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koalatydm · 3 years ago

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Hot Brown Morning Potion Podcast Episode 5 - The Deluxe Elf Interview with Devon Giehl and Iain Hendry

Transcription Part 1 of 2 (includes Wonderstorm questions and Kuno's questions)

[Transcriber's Notes: This took me SO LONG to transcribe, like multiple hours and I'm only halfway done... But I will make it through at least this one episode because I want fellow Moonfam enthusiasts to have a text source, not to mention make it easier for deaf/HoH people to follow along. I guess I'll tag @kuno-chan since she said it was OK at the beginning of the podcast, sorry if I'm bothering you!]

KUNO: Hi guys, so I have a personal request for this particular podcast episode if you guys could tweet, post, both at least one piece of information that you learned from this particular episode, that you love, that inspired you, that you thought was cute, whatever. Like, I really—one thing that really tends to happen is that people listen to the podcast and they kinda just go about their day. We don’t actually see the information circulate through the community, which we really try to have creative questions—questions that are fun and explore the characters in different situations. And it would just be really, really cool—it would mean a lot to me to see this actually circulate through the community, actually circulate through the fandom, and see, you know, it would be awesome to see it be inspired—to inspire fan works, fan fiction, fan art, especially fan art. I just—we talked like a solid hour at least—really like a solid hour about Runaan, Rayla, Ethari, that family, um, and Moonshadow elves a lot. We talked a lot about that. And I think this is information that a lot of people really wanted, even if it’s in largely headcanon form. But Devon and Iain were so gracious and we talked so much about that family, and including Ruthari, and of course some Rayllum in there. So if you guys could live tweet, or even just one tweet, at least one tweet. Tag us, tag me, tag Hailey, tag @HotPotion, even if you send it directly to me on Tumblr, that’d be awesome and we’d retweet, reblog all your stuff. It would be good for the podcast and I just really want to see this information circulate through the fandom, so at least one tweet. Alright, um, let’s get to the episode though. Thanks! Hope to see you guys on social media about this.

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KUNO: Alright, hey everyone, this is the Hot Brown Morning Potion Podcasts with your hosts Tamika and Hailey, and we are here with Devon Giehl and Iain Hendry, two writers on The Dragon Prince at Wonderstorm, and Devon being actually the recently announced lead writer at Wonderstorm, so say hi everyone!

DEVON: Hi!

IAIN: Hi, this is Iain…

DEVON: Hi, I’m Devon… (laughs)

KUNO: And so we have a ton of stuff to get through today, um, a lot of questions, so—but we’re going to ask Iain and Devon a little bit about themselves first, since I think—I’m not sure if this is the first interview they’ve really had, personally, so uh, Hailey do you want to start—head that?

HAILEY: Um, yeah, sure. Uh, could you tell us about your roles at Wonderstorm?

IAIN: Uh, sure, uh—I’m also a writer at—official title “Senior Writer” at Wonderstorm. I was one of the writing team on the show, not quite as early as Devon, who was basically employee 1 after the founders but um, I joined sort of, end of 2016 when season 1 writing was really starting to get rolling, and was you know part of the process all the way through all the seasons. Uh, and since this—it’s such a small start up company, all the writers take a bunch of other, like, production roles on the show. Like, throughout all three seasons we’ve done, like, continuity notes work, we’ve given feedback on like every step of the production process. And then the other kind of side things we have, like you know, very top secret game that we’re making in here. And like, kind of straddle the line between the show writing and the game so that that’s all kind of on point and feels like it’s in the same universe with the same characters as The Dragon Prince, but ah, can’t say too much about that just yet.

DEVON: Iain does a lot of—a lot of secret work (laughs). Um, yeah as for me, I’m also a writer on The Dragon Prince and my—I was a Senior Writer until very recently, and now I’ve been made into a Lead Writer, which means I just get to flex a lot. Um, but I started in, I think the very, very end of 2015 when Wonderstorm was first getting off the ground as like a tiny, tiny startup. And we were basically four people in a room about, I don’t know, like 20 ft by 10 ft. It was really, really awful—

IAIN: Really smelly.

DEVON: Really smelly, really tiny, like only a skylight for a window, it was great. And I—so I was involved in like the earliest of brainstorming for the show. I helped sort of like put together a lot of the pitch deck when we you know took it around to studios and like, I named like most of the characters—is like my most self-indulgent claim on the show cause I got to do a lot of really silly stuff. Um, but yeah, and then I like help out on a million other fronts at Wonderstorm too because we’re a small company and—yeah, the funny thing about the—the small tasks we have, like you mentioned continuity checks. Um, we often had to make sure that Callum’s backpack and book and Rayla’s bindings were always correct, and that was kind of, the funniest and most intense, like, stage of production ever. Cause you would, you know, watch one shot and then the next shot would come up and Callum’s backpack would have disappeared. So we had to be like, “OK, let’s give Callum backpack back on.”

IAIN: Yeah, and it’s not just for accuracy, but like, the way fandoms operate, like, we just knew if Rayla’s binding reappeared sometime, it wouldn’t be viewed as an error. People would be like “WHAT DID THE KING GET UNKILLED WHAT HAPPENED OVER HERE”.

DEVON: No it was just the—

KUNO: Oh, yeah.

IAIN: Woo!

DEVON: —continuity’s way harder than anyone thinks it is (laughs). It’s a lot.

KUNO: Oh bless you guys for knowing that though cause we—we totally would. Like, think, there was a point I remember saying that they changed Viren’s eye color because they didn’t want too much continuity with Rayla’s eye color and I feel like we were really that close to having a ‘Viren is Rayla’s real father’ issue. We really were. Somebody had to have thought about that issue (laughs).

DEVON: I actually think there is—there’s still at least one shot in the show where Viren has the wrong eye color and if you can find it, congratulations (laughter in background). That’s where we missed—missed it. So it’s in there somewhere.

KUNO: Xadia CSI (IAIN laughs). So you two are married, um, can you tell us what it’s like being married writing partners?

IAIN: You wanna go?

DEVON: Um, yeah, I mean it’s—we actually knew each other professionally before we dated, so it wasn’t like we—it’s sort of like, it was easy for us to—to remain work partners because that was how we existed in the first place. Like I met Iain when I interviewed him for a job and I—he was great (IAIN laughs), he was fun, he was all right.

IAIN: Apparently I passed.

DEVON: But um, so yeah we had a professional relationship before we had a dating—‘dating’ relationship. Um, so it’s strange because a lot of people will say like, “Oh, that’s probably terrible. You probably, like, become absolutely sick of each other” but somehow we’ve managed to—to have like, two relationship patterns where when we’re at work and we’re working on writing stuff we have this very professional thing going on and then at home, we’re just married idiots and we have a lot of fun. So like, I don’t know, I’m never tired of you, personally.

IAIN: No, (DEVON laughs) yeah I mean when we’re writing it’s generally like, Devon’s the one on the keys uh, you know, putting the words in and so on, and it will kind of bounce back and forth between like, I’ll have the idea for the—how the scene should flow and I’ll kinda narrate bits and then we’ll go back and smooth things over. But I mean, I could imagine that with some people it would get tense, but I think Devon and I, we’re just absolutely the most comfortable with each other and neither of us takes it personally when it’s like, “that line that you pitched isn’t working” or “this joke could be funnier”, anything like that.

DEVON: It’s usually Iain who’s—cause I usually type cause I type really too fast.

IAIN: She’s really too proud of her typing (laughs).

DEVON: I type super fast, it’s my only real talent, but—like I’ll just sort of go off on some sort of like incredibly unnecessary, long description of something and Iain will sort of let me get about like four or five lines into this unnecessary nonsense and he’ll just sort start going like, “OK so like, do we really—do we need that? I mean, you know, could we sort of parse this down a little, a little less, a little less”. And then I, just like, “Ugh, fine” (laughs).

IAIN: But um, every word she writes is great.

DEVON: Mmm (skeptically)

IAIN: It’s perfect.

DEVON: Completely not true. Also in our scripts I think like—

KUNO: Aw.

DEVON: —in terms of the way that we work professionally, I think like a lot of my strengths are in—in really almost self indulgent levels of drama and he can kind of pull me back from being too indulgent on those fronts. And then I think that Iain is objectively absurdly funny and so when you kind of look at our episodes usually everything that’s pretty funny and lighthearted and like the sense of levity often comes from you and then if there’s anything that just feels really painfully sad it’s probably me?

IAIN: I’m the funny one.

DEVON: (laughs) It’s true.

KUNO: Aw, I feel such a connection to you Devon, because I’m actually, episode 3 was actually one of my favorite ones because I love all that like domestic stuff. I love just kind of like—oh, I don’t know what you call the trope, like a safe house trope where you go somewhere, you’re still kind of in the adventure but we’re in a space right now, a narrative space where people are safe, if that makes any sense. Like you—if you’ve ever seen How To Train Your Dragon, like (T/N I don’t know what was said here, sorry!), the base is the safe place, that kind of thing. So, I totally get that, I actually see—episode 3 was one of my favorites outside of pretty much every episode where Rayllum was a thing. (laughter from multiple people)

HAILEY: The whole season basically (laughs).

KUNO: Pretty much the whole season, um. I think there was one more question about two.

HAILEY: Yeah sooo.

KUNO: Before we get to the elves.

HAILEY: Yeah, definitely. Uh so it was mentioned that you’re now lead writer, Devon, and can you tell a little bit more about what that entails if you can, and how that’s been going?

DEVON: Yeah, I mean… I actually don’t know what I can say about it, um… I think it—it means that uh, for future Dragon Prince stuff I’ll sort of like take a bit more of an active role in leading the—the development and the storylines and things like that. It also means that from a company perspective um I’ve been kind of involved in some other side stuff that Wonderstorm is quietly looking into developing and um I help a lot with other IPs that we would love to make a real thing someday and that’s kind of all I can say about it I think or I’ll get in trouble.

HAILEY: All right, that’s great, that’s good to know, thank you.

KUNO: The Dragon Prince 2 (laughter from multiple people). I’m totally joking everyone that’s not a thing so don’t take that for—

HAILEY: Wow.

KUNO: I’m joking.

IAIN: Two dragons.

DEVON: The Dragon 2 Prince.

KUNO: Yeah. OK also if there’s anything that you guys say that you want redacted this is probably not going up for another week because I have to get our reaction episode out. So anything you guys think about that you’re like, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that” just message us and we’ll redact that. Yeah, cause we know that—

HAILEY: Or just say it. Just tell us, like, what’s—

DEVON: Hopefully we have some self-control but—

KUNO: Okay, so we are going to get really indulgent here and I think this is going to be really in Devon’s wheelhouse. We have a lot of questions and a bunch of the scenarios so try to get through as much of it as possible. Um so the first question is can you tell us more about the Silvergrove? What is the government system like in Silvergrove? Who runs it? If you could tell us that is that the only—at least like the leadership role? Um, is that the only Moonshadow elf village? And also do they actually get any real daylight because I noticed when the illusion thing happened it just got shady and I’m like, “They might be taking this Moonshadow thing too far”. Like the elves—do they really like that much? So like tell us about the Silvergrove and where Rayla grew up.

IAIN: So I guess it’s probably worth just starting off with a kind of blanket like, ‘if it hasn’t been in the show, we can’t say it’s 100% fact. A lot of this is just gonna be what kind of we thought, rough shape of things happen in our heads—‘

KUNO: Yeah, absolutely.

IAIN: —going into the writing and so on. So you know, don’t come after me with any, uh, fandom lawyers, anyone. But um yeah, I guess like it’s sort of—it’s most useful for us to think about it in comparison to how the Sunfire elves, like clearly they have very structured society. They have a queen, obviously, and they have large cities and so on whereas we think Moonshadow elves live in, as you saw, much smaller communities. And I think the Silvergrove is not the only one of those, it might be one of the better known ones where clearly the best assassins come from. But uh, I think are other ones out there, um, and maybe even Moonshadow elf people do not know where all the other ones are. Obviously the Silvergrove is hidden and maybe they don’t even have access to all the other ones. So I think there’s a sort of community run vibe to things. I think you know when they decided to—to ghost Rayla, and before that Rayla’s parents, I think that was probably a ‘let’s all come to a consensus before we make a decision about something like this’. I think, Devon, if you want to talk about the kind of like sunlight vibes things, because that was a big part of your driving force behind how this episode looked and felt.

DEVON: Um… well… first, I will say that it was potentially from the top down a complicated visual decision to have episode 3 take place in a Moonshadow elf shady forest grove and also the kingdom of sunlight.

IAIN: Yup.

DEVON: It created a couple production problems in terms of like the way we wanted the Silvergrove to look was very like evening themed and cool colors and you know shaded. And I had this really sort of self indulgent thing where I really wanted it to be as close to night time as possible and yet the story line in Lux Aurea was clearly taking place in the middle of the day. So we came to this sort of compromise that you know it is technically daytime through the whole day and there is enough tree cover that it’s already pretty shadowy but also I think there is some magic at play that’s sort of like generally um shrouds the whole thing in more of like a night time vibe. And my inspiration for that was I’m a big World of Warcraft player, or was I don’t super play a ton anymore but I really loved Ashenvale and some of the night elf regions and they had that similar thing that no matter what time of day it was it always felt like at least dusk or like this sort of like ever—ever shaded feeling. And I indulgently kind of wanted that to be where Rayla came from. So that’s what that’s about.

IAIN: Yeah and I think they’re magical beings. They don’t need vitamin D from the sunlight or anything like that. They’re totally fine if they just get moonlight every so often.

DEVON: But yeah, don’t write a script that has, you know, moon themed place and sun themed place at the same time. It was a… questionable choice (laughs). But I think it turned out—

KUNO: Yeah, ‘cause I was wondering—I was wondering—I was like “Okay” because a lot of the stuff you run through—you run the okay, if I were to write a fanfiction how do I use this. So it’s like, do they just never like—if they like—if Callum were to say live in the Silvergrove would he just have to get used to the fact that like it’s just never totally bright daylight or unless you leave the Silvergrove in the forest, uh, and like—that type of—is that what’s kind of like going on, they just like their shade?

DEVON: I think they like their shade. It’s like Scotland in the winter.

IAIN: Oh yeah, except we all get miserable by around about February when we haven’t seen sunlight in several months. But um yeah, I think it’s kind of like yeah, a combination of ‘oooh, magic’ and also just extremely, like, thick tree cover in the deepest parts of the forest. But I don’t think you have to travel too far. But uh, I think there’s a reason why everyone in that town was a Moonshadow elf and there were no Sunfire elves or random humans just like, chilling and living there. I think only the most goth of kids would be able to live in the Silvergrove without going a little bit mad.

DEVON: I mean you only have to go as far as the adoraburr field which clearly still gets a significant amount of daylight.

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: And you said there’s not really like a leader. They do as a community, but is there anyone that like makes decisions, like is there anybody that like if they were to go to somebody, like if they have like village leadership decisions. And obviously, um, blanket statement that all this we assume is kind a little bit of headcanon so it doesn’t have to be like for gospel, but you know for purposes of writing stuff.

DEVON: Um the way I thought about it—well, to back up a tiny bit, there was actually a version of the story where there might have—this was super, super early on, we were thinking about how the story might play out and we talked about there being potentially another Moonshadow elf leader type character that they would meet who, you know, was the one who ultimately called for the Ghosting decision. But that didn’t really fit the sort of, like, very personal nature of the story we wanted to play out with Rayla specifically. Um but thinking about that and the way that we were, you know, trying to shape it—I would imagine that like the assassins are sort of like a specific group that live in the Silvergrove which is otherwise—it’s not all assassins, like, not everybody there is an assassin. And I think that means that like you know Runaan was the leader of the assassins so he might consult with the leader of the blacksmiths who may be someone over Ethari but maybe it’s him now who might consult with the other general leaders—I don’t know. Like I think it’s more of a counsel of different groups than one single authority. It just seems like that would be a better fit for Moonshadow elves than the sort of like very, very strong-army, structured, high-and-mighty feeling that the Sunfire elves have, so, does that make sense?

KUNO: That totally makes sense, a little bit like an oligarchy, I think I had the idea that like they sound like they like a counsel. Like it sounds like a elven conciliatory.

DEVON: Yeah I think like someone might say, like obviously something horrible has happened and Rayla is exactly the person we thought she was. I’m calling for a—a ghost vote. And then you know—

IAIN: With a cooler name than that.

DEVON: No I think it’s canonically, I’m sorry—

IAIN: Ghost vote?

DEVON: The canon is “ghost vote” now.

IAIN: Okay.

DEVON: But yeah, they would all sort of like weight in kind of like a town hall scenario about of like why this is obviously the correct call and they would all sort of like have to come to some sort of agreement about what to do versus the Sunfire queen just being like “mph, time for the light, light decides!”

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: Okay um the next question being almost a little on that, does Ethari regret, um, what does he—does Ethari regret doing the banishing spell now that he knows the truth about Rayla?

DEVON: Oh absolutely 100%. But I don’t think he would have the power to—to reverse it. Like I think he could do a quick charm to help reverse it in the moment just to speak with her but ultimately it would take a lot for him to undo it and I’m not—we haven’t talked about what he’ll get up to in the meantime, but I don’t know he would be able to pursue it so directly—I’d have to talk about it, I think it would be an interesting side thought to think about how he might pursue redeeming her in the eyes of her people knowing what he knows, but—

IAIN: Yeah I think given that we said it would take everyone to do it collectively and make an agreed decision it would similarly everyone would have to understand the truth and go back on it and ‘oh I saw her one time and she said she didn’t do anything wrong probably isn’t enough to overturn that. But yeah I think he probably felt some regret even at the moment, but you know he’s in some of the worst grief of his entire life and he’s not going to make perfect rational decisions. And I’ve seen you know some people were slightly upset that he got so angry with Rayla in the moment of seeing her but I think like when you first see the person that you’ve tried to convince yourself sort of took the most important person in your life away from you, you’re gonna feel a big mess of feelings and it will bring up some grief that maybe you thought you were just—just starting to get over, so ah. Yeah I think hopefully he can turn that around in the years to come but they’ve all had a rough time. They’re at war. It sucks (DEVON laughs). Don’t go to war, kids.

KUNO: Hailey did you want to ask the next one or did you want me to?

HAILEY: Sure I can ask it. Could you—so I mean—you mentioned a stuff—a couple things about their government system and whatnot, but is there anything else you could tell us about Moonshadow culture, like what their day to day is like, and what it means to be a Moonshadow elf?

DEVON: Um I do think that a lot of the fandom I’ve been pleased to see has picked up on this sort of idea of a fairly rigid culture and you know there’s a lot of importance placed on things like honor, loyalty, and the ability to commit to things. And um I think that could come off as pretty strict but I actually think it comes from the place of valuing a close knit community. And I think, like, to the idea that we said like they probably have some kind of counsel instead of some single authority kind of ruler. It’s—I think their day to day would be very much going about their business in ways that support each other you know? Like does that make sense? It’s—you go to the blacksmith and he does work for you and it’s friendly and conversational but it’s productive—it’s all very for the good of the community.

IAIN: Yeah I think early on in season 1 even Rayla says that you know they’re not really meant to show their feelings. So I think everyone kind of commits to doing their task for the good of the village and doesn’t gripe about their day to day until something bad happens as the entire series to this point has been driven by. But um yeah I think they uh—they’re just committed to having a good, small, close knit village life and all supporting each other the best they can. And then occasionally the dragon queen tells you to go kill someone and that’s your job so you better go do that without complaining about it.

DEVON: I think we use the words “reclusive yet intimate” in the article we put up about the two moon creatures, the moonstrider and the shadowpaw. And I liked that a lot because I think they’re reclusive in the sense that they’re a little bit shut off from the wider world and they’re um isolationist in their preservation of their own culture but they are very close to each other and that is something that they hold at such an—like a preciousness level but it’s also a bit extreme, like if you betray that in any capacity like obviously they take that very seriously. And so it’s a double edged sword if you will, to have a community that supportive and that close but also your ability to perform all of yourself for the good of that community can be your undoing so—

KUNO: No I actually kinda get that um ‘cause I’m Pacific Islander so I think we’d call that what you’d call a collectivist society where it’s like the needs of the group supercede needs of the individual so I kinda like I—it’s not the extreme I think that they are because they’re very like reclusive but um I kinda live like that in a little bit of way. It’s what I grew up with. So I actually totally get that which might be why I like that so much (multiple people laugh). Um so the next question would be how does the banishing spell work that, um, that was used on Rayla politically and magically? I think we’ve talked a little bit about politically already but magically is—I’m assuming it’s a collective decision or does each person, like, opt in? Like could Ethari have opted out of doing it or did we—did they all have to agree?

DEVON: I think everybody have to agree?

KUNO: And how is it broken?

DEVON: I don’t think you can opt out?

IAIN: Um I think ‘how is it broken’ is something we definitely want to save for—for the future uh we really hope that Rayla manages to undo that. In terms of I think that it’s just culturally ingrained that you wouldn’t opt out. Um I think they would probably just argue forever until they manage to come to an agreement. So I—yeah I don’t think there’s you know half the elves in that village who are seeing Rayla and were like “Oh hey Rayla how’s it going?” I think uh they all came to the collective decision. That’s kind of the political angle. Um sorry, what was the other part? Magically how it works?

KUNO: Yeah? How would you do it?

IAIN: I—again, you know if it’s not in the show it’s not canon, but I sort of inspired by how the entrance spell works where they do a dance and there’s a ritual and I imagine it’s kind of similar. Like I think there’s a lot of that kind of like ritualistic style of magic and it’s kind of like what you see when they put the flowers out onto the water as well. There’s you know a collective dance probably involving a lot more people, a lot more cool intricate runes that happen only with a much more somber mood than the fun, happy times of Callum and Rayla dancing around in the forest. Um so yeah it’s probably—I would imagine it’s probably tied to some whatever the saddest phase of the moon is and that’s when they all get together and really somberly and really sadly uh commit to never seeing this person again. At least that’s the part of the plan. An interesting question that I think could be something that fanfiction writers such as yourself could get into is has any one of these ever been broken before or have they all been pretty sure that they would never need to go back on it? Is that going to be something that Rayla is going to figure out for the first time ever or is there a precedent for this happening. And we don’t have an answer right now but I think that would be a cool story to think about and write.

DEVON: Oh man I love the saddest phase of the moon idea. Imagine if they do it at the new moon because it’s like the moon’s face is hidden forever. Whoo.

IAIN: Whoo.

DEVON: Sad.

KUNO: Maybe we’re birthing things while we’re doing this interview. I actually think it would be like Callum does the Historia Viventum thing and it would be so—cause now I’m just imagining this whole village doing this sad dance which is the Banish Rayla dance essentially. And like that would be so sad for Rayla to witness that just for the drama of seeing her entire village decide to just not see her ever again. And that’s like wow, I’m so sad now.

DEVON: I love sadness.

IAIN: Yeah Callum just crushing a series of Moon Opals to show such a clip show of all of Rayla’s saddest history moments (laughs).

DEVON: Oh god.

IAIN: That’d be great.

DEVON: Thanks Callum.

KUNO: Thanks Callum. Um, she’d love him anyway. But um okay so some of my favorite stuff, what was it like for Rayla when her parents had to leave her to live with Runaan and Ethari and what was that transition like for them all? How old was like Rayla too?

DEVON: This was one that we’ve had a couple different ideas about so this is another one that’s like heavy not quite canon bubble. Like if we actually end up doing a story that involves some of these details it’s likely to change and be slightly different but the versions that I’ve liked have involved her being pretty young. And because honor is such a you know key part of Moonshadow culture I think like overall it was something that she felt you know sad about because she knew that she wasn’t going to be directly seeing her parents very often anymore. And—but it was uh such a huge honor that she felt you know pride in what her parents were being selected to go do. You know, act as Dragonguard and serve as these sort of like honorific, um, warriors that left the collective of the Silvergrove to go represent Moonshadow elves in the service of the Dragon Queen. And I think she had—she grew up being told what an honor that was and how much pride she should have in her parents because that is such a special thing. And then I think like it speaks a lot to how proud she was when she believed that they ran away and abandoned that duty because you know, how could they? If that was their reason for leaving her when she was a child and then they ran away from that job, like, how important could it have really been? And then you know, I’m sure that makes her feel very, very small. It made her feel so hurt that she told Callum at first that they were dead so she took it pretty hard.

KUNO: Yeah.

DEVON: But I think the other thing about it that we’ve sort of kicked around is that like, Runaan and Ethari were Rayla’s parents’ close friends and I think she was familiar with them enough that she didn’t feel like she was being you know left with two strangers. It’s sort of just like, you’re going to be under the care of people who are already very, very close to you and care about you quite a bit.

IAIN: Yeah I think with like Moonshadow elves in general the thing I think about a lot is like the good and evil that comes from suppressing your true emotions to show a different face to the world and I think we see a lot of that in Rayla. Like I think she probably committed pretty hard to Ghosting her parents because she had this like big mess of like sadness that she’d left but at least the soft landing of Runaan and Ethari to live with and so on. But believing like this sadness is worth it because they’re doing something so noble and then the betrayal of that—it just came out in kind of a messy like toxic way, right, where now she’s committed to becoming an assassin at a really young age in a way Ethari doesn’t agree with and so on. But I mean on the other side I think having a strong handle on your emotions is often one of Rayla’s strengths right? Like we saw in episode 5 of this season after she’s going through a whole lot of stuff, both her family situation and this new development with Callum, she’s just able to like operate as a cool badass extremely cool assassin without letting any of that affect her. But you know I think there’s balance in how you handle your feelings and how you externalize them in a good way that people can learn from, but sometimes you gotta—you gotta work (laughs).

KUNO: That makes sense. Oh well yeah I always had this personal headcanon which I kind of like incorporated into my fanfictions where she felt abandoned by her parents so in a way it’s kinda like slightly—kinda like that except it was all those feelings that have been repressed from years and years basically came out when she felt like—like the abandonment came to like the head when she felt like they had left because they had ran away—they kind of like ran away like from her.

DEVON: Oh yeah, absolutely.

KUNO: In a way—their duty to—

DEVON: I think that validates the suppressed feeling, you know.

KUNO: Yeah, since their duty to the Dragonguard was in it’s own way more important and that’s something that was like okay because it was an honor but since they ran away it’s like obviously it was more important in a terrible way, if that makes any sense?

IAIN: Yeah I mean I think it’s like she did her best and she’s trying to be a grown up but it’s hard at a young age to accept that you know there are meant to be higher callings than a bond between parents and children, right? Like that’s hard for her to grasp and she probably didn’t express that openly ever really. But I think it really did help that she had two genuine loving father figures ready to accept her with open arms even if one of them did train her to become the best assassin of her generation, which again I wouldn’t advise to—to most parents out there.

DEVON: I do think like even that was considered, you know, honorable. It was you know, you’re going to—not only are you going to get to live with Runaan and Ethari, like Runaan is the leader of the assassins, or at least maybe at that point in time he wasn’t the leader but he was very up and coming. I don’t know, it could be either or, but that I think was probably something that she fully embraced and fully wanted, like you know, ‘this is my purpose in life, this is my calling, my parents have gone off to do their calling and it’s a great honor for them, and this is my path and what I’m going to do with myself’. And that didn’t end up being true but it was probably a comfort to her at the time.

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: That makes a lot of sense. Moving on, okay, this, we’re getting real indulgent now—do you know what Ethari and Runaan’s wedding was like and what are Moonshadow elf weddings are like in general?

DEVON: Um, I have a, so a lot of the dancing stuff is because I have an enormous soft spot for tropes involving cute dances, like, just a huge, huge soft spot. And the thing that comes to mind is, if you’ve seen the movie Prince of Egypt, which is such a weird reference—

KUNO: Yeah, I love that.

DEVON: —the scene where he and the girl, I forget her name, they do the thing—

KUNO: Tzipporah.

DEVON: —with the ribbon and they do the cute little dance with the ribbon. For some reason that’s what I think of when I imagine what a moment in their wedding would look like would be a dance with a ribbon that they sort of use to—you know, Moonshadow elves love ribbons, I guess, but this is a good ribbon! It’s a love ribbon. But anyway, that’s just my idea. I love that specific—that song that, “Through Heaven’s Eyes”, it’s during that sequence but that—

KUNO: Yeah.

DEVON: —would be my go-to inspiration for like, it’s like that and then you know, everybody dances with them because Moonshadow elves like to dance.

IAIN: Yeah, I kind of like the idea of the—there’s a lot of these symbols that are sometimes extremely sinister. I mean I think Ethari even kinda calls this out when he shoots the—the Shadowhawk arrow to inform the queen that her son is in fact alive. But like, Moonshadow elves believe that death and life are not good and evil, they’re mirrors of each other and an important part of the cycle. And you know, the moon has cycles and that’s an important part. So I think thinking about all the rituals and stuff that they have, which initially you’re introduced to as ‘let’s go murder someone party’, like if that was—there was a kind of inverse to that that was a big part of their wedding ceremony I think that would make a lot of sense to Moonshadow elves because this is two people binding their lives together forever. Binding for a shared purpose in a good way and not the grim ‘let’s go kill Prince Ezran’ kind of way.

KUNO: Yeah. Cause naturally this is involving like several ships so I’m like, I had to ask that. And on the piggyback of that, as detailed as possible, can you describe courtship customs for Moonshadow elves?

DEVON: Oh man.

KUNO: I mean like dating—dating customs, like a headcanon even if it’s just headcanons.

IAIN: Devon is deep in thought (laughs).

DEVON: I’ve never—like for some reason the—the headcanons that I’ve thought about are more specific to like, Runaan and Ethari than I’ve really sort of like branched out into thinking about how Moonshadow elves do this in general. So I imagine there’s intended—there’s some formality to it, I would imagine, in that like, because they’re so, you know, purposeful and thoughtful with how they express their feelings if at all, I think it would be, you know, exchange of gifts like small favors and making your purpose known in a way that starts small but has purpose. So I think like, there’s versions where Ethari would put extra detail into the work he was doing for Runaan which you know, could be perceived as a sign of affection or Runaan was coming to Ethari asking him to work on his weapons or metalcraft stuff a little bit more than was necessary and—stuff like that, where it’s a bit stiff and difficult but I think like once—once there is clear reciprocation I think there can be more of an open discussion about it, does that make sense? But I think Runaan probably struggled with this a whole lot, like, ‘cause he’s—did I, it might have been you who I responded to on Twitter but someone asked me something along these lines and I think Runaan had a really hard time even with this first sort of like simple offerings of affection because that’s just him. Like he sort of takes that aspect to an extreme. Like he has a hard time being like “here is the way I wish to express myself in a soft way and not with a—a sharp object. So I think Ethari had an easier time because he’s just more naturally soft (laughs).

IAIN: Yeah I sometimes think that Runaan is the most Moonshadow elf of all Moonshadow elves, but like, you know, it’s—

KUNO: I was gonna say that.

IAIN: Yeah, um, you know when they have such a hard time showing their feelings and they sometimes feel like they’re not supposed to and so on, and so Runaan is trying to pick up on the tiniest possible hints through professional exchanges and so on. And I think when it’s actually time to confess that there’s a feeling there you would, I think especially Runaan would have to be 100% sure and then do it entirely in private, the most private situation possible where there could be no possible spies who could see this if it was going to go wrong because that would just be the end of his entire life, obviously.

DEVON: Yeah he would bind himself to his own death (laughs).

IAIN: Yeah, that’s it. Gonna assassinate myself because I confessed love and it didn’t get reciprocated. That’s that.

DEVON: It’s over.

IAIN: So yeah, lot of—lots of awkward advances where they’re trying—trying to have the escape hatch of “Oh I didn’t really try to suggest that I liked you, this was just me asking you for a professional favor by let’s never speak again”.

DEVON: And then he comes back the next day (DEVON and IAIN laugh).

KUNO: Oh my goodness. Uh I felt—I—I kinda like headcanoning now that Ethari tells Rayla all this “how I met, you know, your surrogate dad” kind of stuff. Like, and that’s how she—she’s like, this is how you do love apparently.

DEVON: I do think that like, yeah, he had a much easier time and probably picked up on stuff. And to me there’s a side of Ethari that you don’t really get to see in the episode because he’s very sad. I think he’s a—he does have a playful side and I like to imagine that while Runaan was doing his, like, really just not-the-best attempts to display affection early on, like Ethari would pick up on them but not necessarily give the full signal back. And he played a little bit oblivious but he absolutely was—he’s just more emotionally in tune. So I think, “Oh hey, you’re back again, wow. I thought I did fantastic work on your blades last time. I cannot believe they’re already dull!” Like and he just sort of like, he knows—he knows there’s something there.

IAIN: I think like this kind of gets echoed in Rayla, like where Callum in an effort to pick her up and be honest about how he feels that she’s just an incredible person. Like to her that’s like, ‘person being entirely open with their feelings in a positive way? That’s a love connection!’ And then it goes wrong for one entire episode and then it turns out that Callum was also not fully aware of how he was feeling and so on. But I think like, yeah, I think that’s why she was like immediately “Wow, this is clearly meant to be romantic and this is—this is going exactly the way I want!” and then it didn’t. But then it did! So we’re all happy.

DEVON: Aww.

KUNO: I am! I’m certainly happy. Um—uh let’s see—the next one is—okay. What was Rayla like as a child growing up in a household she did—household? Um, she mentioned going to school and we’d love to know how baby Rayla fared as a student and just a child growing up in the Silvergrove and what that experience is like for a Moonshadow elf child?

DEVON: You want—you want me to do this one?

IAIN: Go for it.

DEVON: Yeah, um, I think Rayla was feisty (laughs) in a word. I think she—for some reason there’s a scene in the beginning of Korra where she’s already mastered like, three elements and she like comes out punching. I kind of think about that when I think about baby Rayla. She knows she’s—there’s that end credit scene where she’s got the two sticks and she’s posing with them and Runaan’s sort of lifting one of them up and I’m thinking like, okay so sheg’s like, from a tiny, tiny age thinking like, “I’m gonna be the coolest assassin the Moonshadow elves have ever seen!” and she’s like rambunctious about that almost, because you know, as a child you don’t really understand what the ramifications of that are but it’s considered like a highly, highly valued, honored position and so she’s obviously like, “Yeah I’m gonna do that and I’m going to be the best at it and there will never be any complications whatsoever!” In terms of Moonshadow elf childhood, I think with the way that I would think about it is—we talked about the sort of community aspect. I imagine Moonshadow elves have pretty, like, what’s the word, like, a lot of general education, sort of, like, “this is what weaponsmithing is like and this is gardening and raising crops and things to provide for the community” and so I think they would have a lot of ‘school’ that covers a lot of just like, life basics because you are expect to find a place that contributes to the collective whole. Does that like—?

IAIN: Yeah, I think like it’s also lucky for Rayla that a big part of Moonshadow elf culture is what we would call PE. Like I think she excelled at striving to be an assassin warrior and so on. Especially like, she’s trying to live up to her parents who at first were honored Dragonguard and you know, Runaan as well. I think in terms of like, more academic stuff like if there was Moonshadow elf history lessons and “let’s go out and understand the, you know, ecology of the Moonshadow forest” and stuff I think she was probably a bit kinda like, rambunctious and not super paying attention and running off and not really giving it her all and so on. Um, you kind of get that impression from early on where she knows what Primal sources are and she’ll explain that to Callum but like, when she’s talking about ‘how do you do that Moonshadow form thing’ she’s like “I don’t know, it just feels right”. Like I think that’s—she did everything very intuitively and focused on the things she cared about and understood and kinda did what she—did what she could on the other subjects, I guess, but didn’t care as much.

DEVON: Yeah I feel like if you imagine the kid that is going to grow up to be an artist is doing doodles on their math homework and just sort of like doing the math homework but—but you know, clearly the effort is being placed elsewhere. I think it’s that but she was excelling at PE and assassin training and therefore fell very, very easily into her supposed path.

KUNO: The—this isn’t on the thing, but did—did she ever—did she ever really have any friends? ‘Cause she doesn’t really mention—ever mention friends. I—maybe that has to do with the whole assassin thing where if she wasn’t learning being at school she would probably doing assassin stuff with Runaan or assassin training stuff—I guess not really assassinating. But um did she have really friends growing up?

IAIN: I think if she had friends they were not super close. And I think she valued her alone time. There’s a sweet moment early in—well end of season 1 where she like tries to cheer up Ezran by saying that fitting in is overated and I think she felt that a little bit. Um and you know I think there’s some amount of when you’re being trained in the art of an assassin like you’re probably somewhat taught to—to keep people at arm’s length a little bit, right? And I think she—she took that to heart. So I think that’s a big part of why when she was first traveling with Callum and Ezran there wasn’t that much trust between then and it was kinda like, it was Ezran honestly that bridged the gap being most empathetic number 1 child. And yeah, I think having a close friend is relatively new to her.

KUNO: Makes sense. Like just few, not the many. Um okay then next question before we get to Hailey’s batch of them are um, what are Runaan’s feelings toward Rayla as of right now and everything that’s happened since season 1? I understand he’s in a coin, he’s in a finacial crisis, he’s probably not thinking about it too hard—

DEVON: Oh my god (laughs).

KUNO: But you know, like he’s gotta be—you know he’s not doing anything right now, I’m assuming, so like what would be his feelings about her at the moment?

DEVON: I mean he’s got a lot of time to think, wherever he is. I think like—I got into this a little bit on Twitter in a self-indulgent rant at one point where I think he went through a lot very quietly during the first few episodes of the show where he very, very much wanted Rayla to succeed, even if he wasn’t necessarily like being the dad on the sideline of the soccer game, like, cheering for her. But he thought this was her moment, this was her time to prove that she really was more dedicated to you know, her cause and her people than her parents were because they had, you know, been the subject of such shame. And then ah, everything goes the way it does, I think he has a brief crisis of, “Is this my fault? Did I fail to train her well enough? Like, was Ethari right?” Because he always thought she had, you know, a softer heart. And I think like those are the types of things that he’s still stewing on, um like did—”did he overstep? Was it something—was he so eager to give her the opportunity to prove herself that he, you know, ultimately put her in a position where she could not succeed?” I think like, the other thing that I mentioned on Twitter was I think he took her off the mission both because he very, very much wanted to give himself and the others a chance to complete the mission even if it meant their deaths. But it also meant that Rayla had the chance to survive even if it was potentially going to be misinterpreted and she’d get slapped with the Ghosting, I think he believed that her alive was better than everybody being dead. So I think like, he’s got a lot—a lot to work through and I think like—I think he feels guilty. I think there’s the smallest part of him that he has the—again, a lot of time to potentially stew on and reflect on is he does feel like he put her in a position that was, you know, not fully taking into account the type of person she was and more projecting onto her the type of person he wanted her to be and gift he wanted to give her of redeeming herself in the eyes of her people for her parents. And I think he’s gonna have to work through that. Poor dude.

KUNO: That’s so sadly heartfelt. That’s so sadly heartfelt. Here I am thinking that he’d be, like, maybe a little angry with her, ‘cause obvious reason, but now it’s like, oh he feels guilty. Like, “Oh, okay, let’s just slap the angst on, okay”.

DEVON: I mean, I think like—

KUNO: Yeah, mm-hm.

DEVON: Sure he’d have some anger, like, “Awgh, I gave her everything. I gave her the exact opportunity she needed”. But I think like the guilt and the reflection leads to the “Maybe I—maybe it was me who stepped too far here”.

IAIN: Yeah, I mean another part of it is like, we don’t know what it’s like being trapped in the hell coin dimension, right?

DEVON: Oh I do. I—I mean—

IAIN: Oh you do?

DEVON: It sucks.

IAIN: Oh it sucks?

DEVON: When it happens to me on the reg (IAIN laughs).

IAIN: But you know, does it feel like an eternity is passing? Does it feel like no time has passed? Is he in eternal pain? Because if it’s like real bad—

KUNO: Oh my god.

IAIN: —in there I can imagine that like yeah there’s definitely some of those kind of anger feelings that you don’t want to feel in but you do sometimes, right? Like it’s like, if he has a snap moment of “I wouldn’t be in here if she hadn’t gone off and disobeyed our orders and, like, lied to me and so on”. So if he ever comes out uh don’t know what side of the emotional coin he’s gonna land on.

DEVON: Ohhh, please leave.

KUNO: Oh my god.

DEVON: Get out, oof, ouch.

IAIN: Finger guns.

DEVON: I do think like that sort of complex—

KUNO: It sounds—

DEVON: —emotion is just, I don’t want to give any time to that pun, we’re moving on. Like that sort of complexity of emotion and relationships is something that I really like in the show overall. Like you said earlier, you saw some people that were a little bit upset that Ethari was so willing to lash out at Rayla at first and I think like to me that was always part of the big, big thematic of the show, which is this sort of endless cycle of people being willing to hurt each other and not forgive each other and not, you know, accept that you can choose peace. It’s, you know, it’s—Runaan having that impulse to anger is a very natural thing and it doesn’t—I don’t think it necessarily makes him a bad person for feeling that. And I don’t necessarily think that Ethari having his moments of grief lead him to actions that are ultimately like, regretful, like I don’t think he would want that to define him in the long run. Like those are very human things but those are the things as we acknowledge them and as are—so long as we are capable of recognizing how flawed we are and how violent and…

KUNO: Messy.

DEVON: Messy! Thank you, that’s like, I was going to say like churning, messy is good. Like messy emotions can be and how they can like, dictate the way we treat each other, um, but forgiveness and patience and acceptance are ultimately just so much more powerful than those negative perpetuating lashing outs. That was an inelegant way of ending that screed, but yes.

KUNO: I actually really love that um ‘cause I from the beginning I’ve loved their father-daughter relationship so I love how complicated it is, ‘cause the truth is you know every parent-child relationship is a little complicated, except theirs is a little more complicated with assassination going on in the works, the family trade. So I love that it is this complicated ‘cause I know I remember in the beginning where people were like you know—you know she does have a dad. And it’s like I know she has a biological dad but until I am told otherwise that’s her father. I don’t care and I love their relationship so I love that that really reflects that. Another—the next question out of me before we get to, um, Hailey’s, which are all about different elves, is um, course I have to ask, my policy is one Rayllum question per interview. Um what are Runaan’s feelings—whah, no, whoop, how would Ruthari and Runaan react to Rayla’s relationship with Callum considering he’s not only a human but a human prince? ‘Cause as far as we know Runaan really hates, um, humans and I’d love to see that story later, both individually and as a couple. Because as far as I know, Ethari probably doesn’t know that their in a relationship unless he sensed it?

DEVON: Oh man, I—I think you should take this one, but I do want to say that I saw one comment on Tumblr at one point where someone said that they wished that Ethari had said something to Callum along the lines of like, “Take care of her”. And I want to travel back in time and pretend that was in the script ‘cause I think that would have been really, really nice. And I do think like, he picked up on the fact that Callum was important to her even if it—he didn’t necessarily read it as romantic right off the bat. I think he mostly was like, “Oh this guy is kind of like a cute—he’s a human but he’s, you know, a friend to someone I care about and that in and of itself is valuable and there’s something there”. So I think—pretend that was in the script. I wish I had thought about something like that but—

KUNO: I will (DEVON laughs).

IAIN: Yeah.

KUNO: That’s canon as far—as far as I’m concerned that’s canon.

IAIN: I think uh it would be best for everyone involved if they found out together, uh, because I think Runaan’s impulse would not be good immediately. I think like, when you spend so much time as an assassin and you drill into your head that the people that you’re meant to kill are not people, they’re the enemy right? Like I think that’s—sometimes that’s a thing he turns on to do the job and so on, but I do think that’s gonna bleed into his personality and it’s—you know, especially given his extremely recent history he’s not got the best feelings about humans. So I think it would inspire an immediate negative reaction in him that would not be pleasant for Callum and Rayla, but I think Ethari just has a much softer heart and that is where Rayla kind of got that side from. So I mean I’m not going to say that he would immediately—you know, they’ve been at war for hundreds and hundreds of years with humans and they’ve been told all through their history that humans committed the original sin of dark magic, et cetera et cetera, but like, I think it would take not that much time of seeing Rayla and Callum together for Ethari to see that there’s something there and then I think Ethari would have the ability to ah, to talk Runaan down pretty quick. But I also think that like, Runaan might not even show any of this, there might just be a kind of seething resentment that he’s not really talking about inside. Um unless it was like on the battlefield or something and he was like, “That’s a prince that I’m meant to kill” or something like that. But overall I think Ethari would sense that Runaan was not like—was not taking this well and they would be able to talk it through. At least that’s my gut.

DEVON: No, that sounds right (DEVON and IAIN laugh).

KUNO: I feel like poor Callum is just always on the edge of “Am I going to die tonight?” while he’s there, “Is this gonna be it?” Just gonna be like, “Oops sorry I had an accident—hey I had an accident in the middle of the night, you know, just a knife to the throat, that’s all”.

IAIN: I mean, he’s doing pretty well, like he said as they were about to meet Ethari and Rayla was like, “Remember Runaan?” He was like “Oh yeah, that guy who tried to kill me as soon as he met me? Cool guy”. Callum’s doing pretty well on the acceptance front these days.

DEVON: I do—

KUNO: Yeah.

DEVON: I do want to say that I think Ethari and Callum would get along really well because I think they both have sort of like a soft hearted friendliness to them that they would have a fun rapport. And that’s the sort of like “Trees to meet you” line is definitely supposed to be like—they’d you know, crack some goofy back and forths and I think that would soften Runaan too because he couldn’t ever hate someone that Ethari liked.

IAIN: Yeah, I think it’s a weird—

KUNO: Aww.

IAIN: —reversal where like Callum’s the one doing the dad jokes and Ethari’s like humoring them and Runaan’s like, “I don’t understand. Trees do not meet.”

DEVON: “Please stop saying ‘trees to meet you’.”

KUNO: Aw it never gets old. I love that. Um alright, Hailey, take it away. Your turn.

#The Dragon Prince #Hot Brown Morning Potion Podcast #HBMP Podcast #TDP #Ruthari #Moonfam #HBMP Podcast transcription #TDP interview transcription #my posts

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sun-pluto · 3 years ago

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tagged by @ceyrann ty ♥️ this one looks very fun so >:D

Edit: original tag game by @nikolaiiy (sorry forgot to mention!!! 😓)

Why did you choose your url?

because it has a few meanings for me. 1) can be read as ‘sun to pluto’ bc i want all the planets in the url HAHA 2) one of my tightest aspects is sun sextile pluto 3) the sun and pluto contrast each other a lot and I just think that’s neat to put them together and connect them.

Any side blogs?

No, I have 2 accounts. One old one for aes, this blog is new and exclusively for astro/tarot.

How long have you been on Tumblr?

Since 2015. But I only got into astro in 2018.

Do you have a queue tag?

Nah, no need for it.

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

Honestly because I wanted to share what I learnt from astro and discuss it with people who were interested in it too! Also it was kind of in the moment and as a hobby.

Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

I took the photo of the sunset, and I just thought it fits the theme and url. Plus there’s dark and light contrast! So yeah it fit c:

Why did you choose your header?

I also took the video and made it into a gif because I found it pretty!!! It was raining in the nature reserve when I videoed the hill under the shelter, super soothing to me so I put it as the header.

What post is your post with the most notes?

I don’t remember and idrc enough to check.

How many mutuals do you have?

about 80. they’re aes and/or astro/tarot blogs but sometimes we’re mutuals just because we vibe tgt HAHA

How many followers do you have?

yeah this is going to be a secret for now because I have something I wanna do >:D

How many people do you follow?

103.

Have you ever made a shitpost?

Yeah, lots. it’s under #talking BFJFJF and I shitpost even more on my aes blog.

How often do you use Tumblr a day?

Oh boy basically every day but only a few minutes tbh unless I’m replying to people or reblogging! then that could take up to 2-3 hours. Mostly though Im rarely on any social platform because Im busy ;-;

Did you have another fight/argument with another blog?

Lol yes. On my aes blog too. Libra rising who 😭

How do you feel about the “you-need-to-reblog” post?

when it’s an important issue then yeah sure i’ll rb. Besides that if it’s about being cursed or having good luck or something inane that only tumblr ppl can relate to then idgaf.

Do you like tag games?

Normally yes! But sometimes it gets repetitive so I just like and thank the person who tags me but move on yknow? it’s nbd sometimes.

Do you like ask games?

Yup!!! I’m normally the one sliding into ppl’s asks asking them though HAHAHAHAHA

Which of your mutuals do you think is Tumblr famous?

I find this question very funny. As if they don’t know it themselves LOL.

Do you have a Tumblr crush?

Also a very funny qn imo. I don’t invest enough energy into someone’s blog enough to have a crush, but I can like ppl’s vibes on sight very very much. It’s an intuition thing >;)

I’m tagging @kkoumiii @neptuniant @faiirina @ukiyowi @fallign @umepnnn @rattaemin @thegeminigod @the-wild-candy and anyone who wants to do this! I find these very fun HAHA

#m #talking #tag games

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lumosinlove · 4 years ago

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Sweater Weather

Warmings in notes

part xiv

Gryffindor, 2015

Behind the blinding flashes of cameras, from up on the stage, behind the press table, and within the circle of microphones, Sirius could only see his mother’s face.

This was not what someone was suppose to feel like when they were drafted to the NHL.

This was not what someone was suppose to feel like when they looked at their mother.

Sirius took a small sip of water from the bottle provided.

“Sirius,” a reporter said. “How did your father, legendary player for the Slytherin Snakes, Orion Black, react to you getting drafted to his rival team?”

His mother’s mouth was pursed and cold at that. He knew what her eyes were telling him.

Renounce the draft. Refuse.

On the other side of the room, a few of the Lions players were watching. James Potter. Kasey Winter. Pascal Dumais, who he was set to be living with starting tonight. James smiled when they made eye contact. Kasey looked unfazed. Pascal was standing tall with his arms crossed. Sirius liked Pascal. He liked Celeste. He could tell they hadn’t thought much of his mother. There was another boy standing near them, too. He had an open face, and a training staff jacket on. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at Sirius with a mixture of surprise and—Sirius thought maybe concern. Sirius didn’t like people to be concerned about him. He looked away.

“He’s my father first. A player second,” Sirius finally replied to the question.

It was such a lie. It tasted like ash in his mouth.

“Do you two talk about the end of your father’s career?”

Sirius stared down at the reporter, who looked back for a moment before shrinking away against his seat. Sirius knew what he looked like. Intense eyes, good for the ice, bad for people. Good for pissing off his parents. The twins of his brother’s.

“No,” Sirius said plainly.

There was a long, awkward pause as the room waited for Sirius to continue. He didn’t.

“Sirius, you’ve been considered a prodigy since you were very young, you must have thought about what team you would like to go to. How do the Lions fair against all those dreams?”

Sirius’ saw his mother take a step away from the wall. She had her hair pulled back loosely from her face, dark curls around her eyes that cast strange shadows in the bright press room lights.

Refuse.

How could he? Who did that?

It wasn’t like he was going home. Pascal certainly wasn’t going to hit him. At least, he didn’t think so.

“I’m honored to be considered,” Sirius said as neutrally as he could.

Someone stepped forward and waved the press away. Sirius stood up from the table, grabbing one of the tiny water bottles from it. He drained the entire thing in about two seconds flat. It had been a long day so far, and it was only ten in the morning.

“Sirius,” a woman with a Lions badge around her neck came up to him. She had introduced herself as Alice earlier. “So, we’ll get you going into the locker room, a few pictures in your stall, and then everyone’s got practice, so…” she smiled. “Pretty normal from there.”

“Okay,” Sirius nodded.

“Just try and relax into it a little,” she said hesitantly. “This can’t be the first time you’ve seen this many cameras.”

He wanted to laugh. He wished it were the cameras making him nervous.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll be better.”

“No, no,” she said hurriedly, eyebrows drawing together. “You’re doing wonderfully, absolutely wonderfully.”

Sirius blinked. “Oh.”

She smiled at him. “Yeah. Now, c’mon, let’s see you in that Lions jersey again! I was so damn happy when they called your name, you know.”

“Oh,” Sirius said again as they walked across the room. He glanced up, but the players had disappeared, along with the boy. “Thank you.”

She laughed. “Thank you. With your dedication, who knows what’s possible! Knock on wood, of course,” she winked and he smiled at her reference to one of his many superstitions.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We have that bread brand you like for your pre-game sandwich.”

“How do you…” Sirius realized. “Minerva.”

“That agent of yours is one hell of a woman,” Alice said, and she sounded thoroughly pleased—maybe proud even.

“Minnie’s really great,” Sirius said. He really didn’t know how he would have survived everything without her. She knew his parents’ ways. She did her best to protect him. It wasn’t always enough, but he was thankful for it all the same.

They rounded the corner and Sirius felt his own steps slow.

“Alright,” Alice grinned, and stopped too. She looked from him, to the closed locker room doors, and back. “Ready?”

“Are the press already in there, or…”

“Yes, they go in through a different entrance,” Alice cocked her head. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Sirius said quickly. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“No more questions,” she assured him. “Just pictures. You just have to pose in front of your new stall, put your jersey on, and—”

Sirius smelled his mother coming up behind him before he saw her. He hated her perfume. He didn’t even know what it was. Something sickly sweet. Something floral. It made his throat closed.

He felt her hand on his shoulder.

“Pardon,” she said. “Hello, how are you?”

Alice smiled. “Mrs. Black—”

“May I have a word with my son before he joins his teammates?”

“Oh,” Alice looked towards the door again. “Well, I don’t see why—”

“Sirius,” came another, almost sing-song voice, and suddenly Pascal Dumais was there, hand sliding easily around Sirius’ shoulder, easing his mother’s away. His smile was broad, eyes crinkled. “C’est bon?”

“Hi, Dumo,” Sirius said breathlessly. He glanced at his mother, and then wished he hadn’t.

“We’ll go in now, non?” Pascal reached out and took Sirius’ mother hand between his own in a caress. “We are very happy to have your son, Madam. We will take good care of him.”

Mrs. Black looked on with an open mouth. “I—”

“Will we see you at the opening game of the season?”

“Well—”

“Pity,” Pascal laughed brightly, then patted Sirius’ back. “Allez, mon fils.”

My son, Dumo had called him.

Sirius was two steps from the door, Pascal’s warm palm gentle between his shoulders, when a colder hand closed around his wrist and he was yanked backwards harshly. He let her do it.

“You remember what we talked about,” his mother hissed at him, gray eyes hard and flicking to Pascal, who was standing very close, smile gone, hazel eyes firm on her. “Do not make any mistakes. Do not.”

Sirius began to take a step back, and her hand tightened. He let it.

“Oui, maman,” Sirius said softly.

“The press is waiting,” Pascal said in a clipped tone to Mrs. Black, and then, much more softly to Sirius. “Your team is waiting for you.”

Pascal turned Sirius towards the locker room, the two doors meeting to form the large Lions logo, a dark red and gold.

Sirius’ team.

The one his father had thrown his wine glass over the night they found out that the Lions had received the first pick of the first round in the draft. The team his little brother had bought a hat for, sneaking in Sirius’ room to show him late that night. They hadn’t really spoken since.

Sirius spared one last, brief thought to Regulus, but pushed it away. Regulus was too obedient to be in any danger.

“You do the honors,” Pascal said. “Allez, go on.”

Sirius pushed the doors open.

The locker room was large and round, exactly what Sirius was used to, and not at all. In this locker room, his mother couldn’t follow him in. He wasn’t going to be hated for being the best. Jealousy was less of a problem. They were already in the NHL.

“Hey, Mr. Prodigy!”

Sirius looked up and James Potter, half dressed in his hockey pants, was walking towards him with a wide smile, glasses still on and hand out. He stopped in front of Sirius and Pascal.

“James Potter,” he said when Sirius shook his hand, only to be pulled into a half hug and slapped on the back. “I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sirius said, trying on a smile as a camera flashed, catching the moment.

James hesitated, smile flickering, but he swept his hand out towards where Sirius saw that their stalls were beside each other.

“Neighbors, eh?”

“Guess so,” Sirius said.

He looked at Alice, who nodded, and so Sirius took his jersey from its hanger. He held it for a moment. The maroon was deep and soft, and the golden lion stood out against the black piping. Two gold stripes flashed on the sleeves as Sirius spun it around to get a look at his name and number. They was there, in black figures, bold and real.

Sirius was a Lion. He belonged to Gryffindor now, at least for a little while, no matter how anyone felt about it.

He pulled the jersey over his head, and let the cameras flash.

It felt a little better and a little worse when the press went away. Better, because this was normal. Sirius knew the routine of practice, of listening to the coach. Worse, because Sirius didn’t know these guys. He wasn’t allowed to know these guys.

Renounce the draft. Refuse.

“Excuse me, Sirius?”

Sirius looked up from where he had just begun to lace up his left skate.

The boy in the team jacket was there again, soft smile and sandy hair, strong shoulders and chest. If not for the jacket, Sirius would have wondered which teammate he was, and how he hadn’t recognize his face. He’d poured over the Lions roster one million and one times.

“Hey,” the boy held out his hand. “I just wanted to introduce myself real quick before you get out there. I’m Remus, Remus Lupin, I’m a trainer here and on the PT staff.”

Sirius nodded slowly. Remus Lupin had pale skin, a few freckles, and tawny eyes. Sirius felt a familiar, startling tug in his chest, and pushed back on it so hard, so quickly, he thought he’d snap. It left him breathless. Remus smiled again, and Sirius heart pushed forward harder.

Remus Lupin wasn’t a trainer. For Sirius, he was dangerous.

Sirius closed off his expression further, and took the hand only for a moment. “Hi.”

It seemed to do the trick. Remus’ smile faltered and he took a step back. “Um. Yeah, okay. Just let me know, alright? If you need anything.”

“I will,” Sirius said, and looked back down.

He thought he heard some murmurs from beside him at that. Which was fine. They could hate him. They could think he was an ass. He wasn’t going to be here that long anyways.

Even if he wanted to be.

Gryffindor, 2016

“I want to stay,” Sirius said, clutching the arms of the chair in Coach’s office. “I want to stay.”

McGonagall, sitting beside him, laced her fingers over her dark tartan skirt. “My client has spoken, I believe. What protections are you prepared to put in place?”

Arthur and Alice looked at each other.

“Protections?” Arthur said. “Well, there’s already a trade restriction clause in there,” he tapped the contract on the table, “but…”

Alice bit her lip as she looked at Sirius. This boy who was barely nineteen, knuckles white. This talented boy who she had barely seen smile. She thought of the cold woman who had gripped Sirius’ wrist on his first day as a Lion. Make no mistakes, she had hissed.

“I believe…” Alice took a breath. “Minnie is referring to Sirius’ wish—”

“I mean publicity,” Minnie said. “A very hard field to control, I am aware, however—should there be sources that say things contradicting what Sirius has said in this room…”

I want to stay.

“Our players come first in Gryffindor,” Alice said firmly.

Minnie leaned forward. “I thank you for that Alice. I really do. But this is a…delicate matter. We all heard what Sirius said, that he wishes to be a Lion, however, there are people who cannot, as of right now, know that he has said this. I am asking you to protect his decision. I am asking you to support his decision while—”

“While not flashing that he made it,” Alice said slowly. She looked at Sirius again. He was looking down, entire body tense as his phone lit up from where it was on the table. It had done that four times, just in the last twenty minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius murmured, and declined the call. He had a thick accent, stumbling over the English he wasn’t quite used to speaking all the time.

Maman, the contact had said, again and again.

“We can do that,” Arthur said, looking at Alice, and nodding at Minnie. “No one will blink twice at us wanting to keep the best player in the League. Even if Sirius was requesting a trade, he’s fresh out of his rookie year, players need to earn the right to make calls like that.”

“Exactly,” Alice agreed. “This is just as much about locker room and team etiquette as it is about PR and media. And that’s good for us. For all of us. Everyone can feel very secure about staying right where they want to be.”

She probably sounded like she was babying him, saying it so blatantly like that, but it didn’t matter to Alice when Sirius blinked up at her with his pale eyes and smiled, just a little.

They all looked up when there was a commotion from outside. A shrill voice was speaking, words unintelligible through the walls, but Sirius stood so fast he nearly knocked his chair over.

“Minnie,” he whispered. “Elle est là?”

McGonagall stood, too, just as the door blew open.

Sirius’ mother stood there, hair casting curled shadows on her high cheeks. Sirius watched as she took in the scene in front of her. Sirius, Minnie, Alice, and Coach. Already, Sirius’ breathing was coming faster. Old bruises, long faded, began to ache. His stomach seized up and rebelled.

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Black demanded.

“A meeting, Walburga,” Minnie exhaustedly.

“I was not informed,” she snapped, and then turned her eyes on Sirius. “I have been calling you.”

“Mrs. Black,” Alice said cooly. “Your son is nineteen years of age now. You are not required to be present—”

“Shut up,” Mrs. Black snapped, and turned on McGonagall. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I am working with my client,” Minnie took a step forward. The two women were identical in height.

“The trade, then?” Mrs. Black said, and turned back on Alice. “Is it done?”

“No,” Coach Arthur said. “We will not be trading Sirius. Now, ma’am, I’m not sure how you got in here—”

“C’est ordure!” Mrs. Black shrieked. “Sirius. Do what I say.”

Sirius was—embarrassed. Shame coated the inside of his mouth like tar. He should comply, just to get her to leave, to get her to stop yelling.

“Your son is doing exactly what you want,” Alice said, and even matched her tone to sound regrettable, even annoyed. “Why he would want—why either of you would want him to be traded away from one of the leading teams in the League—”

“Cheaters,” Mrs. Black snarled. “Dirty play, you mean.”

“—is beyond me,” Alice pushed on. “But, unfortunately, your son doesn’t have as much power here as either of you think he does.”

Sirius stared at Alice. She was doing it. She was getting him out. She was letting him stay.

Mrs. Black was staring, too. “My son is the best player in the League.”

Arthur laughed. “And so, why would we let him go? Now,” Arthur stood. “I am going to ask you to leave one more time, otherwise I will have security escort you out. This is a private meeting that does not concern you.”

“I am his mother!”

“That means nothing here, Walburga,” Minnie said, smoothing her skirt and sitting back down.

“This is a trick,” Walburga sneered, and walked forward to Sirius. She grabbed his hair, tightly, nails digging into his scalp. “You think you can trick me, mon regret?”

Sirius closed his eyes. My regret. The shame was bile, now. He wished for anything, anything good. He wished to stay, he wished for his team to want him, he wished for anyone to want him. He wished.

“Mrs. Black, get your hands off of my player,” Arthur boomed.

Sirius didn’t know how officers got into the room, but then his mother was yelling in French, ripping her arms out of their grasps as she walked with a high, stiff neck out of the office, the door slamming behind her.

Sirius could still feel them, her fingers, digging into his neck.

“Sirius?”

It was Alice’s soft voice. Sirius opened his eyes and looked up. He hadn’t realized they were still closed.

“Are you okay?”

Minnie patted his hand carefully, knowing he wouldn’t want to be touched. “She’s gone now, my boy.”

“I’m okay,” Sirius managed. He looked around at them all. “Thank you. Thank you, I…”

“Of course,” Arthur said. He was a little wide-eyed. Sometimes Sirius forgot that, to most of the world, that wasn’t normal.

“Well,” Minnie said into the silence. “If that’s settled…”

Sirius sunk back down into the chair. He felt like he had skated three straight periods, double shifts.

“Actually,” Arthur said, clearing his throat and sitting. “There is one more matter I’d like to discuss. Well, more of a question, really.”

Sirius looked up, dread turning over in his stomach all over again. But Arthur was smiling at him gently.

“I’ve talked to some of our key team and staff members. Dumo, Pots, Sergei. Even our rookie O’Hara had something to say, but when doesn’t he? And me and the coaching team have put lots of thought into this, too. Sirius, you’re a leader on the ice. You make our boys better. You’re very kind, and a steady presence in the locker room, if not…reserved,” Arthur laughed a little. “Well I hope that will change a little now that…” his eyes went to the door that Mrs. Black had stormed out through. “Now that you are able to really feel safe and a part of our organization.”

Safe, Sirius thought. He couldn’t even fathom it.

Arthur leaned forward.

“Sirius, we want you to be our captain.”

Gryffindor, 2017

They were playing the Penguins. Sirius was still getting used to the C stitched onto his jersey.

The game was going to overtime. Crosby and Letang wasn’t letting anyone close enough to Murray to get anything done. Sirius was exhausted, but shook his head when Coach motioned to pull him in during a break for out of play. He wanted to end this. James stayed out, too, and Brady switched for Sergei.

“Let’s go, eh, Crosby?” Sirius popped his mouth guard back in and leaned over for the face off.

Crosby didn’t reply, eyes already on the puck.

Sirius won it. He knocked it back to James, and then shot forward, yelling for it back. Sergei checked Malkin hard, both of the spitting at each other in Russian, but at least it got him out of the way. There was a clear channel for James, and then the puck was back on Sirius’ tape.

Crosby loomed in front of him, stick long with his strong reach, but Sirius dodged. Murray was probably too far away still for any good chance, but the clock had seven seconds on it and damn it if Sirius was about to go to a shoot out. He took the shot.

He could almost feel it hit the back of the net. Before he was thinking about what he was doing, his arms were up, stick in the air. He heard James yell. It wasn’t until he saw that James was smiling, that Sirius realized he was smiling, too. So hard that his cheeks hurt. He watched James slow down as he neared him, all too used to the lesser celebrations that he thought Sirius preferred.

“Fuck yeah, Cap!” James shouted, smile wide. He was still a few strides away. Sirius’ heart was racing a mile a minute. The goal felt—different. It was just a goal, just one game, but Sirius…he wanted his team. He wanted James, his friend.

Sirius grinned back at James and held out his arm. It was better than the goal, watching James’ face drop in surprise, and then light up again.

To anyone else it would have seemed like a split-second of a moment.

James took the last few feet to dig his skates in, one, two, three, four, and slammed into Sirius against the boards, knocking their helmets together. Sergei came in on the other side, looking more surprised, but smiling.

“Very nice, Mr. Black,” he said.

“Thanks,” Sirius said breathlessly.

James held on a little longer as they skated over to the bench, but let go to bump gloves down the line.

The boys started piling out of the boards to celebrate the win. Sirius received a very loud kiss on the side of his helmet from Pascal.

“Bravo, mon fils,” he said softly, eyes bright.

Coach slapped him on the back, smiling as they filed off the ice. “Atta boy, kid.”

Sirius was about to disappear down the tunnel when a soft voice stopped him.

“Good game, Sirius.”

Sirius stopped, eyes falling on Remus and his own bright smile. It sent the same bubbling heat through Sirius’ heart as it always did. Logan was tapping him on the shoulder, telling him to keep moving, and so Sirius used the excuse of pushing a stick up towards one of the little kids leaning over the tunnel entrance. Just to look at Remus a little longer, in the bright lights of the ice.

“Merci, Fruit-Loop,” Sirius replied, and walked down the dim tunnel still grinning.

Gryffindor, 2018

“Snape’s been eye fucking you all game, eh?” James had said in the first period, a distant memory now. “We should keep an eye on him.”

Sirius had waved him off with sarcastic replies. Well, I’m pretty. Dirty snakes, nothing new.

“Don’t move, Sirius,” the doctor was saying now. The crowd was nearly silent. It was eerie and strange. Players milled about on the ice, the Snakes keeping their distance for once. Second period, ten minutes left on the clock.

The pain was radiating from Sirius’ leg like nothing he’d ever felt. He was dimly aware of his blood pooling on the ice, the grotesque look of his white bone against the white ice, sticking through his skin. He was breathing too hard to be normal, sweating. James was crouched by his head, gripping his hand and shoulder. James’ knuckles were bloody and bruised, a sight that must match Snape’s cheek.

“It’s a bad break, alright?” the doctor said. "We’re getting you the stretcher now. Try to breathe.”

But Sirius was only half listening. Staring straight ahead, all he could focus on were the wide, amber eyes gazing back at him. Remus. It was all he could do to keep from screaming. He kept looking at his face. He didn’t know exactly why it calmed him so much, why he suddenly wanted to keep it in sight more than he wanted morphine. Remus had his hand pressed against his throat, eyes darting between Sirius’. Maybe Sirius could tell him he wanted him right now, and pass it off as pain induced delirium.

Sirius bit out answers to the doctor on autopilot.

Yes. No. Dizzy. Numb. Ten. He was used to pain. But not this.

“Was it him?” Sirius said through his grit teeth to James. He kept his eyes on Remus, Remus who wasn’t looking away. Remus who was good, who healed, who helped.

“Yes, the fucking—” James said back. “Fuck, Sirius, fuck.”

The lift onto the stretcher felt like a whip. His father’s rings slicing his cheek. His mother’s nails. The bruises, the aches. Remus disappeared from view as he was placed on his back to be taken down through the tunnel.

Snape loomed up at the edge of the ice, black hair stringy with sweat. He gave nothing away. There was no apology. There was nothing.

Sirius had thought he was safe. But he should have known better.

The hits always came.

Gryffindor, 2020

Sirius let a lot of people do a lot of things to him. He let them make decisions for him. There was someone who decided what were the best foods for him to eat. What were the best ways to phrase his sentences. The best people for him to be seen with, and when. And those were people who were trying to help him. Who did help him. He was thankful to them, willing to give up a little control.

His mother. His mother had always been a different story. The control had been less control, and more restriction. Punishment. Less sleep, less food, more hours in the weight room. Sirius still caught himself at it sometimes. He’d have a bad game and find his entire appetite gone.

Sirius looked down at the sandwich on the counter, untouched.

The ice. The ice was different. It was only on the ice where no one had control except him. He called the shots, he wore the C. He helped his teammates, and his teammates helped him. There was no punishment for a bad game on the ice. There was support. There was next time.

This wasn’t the ice. This wasn’t anything he’d experienced at all. This wasn’t any help to anyone. This was out of a nightmare, one that he’d been having since he was thirteen, realizing he liked a teammate’s chest and smile more than any of the porn that got passed around, the girls that pressed up against him at parties.

Remus.

Sirius took a shaky breath in, pressing his palms to the cold marble counter.

Remus wasn’t a system, or a test, or a game-plan. Remus didn’t want him for what he could or couldn’t do. Remus didn’t punish him.

So, how on earth could he have been so selfish as to punish Remus? To take away so much from him.

Sirius had arrived at Hogwarts hours early, just to avoid anyone. He didn’t know how long James had knocked on his door last night. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. He didn’t know how many calls he had received, from anyone. He hadn’t checked.

He looked up at Remus, sitting across the table from him and looking down.

The hits always came.

The look on Remus’ face hit Sirius square in the chest.

This was old panic. Sirius knew that. It was the residue of things that had been ingrained into him for his entire life. But he couldn’t stop it. He had thought he was prepared now. Better now. Yet, here he was, frozen. Unable to even take a step towards the person he wanted the most. They sat in silence.

“Okay,” Alice said softly when her and Coach Weasley sat down at the table with the two of them. “Sirius, we know you have a plane to catch, and we don’t have too much time, but…let’s do our best, okay?”

She looked between the two of them. “How are you both doing? Would you like some tea or coffee? I know this is…this is…”

“Who took them?” Sirius said. “The pictures.”

“We’re not sure,” Alice replied. “A passerby maybe. Someone else in Remus’ building. Or a pap following you. It was New Year’s, after all. You get announced for All-Stars, you’re high-profile already, you leave your house just after midnight…it’s easy to assume you might be going to meet someone.”

“It didn’t come out on New Year’s,” Sirius snapped. “Why wait?”

“Money,” Alice said simply. “People bid on these things. Sometimes they take time.”

“It was my idea,” Remus said. He still wouldn’t look at Sirius, but rather calmly at Alice. “I don’t want Sirius to take any blame for that.”

Alice sighed. “The organization isn’t happy with you, Remus.”

“I figured,” Remus said faintly.

Sirius’ throat closed. If Remus was fired, he’d never forgive himself. He hadn’t even thought—they’d never talked about—

“In their eyes, you’re an employee. One that’s trusted with, well…players’ bodies.”

“Quoi?” Sirius burst out. “Like—like he’s some type of pervert? Like he manipulated me into something?”

“Someone in Remus’ position has access to private information,” Alice said, then put her hands out. “I am in no way saying that’s what went on with the two of you. And we’re here right now to figure out what we want to do and how we want to respond. I am here to fully support the both of you.”

“We both are,” Arthur said.

“What do they want us to do about it?” Remus asked.

“They’re trying to be…” Alice winced. “Party pleasers. They meaning, not just Lions organization, but mostly the NHL, the League. They’d like the Lions to let Remus go, showing they don’t condone,” she raised air quotes, “unprofessional relationships, but they’d also like Sirius to release a statement of confirmation.”

Sirius blanched. “Confirmation?”

“There have been rumors of this sort before, with other players,” Alice said. “But…those pictures don’t leave much to interpret.”

Remus scoffed. “So they’re willing to accept it just because they can’t deny it.”

Sirius silently begged Remus to look at him. He needed to see his face, just like that day on the ice with his ankle and Snape’s hit.

“Like I said,” Alice said with a dark look at the papers in front of her. “The League is trying to please their entire fanbase, which unfortunately includes lots of close-minded people.”

“That can’t be the entire fanbase. What about the other parts?” Remus said. “We’re here. And we aren’t the only ones!”

Sirius looked at Remus and his anger-flushed cheeks. “What?”

Remus looked at him, finally. He looked startled at himself that he had at all, like he had promised himself he wouldn’t. “I…I just mean we can’t be,” he looked away. “There’s no fucking way you are the only professional male hockey player who isn’t straight. I was nearly a professional hockey player and I’m definitely not.”

“Coach,” Alice said slowly. “If you’d like to talk about the organization’s position.”

Arthur nodded, and cleared his throat. “I am extremely willing to fight the board on this. I wish my leverage was that you’re both human and shouldn’t be judged in a professional setting on a personal relationship, or just at all. Jesus Christ, why are people so stupid? But…right now, my reasoning—the reasoning that will get their attention and sway their minds—is that we are two inches from a spot in the play-offs. Remus is known and loved by my team. He is a very valuable member of the Lions staff, just as Sirius is a very valuable player. That’s the simple truth on my end.”

“So, you can protect Remus,” Sirius needed him to say it.

Coach nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” Sirius said, and rose. “Then we’re done.”

Alice put out her hand cautiously. “Sirius, as for your statement to the press—”

“Fuck the press,” Sirius said. “I don’t owe them anything.”

Alice’s eyes turned firm. “You will be asked about this at the All-Star game. You should think about what you want to say.”

“Was it not already said for me?” Sirius shouted, and the room flinched into silence.

Alice swallowed. “You’re right.” She looked between Sirius and Remus.

Arthur leaned forward. “We are so sorry that this happened to the both of you.”

“It was a horrible violation of privacy and you both have every right to be extremely angry,” Alice continued. “But, please. Think about that anger when you are in front of a camera. Now, I am so happy to give you whatever support you need, whether that be anything from responses you can use so you don’t have to worry, or support via the organization’s social media. I know you’re private, Sirius, but—”

“But, what?”

“But this could mean something to someone out there,” Alice burst out. “You, the face of the National Hockey League—”

“Who I love has nothing to do with the NHL,” Sirius snapped, and then his face dropped, realizing what he had said.

He stared at Remus, who was looking right back at him, hand pressed to his throat. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.

I love you.

The phrase had been echoing around his head for weeks now. Remus.

“I have a plane to catch,” Sirius choked out.

“Okay,” Alice rose. “ Okay. Logan would be with you, but he requested a later flight last night, and so it’ll just be you and Minnie and the camera crews—”

“That’s fine,” Sirius barely got the words out before he was disappearing through the door, weekend bag in hand.

He felt sick.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Old panic, residue fear that was sticky like cement, keeping him in place and getting harder and harder to budge.

Only when the plane was about to take off did Sirius check his phone. Missed calls.

His mother. Two. It surprised him.

Minnie. Ten. But he had called her back.

Remus.

Thirty-six.

And one message, from this morning, just after the meeting.

Call me when you’re ready to talk. Good luck.

Sirius, heart in his stomach, slid his phone into his pocket and closed his eyes as the plane began to move.

#warnings: anxiety about family and coming out #warning family abuse #sweater weather #sweater weather lumosinlove #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #wolfstar au #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #lumosinlove ocs #Logan tremplay #o'knutzy

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bubblyani · 4 years ago

Text

‘Just For Show’

(Ronnie Kray x Reader)

A Ronnie Kray One Shot

Movie: Legend (2015)

Word Count: 6253

Rating: Mature

Requested by: @97freaknik

Summary: Upon his brother’s persuasion, Ronnie Kray dates, and marries a ‘nice’ girl, in order to cover up unsavory rumors about his sexuality. All just for show. Until feelings come knocking.

Author’s Note: Loved this story idea so much I couldn’t resist. Thank you for this. Hopefully everyone will love this! Enjoy y’all!

Light or Dark?

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you were at a sheer dilemma as you held on to two lipstick shades, comprising of light pink and dark red. Whatever color that would be painted on your lips tonight, must indeed leave an impression, deemed 'perfect and memorable’.

“You think he is taking the mick?”

A concerned voice inquired. With your eyes still in the mirror, the inquiry urged you to recall the sole reason you had difficulty deciding a simple lipstick shade in the first place.

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

(A few days ago)

Regardless of the years of baking experience you had under your belt, the simplest task of carrying a cake dressed with heavy icing on a cake stand, yet proved to be your most challenging task, ever. Finally placing the stand in the countertop display, you sighed silently with relief. As you gazed at the delicious treat, along with the others next to it, you could not wait to see the lineup of customers ,eager to satisfy their sweet tooth.

“Psst! He’s here!”

You turned upon the whispers of Ethan, your cousin, who stood next to you. Being the same age as you, Ethan had been working in your family’s Bakery for years, receiving the required training until he would be ready to start his very own elsewhere.

With your eyebrows raised, you shot him a glance.

“Who’s here?”

You whispered back, quickly standing straight. He motioned his head towards the door that opened with the ring of the bell, finally revealing a figure.

A figure responsible for your heart to skip a beat every single time : Ronald Kray.

You caught your breath, attempting to suppress a smile. Your cousin sniggered in response. “What?” You hissed under your breath, giving a nudge. “How can I not? When you’re all lovestruck!” He replied, in mid-snigger. “Well, Stop it!” “Shhh!” Ethan's shushing finally made you look back front, all to see Ron walk towards the counter. You involuntarily dusted your hands off the apron. It was something you could not help but do, every time he walked in, to be exact. “Morning, Ron...”

You greeted, offering a soft smile to the well dressed man. Looking around, he merely replied with a low grunt of acknowledgment. Silence afterwards was not of any surprise. And with no further question, you quickly found yourself packing the usual order for him. Only to realize he had come alone today. What could be the reason?

The famous Kray Twins always preferred to fulfill their sweet cravings from your Bakery. And their preference had tempted the rest of the Firm to be fanatics as well. Though he was the silent one between the two, Ron certainly succeeded in capturing your attention with the least of intentions.

And with the fullest of intentions, you found yourself falling for him, deeply. In secret, of course.

Smiling, you placed the neatly wrapped treat on the counter before him.

“Lemon Drizzle Cake...just the way you like it” You said, certain those will be only words you will need to spare for him that day. “Hmm...” Ron grunted, his gloved hand grabbing it slowly. And just as always, you expected him to turn.You expected to indulge the view of his broad back as he slowly walked away. As always, you expected to be grateful for even seeing him again for a mere few seconds.

Except, he defied all your expectations.

"Y/N?" “Y-yes?” You stuttered, surprised by the timbre of his deep voice when he uttered your name. You watched him take a deep breath, his eyes still on the cake.

“Would you like to…" he began, looking at you, "....go out with me?"

You swore no trace of breath was left in your body.

That query seemed completely ludicrous, exiting the lips of someone such as Ron Kray. Yet for you, it was heavenly music to your ears.

And when heavenly music played, who would not want to sing with joy?

“Yes…” You replied mindlessly, all to your cousin's surprise.

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

(Present)

“Oi!” The snap of Ethan’s fingers forced you to return to the present. “Where were you off to?” He asked, with raised eyebrows. With the lipstick pressed against your lips, you smirked. “I’m sorry…” you replied, “….you were saying?” “I was saying…” Giving you a quizzical look, Ethan continued, “Do you think he was taking the mick?” Concern still evident in his tone.

After the entire recollection, all you could do was smile to yourself. And given the dark red shade that ended up on your lips, your heart seemed to have already decided.

“Honestly, I don’t know…” you said, “Only one way to find out, hmm?”

‘Cool and unaffected’ may have been your exterior. But only you were the witness to your excited self who jumped up and down on the inside.

A man you adored finally wanted to take you out.

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

The last long note of the jazz trumpeter was responsible for the storm of applause that emerged in the club, and you certainly were a willing contributor. Though your hands had turned red from the the chaos of the claps, the smile on your face did not seem to fade away. Offering a standing ovation to the musicians on stage, your response seemed to attract the attention of the other customers as well.

“Jazz tickles your fancy, innit?”   Ron Kray asked, causing you to sit down shyly. “I admit, it does” smiling, you replied with honesty. “What about boxing?” He continued, “Do you like boxing?”

What was this? A questionnaire, a survey? Was he ticking off certain invisible criteria that you had not laid eyes on? Regardless, you found it all so amusing. Chuckling, you crossed your leg over the other.

“Thanks to me Dad, I do…” You said, straightening your back, “Although he won’t let me attend any games…” you added, looking around with wonder. Esmeralda’s Barn was as amazing as you had imagined it to be, and more. Your eyes did not fail to sparkle from the moment you set foot in this venue, for all that existed, really seemed to posses a touch of glitter.

“This is a really nice club…” You said, looking over to Ron with a smile. With no words in reply, he raised his glass of champagne to you. Inviting you to raise yours in turn. Though conversation was not of the expected frequency, you were enjoying the night with him.

“Well...Hello Hello! What have we here?”

Reggie Kray was full of smiles and cheers, making his way over to your table with a few from the Firm. You were certainly surprised to see how all of them were quite joyous to find you there with Ron. As the chairs were dragged with screeches, a mini party was suddenly held at the comfort of your own table.

Time flew by gloriously. In the midst of sipping champagne, you eagerly listened to stories told by the Krays, and even some others from the Firm. Stories, that were mostly unfiltered. Nevertheless, they all caused you to laugh so wholeheartedly, even the sides of your stomach began to ache. The jazz music, the stories, the company, all the bare necessities to fill you with happiness. Seeing Ron smile with his mates was definitely a highlight of the evening. If only you could have been responsible for a feat as amazing as that was. If only.

When the Firm finally left the two of you alone, you were in the midst of laughter, hitting the table hard with your eyes closed, upon remembering the dirty joke Reggie uttered a few seconds beforehand.

“Oh!…” you breathed, recovering from the laughter, “I am having such a blast” you said with all honesty, waving to the others before turning to Ron, “Thank you…” you told him, presenting the most genuine smile you could ever portray, as you calmed down to watch the performance on stage.

It was certainly an evening you hoped to remember. Granted, you would have preferred more intimacy with the man sitting next to you. But you did not wish to complain. Not about Ronnie Kray. Being at his presence was a gift itself. The sound of the empty glass landing on the table firmly made you look back at the Kray Twin.Why would he gulp down such a fine brand of champagne in one setting?

“Y/N…” “Yes?” You replied, as you indulged in your own champagne.

 “Will you marry me?”

Spitting out the alcohol in a flash, you looked at him with wide eyes, and a dropped jaw.

“W-WHAT?”

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

With the Kray Twins claiming the title of Royalty in East End, a scandalous story about them hitting the papers was certainly a stain that was hard to wash off.

Ever since the story of the sex party scandal came to light, featuring popular figures such as Lord Boothby, the curiousity about the sexuality of Ronald Kray had garnered more attention. Along with that, Business with the current clients, found itself to be difficult to be built up, or even being carried on. Awfully desperate to wipe this slate clean, Reggie Kray and Leslie Payne had but one solution.

“Are you out of your FUCKING minds?”  Ron Kray’s reaction was simply justified, especially when their solution, was for him to marry a ‘nice girl’. Marry? And to a woman? Rubbing his chin, Reggie looked at his brother.

“Just think about it, Ron…” he said, his hands resting on his hips, “Or else people are going to talk…” “Business ain’t going to be good for us, Ronnie” Leslie added coolly, blowing smoke as he held on to his his cigarette. Looking around at the only two occupants in the pub, E.Pellicci on a Tuesday afternoon, Ron pointed his fork at his twin. “Reg, you’re my brother…” he muttered deeply, “You know better that I never hide my preference…”

“And as your brother…” Reggie said, sitting in front of him, “I know better to have your back before things go fuckin south…yeah?” He added, “Come on! It’s not like you have to fall in love with her…” he smiled, patting Ron’s shoulder “It’s all just for show…”

Looking at one another, a silent conversation had suddenly begun, a silent negotiation more like. Or perhaps was it an eager salesman trying to make a sell to the difficult customer?

Finally, Ron sighed, grunting in acknowledgement. He seemed to have given up. Feeling victorious, Reggie and Leslie nodded at each other with relief.

“You have someone in mind?” Ron asked casually, resuming to pick at his Eggs Benedict with his fork.

Looking at his brother proudly, Reggie smirked. For he was eager to share his grand plan.

The grand plan that involved their favorite Bakery.

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

Relieved you were to have saved your best nightgown for a night such as this one. Your wedding night, to be exact.

Tracing the material with your fingers, you permitted the silk to caress your skin whilst you brushed your loose hair. With Ron still in the bathroom, you had some time to reflect on the whirlwind adventure you had experienced. All in just one week.

Just when the idea of a date seemed ludicrous, a proposal from Ronald Kray was simply unimaginable. He made some fair points, you would admit. How he 'loved you’, and how he ‘wanted no one else but you’. Truthfully, his tone may have seemed monotonous, it could have easily been a tad bit insincere, yet you were certain that was only because he was not like everyone else. For a different aura existed within him, and that being one of the primary reasons you adored him. Some attractions in life could never be explained.

Besides, with you hopelessly in love with him for almost a year, there was no trace of hesitation when you accepted it. Your family did not seem to mind whatsoever. With the Krays and the Firm showing their loyalty to the Bakery, your parents never felt safer and more proud. No wonder you had no difficulty loving Ron Kray all this time. For everything seemed to make complete sense. He may not be the most expressive man on the planet. But that did not bother you, not even the slightest. Confident you were to pull out something new from him. You had never been this certain about anything in your entire life.

The wedding, it was simple yet lovely, including all that you ever hoped for. There was music, there was laughter and there was company at its warmest. The Firm may intimidate the others, but in your eyes, they were the epitome of sincere friendship and family.Just married for a few hours and yet all of them felt like brethren to you.

You jumped out of your thoughts the moment Ron cleared his throat. Coming out of the bathroom, he managed to look robust even in his pajamas.

“Sorry about that…” He said, embarrassingly. Being inside the bathroom for quite a long time, the apology did not seem shocking. You shook your head slowly.

“It’s fine…” You said, as you watched him sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly walking over, you joined right next to him. You felt giddy, empathizing with a teenager hoping to catch the attention of her senior classmate.

Silence took center stage for brief moment. Almost to the point it grew awkward. You felt your breath quicken in silence as your heartbeat increased along with it. You found it difficult to gain control. But fortunately, Ron began to speak.

“Many people think Reggie is the more beautiful one …” He said, “Do you agree?” He asked, turning his head to face you. With his glasses still on and his hair slicked back, Ron certainly looked too formal for bed. With your eyes on him, you took a deep breath, finally calming down thanks to his inquiry. A proper distraction.

“Well, I won’t lie…” you began, “Reggie is beautiful…” Ron sighed, “Eh…” as if this was no surprise. “And so are you…” You added, with an extra dose of affection. Which made him look back at you with shock.

“Yeah?You think so?” His query was sincere, to which you nodded, chuckling.  “Of course…” you giggled, “Why else would I say yes to you?”

Your heart sang when you heard him chuckle in return. It was very rare, his chuckle. A chuckle only heard when the others in the Firm jested. Only then did he chuckle. Until now.

Feeling the softness of the bed on your fingers, you were even more convinced he was not really ready for bed. You wanted him to loosen up. Inching closer, the distance between the two of you finally closed. Suddenly, you felt so brave. Brave enough to make an impression on the feared Kray Twin: your now-husband.

Ron did not flinch when you took his glasses off, for you were as delicate as you could be with it. Neither did he move an inch when your fingers began to affectionately stroke his head, stealthily digging into his hair, pulling his locks out of the constraints of his hair wax. Tonight and for always, he was to be yours, and you were overjoyed.

With his hair falling on the sides of his face, it came to your realization as to how handsome he really was. He was quite underrated, to be honest.

Your eyes quickly fell on to his lips. Ever since you first laid eyes on him, those lips had driven you mad. Lips that could enslave a thousand if needed. You knew for certain of their softness, you had an inkling they were luscious. All you needed was proof.   Frustration came over you when he kissed you at the ceremony for the first time. Being in the presence of many, the kiss was short. Too short, to be exact. You wondered if he was just shy. Many a doubts came to mind, yet you were too quick to dismiss them. Why would he marry you if not for love? You had no wealth nor mafia connections. So indeed for love, yes?  Staring at his lips for too long, you felt your heartbeat increase with urgency. You were hungry. With your hands still in his hair, you leaned forward for a taste. Until you felt him grab you by the shoulders, pushing you into bed. With grunts and growls that exited his lips, you realized his preference for lovemaking: Rough.

You gasped when he surprised by climbing on top of you. Pulling down his pajama bottoms in a flash, he rubbed his manhood with intensity whilst spreading your legs wide open, causing your eyes to widen as well. No, not yet! Not this ways!  “Ronnie Wait!" you cried, " I’m still a virg-”

Your own words were cut off by a loud cry of surprise, feeling your inner lining break with a sharp pain as his shaft finally entered you, for the first time, ever. With your eyes closed, you tried to handle the pain, that disappeared soon afterwards.  “You’re a…?” Ron croaked, finally realizing the depth of his actions. You nodded slowly. To your surprise, you found the tone of his eyes change. It grew into something that could even be considered sad. Or regretful. That was when you felt your heart melt. What you thought you would get cross, you could not, you did not. All because you loved him too much.   Cupping his face so delicately, there were so much you longed to say. Certainly, this was not the best way for a virgin to experience sex. Yet, this was life. But when you cupped his face, you had other agendas at heart. What could those lips offer you?

With his attention tightly held on to, you moved close, finally kissing him the proper way.

You cherished it, every second. At first, it was a peck, innocent and sweet. With the longer peck, followed increased affection that was motivated with every touch. Being braver, you proceeded to lick his lips, only to place your lips over his once again, kissing him with added pressure, longer than before. Only then, only then did you feel his own lips kiss you back. With his equal reciprocation, it was possibly the best kiss you ever experienced. Moving your hands over to his head, you encouraged the kiss to deepen, moaning into his mouth, as he began to rhythmically move inside you once again.

No clothes were in need of disrobing. Not tonight. For the priority was met. Vulnerabilities were disrobed instead of clothes. Intimacy was displayed instead of the bare frame. You moved along with him, and he was wonderful, fitting so well within you. Pleasure was felt to the core. And to your relief, the kisses did not end so soon. Stealing long, expressive kisses here and there, Ron Kray made love to you until finally the release was met. Groaning, he fell on to the bed right to you.

As you brought your legs together, you felt a sense of wetness in between your thighs. With a swift stroke, your eyes widened by the sight of blood on your fingers.

“Where are you off to?” Ron asked, as you slowly attempted to get off the bed. “Uh….” you struggled, looking at him shyly, ‘The blood…” you said, motioning to the bottom part of the bedsheet stained with red, “Need to clean ‘em off…I-Ah!” But you were far from it, especially when you were pulled back into it by Ron. Ending up in his arms that wrapped your frame, you rested on you elbows, looking at him confusingly, only to be met with his long kiss.   “No rush…” He grunted coolly, bringing you to his chest, “No rush…”

Pleased by your husband's wishes, you complied, savoring the softness and warmth he had surprisingly brought to you.

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

“So?..Did you get it over with?”

Reggie asked, the very next morning when Ron made his visit to the E.Pellicci. Sipping on his tea, Ron merely grunted in acknowledgement. Little did he know of the growing curiosity of Reggie Kray and Leslie Payne in regards to the juicy details of the wedding night. Given his usual displeasure in women, they were indeed quite curious about this particular woman.   “And...How was it?” Reggie was persistent. Looking up from his cup, Ron found himself staring into the distance. “You know what?" he said, " It wasn’t half bad…She…" he paused, bringing his hand up , "....she is an interesting one”   “Is she now?” Leslie asked, chuckling with amusement, "So will there be more that interesting one then?" "Fuck off!" Albert Donoghue’s sudden appearance in the pub caused the trio to quieten with concern. “Reg, Ron…Heads up!” he muttered, as the pub doors swung open dramatically. Along with its dramatic swing, came in a group of men, wielding nothing but iron pipes and shameless grins.

“Congratulations Ron Kray!” One of them called out loudly, “The Richardsons would like to give a little…wedding present…”

Gang wars. What’s there to be said?

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

You sighed, sitting comfortably on the sofa, as you continued to apply the medicine over Ronnie’s hand. Just a small brawl, Reggie said, when he brought his brother back home to you. One day after the wedding and you already were forced to face this. Helping you realize all that you were to anticipate in the near future. All as the wife of Ronnie Kray.   “So…will this be something usual?” You asked, making him throw you a look, “Just for future reference…” you added defensively. Ronnie looked back at his bruised knuckles.

“Every job has its challenges, yeah?” He began, as you nodded, “I suppose these are mine…” he added, “…and more…” You chuckled. It was clear when you married him, you married everything about him. So who were you to judge? “Well said, Mr. Kray” you smirked as you were quite impressed, “There! All done…” you said, staring at his cleaned bruises as you slowly got up, “I’ll just… make you some tea and-Ah!”

He was always the surprise, pulling you back to him. Ever so comfortably, you ended up on his lap. Wrapping one arm around your waist, he brought you closer, making you blush.

“Would you mind just…staying like this?” Ron asked, his tone filled with shyness, all the while looking at you. His words made your eyes warm. And also your heart.

“I would love to…” you said, blushing harder when he took your chin to kiss you. Long and quiet, the kiss was proficient enough to convey enough to your heart and soul.  “Y/N?” “Hmm?” you hummed, still drunk by his kiss. Pressing his lips together, he inhaled softly. “Do you like…poetry?” Ron asked all the sudden. You could reply with nothing but your bright smile.

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

“Oh darling, these are just wonderful…” Violet Kray, mother of the Kray Twins cried with joy as she accepted the basket, filled with warm Loaves of French Baguettes. All from her daughter-in-law.  “Straight from the oven, Mrs. Kray” She said with pride. Violet scoffed.

“Don’t you dare be so formal, love. Call me Mum…” The matriarch replied, bringing the young woman to an embrace.

“I will, Mum”

All this Ronnie Kray watched, with a surprising sense of satisfaction. The fact that his wife won his mother's heart was definitely a good sign. And as days and weeks went by, Ronnie Kray was coming to terms with what an amazing woman he was forced to marry into.With the fascination of a woman and a man combined, her interests were beyond incredible, fit to make conversation with simply anyone in the Firm. He certainly had judged her too fast before. Just because she worked at a baker, did not mean she was not interesting or amazing.

Apart from conversation, she was sexually surprising as well. Never did Ronnie imagine to feel a sense of pleasure that was never experienced before. And besides the pleasure, he felt love. Although he had more preference to men earlier, the aura she had given out in the bedroom was what he could not get enough of. Sex with her was just as exciting as sex with a man. With a colorful imagination, she made sure every time to be as unforgettable as the one before.

Watching a somber or serious news telecast would never be boring with her sitting on his lap. Especially when his erect and hungry shaft was buried inside her as she moved in steady rhythm. Holding his head securely, with his face pressed against her neck, he watched her moan, all the while she made her way up and down on his shaft. Impressed he was with her eagerness to be so open minded, even urging his hands to roam around her frame as she unbuttoned her dress from the front. All so that his hands could touch, pull, pinch, tickle and caress every inch of her skin as he pleased while she moved.

“Never knew you had this side to you…” Ron breathed, to which she looked at him.  “Well, you never asked, Mr. Kray…” she purred, crying out in pleasure soon after, as he tugged her erect nipples.

And before knew it, Ronnie Kray had more appreciation for the female anatomy than ever before. Ever since then, he would spontaneously show off his appreciation with his lips more than ever. The simple favor of undoing an apron may have gone further, merely triggered by the sight of her bare neck, forcing him to unzip her dress, only to let it fall to the floor. All the while he held her, as he took his sweet time, kissing, licking and sucking every inch of her skin that his eyes could trace. And with her gratuitous moans and cries filling his ears, he had never felt so proud.

Ever since the wedding, Ron visited the E.Pellicci less. But whenever he did, the pub was filled with cheer.

"We hardly see you anymore, Ron!" “Probably too busy getting hands on with his new Missus!” “Or maybe even busy training her to stay out of his way…” “No! No! He really seems to like her…” "Bugger off, you cheeky fuckers!" Ron would say, with a cigar between his teeth, laughing alongside the mates. All the mates who laughed. All except Teddy Smith.

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

You watched the Firm gather around Teddy, all with champagne glasses in hand. "Happy Birthday, Mad Teddy!" Ronnie cried out on behalf of all at Esmeralda's Barn, "May you be as mad as ever!" "To TEDDY!" All cried with cheers.

Teddy Smith flashed his brightest smile. You clapped your hardest, watching the Firm sing their songs of camaraderie. This really should have been just the boys. Why on earth would Ron bring you here?

"I would just ruin the whole mood" you remembered telling him, whilst putting on the earrings a few hours ago. "Fucking nonsense!" he said, as you turned to fix his tie, "The Firm loves you..." he stated as you finished, “Besides… who doesn't want to show you off?" he teased, forcing you to playfully smack his shoulder.

Smiling to oneself at that recollection, you headed towards the restroom while your ears were enlightened by jazz musicians who played on stage. Too much champagne had you running off to the loo even before 11pm. But before you could enter the ladies room, you felt someone stand behind you.   “Enjoying the party?”

Teddy asked, making you turn to him. You smiled widely. “Oh yes, very much…" you said, "Happy Birthday again Teddy!” you clasped your hands together with a sincere wish. He was the adorable brother you never had.

Except he merely scoffed with disgust.   “You think you have all of us figured out, aye?” He asked, displeasure very evident in his tone. Confused, your eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” you asked. Taking one more step towards you, he folded his arms.

“Do you really think the great Ronnie Kray…married you, for love?”

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With your pulse running high, you quickly turned on the sink tap in the ladies washroom, letting the water run as you moistened the mouth with some. You hoped it would calm you down, but it did not.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you watched yourself take deep breaths. Each breath in a dire need to to help you take in the information you just received from Teddy.

Also known as the truth.

He disclosed it all, Reggie’s desperate plan to save his brother's reputation, and how that plan mainly included marrying you. Rumors of his bisexuality you were familiar with, yet you never expected that to be true. Not after everything you had experienced with him. And you did not expect to hear all of that from Teddy, the man who claimed to be Ronnie's former lover.   “You’re nothing but a bloody cover up…” You remembered him saying. Chuckling with pride, he continued to taunt you: “How do you know where on earth he fuckin ends up, after you fall asleep?” he continued, “Face it, love! You’re nothing but a public please-”

“Stop it!” You cried out, covering your ears with an innocent plea, storming into the Ladies Room. Bringing you back to where you were now.

A fool, You felt like a fool. How could you have been so blind? You should have not come here. You should not have said yes to anything Ronnie had asked of you. More importantly, You should not have loved him in the first place.

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

He always had her in his sights, no matter how busy he was with the Firm in the party. With her been in the loo for too long, Ronnie was getting impatient.

The moment she was within his sights he felt relief, except that was robbed from him once again when he watched her leave the club with a possible look of dejection.

It worried him, infuriatingly. He followed her, tried to at least through the crowds in the club. And Teddy Smith was the biggest hurdle of all, bumping into him as he came from the same corner as she did.   “Why is she leaving?” Ron asked him. Teddy however, was silent, enraging Ronnie even further, “Answer my fuckin question!”,he said, pulling him by the collar. Teddy however looked far from upset.

“Cause she doesn’t belong here…" he said, "...she never belonged with us, Ronnie…” he added with dedication, “Forget about her…” his breath felt seductive, running his hands over his clothed chest. Ron was immune to it surprisingly. He was far from aroused.

“You fucking bastard!” He yelled, pushing him away, “I’ll get you next time!” pointing at him, “Wankers!” Ronnie cried out, leaving the club. Passing him by, Reggie appeared quite confused.  “Ron…what’s going on?” He called out to his brother, who clearly ignored him. Reggie turned to Teddy, finally sensing the reason for this contradiction. Shaking his head, Reggie Kray sighed. “Teddy, …the fuck did you do, mate?”

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

“Come on! Come on!” You prayed, turning the dial of the numbers frantically as you stood inside the telephone box. You hoped someone would answer your call, you hoped someone would come to pick you up. But your hopes were in no luck for consideration. “FUCK!” You yelled at the phone frustratingly. Clearly, it was not like you to swear like this in the open. Has his habits rubbed off on you?

“Y/N!”

And just like that, you turned to find Ronnie standing outside the booth. “No!" you shook your head immediately, "Go! Leave me alone!” you cried out, putting the phone down. “Y/N…” Ronnie began, “What the bloody hell you doing?” “Avoiding you, that’s what!” You snapped.  “Let me in…” he demanded. “No! “Let…me…in” his demands were repeated, through gritted teeth, leaving pause with each word, which truthfully scared you. Left with no choice, you opened the door, allowing him to enter, and lock it right behind him.

With such little space between the two, you felt uncomfortable for the very first time. If it were a mere few days ago, you would be finding any excuse to be wrapped around him, just to listen to him grunt, to listen to him moan, to listen to him chuckle.

“What did Teddy tell you?” He inquired in seriousness. Averting your gaze, you kept silent for a few seconds before you finally answered: “The truth…the whole truth and nothing but the truth…” “Never knew you could be snarky” “Well, you never asked…”

Your banter with him, it was such a lovely surprise. Which made this even more disappointing.

“I’m not even angry…I’m..." you paused, "I'm hurt” you said, feeling your nose grow sour, “I may not be smart as any of you. But I'm no fool…” you added, involuntarily sniffing, “I’m not foolish enough to stand by when someone plays with my emotions” with your hands on your hips, you tried to gather your self, “I don’t…I don’t think anyone has ever loved you the way I did" you said, making Ronnie open his mouth slowly, “It was silent, but it was strong. For many years. I never cared that you were a gangster, I never even cared of the other foul things they said about you.” you continued, “But if you were to tell me, this was all just for show and nothing…was ever…real-I…I don’t understand” you struggled, taking a step closer to him, his cigar smell strong in his coat, “Was none of it real?” you asked, “Our conversations? Our kisses?" you paused, taking a deep breath, "... Every single time we made love…Were they not real?”

A single tear trickled down your cheek by the end of that question. And with your question, you expected a well deserved answer. You think you earned it after all this. Yet, Ronnie did not answer. Staring at you, he merely stood there pondering. Disappointed, you did not know how to cope with this. Sighing symbolized your surrender, and you turned to leave with a heavy heart.

Until he grabbed your wrist with a grip hard as iron.   “If you know me well.…" he began slowly, "You would know very well that I am a difficult man to deal with” he said softly, yet he remained feared. You gulped, not knowing what to anticipate. However, his grip loosened soon after. Instead he held your hand gently.   “You're right..." He began, “It was just for show, yes. In the beginning. At the bakery, at the jazz club…” he said, making your stomach clench, “I had to, it was the plan…”

So that was it, It was the truth. You were being strung along all just for show. Your feelings felt used, like a wet cloth being wrung so tight there was no water left.

“But not anymore…” Your eyes widened upon hearing his words. Looking up, he looked at you. His hold on you tightened, yet not with pain. But warmth instead.

“I…” he paused, “...I think I love you" he gulped, "And I don’t want to lose you…ever” he said, tracing his tone to comprise of softness and vulnerability. A thick liquid of warmth began to pour down on to your heart. You wanted to accept it wholeheartedly, except it was blocked by a lid of doubt.   “What about Teddy?" you asked coldly.  “Oh! He’s a jealous faggot! But he means well…” Ronnie said in a matter of fact tone, forcing you laugh out loud. He certainly could make you smile always. That Ronnie Kray.   “He loves you, I can tell…” you said, feeling envious to the core.  “Well, it’s a pity now…” Ronnie said, driving that jealousy away. Yet you were still not convinced. "How can I believe you?" You inquired, still realizing your hand was being held, "How can I sure absolutely sur-“

Your words were cut off when Ronnie Kray pulled you to him for a passionate kiss. And your lips did not hesitate to hold back at all. Though your mind was the provider of that lid of doubt, your heart was the one pouring that warmth, and it seemed like it was stronger. Lips were happy to be reunited once again, opening to each other so that the tongues could play their usual dance. You moaned involuntarily as you felt his hands grab you by the buttocks, pulling them up whilst you both kissed. But your mind was not impressed, not yet. This was just too easy.  "Ronnie..." you said, pulling away, “..that's just cheap-”

"This! This is what I want...for the rest of my fucking life..." he snarled, but with meaning, "I may get arrested, I may even go to fucking jail..” he said, "But this…” he paused, “I don't want this to change. Ever" Positively moved, you chuckled. “Well said, Mr. Kray”

You admitted, lips not holding back when Ronnie fully kissed you once again. Never did you expect a man like Ronnie Kray to be this way.

As he kept kissing you with all his heart, you wondered. Did you really pull something out of him to change? Would a better version of himself be a possibility because of you? For the moment, none of that really mattered.

For all you needed to remember was your love for him. And from tonight onwards, his love for you.

——————————————————

Tagged: @starlightmornings @rogerfxckingtaylor @daydreamerinadazedworld @courtney-thevixeniris @kimmietea @shigarakitomuraxxxdabi @tealaquinn @rach5ive @thebeckyjolene

Check My MASTERLIST here :)

#tom hardy #legend #legend 2015 #ron kray #ronnie kray #ronnie kray x reader #ron kray x reader #ronald kray x reader #the kray twins #legend 2015 fanfiction #east end gangster #mob #mafia #tom hardy imagines #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy x reader #venom #venom 2 #alfie solomons

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friendofhayley · 4 years ago

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I’m back after my hiatus from fanfiction, to give y’all the best multifandom recs of the fics I read this month. Shoutout to all content creators who helped us live to see the close of this year. This fic includes 15 fics for Sterek, Larry, Winteriron, and Geraskier. The starred ones put me through heaven and hell *chef’s kiss*.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

1. Six Letter Word for Romance by @troubleiwant | domestic kink - omg there’s only one bed - soft Derek - oblivious idiots in love - 6k

Stiles definitely starts off thinking it’s fucking hilarious that Derek-sourwolf-Hale does crosswords and cares about scuffs on his furniture.

But at a certain point, and he can’t pinpoint exactly when, “fully functional adult couple” somehow becomes a massive fetish of his. Derek in sweats and bare feet, nudging his glasses up his nose while he does the Sunday crossword? Unff. Derek filling out forms to get some renovations on his property approved? Oh God, yes. Derek putting away groceries and bitching that the corner store was out of the right type of Greek yogurt? Take me now, Stiles thinks, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

This can’t be normal.

2. *Dirty Little Secret* by @isthatbloodonhisshirt | Cora & Stiles bffs - no one can resist the Stilinski charm - celebrity Derek - human au - 91k

“Holy shit, this is a date!” he blurted out, turning back to Derek wide-eyed. “This is a date! You intended for this to be a date, this was supposed to be a date!” He figured if he said it enough times, maybe he would believe it, but so far, no dice.

Derek was scowling again—seriously, did he want wrinkles?—but he just reached into one of the bags and pulled out a burger, checking what was written on the foil in sharpie before handing it over to Stiles.

“Of course it’s a date, what did you think this was?”

3. Can You Feel A Whole New Part of Your World? by @isthatbloodonhisshirt | i genuinely don’t look at authors names i just click i am sorry for spamming you but you write too good - neighbors Sterek - emotionally mature Stiles - the ideal fluffy world you’d want to live in - 53k

Can you hear me singing in the shower?” Stiles blurted out, because he had to know, now. If one of his neighbours had slid that note under his door, then it meant Parrish as another neighbour could hear him, too! He had to know if this was all a huge joke and one person had walked by and overheard him and decided to fuck with him.

Parrish gave him a weird look at the question, but answered anyway, making Stiles’ plans to leave the country speed up in his mind.

“Of course I can. You’re actually not bad. Though you have been singing a lot of Frozen lately, getting kind of tired of the soundtrack.”

4. Theory of Overprotective Canines by @petals42 | derek can turn into wolf - oblivious Stiles - future fic - mutual pining - 11k

Stiles is totally looking forward to living alone in his super cool apartment off-campus. He is. He is also very excited to bike to school every day, ready to set up an awesome game room, and definitely over his crush on Derek Hale. Completely over it.

Or at least he is until Derek decides he's moving in with him. And then turns out to be the perfect roommate. And then starts attending all his classes. As a wolf.

This is not going according to plan.

Larry (One Direction)

5. **The Changer and the Changed** by @homosociallyyours | literally the best fic of all time i want to live in there - girl direction - NYC ‘70s au - trans Zayn - the girls are so lovely - 59k

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians.

Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love.

When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene.

6. others i’ve seen might never be mean (but they would never do) by @cherrylouvol6 | aaaaaaaa it’s lesbian When Harry Met Sally !!! - rom com - girl direction - coming out and first times - really great sex - 20k

Louis sighs.

“Do you remember what I said to you the first time we met?”

“That I’m naive and neurotic and would be hard pressed to ever find someone who could put up with me?” Harry snaps.

7. some things fade (some never do) by @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed | aaaaaa this story took me apart and back together again just like Louis and Harry - urban fantasy au - second chances - exes to friends to lovers - hurt/comfort - 25k

Matching tattoos. He’d never thought he’d be the type for tattoos to begin with, let alone matching or magical ones, but once Harry had put the idea in his mind it had never quite managed to disappear. And it had made sense. With their relationship a long distance one, this was simply another way of feeling close to one another. Of knowing where the other was, how they felt. It had made so much sense.

Back then.

8. we can take the long way home by @eleadore | i usually don’t rec my porn but there’s so much feels in this one - canon-divergent - kink discovery - friends to lovers - this was written in 2015 as a future fic but it felt like it was taking place now so good job - 27k

“Fertile,” Louis says, and then laughs because it sounds stupid to say out loud. He hasn’t ever really thought of himself in those terms. Baby-making terms. It’s just one of those things his body can do, like exercise, or go without tea. Doesn’t mean he will.

Winteriron (MCU)

9. **Dig No Graves** by @missaphelion | Tony finds out about his parents right after winter soldier au - Tony Stark has a heart - Bucky heals with bots and lots of sugar - slow burn - 142k

"I'm here to kill you, Terminator," Tony said slowly, "does that compute?"

The soldier looked up at him with wide blue eyes and no expression. "Okay."

Tony froze. "Okay," he echoed. "I tell you I came here to kill you and your response is 'okay'?"

10. A Rifling Matter by Penndragon27 | Winter Soldier has such a big crush on Tony’s weapons, he escapes Hydra au - identity porn - pining Bucky - fluff and angst - Winter Soldier is a fanboy and it’s cute - 37k

All the Asset knows is fighting, killing.

He also knows a good weapon when he sees one and Stark Industries... they make some great weapons.

11. *Winter is Coming (aka Fifty First Avengers Dates)* by @tisfan & @everyworldneedslove | enemies to friends to lovers to 50 first dates - pining Bucky - Tony gets amnesia - no Steve bashing but he’s a little bit of an ass - mental health issues - 109k

Bucky Barnes is still mostly The Asset, and he's pretty sure Hydra is going to come back for him soon, so in the meantime he's just going to keep an eye on the Avengers for them. But then Clint spotted him hiding in the shadows, so Tony came out and dragged Bucky back to the Tower, threw him in the shower, and fed him cheeseburgers.

Now The Asset is having anomalous feelings. In his pants.

Geraskier (The Witcher)

12. *no reason to run* by @yoursummerfrost | different meeting au - only one bed but camping - cursed Jaskier - soft Geralt!!!! - poly negotiations - 61k

"You'll change your mind one day," says the innkeep. "The road can't love you back."

What a strange way to flatten something so beautiful, Jaskier thinks. What a small way to love.

13. *He Fell into a Faerie Ring* by @geraltnoises | Jaskier gets bardnapped after the fight au - non-human Jaskier - soft Geralt - Jaskier encourages people to be kind and becomes a god - emotionally mature Geralt - 57k

Traders are a gossiping sort. If there was a scandal within the noble houses of Posada, you’d hear about it in Cretegor by the end of the week. So, the quick spread of a rumor about a little village in the Kestrel Mountain range was not at all surprising. What was surprising was the story that the traders wove. They said that Luibhtorrach, a sad, ghost of a farming town, had miraculously become a hub for trade, as if overnight. Their lands unbelievably fertile and brimming with crop. Even stranger, each and every one of Luibhtorrach’s people professed that their good fortune was the work of a mysterious beast they’d claimed as their personal deity. Most recent news foretold of their plans to throw a midsummer festival celebrating this newfound god. In preparation, silken blue banners were erected in every corner of the town, each bearing the symbol of their new patron: A delicate dandelion wrapping around a golden sun.

14. Barking Up the Wrong Tree by KHansen | 5+1 things - I’m worried about Geralt’s skills - non-human Jaskier - monsterfucker Geralt - crack treated seriously - 11k

Geralt is 100% certain that Jaskier is a vampire.

He's 100% proven wrong.

15. Bardic Idyll by Lisztful | fake relationship - Geralt is soft and oblivious - pining - fluff and angst - Jaskier you can’t show your emotions mainly through song! - 13k

Jaskier is certain he can win the Continent's annual bardic competition, but he needs to be accompanied by a dashing romantic companion in order to enter. Enter Geralt, who is definitely, for sure, only interested in the free food, and not at all in staring lovingly into Jaskier's eyes.

#monthly fic rec #fic rec #sterek fic rec #larry fic rec #winteriron #geraskier #larrie hijinks #witcher #mcu

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delaber · 4 years ago

Text

Just Friends (Part 9)

Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.

Word Count: 4.6K

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol)

Chapter Note: smut smut smut smut smut smut smmmmmuuuuttt

Tag List: lonelydance mysearchforgratification ramp-it-up blndspotting summerofsnowflakes exrthangel honeysucklechocolatedrippin captaintightpants58

Other Parts: See Masterlist

"What did I tell you?" He laughed as he closed the door behind him, "you don't have to take off your shoes when you're here."

"It's the polite thing to do," you smiled goofily up at him, "what if I stepped in something icky earlier."

"I suppose I'd have to clean the floor tomorrow then," he shrugged, his eyes still bloodshot from the joint, "it's a risk I'd be willing to take."

Easy to giggles, you shot him a laugh.

"You want a drink?" he asked you and held up his index finger, "a quick word of warning; my margarita game is off but I do make a mean Long Island."

You arched an eyebrow at him, "Long Island? Are you trying to get me drunk?"

He sent you a smirk, "Your senses are already dulled from the reefer. How much more could a strong drink possibly do?"

"Okay," you laughed, "Long Island it is then - I do hope it's better than the 'Rafa Special' that you made me on New Years."

"Ouch, you big bully," he pretended to be hurt, "I lay down my guard and show you my true self and this is what it gets me? Some ignorant European tearing apart my cocktail game? I'm telling you; if I had just an ounce of self-respect, you'd be in an Uber on your way home right now!"

"I guess I'm lucky that you're completely spineless," you shrugged.

"Did you just say that?" He put down the lime he'd been holding and sent you a bemused smile.

"Let me just check; uh yes I did."

"Say it again and I'll definitely throw you out," he took a step closer to you trying to look dangerous but failing miserably.

"You're spineless," you whispered.

"One more time for Big Rafa, come on," he motioned a come on sign with his hand, stepping even closer to you.

"Spineless," you squealed and ran away from him as he started running towards you.

"I'll get you for this," he chased you into the living room where he grabbed you around the waist and threw you down on the sofa. He sat down on top of you and grabbed your wrists, "say it again," he urged you, as he easily forced your hands above your head, pinning your wrists together with just one hand. It reminded you of the night after New Years and you became strangely aroused by it.

"Okay, I'll stop," you squealed as he tickled your sides, "just let me go."

He stopped tickling you and went completely still, "never," he leaned in and whispered, lips hovering dangerously close to yours, his right hand warm against your ribs. He could feel your fast heartbeat through your black t-shirt as you made a quick decision and lifted your head up to kiss him softly on the lips.

He gladly reciprocated your tender kiss, looking pained as you withdrew your face after just a couple of seconds.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, "I don't know what just came over me."

Rafa let go of you and got up from the sofa, "Yeah," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry too," he took your hand and helped you up on your feet, "I'll go mix us those drinks," he said quietly.

While he went to the kitchen, you studied the guys' living room. You had only been in here once before and back then, you had been far too concerned with locating your clothes to really have a look around at the colourful posters and their personal belongings scattered around the room. Your eyes were drawn to a small shelf at the back of the room where miniature figures of Calvin and Hobbes stood. You took Calvin in your hand and examined him more closely before putting the figure back on the shelf, moving along to the next item; a gilded gramophone reading 'National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, Daveed Diggs, Principal Soloist, Best Musical Theater Album - 2015, Hamilton (Original Broadway Cast)' along with what appeared to be a Tony award inscribed 'Best Performance by a Featured Actor in a Musical: Daveed Diggs as Marquis de Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson, 2015 - Hamilton.'

You did a double take as you read the text on the two awards again.

Rafa came in with two drinks in hand, "I see you've found Diggs' awards," he smiled, handing you a drink.

"Are these real?"

"Very real," Rafa smirked.

"Why didn't you tell me? I had no idea!"

"I wanted to see how long it took you to figure out where you know us from," he shrugged.

"Were you in this... Hamilton as well?"

"Oh, god no," he laughed, "and by your tone of voice I'm guessing you have no idea what it even is."

"Not a clue," you shook your head and took a big gulp of the drink, "So let me get this straight: Daveed is a hardcore rapper and a Broadway musical star? I never would've guessed that!" you laughed.

"Yeah, remember the first night when you came up to us and you couldn't remember where you'd seen us before?"

"Of course."

"We thought it was a weird trick just to get us to talk to you. Ever since performing in Hamilton, Daveed has been dubbed as America's fast-rapping sweetheart," he rolled his eyes.

"Are you jealous?" you chuckled.

"Not the least. But we can never go out anymore without people feeling the need to constantly come up to him and introduce themselves. It was fun at first but now it's kind of lost its glory."

"So you thought I was a groupie or something?" You laughed, "yeah, your reactions definitely make more sense now."

"Sorry for being a dick," Rafa looked pained, "Sometimes it's necessary when you just want a quiet night out with your best friend."

"So you were a dick on purpose yet you still came over to me and apologised?"

"I did," he laughed, "I thought you were too sassy to just let go. Especially after I realised that you'd been completely innocent and that you actually thought you just knew us from work or something. It was kind of cute so I felt bad for acting like a douche."

"I still feel like I know you from somewhere else apart from that night though," you mumbled.

"Yeah, I know. Come here," Rafa said and took your hand, leading you to a room in another part of the house where you hadn't been before. The room was lined with different recording equipment and movie posters.

"What is this?"

"Our workspace," Rafa said matter-of-factly, "We record music in here or write lyrics, scripts for sketches or plays. You know. Anything creative."

"I've never met anyone with a workspace like this," you took in the room with awe.

"...and this," Rafa continued, "I'm guessing is where you know us from," he pointed to a poster titled Blindspotting with a laughing Daveed and a tough-looking Rafa facing you.

"Yeah! Yeah that's it! I remember seeing this at the movies back home," you said excitedly as you took in the poster. You remembered thinking that the two leads were cute even back then, "so you're a musician slash actor?" you looked back at Rafa who was smiling at you.

"I prefer creative genius, but whatever..." he hugged you from behind, "your term is just as good I guess."

"Why didn't you tell me that I'd probably seen you in a movie."

"You were so unfazed by me and Diggs. And I knew it wouldn't impress you so I kept my mouth shut and told Daveed not to say anything," he snickered from over your shoulder, "I wanted you to spend time with me because you like me. Not because I'm semi-famous."

"I can't believe you thought I was a groupie," you chuckled and leaned into his arms.

"You're so much more," he groaned. His lips brushed against your neck and he kissed you softly below the ear.

His movements brought you back to reality, "Rafa," you sighed, "I know you're drunk and high but we can't be doing this."

"Mmh..." he hummed against you as he pushed your hair aside, his lips still tracing along your neck.

Slowly, you turned around, his arms still around you. "I'm serious," you said.

"I know," he groaned and let his arms fall flat to his sides with a sigh.

"Maybe I should go," you said, "this was clearly a bad idea. And I have to work tomorrow."

"On a Saturday?" he arched an eyebrow at you, "or are you just saying that so you have an excuse to leave early?"

"As I told you; I'm not even halfway done with the project I came here to do, so I actually do have to work tomorrow," you booped his nose, "I'm probably going to be quite busy the next week to be honest."

"So I really won't get to see you?" Rafa furrowed his eyebrows.

"Minimally," you frowned back.

"Okay, I have an idea; since my place is closer to your lab, I'll cut you a deal; how about you stay over, I cook you a nutritious breakfast tomorrow morning and then I take you to work?"

"I don't know," you said even though you really wanted to spend the night.

"No funny business, okay? This time I'm serious," he grinned.

"You said that last time as well," you laughed, "and the time before that."

"Look, I'll even take the couch and let you have my bedroom. I just want to spend the last few hours with you if I won't get to see you for the next couple of days," he shrugged.

"Okay," you gave in, "on one condition!"

"Anything," he said honestly.

"You go for a dip in the pool," you laughed devilishly up at him.

"What, now?"

"Yep!"

"You're not serious?"

"As serious as a heart attack," you said as seriously as you possibly could in your high.

"Okay. If that's what you want," he sighed dramatically before he turned around and discarded his t-shirt in one swift motion.

"Oh, you're really doing this," you laughed as you followed him out to the pool via the sliding doors in the living room next door.

"There's a lot at stake," he said as he pulled off his sneakers and socks.

"So for this you take off your shoes?" you teased him.

"Shut up," he grinned up at you before his hands started unbuckling his belt, his pants falling onto the tiles with a loud clank.

"Okay, I was kidding," you said as he was standing on the edge of the pool wearing only his boxers, "you don't have to do this."

"Oh, I'm not taking any chances. I'm definitely doing this," he said before he took a deep breath and jumped into the freezing water. He emerged spluttering, "shit, it's so cold," he bellowed as he whipped his hair out of his face and took a few strokes, "are you just going to stand up there and admire me?"

"Oh, the deal was for you to jump in. Not me!"

"Boo, you chicken!" he grinned up at you.

"Well, you're not exactly making a single selling point."

"If you don't jump in, you're not allowed to sleep over."

"You're not serious."

"As serious as a heart attack," he grinned up at you, as he mimicked your words from earlier.

"Oh my god. I cannot believe you're making me do this!" You squealed involuntary but ended up taking off your t-shirt and jeans, dipping your toe in the cold water as you stood in front of the pool in just your underwear.

"Just jump in," Rafa laughed, "What you're doing up there is pure torture."

"Okay. You're right," you took a few shallow breaths before counting to three, jumping in the pool close to Rafa. As you emerged, you pushed your hair out of your face, "so cold!" you squealed, "why did we do this?"

"I did it for you," Rafa laughed, treading waters in front of you, "I actually don't find it as bad as I had anticipated."

"You stay then! I'm getting the hell out of here," your teeth clattered as you began climbing the ladder, a laughing Rafa following close behind you.

You were shivering as you reached the top of the ladder, desperately clutching your arms to keep what little warmth you had left.

"Hot shower?" Rafa laughed.

"Yes, please," you nodded and followed Rafa to the bathroom where he turned on the shower for you as you immediately started undressing, ready to step in as soon as the water turned warm.

"It'll only be a minu- Oi!" Rafa said and quickly looked away. He had turned around from the faucet only to be met by you standing in front of him wearing only your soaking panties.

"Oh relax," you rolled your eyes at him, "you've seen me naked before."

"That doesn't mean it isn't just as... exciting," he gulped, desperately looking at the ceiling, "Uh, there are towels over there and I'll - uh - I'll find you something comfortable to wear for afterwards, okay?" he edged out the door still not looking at you. From the other side of the door he bellowed, "Uhm, on second thought. You can just use my bathrobe - if that's alright with you."

"It's fine Rafa," bellowed back with a laugh as you stepped into the warm water.

You stayed in the shower for a couple of minutes until you felt the heat return to your fingers and toes. You quickly dried yourself off, and pulled on the only bathrobe you could find, assuming that it was Rafa's. "That was lovely," you said as you met him in his bedroom. He was wearing the same trackies you'd seen him in before. "No shower?" you lifted your eyebrows at him.

"We have a cold shower by the pool," he said slowly with a laugh, "and I desperately needed it."

"Oh how old are you?” You laughed at him, “you can't even see breasts without getting turned on?"

"Not when they're yours," his face reddened slightly suddenly matching his eyes, "and especially with your nipples all hard like that."

A cold shiver went down your spine. "Yeah, sorry," you ended up saying.

"Oh don't be," he grinned, "it was a marvelous sight that I'll definitely cherish when I'm alone in bed at night," he winked at you, "it just excited me... Excites me now just thinking about it to be honest," he looked away from you with a small grin, clearly uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Yeah me too," you admitted, "it feels stupid to not be allowed to touch when we're so close to each other in so little clothes."

"We could just say 'to hell with it'?" He smirked.

"No, Rafa," you said sternly as you sat down on the edge of his bed.

He sent you a challenging look, "...or we could - you know - just... talk about it if you want to?"

"Talk about what?" you arched an eyebrow at him. Your decision was non-negotiable.

"Just talk for a while about what we'd like to do if the situation was different," he shot you a wink, "That's innocent."

"No it's not?" you laughed, "Not at all."

"I know," he smiled at you, "I'm just trying to get creative. We have to work with what we got, you know."

"Friends don't talk about what sexual stuff they'd like to do to each other," you shot him a look.

"Hey - can we just cut the bullshit for a few seconds?" Rafa said quietly, his Adam's apple bouncing in his throat as he swallowed hard, "don't call us friends when we clearly aren't,"

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," you looked at him carefully

"You keep saying that," he sighed, "yet you're still here."

You put your hand on his arm, "I'm having a hard time too, you know. You're not the only one who wants this."

He shot you a sideways glance, "why can't we just say to hell with it then?"

"Because I know myself and this is what I have to do if I want to return to England with a somewhat sane mind."

"Whatever you say," he groaned as he threw himself down on the bed, his legs dangling over the side.

You lay down next to him and you put your hand on his chest, playing with the straps of his hoodie. He pulled you close and caressed your back with his fingertips, "do you want me to go sleep on the couch?"

"You can sleep in here with me," you said softly, "I'm going to miss you the next couple of days."

He kissed the top of your head, "yeah, me too," he said, "the last time you stayed over, my pillow smelled like you for days. It was pure torture. But it came at a price; your hair was everywhere. It was like having a dog again," he laughed.

"A small souvenir," you laughed, "sorry."

"I forgive you. But only because you look so soft in my bathrobe," he brushed his fingers over your back, "do you want me to get you a t-shirt to sleep in?"

"Yes please," you said and let him go to his closet where he pulled out an old tee with the words Raiders written on the front.

"A pirate shirt?" you eyed the logo.

Rafa shot back his head and laughed whole-heartedly, "Damn girl, don't you dare disrespect my favourite football team like that."

"You mean American football team. Your favourite football team better be Chelsea!"

"I'll be partial to Chelsea in soccer if you're partial to the Raiders in football."

"I can pretend I like the pirates," you teased him.

"Oh shut up," he chuckled and walked towards the door, "I'll let you get changed," he said and closed the door behind him.

You disrobed and pulled on his Raiders shirt, glad that it covered you like a dress as you didn't have any dry underwear to wear. A short dress albeit, but still a dress.

"Are you decent?" Rafa asked from the other side of the door.

"Yep," you said and let him in.

"Ah!" he said when he saw you in the Raiders shirt, "my favourite girl sporting my favourite team."

"Don't get any ideas," you grinned as you crawled under the covers.

He stripped down to his boxers and joined you under the covers, pulling you close, "just a bit of friendly cuddling," he whispered against your neck, his hand trailing up and down your sides.

"Okay," you whispered back, enjoying his arms around you.

His fingers brushed from your waist and down your sides all the way below the hem of the t-shirt, fingers coming to a halt on your upper thigh. He lifted his head from his pillow and whispered, "are you not wearing any panties?"

"Uhm no," you said sheepishly, "they were all wet from the pool."

You felt the outline of a bulge emerging against your backside right before he pulled back from you with a groan.

You turned around and faced him, "I didn't mean to torture you on purpose," you snickered.

"I know," he said in a strained voice, "just give me a minute to calm down." He blew out some air and stared determined at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him after a couple of seconds.

"I'm trying to remember all the players on the Raider's team," he said, "and I definitely try not to think about you on top of me."

A familiar warm feeling spread in your abdomen. Now you were thinking about riding him as well.

"Too much?" he looked over at you when you didn't answer him.

"Ehm," you cleared your throat, "no. No, it's a... nice image," you smiled at him, the heat between your legs growing more and more.

"It got to you too, huh?" he laughed at you.

"Uhm, yeah," you said, "it's probably because we're high."

"That Long Island didn't exactly help either."

"Definitely not. It's too bad we're not allowed to touch..."

"Yeah..." he agreed, "we could... you know... just go to sleep."

"Yeah..." you said. His suggestion from earlier about talking dirty to each other without touching flashed in your mind. It wasn’t as if it would break your code. “Or we could just lie here next to each other and talk for a while..."

"Yeah?" he looked over at you with an excited smile, "what do you want to talk about?"

"Definitely not riding you slowly," you grinned, "or your lips around my nipples."

He gulped, "Yeah, and not your mouth around my cock either. Let's not discuss that."

"Or how you feel when you're inside me," you breathed heavily.

"Oh fuck, no, no we definitely can't talk about that. Or how I'd start off by kissing you all over your body. All the way from the top of your head and down your neck, leaving small teasing kisses down your breasts and all the way down to your ankles. And then back up again to your little hotdog," he said darkly.

"Yeah!" you imagined his warm lips against your skin and felt the goosebumps emerge on your arms, "...and we can't discuss how I'd respond to your teasing lips by pulling your hair while I open my legs for you. Or what you'd do next.”

"Well... in that case, we probably shouldn't discuss how I'd bring out my tongue and taste you while my fingers were slowly working their way in and out of you," he panted. You let out a moan as you arched your back and Rafa continued, "yeah, and you'd moan just like that for me."

"But regardless of how good it felt, I'd still push you away from me and get on my knees in front of you."

"Fuck!" Rafa hissed beside you, fighting hard to keep his hands above the covers.

"I'd take you in my hand and lubricate your glistening head with pre-cum before I slowly move my hand up and down you a couple of times to warm you up."

"I'm already warm, love" Rafa chuckled.

"Good! I'd grab you by the root and I'd lick you all the way from the root to the tip, bringing extra attention to that particularly sensitive spot just below your head," you said slowly, "my soft tongue would be all wet and sloppy as I run it up and down your length while I maintain eye contact with you, showing you that you're in complete control of the situation. And I'd make sure to massage your balls as I continue to pleasure you with my mouth," you breathed heavily, "and you'd look down at me and caress my hair while my mouth was full of you, slowly bucking your hips bringing you further down my throat. And I'd groan around you as you hit the back of my throat, sending vibrations all the way up to your balls."

"Okay, fuck it, I can't take this," Rafa said resolutely and pulled the covers away to reveal the enormous erection tugged away in his boxers. He pulled out his cock and started stroking it slowly in front of you with a few shallow breaths. He shot you a look, "not... against... the rules," he panted as he continued to pump his hand up and down his length.

"Well, if you're doing it, I'm doing it!" you said as you spread your legs, your fingers immediately flying to your core as you looked at Rafa's movements. "What happens next?" you panted.

Rafa took a couple of shallow breaths before he continued, "I pull out of your mouth just before I come down your throat because you know I'm close and you beg me to fill you up instead. So I pick you up from the floor and throw you on the bed and you're looking at me with this hungry look. And I kiss your tits while I slide inside you. And you're so warm and so wet for me," he groaned.

You moved your fingers up and down your slit, fidgeting with your clit with your right hand, while your left hand pushed up the Raider's t-shirt and started massaging your nipple. A small moan escaped your lips as you imagined what Rafa was explaining to you, "and you fill me up completely," you panted, "and you turn me around before you slam into me from behind, smacking my ass and pulling my hair. And you're so good that I grow tight around you, begging for you to let me cum."

"Yes," he groaned.

"- and you pull my arms and fixate them around my back so you have the perfect angle to fuck me while I grow tighter and tighter around you as you slide in and out of me. And I feel this raw heat starting in my stomach and it's spreading fast to the rest of my body as you fuck me faster and harder than you ever have before. And you pull my hair and I moan helplessly for you."

Rafa started moving his hand faster and faster as he was looking at you narrating your own orgasm.

"- and when you finally let me topple over the edge, I scream out your name with my release like this; Rafa," you moaned, "oh Rafa".

"Fffffuck," you heard Rafa hiss beside you right before he came with a loud groan, cum staining his stomach and chest, "fuck!" he continued to pant beside you with his eyes screwed shut, cum still leaking from his tip. His hand was still laced around his throbbing cock, but no longer moving when he desperately opened his eyes and turned his head. "Fuck," he repeated when he looked towards you with your fingers still at work.

"Fuck you're hot!" you panted beside him, looking at him as you drew in sharp breaths, your fingertips slowly entering yourself.

Rafa's eyes flooded with lust once more, "Fuck this," he spat, "come here," he took your hand and pulled you on top of him, your back lying flat against his cum-stained chest. His right hand found your core immediately and he started working his long fingers in and out of you while his left hand was circling your clit.

"Not... part of... the plan," you panted on top of him while his fingers moved in and out of you, his lips kissing your throat and neck.

"Oh, do you want me to stop?" he said and removed both of his hands from your throbbing core.

"No!" you whimpered on top of him, moving around desperate for friction.

"Shut the fuck up then," he whispered darkly against your neck as his hands resumed their positions. He worked like this for a couple of minutes while you writhed and moaned on top of him, your walls tightening around his fingers as he kissed and licked your neck.

"Fucking cum for me," he whispered as he hit your g-spot repeatedly and sent you over the edge crying out his name with pleasure.

His hands moved slower and slower, until he pulled his fingers out of you, his palm travelling all the way up your body, coming to a halt as he cupped your breasts lovingly, "I could get used to this," he whispered, kissing your neck and sending shivers down your spine.

You stayed on top of him for a couple of seconds while he continued to caress your breasts and nipples, kissing your neck occasionally with small sounds of affection.

When you had come down completely from your high, you climbed down from him and positioned yourself under the covers. Rafa pulled on his boxers and snuggled up against you.

"That was not part of the plan," you yawned as he held you tight.

"It won't happen again. Now shut up and go to sleep," Rafa smiled against your neck

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #rafael casal imagine #smut #rafael casal fanfiction #bay boys

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angelolsenwife · 3 years ago

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music tag game + questions + phone photo meme

i was tagged by my dear friend @blue-vveekend , thank you 💕

rules: we're snooping in your playlist, put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then choose 10 victims.

1. summer song by angel olsen

2. trojan horses by agnes obel

3. delilah by florence + the machine

4. dead leaves and the dirty ground by the white stripes

5. stars by the xx

6. never grow old by the cranberries

7. runaway house city clouds by tame impala

8. dancing shoes by arctic monkeys

9. sun goes down by the raveonettes

10. come by adrianne lenker

why did you choose your url?

well, i am obsessed with virginia woolf and i wanted a name related to her somehow, so i remembered that one of her nicknames was ginny and that she also used to be called "the goat" by some of her closest relatives, like her sister, because she was a very mischievous, jumpy child, so i thought the two things put together would suit well and it did.

any side-blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them

i do not have any, i tried to but it didn't work out hahaha.

how long have you been on tumblr?

i found out about tumblr in 2012 and created this blog, however i wasn't active at all, so i only started to truly be here in 2015, tho this current blog i only came back to in late 2017 (my previous blog from 2015 i deleted).

do you have a queue tag?

nay.

why did you start your blog in the first place?

to have a place where i could obsess over my interests (mainly musicians/bands, literature and movies/tv shows/actresses) and find out about new/related things.

why did you choose your icon/pfp header?

well, my icon is angel olsen, basically every 10 posts of mine 9 will be about her so hahaha she became my favorite singer back in 2017 and her songs mean a lot to me. i just really love her. and my header is from the movie the world to come, idk what it is about this film, it made me feel so many things, it was just so beautiful i can't even. i was not expecting to fall in love with it this hard but yeah astonishment and joy.

what's your post with the most notes?

i think it's this picture of angel.

how many people do you follow?

290.

have you ever made a shitpost?

hmm, i don't think so? i'm not sure i know what a shitpost is, honestly.

how often do you use tumblr?

daily, yeah.

how do you feel about "you need to to reblog this post"?

do i really?

do you like tag games?

i truly do!!! it makes me very happy when i'm remembered by my mutuals.

which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

idk?

do you have a crush on a mutual?

nay.

phone photo meme game: choose one photo from your camera roll without downloading to sum up your personality

this is me 24/7. when i'm happy, sad, nervous, excited, uncomfortable, freaking out in gay panic over dakota and vanessa etc. all of the emotions

hmm, i don't think i have 10 people to tag, but i'll try

@didyoulookunderthesofainhell @somekeepsakes @lipserviced @chaoticpleiades @martystlouis @angelolsengf @mitskisolsen @drugstoreperffume @theloveandthehorror

pls feel free to ignore this okays, no pressure whatsoever. take care!

#asks

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whywishesarehorses · 4 years ago

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Inside the Famous—and Deadly—Omak Stampede

This article was written by Allison Williams, published in the August 2017 issue of Seattle Met, and reformatted here for your enjoyment.

This one is text heavy and long, so it is hidden under a read more.

Thursday

Eighteen horses form an imperfect line on a hot August night, their 18 jockeys clad in jeans. Here on a sandy bluff in the small town of Omak, four hours east of Seattle and several worlds away, riders and spectators alike move with nervous energy, anxious for the race to start. One jockey wears a helmet topped with a pink mohawk, another with a GoPro camera. One horse, sponsored by a local marijuana dispensary, sports painted pot leaves on its rump. Wispy white eagle feathers hang from others, emblems of the Native American heritage the men share.

A summer carnival glows below, neon outlines of rides called the Orbiter and the Fireball, metal towers that came into town on tractor trailers. Farther into the Okanogan Highlands, a casino twinkles alone on Indian Reservation land. It’s August 11, 2016, and even an hour past sunset the air holds onto most of the heat from the 90-degree day.

A “whoooop!” erupts from the gathered crowd as the animals sidestep and bob their heads behind the chalk starting line. His race number bright across his chest, 18-year-old Scott Abrahamson eyes the sandy dirt in front of the line, groomed like a golf course sand trap. His long bubblegum-pink sleeves mean he’s easy to spot even in the shadows where floodlights don’t reach, and his helmet blinks with battery-operated toy devil horns. He’s surrounded by both champions—Loren Marchand with seven titles, Tyler Peasley with three—and nervous high schoolers in their first race.

At the crack of a gun, the horses charge. Their riders lean forward as hooves pound the sandy flat, at least for the first hundred feet. The crowd cheers as soon as the pistol sounds, cries and hoots blossoming into the dark.

Then 18 horses go off a cliff.

The riders shift in their saddles as their mounts fly down an incline steeper than a ski jump. The best jockeys, the veterans, barely lean back coming off the hill, reins clasped in the left hand and riding crops in the right. Others grasp a bar they’ve rigged on the back of their saddles they call the “oh shit handle.”

The spectators’ cries reach full pitch when the pack is halfway to the waterway at the base of the hill, a thick ribbon of black that flows left to right. The horses plunge into the inky Okanogan River en masse, hooves hitting the shallow bottom, and all but one charge across to the opposite bank. The stadium on the far side is lit up like a Friday-night football game, floodlights bright atop red, white, and blue bleachers, and Scott and his hot-pink sleeves emerge first in the dirt oval, just 45 seconds into the race. As they cross the finish line, Peasley is right on his tail.

Fifteen horses follow, minus the one that tumbled in the river. A crew attends to the downed horse from the deck of a small drift boat; while the stadium roars, a veterinarian surveys the animal and notes that it’s already gone, likely drowned.

Back atop the hill, Colville tribal elders watch through binoculars before one spots something in the sandy dirt, an eagle feather dislodged by the chaos. They circle the downed quill, addressing the spirit it represents, the eagle that travels in both worlds, before one of the elders lifts the feather to return it to its owner.

This is the World Famous Suicide Race.

There will be four races total during Omak Stampede, always the second weekend in August. Each race awards five points to the first-place finisher, four to the second, and so on; the overall winner clinches the King of the Hill title on Sunday, and $40,000 in prize money is distributed. It’s the highlight of this Central Washington town’s year, a tradition that draws thousands of spectators—and animal-rights protesters.

Omak straddles the border of the Colville Reservation, home of almost every racer, horse owner, and trainer. The contest is a rite of passage, they say, a proving ground for men—and even a few women—coming of age more than a century after actual horseback warfare. Beyond the turgid flow of the Okanogan River through town, the reservation sprawls over 1.4 million acres of highlands, brittle with brown grass in late summer. There the Native American communities are plagued by poverty and unemployment.

If the Suicide Race was a small-town Friday-night football game, teenaged Scott Abrahamson would be its star quarterback. He’s an ace student, focused and polite, with technical internships and honor rolls to his name, but this weekend he’s a jockey with a King of the Hill title to defend. All eyes are on him.

Friday

He gets sick before every big race. “Everything hits me and my body,” Scott says. “I can barely walk.” His cousin calls it good luck; Scotty puking means they’re going to do well.

In the hours before Friday’s race, the second of four, Scott’s prepping in the triangular Owners and Jockey’s paddock in the middle of the fairgrounds. By 5pm, Omak veterinarian Jai Tuttle holds court at one end of the dusty enclosure, near standing fans that muster a little manufactured breeze. As they wait to parade their horses for Doc Tuttle, owners angle water hoses over the animals’ backs.

Everyone older than Scott calls him Scotty. This year’s printed program, in the roster of winners dating back to 1935, calls him that. After he won in 2015, he became small-town famous, no longer just the good kid who excelled at basketball and wrestling. People holler, “Go Scotty” at him all weekend.

His father was famous too. That’s what happens when you win the Suicide Race; Leroy Abrahamson took the title in 2002, but was best known for his prowess in the Indian Relay, a more widespread style of racing where one jockey hops from horse to horse. Leroy, Scott has heard, would flit from one mount to the next with only a single foot brushing the ground.

Scott doesn’t remember his first time in a saddle but assumes it was before he could walk, though he largely gave it up in elementary school, when his parents split. His father was the horse guy; his mother was all about school. So he became a standout student in Coulee Dam, a reservation town in the shadow of the 50-story hydroelectric giant. When his father died in 2009, he was drawn back to horses.

“I’m sorta doing all this for him,” Scott says, hesitant. His mother wasn’t wild about the racing, but he didn’t falter at school, scoring an engineering internship with the Bureau of Reclamation. Slight and muscular, his five-foot-nine stature is too tall for a throughbred jockey but about average for this race. His hair is short and straight, spiking around his head like a halo, and he likes to hide his eyes behind sunglasses.

The summer he was 16, after his sophomore year of high school, Scott entered his first Suicide Race. Atop a small gelding named Kinky, he fell as they crested the top of the hill on the Thursday race, flipping over the horse’s shoulder. On Friday the pair wrecked in the water.

“I flipped over and everybody ran me over,” he says. “Everyone says it happens so fast, but when I was in it, it was like slow motion.” Finally, on Saturday, they made it through the entire race, galloping past the finish line in the stadium. Then Sunday the pair wrecked again.

A new horse was in order. His trainer, George Marchand, is a giant within the Suicide Race world and holder of three titles. He’d lost his own father at 14 and rode against Leroy Abrahamson 15 years ago, so he guided Scott, this time to a nighttime ride on a quarter horse–thoroughbred mix named Eagle Boy. The butterscotch-colored gelding was only about five years younger than the rider.

“It was pitch black and dusty,” remembers Scott. The hills of the reservation are dotted with brush and ponderosa pine, but he could make out little from his saddle. They were on top of a hill, he knew that, and that George had taken off.

He gave Eagle Boy his head as they sped over the uneven terrain. “We were jumping trees and dodging trees,” recalls Scott, but they moved as a unit. “I was like dang—he trusts me.” Matching horse to rider is alchemy.

In 2015, in his second year racing and only 17 years old, Scott on Eagle Boy tied for first overall with six-time victor Loren Marchand, George’s nephew. With a wide grin stretched across his face, the rising high school senior played rock-paper-scissors with his cochamp for a King of the Hill prize bridle.

The name World Famous Suicide Race might be a bit of hyperbole, but the race is nothing if not infamous. It emerged in scrappy Omak where a Great Depression population boom—all the way to 2,500 souls—launched an annual rodeo in 1933. As publicity chairman, furniture store owner Claire Pentz proposed a dramatic steeplechase to draw spectators, inspired by mountain races across the reservation at Keller, where riders charged a dry channel in the Sanpoil River. He knew how to sell it: He gave his 1935 creation a catchy name.

The World Famous Suicide Race ran every summer, the marquee event at the four-day Omak Stampede rodeo. Dynasties were born when the inaugural race’s third-place finisher, Alex Dick, won regularly through 1965. There have been seven Marchand riders over the years, six Abrahamsons, nearly a dozen named Pakootas. The unofficial motto, one that appears on winners’ belt buckles, is “Wimps Need Not Apply.”

The 210-foot hill, most say, is a 62-degree slope. Or it’s 54.7 degrees, as measured by a race official in 1993. Others say it’s more like 30. Regardless, it’s terrifying. From the top, the hill feels as steep as a hard ski run; a black diamond, but not a double black. Scrambling up on foot, you might use your hands.

The stampede and race remain intertwined, but in 1999 the Colville Tribes boycotted to protest a change to their camping space on the fairgrounds. The Stampede lost attendance and revenue, and the following year a deal was struck: The tribes got more control over the race organization, and the encampment got its park space.

Family ties bind many of the owners, trainers, and jockeys, and while a few aren’t Native American at all, they’re the exception. This is the biggest sporting event in the region, the Super Bowl of north-central Washington. “This is the only time we get to play cowboys and Indians,” jokes one organizer, Ernie Williams.

Doc Tuttle is fairly new to the race gig, but between her ease with fidgety horses and no-nonsense demeanor, the veterinarian exudes authority. One by one she clears the horses for Friday’s race, directing owners to walk each thousand-pound animal in a figure eight as her eyes stay trained on forelegs and haunches, scrutinizing for swollen tendons or joints.

No one can pretend the Suicide Race isn’t controversial. As early as 1939, the protests started; Humane Society president Glen McLeod succeeded in canceling a mountain race in nearby Hunters, then traveled to Omak and Keller hoping to do the same. “Why, even the riders call it a ‘suicide race,’ ” McLeod told The Seattle Daily Times before a similar trip in 1941.

Animal rights groups started keeping a tally of dead horses in 1983, with one count now at 22. “The reality is that the race is viewed as part of the Omak Stampede rodeo, and rodeos are protected under state law,” says Seattle Humane Society spokesman Dan Paul, but points out that rapid shifts in public sentiment swiftly made SeaWorld orca shows and circus elephant acts extinct.

People for Ethical Treatment of Animals has run letter-writing campaigns. In 1993, the Northwest’s PAWS, or Progressive Animal Welfare Society, tried a more robust tactic, filing a lawsuit that alleged organizers harm horses for profit, but a Superior Court judge threw out the case. In 1996, a PAWS member sued the Okanogan County Sheriff’s Office and the rodeo for roughing him up when he videotaped a horse being euthanized; the suit settled for $64,500.

For the organizers, the response is simple: The race is merely an extension of their horse-infused culture. Every rider points out that they ride similar hills during wild-horse roundups and cattle work.

Horses have to pass three checks before they’re allowed entry into the race: the vet examination, a swim test, and what’s called a hill test, where horses must round the top of Suicide Hill without hesitation.

Tuttle isn’t from the reservation; she isn’t originally from Omak. But even as an outsider, the one who has to put horses down if they’re hurt, she doesn’t think it’s inhumane.

“These guys use horses that love it,” she says; the horses are bred to it and run steep hills regularly on the remote corners of the reservation. She rarely has to disqualify a horse because owners who spot lameness usually scratch. “It does hold a real special place in the Native culture. It does.” And that horse Thursday night that likely drowned? She considers it. “He was doing what he loved and he had a quick and honorable death.”

Friday night’s race is classic and clean; no bad wrecks. As always, the riders reach the starting line by crossing the river on the Highway 97 bridge, closed to traffic. Hooves clomp on the asphalt as the parade passes a road sign that reads, “Tribal Code Laws Apply.” There are no rules to apply in the Suicide Race once the gun is fired; riders can whip each other, pull each other’s reins. No helmets required. No wimps.

The results echo the previous night: Scott Abrahamson and Eagle Boy come in first, Tyler Peasley on Spade in second. When Scott wins, he raises his right hand above his head, palm out, fingers outstretched. His father’s gesture.

Scott was only four when Leroy won the Suicide Race. “Everyone said he was one of the greats,” he says. “It’s kinda hard to fill his shoes.” Instead he fills his horns. He wears Leroy’s blinking red devil headpiece, the kind of bauble most 18-year-olds would don at a Halloween party.

Scott’s idols were the riders who won in the late 2000s, including the 30-year-old three-time champion who came in second to him during this weekend’s first two races. As a kid he’d run down hills playing at Suicide Race, imaginary whip flying, yelling, “I’m Tyler Peasley!” After his 2015 win, Scott noticed something: “The kids run around saying they’re me.”

It’s after 10pm when the racehorses have completed their cooldown laps and have been loaded into trailers for the ride home. Scott accompanies George Marchand to Omak Lake, 15 miles out of town, to let Eagle Boy soak before bed.

Saturday

Saturday night’s Suicide Race is the biggest. The 7,700-seat arena is packed, and lines form at every fun house and stomach-destroying ride in the carnival outside. Booths hawk curly fries, cotton candy, and foot-longs, though the longest lines are reliably at a taco truck.

But that’s not the whole Omak Stampede. On the east side of the arena, a mirror festival, maybe even larger: the Indian Encampment. Rows of teepees surround a round pavilion for dancing and drum performances, with RVs and tents beyond that. Spectators bring their own camp chairs to supplement the few bleachers. Booths sell jewelry, T-shirts, and dream catchers, and while some of the food is the same—nothing is as universal as curly fries—more signs are handwritten, and many vend Indian tacos and huckleberry lemonade.

Before the rodeo begins, the arena’s industrial speakers blast pop country songs over every acre. The festivities begin with a series of anthems and processions, recognizing the neighboring nations of Canada and the Colville Tribes. During the ride-in, dozens of rodeo queens from around the West shoot into the center oval on horseback, one by one, decked in every shade of sparkle.

The announcer introduces each event, then banters with the rodeo clown when things get slow or a bull rider needs a moment to limp off the dirt. The Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association produces the classic rodeo events, ones with more white riders than Native: bull riding, steer wrestling, team roping, barrel racing. Specialty acts bridge the competitive sports: trick riders and one blonde woman who does a kind of partner dance with an unbridled palomino horse to the blaring sounds of a country song called “Free.” It ends with the horse placing its blond head in her lap.

The Suicide Race is the final blockbuster event. Spectators wade up to their knees into the Okanogan River just upstream of the race crossing, bare feet on slimy rocks. Signs still note that video recording is prohibited, but they’re roundly ignored in the age of cell phones.

Despite the shocking name, the only rider death since anyone’s kept close records was one who drowned on his way to the starting line—though there are plenty of close calls. In 2002, the year Leroy Abrahamson took home the title, racer Naomie Peasley took a tumble so bad she fractured her skull. She recovered, but not before flatlining twice in the medic helicopter.

In its anti–Suicide Race materials, PAWS airs a common criticism of the race: its authenticity. “Organizers currently contend that the Suicide Race has roots in Native American tradition but, in fact, an Anglo conceived the race as a publicity stunt,” reads its statement. Detractors hang on that detail, its origins with furniture salesman Claire Pentz.

To riders and trainers, though, Pentz is irrelevant, and they point to the deep roots of horse culture. For Scott, the point of the race is clear: “Showing that a young man is becoming a warrior, becoming a man.”

The race, the encampment—it’s the tribes’ biggest invitation into their world. “There’s more that people don’t see behind these walls, about Indian life...sweat lodges, medicine,” adds Aaron Carden, a retired racer who now teaches Native language on the reservation. Of the borders around that world, he says, “It’s not our fence to keep people out. It’s the fence white men built to keep us out of the area they took.”

The race wasn’t the only thing “created” by a white man; the very invention of a Colville Tribes unit is recent. Long before that, before statehood, before Manifest Destiny, before Lewis and Clark white-privileged their way across the American West, the Okanogan Highlands tribes lived nomadic lives, picking berries and drawing salmon from the massive Columbia River. And racing horses.

First came the incorporation of Washington Territory, then a series of executive orders begun by president Ulysses S. Grant that roped several tribes into three million acres between the Methow Valley and the Columbia River. Others were elbowed into the reservation, linking bands that once stretched from the dusty plains of Washington to the mountains of British Columbia. One chief invited a famous Indian leader, Chief Joseph, and his Nez Perce followers in 1885. With his band, the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation—a patchwork assembly that had no single language or traditional commonality—reached their current 12-tribe size.

Over 125 years the tribes faced what so many other American Indians did—children forced into boarding schools, languages squashed. The federal government forced a cheap buyback of 1.5 million acres, lands still lamented as the lost “North Half.” The Grand Coulee Dam, erected in 1942, blocked spawning salmon with its 550-foot concrete walls; Colville tribal members mourned the loss of Kettle Falls, a historic fishing spot, with a Ceremony of Tears before it was submerged by the dam’s backup.

In the 1960s, the tribes toyed with termination, dissolving the reservation altogether and splitting the lands among its 5,000 members. Reservations had been terminated by the government before, but the Colvilles were the only ones to dare seriously consider it themselves, an unprecedented move of self-governance. Congressional hearings were held but the measure never passed, so the Colville Reservation endured.

The Suicide Race is a separate world from suicide itself, a public health crisis for the Colvilles. Whether spurred by pervasive poverty—reservation unemployment topped 50 percent in 2010—or rampant substance abuse, the suicide rate ballooned to 20 times the national average in 2006. “After that we were in a panic on what we need to do and could do,” says tribal staffer Olivia Wynecoop. Tribal leadership declared a state of emergency, and Wynecoop helped secure grants for education and designating “natural helpers” to be on call for suicide emergencies.

Scott positions Eagle Boy at the western end of the starting line for the Saturday-night race. This isn’t like the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby; horses pace and turn, and the antsy palomino next to him does a sideways prance before the starter pistol goes off. Scott is angry, though later he says he can’t remember why. Trash talk and psych-outs are regular along the starting line, older jockeys trying to ruffle the young ones still gathering their courage.

But three years and one win into the Suicide Race, Scott can ignore the chatter. He and Eagle Boy are still until the gun sounds, then fast to the crest of the hill. Aaron Carden still remembers the feeling 25 years after his first win: “You’re actually flying in the sky. Nobody can take that away from you.”

There’s a commotion, a cloud of dust to Scott’s left, but he’s well in front of the pack as they hit the water. Two strides into the dark water, Eagle Boy stumbles, flinging Scott into the river. His blinking red devil horns disappear under the white churn created by horses on either side. They’re both okay but don’t log a finish.

What Scott couldn’t see was what happened on the top of the hill, to the very first rider off the break. Tyler Peasley, whom Scott idolized as a kid, and who’d placed at Scott’s heels the past two nights, darted off the top of the hill like a raptor after its prey. Peasley’s a little taller than Scott, broader shouldered, and he rides to win. His mount, Spade, got so much air he tucked his back legs underneath him and simply sailed for the first 30 feet of the downward slope.

They were serene in that moment, flying, until Spade’s hooves finally hit the tilted ground again; Peasley pitched over Spade’s front left shoulder before the horse executed a tight somersault. The jockey disappeared under the hooves of the horses behind him and the crowd made a collective, guttural gasp. Peasley’s body didn’t come to a stop until he reached the bottom of the hill.

Sunday

The final race is also the only daytime race of the weekend; for the first time since the trials and runoff races held before the stampede, they’ll be rushing the hill in full daylight.

The mood in the O&J paddock is subdued, but word is going around that Peasley is stable at a nearby hospital. News will later spread that his injuries included a broken pelvis, hip, and ribs, and the racing community fundraises to support his care and gas money for his family to visit him.

Remarkably, Tyler’s horse, Spade, is unhurt from the tumble, ready to race again. His owner lights a bundle of sage and says a few words over the horse before a new jockey takes the saddle.

For the final time in 2016, Scott follows the parade to the top of Suicide Hill. His jeans have a gaping hole in the knee—real wear from hard riding, not a fashion statement—and his wraparound sunglasses are ’80s big. No devil horns for the daytime race, but, as ever, his name is the one most shouted by the crowds: “Come on Scotty,” over and over.

With 10 points already earned, Scott only needs to place to secure the title. Owner and trainer Marchand tells him not to go all out, and when the gun fires, he doesn’t. He holds back his whip, lets Eagle Boy run the race without extra urging. It’s the smart move, the calculated move, no doubt informed by the disastrous night before. But Scott comes to regret holding back.

Not because it doesn’t work. Scott and Eagle Boy place second, netting four more points and easily clinching his first solo all-around title. But for Scott, the kind of driven athlete who hates to give a single inch, playing it safe feels wrong. Now with two titles to his name, only three years in, he says he’ll ride “until I get broken down and can’t do it no more.”

Three days later, Scott will depart his Coulee Dam home and drive five hours to start his freshman year at Washington State University. As an engineering student he will pull a 3.8 GPA his first semester and a 3.9 the second; he’s lined up two years of scholarships so far and hopes he’ll be able to extend to the full undergrad four.

Scott won’t brag about his Suicide win at college, but he’ll drive home every fall weekend for Indian Relay races, another sport that mixes horsemanship with a touch of anarchy. Around the reservation, he doesn’t have to brag about being King of the Hill; everyone already knows. “He’s the Steph Curry of the Suicide Race,” one tribal member says. “Loren and Tyler are the Lebrons.”

The second weekend of August 2017 is already on everyone’s calendar. Scott will be back on Eagle Boy, who he now half owns with George Marchand—a 49 percent share. He now has a streak to defend. By early June, high winter snows have melted to fill the Okanogan River, and ecologists are warning of water flows two or three times normal. Scott guesses that, with the river this high, it’ll be too deep for the horses to simply wade across during the Suicide Race; they’ll have to swim for the first time since, he believes, 2002. The year his father won it all.

But on Sunday night in August 2016, after the King of the Hill awards and the pictures, he’s just a high school kid again. He wanders the Indian Encampment with friends, waits in line for fry bread.

Under the pavilion, dancers spin and step, decked in elaborate feathered headdresses and beaded robes. Some have numbers pinned to their costumes, like marathon runners, to compete. In a drum tent, the songs are a steady thrum of chants and cries, indecipherable to the visitors who stand awkwardly outside the rows of seated tribal members who are at once both audience and participant.

Picture this: a quiet mountain lake, bordered by rocky hills dotted with ponderosa pine. In daytime Omak Lake is seven miles of brilliant turquoise, but now, at night, it’s a black mirror. Two men drive a horse trailer to its shore, unloading an unsaddled Eagle Boy.

It’s one of George Marchand’s secrets to success; the lake minerals soothe the bumps and scrapes along the horse’s legs. In the midst of the annual Perseid meteor shower, the uncloudy Okanogan skies are perfect for spotting streaks of celestial light, but the men don’t look up as they dissect the day’s race.

Scott holds Eagle Boy’s halter from a dock while the horse wades into the water, breaking the lake’s calm. The water hasn’t yet cooled from baking under another 90-plus degree day, and the hills that round the lake keep the night air still. They’ve survived another madcap contest together, earned another W. They’re back on the reservation, back home. In the silence the only sound is the lapping of the lake water against a horse.

#horse racing #rodeo #native american #indian #horseblr #horse news #mine #omak stampede #the world famous suicide race

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