries over into Josh and Liza’s chat when he asks her if congratulations are in order. This exchange between the two of them is just lovely, with Liza clearly feeling a little awkward talking to Josh about Charles, but Josh reassures her that he does like him, for her, and that it brings him joy to know she’s happy. They agree that their relationship doesn’t need to be defined, and that they'll always be in each others’ lives no matter who they’re with. It feels very final for their romantic relationship and I would be celebrating the end of the triangle had I not clocked Josh’s fallen expression as Liza walks away. I really do hope that Josh finds someone he loves and who loves him the way he wants to be loved this season. Josh’s words gave Liza some clarity of her own and so we find ourselves at the magnificent Seaglass Carousel, home of Liza and Charles’ first proper date, once more.

Charles is clearly full of hope and expectation as he meets Liza and they remember the time he and the beard we try to forget about brought her there and it’s all amazing and beautiful and...*collects self*...Liza tells him that she just wants to keep riding the perfect ride. She once again tells him she loves him (we’re up to three times in one ep now for those of you playing at home), that all she wants is his heart and that she wants to be happily unmarried to him every day. To say this does not go down the way she is expecting is an understatement; we learn that Charles doesn’t want a ride, he wants to get off the carousel and not live in a fantasy. He believes in marriage whereas she believes they are now finally free and folks, this is why you talk about your stance on marriage in a relationship BEFORE you pop the question out of nowhere at someone’s wedding. 

You can see on his face, as Liza says she doesn’t want to define their relationship by the rules and obligations of marriage, that he’s hearing that she is not all in (whether that’s true or not) and he thanks her for letting him know what’s in her heart. You know the bit that actually plunges the knife into my heart? Charles shaking his head as Liza says his name, clearly overcome with emotion, before he kisses her on the head looking as though his world has just come crumbling down around him. That knife just gets twisted even further as Liza is left there in disbelief, (we are all Liza in that moment honestly), trying to process how her own declaration could be so easily rejected. You know, I knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it any less painful. I can see it from both perspectives and I have no doubt that these two characters have a lot they need to address and work through as a result of their own failed marriages if they’re going to have healthy relationships moving forward. 

I tell you what, after so long with no new episodes, this first episode of the season was concurrently beautiful and heart-breaking and one thing’s for certain - this final ride ain’t gonna be smooth. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m just going to go and regain some composure so we can start on ep 2...

Season 6 ramble collection can be found here

[wafflesetc]

I’ll be there for you II- Chapter 5 (previously)

A/N: It’s been a while. More like a hot second. It was much needed the time I took from writing some of my original stuff. I’ve been in a much better place and have been able to find my footing again. A special thanks to  @missclairebelle,  @kkruml, @walkinginland​ and @happytoobserve! Sometimes it really does take a village and I am so grateful to have them in mine. This chapter will be a two part arc, so hang on tight.  XO. 

The One With The First Fight Claire 

Late Tuesday Night

What was happening? I didn’t really know.

Was it something I could blame on the hormones? Probably. 

Was it something that was inevitable? Maybe.

Being with Jamie was something that was as easy as breathing. He was a missing half I hadn’t known I had even been missing. Our coming together was under less than ordinary circumstances, yet falling in love with your best friend-- that’s the thing I had heard about in movies. I had never seen myself falling for a red-headed Scot from the Highlands.

Truthfully, I hadn’t seen myself falling for anyone. Especially not when it came to the long haul. I had a plan for my life: medical school, residency, trying to save the world. I had always just had a plan for me.  I had never envisioned having to involve someone else in my hopes and dreams.

In retrospect, I had been self sufficient for so long that it almost hindered me. It was one of my greatest strengths, yet it was also my biggest flaw.  And while I had dated men off and on for long spurts, marriage had never seemed like it would happen for me. 

I also had not pictured myself becoming a mother, yet here I was. I had reached 17 weeks. The app on my phone said baby girl was the size of a pomegranate. I was starting to have some small stretch marks on my hips. My boobs were itchy and it seemed like every time I got on the scale the number just grew heavier and heavier. Not that I minded- because I didn’t. Our little lass was healthy, and that was all I could ask for.

So much had changed in my life in such a short amount of time. Things had been perfect… It was only right that something happened and a blow up occurred. The honeymoon phase couldn’t last forever.

My hand searched the vacant spot next to me. The sheets were cold and the lack of his presence set chills down my spine. He hadn’t come to bed yet- if at all. I reached for my phone and glanced at the screen - 2:08AM. No missed calls. No text messages. Nothing.

Hmmmm I mused to myself. Slowly, I got out of our bed and walked around our bedroom. No sign of the clothes he had been wearing discarded on the floor. It looked like nothing had been touched. I made my way through the living room and into the kitchen, no sign of Jamie anywhere. 

I could feel a sense of urgency and nervousness rising in the pit of my stomach. Surely nothing had happened to him- if it had, someone at the hospital would have called me.  They would. Geillis, no doubt. 

I took the plaid blanket from the edge of the couch and wrapped myself in it, waiting.

12 Hours Earlier (2:15PM) Jamie

“She hasna been home in almost 50 hours.” He looked to the right before entering the crosswalk. “I get she is a doctor, but it’s no’ just her she’s looking after now.  We have the bairn coming and I dinna think she should be on her feet this long.”

He heard John’s sigh through the phone and could picture the eye roll that went with it. “I heard you Jamie, but Claire is a smart woman. And she is a doctor… I highly doubt she would take any unnecessary risk that would cause harm to her or the child.” 

“Yer no’ helping me, man.” He clutched his phone a little tighter. “It’s my child too- I think I have some say.”

“I agree with you, friend. I think you have a right- as the father of the child- and as her boyfriend to have the discussion with her,” John let out a breath, “But remember it is her body and her career, ultimately she is the one who will make the final call.”

“I ken.” Jamie said, stopping in his tracks. He leaned against the wall behind him. “I just… I dinna want anything to happen to her or the bairn. When she’s home I can protect them but when she’s gone, I canna do a thing.” 

“That’s a natural response, Jamie. You two will find the balance- this has all been moving at a rapid pace and there’s been very little time for you or Claire to adjust.” 

“Aye” He mumbled, trying to listen to his friend. Logically he knew John was right but he was still slightly annoyed that his friend didn’t agree with him.” Weel, listen, I have to walk into a meeting here in a minute. I’ll talk to her tonight.” 

“Good luck.” John encouraged him as the call promptly ended. 

He gathered the last of his reserve, stashing his phone in his pocket and headed into his work meeting. 

                                                   ___________

He was tired- mentally, physically, emotionally. The work project he had on a deadline was wearing him out. It had been days of meetings upon meetings in person. It was late nights staring into his computer screen. 

And somehow, it was only Tuesday.

The start of the weekend hadn’t been bad. Claire had gotten home at a reasonable hour and spent the night lounging in his old shirt while watching medical documentaries on the TV. He had completed two work proposals with her feet in his lap. It had been decided they were ordering in- their favorite Thai place from right down the road. Later that night, she had fallen asleep in their bed with her head in his lap. The pressures from his job eased every moment he looked to find her presence close to his.

Saturday was a day she used to clean the apartment. Claire had turned on her 80s romcom playlist, still wearing his shirt from the night before. She hadn’t even bothered to wash her hair. He had set up camp on the dining room table. Papers and plans laid out all around him. There were no conference calls or videos to be had, but finalization of contracts and plans. 

His favorite thing about the day had been the sheer fact that Claire had decided not to wear any breeks. His shirt hung just past the bottom of her bum and every time she reached just up enough he caught a glimpse of her solid round arse. Her hips had been slowly changing becoming a wee bit wider. It was subtle and normal people wouldn’t see it- she was carrying her  pregnancy in her petite frame, yet with the changes there was just more for him to dote on.

“You like me just for my butt.” She quipped when she wiped down the last window. 

“Aye,”  He had said, closing his computer. “I am done for the day, Sassenach. It’s been the first real day we have alone and together. I dinna intend to spend it staring at yer arse, when I can fondle it.” 

“See if you can make me scream.” She challenged him. 

The next morning he woke to find her kneeling beside his side of the bed. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” She whispered, running her hands through his hair, “But I must. The hospital is short staffed and you,” she kissed the top of his nose, “Have some deadlines. I think we both are better off getting actual work done.” 

“Will ye be home, later?” His voice was husky with sleep. 

“I should be. I’m tired, I didn't really sleep last night thanks to you.” She smiled at him, her curls falling down the sides of her face.

“Mmmm, it doesna sounds like ye were complaining to me.” He reached his hand from under the covers and placed it on the small swell of her belly. “Take care of yerself, Sassenach.” 

“I’ll take care of the both of us, I promise.” She said in honesty. She placed a hand over his, squeezing it. “I know my limits.” 

The sound of her pager went off, reminding him of their goodbye. 

“I’ll call you on my break, love you!” 

It was the last thing she said as he turned over and fell back asleep.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 29

Read along on AO3 here

<< Previous Chapter <<    >> Next Chapter >>

This time: The enemy lies in wait.

Next time: Thrawn makes a choice.

-/

“I was... surprised that you told him what we suspected.”

Thrawn had sat on his considerations for their entire trip back to the Steadfast, almost brooding for how deep he’d been in contemplation. It hadn’t been a terribly long trip, but Eli could tell he’d had questions. And now, for the most part, he could answer them. The human looked comfortable, at ease with Thrawn sitting perpendicular to him in the less formal area of the first officer’s office, a compact sitting area with comfortable-enough chairs.

Eli, who had been reclined in his seat, eyes shut and head tilted up toward the ceiling, cracked his right eye open to regard Thrawn curiously. “After I went through that whole ‘I don’t know if I trust him’ song and dance?”

“That does not translate as well into Cheunh,” Thrawn said, and Eli chuckled. “But yes.”

“Fair question,” The human supposed. “I trust him well enough. But he’s more or less a politician at this point. Ezra’s not the guy I wanted negotiating and unless I missed something, you’re not exactly-”

“I see,” Thrawn said, and folded his hands over the dash. “You knew which parts of our situation he was privy to. That makes sense.”

“Yeah. To be honest, he knows more than I’d like, but I needed some obscure records that Ronan was my best shot at retrieving.” As an afterthought, he produced the chip and slipped it into his datapad. From the angle Thrawn was at, he could see the Aurebesh that popped up, though the information on the screen was hardly Imperial.

“Clone wars?”

“Something like that,” Eli hummed, scanning the information.

“What could the Separatists tell you?” Thrawn’s interest was only as noticeable as the slightest rise in pitch at the end of his question.

Eli scrolled quickly, looking through several tabs of data before sighing and blanking the screen. “Apparently, nothing I didn’t already know from your forays into that time period way back when. But I wasn’t looking for a history lesson,” He admitted. “Seems like the Empire was real thorough,” He scoffed, handing Thrawn the datapad. That figured.

“This could hardly be called a history lesson,” Thrawn said blandly as he took in the very sparse details about separatist aligned houses and senators. “More than half of these contain less than the basic qualifications to establish a profile.”

“Yeah. It’s worthless.” Eli said, covering his eyes with his hands. “It’s not that important, but I had hoped…”

“Had hoped?” Thrawn inclined his head.

“There was a rumor about Count Dooku, that he had some powers nobody who worked with the Jedi had ever seen.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn considered, though he did not know for certain. “I was aware that the Separatist leader was a Sith, and he was executed by Anakin Skywalker. The details were never advertised, even in the highest Imperial circles.” He waved a hand, “That isn’t to say he would have different powers that were unique. There are variances even among Jedi, if Bridger is to be believed. Of course you have that data, as well as everything I’ve ever sent back to Ar’alani, I’m sure. There weren’t many Force sensitives amongst the Imperial ranks. At all, even.”

“Yeah,” Eli agreed, crossing his left leg over his right. “You’re not wrong there. Any idea why?”

“My conclusion was that the Emperor felt threatened by the remaining Jedi. It was never advertised, but those who were not successfully indoctrinated by the Inquisitors were… dealt with,” Thrawn finished darkly.

“What about Lord Vader?”

“I did not entertain the notion of asking him. Our brief time together was more than enough to ascertain how little of the man truly remained.”

“I don’t doubt it. Can’t say I’m sorry I missed that mission.”

“I am certainly not,” Thrawn conceded, “Although I have no doubt you would have been capable of working with him, he was not someone I wished you to be exposed to. You would have been used against me.”

There was a sharpness, an intensity to Eli’s gaze that surprised Thrawn as he murmured, “I know.”

-/

A rather unimpressed, yet fiercely concerned Formbi made himself available for a conference with Admiral Ar’alani less than forty-eight hours after they returned to the Steadfast. In that time, Thrawn, Eli, and Ezra had laid low, gone through the motions required of their respective positions. Everything about their meeting with Ronan had been very unofficial, despite its very official sanction, thus it had been passed off as an errand for Thrawn and Ezra, with any trace of Vanto’s presence scrubbed from the logs.

Part of Eli’s involvement with Project Compass seemed to involve the captain’s tendency to sequester himself away, Thrawn thought, wondering if the bulk of the crew noticed anything amiss. Certainly the Navigators had noticed Eli’s lack of appearances for what it was. Ezra had said that Un’hee did not appreciate them going dark, but she hadn’t appeared nearly as clingy as he usually saw her. There had been another two Navigators with her at the time, both of whom were around Un’hee’s age and very quiet. Most of what Thrawn had taken from the recap of their brief conversation was that Bridger had been displeased that the other Navigators didn’t trust him the way Un’hee and Vah’nya appeared to.

In retrospect, when Faro sidled up to him on the bridge, not aware of anything amiss, he realized that Eli had the tendency to go dark for long periods of time in the heat of statistical analysis, a trait he’d brought with him to the Ascendency from the Empire. His attention to detail was legendary, and there had been times when only Thrawn himself had been able to raise him on internal comms while he’d been on the verge of a breakthrough. Before, Eli had been apologetic afterwards, aware of his low rank when he drew Faro’s ire.

Now, Faro accepted it as one of her colleague’s quirks. Convenient, Thrawn thought.

Karyn Faro looked smug when she spoke to Thrawn. “The Syndic is speaking with the Admiral now,” She informed him. “I was asked to take a walk and figured it wouldn’t hurt for you to know.” She spoke in near-silent Basic, switching to Cheunh when he inclined his head. “Vanto was busy, as usual, but said give you any news that wasn’t mission critical.” Her eyes danced with something mischievous. “Sounds like you two are doing better, if I might be so bold...”

His eyes flashed. On the bridge? Certainly not. “Thank you for the intel, Commander,” Thrawn said. “If you wish to gossip, please do not do so on my bridge.”

“With all due respect, what exactly do you think happened on the Chimaera’s bridge, sir?”

Thrawn looked down at her. She stared back, unafraid. He raised an elegant eyebrow. She shrugged, nonplussed. “Do you require anything further, Commander?” He asked, before she could become cocky enough to probe him further.

Smiling, she shook her head. “No, Captain. I’ll go back and see if the Admiral has completed her conference.”

“No need,” Ar’alani said. She turned to the helm. “Set course for Sarvchi.” Her eyes locked onto Thrawn’s. “We’ll make the delivery in person.”

Trailing along behind her, reaching the bridge as she arrived at the helm, was Un’hee. Her brilliant crimson eyes seemed like they were sharpened into points. She didn’t look at Thrawn, instead turning to look up at Ar’alani. The admiral took her seat in her command chair. “Navigator Un’hee,” She said, placing a hand atop the girl’s head. “You are not-” She whispered something into the Admiral’s ear.

There was something grim in the set of her jaw, even as she inclined her head, dismissing her back to her station. Un’hee looked at Thrawn, then at the Navigator at the helm. She looked at Ar’alani again.

“To your cabin, Navigator. You are not yet on duty.”

Thrawn waited until the tiny Navigator made her way off the bridge, the girl slinking away displeased. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “I have my own misgivings about this plan,” Ar’alani admitted quietly. “However if Chaf’orm’bintrano needs to see the red of my eyes to believe the seriousness of this threat, he will see them.”

Faro arrived at Ar’alani’s side as she’d finished speaking. “Admiral,” She acknowledged. “Course is locked in and on pace,” She indicated the star-streaks outside the ship. “Estimated time is six hours at current speed, give or take a few minutes.”

“Excellent,” Ar’alani said.

“What of the rest of the fleet?” Thrawn inquired.

Ar’alani inclined her head. “I do not anticipate this taking longer than a day, and the fleet is well protected and secure under Senior Captain Kresh’s command.”

“As you say, Admiral.”

When Thrawn looked up, Un’hee was lingering in the doorway to the bridge. Her eyes felt like they bore through him, the semi-darkness of the hallway just outside the bridge. She shook her head when she realized he had met her eyes and turned to the even smaller Navigator that stood in her shadow, taking both her hands and gesturing to Thrawn with a tilt of her head. The girl nodded, looking concerned but resolved. Un’hee pressed the tangle of their hands and smiled bravely before stepping back.

Ar’alani cleared her throat to get Thrawn’s attention, displeased at his distraction. “I did not wish to leave so abruptly,” She murmured to him. He hadn’t realized Faro had left. Her voice did not carry as she continued, “According to Ivant’s calculations, the fleet is due for another ‘shipment’ in approximately thirteen hours.” She looked up at Thrawn, who stood, leaning in, already thinking over her plan.

“Certainly the Senior Captain can handle it,” Thrawn said.

Ar’alani clenched the arms of her command chair with iron fists. “The shipment was scheduled for the Steadfast.”

“Implying-"

"Yes," She hissed, furious. "Just so." There were more traitors on her flagship.

Thrawn pulled back, but Ar'alani's hand reached out, wrapped around his wrist, sharp fingernails scratching his flesh, grip hard enough to bruise if it lingered for long.

"Mitth'raw'nuruodo," She murmured, in the voice she saved for her Navigators. It was meant to be soothing, but all it accomplished was making Thrawn's blood run cold. "Be ready to do what must be done." She remained looking straight ahead, though her fingers gripped him even fighter then, the bones of his wrist creaking at the brink of pain. She was not seeing the present moment, Thrawn knew, though he could not bring himself to take in the faraway sheen in her eyes, all too aware of the horrors they'd faced together in the past, before he'd left on his mission to court the Empire and she'd carried on alone. Horrors that she refused to allow to befall her cherished Navigators.

“Yes, Admiral.” Above all else, Mitth’raw’nuruodo and Ar’alani were warriors.

-/

Ivant kept the lighting in his office dim, mostly as a balm to the very sensitive Navigators he’d come to be in charge of, as well as by personal preference. The low lights allowed the projections he displayed in the open space to be seen with better clarity, and helped to put off the inevitable headaches he tended to get when staring at display screens for too long. To a human like Faro who had come and gone quickly when he’d been too distracted to entertain, it seemed dark. To a Chiss, it was tolerable. The Empire had only come in shades of sterile white and deepest gray-black.

In front of him, the remainder of the poison they had found remained sealed and locked in a blast-proof canister that would not open for anyone found not to have the clearance Formbi and Ar’alani had personally agreed on. He was not thrilled about the prospect of having the stuff in his office, safely sealed or not, but he knew that the crew would not come to him unless they were guilty of sympathizing with the enemy.

Which was why Ezra Bridger sat in the chair across from him, kneeling on the durasteel floor like it was comfortable, deep in what Eli assumed was a meditative trance. It was nothing like a Navigator, his abilities. They had tested, early on. Had laid subtle hints, looking for indications that his abilities could facilitate healing. But no, he was only capable of trances that seemed to help restore his mental and physical well-being, something that Eli knew through copious amounts of testing was not nearly as helpful to the Navigators, who were trained from early on to be balanced mentally.

Bridger claimed to tap into the Force, to sink into it like one soaked in a bath or waded into an ocean. His people, the Jedi, were meant to be guardians of peace. Spiritual shamans rooted and connected with the unseen ribbons of life itself, if the fragments of oral history and scraps of outlawed texts he’d gotten his hands on meant anything. The Force was his compass, the guide he followed.

Navigators were their own compass; conduits through which greater sight could be achieved. Sight that allowed them to safely direct the course of starships at lightspeed or coax into the smallest minutiae of a living being into healing. Sight into pathways that the future could take, one of infinite pathways that they could help breathe into being or cut off entirely.

The overlap in abilities existed, but mattered little in terms of the overall picture. The Jedi’s Force was not meant to be weaponized despite its many uses. Thrawn had recounted the tale of his and Ezra’s confrontation over Lothal, and the Jedi had confirmed the entire exchange verbatim. Eli was certain he would never forget the words for as long as he drew breath.

Eventually, but sooner than the Jedi might think, they would present Ezra Bridger with a choice: return home or stay, forever.

He didn’t need a Navigator’s Sight to know that Ezra would not choose as he had. He understood why, too. Eli’van’to would never truly be a Chiss. He might never have the same rights or privileges. Similarly, Ezra Bridger would always be a Jedi. He could not truly be a Navigator.

Besides, to the Chiss, their Sight was far more than a tool in a peacekeeper’s arsenal. Their alignment was neither light, nor dark, but something in-between. Their ascension and safekeeping was not destined to be a Jedi’s legacy.

“You’re worried,” Ezra breathed into the quiet hum of computers and the dim underlighting of Vanto’s office. “Everything will be fine.”

“Can you predict the future?” Vanto asked, trying and failing to keep the concern out of his voice.

“No,” The Jedi said, frowning. “The future is always in motion.” He shifted and readjusted his legs to sit cross-legged as Eli rounded his desk, leaning against the top of it, opposite of where he’d usually sit. “But you trust Ronan, and even that Formbi guy, whoever he is.”

“We already can’t trust the Aristocra, which means we didn’t really have many other options besides the private sector,” Ivant explained. “Our only saving grace is that House Chaf is a ruling family.” Darkly, he added, “Assuming he doesn’t betray us and go straight to the admiralty. The admiralty will feel that Ar’alani betrayed them by not coming forward with the information.”

Ezra frowned. “Even if she feared one of the Admirals to be compromised?”

“Even if she knows one of them is,” The Captain nodded. “Which, we know one of them must be, but we don’t know who. So now we’re left with a concept you’re familiar with: seeking forgiveness rather than asking permission.”

“Yeah,” The Jedi inclined his head. “So why are you so concerned?”

“It’s Admiral Ar’alani’s career on the line. And all of our lives.” And Project Compass, he thought to himself. If this goes to hell, if she loses credibility, all the data in the universe won’t matter to the council. If she finds herself blamed for anything that happens here, it would be the end of their project, and likely Eli’s life, for how close he was to all of these events. A family like Inrokini with their brutal, unwavering militaristic idealism would find it easy to take advantage in the fallout and topple House Mitth - Thrass’s influence would be reduced heavily for his loyalty to Ar’alani and the CDF as it currently stood. “Things won’t go according to plan,” Ivant said. “There are too many unknowns to plan for.”

“Aren’t there always?” Ezra rose so that he was looking Eli in the eye. “Look, I get it. Things could go wrong. They probably will.” He shrugged. “We’ll adapt. I know it’ll turn out alright.”

“Do you?”

“I have a pretty good feeling,” Ezra said. Despite Ivant’s skeptical look, he added sagely, “Trust in the Force.” Then, younger and more like his age, he added, “Or, y’know, trust me.”

Eli nodded. “Alright, Bridger. I’ll trust you.” He narrowed his gaze. If things really did go as poorly as his gut indicated it might, he might not get another chance. Ronan and the Empire didn’t have any information to give. He did not want Ezra imprinting his beliefs on Thrawn, given their history. Regardless of their relationship, Thrawn would always be a Chiss. He might understand human ethos, but Ezra was not Eli, and his principles as a Jedi would not always allow him to understand what decisions needed to be made - and at what cost. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“When we first questioned you, you mentioned that you had touched the,” Eli searched for a polite word that would hopefully prevent the Jedi from jumping to offense, “A less Jedi-like side of the force.”

The younger man’s eyes turned hard, like precious gemstones. “The Dark Side, Captain. Call it what it is,” He said, and pressed, “What is it you want to know?”

Eli allowed himself to sit atop his desk, legs hanging over the side. He folded his fingers together and laid them just shy of his knees.“You’ve encountered Grysks. You’ve fought alongside Jedi and against Sith. What do you think of the Navigators, after all this time?”

Silence followed the question. Pensively, Ezra looked up into Ivant’s eyes and then closed his own altogether. He seemed to sink back into that trance state as he stood there, reaching out with the Force. The Captain waited patiently for him to return to himself. When Ezra still said nothing, Ivant began to rephrase.

“The Galaxy is more than black and white, Dark and Light, good and evil.” He murmured the next bit even softer. “Jedi and Sith.”

“The Chiss aren’t on the side of the Light,” Ezra mused, making the connection he’d been steered towards.

“I do not believe so,” Eli admitted. “Not entirely. But I do not believe them to be inherently evil like the Grysks, either.” His gaze was contemplative, but serious. “I believe they are both.”

Ezra nodded his head. “The Chiss do not call it the Force. They are not like Sith or Jedi. There are… beings,” Ezra finally said. “Some are inherently attuned to the Force. My master said there were those attuned to the Light, and others attuned to the Dark. But,” Ezra confessed, “Yes. I’ve used the Dark Side. I’m not proud of it, and I hope never to do so again.” He tilted his head, looking at Eli. “If you want me to teach them how to commune with the Dark Side, I won’t.”

“That was never my intention,” Vanto said sternly. “It is only their goodness that will save them. A goodness they’ve forgotten, a sense of self that they have extinguished for sake of their pride.”

Bridger crossed his arms. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“If things go poorly, you are going to see things you should not see. Things I would ask you never to share with another soul. Things that may make you wonder which side the Navigators are on.”

“Even a Jedi has darkness in them,” Ezra said, suspicious. “Picking the Light... It’s a choice you keep making, you don’t just get to decide once and that’s it.”

Eli considered that. “But again, the Chiss do not see light or dark. The Chiss simply are. You have heard of their culture, their legacy as warriors. They do not perceive the Force like you do, though the ways they wield it may seem familiar to yourself and… others you may have encountered in the past.”

“There are Navigators using the Dark Side?” Ezra’s voice rose. “Captain - Eli - that’s not good. They’re just children, they-”

“Even so,” A solemn voice whispered from behind Ezra. He jerked in surprise, unable to hear, see, or even sense her approach. “A Navigator can be capable of weaponizing the Force in self defense.”

Ezra whirled around. “How?” His dark eyes met Vah’nya’s glowing ones. “Why would you want to-”

“I was terrified,” She said softly, speaking of her own experience as the memory played out in her mind’s eye. “I couldn’t help it. All I knew was that I was to suffer a fate worse than death.” She slipped into the room, head held high. “But like you said,” She gestured toward them with an open palm, “There is good and bad in all of us. Do you believe it is evil to be afraid? To be angry?”

“Well, no, but the Jedi code,” Ezra said, strained, “It kind of specifically warns against emotions ruling you. That isn’t - I don’t believe you or the other Navigators are evil, Vah’nya, but-”

“We are the ones in the middle,” Vah’nya said. “We are warriors, servants to those we protect. That is what it means to be a Navigator, to be a Chiss.” Her eyes glowed in the dimness of the room. “Are we the only ones in the universe who are children of both Light and Dark, not one or the other, but both?”

Understanding flickered across Ezra’s face. He stepped to the side, allowing Vah’nya to join their circle. “There is only one being I know of,” He admitted. Ezra looked between them both. “But you’re not entirely the same. He - Bendu was a bit more… cranky. And chaotic. Thrawn told you about him,” Ezra said. “He was the one on Atollon.”

“He used the Force?” Eli asked, voice rising, sounding surprised. There was an edge to his voice as Vah’nya leaned forward in interest, expectantly. “I’ve heard of sentient creatures - big, small, that doesn’t really matter, but-” Eli didn’t have to go on.

“He did. He taught my master how to see with the Force after he’d been blinded,” Ezra said softly, then looked up at Eli, running through what he knew of the planet-side battle from his friends. “Oh,” He said, and swallowed. Kanan had trusted his friend, had trusted Bendu to help them defeat the Empire, even though he’d used abilities that weren’t becoming of a Jedi, that weren’t grounded in the Light at all. He didn’t see the significant look Vah’nya and Eli shared around him, preoccupied with his thoughts as he said, “I see what you mean.”

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 23 ~The Tale of the Night Part Two~

"What if I said I want to come to London with you, would that change your mind?"

Jamie stilled. What Claire had just said sounded like music to his ears. But that wasn't the point. The point was, he knew how much she hated the whole shenanigan that was happening beyond this room. Like him, she wasn't impressed with the limelight, the attention nor the glamour and wealth on display. He'd seen the discomfort in her demeanour and the distress in her eyes. And yet, here she was, despite knowing what it would mean for her to move to London, she was urging him to follow his dreams. There was no consideration for what she was signing herself up for or what she'd be giving up. She wasn't doing this for gain. She was doing this for him. Even though it was naive of her, he thought it was a selfless act on her part altogether, and it made him fall deeper in love with her.

Claire's shoulders had slumped the moment Forbes mentioned Dunsany's lucrative offer. Any other girls would have perked up at to the tune of a million-pound contract, but not his Sassenach. She'd probably thought he would have jumped at the offer or reasoned, it would be the only way he'd ever achieve his vision of building an academy. Perhaps that was true, but offers like this are designed to skew perspective and lure one to a false sense of security. He'd been there and done that and never again. In retrospective, although the endorsements and exposure in this industry made him wealthy enough to live comfortably, it hadn't given him any sense of fulfilment, and he knew neither would the offer from Dunsany. If there were going to be other strings attached to the job, besides tonight's pap walk with Geneva, the network and Forbes could shove the proposition up where the sun don't shine. 

But first, he needed to pick Claire's brain and find out in her own words, what she thought about living with him. She'd looked dubious the other day when he'd given her the key to his apartment.

She shifted on his lap, her arms still around his neck and her beautiful amber eyes taking in his expression. He felt her shiver despite the stifling warmth in the room and knew she was trying to put on a brave act. "Well, aren't you going to say anything?" she whispered, her lips ghosting over his.

He leaned in and captured her mouth for a brief kiss. And when he drew away, he held her eyes craving for that connection that made him whole. He wanted her to see all of him, the way he was seeing her. "I'm glad ye want to come to London with me, Sassenach. It would be good to stay away for a few days ...just us. There'd be nae work and nae one to bother us. We could stay at my place if ye wish. Perhaps once yer temp job is over?"

Claire pulled away, confusion marring her face. He tamped down the urge to chuckle. "A-a few days, but aren't we ...I don't get it ... Y-you have a place in London?"

He nipped her bottom lip, and she squeaked. He loved the little noises she made especially the ones when he took her by surprise. He couldn't wait to be in their hotel room and listen to the other sounds she'd make when he finally got her naked in bed. Smiling, he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin beneath. "Aye, I have a wee terraced house in Chelsea. One of the first thing I bought when I first started out in rugby. I thought it'd be an excellent investment, but I'd never got around to renting it out because I use it whenever I'm in London. More privacy when ye have yer own place, ye ken. But I have two other flats which I'm renting out. One in Knightsbridge and one in Mayfair."

"T-terraced house?? In Chelsea?" she stammered. "A single bedroom flat in Chelsea cost almost a million. And flats in Knightsbridge and Mayfair too?"

He shrugged, fascinated by the wisps of hair that had escaped from her perfectly styled up-do, his index finger unconsciously weaving in one of the loose curls. "It didnae cost as much back then. I bought the one in Chelsea six years ago after my ma advised me to invest in properties instead of leaving my money sitting in the bank. She reckoned London was a good bet to buy since the prices of the properties there are rarely affected by house market slump; hence, I could still sell it for profit even if there's a recession. I bought the other two with the money from endorsements. I'm glad I did now. A career in professional sport tends to be fairly short."

"Jamie!" she exclaimed, looking suddenly exasperated. "I'm happy you'd made some smart investment, but haven't you heard what I just said? I'm coming to London to live with you. Wasn't that what you wanted?"

He tucked a curl behind her ear. "I heard ye just fine, Sassenach. And I ..."

The door to the conference room suddenly opened, and Forbes strode in, not bothering to hide his annoyance at seeing them both wrapped in each other's arms. "Are you both mad? Anyone of the staff could have walked in here, seen you and all our hard PR work would have been for nought."

Claire jumped up to her feet and glared at Forbes. Mischievous thoughts overtook Jamie and wondered if there had been a vase in the room, would Claire have thrown it at Forbes? She had such a perfect aim last time she launched one at Frank. He would have loved to see a repeat performance.

"Well?" Jamie said, remaining seated and ignoring Forbes' diatribe as he tugged Claire's hand. "What did Dunsany say?"

Forbes impatiently took a sit opposite Jamie and clasped his hands over the table, warily eyeing Claire before shifting his focus on Jamie. "Okay, here is the deal and an excellent one at that - one that you can't refuse." Pleased with himself, he gave Jamie a smug smile. "Against all the odds, Dunsany still wants you on board, and he's adding an extra half-million to your contract. Conditions remain the same. And he says, he hopes the extra five hundred grand will ease the pain of the inconvenience. So what do you think? Ready to sign the contract?"

Jamie's face remained impassive as Claire pulled her hand away from his and walked to the nearest window. He purposely furrowed his brows at Forbes. "Umm ... Let me think about this for a second." Then clearing his throat, he leaned forward onto the table. "No."

Ignoring Claire's sharp intake of breath, Jamie watched his agent's face go from white as a sheet to beet red in a matter of a few seconds.

"No?" Forbes sputtered.

"Aye. I said no," Jamie replied firmly, feeling Claire's eyes boring into the back of his neck.

"Are you raving mad?" Forbes hissed. "Dunsany just offered you one and a half fucking million pounds. Am I missing something here?"

Jamie shrugged. "Seems like it. I showed interest in this job before the money came into the picture. As I recall, the job description was a sports commentator and analyst and weekend host for sports review. Now ... if I'd known right from the beginning, the job entailed parading myself as Geneva's boyfriend, I wouldnae have bothered. I told ye already on the phone, and I told ye out there, I wasnae interested. But ye were a persistent bugger. So much so, ...hats up to ye ...ye manage to play on Dunsany's desperation and increase the money for the contract." Jamie shook his head and let out a low laugh. "Ye have the power of persuasion, I must give ye that. And that's a special kind of talent. But for the love of God, Forbes, use it for something good. And if I were ye, I wouldnae touch Dunsany. Ye'll end up doing his dirty work."

"Fuck you, Fraser, you sanctimonious smug shit!" Forbes seethed. He gave Claire a dirty look. "Just 'cause ye're with that bird now, you think that makes you a better person? Will listen to me pal ... here's the news. You and I are the same. That's why we worked well together and made loads of money. Without me, you're nothing. In a month, you'll tire of her, and you'll drop her like a hot potato, just like with the other women in your life. You're never meant to be tied down, so don't kid yourself. A leopard never changes its spots." And then Forbes looked at Claire. "No offence love. I can see in your eyes you know deep down I'm speaking the truth."

Jamie tensed as he heard Claire gasped. He dared not look into her eyes, frightened of what he might see in them. He loved her so much and wished she didn't have to see the ugliness that had become him. "Ye're fired, Forbes," Jamie said in a low warning voice. "Now get the fuck out of here before I give you a reason to sue me for grievous bodily harm."

Forbes' mouth opened and shut like he was about to say something but changed his mind. Instead of speaking, he gave each of them one final glare before stalking out. Jamie hadn't realised he was trembling with rage until he felt Claire put her arms around him.

He turned to her and took her face in his hands. "Sassenach, I'm so sorry ye had to see that ...I -I dinnae want to be part of this circus show anymore. This isn't how I envisioned working for a sport's network ..."

She ran her hands over his chest. "And I'm sorry you're not going to have the job you wanted so much."

"But I'll have you ...weel, that's if ye'll still have me." He lowered his head and held his breath in anticipation of her reply, hoping Forbes' words hadn't changed her mind about him. He couldn't even count how many photos had been taken of him with some actress or model, and he was quite sure Claire had seen them all, even the ones where his tongue had been down their throats. He almost winced at the thought as shame gnawed into his guts.

"You have me, Jamie," she whispered, looking into his eyes with her heart wide open, pulling him in deeper. In as much as their relationship had started as a charade, he didn't know what he would have done if she'd decided she didn't want him anymore after Forbes reminded them of his old ways. He would have probably gone on his knees and begged.

When she stood on her tiptoes, he didn't wait for a second longer and kissed her. There was just the two of them, standing in the middle of the room in each other's arms, the glamourous event outside the furthest thing from his mind. She tilted her head, and his tongue slid deeper into her mouth. He'd told her already he loved her. But it wasn't enough. He wanted what they have now for keeps. 

Burning with the need to consume her, he gripped her waist and leaned his body over hers, forcing her to arch her back, and kissed her more desperately. He put everything he'd started to feel for her in those past few weeks into the kiss and gave it back to her. If they hadn't been clinging to each other, the way his world was spinning, the whole emotion of it all would have brought him down to his knees. She was giving him something he was desperate to have from her and only her, even though he hadn't realised he needed it, until now. His heart was ready to be hers if she wanted to take it for herself and keep it for an eternity.

When they finally drew apart for air, he stroked her cheek. "In all ways that matter, Sassenach, I want ye to know ye're my first," he said hoarsely, placing her hand over his heart. "And I want ye to be my last."

She pulled gently away, looking at him with that glazed look every time he kissed her and a little bit of surprise in her eyes. "And you were my first, Jamie."

He grinned, his heart feeling a lot lighter than he did when they first arrived. "While my brain is still functioning from that mind-blowing kiss, let's get out of here before I take ye here and now. We'll leave after I've done my duty presenting the award. We dinnae have to stay for dinner. Unless of course ..."

"I vote for having dinner in bed," she murmured in a soft voice, her eyes dancing mischievously.

He laughed out loud. "Good. Let's get this done and over with. I'm famished."

..........

"Are you nervous?" Claire asked him, looking down at the pamphlet on her lap. "You're up soon."

"I'm fine," Jamie replied, squeezing her hand. "I'm so glad ye're here."

"Where else would I be?" She leaned over to kiss his cheek and then wiped away the lipstick she'd left behind. "Did you write down your speech or are you just winging it?"

He turned her way and grinned. "No. I've not prepared anything. Talking about sports come naturally to me. I'll just say whatever comes to my head and I'll speak from the heart." Her distraction seemed to be working as his index finger stopped tapping nervously on his thigh.

"Uh-oh! Speak from the heart, you say? Should I be worried?" She glanced a few seats away from them and saw Geneva Dunsany curiously looking at them. And next to her was her father, William, staring straight ahead and looking rigid in his seat. He hadn't said a word when Jamie had greeted him earlier.

"No, nought to be worried about." His fingers played with hers. "I received a message from Jen earlier. She said the whole of Broch Mordha is watching us on TV." He leaned in closer and smiled. "The people from the village can't wait to meet ye. They think ye look like a movie star. And I'm inclined to agree."

She smiled at him and refocused her attention to the host, John Quincy Myers. He'd just finished telling a funny anecdote about rugby players during a friendly game between the Scottish and Welsh National team and was waiting for the audience to wind down from their enthusiastic response.

Once the audience had quietened down, John Quincy Myers proceeded and made eye contact with Jamie. "And speaking of rugby, we have a special guest to present one of the most important awards tonight. He is not just another pretty face, but also Scotland's national treasure and all-time sporting great." A few whistles went through the crowd. "Well known for his intense work ethic and dynamic physical style of play, he was inducted into the International Rugby Hall of Fame twice, the youngest to ever captain the National team and hold the record for most international points in Scotland. In the Six Nations Tournament, he was named Player of the Tournament three years in the row and has the record for most tries scored by any centre. Here to present the Lifetime Achievement Award in Sports 2017, please welcome James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser."

The audience erupted in applause, and Jamie's picture from his early days in rugby started rolling in on the screen. Even though he wasn't receiving an award, Claire knew this was BBC's way of honouring Jamie's contribution to British sports.

"Jamie! You have to go up there," Claire laughed, nudging him with her hand and beaming at him.

He grinned and gave her a kiss before jogging up to the stage. She ignored the camera zooming in on her and centred her attention solely on Jamie.

He waited a long while before he could utter a word as the crowd continued to applaud and cheer him. He tapped on the microphone before he spoke. "Good evening, everyone!" 

The crowd whistled and hooted, but he raised his hand. It was quite apparent he was admired and respected despite what the articles had written about him in the tabloid papers.

"Thank you, BBC, for hosting this event," Jamie began. "And thank you for granting me this privilege to present this special award. It is an honour to be in a room full of dedicated and talented sportsmen and women, and to speak before the national audience." He turned to look at the host, who'd stepped aside to his left. "Hiya, Quincy, ol' mate, long time no see."

The host and the audience laughed.

Jamie cleared his throat. "Sports may often be deemed nothing more than a silly game, but they've played a significant role in our society. Being involved in sports isn't just about winning or training to become the next world record holder. It's so much bigger than that. It's about being a role model; it's about being professional, relatable and inspiring."

He held up the envelope in his hand, opened it and smiled. "And I am very excited to be the one to announce the Lifetime Achievement Award. As most of ye know, I was forced to prematurely retire from rugby, and I thought back then it was all over for me. The title Lifetime Achievement Award just reminded me that a career in sport doesn't mean I have to be a professional player to inspire. There are other avenues and ways to motivate people to be the very best of themselves and be a role model and still build a legacy for the sports that I love."

"The winner of this award is England's pride who specialised in multi-eventing disciplines in track and field. This person is a 2012 Olympic champion, a three-time world champion and a European champion. Today this person continues to inspire us through their new career as a sport's spokesperson for BBC and run their own health and fitness app. And to add to that, this dedicated person is a columnist for The Times newspaper, an ambassador for the Jaguar Academy of Sport and a patron of both the Sheffield Children's Hospital charity and Barrie Wells' sports foundation. Without further ado, may I present to ye the winner of the Lifetime Achievement Award, the beautiful and talented Dame Jessica Ennis-Hill."

There was another deafening applause as Claire watched Jamie hugged and hand the award to the former athlete on stage. She was so proud of him, for the man he'd become and for the man he would one day be. And in her eyes, he'd won every freaking award that night. He spoke well, was concise and didn't ramble like most of his peers. He was right about being a natural when it came to talking about sports. UKSC had just missed an opportunity in the form of Jamie. Instead of seeing him for his talents, they had wanted to exploit him for their own gain. After Jamie returned to his seat, he gave her another kiss. "How did I do?"

"You were fabulous," she beamed, straightening his bowtie. "It was a perfect speech, and it packed a punch."

He took her hand and brought it up to his lips as he caught the camera zooming in on them again. "How about during the interval, we slip out of here?" He gave her one of his mysterious winks. "I remember ye saying something about dinner in bed."

Claire giggled and nodded in agreement.

Twenty minutes later, during the music interval, they slipped out and headed for their hotel.

..........

Jamie shoved their hotel room door open so hard, Claire thought it would slam into the wall. But Jamie didn't seem to care. He walked her backwards and kissed her again, her hands gripping him by his tux jacket, so she didn't fall. 

As soon as they were inside their room, he kicked the door closed and pressed her back against it. She was giddy and breathless, by his desperation, as well as her own. She wanted to gather time around them and live in these long moments of him pulling at her clothes. She loved how feral he became when he roughly tugged and unzipped until his fingers were able to push into places that made her squirm.

"Oh, Christ ...Jamie..." By now, he knew every single secret her of her body and each sweet spot and erogenous zone. He made all of them scream for his touch.

She moaned as the tension inside of her spun out of control. She impatiently tugged at Jamie's tux, his shirt, his pants. And he joined her, desperate to get their clothes out of the way.

"I love ye," he groaned, between short breaths. "By tomorrow, everyone will know ye're mine." He yanked down her panties, then his pants and boxers. "I need to show everyone ye're mine. And I'm yers."

He pressed her back into the wall and pulled a leg up to his hip. When he bent his knees and pushed inside her, everything she was feeling suddenly became too much. She clung unto his shoulders as his hot desperate kisses smothered her moans.

"Christ, Sassenach. All I could think of all night was this."

He moved in and out in slow, strong strokes, every thrust pulling her tighter. For the longest time, she hovered, impossibly high, just stretching and tightening, and squeezing her eyes shut as she fought to get enough breath.

"Ye ken ye ruined me the first time we made love, aye?" Jamie muttered, increasing his pace. "Look at me."

She couldn't. She was so close, and she wanted to hold on to that moment. 

"Sassenach, look at me."

With effort, she raised her head away from the wall and looked at him. His face, beautiful, flushed and glorious.

"Look at what ye do to me." He clenched his jaw as if he was trying to show her how she affected him. "Ye're everything to me, ye understand?"

He kissed her again, then he moved so fast and hard she couldn't hold off any longer. She screamed as the coiled tension snapped, and an intense orgasm crashed through her.

"Ah, fuuuck," Jamie muttered. He grunted, thrusting a few more times, his hands gripping her hips. Then he froze and groaned against the hot skin of her neck.

They stood there for a few minutes until their breaths evened out. When they could move again, they untangled themselves from their mess of half-removed clothing.

"Are ye hungry?" he asked, pressing soft kisses against her lips and neck. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying his warmth and closeness. "Famished."

"I'll order room service then."

She headed to the bathroom and cleaned herself. After a quick shower, she slipped into the bed. Jamie was not far behind after he ordered a light dinner and a bottle of champagne. He gathered her up in his arms and settled them under the covers while they waited for their room service. She felt his hands slid up and down her arms. 

Not too long after, she began to drift off to sleep, totally spent from the day's event.

..........

The next morning she woke up to the sound of her phone ringing and found Jamie's arms wrapped around her waist and his leg over her. She tried to ease herself away from him, but his arms tightened.

"No," he muttered, his voice clouded with sleep.

"Jamie, I need to answer the phone. It could be my uncle," she reasoned, squirming from his hold. It took a few seconds before he released her, turning on his back to display his glorious nakedness and his morning erection.  Ah, sweet mother of Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!

"Hurry back," he mumbled.

Oh, I will, don't you worry about that!  She quickly got out of bed and searched for her phone. It was on the table by the window next to their untouched dinner and unopened champagne they'd ordered last night. 

Damn!

Looking at her phone screen, she noticed it was Geillis. She swiped to take the call.

"This better be good," Claire whispered impatiently.

"Good morning to ye too, sunshine!" Geillis announced, cheerily. "Have ye seen the news?"

"Wot?"  Oh dear God!

"Ach, never mind ...obviously not. Ye're probably too busy since last night, shagging Jamie. I'll send ye two links in a text message. I willnae tell ye what it's about as I dinnae want to spoil the fun. Happy reading!"

Before Claire could answer, Geillis was already gone.  Bloody hell!   Before she could cuss some more, she received a notification from Geillis' text message.

Claire clicked on the first link Geillis sent and read the page where it took her to.

   SCOTLAND'S RUGBY ROMEO JAMES FRASER BRINGS RANDALL'S RUNAWAY BRIDE TO BRITISH SPORTS AWARD 

Just months ago, Scotland's former rugby star, James Fraser, 29 shocked his fans when he was rumoured to be suffering from depression. His injury from the previous year and early retirement from rugby had led to various personal problems, most notably alcoholism. While the rumours were never confirmed by his representative, some anonymous sources have verified the talks had all been true. 

However, in these photos from last night's British Sports Award, Fraser seemed to be a picture of health and happiness with his date and rumoured new girlfriend, Dr Claire Beauchamp, 28, the runaway bride of Edinburgh's Chief Consultant Dr Frank Randall. 

Although known for being notoriously private about his personal life, Fraser was openly affectionate with the English beauty in his arm. He seemed completely smitten with her, leaving a trail of broken hearts and angry responses among his female fans.

Beauchamp, who was previously engaged to Dr Frank Randall, refused to be interviewed but held hands with the handsome Scot throughout the evening.

Fraser and Beauchamp first sparked romance rumours a few weeks ago when a picture of them holding hands in a restaurant in Cullen, Scotland started to circulate in the social media. But the photo had been too grainy to be confirmed.

Friday night's display at the British Sports Award comes as a shock to many as Fraser has never been known to be in a serious relationship before, but was often linked to beautiful actresses and models, dubbing him as the Romeo of the sport's world. Witnesses claimed this could be the end of Fraser's bad-boy image, as more photos of them gazing lovingly at one another circulate the internet.

 Claire shrugged and clicked on the second link. And when she saw the headline as soon as the page opened up, she gasped. 

Oh, holy sweet bloody bleeding pickles! 

"Jamie!! Wake up!"

  JAMES FRASER DISAPPEARED WITH RUMOURED GIRLFRIEND BEFORE HE WAS ANNOUNCED BBC SPORTS PERSONALITY OF THE DECADE

[fly-underground]

six hundred and seventy five: 2019

The annual year in review entry. I’ve written this post nine times, one for every year of this decade. I reread the very first one, from 2010, aloud to my mother the other night. My writer’s voice is so chipper in it, so young. I had just started college. In so many ways, I had barely lived. I was about to list off all the things I hadn’t yet done, as an explanation. But the truth is, even now, having done at least a few of those things, I still have barely lived. I want to remember that, to bottle up that feeling of wistfulness for a younger self, that protective inclination to wait for things to get better and worse, because I know I still need it. There is still so much I haven’t done, so much I want to do. Ways to spend the next few decades, if I’m lucky enough to have them.

Last year at this time, I think I was home alone with Cory. I can’t remember it perfectly. The past few years have blurred together in that regard. Was this the year that Mariah Carey sang badly during Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve? I’ll look it up after I write this. The point is, I welcomed in the new year alone, but not really, and then received a flurry of text messages from my mother and brother and so many friends. January passed in New York for the most part. I went to my favorite bar every week, first with Liz and then with Vivian. I got bad news one night about a fellowship and the next night, I found out that my fellowship paper was selected for an academic conference. I felt like Even Steven, losing one thing, gaining another. By the time I made it back to Boston, for the spring semester, it was the end of the month. That last week became so important, especially in retrospect. I met a man from the past in one of my classes, someone I knew vaguely from my time at Swarthmore. February was about him. And so was March and April and May.

I used to keep details off my blog, because I was afraid of people reading and piecing together the truth. I wanted to be polite and coy. Now, I guess I don’t really know who is still reading this. And maybe I also don’t care. If you know me, really know me, you know what happened. If you don’t, well: in February, this blast from the past man sent me an email about coffee. I said yes and we spent hours together, walking around Cambridge, the pink sky of the new moon above our heads. Then he asked me to go to the Arnold Arboretum. We never went. Instead, we talked for hours in another coffee shop. Uncharacteristically, I asked to see his place and after I met his roommates, in-between bites of fig newtons, he leaned over and whispered: Can I kiss you? His tongue slipped into my mouth in the darkness of his living room. He kissed me again on his doorstep and my head spun on the lyft ride home. I threw up hours two hours later, from the hunger induced migraine. I didn’t eat at all that day, except for the cookies in his house and the lettuce wrapped in turkey at midnight in my bed. Of course I threw up. The next week, we went out again. Later, in my bed, wrapped up in his wiry, tattooed arms, I was just happy. That was when he told me, that he’s an alcoholic and an addict. It should have changed something for me, it should have set off an alarm. It didn’t.

Four days later, he relapsed. He had cancelled and then un-cancelled our date. I met him at a Starbucks and on the T back to his place, our legs touched. I felt bad, terrible in a way that I couldn’t name. We watched some Netflix original reality show and then, in his bed, we had sex. We kissed. He told me about his history of self harm and severe mental illness. I talked about my own trauma. It was not a good date. I couldn’t sleep after. In the morning, after he made me eggs and I realized he would not be going to his next AA meeting, I asked, trying not to cry, Will I see you again? He said of course, and then he backed me into a wall and kissed me with a boyish glee. I felt relieved and stupid. Three days later, he told me he couldn’t make it to my place for dinner. He said that he felt like he had encountered me in the wrong moment of his life, that he couldn’t stop drinking, that he was checking himself into a facility, that I meant something to him. I cried that whole weekend. I barely ate. No one could help me.

It was like this for months. Every interaction between us charmed and hurt me. When he was doing well, I was joyous. Otherwise, I was miserable. I skipped meals. I had nightmares. I cried alone in my room, on walks around campus. I lost weight and inches. I felt like I was dying. Somehow, in that strange internal darkness, I realized I was not okay. I wanted to be okay, more than anything. I felt bad all the time and I was tired of feeling bad. In April, I started seeing a therapist. In May, I started seeing a nutritionist.  I went to a support group meeting and read literature about codependency. I felt like it was my fault, my emotions, my own shit. I called my mother and Vivian and Michael. I was defensive about this guy. Addiction is a disease, an addict is not a Bad Person, but he can be a deeply troubled person. 

And then, after all of that, one day in May, he told me that he had gotten involved with someone. It was the way he said it. Two weeks before, in his bed, he had asked if he could undress me. I told him then, sitting outside the Harvard Square T stop, that he was a coward. He flinched, like I hit him. I said, I thought I loved you, but you aren’t who I thought you were. I guess, I didn’t really love you then. I also said, I’m sorry if that hurt you, I don’t mean to hurt you. And he told me, his eyes glassy, that I meant something to him. Of course, I knew that. Of course, it didn’t matter.

I skipped some stuff, or I made it seem small. In May, when I went to that support group meeting, I actually spoke in the group. I said, Every day I feel this intense pressure to try my best. I want to be kind and generous and patient and brave and good. But it’s so much work, being that way. Sometimes, I can’t do it. Sometimes, I just don’t have it in me. On those days, I want to give myself permission, to simply try. On those days, “best” is not the goal. The goal is to keep at it, whatever it is. So, I went to classes and socialized and asked for help. I told my therapist in April, that coming to therapy meant that I wasn’t hopeless, that I hadn’t given up on myself. In March, I presented my paper at an academic conference, as a single author. I was also on a poetry panel with Trista, Amanda, Cyrus, and Iain. How insane to be there with them, to be included in a family of poets.

In June, the man disappeared, moved away without a real goodbye. At the time, I was devastated. I can’t describe the feeling of abandonment, but I thought: love is not for me. I thought it through June and July. I went out with a series of inconsequential men. There’s a photo I saved on my phone, after one of those dates. He wasn’t a bad guy, just boring, just rude. I came home and cried until my mascara had spread across my face. I went back to New York in July, and in between visiting with friends and volunteering at camp, I had a hilarious summer fling, not a story just something for friends to gossip about. Even then, I was lonely. I didn’t run away from it, though. I recognized it. I thought, I should keep trying. Maybe I would find a good thing.

August had me dog-sitting and transliterating Sanskrit books and gearing up for the final year of my master’s degree and looking into various doctoral programs. It was also when I went on a first date with this handsome, funny, smart, and unbelievably kind man, who would eventually become my boyfriend— how weird that word looks here, how funny that it means something to me after all these years. It has felt like emotional whiplash, this year, loving two men. Looking back, it should be easy to say oh that wasn’t really love. But that’s not true. I loved two people this year, just so differently. If the first love made me nervous, the second makes me calm. I was on a bus back to Boston after Thanksgiving and the traffic was terrible and I felt an ugly irritation bubble inside me because of my seat neighbor. I thought about my boyfriend then, his easy smile, how he rubs my back when I cough. What a small thing, but I felt lighter just thinking about it. It sounds silly and cheesy, I know. But I don’t want to belittle it, not here. I don’t think I have ever really felt so good to be with someone before. It is so new to me, this joy, this stability. I don’t want to take it for granted.

I wrote in my journal a few days ago, that I’m not sure if this relationship is good because he is so good, or because I have done the work of trying to lead a healthier life. Is this just a byproduct of one or the other? Or, as Liz says, is this what happens when two Virgos come together? I don’t know, I loved a Virgo once before, and I don’t remember ever feeling this light. This is different. He is different.

In September, I went to Denmark for my ten year reunion camp reunion. I started this blog right after that iconic summer, 16 and strangely tan from all that northern sun. From October through December, I applied to doctoral programs. Yes, again. We’ll see what happens. For the first time, I don’t really know what I want in my future, but I’m trying to trust in the universe to guide me there. I know I want love. It’s hard for me to admit that. I used to scorn women who named that in their list of goals, but it’s important, as important as everything else. I want to feel close to someone. I want a life of meaning, even if it just means something to me. I want to write. I hate that I ever stopped doing that. I feel sometimes like I have wasted my potential there, in writing professionally. I hope that’s not true. I am not ready to give this up, this dream that could still turn into something.

Something that I said a lot this year: whatever happens, I’ll be okay. During a depressive episode a few weeks ago, I thought I was losing everyone in my life, that everyone secretly hated me. What I told myself then, was not that I was crazy or wrong, but that I could deal with it. It’s true. If that happened, I could deal with it. But I hate that response. I wish I fought more. I wish I didn’t turn over so easily. Not that I think I could change someone’s mind. But I wish I didn’t just accept the worst case scenario. Anyway, maybe it’s strange even to debate this. The truth is so far from the worst case scenario. In fact, right now the truth is I am so fucking lucky. Ten years ago, I was just a high school student whining on the internet. Today, I am a Harvard graduate student; I am an author; I have a publication list that makes professors raise their eyebrows; people care about what I write and think; there are people who love me, really love me; I am healthier and happier than I ever thought I deserved to be. I worked for this. I earned it. I didn’t give up on me.

I can’t predict anything about the future. I’m always so hilariously wrong. Mostly I hope I never stop trying. 2020 still sounds like a fiction, but it’s real, it’s happening, it’s here. It’s funny, I only ever feel that surprised by joy. I hope that never changes.

[slxyangel]

Pain and Noise (Duff x Reader)

Summary: I was fed up with just about everything that constituted my life, so I started playing.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, mentions of violence, swearing, panic attack.

Wordcount: Almost 5k

A/N: First fic I ever write, I am nervous and this was originally in Spanish, so be nice with my best try of a translation. Enjoy :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Masterlist: https://slxyangel.tumblr.com/post/189625800403/masterlist

The pain in the back of my hands was intense, searing, and growing worse with every minute I spent holding the drumsticks and unloading my rage over the drums in the studio. The accumulated tension stiffened my fingers, the muscles in my arms were numb and it had been a while since I started feeling my nails spiking my own skin because of the pressure I was putting on it. I didn’t care; I preferred to feel that rather than the anguish that had been threatening to rip off my chest these last few weeks. I don’t know how much time I spent like that. What I do remember is the pain. And the noise.

I also remember sitting on the stool during a little while the guys were out, I’m not sure what for, maybe to grab some food or take a break. They had been working on the album for months, and these days of polishing, re-recording, fixing and tuning everything up for the final version were being especially hard; they deserved a breather. “And so do I”, I told myself while I held Steven’s drumsticks and gave it a second thought, maybe it wasn’t a good idea. He, as any other percussionist, didn’t like it when someone else fiddled with his instrument, not to mention if it happened without him being around to control it. I could only hope that he didn’t show up in that very moment and caught me, because I don’t think I would have the strength to explain him every thought that was circling my head the moment I decided to play his drums, and even less not to drown the whole story with my tears. I mean, come on, it was only going to be a little while.

I had been working with the band practically since the recording process for Appetite for Destruction began. I was in my last year of university, and needed an internship to complete my learning agreement, and, I still can’t comprehend how, my best friend’s father got me plugged-in in Geffen Records. They were the ones who decided that the best option for an audiovisuals student was in the recordings for a young rock band’s debut album. This is how I ended up being Mike Clink’s personal assistant and hanging out with Axl, Slash, Izzy, Duff and Steven. The chemistry had been practically automatic, I got along with them pretty quick and, even though I started being basically the coffee girl, I was always very comfortable in such a creative and carefree environment.

I remember those first days in which Mark, my boyfriend, used to drive me to the studio in his car. I could drive, of course, but my new job seemed almost more exciting for him than it did for me, so he insisted in getting me there, picking me up and making me tell him every little detail of my brand-new work life. He was thrilled when I told him how I had spent twenty minutes of my first day talking with Slash and he had shown interest about my studies, my reasons to be there and my general life. “If we’re gonna work together, we might as well be friends”, he said. The guy told me that he had a snake, that his parents were artists and that’s why he had always been so involved with music. He also said he got his first guitar when he was 15 and that he and the guys ended up together out of sheer coincidence, but they had realized they were the perfect combination, so they were really excited about their new project. It was there that I realized I was in the right place and, even if, worst case scenario, the rest of the band hated me, at least I had a new friend.

However, my worries couldn’t be any more unfounded. Once I had talked to Saul, the rest of it went smoothly. Axl was quite a character, for instance, a guy you felt like looking at. Wherever he was (because he couldn’t stand still for a second), your eyes would be glued to him. He had an enviable magnetism no matter what he did: singing one of their songs, bringing order to the mixing desk, finishing off half a liter of Jack Daniel’s… He was the kind of person who seems out of reach from every one of us mortals but, deep down, is a cinnamon roll. Our first interactions (mostly his, let’s be honest) were filled with double intentions. In any case, now that I see it in retrospective and compare it with the way he treated other girls, I came to think that this was his way to know women in general, his default mode. Actually, those anecdotes of conversations I had with the vocalist were worth a fair dose of laughing for Mark and me during our more than usual supermarket-pizza, Ben-&-Jerry’s-ice-cream dinners in the flat we shared. Over time, Axl’s phase of blatant flirting with me faded away, making room for a really close friendship between the two of us.

Izzy, on the other hand, treated me almost as if I was an experiment. Do you know the feeling when you arrive to a new school but the year has already started and everybody is curious about you? Well, that was more or less how the guitarist reacted to my incorporation. He had never been too talkative, or, at least, not as much as the rest of them, so my first days with the brunet can be summed up to him joining conversations between me and someone else, to learn a bit more about me without having to ask directly; to my hand-waving gestures and his responses raising his chin or his eyebrows; or to him offering me drags of his cigarette from time to time, while we waited for the rest of the guys to record their tracks so we could all go partying together. It was interesting. It was entertaining. It was even funny to see us unfolding, adapting to each other until we gained full trust. We could argue that his more reserved, almost wary personality and my own, more explosive and versatile, complemented each other as two puzzle pieces; one had what the other lacked.

And, while Izzy complemented me, Steven understood me. We were two peas in a pod: energetic, chaotic and jam-packed with energy. Basically the kids in the team. Like two naughty twins, we loved to terrorize the studio. We threw stuff at each other, we laughed like crazy, we yelled from one corner of the room to the other the dumbest, most absurd shit you could imagine… One of the activities I enjoyed the most was to scare away the chicks from him. Some afternoons when he was chilling on the couch, unaware and concentrated on hitting on whatever girl he had just met, I arrived, seated next to him on the couch and went full on clingy-ass-girlfriend with him: handsy and unbearable. I interrupted the groupie and put up with Steven’s deadly glares until, after a while, the girl took off, sometimes walking towards one of the other guys, sometimes straight to her house. The drummer always got mad at me when I did this to him, but his anger never lasted for more than ten minutes.

And then there was Duff. He was something else, something different. I had never had such a connection with anyone, and even less with anyone I had met for so little time. Duff had his own light, like an extremely bright star, and I was flashed by it but, at the same time, he irradiated a delightful kind of warmth, too nice for me to voluntarily step away. He was fun, he was compassionate, he was sensible, he was a little bit mad and he made everything unspeakably easy. The rest of the band spent their days saying that we should have sex or betting on whether we were or weren’t conscious of the sexual tension they assured was too obvious between us. At first, we either told them to fuck off or went along with it, but without giving it much of a second thought. At the end of the day, I was dating Mark, who I adored, and Duff knew it. We were nothing but friends, like the rest of the guys.

Weeks went by and I kept getting closer and closer with the bassist: we talked about everything and anything, we told each other countless anecdotes from our lives before arriving to L.A., and he even sometimes helped me with the paperwork. More than once, even though smoking was allowed in the studio, the two of us stepped outside to do it, and a break that was meant to last for 10 minutes ended up being one hour long. When this happened, Slash had to come out for him, wielding his guitar and threatening to smash it on his head if he wasn’t back inside in the following fifteen seconds. In fact, some of those days when it took me longer to finish my job he would stick around and offer me a ride home before he headed to the club, so that Mark didn’t have to come pick me up that far that late.

Of course, it was all being too good to be true. The first day this happened, when I arrived home in “some other dude’s car, instead of a fucking taxi”, Mark’s own words, I found a version of my boyfriend that I didn’t like one tiny bit: wary, silent and mean. When I asked what his problem was I already saw the answer coming, but I just refused to believe he was going to get all possessive over such a nonsense, he had never behave like that. That night we went from yelling at each other to the silent treatment in a matter of a few hours, and the next day, when I got to the studio in my own car for the first time since the guys knew me, that place looked like goddamn press conference. They took less than two minutes to notice I was a little bit off, and less than five to tell me “Dump him, fuck Duff”. I couldn’t help but laugh. I hadn’t broken up with Mark, we had just argued; I would speak to him and we would fix things; that’s what couples did. Bitch, you thought.

For the next few days everything seemed to have turned back to normal: my boyfriend and I were okay, he said he was sorry and begged me to let him apologize by being my chauffeur again. I didn’t quite feel like rocking the boat after that night, so the idea of not driving myself to work didn’t seem that bad, until the days Mark started arriving a little earlier each day. Five minutes, fifteen, half an hour before my cutoff time, as if he had to make sure I went back home with him, as if he had to keep an eye on me. In fact, one of the days in which he arrived with a bigger margin of time, he decided it was a good idea to wait inside the studio while the band was recording, and argued that “it would be a lot more boring to wait in the car”. Over the last days, the guys had noticed how pissed it made me the fact that he was chasing after me, behaving like an asshole and little more than tying a leash around my neck, so Axl stepped up and asked him to leave, since the guy wouldn’t listen to me. I have to admit I was surprised with how calmly the vocalist took the intrusion, taking into account his normally short temper. He told Mark that “it wasn’t his problem if he wanted to be his girlfriend’s chauffeur, but he couldn’t simply burst into a private property as if it was his house, and even less when they were working.” To be honest, that was one hell of a comeback, because if the singer had exposed the real reasons why he wanted him out, the other one would have clutched at straws to the philosophy “She is my girlfriend, you don’t get a saying on this.” But on his argument and on his turf, Axl had the upper hand.

Despite all the efforts, Mark told him to mind his own business and that, if the redhead kicked him out of the studio, he would be behaving like a total dick. Then, as if the destiny was trying its best to fix things, sarcasm be sensed, Duff showed up in the anteroom where we were. As soon as my boyfriend saw him, his eyes started blazing, and it only took the bassist telling him he had to leave and that I was still in my working hours so I wouldn’t go with him, for his fist to connect with Duff’s jaw in a nasty jab. And hell was fucking raised.

Axl pushed Mark, who was holding my arm with the same hand he had punched the blond with two seconds ago. Not letting go of me, he tackled the vocalist, mumbling something I can’t remember. Then he walked towards the front door, grabbing me with him. “Let’s go. Now”, he ordered. His fingers dug into my skin with such anger and despair that I could already feel the bruise forming underneath, and I was half shocked, half scared shitless. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to get in the car with him and I didn’t want any more punches either, but in any case my limbs were not responding to the commands my brain tried to make, whichever they were. It was then that, halfway across the room, before reaching the door, Mark stumbled and fell, finally releasing my arm. The first thing I saw when I lifted my eyes was Duff standing there, with his mouth covered in blood, shaking his right hand once and breathing heavily.

- If you ever touch her again like that, I’ll kill you.

While Mark was trying to get up, Slash stormed in from the recording room. He had seen the events of the last two minutes from his position behind the glass, and he wasn’t going to take any more of that shit. Right before the other one went ballistic attacking the bassist and blood started to hit the fan, Saul grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kicked him, literally, out of the place. Once the metal door had closed between Mark and us, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I vaguely remember I started hyperventilating, on my knees, on the floor, and the sound of punches hitting metal on the outside was all but helping me calm down. As tears streamed down my face and I frantically run my fingers through my hair, a hand started trailing my back. It was a soft touch, slow, really slow. Making its way upwards and then going back down, over again. The noise level had considerably decreased, and now all I could listen to were whispers, the sweetest whispers coming from the mouth of one single person. “Shhhh, easy. You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m here. Breathe.” Little by little my quick and superficial breathing became steadier, and after a few minutes I was able to stand up to sit on the couch. The beating on the door had stopped, and I realized all the guys were surrounding me, worried look on their faces, as Duff, seating beside me, still had his hand in my back.

_________________

It had been two weeks since that day. After the incident, I sure as hell wasn’t going to be under the same roof as Mark, and even less with the fight still recent. Who knows what he would do to me as soon as I crossed the threshold… The guys profusely insisted that I could stay with any of them, but they let me use their phone to call my best friend when I told them I would be in very good hands with her. Laura received me with a warm hug the moment she saw me, and that night, at her home, we cried, we ranted and we ate ice-cream until we couldn’t take any more. I have to admit that, given the circumstances, she managed pretty well to get me into bed feeling kinda happy. But of course, nothing lasts forever. I was about to graduate, with no home (the foster-bed in Laura’s house didn’t count), no boyfriend and no plans of work, projects or future in general; ahead of me there was a massive precipice with seemingly no ending. Besides, the production process for Appetite was coming to an end, and so did my internship and the months of togetherness with the band. Now was the time for press conferences, concerts and, if it all went well, the tour. To be honest I was super happy for them. I had seen the birth of that album, and I was blindly certain that with such a masterpiece they were bound to success. It was inevitable. But in any case, that meant the end of what had given me the most joys in the last four months and, if apart from all the financial and emotional stability I had gained during my college years, someone took that away from me… what did I have left?

__________________

After that much time hitting the drums, I had ultimately interiorized the beat so much now I was just reproducing it on loop, with my eyes closed and breathing heavily. I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t realize the door had opened and someone had stepped into the studio. Suddenly I felt how, behind my back, two hands softly landed on my shoulders. I didn’t stop playing. My arms moved now with less vigor to the beat I had marked from the beginning, while those fingers gently traced small circles in the back of my neck, comforting me.

Duff.

It had to be him, I was certain.

Little by little I reduced the speed of my movements, gradually, until I completely stopped playing. When I left the drumsticks on the snares and turned around in the stool I saw him. He was standing there, right in front of me, asking with his eyes, a calm and expressive look on his face. An almost imperceptible sigh escaped my lips. He was worried about me.

- Good thing it was you who entered, and not Steven – I said, half jokingly, as I stood up, hoping to relax the tension built up between us.

- Yeah – he laughed softly. – Had it been him he would have ripped the drumsticks off your hands and hit you with them.

I laughed too, quietly, bitterly. This was too much for me. The words we never said were floating around, like a thousand needles falling into a tailspin above us; eventually, they would have to land. The worst part was that I didn’t know if I craved that moment or, on the contrary, dreaded it.

It looked like he had read my mind when he slowly, almost asking for permission, held my hands. I startled a bit with the contact, but I let him go on. Duff looked at them for a second before he noticed the tiny wounds I had unconsciously inflicted on myself digging my fingernails too hard a while before, at the drums. Without saying a word, he started caressing them very softly, as if he wanted to calm, more than my physical pain, the sentimental one. He was breathing deeply and slightly frowning. He was concentrated in trying to make that feeling disappear, the confusion, the guilt, the fear… the stream of emotions that had been threatening to break me for some time now. He looked me in the eyes. In that very moment, the temperature inside the room raised a few degrees. We were really close. So close I could feel his breath on me, listen to his heartbeat accelerating with every second that went by, see how his lips lightly parted, practically not at all, only a hint of the thought that filled our minds in that place, in that moment. Then, almost involuntarily, as an instinctive reflex, I stretched my neck upwards. That was the only sign he needed to make the already scarce distance between our lips disappear, and kiss me.

The contact was slow, sweet and full of longing. Our lips moved rhythmically, perfectly fitting on each other’s. Duff was still holding my hands, and I could feel my breath accelerating progressively. I released one of my hands and placed it on his neck, stroking the hair on his nape and helping myself keep balance in my tippiest toes. He saw my struggles and moved his free hand to my waist, firmly holding me so that I wouldn’t fall. All of a sudden, I felt the urge to be closer to him, even more. Everything that I hadn’t been able to do and that had bottled up inside of me was now too overwhelming, and I didn’t want to fight it anymore. Our kiss intensified, we hungrily enjoyed each other, panting. The next thing I knew was that Duff had placed his hands on the back of my thighs and lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and leaned my arms on his shoulders, so I could keep kissing him while he crossed the room and sat on the leather couch, with me straddling his lap. He ran his fingers up and down my thighs, slightly lifting the hem of my dress, as if he was testing some boundaries that I hadn’t set and, at this point, I didn’t plan to.

I was euphoric, nervous and loaded with desire. In a burst of braveness or lust, I’m not entirely sure, I started to buck my hips, back and forth, following a slow path at first, which progressively accelerated. The friction of my underwear in direct contact with his leather pants was about to drive me mad, and I couldn’t stop. His hands, which a moment ago were on my hips, guiding them, started moving over my lower stomach, tracing the edge of my panties in painfully slow motions. His breath was also heavier, somehow ragged, and I felt him hardening beneath me. His lips were stuck to the base of my neck, lightly sucking as I, with my eyes closed and lips parted into a silent “O”, gently pulled his blond hair. My core grew more sensitive by the minute, and when I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold the moan trapped in my throat anymore, his fingers touched my most sensitive spot, turning my steadily rocking hips not that steady for a moment.

In a matter of seconds, and with his hand working wonders between my legs, I got rid of the dress, which only bothered, and the perspective of my almost absolute nudity on top of his entirely dressed body made me shake with arousal. His free hand took care of my breasts, now exposed, as I dug my nails into his shoulders, underneath the sleeveless shirt he was wearing.

-  Take it off – I managed to blurb between gasps.

-  What? – Duff seemed confused, too concentrated on something else for having been able to follow the road of my own thoughts.

-  Your shirt, take it off. I want to touch you.

A shit-eating grin lit up his face right before he separated in a quick motion from that piece of clothing and threw it somewhere else. Immediately after, in a total change of the atmosphere, he laid back on the couch and, placing his hands behind his head, said:

-  Then touch me.

I didn’t hesitate for a single second. My hands flew to his shoulders, his arms, his shoulders again and went down his chest as I peppered kisses all over his lips, jaw, neck, collarbones… I took my sweet time while swinging my hips against the fabric that separated my pussy from his erection, and my nails traced a descending path down his torso, really slowly. I could notice how he was growing desperate; I felt his breath, now turned into a subtle growl, against my hair; I realized how shortly he had managed to keep his hands off me, since now he was caressing my flanks, my back and my chest. When I reached the cord of his pants with my fingers, I slowly undid the knot that tied them together and slipped my hand underneath, without stopping my hip motions. The very moment I found the base of his length, a soft grunt escaped his lips. He was driving me insane.

After a while arousing each other, we couldn’t stand the teasing any longer and Duff took the first step to getting rid of the clothes that were still around. I stood up and took off my sandals so that he could slide my panties down my legs, grazing my skin along the way. He also let go of both his pants and sneakers, tossing them on the carpet. Our moves were clumsy thanks to eagerness and anticipation. I once again sat on top of him, in our initial position, only now there were no clothes in the middle of the road. I could feel him against me. Touch. Friction. Desire. His expert fingers moved now freely over my core, as he left little love bites under my left ear. I kept on rubbing his cock, fully hard and a bit wet, while, with my other hand, I held on to his hair for dear life. We were close, really close. It felt as if every centimeter of my skin was on direct contact with Duff. He was everywhere, every corner, every goosebump, every scar… With all this overstimulation, my moans filled the room, and I didn’t have enough sanity to realize anyone could come in. I was a mess.All of a sudden, right when I was seconds away from cumming, his hands disappeared from my core. Even though I couldn’t see myself, I was sure in my eyes one would be able to read the anticipation and confusion.

-  Wait – he said in a desperate whisper -. I want to feel you, I want to be inside of you.

If he hadn’t stopped touching me a moment before, I am sure that sentence would have sent me to the wildest of orgasms, but it wasn’t the time for my sweet release. Not yet. He put his hand right next to mine, on his cock, and, with an almost unbearable slowness, he brought the tip of it to my entrance. A trembling sigh fell from my lips and we looked into each other’s eyes. Then, I gently let my hips descend on his lap, and he completely slid inside of me, letting escape an unearthly growl that gave me chills. He had dropped his head back, leaving his neck and collarbones exposed to me, but I had my eyes closed as I tried to control the delightful contractions that were about to take over me. I felt him inside of me, extremely deep. As if we were two pieces of the same puzzle, as if we had been manufactured specifically to be together. Now THAT was overstimulation. Once my body had adjusted to him, I started motioning my hips up and down, holding on to his shoulders so that I didn’t lose the limited balance I had left. He once again was looking at me, with his hands on my waist as I kept the path. Close, very close. His arms slid around me and I kissed his lips eagerly. Our moans died in one another’s mouth while the movements became faster, erratic, frenetic. It was becoming more and more difficult to keep my sanity, I was almost raving with pleasure, and the moment our lips broke away to take air and we looked at each other, nose to nose, without stopping for a moment, I couldn’t hold it any longer. I came with a flashing intensity, pronouncing his name countless times, asking God knows who for this moment to last forever. I couldn’t stop screaming, and when Duff begged my name and I felt his liquid warmth filling every bit of me, I saw white.

_______________

His hand stroked tenderly my naked back while my breath came back to normal against his neck. The same as that day, but at the same time entirely different. I was still on top of him, he was still inside of me. I hadn’t yet gathered the strength to pull him apart from me, but he didn’t seem willing to get separated either, so we stood like that for a while, I don’t even know how much, but I don’t care. This felt utterly intimate, intense, extremely ours and totally apart from the rest of people, from the rest of things. It was a parallel universe inside of a crystal ball. It was the embodiment of all that was right. What we had been, without knowing or admitting it, even to ourselves, waiting for all this time.

[brianc521]

Ruined Stunt

His face is squished into her pillow, his mouth open as he snores softly, curls a mess as he sleeps so peacefully in her bed.

She sits at the small table, the folded setlist under the right peg so it would stop wobbling every time she moved to write something into her calendar. Her coffee cup is full, and sealed to her lips as she checks emails and her work account to make sure everything is on track.

Her glasses are pushed up her bare face as her hair is in a sloppy bun done up on the top of her head.

She’s so entranced, reading the notes a coworker sent her from the conference called she missed while on the flight to LA, that she doesn’t even notice that his snoring has stopped.

He sits up at bit, looking around and finding her seated in her pajamas, his shirt from the day before and her sleep shorts. He stretches his back and hums softly when he raises his arms above his head.

She turns her head at the hum, eyes wide when she notices his naked torso on display for her. He smiles when he makes eye contact, swollen sleep eyes sparkling at her as he stares at her seated figure.

“Morning,” He says, voice three octaves lower than usual as his morning voice makes her melt.

“Morning,” She whispers softly, setting her cup down as she stands to crawl towards him.

This is the Shawn she gets to know. The one that’s practically Bambi when he wakes up, all wide brown eyes, innocent stare and fluffy hair. The one that’s holding his hands out for her to crawl towards, arms wrapping around her embrace as he pulls her back into him in bed.

“You have a interview after lunch today before soundcheck. Andrew wants to meet with you before lunch to discuss this weeks schedule and then the crew wants to go out after the performance tonight.” She says as her eyes close and her body relaxes against his.

“How long have you been up?” He asks, eyebrows scrunched together as she recounts his day.

“Long enough to be on coffee number two.” She hums.

He shakes his head, squeezing her tighter. “You aren’t my personal assistant until 10 in the morning, until then you’re my girlfriend that cuddles with me while I sleep.” He groans.

She blushes at that, looking up at him as he stares at the ceiling. “What are you thinking about?” She taps his chin, catching his attention.

“That my girlfriend works too much,”

She scoffs at that, rolling her eyes as she giggles. “Right, okay well you should see how much my boyfriend works.”

He grins, rolling over so he’s laying on top of her, head buried into her neck. “Can we do breakfast together?” He asks, planting a few kisses to her neck.

“I have a meeting with Andrew in 45 minutes,” She runs her fingers through his curls.

“No!” He groans, holding her tighter. “Don’t leave.”

“Babe, I have to go.”

“But I won’t see you like at all today.” He whines, pouting at her.

“Sorry,” She shrugs.

“Are you at least sitting next to me on the plane to New York?” He asks, letting his fingers play with the ends of his hair.

She cringes and looks away, making him sigh.

“Okay, don’t be shocked if I sneak into your hotel room.” He mumbles.

She cringes again, inhaling sharply, making his eyes snap to hers. “What was that?” He asks. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not flying to New York with you.”

His eyes widen and he sits up frantically. “What are you talking about?” He shrills.

“I have my one on one with my boss Thursday.” She runs her fingers up and down his arm.

“Can’t you just skype?” He asks. She shakes her head at him.

“No it has to be in person, I did it over skype last time and it didn’t work out. I’ll fly to you next week though.”

He sighs dropping his head.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, resting her hand on his.

“Don’t apologize, it’s your job. I’m just gonna miss you.”

She smiles sadly, “I’m gonna miss you too, just a week apart. That’s all.”

Her phone buzzes and she looks over to see that Andrew wants to meet sooner, meaning she has to get ready now.

“Who’s that?” Shawn asks, peering over her shoulder to see the text. “No!” He whines. “Don’t leave me.”

“I have to, sorry.” She says getting up and rushing to her suitcase.

Her watches her rush around to get dressed and throwing her hair into a ponytail. She slips her shoes on and pushes her suitcase back against the wall. “I have to go.” She says looking at him. “And you need to sneak out.”

“When am I gonna see you next?” He asks.

She sighs, looking at her watch and going through his tasks for the day. “Before the show.” She answers. “We’ll cross paths at the arena.”

He pouts, making grabbing hands at her. “Give me love now then.” He mumbles.

She steps between his legs, hands on his shoulders. “It’s past past 10, I’m your personal assistant now.”

“You’re still my girlfriend.” He looks up at her, “Kiss me.” He whispers, leaning up, sighing when her soft lips meet his.

He holds her hips, pulling her closer as he sucks on her bottom lip softly.

“I’ll see you later,” She whispers, giving him one last peck before rushing out of the hotel room with her room key, purse, and phone.

**

She sits in the green room, phone glued to her hand as she reads the new emails. There’s been a solid pout on her face since her meeting with Andrew this morning, now that she knows what the new promo stunt is.

Shawn’s noticed, by the lack of response to his text messages and how she can’t stop glaring at Andrew.

The team stands to leave to allow Shawn to dress for the show, but he’s quick to grab her arm. She looks up with wide eyes and notice how his are pleading with hers.

“I need to speak with you.” He mumbles.

“Shawn, you need to change.” Andrew pipes up.

“Just want her opinion on what to wear since Tiff isn’t here.”

“Okay, you have 20 minutes.”

Shawn nods and waits till the door shuts behind everyone before he’s pulling her into his arms, hands cupping her face as she bites her lip.

“What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and clears her throat as she turns to look at his shirts. He grabs her elbow, turning her back and making her look at him. “Tell me.” He whispers. “Please.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Babe you haven’t spoken a word all day, when Andrew speaks to you you’re barely acknowledging him and you won’t respond to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just don’t entirely agree with what I was told at the meeting this morning, but it’s not my place to say anything.”

His eyebrows furrow and his lips purse out.

“What is it? What don’t you agree with?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” She sighs, this time fully turning to siffle through his options.

“Tell me what it is,” He pursues her retreating figure.

“It’s not my place to say,” She shrugs.

“What are you talking about? Why can’t you say?”

“Because I’m not apart of the team.” She grabs a black shirt with white polka dots, holding it up to see it next to him.

“What? Yes you are.” He pushes the shirt away.

“I’m just your personal assistant. I don’t make decisions, I just keep you organized.” She shakes her head. “Wear this one, you’re on in 15.” She says handing him the shirt and walking out of the room before he can figure out what is truly bothering her.

**

She sits in her hotel room, that now haunts her as she lays in bed alone. No longer is Shawn there to hold her while he sleeps, and keep her company as sits alone.

He’s on a flight, which explains the radio silence but she knows he knows the promo stunt now. He was asking to speak with her before the flight but Andrew, who doesn’t know that they’re together, told him it wasn’t important.

Which in retrospect it’s not. Why should his personal assistant have any say in his promo stunt. To Andrew she’s just supposed to make sure his calendar is scheduled and he’s actually making it to all the events Andrew’s booking him.

Her phone rings making her jump as she looks over in the darkness, his picture illuminating her screen. She answers with a choked hello, making his heart squeeze.

“I’m yours, you know that.” Are the first words flying out of his mouth. “You’ve been around for this before, it’s just work.”

“Yeah but when you did this before we weren’t together.”

He sighs, “I know.” And she knows he’s tugging on his curls. “I know, but you have to trust that I’m not doing this to hurt you. I love you, so much.”

“She just gets you in public,” She shrugs.

“And you get me in private, which is what is real.” Shawn says sternly. “The Shawn she’ll ‘get’, if you can even call it that, is Shawn Mendes. The Shawn you get, is Shawn, Y/n’s boyfriend.”

She nods, even though he can’t see it, letting his words tumble around in her head.

“Baby,” He says softly, “Say something.”

“I should have known this was gonna happen, I mean I did, but I didn’t think it’d make me this uncomfortable.”

He sighs, and slumps into his hotel bed. “It’s just for PR, it’s not gonna last long.”

**

The stunt has started, and it’s hurting her more than she thought it would.

This girl was a model, she was blonde with the perfect body. She had a bigger bust than Y/n, and a smaller waist. She somehow always looked perfect, even if she was in a big sweatshirt and yoga pants. She was from Ontario which made their ‘relationship’ that much more wholesome, because now it was all about how the two Canadians were together, and which family they were spending Christmas with.

Y/n sits across the table from Shawn. Andrew and the rest of the band sit with them as they all discuss the plan for the day.

“Kate will be joining our outing today,” Andrew tells Shawn, whose eyes go wide and flick to Y/n’s for a brief second.  

“Why?” Shawn asks, pushing his eggs around on his plate.

“To have a few pictures taken of her with us, so it looks like she’s really apart of the group. Getting along with the band, supporting you, all that stuff.”

“Y/n have you met Kate yet?” Mike asks as her as she messes with her cloth napkin for a second.

“No I haven’t.” She says softly, eyes cast down to her meal.

She hasn’t really told Shawn about how uncomfortable seeing pictures of them together makes her feel, but he knows. He knows it would make him feel the same if he had to see her with another guy.

He lets his toe nudge her calf under the table, her eyes lifting to his for a moment before she’s shifting in her seat and crossing her legs away from him and picking at her fruit. He huffs to himself as she closes herself off from him.

He pulls his phone out, bringing her contact up and typing out a quick message.

iMessage from Shawn: Please don’t be like that. I didn’t know she was coming today. I promise I wouldn’t do that to you on purpose.

He sets his phone down and eyes her, watching as she checks her phone under the table and then slides it back between her thighs, not responding to his message. His eyes are pleading with her from across the table.

“She’s here.” Andrew says looking at his phone, standing up before looking at Shawn.

“What right now?” He asks.

“Yes,”

He shakes his head, hoping to have a moment alone with Y/n before having to flaunt this stunt in front of her. “I’m not ready,”

“Too bad, it’s go time. Finish your food guys, we’ve got to go.”

The team as rented a boat for the day, hoping to relax and chill before a week fully booked with show after show.

The team stands one by one, setting napkins on their plates before following Andrew out. Y/n leaves last, digging in her purse for some gum before Shawn’s falling in step beside her.

“Baby I didn’t know,” He whispers in her ear. “Don’t let it ruin our day. We can still have a good day on the boat. Swimming and chilling with the band. It’s gonna be fun, okay?”

She just nods, looking straight ahead.

“Baby say something please!” He groans. “I hate when you go all silent, I can never figure your brain out.”

“It’s just work, we have to be professional.” She gives him a tight lipped smile before he’s pulling her around the corner to have a moment alone.

“I know how this hurts you, I know.” He sighs, eyes showing how feels. “And I hate that I’m the one hurting you, it’s eating me alive. But I’m being honest with you when I tell you that I’m in love with you and obsessed with you. You’re my girl, my Baby, and you always will be.”

She sighs, leaning into him a little. “I know, and I’m sorry. I know you don’t really have a say in this. It just makes me so uncomfortable to think about. I already have to share you enough as is, I don’t like having to share this part of you too, because this part is all I have.”

His heart clenches and his mouth opens to disagree but he’s interrupted when Zubin pokes his head around the corner, spotting the couple. “Andrew’s looking for you.”

Shawn looks up, Y/n jumping away from him, but Zubin knows. He’s known for awhile. First he saw Shawn sneak out of her hotel room months ago, and then saw when he was sending her a heart emoji through text. They were good at hiding it, Zubin was just the one to see things he shouldn’t have.

“Okay,” Shawn nods, watching Zubin walk away. “Hey,” He says grabbing her hand before she can walk away. “You’re my girl, mine.”

“Okay,”

“Let yourself enjoy the day okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.” She whispers, letting him peck her lips before they make their way to the front of the restaurant.

**

Shawn was so uncomfortable.

Watching his girlfriend sitting at the front of the boat alone, gorgeous black strapless bikini hugging her heavenly curves, sipping on a cup of beer, book in her hands.

All the while this girl is trying to be all over him. She’s in a pink Bikini but the contrast of the pink on her fake tan is not helping her at all. She’s laughing overly loud at Mike and Josiah’s stupid jokes, letting her hand rest on his thigh before he’s standing to refill his cup, bringing a new cup to Y/n.

“Here Babe,” He whispers, setting the cup beside her.

She looks up at him, nodding as he peeks at her book.

“Shawn!” The squeaky voice calls and he sighs as he turns and has to return to the girl that is starting to repulse him

**

That night the group decides they want to go out to dinner, deciding on a steakhouse just down the road from the hotel.

“Y/n, dinner at 6?” Andrew calls as she tries to sneak off to her room without being noticed.

“Actually, I’m not feeling the greatest, I think I’ll pass tonight.” She says, waving as she heads to the elevator.

Shawn’s head whips over, watching as she clutches her book close to her chest and steps into the elevator, doors closing behind her.

He doesn’t like the gut feeling he has with her leaving like that.

“Andrew I’m gonna catch a quick shower and meet you there. I reek of sunscreen.”

Andrew nods as Shawn rushes up the stairs to her floor. He knocks on her door rapidly, not stopping until she’s opening the door.

She looks up and his heart stops.

“Baby?” He asks, stepping into her room and shutting the door behind him.

She’s so pale, sweat lining her hairline as she pulls her sweatshirt off, leaving her in his Hogwarts shirt.

“Not now Shawn, I seriously don’t feel good.”

“Baby, what hurts?” He asks, helping her into bed.

“My stomach is turning, my head is throbbing and I’ve got the cold sweats.”

He feels her forehead and rules out a fever. “When did you start feeling like this?”

“On the boat, it’s why I laid down.”

“Baby you should have said something, I would’ve brought your back.”

“Today wasn’t about me Shawn, I wasn’t about to ruin everyone’s day just because I don’t feel good.”

He shakes his head. “I hate how you feel like you can’t say that you don’t fucking feel good.” He says standing. “Your health is more fucking important than some stupid fucking day on a fucking boat.” He mutters while entering the bathroom to wet a washcloth. “Feeling sick and then having to deal with my stupid bullshit on top of that,” He says sitting back on the edge of the bed setting the washcloth on her forehead.

“I’m okay, go to dinner. I’ll text you if something happens.”

“Fuck that,” Shawn shakes his head. “I’m gonna go change and get you some tea. But I’ll be right back, we’ll watch ‘Friends’ and cuddle tonight.”

She goes to protest but he’s shaking his head, grabbing his phone as he steps out of her room with her key in his back pocket.

He runs into Andrew in the hall, as he walks to his room. “You ready?”

“Actually, I’m gonna stay back.” Shawn says opening his door.

“No, you’re going. Kate is coming and I want you both to be photographed together before dinner, and after.”

“No!” Shawn raises his voice.

Andrew’s eyes go wide and he crosses his arms as he listens to Shawn.

“No I don’t want to go to dinner with Kate. I don’t want to be photographed with Kate, I don’t want to do this promo stunt with Kate. I don’t want to be around Kate!” He throws his hands in the air. “Because right now, my girlfriend isn’t feeling well and has had to spend the whole fucking day watching some other girl be all over me from across the boat. So I would like to stay in and take care of my girl, who I’m madly in love with, and help her feel better.”

Andrew stands in shock, the rest of the team slowly inching around the corner watching Shawn snap.

“So go tell Kate she can have dinner with someone else, and she can do a promo stunt with someone else because I don’t want to fucking do it. I just want to go cuddle my beautifully gorgeous girlfriend while she lays in bed alone!”

He takes a deep breath and his head snaps over when her door opens slowly, small smile on her face as she steps into the hallway. He sighs when he sees the smile.

“Because I love you and I miss you, and I hate how this is making you feel. And I hate that I’m the one making you feel this way. And oh my god you were in a bikini all day and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it even though I just wanted to wrap you up and show the world that you’re mine.”

She blushes as he confesses this in front of everyone.

Zubin is smiling and celebrating a bit with the rest of the team as Andrew nods and mutters about how he’ll figure it out.

“We need to set up time for a meeting when you feel better,” He says to her, walking into his room and letting the door shut behind him.

“Shawnie boy got the girl!” The band erupts, bombarding him with hugs and pats on the backs as he laughs.

“Thanks guys, lets do this later.” He smiles, nodding towards Y/n.

They all nod and tell him they wanna take him out for drinks tomorrow as they walk to the lobby to head out for dinner.

Shawn stares at her as she stares up at him, inching her way towards his chest, giggling as his arms wrap around her. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was lowkey stressing out because you’re sick, and Andrew just wouldn’t let up today with the whole Kate thing and I was so over it. You’re my main priority and he wasn’t allowing you to be.”

“I’m kind of scared of what his meeting is about, but I’m happy they know. It’s gonna make us, being us so much easier.”

“Come on, we can talk about this in bed. You need to rest.” He says ushering you back to your room.

**

3 months later.

“Y/n, Shawn’s on stage in 10.”

She nods, walking into his dressing room, finding him tucking his shirt into his pants as she fixes her hair. He looks up at her, smiling when he sees her in front of him.

His lips are still slightly stained from her lipstick and his curls still very messy. She walks up, running her fingers through them hoping to fix them back to a styled matter before he goes on stage.

“Told you not to tug on my curls.” He mumbles, pulling her closer by her hips.

“Shut up, I needed something to hold on to.” She says fixing one last curl. “Here,” She grabs a makeup wipe from her purse to wipe his lips, and he grins as she wipes his neck too.

“I also told you not to wear lipstick.”

“Can’t say I was expecting you to jump me when I arrived, so, sorry.”

He laughs and kisses her quickly before she’s pulling away. “You’re on in minutes, no more of this.”

“What’s the schedule after this, my beautiful personal assistant?” He asks.

“We fly back to Toronto for your week break, and you get to decide the rest from there.”

He smiles, slipping his hands into her back pockets. “You’re sitting next to me right?”

“Yep,”

“Hmm, maybe we can rejoin the mile high club.” He squeezes her butt.

“Not if you wear that mask and your glasses.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No mask or glasses.”

“Then we’ll see.” She giggles.

He pecks her lips one more time before shes pushing him away.

**

He smiles brightly as he sees her side stage, swaying along to his songs.

“Guys, before I start this one song I just want to dedicate it to someone special.” He starts, smiling out to the crowd. “She’s with me tonight, and it’s our one year anniversary tomorrow.” He grins as the crowd erupts in cheers. “She’s the light of my life, the love of my life, and the one that keeps me grounded. Baby, I love you to infinity and beyond. Happy one year Baby, been the best year of my life. This one’s for you, it’s called Never Be Alone.”

[sophiejoedwards]

Reflections

February-March 2020 

After being given our module brief I wasn’t quite sure where to begin, my first instinct is to make, create, explore and experiment with materials to discover my 3D outcomes and context often corresponds to the work retrospectively, however I had to change this way of thinking, and bring myself out of this comfort zone. I started asking myself questions about artwork in general. What am I interested in? What do I want to know more about? 

One of the best galleries we visited in Lisbon has stuck in my mind. For days of looking in galleries I was repeatedly thinking how within a gallery space it’s sometimes difficult for me to connect to intangible art in this sort of setting, there is a separation between you and the artwork. Installations are different, due to the sensory nature of some installations, I feel like it’s sometimes easier to connect to this sort of art.  I often find interactive and playful art more engaging as it removes this distance between the viewer and the artwork and is easier to connect with due to it often having a multi sensory appeal. One of the best galleries we visited in Lisbon (in my opinion) was Modo De Uso. You are handed a playful ‘handbook’ guide to each artwork where Claire de Santa Coloma has written a suggestion guide to how to approach and respond to the artwork with her drawings used as reference “If you made it this far, thank you. The artist is now responsible for your level of satisfaction”. Rather than being a passive onlooker the artist encourages you to connect to the artwork discovering it’s sensory appeal. As humans we like to look at art because it simultaneously affects our senses, our thoughts, and our emotions and ___’s encouragement to embrace the sensory-tactile element of his artwork certainly heightened the overall experience for me and my friends. I’m also intrigued by the ability of this installation to be able to transmit the same message to diverse groups of people through the tangibility of the work. 

To better understand my personal position my research has begun by asking general straightforward questions like  :  

Why do we appreciate art? Where does this appreciation come from https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/beastly-behavior/201709/why-do-humans-make-art

Is art about beauty? - Connection to the natural world/ connection of a visual stimulus with an inner emotional state - argued that this comes from evolution- and the attraction . 

Appreciation also comes from knowledge and experience that is common between the artist and the audience. Art capitalizes on specific stored memories and associations in the brain of the observer. Further still, the ability to make and use tools, a skill that began in apes and exploded in hominids, requires a great deal of visual and tactile memory. 

Art induces visual recall of past events or emotions - Art capitalizes on specific stored memories and associations in the brain of the observer. Visual memory was important to survival 

Visual representations and expression - memories, life, culture

Art aids in communication and education - evolutionary visual aids - a language of their own 

Some scientists have suggested that art helps us to bond as groups; and that the brain is programmed to notice and enjoy simple patterns PATTERN RECOGNITION. The human brain is constantly looking for familiar patterns, to impose meaning on a complex world. 

Where does this leave contemporary or abstract art? Ability to use visual representations to induce memory recall or visual understanding.

Art invites us to contemplate outside the box, and explore and better understand ideas we weren’t conscious of before? (Salvador Dali) to i.e through depicting bizarre worlds, subconscious states/ unreal and illusory depictions.

: In developing his general theory about how humans decide what they like or dislike, he lines up evidence to show that what people believe about a work of art is crucial to the way they feel about it.  

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2010/jun/20/modern-art-all-in-mind 

The value of art !?  "Traditional art is about what is in the world; more modern works are about the very process of representation," he writes. "An appreciation of much of modern art therefore requires specific expertise. Any dope can marvel at a Rembrandt, but only an elite few can make any sense of a work such as Sherrie Levine's Fountain (After Marcel Duchamp), and so only an elite few are going to enjoy it."

According to Bloom, someone who invests heavily in abstract art and explains that they simply love the shapes and colours is only telling half the story. He believes that the psychological patterns described in "signalling theory" apply to the purchase of modern art. In other words, a rich man or woman tries to distinguish themselves from the pack by spending money on the right thing. "Any schmoe can buy, and appreciate, a pretty painting, while spending millions of dollars on abstract art might display a combination of wealth and discernment," writes Bloom.

I also fully expect that artistic talent would have eventually been transferred from our culture to our genes. After all, during a million or two years of natural selection, artistic ability was likely to confer some advantage on those that had it. This advantage could have come in the form of increased social standing as a leader in the hunt, a prolific teacher of skills, and so on. 

Does appreciation of art- or an artistic eye run in genes ? 

https://www.theguardian.com/science/blog/2013/sep/19/born-creative-study-brain-hemingway

In highly creative individuals this connectivity is thought to be especially widespread in the brain, which may be down to genes that play a role in the development of pathways between different areas. These genes reduce inhibition of emotions and memory, meaning that more information reaches the level of consciousness.

So, are we born creative or not? While factors such as upbringing play a crucial role in your brain's development, the work done by scientists in Scandinavia, Germany and the US has shown that having the right genetic makeup can make your brain more inclined towards creative thinking. The rest of us have to "learn" to be creative.

Context is key - One study showed that people liked paintings less if they thought they were made by a computer rather than a human artist, even when the pictures were actually identical. 

How our brains process visual information is not the only factor to consider.

Scientific studies indicate that we derive more or less pleasure depending on what we know about the subject. This applies to our enjoyment of, for example, food and drink as well as art. - So when we identify and understand a piece of art we connect to it better 

STIMULATING SENSES

https://www.bbc.co.uk/teach/how-do-we-understand-abstract-art/zhkvxyc

think of a project and an idea for the theory and context as opposed to a 3D outcome, my initial urges are to create, make and explore materials and see what comes of this, instead I began by asking myself some questions about the artworks that interest me, specifically the type of artwork. Firstly I wanted to create a series of videos using this little plastic toy children’s pottery wheel to throw functional pots in unusual places, like the underground or on the top of a mountain. I liked the idea of a playful performance piece then began thinking about participatory artwork and how members of the public could take part in this piece.  I also liked the idea of filming in the wilderness, responding to ‘site and place’ by throwing vessels using clay collected from a specific place, filming this vessel being created in this specific place, drawing attention to this direct connectivity between the land and the artwork and the maker.  (in a dream land I also imagined it being wood fired at this location and eating food from this  vessel that was gathered/found/ foraged. To go full cycle.                                                                 

Playful nature of Bruce Mclean 

“Art has become very serious, I think it should be something more enjoyable” 

https://olafureliasson.net/archive/artwork/WEK108821/moon

https://library.bathspa.ac.uk/items/eds/edsglr/edsgcl.499406627?query=participatory+art&resultsUri=items%3Fquery%3Dparticipatory%2Bart%26checkbox%3Deverything%26facet%255B0%255D%3DEdsRecordOptions%253A%2522IsFullText%2522%26target%3Deds&facet%5B0%5D=EdsRecordOptions%3A%22IsFullText%22&target=eds

http://www.moonmoonmoonmoon.com/#sphere

https://www.dawsonera.com/readonline/9781137033642

A group of people to be directly engaged in a creative process 

Inspiration | exchange |unknown outcome

https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/p/participatory-art

https://go.gale.com/ps/i.do?p=STND&u=bsuc&id=GALE%7CA544635325&v=2.1&it=r&sid=ebsco JEREMY DELLER 

http://innovacion-soci.webs.upv.es/index.php/social-cartography

[victoriahyphen]

Graduation Ceremony Retrospective

Now that I’ve officially graduated with my PhD, I thought it would be worth revisiting the highs and lows of all the times I’ve graduated. 

High School (2007)

I attended a small town high school, with a graduating class of 53 students. Probably 40 of us had been together from kindergarten, so it really was the end of an era. It will be 13 years in May, so we’ll be crossing the threshold of being apart longer than we’ve been together, and honestly, lately, high school seems like another life entirely. Yet I am still in touch with my best friends from high school and when we’re together, it’s as if no time has passed at all. 

My senior year of high school felt weirdly transitory. At no point did I feel settled in for another year, instead it felt like I was in a holding pattern until graduation and college. It was also a weird year because of health issues. I did not yet have my endometriosis diagnosis, and I was seeing a neurologist to get to the bottom of my tremor. I made a college decision fairly early in the year and the rest of my time was spent biding my time. 

Graduation itself was interesting. Because it was a small school, there were little quirks and peculiarities. Being in band, my friends and I had attended the previous three graduations. The past three years had been the “41st commencement” because the principal had forgotten to update the program. Fortunately he remembered and we had an accurate program. We were not allowed to throw our caps, and they gave us the diploma folder but held the diploma hostage in case we misbehaved. There was a guy the previous year who had only worn a leopard print thong under his gown, so we had to be checked twice before we walked out to ensure we weren’t engaging in similar antics

Graduation Low Point: During the ceremony, one of my classmates, being clearly hungover and possibly still drunk, got up and jumped off the stage and walked out to use the bathroom, rather than exiting through the wings. He came back the same way. I know this is a tiny thing in the scheme of things, but for my thinking it was the quintessence of being at a rural school and not taking things seriously. Also the graduation speaker was a former college football player who talked about Jesus too much. There was far too much Jesus for public school in general. Also, I’ve mentioned it before, but I hated those white gowns.

Graduation High Point: The valedictorian mentioned the fact that I was a published author in his speech. We’d had an ongoing rivalry, so that was a pretty nice moment. All told, the only other thing going for it was that it was mercifully short.

Those shoes are the most 2007 thing that ever happened.

College Graduation (2011)

I have some big regrets about the last six months of college. I dated this terrible guy who cheated on me with his stalker (long story), and continued to spend time with him, because, well, I’m not one hundred percent sure. He is now married to the stalker, so good riddance to bad rubbish, I guess. I regret this because it gave me less time with my friends, who were genuinely amazing people. (Also, any young people reading this: come out of the closet and date the person you wish you had courage to, not the guy who just happens to be there).

So, as a small, private, liberal arts school, we were able to have a graduation rehearsal, which I’ve learned over the years makes all the differences. In hindsight, there are a lot of things about this ceremony that weirdly came together in ways that just seemed natural at the time. It is the only time I’ve walked across the stage and received an actual diploma, which was nice. 

Graduation Low Point: You’ve already heard about losing feeling in my arm. Beyond that, the ceremony was much longer than it needed to be because the college president not meeting anyone he could give a fifteen minute intro speech for. Also his wife fancied herself a poet, and she wrote a poem with full orchestration and projected video of fireworks. The poem was about manifest destiny, and it presented it like a good thing, which had troubling implications. Overall, the president and first lady were nice people, so I’m remiss to speak too ill of them (the president learned the name and face of every student on campus. Yes, it was a small school, but it wasn’t that small. It took work). All of this to say, the dark side of their charm was that graduation could be A Bit Much. 

Graduation High Point:  There was a lot of thought and care put into this ceremony that very few other ceremonies have captured. Also, my mentor came to the ceremony especially for me (he was on sabbatical and did not have to be there) and gave me a signed copy of a book by one of the philosophers we studied. (My mom had to open it for me because arm)

This was both not the pre-graduation official picture the school took in November or the official graduation picture taken the day of graduation. I am bad at pictures, so a few weeks before graduation, my mom had one of her friends take this so I could have a decent picture, knowing I would mess up the graduation pictures. She wasn’t wrong. Thanks Mom!

Masters Graduation (2013)

Going straight into an MA program from undergrad is a little odd because this graduation felt both worlds apart from the previous one, but also felt like “Didn’t we just do this two years ago?” Also, because it was a big school, we just had to show up in our regalia with out any pre-planning, so it very much felt like it was just kind of happening without much lead up. 

Graduation Low Point: Everyone cares about undergraduate graduation and it gets big speakers. The grad school graduation, in contrast, gets the guy who won the grad faculty award the year before, regardless of whether he was a public speaker or not. I could cut him some slack, but he went really long and he talked in a little too much detail about chemistry for my liking.

Graduation High Point: The Arena where graduation was being held has no floor access from the audience seats, so everyone on the floor was wearing either regalia or a robe as a banner barrier, which was really striking.

I never did manage to figure out how to wear that hat. 

Doctorate Graduation (2019)

The thing they don’t tell you when you graduate with your doctorate is you have more downtime leading up to graduation than ever before due to deadlines around dissertation uploads. Also, with conference travel and other things going on, it snuck up on me.

Graduation Low Point: This one didn’t seem to have as many low points as the others.  There was some weirdness during the doctoral hooding where they mismatched the names, but that was the smallest part.

Graduation High Point: There were many. My advisor and I sat together and could talk while the ceremony was happening. Also the speaker was short and sweet, and the ceremony, even with delays do to traffic, was mercifully short. 

My advisor and I

Hoods!

Family photo!

University processional

My name!

My husband is a fake doctor

Hooding

Mid-ceremony selfie

[welllpthisishappening]

I WOULD LOVE A YOU PLAY BALL LIKE A GIRL SEQUEL OMG THEY HAVE TO GET MARRIED AND KEEP BEING GREAT WRITERS AND I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE SITUATION WITH KILLIAN'S DAD! ANYWAYS YOU'RE GREAT!!!!

PLEASE COME HERE AT ALL TIMES WITH YOUR CAPS LOCK FEELINGS ABOUT YOU PLAY BALL LIKE A GIRL, LOVELY ANON! So, I will be honest with you that I don’t know if I will ever actually write a sequel because the stuff I had written was so GODDAMN ANGSTY that even I was like...you need to stop. That being said, there is a YPBLAG one shot sitting in my docs from that time a few months ago when I was doing kiss prompts. I’ll post that someday. In the meantime though...

Some background, first. Part of the reason I never posted this is because Emma and Killian are going after the same story and Killian, more or less, screws her over. In retrospect, it was absurdly out of character and I was only writing it for the dramz. That’s not my jam. That being said, the dramz is pretty goddamn dramatic and partially because of what happens with Killian and his dad. So, here’s some words that will probably have no bearing on anything else I ever write in this universe, but are definitely angsty. Under the cut because I am who I am, y’know? 

“You know, I think we stunned the entire basketball-writing world when we showed up here together,” Emma laughed.

“If people didn’t know by now, they deserved to be stunned.”“We did try under the radar once.”“It didn’t work out well.”“And you keep encroaching on my beat.”

She said it jokingly, but Killian saw something flash in Emma’s eyes – some kind of emotion that sent a shockwave of worry down his spine.

Fuck.

“I’m just doing my job,” he said softly, hand reaching up, almost instinctively, to play with the ends of her hair.

“I know,” Emma sighed. “And I’m trying not to be a jerk about it.”“You’re not a jerk, Swan. Far from it.”She sighed again and leaned her head to the side – practically pressing her cheek against Killian’s palm and that did something to the knot of worry that seemed to have taken up residence in the pit of his stomach.

“Thanks,” she muttered. “I’ve got to go soon.”He nodded slowly, torn between worry and wanting to kiss her and maybe even apologize a bit for trying to do his job.

He didn’t do any of that.

“Four o’clock flight?” Killian asked, knowing the answer already.

“You’re very good at remembering things.”“Just when it comes to you.”“What a line.”Killian laughed softly and shook his head. “Not a line if I mean it,” he muttered, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulder – professionalism be damned – and turning her towards the conference room door.

He didn’t kiss her until they were back on the sidewalk, slipping his hand around her waist with ease and he felt her smile against his lips.

“I’ve got to go,” she sighed, pulling away slightly. Killian didn’t let go of her arms.

“I know,” he said.

“I’ll let you know when I land.”

“Good.”

She stood up quickly and kissed him again and, this time, Killian smiled against her lips. His phone vibrated again in his pocket – a stark reminder that he had a source Emma didn’t and, probably, information Emma didn’t and a column to write for Sunday’s paper – and Killian did his best to ignore it.

Emma pulled herself out of his grip, kissing him quickly on the cheek before taking a deep breath. “I love you,” she said softly. He barely heard it over the crowd of people around them, but the three words settled into his chest and made it a bit easier to forget about his phone and opposite sides of the New York City newspaper war.

“I love you too,” Killian said, wrapping his hand around Emma’s fingers and squeezing softly. “Make sure you beat Hans to every update.”Emma laughed. “You’re a traitor to your own cause.”“That’s not true. I couldn’t care less about Hans. As far as I’m concerned, my cause is you. He’s totally overwhelmed by you.”“You’re not?”“Of course not,” Killian said quickly, stunned by the very idea. “I’m nothing short of consistently impressed by you.

Emma shook her head slowly, but she was smiling and Killian counted that as a victory. “You are on a charm roll.”“Easy,” he said quickly.

“Ridiculous,” Emma countered, but her hand trailed up the back of his neck and Killian had to stop himself from actually groaning at her in the middle of the sidewalk. She took a deep breath and dropped her hand, staring at him seriously. “Time to go save The New York Record.”

“That seems like a ridiculous amount of pressure to put on yourself.”“It’s not just me, the higher-ups mentioned it too. They need the hits and I can get the hits. And it’s all going to happen.”“I’ve got no doubt. Go, Swan, or you’re going to miss your flight.”Emma nodded again, brushing her lips against his and taking a few steps back. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”She smiled at him again before turning back towards the Subway, leaving him standing on the sidewalk and in his present state of grumbling.

The phone vibrated – again – and Killian groaned, earning a few stares from passersbys, as he reached into his pocket to read the messages.

Emma was right.

They were going to officially announce the Rose trade in Chicago that weekend.

She was going to single-handedly save The New York Record.

And he, suddenly, had a decision to make.

Killian looked back at the phone – numbers practically jumping out at him right there in the middle of the sidewalk – and he heaved another sigh, the dramatics of it all making him squeeze his own eyes shut.

This was ridiculous.

He had a job to do.

He needed to print the numbers.

He couldn’t print the numbers.

He couldn’t do that to Emma. Killian knew, for a fact, that her source was Kristoff and knew, for a fact, that his source in the front office had access to some pretty big numbers – namely the speculated details of Rose’s contract – available to him.

Kristoff didn’t have that.

This was an unqualified disaster.

He at least had to go back to work.

Killian set off up the block, twisting between the crowd with an ease that was all but second nature to him at this point.

He wouldn’t run the numbers.

Probably.

He sighed again, grabbing his ID out of the bag hanging over his shoulder and walking towards the enormous front doors of The Writer office. The sidewalk was still packed – it was only two blocks away from the Garden, after all – but Killian could practically feel the pair of eyes staring at him as soon as he walked across the street.

He glanced around quickly, trying to figure out exactly where it was coming from. It only took a few moments for him to realize – there was a man leaning against the building, arms crossed over his chest and one foot leaning against the stone behind him.

Killian stared at him for a moment – eyes going wide when he realized it was exactly the same way he leaned up against the building whenever he came outside to call Emma or talk to a source.

The knot of anxiety and worry that had eased just a bit when Emma kissed him two blocks away returned in full force as recognition washed over Killian.

His father had found him.

“Killian!” the man yelled, pushing away from the wall as soon as he stepped back onto the sidewalk.

Killian tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen to his lungs. His head was spinning.

Or maybe he was spinning.

No, he was frozen. The four people who ran into his stock-still body on the sidewalk were a testament to that. He blinked again, keeping his eyes closed tightly as the man who claimed to be his father walked towards him. Killian could hear every step and if he wasn’t so preoccupied with not falling over he would have been impressed by his body’s ability to focus in on the finer points of this situation.

For a moment he briefly considered running away.

He’d hung up on the man twice, after all. There was no reason for Brennan Jones to be standing on 32nd Street with any expectation of Killian actually wanting him. Running away wasn’t the worst option.

Killian dismissed that thought almost as quickly as it passed through his mind.

Liam wouldn’t have wanted him to run away.

Emma wouldn’t have wanted him to run away.

“Killian!”

The sound of the man’s voice brought Killian up short and he snapped open his eyes, staring at the person in front of him.

He looked so much like Liam – too much like Liam.

He’d been right too. Now that Brennan Jones was standing in front of him, Killian did recognize his voice, memories of a birthday party nearly thirty years ago and cake and presents and a family full of people in that stupid, tiny apartment on 87th Street.

Deep breaths. He needed to take a deep breath.

Brennan Jones wasn’t his father – not really. And Liam was gone. He had a family again. He had – what was it Emma had told Henry after his story was published? He had people now.

And Emma.

That was enough.

Brennan stared at him, nervous smile inching across his face and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest again.

“Hi,” he said, and Killian couldn’t help the laugh that seemed to just fall out of his mouth. He sounded a little bit insane.

“Thirty years later and the best you can do is ‘hi?’” he asked. “That’s kind of a letdown if I’m being honest.”“You have every right to be mad.”“I do.”Killian didn’t say anything else and that seemed to catch Brennan off-guard – he refused to think of him as his father, even in his mind – and the man took a step back, running directly into a tourist taking a picture of the Empire State Building.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Brennan said after apologizing to the slightly stunned tourist.

“About?”

Brennan sighed – he seemed to take Killian’s questions as some sort of moral victory – and tried to smile at him. “Anything you want. Everything. I want to know everything about you.”“Seems a little late for that. You kind of had a whole childhood of that, but you weren’t very interested.”“I was,” Brennan argued, voice rising quickly. God, he sounded like Liam. If Killian closed his eyes, he was certain he’d be able to imagine he was sixteen and trying to get out of doing homework so he could get another round in at the cages on the Piers.

Liam never let that happen.

“I was always interested,” Brennan continued. “There were just other circumstances.”“Seems like a very convenient excuse to walk out on your wife and kids.”“I didn’t walk out.”“Please. Spare me the sob story. You walked out. And you stayed away for years. God, Mom and Liam died and you didn’t come back.”“I wanted to. Really. Especially for Liam. I just didn’t want to make anything difficult for you. I knew you were alone and it didn’t seem fair to just come barreling back into your life at that point.”“Convenient excuse.”“It’s an honest excuse. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the only excuse I’ve got.”

Killian shook his head, biting back a handful of venom-filled retorts and the ever-growing desire to punch this man directly in the jaw. Or maybe shake him. Or maybe punch him and then shake him.

Hard.

Brennan moved his hand and Killian noticed a flash of something in front of him, sunlight reflecting off the band on his finger.

He was married.

He’d left them – couldn’t bring himself to show up at his mom’s funeral or even acknowledge that Liam had died – and then went off and found a brand-new family.

“You’re married?” Killian asked, eyes practically boring a hole into the man’s hand.

Brennan nodded slowly, shoulders sagging a bit. “I am,” he said. “Or I was.”“Was?”“She passed away about six months ago. It all happened very quickly. And I’d promised her. I’d promised that I’d try and find you and make this right. So, well, here I am.”Killian stared at him for a second, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. And, even if he was, Killian wasn’t entirely certain he cared.

“Well,” he said slowly, pushing his hands in his jacket pocket. It was freezing out. The first few weeks of December weren’t exactly the ideal time to be having heart-to-hearts with recently-returned fathers on sidewalks in Manhattan. “You’ve kept your promise. Or something. You don’t have to try and pretend to be interested.”

Brennan’s eyebrows lowered quickly and he sighed again. “Killian,” he said pointedly, taking a step towards him. Killian took a step back. “I’ve always wanted to know. I’ve always wondered. But I was too much of a coward to ever try and do anything about it. Especially after Liam died, I knew what you must think of me. You must hate me. But then Mary she, well, she made me promise. That I’d find you. And fix this.”“There’s not anything to fix,” Killian mumbled.“There’s a lifetime to fix.”

Killian pulled his lip between his teeth, tugging on it in silent thought and doing his best not to visibly shiver in the middle of the sidewalk.

He wasn’t actually that cold. He was mostly just overwhelmed.

“What exactly do you want to know?” Killian asked, staring at his feet as the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“What happened to your hand?”

Killian’s head snapped up and Brennan seemed to know, immediately, that he had said the wrong thing. He glanced warily between the hand and back up to Killian’s face, eyes widening in silent question.

Well, that was the answer Killian had been waiting for – Brennan hadn’t been following him. He really hadn’t cared.

If he had, he’d known not to ask about his hand.

“Did I ask the wrong thing?” Brennan asked, and Killian knew he was doing his best to keep his voice light. He nodded slowly and Brennan made some sort of noise that sounded like a mix between a groan and another sigh.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked.

Killian pressed his lips together tightly and considered the question. He didn’t want to. Not really. He’d hung up on the man and ignored his calls enough times to prove just how much he didn’t want to.

But he was so goddamn curious.

“I’ve got fifteen minutes tops,” Killian said. “And then I’ve got to get back to work.”Brennan grinned at him – the first time he’d really dropped his hands and uncrossed his arms – and nodded at Killian. “That’s all I ask.”They walked a few feet up the block to the closest Starbucks and found two seats near the window after ordering their drinks.

“At the risk of you throwing that coffee in my face,” Brennan said after several minutes of prolonged silence, “can I get an answer about the hand?”“Jeez, you really don’t know when to quit do you?”

“Do you?” Brennan shot back and Killian shook his head. “I figured as much.”Killian took a deep breath and tried to figure out exactly how to talk about the one thing he tried never to talk about. “I got hurt in a car accident,” Killian said.

That was good. Keep it simple. Don’t mention baseball. Don’t talk about getting drafted. Brennan obviously didn’t know – there was no point in offering up information that he didn’t need.

“When?” Brennan asked and the concern in his voice made Killian feel like he was actually six years old again.

“I was twenty-five.”“Seems like an awful lot of still visible scars for something that happened nearly a decade ago.”

Killian took a very long drink of coffee before he answered. And then he didn’t really even answer, just hummed in agreement.

Brennan, however, didn’t stop.

“What happened to your hand, Killian?”“I just told you, I was in a car accident.”“And how bad was it?”“Bad.”“That’s all the information I’m going to get?”“I’m not sure you deserve much more,” Killian bit back.

Brennan sighed, propping his elbow up on the counter in front of them and leaning his hand against his flat palm. “That’s probably true,” he admitted softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”“There’s not much more to tell. I got in a car accident, fucked up my hand and it changed my entire life.”“How?”“You really don’t know anything about me do you?” Killian asked and Brennan just shook his head. “How did you find me, exactly?” he continued. “All this stuff is on the internet.”“You were in a car accident when you were twenty-five and it’s on the internet?”He didn’t know about baseball.

Everyone knew about baseball.

Except Brennan Jones – who probably didn’t care enough to know about baseball.

“How did you find me?” Killian repeated, ignoring the question completely.

“My wife. She worked for a private investigator upstate when we first met years ago. I told you, I always wanted to come back, but then Liam died and I got scared to even think about coming back. When Mary got sick, she called in a couple of favors from work and they found you. Once she was gone, I knew I had to talk to you.”

“How long were you married?” Killian pressed.

“Fifteen years.”“So you didn’t meet her right after you left.”Brennan shook his head. “I was in a bad place then. A very bad place. And your mother knew that. Told me to get straight or get out. I got out. Did a couple of stints in rehab, criss-crossed the country trying to find a job for the better part of a decade and then I landed upstate in some tiny, little town that no one had ever heard of. That’s where I met Mary. She was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“That so?” Killian asked, voice low as he stared at the cup in front of him.

“Aside from you and Liam of course.”

“Stop talking about Liam.”

“He kept custody after your mom died?”“You must have had a really shitty private investigator,” Killian said. “This is all pretty basic stuff.”

“I was mostly just interested in finding you. Figured I’d get the rest of the information myself.”“You were that confident I’d talk to you?”Brennan shook his head. “Not at all. But I had some hope and Mary believed in you.”

“Seems impressive for someone I’ve never met.”“Are you always this disbelieving in people?”Killian tilted his head, sarcastic smile inching along his face and he ran his hand through his hair quickly. “Not anymore,” he said honestly. “At least not as much as I was before.”

Brennan stared at him for a beat, taking another drink of coffee and nodding in – what appeared to be – understanding.  “I know that look,” he said. “It’s a girl isn’t it?”

“How romantic.”“I’m serious.”“I know you are,” Killian sighed. “I’m not disagreeing with you.”“What’s her name?” Brennan asked. Killian assumed the smile on his face was supposed to be encouraging – maybe even fatherly – but it just made him uncomfortable. Liam was better at these kinds of things.

“Killian?” Brennan continued. “Your girl. She got a name?”He bit back the immediate response of she’s not my girl and rolled his eyes, staring at Brennan’s still-present smile. “Emma,” Killian said quickly. “Her name is Emma.”

“It’s a good name.”“I tend to think so.”“So she changed that approach then? Your disbelief in people and all of that?”Killian considered his answer for a moment, intent on brushing off Brennan quickly, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to lie. “She has,” he said softly.

“That’s good.” Killian nodded again. “What does she do? She in New York?”

“She’s a reporter. And not right now, she’s covering the Knicks in Chicago this weekend.”

“She’s a sports reporter?”“And a damn good one.”

“You care about this girl a lot.” It wasn’t a question. Killian scoffed and Brennan widened his eyes. “What?” he asked.

“I love her,” Killian said simply.

“That’s even better,” Brennan answered, smile plastered on his face. “You going to marry her?”Killian almost choked on his coffee. “What?”“Seems like the easiest question I’ve asked so far.”

He considered the question for a moment – he knew his answer. Of course. Of course he wanted to marry her.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her – as long as he didn’t fuck it all up with this column – but Killian knew Emma. He knew she didn’t like the future or the possibility of disappointment and he’d be willing to do anything to prove that he wouldn’t let her down.

But then she’d talked about a wedding in the summer and the water and something small and he hadn’t quite been able to get that picture out of his head for over a month now.

“Maybe,” Killian said finally.

“Maybe?”

“Yeah.”Brennan didn’t say anything else – but Killian got the distinct impression that he had plenty to say on the subject – and turned slightly in his chair when his phone rang. He shot Killian an apologetic look and pulled the phone out of his pocket.

“Hey, son,” he said softly, and Killian almost fell off the fucking chair.

Son.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back at the apartment in a little while. Just start your homework and I’ll double check it later on tonight. I know it’s at seven. We’ll watch as long as your homework is done. I’ll see you soon.”He hung up the phone and glanced nervously at Killian again. “Sorry about that,” he said, putting the phone back in his pocket.

“You have a kid?” Killian asked.

Brennan nodded. “A son. He’s thirteen. Hates math homework, but loves the Yankees. Some documentary thing on TV tonight, apparently.”Killian nodded slowly, trying to to process what exactly he was hearing. His kid loved baseball. It seemed almost ironic.

And incredibly unfair.

He’d jumped face-first back into selfish bastard. Maybe Emma would pick up her phone. If he talked to her before he went back in the office, maybe everything would be ok. Killian’s hand was wrapped around his phone when Brennan’s started ringing again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, swiping his thumb across the screen again and lifting it back up to his phone. “What’s the matter, Liam?” he asked.

Killian didn’t fall off the stool – he leapt off, nearly knocking his coffee over in the process.

He was breathing hard – like he’d just run a marathon – staring at Brennan as he told his son, Liam, that he could heat up some of the leftovers in the fridge.

The phone call ended in just a few seconds and Killian hadn’t moved an inch since jumping up. Brennan took a deep breath before he turned around, meeting Killian’s eyes with an apology practically written on his face.

He opened his mouth – no doubt to make some sort of half-cocked apology – but Killian beat him to it. “Get out,” he whispered, right hand ghosting over his left out of instinct.

“Killian…”“Get. Out.”

“Let me explain first.”“Were we that expendable to you?” Killian asked. “Walk out on your family, meet another woman and just, what? Start over? You named him Liam?”“It wasn’t starting over. It was honoring him. I wanted a second chance and I’ve got that. I’ve been a pretty good father to Liam.”Killian’s ears were ringing.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to focus on something to keep him grounded – Emma. He thought of Emma. And a wedding by the beach and a white dress and a ring on his left hand that might actually outshine the scars there.

The ringing stopped.

“I’ve got to go back to work,” Killian said.

“Can I see you again? Maybe before Christmas?”“No.”“After Christmas?”“No.”

Killian reached forward to grab his now-cold coffee and walked out the door before he could do something stupid like trust Brennan Jones again – even for just a few moments.

He walked onto the sports floor of The Writer a few minutes later, immediately attacked by August with Hans only a few steps behind. “Where you been?” August asked. “We’ve got to talk about this Rose thing.”“I had a thing,” Killian said evasively.

“A thing.”

“That I had to take care of. But I’m here now.”“Did you get a text from the Knicks front office?”Killian nodded. “Yuh huh.”“And?”“And what, exactly?”“You going to run those numbers?”“We need to run those numbers,” Hans cut in. “We’re the only ones who will have them.”“Shouldn’t you be on a plane to Chicago?” Killian asked, doing his best not to glare at the reporter in front of him.

“I leave in ten minutes. I wanted to make sure you’d run the numbers.”“I don’t see how it fits into my column,” Killian said.

August sighed loudly. “Of course it fits into your column. It’s about the impact of the Rose trade. You need those numbers.”He was right of course.

If Killian was still an editor, he’d say the same thing.

“Killian?” August prompted, staring at him pointedly. Hans glared at him.

“We run the numbers,” he said. “You’ll have the column in twenty minutes. Tops.”“Good.”

Killian pushed by both men, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he sank into his desk chair and hoped, with every single fiber of his being, that Emma would forgive him.