#that man has never given a single shit about politics and maintaining good relationships

[labyrynth]

ok so your first problem was assuming mdzs is a story where Good People are Rewarded and Bad People are Punished.

your second problem was assuming that MXTX—who goes out of her way to showcase unresolved, tragic, undeserved endings in all of her works—would ever write a story with such a shallow notion of “deserving.”

the only reason wangxian makes it out unscathed is because they’re literally the protagonists. authorial intent and plot armor ensure their happy ending. that’s it.

[yandere-ac]

Can you write a little bit Mondo x Girly! Reader?

Yandere Mondo Owada X Girly Reader

Promise

⚠️ Spoilers for chapter 2 ⚠️

Ever since Mondo was little he’d have one thing drilled into his brain. When a man makes a promise, he has to keep it, even if it kills him. That is what his brother Daiya had taught him and that was something he was never going to forget. And he never did, no matter how difficult it could get he never ever broke any of the promises he made. So when it finally happened, the shame hit him hard.

He had remembered his utter confusion when he first woke up at hopes peak academy. He had rested on a desk in some classroom all by himself, which only confused him more. Why was he here? He was just walking into the school and now he was sleeping on a desk? Had he just...slept through a lesson or something? As he gazed around the room he saw a big clock hanging above the big blackboard. Nope, he couldn’t have slept through any lesson. There was still 15 minutes left before the school started. So why was he here? Never mind, he had to get to the entrance.

Walking out of the classroom he felt a sudden shiver up his spine as dread crept up his back. He didn’t know why, but something about this place was freaking him out. But he hadn’t had any time to process this new uneasiness as he heard the faint sounds of footsteps running towards him. Immediately he tensed up and got ready to defend himself in case anything happened. But he hadn’t gotten any time to process this new threat as something, or rather, someone ran into him. They had turned a corner in the hallway and didn’t seem to see him before it was too late. As they crashed into him they fell backwards and landed on the floor. Mondo was pushed back slightly by the crash but unlike the person before him, he didn’t fall. It only took him a few seconds before he regained his posture. Letting out a grunt he turned to the person still on the floor.

"HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING DUMBASS!" He could now see the other person more clearly. They wore a puffy white blouse which they tucked into a pink skirt. They had pastel pink knee high socks that reached their thighs and they had a small bow in their hair. They were rubbing their head as they groaned slightly. After a couple of seconds they looked at him and their face immediately turned from dazed to panicked. "Oh my god I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to run into you like that!" They apologised to him profusely as they put their hands together, still on the floor. Mondo rolled his eyes and extended his hand to them. "Quit fussing. I’m not gonna hit you or anything. Just get up." Their face turned slightly pink as they realised they had been rambling. "Oh, yes of course." As they grabbed his hand Mondo could feel something in his chest for a split second. But he quickly brushed it off as he pulled them up off the ground. As soon as they stood up, they let go of his hand and brushed off their skirt. And that for some reason made Mondo a little bit irritated, but he didn’t understand why.

"Well, since first impressions are out the window," the person began as they smiled at Mondo. "Hi! My name is Y/N L/N. It’s nice to meet you!" As you introduced yourself to him you gave him a little bow. Mondo had eyed you up and down. You looked to be about his age, but you seemed nothing like him at all. You were like the personification of the colour pink, cute, polite, feminine. It wasn’t his style at all. And yet, something about you, it intrigued him. "Names Mondo Owada." He stated bluntly while putting his hands in his pockets. "So I’m guessing you’re a student here. What class do you belong to?" You gave him a slight smirk while you asked this. Something about it seemed almost endearing to Mondo. "Yeah, Class 78th. I was just heading to the entrance ceremony." This made you perk up. "Oh? Me too! I was just going there actually. That’s why I was running before. Sorry about that again." You flashed him a smile as the two of you continued. So you were his classmate huh? He didn’t know if that was good or bad. You sure seemed to like chatting, that’s for sure.

And that’s what you two did on your walk to the entrance. During said walk he learned that you were the ultimate makeup artist. And it really showed, you’re face was full of makeup. And Mondo would be lying if he said that it didn’t look good. But he would never admit something like that out loud. Still, you had given him a compliment about his makeup, the eyeliner he wore specially. Which made him kinda happy, it was good to know he was doing it right. But sooner or later, you came to the entrance. The two of you weren’t the first ones to arrive. There were about 8 other students there, standing around and waiting for something to happen. But what was weird about said entrance was that the door had been replaced by a giant vault door. Suspicion was rising in Mondo as everyone started talking to you both.

The way you two met was...less than optimal. But you hadn’t let it get in your way at all. You hung out with Mondo a lot. You kept reaching out to him, which he appreciated. You made him feel strong. From little things like grabbing his arm whenever you felt uneasy or uncomfortable to telling him you felt safe with him. He felt good around you. Like he was actually as strong as you beloved him to be. But the one thing that you ever did that made him feel good was after the Sayaka trial.

He remembered it clear as day. It was nighttime, a couple of hours after the first ever class trial. And it had hit him hard. That Sayaka was dead, that she had tried to kill Leon and blame it on Makoto, that Leon had been executed in such a horrible and gruesome manner. It fucked him up. He sat up in bed, just staring at the floor while he rested his head in his palms. Sayaka had always seemed so nice, so sweet. She and Makoto very obviously had a thing going on. So to know that someone like her would blame it all on him in order to escape, it made him question who he could trust. Sayaka had been the first to attempt something like this, now that you had gone over the line of comfort anyone could be next. He couldn’t die now, not after years of maintaining the Crazy Diamonds. He couldn’t fail Daiya! He couldn’t-

Knock knock

Someone had knocked on his door. No, he was not answering that. He wasn’t gonna become a victim like Sayaka and Leon. But the knocking continued, and continued, and continued, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He walked up to his door, and opened it slightly. Through the small crack in the door he could see it was you. And you saw him. You’re eyes were glossy and your nose was red. "Could you let me in? I’m not armed I promise." Mondo hesitated for a few seconds, should he? He knew you. You would never hurt someone, let alone him. But...he thought the same about Sayaka. Mondo looked at you once again. You were hugging your sides and wiping your tears off your cheeks. You didn’t have any makeup on, which was unusual for you. But most of all, you just looked so small. You were pretty much cowering together as you waited for him to open the door. You couldn’t be here to kill him. He refused to believe it and mentally cursed himself out for even thinking about the possibility. With a swift move, he opened the door and let you inside. You thanked him as you walked into his dorm.

"Are you okay?" That was the first thing he asked you after he closed the door. You sat down on his bed, clutching your hands together as your eyes fastened to the floor. You didn’t give him an answer, you just stared at the floor, just like he was a couple of minutes ago. After a couple of seconds of silence, Mondo sat down next to you. He let out a sigh and used his hand to stroke your back. "Hey it’s okay, or well- it’s not okay right now but uh..." Damn it. He wasn’t very good at this was he? "Hey, look at me." He cupped the side of your face in his hand as he turned it towards him. "It’s gonna be okay, I promise. This shit sucks, it’s fucking insane. But you’re going to be okay." You let out a sniffle and a sob as he stroked your cheek. "But how can you say that? Two of our classmates are dead! How can I, how can any of us be safe when two of us has died!" You cried out, and as your voice cracked under pressure Mondo could feel his heart break. "...Y/N, do you wanna know the one thing that my brother made sure to teach me? When a man makes a promise, he has to keep it, even if it kills him." Mondo told you, now letting go of your face and grabbing your hands. "It’s something I’ve always told myself, every single time I ever make a promise, I think of that. And I have never in my life broken a promise. So when I tell you this I want you to listen. You’re going to be okay. You’re gonna survive this shit, no matter what. I promise you will Y/N. Do you wanna know why?" You looked at him as you let out another sob. "Why?"

"Because you have me."

You spent that night with Mondo. The two of you keeping each other company and keeping each other calm. That night Mondo not only made a promise to you, but to himself. He had to protect you. It didn’t matter if he thought he could or couldn’t, he had to. He wasn’t gonna loose someone like you.

And for the most part, he was able to keep that promise. There hadn’t been any other deaths until then and Mondo was happy about that. What he was also happy about was that you and Taka got along well. After all, it would be a little awkward if his best friend didn’t get along with his...partner? Friend? He didn’t know. You two hadn’t made anything official or put any labels on your relationship but it was obvious that it wasn’t strictly platonic. You and him have shared a bed multiple times, much to Takas dismay. But it didn’t matter, because you and Taka got along. He wasn’t sure why, but Taka was the only guy that he felt comfortable with you being around. But anytime you hung out with any of the other guys he felt this burning sensation in his chest. He didn’t blame you or anything, he knew you weren’t gonna get with one of them, but it still felt bad. Like they were trying to take you away from him. He wasn’t so sure about the girls since he didn’t know if you were into that, but you were into him, which meant you were into boys. He hadn’t told you about this, he knew that wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. So he just kept all his feelings inside of him. Which also wasn’t a smart thing to do. He already struggled with a lot of self worth issues, so mixing in the paranoia about the other guys only made it worse. What if one of them convinced you to leave Mondo? And what if you realised that he wasn’t as strong and tough as he made himself out to be? What if you left him? He couldn’t loose you. Not now. Not ever.

But strangely, you didn’t spend much time with a lot of the guys. You mostly spent time with the girls. Him and Taka were the only guys you seemed to hang out with most of the time, but most of the time, it was with the girls. The one you spent most of your time with was none other than Chihiro Fujisaki, the ultimate programmer. You and her talked a lot, which at first annoyed Mondo slightly. An annoyance which you noticed pretty quickly. So when you asked him about it and he answered, you couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Which only made him madder. With a quick peck on the cheek, you explained to Mondo that you and Chihiro were like best friends. "Don’t worry Mondo. Chihiro is like my Taka." Chihiro was like your Taka. Once you had put it like that Mondo felt better. He started to wonder why he was even worried in the first place.

But then came the accident.

It had been a rough evening for Mondo. Monokuma had given all of you new motives in order to get you all to kill. This time it was embarrassing or scandalous secrets. If a murder didn’t happen within the next 24 hours he was gonna reveal them all to the outside world. He had wished his motive was just one of the embarrassing things he had done when he was little. But no. His secret was the murder of his big brother, Daiya. He remembered the pit that had formed in his stomach as he read his motive. Everyone in The Crazy Diamonds were gonna find out. After keeping the gang together for so long it was all gonna be ruined. He felt shitty, he felt MORE than just shitty. And he didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. So when you had asked him what was wrong he simply stated that he wanted to be left alone. Maybe a bit more aggressively then he wanted to. And he beat himself up over it. Why couldn’t he just talk to you! Why did he have to be so stupid! That day he spent hours in the gym, working out and releasing his anger. But it wasn’t working. His thoughts kept flowing back to Daiya, and you, and his secret. What would you think of him after you found out? What if you started to hate him? He couldn’t let the last conversation you had with him before you find out be the one you had before. The one when he snapped at you and stormed off when the only thing you did was ask if he was okay. What had he done?! He had to find you!

But right as he opened the door to the gym he was met with Chihiro. She let out a slight yelp as Mondo had opened the door rather violently. "O-Oh! Mondo. There you are. Is this where you’ve been all day?" She asked him. "Yeah, what’s it fucking to ya?" Mondo answered, once again getting more aggressive then he wanted to. Chihiro frowned slightly as he raised his voice at her. Damn it, he knows he shouldn’t yell at Chihiro. "...I’m...did you want something or what?" Mondo asked, his voice a little lower then before. "Huh? O-Oh yes! I wanted to ask you...could I train with you?" This question caught Mondo completely off guard. "...train with me? Can’t you just train with Sakura and Aoi instead? How would you even get into my training room?" Mondo asked. Chihiro looked a little uncertain for a moment before taking in a deep breath. "Because..." she grabbed the door to the men’s room and closed it. Then she pulled out her tablet and pressed it against the automatic door lock. And with a small click, the door opened. Mondos eyes widened as he saw this. Soon he looked down at Chihiro. "I wouldn’t be able to get into the girls room..."

Chihiro told Mondo about her secret, or rather, his secret. How he’s been dressing up as a girl his whole life. How he’s always thought of himself as too weak. How he...how he wanted to change. He told Mondo about how he’s tired of hiding, tired of living a lie. He wanted to be like Mondo. He wanted to be strong like him. He told him that he admired Mondo. Admired him and his strength. As Mondo listened to him, he couldn’t help but think how, how did he have this much courage?! How could he face his flaws like it was nothing? He was so strong...and it just showed how much weaker Mondo was. Chihiro was strong, he faced his problems and wanted to change. But Mondo, Mondo was the opposite. He had hid away the entire day, working out just to distract himself. He had kept it all inside of him and refused to work on himself in any way at all. He had lashed out at one of the people he cared about simply because he didn’t want to be vulnerable around them...he was nothing like Chihiro...Chihiro Fuji-fucking-saki. That bastard. How dared he sit there and act like Mondo was as strong as him. As if he was anything but a coward.

"Are you making fun of me?! I’m strong? Are you fucking with me right now?" Mondo raised his voice slightly as anger seemingly seeped through him. "I’m not making fun of you. You really are strong Mondo." Chihiro tried to explain himself, thinking that Mondo got the wrong idea. "What do you want me to do? What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to just sit back, let my secret get revealed and ruin everything? Let my best friend and partner know I’m a murderer!?" Now Mondo started to shout. "Wh-Whats wrong?" Chihiros voice became fearful and worried as he tried to approach Mondo. But Mondo quickly snapped at him, turning his whole body towards him rather violently as he looked Chihiro dead in the eyes. "Why did you have to tell me all that? Are you trying to rub my failure in my face!? Huh?! Is that it!?" Mondo started to approach him as more and more fury built up inside of him. "N-No, I just- I really admire you! I admire your strength! I promise Mondo, I just want to become as strong as you are!" Chihiro backed up, but for every step he took, Mondo took one as well. And soon enough, Chihiro was backed up against the wall. He was shaking. Tears spilled out of his eyes as the taller male towered above him. "That’s right, I am strong...I’m strong! I’m strong! Stronger than you ever will be! You hear me?! I’M STRONG!" As Mondo shouted this, he bent down and picked up the object closest to him. A dumbbell. "Mondo you’re scaring-"

THUNK!

Chihiro didn’t get to finish his sentence as Mondo struck him with the dumbbell. With one hit, Chihiro fell down. With one hit, blood started to pour from his head. With one hit, the ultimate programmer known as Chihiro Fujisaki was dead. Dead and gone forever. One hit. That’s all it took. And with that one hit, Mondo came back to reality.

"....o-oh...oh fuck. Fuck! FUCK! CHIHIRO!" He fell down to his knees as he grabbed ahold of Chihiros shoulders. He started to shake him slightly. "Chihiro? Chihiro get up man! This isn’t funny! Wake up!" But his pleads fell on deaf ears. Because Chihiro wasn’t there. Chihiro was dead. He was dead because of Mondo. Chihiro trusted Mondo enough to tell him his secret and ask for help, and Mondo had killed him. Tears started to prickle Mondos eyes very soon. He let out one last breathy "fuck" and brought Chihiro close to him as he realised what he had done. He used to be the one that feared what someone might do to him. He used to wonder who he could trust, who might betray him. But in the end it was him, him who betrayed someone. Someone who could barely defend themselves. Someone who trusted him. And he betrayed that trust. "Chihiro...I’m so sorry..."

•••

And that brings us to where you all were right now. Mondo hadn’t said much during the trial. As everyone was discussing who might have killed Chihiro, the guilt was eating at him. He was a monster. He had killed someone who looked up to him and wanted to be like him. Every time he would try to focus on something else his mind just repeated what Chihiro had told him. Chihiro was strong. Strong enough to not hide away from himself. Unlike Mondo. Mondo did it when he was informed about the motives and he was doing it now...he couldn’t do this. As he looked around the room he saw that everyone was deep in their discussion. He looked at you, you had a frown on your face, he remembered the scream of pain you let out once you found your best friend tied up in the girls gym, blood pouring from his head. And even if this case clearly hurt you, you had to focus. You were gonna find out who did this. Your eyes were intense with raw emotion. That is, until you felt Mondo staring at you. You turned your gaze over to him, and as your eyes met his, they softened slightly. And that broke Mondo. He promised to protect you. And here he was, trying to get away with murder. If he got away with this, you would be executed. But if he spoke up...he would be the one dying. And as his hands started to shake he remembered what Daiya used to tell him. When a man makes a promise, he has to keep it. Even if it kills him. "Even if it kills him...." he said to himself in a very low voice. He had promised to protect you, that you would make it out alive. So even if he had to die, he had to do this. "Hey. Hey!" He said loudly, quickly getting everyone’s attention. Even if it kills him. "I have something to say..." for the first time in his life, for the last time in his life, he was gonna be strong. He was gonna be strong, like Daiya.

Like Chihiro.

Even if it kills him.

“WHY MONDO!? WHY WHY WHY?! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?! HOW COULD YOU KILL HIM!" As his best friend shouted at him he felt like curling up and hiding away. His words cut deep into Mondos heart, even if all the words were true and justified. But what hurt the most were the words he didn’t hear. Taka was screaming at him, but you, you just stared at him in silence. You looked at him with hurt and betrayal in your eyes, and yet, not a word left your mouth. Tears were running down the sides of your face, tears that he was responsible for. “It would seem like you’re all ready to vote!” Monokuma said gleefully, much to Kiyotakas horror. “W-Wait! No! Hold on!” Taka cried out as he wanted to get answers from his best friend. “No more waiting! No more holding on!” Monokuma trailed on. But Mondo didn’t listen. He knew what was going to happen. He was going to die. But at least he died for the people he loved. He looked at you. You had tear filled eyes and a big frown. Suddenly, the levers you were all supposed to pull appeared. As everyone pulled their levers, only you, Mondo and Kiyotaka had been yet to vote. “Y/N! This can’t be happening! Tell me this isn’t happening! We’re not...WE’RE NOT VOTING FOR MONDO!” He yelled out as sobs escaped his throat. “Hey...Taka...Y/N...” Mondos voice rang through the trial room. You both turned to him. “It’s okay...vote for me...be safe...” and so, he grabbed his lever and placed his vote. “No! Don’t do this Mondo! Don’t do this!” Mondo gave the lever a big yank. Finalising the vote. He looked at you, you looked at him. Through your tears you saw him nod at you. And so, you pulled your lever.

•••

Taka was violently sobbing into the long coat that you had placed on his shoulders, Mondos coat that flew off him during his execution. It was the night after the trial. And Taka was completely destroyed. He was hysterically crying, letting out a sob in between every single breath he took. You stroked him on his back while trying to calm him down. “Hey...shh...shh...it’s...it’s not okay right now. I know that. But it’s going to be okay. We’re gonna get through this Taka. You and me. For Mondo. For Chihiro. He looked at you for a second before pulling you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. You and me, we’re gonna get out of this alive. Because...” you trailed off for a second. “....because you have me.” Kiyotaka only started to sob more after you told him this. And you just kept stroking his back. “And I have you. We have each other. And we’re gonna be okay....”

“I promise you...”

[phcking-detective]

Not Alone

Nines decides if he gets put on hold one more time, he's violating the Geneva Convention.

"Hello, are you still there?"

"Yes."

The PACU nurse audibly sighs in disappointment. "I spoke with our Chief of Staff, and he has given me permission to reiterate to you that a work partner does not count as family. Our policy is—"

Nines involuntarily reviews the Post Anesthesia Care Unit's visitation policy for the sixty-seventh time.

Visitation in the PACU is at the discretion of the nurse and physician caring for you and varies depending upon your procedure. Once the nurse taking care of you is happy with your vital signs and other post surgical requirements, they will contact the waiting area and will let your family member see you. Our policy at this time is legal family members only.

Which is a currently-still-legal method of barring androids.

Never mind that this policy also has significant human collateral damage: adoptees, divorcees, mixed race families …

The end result is that Nines cannot produce a marriage certificate and he obviously is not related by blood, so no one will be there to greet Gavin when he wakes up from his surgery.

And that is unacceptable. The detective has enough abandonment issues already.

Connor cannot hear the internal phone call Nines is engaged in, but he has a social module and must somehow be reading the results from his body language or facial expression.

"Hank could pretend to be his dad," he offers.

The PACU nurse is still reading the visitation policy in full. She's clearly determined to make this as difficult as possible, and showing up with a random human male with pale skin and fair hair who shares nothing in common with Gavin's olive skin tone, dark hair, or facial features is not going to cut it.

Nines searches through every single scan and PDF of paperwork Detective Gavin Reed has ever submitted to the DPD. Finally, all the way back to carry-over paperwork from the police academy he attended, Nines discovers a phone number he's never seen before listed as Gavin's emergency contact.

And it says brother.

Nines uses the phone at Gavin's desk to call this number without mentally disconnecting from the PACU nurse. Normally, he would be more than capable of processing infinite phone calls, but he does not have a social module and his stress levels are climbing into the high eightieth percentile.

"Gav, you better be dying because otherwise—"

"Is that Elijah Kamski?" Connor blurts out in the middle of the precinct.

"—just fucking text me, bro."

"Well shit," Hank says. "Talk about can I speak to a manager. You think he'd be willing to fix—"

Nines holds up a hand. He does not have a social module and cannot possibly process three conversations at once.

"You are listed as Detective Reed's emergency contact," he says into the phone.

"Is he hurt or dead?" Kamski immediately asks.

Nines cannot reply for nearly a full second. He spent three seconds thinking his partner was dead. It was not enough for Detective Gavin Alexander Reed to merely get shot, no. He also had to fall off the roof of a building, and the impact from the landing was enough to briefly stop his heart, which registered to Nines's scanners that—

"Hurt. Surgery." That is all he can say at first. "Successful. He is out of intensive care and has been transferred to the PACU."

In the background, Nines can still hear the others in the bullpen gossiping. He did not mean to make Gavin's familial relationship public. He assumed the phone number for one "Eli Reed" would simply be a regular, non-famous human of no particular importance except to get someone into the hospital to reassure Gavin he is not alone.

"What does he need now?" Kamski asks. "Will he be released soon and need a ride or in-home monitoring?"

Those are [logical] questions. Nines supposes he should not have expected anything less from the man who is technically his creator. Even if he only wrote the code and was not personally involved in the android's construction or testing phase.

"I have already made those arrangements during his surgery," Nines reports. "His apartment is prepped for his return, and my lieutenant has put together a … care package."

"Is that the old guy, husky, beard? With that Connor I liked?"

Across the bullpen, Connor's advanced hearing picks that up, and he visibly preens. Nines practices making a facial expression by sneering and rolling his eyes at him.

"Yes."

"OK, cool," Kamski says. "So, do you need me to cover the cost of surgery or is he asking for me …?"

"I have been unable to contact Detective Reed," Nines admits. "The hospital's visitation policy specifies 'legal' family members only as a method of anti-android discrimination. You are the only family member I have been able to locate."

If you do not visit him, he will be alone.

Nines cannot say this dialogue option. He cannot—refuses to—preconstruct how [bad] it will be if Gavin wakes up alone. His human has a deep, psychological fear of being abandoned, and even if Nines is able to see him immediately upon release and explain the situation, the emotional damage will have already been done.

"Yeah, our parents are dicks, and he doesn't want any famous media bullshit, so we keep the half-brothers thing on the downlow," Kamski says. "Do you need me to be your way in?"

"Yes," Nines says, almost before he finishes offering.

"I'm just kind of assuming here that you're his partner, and he'll want to see you, right?"

"As I am assuming that he accepts you as his brother, and he will want to see you."

Kamski snorts. "I told them stripping out your social module wouldn't stop the deviant problem—or make you any less sassy. That's an inherent RK feature."

"Should I meet you at the hospital," Nines asks.

As much as he may be [curious] about his creator in another situation, this is not another situation. And the situation at hand requires getting to his partner's location immediately.

"Yeah, just send me the address and let me do the talking. See you there."

As soon as he hangs up, Nines is bombarded with [questions] from Connor, Miller, and Collins. Thankfully, Hank stands up and makes a pushing-hands motion to signal to them to be quiet.

"I know we're all real fucking shooketh about this," he says, like the millennial dinosaur he is. "But we can save all the questions and gossip for after Reed gets out of the hospital, all right?"

The humans both grumble, but they let it go. Even Connor stops and sits back down at his own desk.

Hank turns back to Nines. "I'll text Tina and let her know what's up. You just go get your man, kid."

Connor visibly restrains himself from commenting on what an apt descriptor "man-kid" is for Gavin. At least, that's what Nines assumes, considering it is the commentary he himself would normally make.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he says instead.

He turns and leaves before the "goodbyes" can take any longer. Either whatever Kamski plans will work or … Well. He is the most advanced military android model ever created.

Nothing will keep him from his partner.

***

By the time Nines arrives at the hospital, Kamski is already utilizing his social module. And billions of dollars. The Chief of Staff [Thomas Carrado, unmarried, no arrest record] would wouldn't deign to speak to Nines over the phone is now vigorously shaking Kamski's hand while thanking him for his "generous donation."

"—also, I'm sure you'll want to see your brother too."

"Yes, and—" Kamski turns and [smiles] at Nines. "Ah, my assistant is here. What room should we go to?"

Carrado's own smile freezes on his face when he sees Nines. Even without the LED, there couldn't be any mistaking the android for what he is.

Kamski keeps smiling as well, the sort Connor does when he's about to verbally destroy someone.

"Right this way, Mr. Kamski," Carrado says.

The Chief of Staff turns on his heel without any acknowledgement that Nines follows them. In turn, Nines also does not acknowledge the glances Kamski keeps making at him. His vision is just as accurate in his "peripherals" as it is directly in front of him, so he has no need to turn his head or rotate his optical units to observe the human in turn.

Gavin's [brother].

"—in the nation, but with your esteemed patronage, I'm sure we can rise to first. And of course Mr. Reed will—"

"Detective," Nines corrects.

"—receive the best—"

"Detective."

"—care possible here—"

"Detective."

"—while—"

"Detective."

Carrado stops and whirls around. "Is your … assistant … experiencing a malfunction, Mr. Kamski?"

"No," Nines answers for himself. "You will refer to Detective Reed by his title."

"Oh, is he still pissy about that?" Kamski asks before Carrado can respond. "I swear, every single family dinner for a fucking decade, we had to call him Officer, Detective—he'll be insufferable when he finally makes Captain."

Bold of him to assume Gavin isn't insufferable now.

But Nines does not know the state of Gavin's relationship with his brother, and if the lack of contact is due to mistreatment. He will not risk "making fun of" his partner to a toxic family member.

"Will you be staying long?" Carrado asks Kamski.

"Nines, what does my schedule look like today?"

Nines may not have a social module, but Gavin has forced him to sit through watching enough daytime television to be able to parrot simple lines commonly said by ST300s.

"I have rescheduled your meetings and cleared the remainder of your afternoon and evening, Mr. Kamski."

As Gavin would say, [Like hell] he's going to call the billionaire "sir."

"Excellent." Kamski reaches out to shake hands again, and Carrado is forced to reciprocate. "Thank you so much for your assistance, Dr. Carrado. Now, I promise not to take up any more of your valuable time."

"Well, I'm not—"

Kamski gestures down the hallway, still smiling mildly as if he isn't "politely" telling the good Chief of Staff to [fuck off]. He maintains eye contact with the other human until Carrado slinks away.

It seems Gavin and Kamksi share more than just genetics and a similar facial structure then. Although Gavin would have squeezed the other man's hand hard enough to induce pain, and likely told him literally to fuck off as well.

"Well." Kamski claps his hands together once Carrado is gone. "Let's go see my baby brother!"

***

Gavin is dying. He's alone and he's dying. He's dying and he's alooone.

"Detective."

Person? People??

Hands touch him and it's the best thing ever. There's a person here, he has a person, he's not alone. He's not going to die alone because everyone hates him and it's all his fault for being a huge asshole in the first place.

"Please lie down, Detective."

Gavin stops struggling to sit up when he realizes the person is his person. His favorite person. He collapses back down in the bed, which hurts a lot more than it should. Probably because he fell off a fucking building and messed up the whole left side of his body and—oh yeah, also got shot too. That sucks.

It doesn't stop him from whining and making grabby hands—hand? his left arm and leg are both in casts, boo—until Nines bends over at the waist, and Gavin can drag his face close enough for kisses.

"Wooow." His brother says. "This is blackmail material forever, I hope you know that, Gav."

Wait, his brother? Eli??

"I will remove you from the premises," Nines tells him.

Eli scoffs. "My donation got you in here. Nines."

"And there is nothing on this earth that can remove me."

God, his partner is so hot and mean and cool. And he has a mouth! Gavin has a mouth too. They should … look into that. You know. Investigate.

"Hmm, and here I thought you didn't like my 'stupid toys,' bro."

Gavin stops trying to wrestle his mouth against his partner's mouth and looks at his brother, who is also in the same room as his partner, at the same time.

"Oh, shit," he says.

"Uh huh, uh huh." Eli nods and waves his hand in a sideways-circle. "Keep going. Either with an apology, or you can keep it up about how only a loser needs to build an android to have a girlfriend."

"This is different," Gavin says, very seriously while still leaning to the side to keep as much contact between his back and Nines's chest as possible.

Eli scoffs and gestures at the two of them.

"I don't keep him in my basement," Gavin argues.

"I didn't lock Chloe in mine either," Eli snaps back. "She's free to go where she pleases."

"Her and all her clones?"

"Oh, please. If I never invented her, you wouldn't have—"

"—lab is in your basement though, and that's—"

"Gavin," Nines says, voice right next to his ear. "Is your lack of contact with your brother due to this level of typical sibling fighting—"

"We're not fighting," Gavin says. "We're just talking and he's losing."

"You're the one dumb enough to get shot," Eli adds.

Nines straightens up. "Do not mock Detective Reed for being injured in the line of—"

"Whoa, whoa, hey." Gavin pats behind himself with his good hand as much as he's able. "Easy, babe. No combat protocols, OK? He's my brother."

"Hmm," Nines says.

"So he's like, super fucking annoying and all, but no one beats his face in except me." Gavin doesn't even pause before he turns back to Eli, who's already opening his mouth to bring up— "And you only got lucky with the water hose that one time, I can still kick your ass in any other fight."

Eli scowls, but he looks away instead of bringing it up. He still feels guilty about it. Goddamn genius, and he "didn't know" smacking Gavin in the face with the metal end of a water hose would bust his nose open like that.

Dipshit.

"You said you received your facial scar in a bar fight," Nines says.

Eli blinks, looks back over, then bursts out laughing.

"Shut up," Gavin groans. "You weren't supposed to meet like this, it's not fair!"

"How exactly did you plan on us meeting, Detective?" Nines asks.

Gavin keeps his right hand covering as much of his face as it can and doesn't answer. He hadn't really thought about it beyond how much Elijah was going to fucking gloat when he found out. And as much as he loves his partner, Nines is android-brothers with Connor, and they do android-mind-linking, and Connor is a horrible gossip, and Gavin does not need the entire precinct and/or world to know his brother is possibly the most famous man alive, thanks.

They have a whole arrangement about it. Maybe if he wasn't still feeling the effects of so much morphine, he'd be able to articulate that, and how he wants to be absolutely certain his career really advances on his own merit, and maybe even some other stuff about Eli getting way more attention than him and growing up in the shadow of his cooler, smarter, more popular half-brother …

Ugh.

"Ughhh," Gavin groans again.

"And when were you planning on finally texting me, huh?" Eli asks.

Gavin looks up so he can scoff. "You fucking text me, asshole."

Eli inspects his probably-already-perfect nails. "I've been busy."

"So have I!"

"Getting shot?"

Nines interrupts. "That reminds me." He leans down to growl close in Gavin's ear, "You will never do this again."

Gavin swallows back a moan. "Babe, please don't make me horny while my brother is in the room."

Nines rolls his eyes. "There is no other recourse for me to leave then."

He knows his partner is joking. He knows that. But between the morphine and the exhaustion and now the pain in his side slowly seeping back into his body—Gavin grabs onto Nines and clings to him.

Nines immediately bends back down and wraps his arms around him as best he's able. "Shhh. I will not. I am here, and I have you secure. Shhh."

He makes the shushing noises more like a stern librarian than a comforting boyfriend, but it's ironically comforting after all because Gavin knows no one else would literally say "shhh" like it's a word. So this must be his Nines, his boyfriend, his partner.

"Wow, this is really touching."

Gavin lets go just to flip Eli off.

"Can I get in on this snuggle fest? I haven't seen you in what, a fucking year now, and you get your dumbass shot."

Gavin grumbles about it, but he holds out his good arm for Elijah. The dumb asshole comes over and gives him a one-armed hug, careful not to wrap around too far and touch his side. Or his broken left arm. Broken left leg. Goddamn, he really did it this time, huh?

Once they've hugged it out, he pulls back and says, "Since I built your Nines, when he uses his combat protocols to kick your ass for this, that's basically like me kicking your ass."

"No way," Gavin immediately replies. "You haven't been able to kick my ass since we were ten, and don't—god. Don't phcking, say it like he's you about my ass. That's weird, bro."

Eli grins at him. "Oh, so you two are already doing butt stuff, huh? That's pretty serious, like third base."

"Anal is only second," Gavin tells him.

On his other side, Nines blinks red. "Then what … do you consider first?"

"Uh, a blowjob, duh."

"Wait, what's a handjob?" Eli asks.

"Nothing, between friends."

Nines blinks. "Then thank god Tina is not here."

Gavin looks back down at the bed. "I guess she's busy, huh?"

"No," Nines says as if that's reassuring. But he continues, "She is not allowed to see you. The hospital's visitation policy allows for 'legal' family visitors only."

Gavin looks back up at him. "Then how'd you get in?"

Nines scowls. It's one of the few facial expressions he's mastered. "I searched through every form you have ever submitted to the Detroit Police Department, found an emergency contact number listed for your brother from nearly fifteen years ago, called it, spoke to Elijah Kamski, and then pretended to be his assistant."

"But hey," Eli says. "After the amount of money I just donated, I could wheel in a giant birthday cake filled with Traci strippers, so I'm sure I can get Tina in whenever you're ready."

Gavin smiles weakly, but now he's thinking …

"Is that why you weren't there when I woke up?" he asks Nines quietly.

"It is the only reason," Nines assures him. "My next option after calling your emergency contact was to simply walk inside and see what they thought they could do to remove me."

He looks absolutely serious about it too. Gavin's smile breaks out into a grin, just imagining some poor fucking GS200 security guard nervously asking the most advanced military model ever made to p-p-please leave … sir? Wh-whenever you're ready though, no rush!

He gets the giggles, but then that really makes his side hurt. Nines helps him lie back down before he even realizes he's too tired to sit up anymore. He also gets petted through his hair and that's nice, that's sooo nice.

"I'm … love you," he mumbles.

"I know." Nines smooths his hair back one last time and kisses his forehead. "Rest now. You can talk to your brother more when you wake up. We'll both be here."

Gavin still clutches at him though. "And Tina?"

"Yes," Nines says. "And Tina. Hank too, although he will likely bring Connor."

"Ugh, Connor."

"Yes."

A yawn catches him before he can complain any more about that, and having a nap does sound really good right now.

"Eli, tell me what you're working on," he says, blinking repeatedly to try to keep his eyes open. "S'boring."

Elijah takes a seat next to the bed. "You mispronounced boyfriend, but OK."

"He's boring too," Gavin says, but like, in a loving way. "He filed my ta-a-haaaxes."

After that last yawn, he loses the blinking battle. Eli starts explaining something about a new form of titanium, and Nines keeps one hand resting solidly on the center of his chest, so Gavin knows he's there.

They're both right here.

***

***

this was a commission! my rates are $10 for 1k / $25 for 3k / or $40 for 5k, and you can also check out my patreon for my main reed900 series here ^^

[margridarnauds]

I have an Irish ask! How did the regional kings hierarchy work - was there a high king irl? How did you rule, and what over, and how did you get to be high king, if so? (From - a descendant of the Kings of Desmond, but very confused about what's shit, and what's legit, in Irish History?

Kingship in an Irish context is an endlessly complicated topic, and it seems like for every question we get, someone’s written or plans to write a dissertation on it. You accidentally tripped over a landmine when asking me this one. Which is DEFINITELY not your fault, I don’t resent you for it, it just means you are getting a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGG answer.

But. Anyway. Kingship. I will preface anything I say with the acknowledgment that I am a mythological literature person, not necessarily a law/contracts/history person. Also that, tragically, there are a LOT of law tracts that remain untranslated. (And a lot of things. In general.)

So, this is…complicated, since a LOT of the work in the legal tradition revolves around the notion of kingship (seriously, my closest friend in the department is a legal scholar and we have had some long bitchfests about how much attention is paid to kingship VS the common people, simply because…..guess who was paying for these manuscripts to be made? Yep, it ain’t Farmer Cormac. The single most important thing you can ever remember about these texts is that they were made by and for an elite audience); you have a lot of kings in a fairly condensed space, and it gets to the point of whether we should even really properly translate rí as “king” or whether a more generic term like “leader” is actually more accurate, though it IS cognate with Latin “Rex” and Gaulish “Rix.” (Aka “Vercingetorix”, “Cunorix”, “Asterix”…all the most important “Rix”s of the ancient world.) So. Kings. Definitely kings. But not really in any way we would generally consider “kings” to be. Fergus Kelly estimated that there could be as many as 150 KINGS throughout Ireland between the 5th-12th centuries (17), which….on a relatively small island that holds only about 5 million people in the present….**150**.

Traditionally, the idea of a singular high king of Ireland was….okay, so you have a LOT of guys who claim to be “King of Ireland,” but there’s a question of how real that power actually was, how much power they ACTUALLY wielded, and how stable they actually were. And, on one hand “King of Tara” is generally taken to be synonymous with “king of Ireland”, (hence the Uí Néill’s LONG claim to power), but there are a lot of issues with that one, and it’s something that’s a matter of debate, not the least because it seems like the Uí Néill…..might have influenced the literature ever so slightly as a way of bolstering their own claims (Jaski, Early Irish Kingship and Succession, 215). Basically, no evidence that the kings of Munster paid tribute to the kings of Tara before the 9th century, making the claim that the King of Tara = King of ALL Ireland doubtful. 

And….well, I’ll let Bart Jaski explain the title of ardrí (high king), since he’s the man with the big book on it: “To keep up with [the political developments of Brían Boru’s victory at the Battle of Clontarf], the annalists of the tenth century introduce the title ‘high-king’ (ardri) as a title of recognition or flattery to denote a powerful king who achieved a remarkable domination over others. In later historiography, the old kingship of Tara came to be regarded as the ‘high-kingship’ of Ireland, which is both an anachronism and an inaccurate estimation of what the kingship of Tara meant, both in pre-historic times as in the documentary period. The title of rex Hiberniae given to the kings of Tara Domnall of Cenél Conaill and his grandson Loingsech does not lend support to the existence of a ‘high kingship’. as they were apparently subjectively awarded by partisan annalists and others.” 

Fergus Kelly was more to the point, “The king of Ireland (rí Érenn), who figures so prominently in the sagas, is rarely mentioned in the law-texts. Though the idea of a kingship of the whole isalnd had already gained currency by the 7th century, no Irish king ever managed to make it a reality, and most law-texts do not even provide for such a possibility” (18). 

Charles-Edwards disputed this conclusion in Early Christian Ireland (okay, technically, he disputed Binchy’s conclusions, but this line of thinking), discussing some further references to a single king of Ireland binding the other kings of Ireland to him, as Conchobar was said to have done with the men of Ulster, as well as the legal term tríath, with a line from an 8th century law text being “He is a burdensome tríath who penetrates Ireland of peoples from sea to sea” (519). Liam Bhreatnach suggested in his article ‘Ardrí as an old compound,” as the name suggests, that the term itself, while little used, is old. I can’t get ahold of it at present, but I’m going to presume he did make a solid case, given that Carey, Jaski, and Charles-Edwards all cite him, and they are all careful, respectable scholars. What John Carey would point out in “From David to Labraid” is that actually, several of those early references were in fact to the Christian as opposed to an earthly deity. AKA “The ULTIMATE high king, the highest of kings” (pg. 21-23). Something suggested by Carey in that same article is that the Church MIGHT have promoted the idea of high kingship as a way of appealing to kings who would be interested in it in exchange for their support of Christianity; a quid pro quo. 

Basically, the question of the extent of the high king’s power, both in a Christian and pre-Christian context, is HIGHLY controversial and something I reckon will never fully be satisfactorily resolved, not the least because it also has the misfortune of featuring two favorite, perennial topics of many Celticists: Etymological arguments and kingship. What I think we CAN gather from the debate is that it was very far from a SOLID title, more a matter of individual monarchs as opposed to stable dynasties. Medieval Ireland did not have a Versailles and a Louis XIV, there was not a singular sun king who decided their fates. 

Now, in general, kingship was not necessarily held with the same iron grip that you would see with, say, the Plantagenets in England. Primogeniture was not necessarily a thing here. You did have to be a nobleman to be king (Sorry, Farmer Cormac, you’re out, get back to your field, peasant), and you had to be descended from a king in either the first or the second degree to be king, but you did NOT have to be the firstborn son. If you have seven kids and the youngest is the only one who is qualified to lead….yep, Junior takes the lot. So, that’s the first thing. There’s a section of Mac Firbis’ Great Book of Genealogies (which is a LATE text, but includes basically a scrapbook of older material) that references that exact scenario. Youngest can take it, eldest can take it, eldest PROBABLY has a higher shot of it because…older, more time to be groomed for the kingship, more time to gather people loyal to him, etc. But. Like. All of the kids have a shot, and depending on where they’re fostered off to, their foster families will very likely support them if they want to make a bid for the kingship. (Irish dynastic politics were VERY turbulent.)

 A king is elected to the tribe through the popular acclamation of their major clients/family members; their power, while it is something that is expected to some extent, is not a GIVEN to the same extent. (Jaski 212). Which. Is where the role of tánaiste comes in, which is a late development, but it irons things out so it’s like “Okay, when the old fuck dies, this dude is king.” In a literary context, this is also why Bres’ kingship is kind of doomed from the beginning. Because it’s the WOMEN of the Tuatha dé who support his kingship, not the men.

 And, of course, even if Junior does take the throne, that does NOT mean that his brother’s kids are out of the running when Junior dies (or, more to the point, they might try to speed things along and arrange for a “hunting accident” to happen.) Because of the three generation requirement to maintain noble status, there was quite a bit of infighting (Jaski 197), as different offshoots of a given high king will want the throne in order to maintain their noble rank. Knives Out: The Medieval Ireland edition. 

One story that deals with this is Echtra mac nEchdach Mugmedóin (Adventures of the Sons of Eochaid Mugmedóin), which discusses how the future Niall of the Nine Hostages, born the son of a Saxon slave and the king of Ireland, hated by his stepmother, and the youngest of the lot of the sons ends up taking the kingship anyway. (Answer: He’s down to sleep with an old hag. Who is also the sovereignty of Ireland. And is like “Okay, that was some good D, here’s how you get the kingship now.”) Now, this is primarily a literary as opposed to a historical story, but…..well….that’s where a lot of our stuff for this. Does come from. For better or worse. And I’m not just saying that because I’m currently procrastinating on working on an edition of that very text. 

So, on the question of “How to rule.” The main relationship was between an overking-client king. So, let’s say that I am an underking in….IDK. Munster. What can I say? I like Munster. I’m not even a pronvincial king, but I’ve got my tuath, I’m chilling out, I’ve got my cattle, I’ve got some Nemed-class people with me, I’ve got a bit of land, and a couple of those people we don’t really talk about because they’re not important (Aka “Commoners, slaves, etc.” The people who do the work that the more privileged classes CANNOT do, like chop wood.) 

Now, let’s say that you’re a provincial king, King of Munster. Your father’s just died, you’ve become king, or, alternatively, you’ve beaten the shit out of the other candidates, and you roll up to my people. Now, I could probably fight, but like. That’s a way to. Die. And maybe I do want the protection that comes from a Lord-Client relationship, since, hey, that DOES mean that you’re responsible for me. And if the King of Connacht rolls up and is like “Hey, I want to attack you and steal your cattle” you can roll up and be like “Hey, want to die?” Also, if one of your OTHER subjects kills a man in my tuath, you are expected to mediate, with me taking a hostage from your court until everything’s resolved, and you and I both getting a part of the resulting settlement (Kelly 23). And, of course, I’ll support you as well. It’s a mutual client relationship, just….an inherently uneven one. Most of the powerful subject kings, who were free but still subject to an overking were related to that king by a shared kinship, but there was a double edged sword: I support you, and then your brother Eochaid comes to the throne, I’m up Shit River with no paddle (Jaski 206). If I’m particularly useful/powerful to you, you might even foster one of your kids with me, so I can support him politically later down the line. (And also strengthen the relationship between our two peoples; that kid is going to be more mine than yours by the time that his fosterage is over, he will call you athair and me datai; one is a more formal term meaning “father,” [cognate with Latin pater and English father] one is more like “dad” and is cognate with the Welsh dat. Which seems to be related to….yep, the English diminutive dad.) Peter Parkes rather magnificently talks about this system as: “Clientage dressed in a false plumage of kinship: Cuckold consanguinity.” (”When Milk Was Thicker Than Water?”, Comparative Studies in Society and History 6.3, pg. 606)

So, what would happen there? Well, the system of overking-client king was held together much in the same way as the relationship between individuals would be, ie through hostages. The giving of hostages is something that was EMBEDDED in the legal system. So, you and I would proceed to haggle over who I have to hand over. Now, I don’t want you to take someone too important, you will want to take the most important person you can. I’ll try to get you to take my third cousin twice removed who I might see once every few years, Conall, you’ll try to get one of my kids. And, let’s be real, since you have the most power in this situation, you’ll probably fucking win. “He who has the sword makes the rules”- NOT an official medieval Irish legal statement, but it might as well be. Now, it should be emphasized that hostages were HIGHLY respected and treated well, there was no particular stigma against someone who was a hostage at some point, and you do have accounts of hostages eating at the king’s table, in a position that denotes a degree of intimacy and companionship. And a couple who are brutally executed or maimed when their kings broke the terms of the agreement, but, hey, only a 2% murder rate or so; very good for the times. It could be that the king’s son had a role when it came to making sure the hostages were cared for. But there’s not been all that much work done on it and a lot of this is being remembered second hand from a PhD student in our department who did a STELLAR lecture on the topic; if and when he decides to formally publish it, I’ll probably make a big deal over it. Because….this shit is IMPORTANT. 

This is also why it’s Niall of the Nine Hostages. Because that’s how many peoples he extracted hostages from, that is a sign of his power as a king. You could NOT be king of Ireland without hostages. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Like, how are you going to be sure that your supporters are going to stick with you? And even if they do, where’s the signs of your authority? Why do you expect anyone to take you seriously? 

So, a king of Ireland’s reign would be held together by a similar system, whether it’s provincial or the famous ardri. A high king would take hostages from their client kings as a way of showing off their power and authority, and they would probably show them off when making a circuit of their territory. Your ancestor would definitely have had a group of hostages taken from the athech-thúatha, or client peoples. The Triads put it slightly more succinctly: “[220] Three things that constitute a king: a contract with other kings, the feast of Tara, abundance during his reign.” 

Now, again, this is an idealized literary context, but we’ve discussed the first one, the contractural nature. The feis Temro, or the Feast of Tara, was something that a High King of Ireland HAD to do as a way of securing his reign, and in the early days at least it seemed to involve some sort of marriage/sexual ritual with a representative of the goddess of sovereignty, a living embodiment of the land, and it would involve imbibing some sort of drink offered to him by her as well. (This is why Eochaid Airem HAS to marry Étain, because he needs a queen to have his feis Temro and become a king. This is also why Niall of the Nine Hostages secured his reign via sleeping with aforementioned hag.) 

And there were a number of different taboos and responsibilities tied to said kingship. For example, in The Tidings of Conchobar Mac Nessa, it is said that “Now Conchobar himself used to give them the (the feast of) Samaim because of the assembly of the great host. It was needful to provide for the great multitude, because everyone of the Ulstermen who would not come to Emain in Samain lost his senses, and on the morrow his barrow and his grave and his tombstone were placed.” The Adventures of Nera also features Medb and Aillil throwing a feast on the day of Samain for the entirety of the province. Baile in Scáil features Conn rising every day so that he can go onto the ramparts of Tara with his druids and poets to defend it from the possibility of otherworldly attack. Another obligation was “the Prince’s truth,” the idea that the king, when giving out judgements, should be able to INTUIT the true answer. Giving a false judgement = ruin for the land, everything goes to shit, the harvests fails, cattle die, aliens invade (okay….maybe not, but like. it would be cool if they did), the king of Leinster steals your wife, etc. until the bad king is replaced. (It has been SUGGESTED that that might be the reason for some of the bog bodies. Possibly.) He also HAD to go out with a retinue when he was out hunting, a king who didn’t lost his honor price, same as if he’d used an instrument of MANUAL LABOR (the horror, the shock) (Kelly 19). For what it’s worth, I do know of at least one case in….I believe the 16th century where a woman claimed that the king was the father of her child, there was no one who could dispute it since he was alone, he took a shine to the child anyway, and BOOM heir. Which further shows one of the social dangers of a king on his own.

More specific ones to each province are laid out in the Book of Rights, which Myles Dillon did an edition of in “Taboos of the Kings of Ireland”. An example (chosen at random) includes, “The five prohibitions of the king of Munster: to hold a court before celebrating the feast of Loch Lern from one Monday to the next; to spend a wet autumn night before winter in Letrecha, to camp for nine days on the Suir, to hold a meeting at the boundary near Gabruan ; to hear the groans of the women of Mag Feimin in their oppression. And his five prescriptions : to despoil Cruachain at the call of the cuckoo; to burn the Laigin to the north of Gabair; to chant the Passion in Lent at Cashel; to travel over Sliab Cua with a company of fifty after pacifying the south of Ireland; to go with a dark grey army on Tuesday across Mag nAlbe.” 

Either way, in Ye Olde Days, there was definitely an element of protecting the people of the region from the possibility of supernatural attack. That would obviously die down a little with the coming of Christianity, I don’t know whether a king in the 15th century, for example, would be expected to keep to it that rigorously, I lean towards “no” personally since this is generally talked about as an outdated custom, but it remained a popular trope in medieval literature. Dillon himself points out that, given that many of the taboos mentioned in here were only recorded in the 14th century, they were likely considered to be an odd, antiquarian quirk. That being said…..it’s ALL tied into the kingship, the idea of the king being tied to a certain series of obligations, the mutual relationship between king and people. 

Now, if a king failed in his duties and taboos, he could be ousted. Like “you fucked up, buster, get packing.” Some examples of kings who lost their sovereignty include Bres mac Elatha (my BOY, my SON, my ANGEL, my…..little piece of shit), who was satirized by a bard (this is why people REALLY tend to underline the power of bards, because like. This was an ACKNOWLEDGED power of theirs. They were held in a heady mix of respect and fear for this one), Fergus mac Roiche (didn’t lose it because of incompetence per se, but did hand it over to Conchobar, and the men of Ulster, inexplicably, liked Conchobar more, which….their mistake but.), and Congal Cáech (whose bid for king of Tara was, according to legend at least, ruined by an unfortunate bee sting. In his eye. Whether he was actually king of Tara is something that seems to be slightly disputed.) People often will ask me, when I mention how much I love Bres, why I love him so much, and I feel like the answer to that….there are a hundred answers, depending on my mood, and this is NOT a Bres post, but the one most relevant to the overall topic at hand is that he really experienced the full kingship experience: The rise, the fall, the absolute tumultuous political reality of a 9th century king, albeit a fictionalized one. 

Bibliography: 

Carey, John, ‘From David to Labraid: Sacral Kingship and the Emergence of Monotheism in Israel and Ireland’, Approaches to Religion and Mythology in Celtic Studies

Charles-Edwards, T.M., Early Christian Ireland, Cambridge University Press

Dillon, Myles, “Taboos of the Kings of Ireland,” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy: Archaeology, Culture, History,Literature, Vol. 54

Jaski, Early Irish Kingship and Succession, Four Courts Press

Kelly, Fergus, A Guide To Early Irish Law, Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies

Mac Cana, Proinsias, Celtic Mythology, Littlehampton Book Services 

Parkes, Peter, ”When Milk Was Thicker Than Water?”, Comparative Studies in Society and History 6.3

[artificialqueens]

Makes Me Wonder (Biadore)- Ortega

a/n: hey hey! happy holidays. i thought i’d write a lil somethin to get me back into the swing of writing since i’ve had a couple months off. it’s an idea i’ve had running around my head for a good good while, at least a year, and now it’s finally down so pls let me know what you think! this is set within the Just the Game We’re In universe but can absolutely be read standalone. title from the song of the same name by Ella Mai which really sums up what this fic is all about (issa vibe). is it too early for a new years’ eve fic? have it anyway, ya filthy animals xo

summary: Adore is a civil service comms girl in a government department who’s meant to be out with her friends. Bianca is the director of communications for the entire country’s government about twenty ranks above her who has no plans for the night other than getting the Prime Minister out of trouble. Tonight, they’re two women sharing a bottle of prosecco in an office high above the city on the last night of the year.

***

It’s eleven at night, and the glass frontage of the offices makes all the darkness flood in. Too high for the reach of the streetlamps, Bianca can see the tiny twinkly lights of the city below in the distance. From the position of the building most of London’s landmarks are hidden from view: the Eye, St Paul’s Cathedral, she knows that the Houses of Parliament are on the other side of the building, not that she’d want to see them. Bianca doesn’t mind. She became disillusioned with London in 2008, when she was presented with her third Prime Minister that didn’t have a clue what he was doing and it slowly dawned on her that maybe all you needed to get ahead in politics was a dick and a Ted Baker suit. Or to be a dick in a Ted Baker suit.

And now here she is running after yet another enormous man-child, pre-emptively doing a mop-up job that she knows she will be tasked with when government returns in the New Year. She knows that a supposedly off-the-record journalist ambushed him at a New Years’ Eve party about an hour ago, asked him something about immigration figures that if he didn’t know sober he’d know even less after six sherries, so Bianca knows that all the papers will be primed to really go in on that subject next time they have a chance. She needs a file, she knows exactly the one- a huge blue lever arch with all the figures needed to sound like the government expert on immigration. It would’ve helped if the actual government expert on immigration was in the country, but the Secretary of State for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship (or DoSac, as those in Westminster called it) Sharon Needles is still in Spain with her family and her wife, coincidentally the second government expert on immigration by proxy. Bianca shakes her head derisively as she makes her way to the lightswitch. What the hell is Sharon thinking, swanning off on holiday at a time like this? Alaska’s no better, she knows there’s going to be an election in Scotland in six months’ time and whether they give a shit or not they still have to make the party seem likeable down in London and that’s her job as an MP. Bianca had heard it all from Sharon, “it’s Christmas for Christ’s sake Bianca, I’m not asking for a week in Amsterdam during a reshuffle”, and she likes the fucking woman so she’d let her, but one of her parting comments still stings, “I don’t think you got enough cuddles as a child”. Bianca had wanted to snap at her that her childhood had been fine, it was her adulthood she needed to worry about. She brings her thumb up to her palm and touches the bottom of the fourth finger on her left hand self-consciously. It’s been…God, twelve years now. There can’t still be a dent. Perhaps Bianca is imagining it.

Bianca imagines a lot of things.

Blinking as if to hit refresh on her mind, she flicks the lightswitch and is surprised when she hears a thud and an “owch” come from underneath one of the desks in the department. Narrowing her eyes, she casts a glance over the huge room. There are Willam and Courtney’s desks, both with photos of them at Sharon and Alaska’s wedding on each. Blair’s is chaotically tidy, piles and piles of documents that Bianca knows all have their place. Violet’s and Jinkx’s, both neat and orderly, and then Bianca’s gaze sweeps quickly over Trixie and Katya’s desks to come to rest on a huge pair of hazel eyes blinking at her with wide-eyed surprise. Bianca is disarmed, only able to blink back at her in a way she hopes is intimidating and not intimidated.

“Bianca!” Adore gasps, sounding shocked as she rises from behind her desk. This reveals a black sparkly lace and velvet dress with beads and sequins threaded all over it, so much so that it looks as if Adore is dressed in the night sky. Bianca elects not to speak, scared in case she tries and nothing comes out. She maintains her stare instead. Adore’s red lips, set in an O of surprise, start to move. “Fuck, I’m sorry…I was out in my heels and never had flats with me and I knew I had my work boots under my desk so I just got an uber here and the place was still open and, uh…yeah. Sorry for saying fuck.”

Bianca cracks a small smile as Adore scrunches her straight dark hair in her hands at the scalp, an embarrassed smile on her own face which turns into an awkward bite of her lip. She’s beautiful. Bianca’s always thought so, in the same way she can admire a bouquet of flowers or a sunset or a member of the opposition getting absolutely annihilated in a debate. Adore is beautiful, and that’s just a fact. Nothing more. It doesn’t need to be anything more than that.

Bianca sometimes wonders, though.

“Uh, how come you’re here? Busiest woman in Westminster, you don’t have, like…some sort of New Years’ Eve party with the Prime Minister and all the cabinet and…stuff?” Adore concludes  sheepishly, scuffing her foot across the floor in a way Bianca wishes she didn’t find so charming. For her part, Bianca narrows her eyes.

“For your information, I’m trying to find a file,” she rolls her eyes, walking past the comms girl and trying not to inhale too much of the perfume she’s wearing that smells all too much of candyfloss and jellybeans. It shouldn’t smell as nice as it does.

“Government secrets. You’re gonna kill someone,” Adore nodded, following Bianca over to the filing cabinet, crossing her arms and resting them on the top.

“You, if I’m lucky,” Bianca keeps up pretences and pretends that Adore is too young, too silly and idiotic to be worthy of her time. It’s a dance they’ve been doing since Adore started as an intern for Darienne Lake back in the day, back when the whole thing had some integrity and Bianca genuinely held more contempt for Adore than a smear of shit on her shoe and Adore presumably thought Bianca’s entire personality was modelled on Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. It’s more than that now though. Bianca knows it, Adore knows it. It’s been more than that for a while. Years, definitely. How many, Bianca doesn’t know. Certainly since Adore had been dating that journalist Laila McQueen who ended up breaking her heart and very nearly brought the department down with all the secrets Adore had inadvertently leaked to her. Since Adore had found love in a new relationship with a girl from the hospital coffee shop, when Adore had been telling the rest of the civil service girls about her and had stopped when she caught sight of Bianca walking in, her excited face faltering only a little. It’s definitely been since Bianca, exhausted and caught off guard by a stressful day that happened to fall on an all too painful date (Bianca touches her ring finger again) allowed her shoulders to slump and a tear to fall from her face in an empty room in the DoSac offices. Adore had entered the glass-fronted office, uttered Bianca’s name gently, crossed the room to face her. She’d wordlessly caught the tear with an impossibly gentle acrylic-nailed finger and it had disappeared from her face as if Adore was a magician. Then she’d left, returning with a cup of hot coffee and a touch of Bianca’s hand and vanishing from the empty office as if she’d never been there.

Bianca wonders if it would’ve been easier if she hadn’t been.

“What’s your plan for tonight, anyway? Westminster’s number one Amy Winehouse tribute act,” Bianca continues, frowning as the lever arch file isn’t in the place it should be. She slams shut one drawer and tries the next one down.

“Number one! Fuck, that’s high praise from you. I’m sure you said Courtney was, like, the number fifteen Kylie Minogue tribute,” Bianca hears the smile in Adore’s voice, internally yells at herself as loud as her mind will allow that this is not, not, not flirting.

“Only because I’m hoping you decide to really commit to the gig and overdose over the holidays and I won’t have to see you eating all the croissants meant for Sharon day after day next year,” Bianca raises her eyebrows at her. Completely nukes any hint of anything playful. But of course Adore bulldozes that idea immediately with a huge snort of laughter and a smile that exposes her beautiful teeth, impossibly white given all the smoking she does.

“Huh. So you do notice me,” she ponders, her voice small and tinged with a dangerous hint of curiosity.

“Hard not to with that hideous vocal fry. Helluhhhh, you’re through to Dosac commmmmms?” Bianca mocks, drawing her voice out and allowing herself a grin at the way Adore’s face lights up in a self-deprecating laugh. Bianca, for a moment, truly believes the whole room gets brighter.  

“I’m out with the girls,” Adore explains on the tail end of a laugh, finally answering her question. “You’re not having much luck with that file.”

“Listen, Wednesday fucking Addams! Enough sass from you, alright? I can still sack you, holidays or no holidays,” Bianca snaps, not meaning a single word of it. She can practically hear the smug smile of disbelief on Adore’s face. She looks up and sure enough, there it is. “What the fuck’s that look for? You look like the cat that got the cream then ate the shit.”

Adore shrugs lightly. “I just don’t think you’d ever sack me, that’s all. You’re too nice.”

Bianca is knocked for six by the compliment. For a moment, forgets how to react. She straightens up and tries the shelves for the file. “You’ve seen me fire about ten people since you started working here, you’re clearly an idiot with a horrendous judge of character or you’ve got early-onset dementia.”

Adore laughs. “I think I’m both. Although you’re in the dementia pit with me, sister.”

“How fucking dare you, I’m forty two. I’m reporting you for ageism,” Bianca snarls at her, but they both know she doesn’t mean it. Adore shrugs, stretching out against the wall.

“All I’m saying is, I think you’re forgetting I’m one of the only people in the country who’s ever got a Bianca Del Rio apology.”

Bianca shakes her head, tries to ignore how good her name sounds in Adore’s mouth. She remembers that day, remembers it well- absolutely ripping through Adore because she made a mistake and watching her tear up, spending the day being eaten up with regret and then sheepishly going to say sorry at the end of it all, watching her bashful expression become mirrored on Adore’s face as the girl had told her not to worry about it and that these things happen. Bianca looks again at Adore, the playful and lighthearted expression on her face now one of trepidation. Bianca knows what she’s thinking, and she’s wondering if she’s taken the whole thing too far. So Bianca does the only thing she can do at this point in the conversation and turns danger to derision.

“How’s being out with the girls working out for you?”

Adore puffs out a load of air, twirls an end of her long hair around her finger. “Not too well because there’s an old woman with alzheimer’s that I have to look after who’s wandering around the office muttering obscenities at me and searching for a piece of very important government information.”

Adore notes Bianca’s unamused expression and hollers out a laugh, Bianca unable to hold hers in any longer either. Smiling, Adore continues. “At least, that’s what I’ll tell the girls when they ask me why I’m late.”

Bianca sighs, shakes her head in disbelief. “Adore, I’m not going to shout at you if you want to leave. You got what you came here for, so-”

“Oh, I mean, yeah, of course. But winding up my boss’ boss is just as fun, actually is more fun, than sitting in a crowded pub with my friends yelling in my ear because the twelve men out on their Christmas piss-up are singing Fairytale of New York loud enough that their lungs are gonna pop, so���” Adore trailed off, punctuating her sentence with a shrug. She pauses a second. “Hey, what does that file look like?”

“It’s lever arch…blue, really full, probably has bits of paper sticking out of it…Christ, this is the most boring conversation I’ve ever had,” Bianca rubs her face with her hands and forgets there’s makeup on it. Adore laughs, scans the room, then immediately marches over to Courtney’s desk, moves some paper aside and returns with exactly what Bianca had described. Bianca, for her part, is stunned.

“How in the hell did you-”

“Sometimes sitting doing fuck all all day has its uses. Court took the file to update online Census data before she went off for her holidays, tried to get ahead on her work for coming back. I remember ‘cuz she asked me for a cup of tea to get her through it,” Adore smiles, her brazen confidence hidden under a shy smile. Bianca takes it from her and thanks her, regret tingeing her voice as she realises this leaves neither of them with an excuse to be in each others’ company any more.

“You know,” Adore drops into conversation nonchalantly, just as Bianca is about to cut her losses and say goodbye. “If I leave now I probably won’t get an Uber in time for the countdown, and if I do the girls’ll have probably moved on, and, like, the city’s gonna be mobbed…and, uh, there’s a bottle of prosecco that Trixie won in the raffle that she put in the fridge and never took home. So, like, if you want, we could just, uh…have, like, a…”

Bianca tries so, so hard to ignore the way her heart is soaring like a helium balloon. “See in the New Year with a bottle of fizz and a better view of London than half the city’s going to get?” Don’t sound too enthusiastic. “Well, looks like I’ve not got much better to do.”

Bianca doesn’t miss the triumphant smile Adore shoots her way as she dashes off to the tiny office kitchen to grab the promised alcohol. Left to awkwardly shuffle her feet, Bianca decides to cross the office and open the door to the meeting room. The city lights immediately flood her vision as she perches gingerly on the desk in the middle of the room, foregoing the uncomfortable office chairs. As she sits and waits, her mind races in time with her heart. It’s not a big deal, stop reading too much into it. It’s a New Years’ Eve drink with a coworker, people do that all the time at this time of year. Except Bianca knows it’s different, because Adore is not her coworker. She’s her inferior in every way- wage, status, power, everything probably except kindness of heart and beauty. Don’t think about Adore’s beauty.

All of a sudden the office goes dark, as dark as it can with the bright lights and the big city underneath it, and Adore softly pads into the room a few seconds later with two mugs, a bottle, and an excitable grin on her face. “Okay, now it’s actually like we’re in a London Eye pod. Don’t you think?”

“I think the London Eye has proper champagne flutes,” Bianca quips witheringly, hoping it disguises the fact that her heart is beating nearly out of her chest because it’s dark, and it’s New Year’s Eve, and it’s magical, and for now they’re two women drinking prosecco together with no prior agenda or obstacles.

Adore holds out one mug to Bianca. It says “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my second morning coffee!” and for a moment Bianca wants to burst into hysterical laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. She doesn’t. Instead she smiles slightly as Adore pours the fizz into the mug with all the skill of a toddler, watches as the bubbles climb up to the rim of the porcelain until Bianca has to jump in and inhale them away.

“Wish!” Adore beams excitedly, and Bianca, hunched over the mug, launches her a quizzical look. Adore is patient with her. “You caught the bubbles. Now you make a wish.”

Bianca briefly rolls her eyes, but obediently she squeezes her eyes shut. Wishes for something wildly illogical and fanciful because it wouldn’t be a wish if it wasn’t. Bianca can set goals and achieve them, she’s been doing it all her life. Wishing for something she could easily make come true on her own is a waste of a wish. When she opens her eyes she finds Adore grinning at her moronically.

“What did you wish for?”

Bianca sips a bit more of the bubbles, as if to strengthen the wish. “If I told you that it wouldn’t come true, would it? Is that not how wishes work? Or did they change the contract?”

Adore raises her eyebrows at the woman long-sufferingly, pouring enough prosecco into her own glass that the bubbles spill over and land on her sparkly dress, a splash more constellations added to the night sky. She sips at the popping and fizzing froth on the top of the mug, locks her eyes with Bianca. “I guess we’ll need to wait before we get an answer to that, won’t we?”

Bianca coughs, fixes her eyes on a particularly glittery set of buildings in the distance. She doesn’t tear her eyes away from them as she speaks again. “Where’s, uh. Are you not meant to be with your girlfriend tonight or something?”

“You’re pretty fuckin’ out of the loop. Me ‘n Aja’ve been done since before Christmas,” Adore replies, her voice light but her tone dead, and Bianca wants to leap from the building.

“Fuck, sorry. I never knew.”

She hears a snort from beside her. Adore’s looking at the table and smiling. “Shit. Now I got two sorrys from Bianca Del Rio, fuck knows what I’ll do with all of those. Open a shop?”

Bianca humours her and laughs back in lieu of making a silly quip, she’s loath to make things worse than she already has. Adore looks back out of the window and Bianca looks at her, the view better than anything behind that pane of glass.

“We didn’t know what the hell we were doing. Either of us,” Adore continues. The city lights are reflected in her eyes, dark and beautiful and capable of making Bianca say things she might regret. “Suddenly it got to two years and we both, like…died laughing at the thought of being ready to settle down any time soon. She’d kissed other girls. I’d slept with somebody else. Just to…fuck, I don’t know. Like, I wondered if I was actually in love, wondered what it was all meant to feel like. Wondered if I’d feel anything before, during, after.”

Bianca is taking this all in her stride despite the fact her mind is moving about the same rate as Adore’s lips and with each new revelation there is something new to get her head around. She somehow coughs up a question. “And did you?”

Adore laughs completely humourlessly. It doesn’t suit her. “Good question, girl. I’ll come back to you when I have an answer that makes any fuckin’ sense to you. Right now I don’t even have one that makes sense to me.”

Bianca crosses her legs and is deep in thought. She doesn’t know if she ever had Adore pinned as the type to cheat on a girlfriend, then immediately thinks she is silly to consider such an action as being attributed to a type of person. You can never really ever know a human, and with each new day someone can surprise you with the mundane or underwhelm with a revelation. Still, she reminds herself, she thought she’d known…

Never mind.

Point is, nothing shocks or fazes her any more. She considers herself an expert in human nature simply by following one simple rule; never assume.

“You probably think I’m an awful fuckin’ person now.”

Bianca turns and looks at Adore as if the eye contact will answer her question without having to say anything. This already doesn’t seem sufficient to either her or Adore, so Bianca follows it up anyway. “You honestly might as well do whatever the fuck you want in life, Adore. Half the world’s out there doing that already and not giving a single shit about the consequences.”

Adore narrows her eyes at her, quirks a smile that doesn’t quite meet her lips. “That’s a very…world weary answer.”  

“I’m a very world weary woman,” Bianca sips her prosecco. It tastes absolutely fucking horrible out of a mug. Her mind must have been playing tricks on her, as Adore seems to shift closer to her until she is right bang next to her sitting on top of the table. There is no space between them- no hands, no cups, no air, and the sheer possibility and risk of it all makes Bianca shiver.

“I think you’re a very complex woman,” Adore murmurs delicately. Bianca doesn’t dare meet her eyes, instead electing to look down at where the hem of Adore’s dress meets her black tights with a small ladder. “I would kill to read some form of, like…autobiography.”

Bianca laughs, reaches out and starts fiddling with a small sequin on Adore’s dress in spite of herself. “It would be a very fucking short autobiography. I was born, I grew up, I got this job, I died. The end. Four pages at most. Five including a contents page.”

“There’s more to you than that.”

“No there isn’t.”

Bianca feels Adore tense up beside her, is frightened into dropping the hem of her dress and to stop picking at the stitching. She’s an idiot who went too far and got caught up in the night and has probably ruined the poor girl’s dress. Adore speaks. “People’ve told me that you used to wear a wedding ring, and now you don’t.”

Now it’s Bianca’s turn to tense up, and she does her best to give Adore a run for her money. Freezes in place so quick it puts her in mind of a childhood game of musical statues. Adore recoils quickly as if she’s been burned; Bianca is a sparkler she’s let linger in her hands for too long. It becomes a game of who will break the silence first. Adore wins. Or loses. Bianca supposes there are no winners in this conversation.

“Bianca, I’m sorry,” she whispers, closes the gap again and touches her hand. She seems to have second thoughts and removes it again, and Bianca wants to curl her fingers around Adore’s and not let go. “Shit, fuck, this was so above my station…I’m so sorry, Bianca, honestly-”

Bianca can feel the woman getting stressed out next to her. She never thought she’d be referring to Adore as a woman, but there’s a first for everything. She looks grown up and confident and self-assured with her dark hair (she got rid of the blonde and Bianca thinks it suits her), her perfect red lipstick, her sophisticated dress. Except now she looks every inch the panicking intern Bianca first knew her as, and she decides to swallow her fears and take Adore’s hand, laces their fingers together like she wanted to earlier.

They’re holding hands. The director of communications for the government of the entire country is holding hands with a comms girl endless fucking pay grades below her, and there is so much wrong but yet so much that just seems correct. It’s two hands linked together. That’s all.

“Like I said,” Bianca smiles sadly at the carpet, deciding that particular story can wait until she’s six feet under. “Half the world’s doing whatever the fuck they want and not giving a shit about the consequences.”

Adore strokes her thumb at the knuckle and Bianca is lost for words, a rare occurrence in her life. “I’m so sorry, Bianca.”

“Well. We’ve both put our foot in it now, so,” Bianca drops their hands, decides it’s probably a good place to end whatever the hell this is. She picks up her mug and tries to ignore the feeling that Adore looks disappointed at the lack of contact. “To being untactful shits incapable of emotional intelligence.”

Adore gives a small laugh, clinks her mug against Bianca’s own. There’s a moment of silence before she speaks.

“I’ve never told anyone about cheating on Aja. Apart from her, obviously.”

“Well now I have some serious dirt on you,” Bianca raises her eyebrows in an attempt to make light of the situation. She is rewarded by a laugh from Adore.

“I guess I did it because…well. There’s like…always been a third person in my relationships. No, fuck, that sounds weird and intense, but…ah, it’s hard to explain,” Adore hisses through her teeth, and Bianca is intrigued. The entire opening hangs heavy in the air, and Bianca doesn’t want to think about the possibilities it holds. She can feel her heart speed up, and she takes a too-big gulp of her prosecco and feels the bubbles shatter like ice down her gullet. Adore is looking at her, she knows, but Bianca holds her gaze on the city. “Do you ever, like, think about how there could be a right person, but the wrong place and wrong time? Wrong universe, even. Like they could be so gorgeous and funny and warm and you just know they’d be great to talk to if you ever got a proper chance, but you’ve never had the chance, and you know you won’t ever get the chance? So you just make peace with it, except, like, you’re never really at peace with it because with every new relationship you get into it’s just taunting you, the what if, the wondering?”

The air is spitting and crackling with electricity. Hot oil on a pan. Bianca shakes her head. “Adore, I haven’t been in a relationship for, literally, years.”

“But you still know the feeling though, don’t you?” Bianca is suddenly electrocuted, thousands of volts running through her as Adore takes her hand and gives Bianca no choice but to turn and face her, the city lights ripped from her eyes as Adore gazes into Bianca’s own, nothing to reflect in them, just black. Bianca’s heart goes from racing to flatlined. Adore doesn’t break eye contact. “Bianca…I know you know the feeling.”

And this is it. It’s out in the open, the tension between them that’s lingered for years like somebody’s taken a knife to a huge helium balloon. Bianca almost wants to laugh. There is no point protesting, or trying to tell Adore she’s got it all wrong. Adore is headstrong, has always been headstrong, and she knows, and she knows that Bianca knows. The situation is funny. They’re Christ knows how many feet up in the air, in the offices in the dead of night on New Year’s Eve. Bianca knows whatever happens this evening that the second she steps out of the building and into the freezing cold air, the magic will be gone. Because that’s what this is- magic. It could only be magic that Adore is making Bianca confront all of this before the entire slate gets wiped clean, the biggest cliche in the book.

“Fuck,” Bianca just laughs, the resigned exhalation of someone who has no energy left to deny it. “You’re literally…you’re just a kid-”

“I’m twenty fucking eight, Bianca,” Adore snaps, as if she’s had that excuse used against her for the entireity of her life and has had enough. Bianca is suitably admonished.

“Right. Sorry. Ignore me, I’m old. Which begs the question…” Bianca realises they haven’t stopped holding hands yet. “Adore….me? Really? Me? Why me?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Adore shrugs. Her matter-of-fact-ness makes Bianca blush as if she’s back in high school. “And there’s, like…always been something about you that’s just drawn me to you. I don’t know. It’s like I said, I think we’d get on if we’d let ourselves get to know each other. I think we’re similar.”

Bianca paused before replying, taking a moment to just look into Adore’s eyes. She sighs heavily.

“There really is nothing about this that is any fucking fair at all.”

Adore laughs, neglecting to break eye contact. “How come?”

“Because there’s absolutely no way that we can pursue any of this. And it’s almost more cruel knowing we both want to,” Bianca snorts sardonically, refills her and Adore’s cups. Adore pouts. She’s showing her age.

“But we could if we wanted to. We could at least try,” she pleads, hope in her voice that makes Bianca want to wrap her up and take her home with her. Bianca laughs. Someone is going to have to be the voice of reason in this conversation.

“Adore, there’s a reason my marriage ended. There’s a reason I’ve not had a relationship for twelve years. There’s a reason I haven’t acted upon any of my feelings towards you,” she says, her voice coated in thick regret. She gives Adore’s hand a squeeze to soften the blow. “This job is my relationship. This job is my marriage. I barely have time for three meals a day- I don’t have time for three meals a day. I mean, fucking look at me. I’m at work on New Years’ Eve.”

“I’m at work on New Years’ Eve,” Adore gestures at herself, as if that simple fact is enough to convince her. Bianca laughs. She is the sweetest fucking person to ever exist, she fully believes that.

“There’s fourteen years separating us. I’m head of government communications, you’re a civil servant. That’s madness. We wouldn’t work.”

“No, probably not. It probably would just all end in tears. But at least we’d know. Which is, like, better than where we are just now, where we don’t know,” Adore shrugs, but the expression on her face lets Bianca know she thinks it’s a lost cause too. Bianca feels sad for her, feels sad for them both. She shuffles closer.

“Look. You know that I like you, and I know that you like me, and at least we don’t have to suspect it any more. We know. And it doesn’t matter that nothing’s going to happen, because…oh, fuck, what’s that saying? The possibility far outweighs the outcome, or some shit like that?”

Adore cracks up laughing. “That phrase doesn’t exist.”

“Yes it fucking- Christ, the point is that this night…” Bianca rubs her head in exhaustion. “…this night is like a microcosm of the universe. You were saying we’re in the wrong universe, well, just for tonight, this office is the right one. Just for now. A weird purgatory.”

Adore smiles, brushes a bit of hair out of her face. “So you’re, what. Confucius now, right?”

“Something like that.”

The chimes of Big Ben cut through the office and fireworks spring to life across the city below. Startled, both women spring away from each other. Bianca watches Adore check her phone. “Oh, shit.”

“We missed the countdown,” Bianca mutters sheepishly, suddenly ashamed of the whole conversation. Adore snorts.

“No, I just have, like, fifty voicemails from the girls,” she shrugs lightly, putting her phone face-down on the desk and facing Bianca once more. She holds out her mug and smiles gently. “Cheers, then.”

“Cheers,” Bianca says quietly, like she doesn’t want the office to hear. She taps the porcelain against Adore’s mug. They are close, their knees touching, and Bianca flicks her gaze up from the mugs to Adore’s eyes.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, before setting her mug down, bringing one hand to rest on Adore’s waist and the other to gently tilt her chin up before closing the gap between them.

If talking to Adore on New Years’ Eve in a dark office with the city lights reflected in her eyes is magic, then kissing Adore is the best kind of witchcraft. It’s a hesitant kiss, the fault of both of them as neither of them really know what they’re doing or what they’ll do once it’s over, so they carry on. Adore has brought a hand up to rest at Bianca’s jaw, her thumb stroking her cheek gently, and Bianca never wants the sensation to stop. She wants to freeze the entire moment in time but she is aware she can’t do that, so focuses on committing it to memory; the way Adore tastes like sparkling prosecco, the scent of her perfume, the way they both seem to just fit together and the whole exciting unfamiliarity of it all.

Just when Bianca seems to be getting used to things she feels Adore tugging away, and she in turn doesn’t resist. She can’t help the disappointed slump of her shoulders as Adore is once again in front of her, bashfully smoothing down her dress. All at once Bianca is swept up in complete fantasy. Maybe she and Adore could work. There might be a way to make it all doable, even if she only gets to take Adore out to dinner once every couple of weeks, something like that. Adore makes the decision for her, putting her empty mug down and standing up from the table, taking Bianca’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Happy New Year, Bianca,” she smiles softly before turning and opening the heavy glass door, managing halfway through it before turning and looking back at her. She wants her to say something, Bianca can tell, and there’s so much she could say. She decides not to ruin things. This night has been enough. It’s a new day- a new year now, and everything is fresh and new, a blanket of freshly fallen snow without any footprints. She decides to smile and give Adore a small wave.

“Happy New Year.”  

The door swings shut, and the magic is over.

[ashflynns]

☄〔 HUNTER SCHAFER, TWENTY ONE, TRANS FEMALE, DREAM TRAVEL 〕╰ ASHLEY FLYNN just came over half - blood hill . you know , the child of HYPNOS who was claimed two months ago ? i’ve heard chiron say that she is PLAYFUL & EMPATHETIC , but if you ask the aphrodite kids , they’d say she’s LAZY & TACTLESS . i’d say they remind me of sleepy smiles and under-eye bags, messy buns and an unmade bed, running from your problems with bare feet & trying to hard to keep your friends but losing them anyway, especially since she’s FOR THE NEW CABINS . ( ✎ joey , 24 , she/her , bst . )

*insert nice graphic here aka for the love of god someone find me a photoshop link*

hi! its your resident sea witch joey here ready to bombard you with an encyclopedic knowledge of the greek pantheon and uk criminal law?? i guess??? if u dont already know, i’m the one with six (6) cats. i combined my task and intro because im LAZY and bad at intros so i’ll use paige’s stats as a crutch whoops. ash is the lazy laid-back stoner friend everyone needs. she has no trauma because she DOESN’t DESERVE IT so maybe the real trauma will be the friends we make along the way.

𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕔𝕤 .

name :  ashley finn

nicknames : ash, whatever cute names u wanna give her

birth date :  4th february (aquarius squad speak up!)

gender :  trans female

pronouns :  she/her

ethnicity : white

nationality : irish american

hometown : ?? idk american towns SUE ME but she’s from SOMEWHERE in oregon

demigod abilities : sleep manipulation, dream manipulation, dream travel

cabin number & godly parent :  cabin fifteen, hypnos

how did their godly parent meet their mortal parent? :  hlhglkhg so i thought it’d be funny if they met when ash’s mum participated in a sleep research study. i think i’m hilarious.

𝕞𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 .

faceclaim : hunter schafer

height :  5′11″

hair colour : blonde

eye colour : blue/green.

dominant hand : leftie!

distinguishing features : her hair’s actually super curly she just straightens it a lot bc curly bedhead is a bitch to brush through in the mornings.

dress style : ugh this is gonna be hard to explain but like. you know those alt hippy stoner girls?? like that. likes baggy clothes and neutral colours. a lot of quote unquote ugly clothes with clashing prints. band t-shirts and whatnot.

𝕔𝕒𝕞𝕡-𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 .

go - to  weapon : HAH implying she willingly participates in capture the flag. she’d go for a xiphos because it’s the most basic dfkjg

ambrosia :  garlic bread. yeah she’s that kind of bitch

favourite camp location :  zephyros creek!

their opinion of their godly parent :  really unbothered tbqh. but she’s a very laid-back person to begin with. a ton of her school friends had absent dads. if she hadn’t come to chb so early then maybe the whole ‘i have powers with no explanation’ would’ve caused some resentment but hey, he’s a god. he’s a busy man. and being raised by a single mum made up most of who ash is, so it’s not like she’d change anything.

age they were claimed :  this year baby!

how they were claimed :  look dad’s timing was off but as far as he was concerned he claimed ash when percy made the deal. ash kinda always knew it was gonna be him so it was no surprise.

stance on the new cabins : for  the  new  cabins.

their opinion on lyssa pentelute :   as far as ash is concerned, lyssa’s whole shtick is just an excuse to shit on the kids who don’t have to suffer the same way she did. so, uh, she’s kind of a bitch? i have this in a bit more detail down below.

quests :  i’m gonna tentatively put no for now (unless anyone else on quests decides they’d like to have dragged ash along!)

𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 .

positive traits : playful, empathetic, laid-back, friendly but not a pushover, patient

negative traits :  lazy, tactless, aloof,  spacey, struggles to express said empathy, lack of focus

mbti :  Iinfp-t, the mediator

alignment : neutral good

hogwarts house :  hufflepuff

kinsey scale : JUST ASK IF SHES A LESBIAN OKAY?? THE ANSWER IS YES.

archetype :  somehow she matched equally with the innocent child and the wise old man *insert so what is the truth meme*

what candle scent are they :  vanilla

goals & desires :  well this one was tricky bc ash is a simple girl with simple needs and really just doesn’t want anything to change. she wants a life without the pressures of work and commitment, but that’s just not gonna happen, is it? her short-term goals are to practice fighting that urge to stay in bed all day and try to be a bit more productive. it’s not going well.

fears : explained more below but basically she has a fear of destroying all her relationships due to a lack of connect with the world

hobbies : when she’s not napping? probably gaming, going on nature walks, baking treats.

habits :  biting nails is the worst one. spacing out. you know that thing where you just?? stop focusing your eyes?? but you’re still tuned in to the conversation? that.

𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 .

so hear’s the short version kfjglkdfgjd ( for NOW ):

ashley’s mum, niamh, is third-gen irish immigrant. ash didn’t have a luxurious life or anything. they mostly lived off benefits or whatever niamh could pick up from her extremely lucrative dog-walking business. how she met hypnos was a literal joke. they met when she participated in a fucking sleep study and i guess they hit it off. typical story of dad fucks off/single parent yadda yadda. there’s no real ~~trauma~~ to ash. yeah, transphobia sucks and high school really sucked all but her mum’s been super supportive since she first came out and no one at chb has given her shit yet. niamh’s still around and ash goes back home every couple of months to visit her. they have a pretty good relationship. it’s all cool.

i feel cliche saying she was a ‘dreamy’ girl but dreamy or spacey really is the best word for it. mixed with your typical demigod adhd you get a kid who really struggled with school. well, it’s not like she struggled - ashley’s a smart gal - but the teacher’s struggled with her. i guess it was hard for them to understand that ash actually does her best thinking when she’s asleep.

struggles to keep friends - maintains a persona of aloofness and apathy but actually cares way too much. the narcolepsy hinders her ability to form proper connections ( although she’ll argue the sCiEnTiFiCaLlY pRoVeN fAcT that napping with someone for half an hour does more to build trust than anything else ). and no one’s really that fond of ash popping into their dreams. maybe they shouldnt have so much to hide, huh?

her biggest ‘’’ inner struggle ’’’ shall we say is the pressure to be productive. let’s face it, she IS a lazy bitch, and that’s pretty much an inherited nature. getting a job sounds like hell, she sucks at combat training, she really could NOT be bothered with camp politics and god wars and whatever else. why can’t she just sleep and dream walk all day? monster’s are out there man, she’s gonna die some point soon anyway. but that doesn’t mean  she doesn’t feel guilty about it all. it’s kinda hard not to.

so, moving on to the ISSUE AT HAND. so when you walk through dreams and you sleep for 20 hours of the day, it’s not hard to figure out who your dad is, even if he never turns up. like, seriously, who else would it be? so yeah, sure. she was only claimed a couple of months ago. but she wasn’t completely in the dark like some of her other campers, and she respects that, truly. she got the luckier end of the stick and its not hard to understand the resentment among the minor demigods and the unclaimed.

HOWEVER, she’s very much FOR the new cabins. as explained above, lyssa’s a bitch whose taking her mummy issues out on others. ash loves bunking with the hermes kids but she’d like a space of her own and at the end of the day who the fuck is lyssa to make that decision?

𝕖𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒 .

pinterest! (its a wip there’s not much IM SORRY)

spotify (now this is the one thing i will never let u down on)

wanted connections coming soon!

[lihikainanea]

Can you tell us more about the guy Tiger was heartbroken by in the story in the hotel? Maybe a drabble about first time Bill meet him? If Bill doesnt like the guy I don't think the guy likes him either. "he has psycho eyes!" 🤭

Anonymous said: I just need Bff!Bill being really protective when bad guys is around. Can you do a drabble? I just need a great great BFF!Bill right now 💔

I’ve thought about this guy a lot. I think it’s too cliche for Bill to really straight up just HATE on every guy tiger dates without giving them a chance–remember, I’m still not sure these two are more than just BFFs who have incredible sex together–but I really do think that tiger just tends to date utter fucking morons. And Bill tries. Tries to be nice, be open to it, be kind. And these guys just fucking fail so hard every time. Because I think strong women can still maybe sometimes have issues with being so strong, and y’know, I’m of the philosophy that humans in general–particularly us single ones–can tend to be touch starved. So when you’re strong, and tired of being strong, and aching for affection, what do you do? You tend to fall for the first person who gives you all that. And it’s usually a mistake.

***

He had gone into it with an open mind. It was good to see you happy, to see you genuinely excited about a new guy in your life, because it had been awhile since Bill had seen your face light up the way it did when you talked about someone. He wanted to meet him, of course, but didn’t want to pressure you. He knew how stressful the beginning stages of a potential relationship were, he knew his own weird circumstances that he brought to the table, and he knew that despite a few dates here and there, you didn’t have too much experience when it came to navigating the world of serious relationships. So he held back, let you call the shots, and when you finally asked him if he’d be willing to meet the guy, Bill was thrilled. You thought it might be a little too intimidating to just meet up as the three of you, so you got a group together at a local pub that had many other distractions just in case people weren’t getting along. A way out, Bill mused, under all circumstances. You always had one. And failing that, you had a knife.

The guy seemed decent enough, maybe a little boring even, but you clearly adored him. He had given Bill a firm handshake on the first greeting, sizing him up subtly enough, and Bill smiled kindly and offered a clap on the shoulder. They made small talk, Bill kept his body language open and accepting and he knew that you appreciated it, sending glances his way every now and then trying to read him. He’d smiled at you too, ruffling your hair and giving you a squeeze on your shoulder as you stood up with your date for a game of pool. Bill watched from a distance, politely declining your offer to join, his current vantage point giving him a much better read on the guy. He watched as the guy kept his eyes on you—ogling you, even—whenever you bent to take a shot. He smiled tightly, his jaw clenching, when you kept looking back his way. When you finally sank the 8-ball and let out a whoop, the guy grabbed you, palming a handful of your ass, and laid a kiss on you that Bill thought you might have thrown a right hook at him for. You were never one for public displays of affection. But instead, he watched—a little shocked—at how you just threw your arms around the guy and kissed him back whole-heartedly. Gripping his pint, Bill unhinged his jaw and downed all of it, standing and making his way to you.

“Another round, tiger?” He asked, gesturing to your empty glass. 

“Ohh, tiger” your date said, “I like that,” he growled playfully in your ear and grabbed a handful of your ass again. You smiled at him, but if Bill had been more within reaching distance of the knife he knew was tucked in your boot, this guy would have had his lips cut clean off his face.

“Yes to another round, but it’s on me—if you’ll play a game? Two on one?” You gestured to the two guys, knowing you were the better pool player, and Bill smiled tightly.

“Deal.”

“Thanks tiger,” your date said. You turned to head to the bar and he grabbed your elbow, spinning you to him for a lingering kiss which left you blushing and unsteady on your feet—before giving a parting tap to your ass as you walked away. He waited until you were out of earshot.

“I’m gonna wreck that pussy tonight,” he said.

Bill fumbled, dropping the chalk he was using on his pool cue, spinning on a dime and facing him.

“What?”

The guy turned to him, licking his lips, a grin spreading on his face.

“She’s made me wait long enough, better be worth it you know? Queen of the blue balls, man,” he grabbed lewdly at his crotch.

Bill blinked, tilting his head to crack his neck. He rose up to his full height, walking towards the guy. He loomed over him, stopping a few inches from his face.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice was low and dangerous, his eye twitching, as he balled his fists. The guy misunderstood his intent.

“Bro, I’m sorry—you got dibs? Listen man, I wasn’t sure. You guys seem to have a whole thing. Truth be told she’d probably take us both, if you’re down. Looks like she’s in to some freaky shit for sure,” he swigged the rest of his drink and Bill squeezed his pool cue so hard he was surprised it didn’t splinter. You returned then, a tray in your hands, oblivious to the situation at hand.

“Alright, 3 pints and 3 tequila shots just for good measure,” you said, “Oh shit—Bill I forgot your salt. Be right back,” you ventured back off towards the bar, and as soon as your back was turned, Bill had the guy by the collar and dragged him in close.

“Listen to me, and listen closely you fuck,” he seethed, “You lay a finger on her—just one finger that she doesn’t want—and I will fucking tear you apart. Do you understand me?” He shook the guy, and when he didn’t respond, Bill lifted him just a tad until he was on the tips of his toes.

The guy’s eyes widened, and Bill clenched his grip tighter so that it dug into his throat.

“That girl,” he jutted his chin in your direction, “Is my best friend. My fucking best friend. She is my world. And if you hurt her, in any way, not only will she kill you first—but I will fucking hunt down your dead, mutilated corpse and maim you into the next circle of hell. Is that clear?” He nodded, but Bill still tightened his grip.

“Look me in the eyes, and say ‘yes’,” he demanded. The guy did—coerced by another tightening of Bill’s fist—and Bill released him with a shove for good measure. Catching a glimpse of you returning from the corner of his eye, Bill smiled widely at the guy—his creepy, unnerving smile—and reached to smooth out the man’s shirt. You deposited the salt shaker, passing the tequila shots. It was only when you looked up at Bill did you see something amiss—it wasn’t his guilt that you picked up on, but his anger. You quirked a brow but he smiled at you cheerily. You said nothing, raising your shot glass.

“Cheers, gentlemen,” they echoed your sentiment and raised their glasses, knocking them back. Your eyes stayed glued on Bill, and he met your gaze without flinching. When your date plunked his shot glass down, he made a show of grabbing your face in his hand, licking some of the tequila that had spilled under your chin, and laying a heavy kiss on your mouth. You squeaked in surprise, but to Bill’s dismay, seemed delighted at the overt display of affection. He choked back the bile that rose in his throat when you giggled into the kiss, instead lining up his shot on the pool table and breaking the balls with a loud enough crack to make you jump. He sank two on the first shot.

“Looks like we’re stripes, champ,” he clapped the guy on the back, entirely too hard, and you glared at him.

“I guess that means you’re solids then, right tiger?” Your date said.

To his credit, Bill barely flinched. His jaw twitched, his eyes took on that crazy look, but it was all imperceptible to someone who didn’t know him well. But you knew. You had caught it. And the tension was palpable enough throughout the game that when you still had a few balls on the table, you feigned a shot for one of them but lined up the 8-ball instead, and sank it viciously in a corner pocket.

“Oh fuck,” you said, faking disappointment, “I guess that means I lose.”

“Loser buys the next round!” Your date teased and you smiled, giving him a peck on the lips.

“Fair is fair—Bill, can you help me carry them?” You asked. He eyed you.

“Sure, kid.”

You looped your arm through his and when you were out of earshot, you turned him to face you.

“Bill—“

“You never miss that shot,” he accused, “You did that on purpose.”

“Of course I fucking did. Bill, I was suffocating in fragile male egos,” your tone was biting and his features softened, his shoulders hunching slightly. He had the decency to look slightly embarassed.

“You hate him, don’t you?”

His heart dropped. You had looked so happy at the beginning of the night, and he hesitated for just a second too long before answering. Your face fell, you stilled in front of him, your eyes looking crushed. In that moment, he cursed himself.

“I don’t hate him, kid. I don’t even know him,” he reassured, but it sounded fake even to his own ears.

“You do. You hate him,” you said. Bill sighed. He rubbed his jaw, stroking his hand over his chin before you pulled it away and threaded your fingers with his, moving your head to maintain eye contact with him.

“Bill?”

He studied you, squeezing your hand and reaching up with his other to tap your chin. He measured his next words carefully.

“He makes you happy, kid?” He asked. You nodded. You nodded so quickly and earnestly that Bill knew you meant it with your whole heart, and his chest constricted tighter. 

“That’s all I care about, tiger. That he makes you happy and he’s good to you,” he said, “If that’s the case, then I like him.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist as he kissed the top of your head.

“But if he calls you tiger one more time, I’m going to fucking fight him,” he mumbled into your hair, and you laughed.

“I’ll talk to him about that,” you promised.

And he tried to take his own words to heart that night. Tried to abide by them, repeat them enough in his own mind in hopes that he’d actually start to believe them. If you were happy, then he was happy. That was all he cared about. But he couldn’t stop the dread that sank in his gut when the end of the night came, and you sheepishly made your way back over to him. He knew what you were going to say, he could tell by the way you were getting embarrassed, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m uh….I’m going to head home with him, bud,” you said quietly, “I’ll call you tomorrow for coffee?”

He stood in front of you, unmoving, and he knew that you were waiting for him to reach for you.

“Tiger, look at me,” his voice was soft and he ducked a bit, coaxing your eyes to his. You met them, bashfully.

“Are you safe with him, kid?” He asked. You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, but it didn’t sound convincing enough to Bill’s ears.

“You feel safe with him?” He asked again. You sighed, and nodded more convincingly.

“Yeah. Bill, I….I really like him,” you admitted.

“It’s good to see you happy, kid. Text me when you’re home, okay?” He bent, kissing your cheek. You nodded.

“I mean it, kid. If I don’t hear from you in half an hour I’m showing up at your door,” he threatened, and you cracked a smile.

“You’ll be getting an eyeful you don’t want to see, bud,” you drew him in for a hug, “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you too, kid.” You turned and walked back to your date, and he called for you one more time as you started to walk towards the guy’s car.

“Tiger, I mean it,” Bill said, making a show of starting the chronometer on his watch, “You have 30 minutes.” 

You rolled your eyes, flipping him off as you ducked your head to enter the car.

[timetoresurface]

Dream Glow / JJK (1)

a steady radiance of light or heat

Word: Listening to Dream Glow by BTS and Charli XCX gave me a new dose of inspiration. This is what I came up with after weeks of radio silence. Pairing: Y/N x Jungkook Genre: Romance, as I’m a hopeless romantic, best friend idol au Warnings: nothing really, maybe a bit angsty covered in fluff Word count: 5K Summary: You’re just trying to make it though the day with Jungkook being your best friend. Distance and personal issues make it hard to maintain this friendship but you are both dedicated. The day Jungkook admits to like someone is the day you start to realize how much you actually like that stupid boy. What should you do?

-

Everything you are is average. You work an ordinary job filled with normal people trying to make it through the day. The apartment you live in is a regular home for a city person. The daily routine of your life was a simple comfort blanket, something to shield you from all the risks you hadn’t taken. You were happy, or at least you made yourself believe you were. You were satisfied with a simple life because you had chosen to settle for the ordinary.

“Y/N!” Your boss yelled through the office making everyone feel insecure and scared. You however were used by your boss’s rude behavior. What did he need this time? And why did he have to scream for attention when you were almost finished with your project?

“You called for me sir?” You asked while entering his office. The room was painted in a dull grey and was filled with dark furniture. The only splash of color were the plants that were scattered through his office. You took quite an interest in his plants as you were the only one watering them. You were the only one that cared as your boss never liked the smelly green things his wife had given him throughout the years.

“Have you already finished the report about the returning customers?” He asked you with despair in his voice. He probably had a fight with his wife or something because he usually wasn’t the desperate kind of man.

“I was just finishing up. I can send it to you in half an hour if you’d like.” You politely answered his question with fake politeness. 

“That would be perfect.” He gestured for you to leave his office and you gladly exited. This was a weekly routine and you weren’t as scared as you had been before. Your boss is just someone who likes perfection and as long as you deliver something close to excellence he would leave you to do your job. 

You handed him the report when it was finished. You had lunch with two of your colleagues you could kind of call your friends. Afterwards you cleaned your inbox starting with the more urgent ones before calling it a day. There wasn’t any adventure in your daily routine, it mostly was just you trying to make it through the day without crying.

“See you tomorrow Y/N.” One of your colleagues said while speed walking through the rain, she had forgotten her umbrella and tried to avoid the droplets by zigzagging. 

“Bye.” You said while opening your umbrella. The walk back to your place was only a ten minute walk. Something you loved about your job as it was the only time of the day where you could clear your thoughts. Nothing satisfies you more than walking through the busy city streets with a good soundtrack playing in the background. The most adventure you got in your day were these ten minutes where you tried not to get hit by cars and ignored people’s rude remarks when you walked too slow. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by your cellphone loudly playing stressed out by Twenty One Pilots. Who dares to interrupt your only ten minutes of freedom? 

“Y/N speaking?” You didn’t look at the caller ID thinking it wouldn’t be someone important. The only meaningful person in your life was always traveling the world and barely had time to call you every other week.

“Y/N it is me! Did you delete my number?” The caller’s voice yelled from the other side of the line. All annoyance disappeared as soon as you heard his melodic voice.

“Jungkook!” You exclaimed. “No, I would never delete your number, you know that.” A smile found its way to your face and you couldn’t even remember the last time your muscles were found in this position. The last time you smiled this big was probably the last time Jungkook had called you.

“Lately I’m not so sure Y/N. I’m always the one calling and making sure our friendship keeps on existing.” You could hear the little pout through his voice. Always a baby.

“You’re always busy when I call. I can literally drop everything when you’re calling. I mean you can’t stop singing in the middle of a show just to talk to me.” It was a stupid excuse but it was the one you were going to hide behind.

“I would though.” He whispered but you barely heard him over the buzz in the background.

“Where are you? It is so noisy.” You asked him genuinely interested in his whereabouts.

“Backstage at some award show.” Was his vague answer. Sometimes it was really difficult to keep up a good satisfying conversation with him.

“Oh. Did you win anything?” You tried to poke him again to receive more than just some lazy answer he would give to his mom.

“Yes, we just came back from the acceptance speech. It was great.” He sounded happy but also tired. They probably still have to perform as they’re the biggest act at the moment. And they like to keep the best for last.

“I’m proud of you Jungkook.” And you meant it. You had met Jungkook while he was already in BTS, the early stages, at school. He wasn’t always in class as he had to practice and perform but when he was present he immediately caught your eye. Maybe you had wanted something more than friendship at the time but you settled to just be his friend. You were selfish, you knew that, you just wanted him in your life. Also you were both sixteen at the time, who was ready for something as serious as a relationship. Definitely not you.

“Y/N, tomorrow we’ll be flying home. Wait for me at our dorms?” His question was so innocent. He just wanted someone familiar to hug while arriving back home before the shit storm of practice starts again.

“Send me your schedule and I’ll be there when you arrive.” You accepted his offer even if you had to call in sick at work.

“Okay great. See you in a bit.”

“See you.” With you saying the last words the call had ended. Your friendship with Jungkook had been the most important thing in your life for the past year. He didn’t know that and you kind of wanted to keep it that way. He doesn’t need to know you hated your job and he most definitely doesn’t need to find out about your zero friends. You hadn’t always been such a mood killer but the past two years everything had changed and somehow you ended up as an old single lady complaining about everything. Except when you were with Jungkook or the other members of BTS. You were always at your best behavior when you were with them, reminding yourself of who you used to be before you had turned into the old screaming neighborhood lady with a thousand cats. Even though you had not one cat as your building forbade you to have pets, the bastards.

## flashback ##

You were busy taking all your books out of your backpack when the teacher called for your attention. A new boy was enrolling in your class and he was a trainee, a wannabe idol. There were a few others in your class who were trainee’s and you could immediately tell they were never going to make it. They just didn’t have the special cuteness you needed to become a well respected idol. You were still setting up your desk when the teacher introduced the new boy. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was just another wannabe trying to become something bigger than the stars had planned out for him. 

“I’m Jungkook. Hello.” He awkwardly said with a voice as clear as crystal. You head instantly snapped up to look at the new boy and for the first time you saw someone close to resemble a future idol. He could if he wanted to, but his shy behavior might be mistaken for someone who didn’t really want to do anything but hide. 

“You can sit next to Y/N.” The teacher said while gesturing toward you. Jungkook didn’t seem too pleased when he followed the teachers finger but you were excited. Never had you seen someone so innocent and intriguing. Maybe it were your teenage hormones finally acting up or maybe it was fate. Who could tell?

The first few weeks he was there every single day but you still hadn’t said a word to him. You secretly admired him from afar and wondered if he had gotten any sleep that night. You weren’t the only one intrigued by the new boy but he didn’t seem to care. He had made one friend, another trainee, and didn’t even try to contact anyone else. The day you had finally found all your courage to go and talk to him, he wasn’t there. And he was gone for a week before he got back to school with his ears pierced and his hair dyed another color. All your courage had disappeared and you were back at admiring him from a distance. Noticing little things like him always trying to hide his laugh even though it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. 

Months went by and your obsession with the boy had started to die out as your favorite artist had released a new song. Maybe it were the Gods playing tricks on you but the moment you started to lose him in a crowd they pushed him right back into your lap.

“Please take a number and the person who has the same number will be your partner during this project.” Your teacher said while walking through the room so everyone could pick a number. Some tried to cheat and others were trying to change numbers with someone else trying to bribe them with little things. You noticed Jungkook’s number before you checked yours. He had a big nine written on a paper and you had the same nine on yours. 

“Y/N can you maybe change numbers? I really want to be paired up with Jungkook.” Some girl in your class whispered into your ear. It was one of those girls who wore make-up even though it was strictly forbidden by school rules. Somehow the teachers didn’t notice her young features highlighted with mascara and lipstick. 

“Y/N you also have a nine right?” Jungkook came to your rescue and for the first time your eyes locked. Slowly you nodded your head and you both agreed later on this was the moment your friendship had officially started.

## end flashback ##

Luckily for your boss Jungkook arrived late at night which meant you could spend your Friday at work. Unluckily for you, Jungkook had to arrive past nine PM making you go to your desk and sit through boring mails and phone calls. He had send you a couple of texts throughout the day and your colleagues noticed your different behavior. 

“It is strange to see you smile during office hours.” Someone had said.

“Maybe she has a date tonight? She looks extremely good today.” You heard someone whisper to another colleague. You didn’t care for their words as the only thing that mattered was you and Jungkook reuniting after months of separation. You had also checked out his schedule and he was staying for over a month which meant a month of happiness and endless cuddles. 

“Y/N can you finish this off for me? I need to go pick up my mom from the hospital.” One of your closest co-workers asked. You didn’t really belief her as her outfit screamed more date night than hospital taxi driver but you simple agreed as you had the time due to Jungkook arriving late.

Hours went by slowly, very slowly. Jungkook hadn’t texted you anymore which meant his must be on a plane but it made you nervous. You hadn’t seen him in a while and he always stayed the same shy annoying boy you got to know and love, but you were always expecting the worst. What if his famous status got to his head and he would become someone like those Hollywood assholes? You shivered at the thought. But luckily your phone started buzzing making you forget these ugly thoughts of your best friend.

“Hi Y/N! We just landed. I’ll be there in an hour or so.” He exclaimed happily with the dying motor of the airplane being heard in the background.

“Ok, see you soon.” You simply stated before hanging up the phone. You quickly gathered your things and ran out of your office building after shutting all the lights as you were the last to leave. 

Every time you went to meet Jungkook after haven’t seen him for a long time you were nervous. Just as nervous as the first time he took you to his dorms to start working on your school project. Which was of course a bad idea as everyone else in his band wanted to disturb you. It also didn’t help that you were a girl and they barely saw girls around their dorms which made them even more annoying. Over the years they had changed dorms and some of them had also bought their own apartment, including Jungkook and his extravagant luxurious apartment. He still asked you to hang out at his dorm which made you unsure of his intentions. Were you going to spend a couple of hours together or were you going to spend the night talking about everything and nothing? 

Some of the staff had already arrived and welcomed you with open arms. They had not only seen Jungkook grow up to be a fine human being but they also noticed you becoming more of a woman. Hugs were exchanged and short anecdotes were told, not from your side as you barely had anything new to say. 

“Jungkook missed you Y/N. I want to see his face when he notices you here.” One of the staff members said and you couldn’t help but blush. At the beginning most of the staff didn’t like you hanging out with Jungkook. Scared that one of you might fall for the other or even worse, someone might see you two hanging out. Luckily nobody was in love with the other and luckily, but rather unlucky for you, Jungkook couldn’t spend all his free time with you as he was too busy traveling the world with his best friends. 

“How have you been Y/N?” Someone of the management asked you and you knew the boys must be close as they’re barely seen without their managers.

“I’ve been good. I’ve been working and everything is ok.” You tried to sound happy and up beat but you secretly needed Jungkook to bring that side back out of you.

“Other things outside work?” He asked you with concern in his eyes but you couldn’t answer him as someone hugged you from behind.

“Y/N!” It was Jungkook’s voice screaming in your ear. It were Jungkook’s arms holding you so tight you could barely breathe. 

“Kook. Oh, how I’ve missed you.” You turned around and hugged him tightly with your arms around his neck taking in his scent. Slowly all your worries disappeared and slowly the energy creeped back into your body. Jungkook was like your only charger in this world. The only one who could make you feel happy despite everything. 

“You look incredible. Have you lost weight?” Typically of an idol to compliment your weight and inquiring if you really did lose weight. 

“Maybe by accident. Did you gain weight though?” You cupped his cheeks in your hand and tried to examine him.

“I only gain muscles.” He said while showing off his arms. You quickly squeezed his arm and were surprised with the hardness of his muscles.

“Missed me that much you had to escape to a gym?” You gently teased him.

“You don’t even know half of it Y/N.” Taehyung said while walking passed Jungkook toward you. Out of all the boys Tae might have been your favorite member of BTS. Not only was he good-looking but also the nicest human being you had ever met. He quickly enveloped you in a big hug. 

“I feel like Jungkook has a lot of explaining to do.” You said as soon as Taehyung ended the hug.

“I’ll make sure he never lies and tells you all the nasty details without filter.” His words were more directed toward Jungkook than you.

“I would love that Tae. So how was tour?” You asked the two boys while walking inside with your arms around both their shoulders.

“Sooooo…” Jungkook started. “What’s new?” He asked excitedly. 

“Soooo…” you mimicked his adorable behavior. “How was tour?” You asked him trying to ignore his question.

“I’ve already told you about that Y/N. I feel like we’re only talking about me lately and I want to know more about your life.” He tried to get you to talk.

“There is nothing to tell and even if there was it isn’t as exciting as your stories.” This was the second time you were trying to ignore his questions about you.

“Your stories are always interesting. I can’t think of anyone who is better with words than you are.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.” You laughed.

“I never lie. Have you been working on your stories?” How long were you going to ignore his inquiries? This was starting to get hard.

“Not as much as I would’ve liked but there is some progress.” You told him, which was a big fat lie. You hadn’t written anything after a well known publisher told you to f*ck off. 

“That is good news though. Can I read some?” He asked you so innocently, you almost wanted to admit your failure of a life to him.

“Only when it is fin-“

“finished. I know.” He completed your sentence and a small smile appeared. Sometimes you forgot how fond you were of the boy sitting cross legged across you. 

“Please Jungkook, tell me about your life? What is new? Do you have fresh scar? Is there anyone who caught your eye while I wasn’t in the picture to distract you?” He rolled his eyes at your desperate attempt to change the topic from you to him. Which kind of worked as he started to blush.

“What is it? Why are you blushing?”

“Nothing, but there might be someone.” The blush on his face got bigger and redder.

“Who? Tell me everything.” You cried out.

“We started texting a while back and she’s finishing her tour in a couple of days and then her band will take a little break like ours. We promised each other to make time and have a little date.” He blurted out and you could immediately tell he had waited to tell you about this girl, who is not you.

## flashback ##

“So this is the last time Y/N is going to join us here?” Taeyhung asked sadly with a big baby pout. BTS had debuted two years ago and were finally getting a bit bigger. Their looks were starting to get better and they left their bad boy imitations, which were cringe to say the least. 

“Don’t blame me Tae, blame Jungkook. He thinks I’m a distraction because you all work less when I’m around.” You pretended to be hurt but in reality you weren’t. You knew they worked less when you were around and you really didn’t want them to lose focus of their goals which were finally getting closer they could almost touch it.

“I never said you weren’t welcome anymore. You’re making this a way bigger issue than it really is.” Jungkook tried to reason with you but only making things worse.

“You literally just said I wasn’t welcome anymore. So I’ll never set foot again in your smelly dorm.” You said with crossed arms trying to look hurt.

“Please Y/N, don’t do this. Please forget what I said, you are always welcome.” Jungkook pleaded with you and you couldn’t help but smile at his pouty face.

“It’s okay, Kook. I won’t leave you.” You said while cupping his cheeks with your hands. He tried to escape but you weren’t letting him go. You both locked eyes and he immediately stopped resisting and just stared at your face as if you were the only one that mattered.

“You guys are so disgustingly cute sometimes.” Taehyung said while walking away from the two of you. 

“He is right though, we’re disgusting.” You said while averting your eyes from his intense gaze.

“I think we’re just cute, not disgusting.” The words escaped his mouth in a little pout.

“Maybe he is right and we’re both.” With that being said the both of you burst out laughing. The kind of extreme laughing your belly would start to hurt after a while. The kind of giggling which left you breathless. The kind of happiness only Jungkook could give you.

## end flashback ##

Yes, there might have been a time where you thought you and Jungkook would’ve ended up together. That thought was easily broken when you had your first boyfriend and Jungkook started to keep his distance out of respect for the other guy. Jungkook was always traveling or working and because you missed him so much you fell into the arms of another guy. Someone who started out as a dream guy but slowly turned into the villain of your story. 

“I’m glad you’re finally dating. It was about time.” You happily said while clapping your hands in excitement. There was a soft pang of jealousy at the pit of your stomach but you easily ignored the feeling.

“When are you going to date again?” His question came out as a whisper. A very insecure whisper.

“I date.” You defended yourself while trying to avert your eyes from his questioning ones.

“Really? When was your last date?” He asked you.

“I didn’t know you were going to be so up my personal life. I would’ve made you a FAQ if I had known you were in such an intrusive mood.” You tried to joke away the awkward questions.

“It is not intrusive but more of a bit concerned about you mood.” His eyes softened and again you were close to pouring your heart out to the guy.

“You don’t need to be concerned about me. You need to be concerned about you and your date.” With your words being said he turned into the shy Jungkook you knew and loved. 

“I’m so nervous Y/N. You need to prepare me.”

“There is nothing for you to prepare. You’re an amazing person Jungkook and if she doesn’t see that than she is not worthy of your time. But you told me you were texting her?” You asked him genuinely interested. 

“Yes, I’ve known her for a while now but last month at an award show we talked for the first time. She immediately gave me her number and Taehyung told me to text her the next day if I didn’t want to screw up.” He blurted out in one breath. 

“Tae can be wise. That was indeed a good tactic. We’re too old to play games. If you want to date someone there should be no waiting two days before you call.” You said while nodding your head.

“Girls like that?” He asked you unsure.

“Girls like it when a guy makes an effort to talk to them. We girls like to feel special.” You softly explained to him. It wasn’t his fault he knew so little about the other sex. He had lived a shielded life with you as the only exception of a non idol person in his environment. 

“I missed you so much Y/N. You’re the only one I can talk to about this fragile subject. The other guys are barely more experienced than I am.” His eyes were filled with emotions you couldn’t quite explain. They used to be filled with love and affection for you but there has been a shift. He has traded these eyes for someone else and you were left with something different you couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.

“I’m always here for you Jungkook.” You told him your eyes filled with regret. You would always be there for him but will he stay by your side through thick and thin? Through a relationship? Trough everything?

## flashback ##

“Who is the guy you are dating?” Jungkook asked you a bit too loud. Everyone stopped the conversations they were having just to listen to your answer.

“Well, we’re not really dating. We’re just hanging out, you know.” You softly told him. You tried to keep your voice down and hoped Jungkook got the memo.

“That’s dating.” He shot back. The other people in the room tried to start their discussions again as they noticed the private atmosphere hanging round you and Jungkook. Why was he acting like such a d*ick?

“Why are you acting like this?” You hissed.

“You could’ve told me sooner.” Jungkook tried to unfist his hands as he was finally calming down. He never wanted you to be angry so every time he noticed you getting worked up, he just stopped being an ass. Or at least he tried.

“I wanted to tell you in person and not through face time as this is a very personal and important matter.” You calmly explained to him.

“How long has it been going on?” He whispered silently. 

“A month or so. I don’t know exactly when it all started.” You tried to clarify but it was all new for you too. You had never considered dating anyone and when Eunwoo happened to cross your path you tried to fight it off as long as you could.

“Are you happy?” There was something in his eyes making your insides go soft. But you ignored these feelings.

“I really am, Jungkook. Eunwoo is a great guy and I would love for you to meet him.” 

“If he’s that important to you, I’ll make an effort to like him.”

“That’s all I’m asking Jungkook. Now can we continue eating and feasting as we haven’t seen each other for four months or do you want to keep being an ass to your only best friend?” The both of you started laughing as he put his arm over your shoulder. You leaned into him, taking in his smell at the same time Jungkook kissed the top of your head. This was your safe place and you wouldn’t want to trade it for the world.

## end flashback ##

“Remember to smile.” You told Jungkook while you were doing his hair. 

“I can do that.” He said more to himself.

“Also remember to listen to her. Not just listen but ask her small questions about whatever she was talking about. Otherwise it would just seem like you were waiting for her to stop talking so you can start talking.” You stopped tugging at his long hair and took a step back to admire your work. Jungkook was in full date outfit and mindset. There was no way this was going to turn sour. 

“Do I look good?” He asked you shyly. 

“You always look like the most handsome man in the room.” You honestly complimented him while your hand hovered over his cheek. Your hand never touched his face as he was going to date another girl. That girl was going to be the only one allowed to touch his face like that.

“Thank you.” He grabbed your hand and held it in between his hands “for everything.” He finished.

“What are best friends for, right?” You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. There was son way this date was going to fail. So deep in your heart you knew this was your last moment with Jungkook without having to control your hands. His eyes were looking for yours but you tried to ignore this stare. The moment your eyes would lock with his, you would start to cry and to be honest, he doesn’t deserve that kind of negativity before a date. 

“It is time for me to leave.” He said while standing up. His hands never let go of yours though so you were forced to also stand up.

“Ok, have a good time and remember to listen to her.” You said while taking your hands out of his. He was on his own now. You couldn’t hold his hand forever, you know.

“Yes, and something about never smiling.” He joked, which got a laugh out of you.

“Honestly, if you smile or even if you don’t, you’re still the best guy to date. You’re a real catch, my friend.” 

“It’s a shame we never dated.” He started which got your heart beating double its normal speed. “You deserve a good guy to date.”

“I’ll find him when the time is right but please Jungkook, leave before you’re too late and blame it all on me.” You said trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the lump in your throat. He kissed your cheek and left to go to his date. You fell to floor, feeling drained. It was a first, having to pretend to be happy and cheerful around Jungkook as he usually got it out of you without a problem. But today you had to feign your smile and it didn’t feel good.

[b-afterhours]

To Know Him (part eight)

summary: AU set in the summer of 1959 Gloria is desperate to see a world beyond the church and the small Texan town she grew up in. One day she runs into a bad boy with striking green eyes in the local greaser gang the Saint’s of Duke Street. She had only heard of their existence and shenanigans but upon meeting Bill she can tell he’s not as bad as everyone had warned…

warnings: cursing, domestic abuse

if you’re seeing this for the first time you can read part one here and if you need to catch up on previous chapters go here.

Bill sat at the soda bar, looking around the small General Store with appreciation. It had become a sanctuary for him and Gloria. And there was Harvey the only true adult in town that let them be and never questioned their relationship. Bill didn’t know too much about him other than that the General Store was his wife’s Eileen’s dream. He opened it with her and for her and maintained it even when she passed a near decade ago. Suddenly, Bill felt bad for taking collections from his business upon remembering that. Being a Saint could be pretty scummy sometimes, he couldn’t deny that.

“Uh hey Harvey,” Bill sat up on the bar stool.

“Need anything,” he paused from wiping down the soft serve machine.

“No, not until Gloria gets here… I just wanted to say thanks.”

“Thanks?” He tilted his head, looking a bit perplexed.

“Yeah, I’m leaving town in a few days, um, with Gloria. So I just wanted to say thank you for giving us a place to be...”

“Oh, well uh no problem?” He chuckled.

“I’m mean it’s just hard to be together in this town cause of who her dad is and who I am...”

“I understand. I’m not too fond of that guy either,” he said leaning on the bar across from him. “He’s always dragging on his tab here. But anyway, I left you two alone ‘cause my ol’ girl Eileen’s father didn’t like me so much,” he shrugged with a slight smirk on his face.

“Really,” Bill laughed.

“Yeah, I was a coal miners son and she was the daughter of the man who owned the mine. He wasn’t so keen on her taking a shine on me. But I took care of her, we moved here and I lived the best years of my life before her lungs gave out.”

“W-What was it? Sorry, shouldn’t ask.” Bill bit his lip.

“Oh, it’s been years. It was black lung. Doc’ said it might have been from growing up around the mines, who knows...” He took a deep breath. “Well, where are you and Gloria headed then?”

“Austin, she’s going to college,” he smiled. “I’m going to look for a mechanic job there. Luckily, Ace has some friends at a shop that can get me on.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Harvey nodded approvingly. “Just take care of her, it makes everything worth it. And life a lot easier.” …

On her last Monday in town, Gloria was back to work in the church. She planned to book it out of town by Thursday so that she could become somewhat acquainted with Austin before her college orientation. She had barely left the General Store after having lunch with Bill and she could tell that something was pressing him. His knee kept nervously bouncing and knocking into hers on accident and he’d fiercely apologized every time. He was certainly acting different but she chalked it up to the fact that it may be because this was their last week together.

She was locked out of her fathers' office since she’d been back. So she was stuck with the meaningless task of straightening out hymn books on the back of the church pews and lightly dusting with a damp rag. She could hear voices from inside her fathers' office but she couldn’t distinctly make anything out. She was never the nosy type anyway and really didn’t care to know about her father’s work affairs. Her complete indifference faded once she saw Rick step out and she froze for a moment. He politely tipped his hat to her before turning on his nice dress shoes with a knowing grin on his face as he left. She felt sick, she was sure she was busted. Pastor Castillo soon emerged, she glanced at him while pretending to be busy with dusting. She expected him to be angry, surely Marty’s father had come to tell her father all about seeing her and Bill strolling in the night together but he smiled at her appreciatively.

“Ready to go home, Glo’,” he asked just like he did every evening.

The drive home was stuffy and uncomfortable. She could feel that he knew something but he hadn’t said anything indicating so. In fact, he hadn’t spoken a single word until they turned the corner to Lyndon Street where she lived.

“I’ll be taking you to Mrs. Robins later this evening,” he said to her holding open the front door open when they got home.

“Okay, daddy,” she simply nodded but she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. …

When she rode with her dad that evening, the air around them in the car hadn’t changed. Her father didn’t speak a lot in general so she figured she was just paranoid. He’d have done something or said something to her by now if Marty’s dad truly ratted her out. Still, she couldn’t shake the look her mother had given her on her way out the door. She looked concerned almost fearful, her lips were slightly moving as if she were muttering a prayer under her breath.

“W-will you be picking me up too, daddy?” Gloria asked she was tired of the silence surrounding them.

“It’s going to rain. What kind of father would I be if I had you walk all the way home… Why?” He gave her a shifty glance.

“Just wondering...”

“Odd thing to wonder, hm.”

When he dropped her off she was glad to be away from him. The car ride was claustrophobic. He remained parked by the curb for awhile even after Mrs. Robins had left. She took care of the girls as she normally would while peeping out the blinds every now and again. He had finally left while she was making dinner but she still occasionally checked the empty curb space. When she looked nothing was out of the usual except for the rain clouds billowing into town.

When she got Katie and Greta to bed she cleaned the kitchen almost spotless due to her anxiousness. Her flight sense was kicked in since she saw Rick at church. She thought about calling Bill to tell him not to show up, that it was too risky. But it would be of no use, he was most likely on his way already. …

Bill and V were out late picking up collections that same evening. He kept an eye on the clock tower knowing he needed to head over to Mrs. Robins by now. Besides he was tired of his litter brother teasing him for not proposing to Gloria during lunch like he told the rest of the Saint’s he would. His nerves were beginning to get the better of him.

“Hey, I need to go,” Bill said flicking his cigarette in the street.

“We still have the General Store?”

“No. We’re not collecting for Harvey anymore,” he said lifting a leg over his bike.

“What? Did Ace tell you something I don’t know?”

“No, I said so.” V scoffed at his order. Bill didn’t have the authority to make such rules in the first place. “I’m serious. Leave the man alone, even after I leave. And you can tell Ace that too.”

“I’m not telling him shit! When I’m short next month I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll send his share through the post then,” he said kicking his bike stand back and taking off.

When he arrived at Mrs. Robins street he hopped off his bike and pushed it the rest of the way worried about the noise. He gently set it to the side of the porch where Gloria’s bike was usually set but it wasn’t there tonight. He had barely knocked on the door when it swung open and Gloria grabbed the lapel of his leather jacket pulling him inside.

“Did anyone see you come here?” She said peeping out the blinds.

“No?” His brows pulled together. “Something wrong?”

Gloria shook her head. “No… I-I’m just losing it. Maybe...”

“Well you and me both,” he lightly laughed.

“What do you mean?” She said taking his hand and guiding him over to the couch.

“Oh… uh, I’ve been thinking about some things,” he bit his lip. He could feel his heart beating against his chest. “But uh first, did you call admissions and stuff?” He asked feeling silly for buying time but he had to settle his nerves somehow.

“Yeah, I have everything in order. Are you still driving me to the bus station in Waco?”

“About that, I was thinking, maybe, I could just take you all the way to Austin? And we can stay in a small motel until we find a house?”

Gloria’s face scrunched in a puzzled expression. “A house? What are you talking about?” She giggled still confused.

“I would like to go with you to Austin.”

Gloria’s eyes lit up, her jaw slightly dropped. “You’re really going to come with me?”

Bill nodded. “Only if you want me too.”

“Of course!” She threw her arms around him. “Oh, this is the best news I’ve heard all day,” she mumbled against his chest. “I was so worried about being on my own.”

“But uh I also wanted to ask you something else...” he paused. Gloria pulled away wondering what else on earth he could ask her. “I know Mrs. Robins isn’t the best place to ask but I really can’t wait any longer...” he dug into his inner jacket pocket and fished for the ring under his pack of smokes. “I really love you, Gloria. So don’t think I’m crazy for asking.”

“Crazy?” She laughed but it cut short when she saw the sparkling ruby on the ring Bill was holding up. She stared at it wide glassy eyes. She looked between it and Bill, his brows furrowed and the lines in his young face looked more defined than usual.

“W-Will you marry me, Gloria Esperanza Castillo? If shit goes to shit at least we’ll have each other, married, husband and wife?”

Gloria sat there stunned, her mouth open but words were difficult to choke out. “I uh… really?”

“I’m more serious than a heart attack right now,” his said, his eyes begging her to say yes already.

“That’s, quite the proposal-” she was interrupted by a hard knock on the front door. Alarmed, Gloria jumped up. “Come, hide behind the door,” she pulled him to his feet and had him stand to the side of the door where it could shield him. When she answered Marty was panting out of breath as if she ran a mile. Bill was in his own world staring at the ring still in his hand, Gloria hadn’t even said yes and he wasn’t sure if she was even going to.

“Gloria! You need to go home!” Marty barged in.

“Shhh. The girls are sleeping,” she said not catching on to the urgency she was still slightly in shock over Bill’s proposal.

“I’ll take care of them you need to go.”

Bill stepped out from behind the door, “What the hell is going on Marty?”

“Damn Bear, all these frights tonight are going to kill me!”

“Marty, what is going on?” Gloria asked as panic finally set in.

“I overheard my dad talking to your dad on the phone so I picked up the line in the kitchen to eavesdrop. Your dad was askin’ him if he was positive about seeing you and Bear a couple of days ago and all that. Made Greg drive me by your place and we could hear your parents arguing and all sorts of noise,” Marty paused to take a deep breath after regurgitation all that she knew. “You have to go now! Greg is outside in his truck, he’ll take you. I’m so sorry Gloria, my dad can be a real asshole.”

“You’re saying!” Bill said angrily, running a hand through his hair.

“C’mon Gloria,” Marty said pulling her out the house and into the drizzle that had started to lightly fall. “I’ll stay and take care of the Robins girls.”

Gloria turned her head as she was being shoved out, “Billie?”

“Duke Street! I’ll be home waiting up,” he told hollered to her. “It’s going to be okay.” At least he hoped so.

“Marty, stop. Wait,” she pushed her hands off and sprinted back up the porch crashing into Bill. “Yes!” She tugged on his jacket and on her tip toes kissed him. “If shit goes to shit right?” She whispered against his lips. “Hold on to the ring. I’ll see you soon!” She said sprinting off to Greg’s truck.

“Yes? Ring?” Marty tilted her head, suspiciously.

Bill shook his head, he was happy as hell but with everything else going on he needed to stay focused. He got on his bike and loudly revved it up.

“I’m marrying that girl, Marty,” he yelled over her engine.

Marty laughed. “You two better start running for the hills!” …

Gloria closed her eyes, bracing herself before stepping into her home. Along with the thunder and trickling rain, she could hear yelling and hysterics from her mother from the other side of the door. There was no more hiding, no more lies to tell. She took a deep breath and turned the doorknob slowly. Her mother was crying and yelling at her father who looked at her with his face twisted in anger. Her bike which she kept hidden was inside by the door and the things in her small tote were thrown about. The radio smashed by the fireplace, her dresses and bible were haphazardly dumped on the couch. Gloria slammed the door behind her announcing her presence, they were so busy yelling they hadn’t even noticed her.

“Gloria,” her mother gasped. “Honey,” she wiped her cheeks dry, “go to your room please,” she pointed towards the hall.

“Why are all my things out here?” She questioned.

“Excuse me?” Her father said. “I should ask you where the rest of your things that are from your room are?”

“Robert stop,” her mother put her hands on his chest to calm him but he swiped them away.

“I asked you a question, Gloria? And what are these things, huh?” He picked up the smashed radio and slammed it on the floor again causing the dial to shoot off across the floor. “And this bike? Who fixed this?”

“Robert, please. Gloria just got to your room,” her mother pleaded.

“Gloria answer me! Who fixed this bike!?”

Gloria froze. She wanted to scream, she didn’t have anything particular to say, she just wanted to yell but she couldn’t, she suddenly felt too small. Too many years of obedience and fear kept her from defending herself.

“So you’re not going to talk?” He threw his arms out angrily. “Was it that Saint boy? Bear or whatever? Are you talking to him? He fixed this didn’t he?”

“Oh for god's sake leave her be,” her mother said taking Gloria’s hand to take her to her room.

“Estella don’t you dare. She needs to answer me,” he grabbed his wife by the arm and pulled her away from their daughter. “She’s up to something.”

Gloria snapped her head back at him, “And so what if I am?! I don’t need to answer your questions, you seem to know everything since you went through my things!”

Her father’s eyes fluttered appalled at his daughters' tone towards him. “Th-that boy has gotten into your head! You’re not even yourself!” Spittle spewed as he shouted. “And where is your stuff? Are you planning to leave us? Your mother and father? You’re our only little girl.”

“I’m not your little girl. I’ve been more myself than I’ve ever been,” Gloria said smoothly, her voice unwavering.

“Gloria,” her mother cried, cowering by the fireplace now.

Her father chuckled darkly. “If you think you are leaving this house, ever again you are sorely mistaken. You will not see that Saint boy again, you hear me?”

“I beg to differ,” she said through her teeth as she seethed. She could only see her father in through the glare of tears that built out of anger.

“You will NOT see that boy again or so help me!” He said backing her against the corner of the room. “You are staying here and that’s it!”

“I’m leaving, I’m going to college. And I’m not sorry about it,” she stood her ground.

“After I’ve told you no? What has the devil done to you?”

“Devil? It’s you! If you would have let me be myself I wouldn��t have to go lying and sneaking around! I can’t even breathe wrong in this house without feeling like I’ve done something wrong! Can’t you see that it’s you!?”

“How dare you?” He was floored.

“Robert, stop this!” Estella yelled, finally gaining confidence. “Tell her… tell her why you won’t let her go to school...”

“Estella, stay out of this,” he turned his head towards her.

“Tell her what you did with all of our money! Her college fund, our mortgage! Tell her you gambled it all. She deserves the truth before you go making everything worse.”

“Gambling?” Gloria whispered looking up at her father, shame and embarrassment shadowing his face. “The barbershop,” she shook her head.

“Gloria…” he choked. “This-”

She pushed her way out of the corner he backed her into and rushed to the couch for her tote. Shoving her bible and clothes back in. “If you had bothered to open my acceptance letter, you’d have seen I have a full ride,” she said as tears spilled from her eyes. “But you wouldn’t have cared about that either. I don’t need your money, you don’t have any to begin with.”

Robert stomped towards Gloria violently pulling her arm and spinning her around to face him. His other hand was open, Gloria shut her eyes tight bracing for the blow of his slap but it never came. She cracked open her eyes and saw that her mother quickly twisted his arm back. Before he could push her mother to the ground she hit him in the temple with a half-empty bottle of gin. The women of the house both screamed when he hit the wood floor, knocked out cold.

“Get your things, Gloria. Hurry,” Estella said out of breath.

Gloria had no time to process what had just transpired in the shuffle. She picked up the ruined radio on the way to her bike and dropped her tote in the basket Bill at welded to the front of it and swung the door open. She turned her head back to the mess, her home, her mother taking a sip of the gin she just hit her husband in the head with.

“Mama?” Gloria cried.

“Gloria, just go. Go to him.”

And so Gloria ran with her bike to the sidewalk before hopping on. And she pedaled hard, the rain now pelting down, as she rode her bike to Duke Street.

 PART NINE

tags: @imaginingyournotsolikelyfuture @bskarsgardfilth @billieskars@skrsgards @kikilikes @mixtapes-books@partypoison00 @fine-i-suppose@shannonxbarnes @darthdeziewok @kyralangdon @sexual-rendezvous   @trybeingabitch  @bill-skarsgard-writings @reinamysterio@mazarinqueen @fine-i-suppose@therealzoeyael @darthdeziewok @skarswhat @pennytdc@bskarsgardlove92 @frappylou @mixtapes-books @spacemerlady@stardustginger @lilzbean

(please let me know whether you’d like to be added/removed from tags)

[dalishious]

(Replying to this post)

@gangsterofoz I’m... not really sure... where to begin... I suppose by just saying I’m kind of stunned you wrote all this in response to me point out Cassandra was wrong about something and the writers’ reasons are ridiculously transparent?

Well it makes sense that Cass would try really hard to convince herself of the Chantry’s justified actions - it’s not that she’s purposely trying to condemn the elves, she just does not want to see the evils and mistakes of an institution she has pretty much built her adult life on. A life that allowed her to follow a path she felt was befitting of her skills and soul. And like many people with religion, they cannot seperate the institutional failures and serious misconducts from the faith.

I absolutely agree it is in character for Cassandra to be ignorant about this, given other things she has said expressing refusal to acknowledge elven point of views. But it’s not a good quality for her to have. And as @faerunner already said, the big problem isn’t that Cassandra has this point of view, it’s that this is the only point of view we hear. Dorian shares it too. But here is no argument. We’re just supposed to accept this comment, despite as I pointed out in that post, it is inaccurate.

Religions by their nature need to be deontological - meaning it can’t have flaws and inconsistencies. It needs to be by its nature always ‘true’ to its core messages and therefore exists philosophically in the realm of black in white. When in reality, it’s in the moral grey area as much as everything else. The people within it can be flawed, as Cass we know really prefers focusing on, but she manages to largely not see (at least historical actions not really the more recent ones) as the failures of people - individuals - not her faith, not the group. Which is fundamentally just inaccurate as no one can commit genocide or invasion without the willing consent and support of the group as a majority. Im so glad you pointed this out - it’s just more credit to brilliant character construction and intimate understanding of how people justify religious evils.

Hey maybe don’t paint every single belief system with the same Christian/Catholic brush because that’s not true?

I would argue that Cassandra is almost equally bad at recognizing the failures of people in recent times as well. 

It’s really like they researched the morality, psychology of Crusaders or Renaissance religious figures who maintained justification of the Crusades. I love Cass but she like everyone in the games (and like all brilliant series that study the flaws of politics and religions like Game of Thrones) is seriously flawed. Cass is not evil, she’s just reacting to an inherited childhood situation, she’s doing what she needs to to feel safe and valid.

LOL I think you are giving BioWare way to much credit, but yes, a comparison between Exalted Marches and the Crusades can definitely be made. It’s just a shame that, as the whole point of that post, they didn’t spend just as much time on how the victims felt.

Like Dorian and Varric opposing consistently undermine the traditionalism and omnipotence of institutions in an attempt to be independent from them and therefore safe because hierarchies and institutions have so consistently not only failed but seriously harmed them on such an intimate level (the Dwarven caste system/way of life and Tevinter as a society). Varric and Dorian still find admiration or use for aspects of their childhood societies but it’s their flaws that have made them view those institutions the way they do in the time of Inquisition.

You are comparing Dorian opposing tyranny to Cassandra defending it?

It’s so clever - because we don’t judge these figures as historical persons through a lens of fact but we get to know them so intimately. They become real persons for whom we see our actions make consequences directly. It puts us in the position of leaders of Catholicism during the Crusades - it perhaps says, “It is more difficult to condemn people you’ve come to know because they are real and thus it makes taking moral action much more difficult.”

HOLY FUCK.

No. No, I absolutely judge through facts, and you know, general morality. No, it absolutely does not make it more difficult to condemn a character saying something wrong when they are in fact, 100% wrong. 

It’s like when Tyrion kills Tywin - he basically plunges the entire political system of a really powerful nation/continent into chaos - like fuck you now everything’s going to go to shit and the White Walkers are going to so easily come and kill everybody ! But man who didn’t want Tyrion to kill to Tywin? We were all on his side when that happened. But through a historical lens, the boy did some serious damage to the citizens of the country. Not that Tywin was a brilliant moral leader but one could argue at least the country wasn’t plunged into political factionalism and thus unable to successfully defend itself against the ice boys.

I have no idea what you’re talking about because I stopped watching Game of Thrones after dragging myself through the second season; I found the story interesting enough, but the copious amount of gratuitous sex and also general shitty treatment of the few characters of colour and female characters was too much to continue. But I’m gonna go on a limb and guess this has nothing to do with anything in the post I made.

So yes Cass is super wrong but it also is 100% how she would manipulate herself to see that slice of history. I mean - how scary is that that a leader has that view sitting on the Sunburst Throne (if you pop her there)? You say, “well she’s got all these great qualities etc.” but then what are the ramifications of putting someone with some form of internalised racism in a position of power?

Oh gee, what a high-fantasy thought-provoking question that is. A person who gives zero shits about the people who’s land they settled on and now rule over. I wonder what the ramifications would be. It is so hard to wonder. I just don’t know. //Sarcasm

What if she in some years starts another Exalted March? Historically, we’d look at the Inquisitor and go, “What were you thinking!?”

Yeah I sure fucking would especially because my Inquisitor would never do that to her people.

But history doesn’t happen historically. People are biased and function through personal relationships, moving through the world within the framework of those dynamics. The moral of this section of the games is, you’re going to need to make decisions that will shape the world but you will struggle to make them unbiasedly. And the consequences of that can be cataclysmic. Anyway lol unintentional essay

This might be news to you, but sometimes making decisions using bias can be a good thing. It’s called having a moral conscious. So yes, as I have said a few times now, I will absolutely judge Cassandra for lacking one in this scene. And general history knowledge.

Anyway, this whole unintentional essay was almost entirely irrelevant to the point of my post, but whatever. Glad we could clear up that what Cassandra said here is a bad thing and bad things should be recognized as bad things, not unquestioned qualities.

[everlarkingjoshifer]

Let’s board the crazy train! (part deux)

Okay folks I am back with more shenanigans. More of 

However this time it’s on Jenny Lou’s side. You see she’s “dating” darreg aka egg head. And yes it’s all mistletoe’s, rainbows and unicorns on Bizzare Grossland! Because you know Jenny is really turned on by that bald ass head that looked like a newly laid pigeon’s egg and his grandpa body.

 But see, not everything is wonderful in paradise. You see folks, Jen is 26 years old to darreg’s gross 48. So like any young woman who likes to have fun she went to a club where she sort of poled danced, (not great upper body strength, but she tried ya’ll.) she got a little messy and humped a YOUNGER dude. She also gave homeboy a kiss. But hey, Jenny is young you know. She doesn’t really need to be in bed by 8 pm and put her teeth in a cup of water. She doesn’t need to put on her reading glasses and read in bed about how to improve her colon health by eating more fiber. Those are darreg’s concerns, because he obviously cannot spew enough bullshit into this world. 

so, it looks like our grandpa is a little on the miffed side because his young girl is not behaving appropriately. (whatever the fuck that means. She’s 26, she’s reserved the right to have fun and get a little messy. It’s just a problem because she’s an actress and we judge her because it’s not a private moment. She’s in the limelight and there’s nothing she can do about it.) She’s too “immature”. No fucking shit dumbass, she’s 22 years younger. When darreg was 15 Jen’s parents hadn’t even planned on having her. 

In fact, sources tell NW magazine that their relationship is “all but over” – and Darren is using the pole dancing incident as an excuse. “This was a total mismatch from the start,” an insider says of the couple, adding: “to him it was just a fling”.

Okay but like if this was a fling why the fuck did you work so hard to prove to everyone it was real? Why go around professing your commitment and using her fame to promote your agendas. Why the fuck would you ever let her meet your son when she was just a “fling”. Why is it you that benefits from the entire relationship? 

I’ll tell you why. Because it’s fake, and not just any kind of fake. It’s fucking Victorian Era fake. Allow me to explain. Back in the times of Jane Austen and all the gargantuan amounts of romance novel reading coupled by google have allowed me to understand Victorian Courtship Rituals. I know we’re in 2017 but Hollywood is still stuck in the olden days. 

She never approached people of higher rank, unless being introduced by a mutual friend. (Never talk to anyone that’s more famous than you unless you’re introduced)

People of lesser rank were always introduced to people of higher rank, and then only if the higher-ranking person had given his/her permission.

Even after being introduced, the person of higher rank did not have to maintain the acquaintance. They could ignore, or 'cut' the person of lower rank.

A single woman never walked out alone. Her chaperone had to be older and preferably married. (they have to be accompanied by bodyguards or friends.)

If she had progressed to the stage of courtship in which she walked out with a gentleman, they always walked apart. A gentleman could offer his hand over rough spots, the only contact he was allowed with a woman who was not his fiancée.

She would never call upon an unmarried gentleman at his place of residence. (you should not be seen visiting or hanging out with a dude if you’re single unless you want to be linked to them)

She couldn't receive a man at home if she was alone. Another family member had to be present in the room. (Always make sure to make it publicly obvious that you’re hanging out with whoever you want to be linked with.)

Intelligence was not encouraged, nor was any interest in politics. (This one is specifically more for egg head.) 

Above is a list of a few rules that one had to abide by while courting with a few of my amendments. The rules seem archaic but it’s what Hollywood runs with. It’s what is expected when the elite date. 

Here’s the interesting part of all this charade though. In the times when a Victorian women or man was set to court and lets say they were less than enthusiastic about their partners prospects or looks they would beg the other to cry off. Meaning, that if the woman didn’t want to get married the man out of courtesy would call off the courting in order for the woman to save face and vice versa. It was all very planned out.

 See, in doing so the person who would cry off would come off a indecisive and or uninterested in the coupling effectively letting the world know that their parent’s and or guardian did not make the right choice. This could be embarrassing for the parents when they lived in a time where it was expected of them to be infallible. HOWEVER, there were times when if the couple wanted to make their relationship public it there would be a contract signed by both parties to avoid any crying off. This is where things got a little more complicated. See, if either party did in fact cry off after the contract was signed the offended party had to receive compensation for whatever goods may have purchased or exchanged. this is where the dratted nondisclosure and prenuptial contracts come from. That’s to protect the offended party from further bad mouthing and scrutiny and to keep your goods separated. It’s also Hollywood’s favorite paperwork among the elite fauxmances. It’s a form of protection, but ladies and gentlemen this is where my point comes in. In the article it’s Darreg who is dumping Jen. Darreg,a 48 year old man who has two children with this woman. 

How that fuck did that happen? I have no clue. Maybe Nat has low self esteem, maybe he rented out her womb. Maybe he hypnotized her with his awesome dad dance and cap wearing self to hide his light blinding head. All I know is that her son has had the unfortunate luck of looking like a certain director who impacts women by simply berating at them. 

So it stands to reason that Jen is the one who is taking the brunt of his rage in order for this bullshit to end. Be it as it may, it’s uncomfortable and honestly, no one fucking buys her story of being into older men. It’s just weird and I think I can safely say that everyone is over it. I hope this really is the beginning of the end because I don’t really know how much more of the awkward/ fake pap walks I can take. 

P.S. Why on earth would you make it a point to call the paps to take a picture of your lonely somber self in NYC while your boyfriend whom you were supposed to be visiting was in San Francis at a Sierra Club event? Oh jenny, why ridicule yourself in this manner when you know we can tell if you’ve changed your shoes? Why wear the same dress for two days in a row? Don’t you know that doing so is considered a faux pas? Darling you’re much better than this and it’s time you show us. 

[hipsofsteel]

Dont imagine cute little chubby Al pouting over how fit Jett is, don't imagine his blushes when Jett practically worships him DONT I M A G I N E

I tried to make this fic happy but then I projected all my insecurities on Alfred and I would like to apologize for making him sad. However, Jett is a very good boyfriend, so he doesn’t stay sad.

Jett would also 100% punch anyone who dares to make his boyfriend cry, so Al has that going for him.

It’s hard enough to just exist as a nation, whether or not you’re a major world power or just a few ideas thrown into a human body and given life. Alfred is keenly aware of this.

But honestly, this pudge around his midsection… It is just unfair!

Very few of the nations who manifest as adult males have pudge like he does. There’s a few, he supposes. Finland always seems a smidge soft around the edges, and no one seems to know what Russia looks like under all those layers of sweaters and coats, so he might have one as well, but they don’t get the stigma like he does.

Especially when he has a fucking Greek Adonis for a boyfriend.

They’re having a fun day at the beach, just as a family unit of sorts. Oscar is sulking in the shade umbrella with a new book he grabbed from some little place further up the beach, practically hissing every time he has to move to avoid the sunlight. Alfred is sitting under a second umbrella, giving him his privacy, watching the other two play.

Zoe screeches in delight when Jett picks her up and almost throws her over his shoulder. “Look what I found in the waves!” He grins, lifting the usually serious micronation onto his shoulders and laughing as she tries to pull him over by leaning backwards. “Good luck with that, baby girl!”

Alfred chuckles as he watches Jett and Zoe play in the waves. He doesn’t understand how Jett stays so fit. He’s a father of two, in the sense that nations are parents, but somehow, he manages to maintain a figure of impressive strength. Lightly defined muscles, just enough for you to know they’re present and strong, dark and beautiful skin, the ability to give bear hugs Alfred almost can’t compete with. He eats really great tasting food, yet somehow still eats healthy and just…

It isn’t fucking fair. It really isn’t.

Alfred maintains his cover under the second umbrella, t-shirt and cargo shorts on. He doesn’t just have a muffin top to worry about. He’s also got thighs that would probably look better on a woman than a man. And he’s not about to let them see the light of day.

Finally, after a while, Jett carts Zoe over. “Come on, Zo, time for more sunscreen.” Wy doesn’t protest as she reapplies it, only turning to Jett for help with her back.

Alfred smiles fondly as he watches them interact. Jett is a great dad. No one could ever deny this. When Wy zips off to go collect seashells, he shouts after her. “Remember to stay in sight of one of us at all times! And take a bucket in case you find more than you can carry!”

Alfred smiles as Zoe runs off. “You’re a good dad.”

Jett smiles. “At least to one of them. A certain young man seems to think me quite the annoyance.”

Oscar shouts from his shady spot. “I can hear you talking about me over there.”

“Go take your sister for a walk then! If you go with, she can go further looking for seashells.” Jett shouted, and both were pleasantly surprised to see Oscar stand up and pull on his shoes, setting down his book and glancing around to spot Wy.

But then he spoke.

“I’ll take her out of sight for an hour. Try to have done all the disgustingly cute things you want to do as a couple before we get back.”

“Oscar Michael Kirkland!” Jett shouts, but Hutt River is heading after Wy as fast as he can. Jett groans and leans back, setting his head on Al’s lap. “God, that kid sometimes…”

Alfred snorts. “I’d say he gets it from you.”

“Oh, stuff it!”

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, and Alfred watches Zoe and Oscar disappear out of the corner of his eye. They have cell phones, and Jett gave them each an independent streak a mile wide, so he’s not too worried.

“Alright, come on Yank.” Jett suddenly says, sitting up. “Shirt off. We’re going swimming.”

Alfred almost freezes at that. “No, think I’ll leave the shirt on if you don’t mind.”

Jett stops, raising one big bushy eyebrow. “Alfred, it’s gonna make it harder to move.”

“I am aware.” Alfred replies, standing, and then quickly makes an excuse. “I’m less likely to sunburn, though-”

“Bullshit. This is about England’s comment about you having a muffin top, isn’t it?” Jett says, immediately calling out the fear. Alfred is irritated Jett knows him so well. He supposes it means they have a good relationship, but sometimes you just want to deal with your issues on your own.

But even then, he can��t stop it from slipping out.

“And France’s about my giant thighs.”

It’s a whisper, but he sees Jett’s face grow dark for a moment, anger filling every line of concentration that has appeared. Alfred takes a few steps forward, trying to ignore his brain making him self conscious with every step, but then a pair of arms are wrapping around him, pulling him back towards the shade.

“Oz-” He begins, but then Jett is in front of him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

And when Oz pulls back, he’s serious.

“Listen, Alfred. You are perfect. Muffin top, big thighs. It’s all beautiful. It’s you!”

Alfred feels his face turning scarlet. “But it’s not. I used to be fit…”

“Used to? You’ve always been fit. You aren’t the strongest nation for now reason, Al.” Jett said, concern on his face now.

“I used to be skinny, though. I didn’t have all this pudge. I was-”

Jett stopped him. “You looked like that when you weren’t healthy. I remember the Depression, Al. You were starving. You weren’t to the point of death, but you were sick.”

Alfred glances down at the ground. He and Jett had been dating since 1917. He guesses Jett would recall the last time he was so skinny.

“Listen, healthy and skinny are not equal, nor are beauty and skinny the same. The Depression had you looking skinny, but you were permanently pale around the edges, and you looked like you were going to break at any moment. That isn’t healthy, Al. I wouldn’t have you looking like that again if my life depended on it.”

“But you’re so fit-”

“And so are you! All that ‘weight’ England is always saying you’ve put on is pure muscle mass! How else is your body supposed to manifest that you’re the world’s only superpower?”

“But-”

Jett seems upset with the next sentence. “Lay back down, Alfred.”

Alfred sits down under the umbrella, and Jett sits down next to him, bringing their heads together, green eyes gazing at blue.

“This-” He says, setting his hand on Alfred’s stomach, “-is not ugly. It is beautiful. It is healthy, and it is amazing. That little layer of fat that bothers you so much means that, in a manner of speaking, you are healthier than me. It keeps your skin and cells healthy, keeps internal organs warm. I can go on if you wish about all the various health benefits of your amazing little muffin top.”

Alfred tries to look anywhere besides Jett’s face, not sure if the blush in his face is embarrassment or just a reaction to his boyfriend trying to reassure him.

Then Jett is trying to yank his shirt off.

“Jett!”

“Just take it off!”

Alfred begrudgingly does, and Jett pulls him down so they’re both lying down. Alfred sighs and allows himself to be pulled along into it. Jett props himself up on an elbow so they’re looking at each other with a better view.

“You are beautiful. Every inch of you. From the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. You are strong and healthy, and you’re the most wonderful human to exist. And just because that salty ass piece of shit and his stupid fucking French boyfriend don’t seem to believe it doesn’t mean that anyone else thinks that way about you.”

Alfred tries not to blush even harder when Jett leans forward, pressing their foreheads together again.

“I love every single inch of you and wouldn’t want you to change it for the world.”

Alfred smiles. “I love you, Jett.”

“I love you too, Alfred.”

It’s a small kiss they share, a hopeful smile, and then Jett is dragging him out into the waves, smiling like it’s Christmas Day.

And when the kids get back, Jett grins. “I think it’s time Oscar took a swim, don’t you?”

Alfred grins as they both grab the protesting teen and drag him into the waves hissing and shouting like an angry cat. Wy laughs from the shore, encouraging them to do it again.

“I thought I said all couple things over in an hour! Ganging up on me is not fair!” He snapped after he had dragged himself out of the surf and began to dry off.

“You said try to stop. We never agreed to.” Jett said with a laugh, tossing another towel towards Oscar. “Besides, cheer up. We could have let Wy decide when you were done taking a swim.”

Zoe shouted from her spot she was sitting in next to Alfred. “You’d still be swimming, brother!”

Later that evening, back in their hotel rooms, Oscar and Zoe in their own, Jett and Alfred smiled at each other as they crawled into bed.

Jett pressed a kiss to Alfred’s face. “You are beautiful.”

Alfred felt himself turn scarlet once more.

***

Jett told Alfred to leave ahead of him at the end of the next world meeting, and Alfred, seeing something angry in those eyes, agreed, grabbing the kids and asking them if they would like to go have dinner with him, stating that Jett ‘has something he needs to do’.

Jett waited for them to emerge, stepping out in front of the couple.

“Australia! What are you doing here so late?” France asked politely. “You aren’t usually the type to stay long after the meeting has finished!”

England seemed more confused, but Jett spoke first.

“It’s about what you said at the last meeting. Both of you.”

His tone was angry, and Francis seemed puzzled. “Jett?”

“Alfred doesn’t deserve to be treated like that, stick legs.” Jett snapped at Francis. “And while he won’t stoop to your level with petty and honestly uncreative insults, I will.”

Dawning realization was coming to both of them rather fast, and England spoke. “Lad, we weren’t trying to make him feel bad-”

“Bullshit, you pommy bastard! That’s exactly what you were trying to do. And if I thought I could get away with it, I would kick your salty little ass all the way back home and tell Scotland and Wales what you said. They don’t exactly have a fondness for you when you make your former colonies upset, if I recall.”

Arthur winced, remembering the verbal abuse thrown at him for even making the little colonies cry when they were children, and Scotland being quite clear that if he ever laid a hand against a child, two would be laid against him.

There’s a long silence that falls between the three of them.

“He’s self conscious, especially when it comes you two. His father and his mentor. And you both know it. I understand that you guys have always antagonized each other and it’s all meant to be playful, but if I hear of one more time you try and criticize him for having pudge, I will be setting my aunt Ireland and uncles Scotland and Wales on you both, because you both know he takes that to heart. Alasdair might be sweet on you, Francis, but Owen and Siobhan won’t give a hoot in hell about you if I come asking them to have their guns blazing.”

There’s another pause and Francis nods. “Perhaps we would do best to apologize to the boy.”

“Perhaps.” Jett said, and turned his gaze towards Arthur.

England looked at the ground.

“Arthur…” Francis said, his tone not amused.

“I don’t often get the self righteous anger turned back on me. You’re right, Jett.” Arthur looked up, meeting Oz’s eyes. “And I’m sorry to you as well.”

“What for?” Oz said, voice sounding dangerous. He didn’t want pity for having to deal with Alfred. The Brit had tried to give it once before.

Jett thought Arthur had looked rather nice with a black eye that day.

“For speaking without thinking and putting him in those situations.” Arthur said. “Just… slips out sometimes… I’ll try to stop it.”

This apology was more genuine, and not out of pity.

“Do more than try, Arthur. Do it.” Jett commands, turning and leaving.

He hears France say something behind him, but doesn’t turn.

“That boy has grown up into a very good man.”

He tries to stifle the swell of pride when he hears England respond.

“No. He’s grown into a great one. Him and Al both.”

***

“Where did you go last night?” Zoe asks the next morning, sitting on the edge of his bed while they pack to head home.

“I had some business to attend to.” He responds.

“Business my ass.” Oscar says.

“I would reprimand you for language in front of your little sister, but I’ve said worse.” Jett said, throwing the suit into the bag without a care in the world for what it looked like when he got home to ‘Straya. Zoe snorted, fussing with some piece of paper she’d been worrying over for the past hour.

“I ain’t gonna yell at you about that note Peter gave you if you’re worried.” Jett said as she pulled it out of her pocket again, and a faint noise of surprise escaped her. “However, you’ve got to promise me that you aren’t going to go running off during meeting breaks without telling me who you’re with, where you’re planning to go, and when you plan to return. That way, I can make sure to go out looking for you if you’re actually in danger.”

Oscar smirked a little.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t give you the same lecture if you did more than sneak into your Bibi Avery’s room to read Tolkien, young man.” Jett said before the two started fighting. New Zealand took the entire works of Tolkien everywhere with them, and since Oscar never seemed to have any interest in anything other than peace and quiet and wealth, finding him hidden in Zea’s room reading was always a good bet.

Wasn’t like Zea had spent much time there anyhow. Not when there was a certain Welsh booty to be chased after.

The final things packed, Jett got his family moving.

They were halfway through the lobby when a familiar voice rang out.

“Jett! Wait up!”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Let’s go wait by the doors, Zoe. Dad has to say goodbye to his boyfriend.”

Zoe tried to stay behind, but Jett waved her off as Alfred got closer.

“Come to say goodbye?”

“Yes, and also to tell you I had a very surreal apology at breakfast this morning.”

Jett pretended to look surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Alfred continued, looking startled and honestly confused. “Iggy and Fran sat down with me and said they wanted to apologize for implying that I had unhealthy amounts of body fat, and that they thought I was perfectly fit. Which was a little weird…”

“Hmm.” Jett said, internally smirking. He guessed his little threat had worked out alright.

“Anyhow, guess this is the part where I tell you I’m headed for a visit in three weeks, and to be ready for me. I love you, Oz.”

“Love you too.” Jett said, pulling Alfred into his arms in a hug. Alfred spoke at a whisper in his ear.

“Not going to ask what you did, but thank you. They said they would try to never use those insults again.”

Jett chuckled. “Good. I’ll hold them too it. See you in a few weeks, Yank.”

Alfred watched his boyfriend hurry off towards the airport shuttle, and smiled, glancing down at his little muffin top and big thighs.

If he loves this bit of me, I guess I can learn to love it too.

Even you, thunder thighs.

Alfred smiled a little, heading back to his room to pack. He had to leave to catch his flight in about an hour. He would be in this body for a hundred more years, if not longer.

It was time to learn to love it just the way it was.

I want you to know that I had a really hard time not typing Kyle every time I had to write Jett. I have used both names before, but I used Kyle way more often apparently. Thank god for the find and replace function.

Also, apologies again for just dumping all my personal insecurities onto Alfred. I usually have a fairly good body image until my parents are involved, and given that England is basically Al’s dad, well… it just went downhill from there.

This story can also be found on AO3 and Wattpad. It’s titled “Insecurities” 

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9494879

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/365224491-insecurities

[neilmillerne]

{#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor.

I recently spent a few hours with a dear friend who was in town, and we got onto the topic of relationships.

My friend never ceases to astonish me with his wisdom and thoughtfulness, and I found myself understanding a big topic with absolute clarity for the first time.

At one point, I actually wanted to stop and take notes.

The topic was something I have both experienced personally, and in my coaching practice, about the growing pains in a relationship when you shift from assessing your partner simply as a human (amazing! sexy! perfect!) to assessing them as your future life partner (too messy! workaholic! their family is bad shit crazy!).

Here’s the gist of my friend’s message:

In the beginning of a relationship, it’s easy to be accommodating and accepting. While wearing your lust-and-optimism new-relationship goggles, you can see your partner’s behaviors in a very flattering and forgiving light. Sure, you might hear a little voice telling you that this particular behavior wouldn’t work for you in the long term, but you don’t say anything, because it’s not a big deal right now.

But then later on, when those new-relationship goggles come off, and you’re planning a future together, you might suddenly realize that there’s a ton of shit you wish was different, but your partner doesn’t know this. So you start telling them– hey this doesn’t work for me. Hey, that needs to change. Hey, I need you to do this differently.

Your partner is shocked, and offended. Things were good enough before, after all. What changed? The relationship has been fine and easy, and they don’t *want* to do all that work now.

Does any of this resonate for you?

It sure as fuck did for me.

I was struck too by the understanding that women need to learn how to assert their needs and desires right from the beginning of a relationship. While this could apply to any gender, and any type of relationship, this seems to me to be most salient among women who are in relationships with men.

In general, given the programming we learn as girls and women (to be happy, nice, polite, pretty, small, and giving) it makes sense that so many women enter new relationships with men with the goal of making themselves “easy to love.”

Typically this means not asking for much from our partners, accepting them however they show up, and just being grateful to be chosen.

In the early days, we typically try really hard to play it cool, and be laidback and casual, in order to not scare our partners off. We hide our emotional ups and downs, we hide how messy and needy we are, we hide what we really want, and we try to just be grateful that we “found a good one.”

Worse still, many women pride themselves on being “different than other girls,” meaning we demand even less from our partners, we express even fewer needs, we hide even more of our feelings… and we’re proud of it.

The problem is that “making things easy” on your partner in the beginning is a sure-fire way to end up unhappy.

Our male partners get used to relationships being suuuppper easy and undemanding, and after a while he may be perfectly content with how things are, while we have a list a mile long of our unmet needs.

Many men might try to convince you that the problem is you– that you’re too demanding, or too needy, or you’re overreacting, or you just “need to relax.”

Other men would be devastated, and unable to handle hearing all the ways they’re making you unhappy without feeling like you were attacking their personal character.

But this isn’t about you, and you don’t need to “relax.” It’s not even about him, or his personal failings.

Trust me, this is much bigger than that.

This is about the roles we are taught to play in heteronormative relationships, and who those roles benefit (hint: it’s not women).

Can you imagine if, overnight, every single woman agreed to be 100% honest and upfront about her expectations, desires, and demands in her relationship from now on?

At first, I suspect there would be a lot of breakups.

Most men would be like UMMMM THIS IS ANNOYING, I’VE NEVER HAD TO WORK THIS HARD AND I DON’T LIKE IT.

That’s because most women would demand more emotional labor, more emotional intelligence, more foreplay and sensual sex, and more of the other stuff we have all taught men they don’t need to do, in order to come off as easy and laidback and likeable.

“It’s true what they say about women: Women are insatiable. We are greedy. Our appetites do need to be controlled if things are to stay in place. If the world were ours too, if we believed we could get away with it, we would ask for more love, more sex, more money, more commitment to children, more food, more care. These sexual, emotional, and physical demands would begin to extend to social demands: payment for care of the elderly, parental leave, childcare, etc. The force of female desire would be so great that society would truly have to reckon with what women want, in bed and in the world.”

-Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

Here’s the thing though.

If every single woman agreed to be upfront about her desires and demands, then after all those early breakups occurred with the men going off in search of “easier” relationships, they would all eventually discover that there was no such thing.

Can you imagine if we all held men accountable for recognizing and dismantling their own privilege, for examining and healing their own traumas, gender role expectations, and personal narratives? If we held them accountable for recognizing and communicating what they were feeling, and for showing up to do exactly half of the emotional labor in every relationship?

Most relationships would look shockingly different, and this hypothetical change would likely feel terribly unfair to men at first.

After all, for thousands and thousands of years, we have taught them that it’s totally ok for them not to do any of that, that they get a free pass because it’s “not in their nature.” (False.)

We have taught them that we women will take responsibility for most (if not all) of the emotional labor so that he can have a good life with lots of connections. We’ll remind him to call his mother on her birthday, bring up problems in our relationships that he “didn’t know how to talk about,” and keeps lists and schedules in our heads about everything that needs to be done to run a household and maintain strong connections to our friends, family, and communities.

It’s no wonder marriage disproportionately benefits men.

We’ve taught men that they don’t need to work hard to learn these skills, they don’t need to really listen to us or take our needs (or feelings) seriously, and they don’t have to change or better themselves.

We’ve even taught men that we’ll agree with them about how difficult/crazy/emotional/needy we’re being… and apologize for it.

So what do we do?

Well for a start,

what if we stopped praising men for doing tiny fractions of the emotional labor in their relationships?

What if we stopped thanking men for tolerating or “handling” our emotions?

What if we stopped applauding every time a man is an active father, does chores at home, talks about his feelings, or sacrifices career success for his family, the way women have been doing for centuries?

What if we demanded that all this (and more) became a baseline of expectation, rather than a reason to celebrate?

This might sounds crazy (and you might be freaking out imagining being even more difficult or demanding in your relationship) but the point is that eventually there would be a shift.

With an “easy relationship” taken off the table, the only option for men would be to step up and learn how to navigate the “difficult” part of a relationship.

Perhaps you’re sitting there thinking “but men just aren’t good at that stuff!”

I hear this excuse a lot, that men and women are just born with different strengths. The same argument has, until very recently, been used to justify men cheating, raping, and sexually assaulting women.

This same line of thinking has also been used to oppress women by saying that we are the more naturally virtuous and chaste gender. (Again giving men a free pass to be sexual and misbehave, while leaving the work of getting everyone to be “good” to whom? Women.)

I don’t buy this.

Yes, men and women are different, but a lot of this stuff is the result of social conditioning, gender role expectations, and unexamined privilege. Rather than lacking some biological gift, all men are lacking is practice and motivation.

(Wow this email really turned into a rant.)

In summary:

We must not allow our male partners to get away with having “easy” relationships, for fear of chasing them away. We must find ways to challenge these deeply ingrained gender roles around emotional labor, and loudly voice our expectations, desires, and needs from day one.

I don’t want an “easy” relationship, and I don’t want to live in a world where we are teaching men that an easy relationship is even an option.

We all deserve better than that, my sweet sisters.

If we all start demanding more, the men will eventually catch up.

<3

Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2ibHaJE

[joshuabradleyn]

{#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor.

I recently spent a few hours with a dear friend who was in town, and we got onto the topic of relationships.

My friend never ceases to astonish me with his wisdom and thoughtfulness, and I found myself understanding a big topic with absolute clarity for the first time.

At one point, I actually wanted to stop and take notes.

The topic was something I have both experienced personally, and in my coaching practice, about the growing pains in a relationship when you shift from assessing your partner simply as a human (amazing! sexy! perfect!) to assessing them as your future life partner (too messy! workaholic! their family is bad shit crazy!).

Here’s the gist of my friend’s message:

In the beginning of a relationship, it’s easy to be accommodating and accepting. While wearing your lust-and-optimism new-relationship goggles, you can see your partner’s behaviors in a very flattering and forgiving light. Sure, you might hear a little voice telling you that this particular behavior wouldn’t work for you in the long term, but you don’t say anything, because it’s not a big deal right now.

But then later on, when those new-relationship goggles come off, and you’re planning a future together, you might suddenly realize that there’s a ton of shit you wish was different, but your partner doesn’t know this. So you start telling them– hey this doesn’t work for me. Hey, that needs to change. Hey, I need you to do this differently.

Your partner is shocked, and offended. Things were good enough before, after all. What changed? The relationship has been fine and easy, and they don’t *want* to do all that work now.

Does any of this resonate for you?

It sure as fuck did for me.

I was struck too by the understanding that women need to learn how to assert their needs and desires right from the beginning of a relationship. While this could apply to any gender, and any type of relationship, this seems to me to be most salient among women who are in relationships with men.

In general, given the programming we learn as girls and women (to be happy, nice, polite, pretty, small, and giving) it makes sense that so many women enter new relationships with men with the goal of making themselves “easy to love.”

Typically this means not asking for much from our partners, accepting them however they show up, and just being grateful to be chosen.

In the early days, we typically try really hard to play it cool, and be laidback and casual, in order to not scare our partners off. We hide our emotional ups and downs, we hide how messy and needy we are, we hide what we really want, and we try to just be grateful that we “found a good one.”

Worse still, many women pride themselves on being “different than other girls,” meaning we demand even less from our partners, we express even fewer needs, we hide even more of our feelings… and we’re proud of it.

The problem is that “making things easy” on your partner in the beginning is a sure-fire way to end up unhappy.

Our male partners get used to relationships being suuuppper easy and undemanding, and after a while he may be perfectly content with how things are, while we have a list a mile long of our unmet needs.

Many men might try to convince you that the problem is you– that you’re too demanding, or too needy, or you’re overreacting, or you just “need to relax.”

Other men would be devastated, and unable to handle hearing all the ways they’re making you unhappy without feeling like you were attacking their personal character.

But this isn’t about you, and you don’t need to “relax.” It’s not even about him, or his personal failings.

Trust me, this is much bigger than that.

This is about the roles we are taught to play in heteronormative relationships, and who those roles benefit (hint: it’s not women).

Can you imagine if, overnight, every single woman agreed to be 100% honest and upfront about her expectations, desires, and demands in her relationship from now on?

At first, I suspect there would be a lot of breakups.

Most men would be like UMMMM THIS IS ANNOYING, I’VE NEVER HAD TO WORK THIS HARD AND I DON’T LIKE IT.

That’s because most women would demand more emotional labor, more emotional intelligence, more foreplay and sensual sex, and more of the other stuff we have all taught men they don’t need to do, in order to come off as easy and laidback and likeable.

“It’s true what they say about women: Women are insatiable. We are greedy. Our appetites do need to be controlled if things are to stay in place. If the world were ours too, if we believed we could get away with it, we would ask for more love, more sex, more money, more commitment to children, more food, more care. These sexual, emotional, and physical demands would begin to extend to social demands: payment for care of the elderly, parental leave, childcare, etc. The force of female desire would be so great that society would truly have to reckon with what women want, in bed and in the world.”

-Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

Here’s the thing though.

If every single woman agreed to be upfront about her desires and demands, then after all those early breakups occurred with the men going off in search of “easier” relationships, they would all eventually discover that there was no such thing.

Can you imagine if we all held men accountable for recognizing and dismantling their own privilege, for examining and healing their own traumas, gender role expectations, and personal narratives? If we held them accountable for recognizing and communicating what they were feeling, and for showing up to do exactly half of the emotional labor in every relationship?

Most relationships would look shockingly different, and this hypothetical change would likely feel terribly unfair to men at first.

After all, for thousands and thousands of years, we have taught them that it’s totally ok for them not to do any of that, that they get a free pass because it’s “not in their nature.” (False.)

We have taught them that we women will take responsibility for most (if not all) of the emotional labor so that he can have a good life with lots of connections. We’ll remind him to call his mother on her birthday, bring up problems in our relationships that he “didn’t know how to talk about,” and keeps lists and schedules in our heads about everything that needs to be done to run a household and maintain strong connections to our friends, family, and communities.

It’s no wonder marriage disproportionately benefits men.

We’ve taught men that they don’t need to work hard to learn these skills, they don’t need to really listen to us or take our needs (or feelings) seriously, and they don’t have to change or better themselves.

We’ve even taught men that we’ll agree with them about how difficult/crazy/emotional/needy we’re being… and apologize for it.

So what do we do?

Well for a start,

what if we stopped praising men for doing tiny fractions of the emotional labor in their relationships?

What if we stopped thanking men for tolerating or “handling” our emotions?

What if we stopped applauding every time a man is an active father, does chores at home, talks about his feelings, or sacrifices career success for his family, the way women have been doing for centuries?

What if we demanded that all this (and more) became a baseline of expectation, rather than a reason to celebrate?

This might sounds crazy (and you might be freaking out imagining being even more difficult or demanding in your relationship) but the point is that eventually there would be a shift.

With an “easy relationship” taken off the table, the only option for men would be to step up and learn how to navigate the “difficult” part of a relationship.

Perhaps you’re sitting there thinking “but men just aren’t good at that stuff!”

I hear this excuse a lot, that men and women are just born with different strengths. The same argument has, until very recently, been used to justify men cheating, raping, and sexually assaulting women.

This same line of thinking has also been used to oppress women by saying that we are the more naturally virtuous and chaste gender. (Again giving men a free pass to be sexual and misbehave, while leaving the work of getting everyone to be “good” to whom? Women.)

I don’t buy this.

Yes, men and women are different, but a lot of this stuff is the result of social conditioning, gender role expectations, and unexamined privilege. Rather than lacking some biological gift, all men are lacking is practice and motivation.

(Wow this email really turned into a rant.)

In summary:

We must not allow our male partners to get away with having “easy” relationships, for fear of chasing them away. We must find ways to challenge these deeply ingrained gender roles around emotional labor, and loudly voice our expectations, desires, and needs from day one.

I don’t want an “easy” relationship, and I don’t want to live in a world where we are teaching men that an easy relationship is even an option.

We all deserve better than that, my sweet sisters.

If we all start demanding more, the men will eventually catch up.

<3

Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2ibHaJE

[ruthellisneda]

{#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor.

I recently spent a few hours with a dear friend who was in town, and we got onto the topic of relationships.

My friend never ceases to astonish me with his wisdom and thoughtfulness, and I found myself understanding a big topic with absolute clarity for the first time.

At one point, I actually wanted to stop and take notes.

The topic was something I have both experienced personally, and in my coaching practice, about the growing pains in a relationship when you shift from assessing your partner simply as a human (amazing! sexy! perfect!) to assessing them as your future life partner (too messy! workaholic! their family is bad shit crazy!).

Here’s the gist of my friend’s message:

In the beginning of a relationship, it’s easy to be accommodating and accepting. While wearing your lust-and-optimism new-relationship goggles, you can see your partner’s behaviors in a very flattering and forgiving light. Sure, you might hear a little voice telling you that this particular behavior wouldn’t work for you in the long term, but you don’t say anything, because it’s not a big deal right now.

But then later on, when those new-relationship goggles come off, and you’re planning a future together, you might suddenly realize that there’s a ton of shit you wish was different, but your partner doesn’t know this. So you start telling them– hey this doesn’t work for me. Hey, that needs to change. Hey, I need you to do this differently.

Your partner is shocked, and offended. Things were good enough before, after all. What changed? The relationship has been fine and easy, and they don’t *want* to do all that work now.

Does any of this resonate for you?

It sure as fuck did for me.

I was struck too by the understanding that women need to learn how to assert their needs and desires right from the beginning of a relationship. While this could apply to any gender, and any type of relationship, this seems to me to be most salient among women who are in relationships with men.

In general, given the programming we learn as girls and women (to be happy, nice, polite, pretty, small, and giving) it makes sense that so many women enter new relationships with men with the goal of making themselves “easy to love.”

Typically this means not asking for much from our partners, accepting them however they show up, and just being grateful to be chosen.

In the early days, we typically try really hard to play it cool, and be laidback and casual, in order to not scare our partners off. We hide our emotional ups and downs, we hide how messy and needy we are, we hide what we really want, and we try to just be grateful that we “found a good one.”

Worse still, many women pride themselves on being “different than other girls,” meaning we demand even less from our partners, we express even fewer needs, we hide even more of our feelings… and we’re proud of it.

The problem is that “making things easy” on your partner in the beginning is a sure-fire way to end up unhappy.

Our male partners get used to relationships being suuuppper easy and undemanding, and after a while he may be perfectly content with how things are, while we have a list a mile long of our unmet needs.

Many men might try to convince you that the problem is you– that you’re too demanding, or too needy, or you’re overreacting, or you just “need to relax.”

Other men would be devastated, and unable to handle hearing all the ways they’re making you unhappy without feeling like you were attacking their personal character.

But this isn’t about you, and you don’t need to “relax.” It’s not even about him, or his personal failings.

Trust me, this is much bigger than that.

This is about the roles we are taught to play in heteronormative relationships, and who those roles benefit (hint: it’s not women).

Can you imagine if, overnight, every single woman agreed to be 100% honest and upfront about her expectations, desires, and demands in her relationship from now on?

At first, I suspect there would be a lot of breakups.

Most men would be like UMMMM THIS IS ANNOYING, I’VE NEVER HAD TO WORK THIS HARD AND I DON’T LIKE IT.

That’s because most women would demand more emotional labor, more emotional intelligence, more foreplay and sensual sex, and more of the other stuff we have all taught men they don’t need to do, in order to come off as easy and laidback and likeable.

“It’s true what they say about women: Women are insatiable. We are greedy. Our appetites do need to be controlled if things are to stay in place. If the world were ours too, if we believed we could get away with it, we would ask for more love, more sex, more money, more commitment to children, more food, more care. These sexual, emotional, and physical demands would begin to extend to social demands: payment for care of the elderly, parental leave, childcare, etc. The force of female desire would be so great that society would truly have to reckon with what women want, in bed and in the world.”

-Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

Here’s the thing though.

If every single woman agreed to be upfront about her desires and demands, then after all those early breakups occurred with the men going off in search of “easier” relationships, they would all eventually discover that there was no such thing.

Can you imagine if we all held men accountable for recognizing and dismantling their own privilege, for examining and healing their own traumas, gender role expectations, and personal narratives? If we held them accountable for recognizing and communicating what they were feeling, and for showing up to do exactly half of the emotional labor in every relationship?

Most relationships would look shockingly different, and this hypothetical change would likely feel terribly unfair to men at first.

After all, for thousands and thousands of years, we have taught them that it’s totally ok for them not to do any of that, that they get a free pass because it’s “not in their nature.” (False.)

We have taught them that we women will take responsibility for most (if not all) of the emotional labor so that he can have a good life with lots of connections. We’ll remind him to call his mother on her birthday, bring up problems in our relationships that he “didn’t know how to talk about,” and keeps lists and schedules in our heads about everything that needs to be done to run a household and maintain strong connections to our friends, family, and communities.

It’s no wonder marriage disproportionately benefits men.

We’ve taught men that they don’t need to work hard to learn these skills, they don’t need to really listen to us or take our needs (or feelings) seriously, and they don’t have to change or better themselves.

We’ve even taught men that we’ll agree with them about how difficult/crazy/emotional/needy we’re being… and apologize for it.

So what do we do?

Well for a start,

what if we stopped praising men for doing tiny fractions of the emotional labor in their relationships?

What if we stopped thanking men for tolerating or “handling” our emotions?

What if we stopped applauding every time a man is an active father, does chores at home, talks about his feelings, or sacrifices career success for his family, the way women have been doing for centuries?

What if we demanded that all this (and more) became a baseline of expectation, rather than a reason to celebrate?

This might sounds crazy (and you might be freaking out imagining being even more difficult or demanding in your relationship) but the point is that eventually there would be a shift.

With an “easy relationship” taken off the table, the only option for men would be to step up and learn how to navigate the “difficult” part of a relationship.

Perhaps you’re sitting there thinking “but men just aren’t good at that stuff!”

I hear this excuse a lot, that men and women are just born with different strengths. The same argument has, until very recently, been used to justify men cheating, raping, and sexually assaulting women.

This same line of thinking has also been used to oppress women by saying that we are the more naturally virtuous and chaste gender. (Again giving men a free pass to be sexual and misbehave, while leaving the work of getting everyone to be “good” to whom? Women.)

I don’t buy this.

Yes, men and women are different, but a lot of this stuff is the result of social conditioning, gender role expectations, and unexamined privilege. Rather than lacking some biological gift, all men are lacking is practice and motivation.

(Wow this email really turned into a rant.)

In summary:

We must not allow our male partners to get away with having “easy” relationships, for fear of chasing them away. We must find ways to challenge these deeply ingrained gender roles around emotional labor, and loudly voice our expectations, desires, and needs from day one.

I don’t want an “easy” relationship, and I don’t want to live in a world where we are teaching men that an easy relationship is even an option.

We all deserve better than that, my sweet sisters.

If we all start demanding more, the men will eventually catch up.

<3

Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

http://ift.tt/2ibHaJE

[almajonesnjna]

{#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor.

I recently spent a few hours with a dear friend who was in town, and we got onto the topic of relationships.

My friend never ceases to astonish me with his wisdom and thoughtfulness, and I found myself understanding a big topic with absolute clarity for the first time.

At one point, I actually wanted to stop and take notes.

The topic was something I have both experienced personally, and in my coaching practice, about the growing pains in a relationship when you shift from assessing your partner simply as a human (amazing! sexy! perfect!) to assessing them as your future life partner (too messy! workaholic! their family is bad shit crazy!).

Here’s the gist of my friend’s message:

In the beginning of a relationship, it’s easy to be accommodating and accepting. While wearing your lust-and-optimism new-relationship goggles, you can see your partner’s behaviors in a very flattering and forgiving light. Sure, you might hear a little voice telling you that this particular behavior wouldn’t work for you in the long term, but you don’t say anything, because it’s not a big deal right now.

But then later on, when those new-relationship goggles come off, and you’re planning a future together, you might suddenly realize that there’s a ton of shit you wish was different, but your partner doesn’t know this. So you start telling them– hey this doesn’t work for me. Hey, that needs to change. Hey, I need you to do this differently.

Your partner is shocked, and offended. Things were good enough before, after all. What changed? The relationship has been fine and easy, and they don’t *want* to do all that work now.

Does any of this resonate for you?

It sure as fuck did for me.

I was struck too by the understanding that women need to learn how to assert their needs and desires right from the beginning of a relationship. While this could apply to any gender, and any type of relationship, this seems to me to be most salient among women who are in relationships with men.

In general, given the programming we learn as girls and women (to be happy, nice, polite, pretty, small, and giving) it makes sense that so many women enter new relationships with men with the goal of making themselves “easy to love.”

Typically this means not asking for much from our partners, accepting them however they show up, and just being grateful to be chosen.

In the early days, we typically try really hard to play it cool, and be laidback and casual, in order to not scare our partners off. We hide our emotional ups and downs, we hide how messy and needy we are, we hide what we really want, and we try to just be grateful that we “found a good one.”

Worse still, many women pride themselves on being “different than other girls,” meaning we demand even less from our partners, we express even fewer needs, we hide even more of our feelings… and we’re proud of it.

The problem is that “making things easy” on your partner in the beginning is a sure-fire way to end up unhappy.

Our male partners get used to relationships being suuuppper easy and undemanding, and after a while he may be perfectly content with how things are, while we have a list a mile long of our unmet needs.

Many men might try to convince you that the problem is you– that you’re too demanding, or too needy, or you’re overreacting, or you just “need to relax.”

Other men would be devastated, and unable to handle hearing all the ways they’re making you unhappy without feeling like you were attacking their personal character.

But this isn’t about you, and you don’t need to “relax.” It’s not even about him, or his personal failings.

Trust me, this is much bigger than that.

This is about the roles we are taught to play in heteronormative relationships, and who those roles benefit (hint: it’s not women).

Can you imagine if, overnight, every single woman agreed to be 100% honest and upfront about her expectations, desires, and demands in her relationship from now on?

At first, I suspect there would be a lot of breakups.

Most men would be like UMMMM THIS IS ANNOYING, I’VE NEVER HAD TO WORK THIS HARD AND I DON’T LIKE IT.

That’s because most women would demand more emotional labor, more emotional intelligence, more foreplay and sensual sex, and more of the other stuff we have all taught men they don’t need to do, in order to come off as easy and laidback and likeable.

“It’s true what they say about women: Women are insatiable. We are greedy. Our appetites do need to be controlled if things are to stay in place. If the world were ours too, if we believed we could get away with it, we would ask for more love, more sex, more money, more commitment to children, more food, more care. These sexual, emotional, and physical demands would begin to extend to social demands: payment for care of the elderly, parental leave, childcare, etc. The force of female desire would be so great that society would truly have to reckon with what women want, in bed and in the world.”

-Naomi Wolf, The Beauty Myth

Here’s the thing though.

If every single woman agreed to be upfront about her desires and demands, then after all those early breakups occurred with the men going off in search of “easier” relationships, they would all eventually discover that there was no such thing.

Can you imagine if we all held men accountable for recognizing and dismantling their own privilege, for examining and healing their own traumas, gender role expectations, and personal narratives? If we held them accountable for recognizing and communicating what they were feeling, and for showing up to do exactly half of the emotional labor in every relationship?

Most relationships would look shockingly different, and this hypothetical change would likely feel terribly unfair to men at first.

After all, for thousands and thousands of years, we have taught them that it’s totally ok for them not to do any of that, that they get a free pass because it’s “not in their nature.” (False.)

We have taught them that we women will take responsibility for most (if not all) of the emotional labor so that he can have a good life with lots of connections. We’ll remind him to call his mother on her birthday, bring up problems in our relationships that he “didn’t know how to talk about,” and keeps lists and schedules in our heads about everything that needs to be done to run a household and maintain strong connections to our friends, family, and communities.

It’s no wonder marriage disproportionately benefits men.

We’ve taught men that they don’t need to work hard to learn these skills, they don’t need to really listen to us or take our needs (or feelings) seriously, and they don’t have to change or better themselves.

We’ve even taught men that we’ll agree with them about how difficult/crazy/emotional/needy we’re being… and apologize for it.

So what do we do?

Well for a start,

what if we stopped praising men for doing tiny fractions of the emotional labor in their relationships?

What if we stopped thanking men for tolerating or “handling” our emotions?

What if we stopped applauding every time a man is an active father, does chores at home, talks about his feelings, or sacrifices career success for his family, the way women have been doing for centuries?

What if we demanded that all this (and more) became a baseline of expectation, rather than a reason to celebrate?

This might sounds crazy (and you might be freaking out imagining being even more difficult or demanding in your relationship) but the point is that eventually there would be a shift.

With an “easy relationship” taken off the table, the only option for men would be to step up and learn how to navigate the “difficult” part of a relationship.

Perhaps you’re sitting there thinking “but men just aren’t good at that stuff!”

I hear this excuse a lot, that men and women are just born with different strengths. The same argument has, until very recently, been used to justify men cheating, raping, and sexually assaulting women.

This same line of thinking has also been used to oppress women by saying that we are the more naturally virtuous and chaste gender. (Again giving men a free pass to be sexual and misbehave, while leaving the work of getting everyone to be “good” to whom? Women.)

I don’t buy this.

Yes, men and women are different, but a lot of this stuff is the result of social conditioning, gender role expectations, and unexamined privilege. Rather than lacking some biological gift, all men are lacking is practice and motivation.

(Wow this email really turned into a rant.)

In summary:

We must not allow our male partners to get away with having “easy” relationships, for fear of chasing them away. We must find ways to challenge these deeply ingrained gender roles around emotional labor, and loudly voice our expectations, desires, and needs from day one.

I don’t want an “easy” relationship, and I don’t want to live in a world where we are teaching men that an easy relationship is even an option.

We all deserve better than that, my sweet sisters.

If we all start demanding more, the men will eventually catch up.

<3

Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} Emotional labor. appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

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