#the way joan spent the night anyway

[all-thestories-aretrue]

S3ep8 of elementary. Oof. Sherlock discussing the drudgery of remaining sober. The leaky faucet analogy, saying all it does in return is not drip. Describing relapsing as anticlimatic. Reassuring Joan he's not going to use drugs. Just the way he talks about it!! The writing!!!

[itgetsdark-x]

I Wanna See You Beggin’

Summary: Joel Miller is your dad’s best friend, you knew it was wrong, you knew it would only cause trouble but you couldn’t help the way you ached for the man. (Title is from I Hate Myself for Loving You — Joan Jett & The Blackhearts) 6.9k words. I’m sorry.

Characters: dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only, no minors as it’s just a big ol’ load of smut… praise kink (use of ‘good girl’ a lot), p in v sex, unprotected (be sensible and wrap before u tap, pls), age gap (reader is mid twenties, Joel would be in his late 40s), use of the word ‘daddy’, oral (f receiving), no outbreak in this au.

A/N: hi guys, I haven’t written smut for years and Joel Miller has me frothing at the mouth and giggling like a little girl with a crush especially dbf!joel… Anyway, if this is enjoyed by people, I have an idea of how I could make this into a series. Please leave me nice comments or catch me crying in a corner somewhere lol

“Dad,” you huffed into the receiver as you held your phone to your ear with your shoulder. “I love you and all but I could think of better ways to spend my Friday night rather than listening to you and Joel argue over which 80’s band is the best.” You chuckled fondly as you carried on typing away at the laptop in front of you whilst you spoke into your phone. 

“Sweetheart, I love spending time with you and Joel, you love him as well! I’ll pay for dinner?” He spoke softly and you smiled as your could hear your dad’s smile down the phone. 

“Fine, what time do you want me round, old man?” You teased fondly. “I finish work at 5 today.”

“6:30pm work okay for you? Don’t forget to bring some beer.” Your dad asked with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes before responding to him, “Fine, I’ll bring the beers but as soon as you and the other old man start arguing, I’m out!” You laughed. 

“Deal,” your dad agreed. “I’ll see you later my sweet pea, love you!” He hummed and hung up before you could respond. 

“Old men and technology.” You muttered to yourself before taking your phone and opening your messaging app. 

You quickly tapped on the screen and chewed on your lip as you did so. 

‘You need a lift to dad’s later? x’ you hit send and placed your phone down on your desk, returning your attention back to your work laptop. You were in the midst of replying to an email when your phone buzzed on your desk beside you. 

‘Sure thing, peach. See you around 6? :) Xx’

You couldn’t help the way your lips upturned into a smile, and as soon as you caught the reaction you chewed on your bottom lip. You hated the way the older male had such a visceral effect on you, you had known Joel Miller for around ten years now. You moved to the city and your father worked with him, the two of them soon became best buddies which in turn, meant he spent a lot of time around you and your house. When you first met Joel you were a mere sixteen-year old kid, from day one you felt an instant attraction to him, you knew it was wrong but you couldn’t deny it. In the beginning it felt like a harmless, childish crush, one that you were bound to grow out of but things only seemed to get worse the older you got, that attraction burned deep in your veins and any time you spent time with the older man you couldn’t help the way your cheeks burned and your pussy throbbed; there had been many nights where you had dropped him home after visiting your dad and rushed home just so you could relieve your tension. Your fingers buried deep in yourself, moaning Joel’s name as you came around them. 

You felt shameful, dirty and down-right embarrassed about those moments but it didn’t stop you from doing it again, and again.. and again. You knew Joel would never cross that line, never, he was too much of a gentleman and had way too much respect for your old man but that didn’t stop the feelings you had for him.

Your mind was reeling, so much so you barely noticed the way your thighs pressed themselves together searching for some relief to your aching core, you stood from your desk in your room and stretched before you looked at the time on your desktop, it read 4pm. You sighed and went to your kitchen to grab a snack and make yourself a strong coffee, you had an hour left of work before you had to shower and get ready before picking Joel up. 

The last hour of your work felt excruciatingly slow, your mind was busy with thoughts of your evening ahead of you; it was no different to your usual Friday get-together with your dad and his friend but today you couldn’t erase the filthy thoughts of Joel from your mind. You quickly showered, hoping the hot water would wash your mind and body clean, you ignored the burning to urge to relieve some tension and give your body the orgasm and relief it so badly needed. 

After showering you, you applied a light layer of make-up, like usual before pulling your hair up in a half-up and half-down style. You looked into your wardrobe and reached for a plain black tank top, orange plaid over shirt and black tennis skirt; you paired the outfit with your favourite pair of black converse. You put your accessories on; earrings, rings and gave your body a spritz of your favourite perfume. After grabbing the 12-pack of beer from the fridge, you quickly grabbed your phone and keys off the counter and left your apartment to go and pick up Joel. 

You were running a tad late but that wasn’t out of the ordinary, and Joel was always expecting it. You pulled up outside his home, gave a beep of your horn and took a shaky breath in as you saw him lock up and approach your car. Your hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he climbed into your car and suddenly your senses were attacked with the older male. The small space filled with his heady scent, his aftershave musky, spicy and just Joel. He was wearing dark grey jeans, not too tight but tight enough to appreciate his thick thighs and your eyes couldn’t help but notice his bulge as he walked. Joel was wearing a dark khaki over shirt and a black T-shirt under that went perfectly with his jeans, and of course, he was wearing his trusty dealer boots. 

“Hey peach,” he spoke and leant over to press a kiss to the side of your head. It was something he had done for years, only now, you craved to feel his lips elsewhere. 

“Hey old man.” You grinned and started your car once more. 

The journey to your father’s house was short, only about twenty minutes; it was annoying that he didn’t live in the same neighbourhood as it always meant you or, on occasion, Joel had to drive. It was a comfortable journey as the two of you spoke about your respective day’s and week’s. 

“So you’re not hanging out with that guy again tonight, oh, what was his name!?” Joel questioned, searching his brain for the name. “Derek? No, no, he definitely seemed like a George!” He laughed, his hands resting comfortably on his thigh, you couldn’t help the way your eyes glanced down at his large digits. 

“His name was Ben, and you know that, Joel. You’re just being a dick.” You shook your head quickly with a laugh. “And nope, dad had other ideas for me… clearly babysitting duties. I would much prefer to be out with Ben but here we are…” You said softly with a roll of your eyes, it was a lie, of course. You would happily spend every waking moment with Joel, if he let you, exploring his body, sharing your thoughts with one another. 

His hand tensed on his thigh, it was brief and barely noticeable but you did notice it; that was… weird? You shook off the feeling and parked up outside your dad’s apartment block. 

“Anyway, I love babysitting you old men. It’s cute. Great practice for when I actually want kids.” You laughed, turning off the ignition and climbing out of your car. “And, I’ve warned dad, slightest hint of bickering between you two and I am out. Gone. Done. You can walk home.” As you spoke, you bent over to reach into the back seat of your car to grab the beers, one leg slightly lifted as your body struggled slightly to pull them closer; you hadn’t given the motion much thought, especially in your outfit.

Joel moved until he was stood behind you, he cleared his throat and looked away sheepishly after catching a glimpse of your black, lace panties. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh hon, you might want me to grab those? Gonna give someone a heart attack if they see you like that.” His voice was soft as he spoke, still not making eye contact with you. 

“Shit. Sorry, Joel.” You cursed, your cheeks flushed red as you watched the dark haired man grab the beers and you smoothed out your skirt.

The rest of the evening played out like usual; your dad and Joel had a few beers each, you allowed yourself to have one as you were driving and you all ate way too much Chinese take-out. It was getting late, you were laid out on your dad’s couch, your legs swung over your dad’s lap, Joel was sat in the lazy-boy across the room, his legs sprawled wide. This was always part of the routine, you would all catch up on your week’s complain about work, talk about sport’s games that had happened or were about to occur, it was familiar and safe. 

“So get this, bud,” Joel spoke, his voice breaking the noise of whatever Depeche Mode record they had put on the player. “Y/N over here was saying she would have preferred to have hung out with that douche, Ben, we met last month. Can you believe that?” He looked over at you, smirking as he took a swig of his beer. 

“Dick,” you mouthed over to him and let your head hang back onto the arm of the sofa. 

Your dad opened his eyes and looked over at you. “Is that right, sweet pea? You don’t wanna hang out with your favourite ‘old men’?! I’m truly offended.” He laughed, closing his eyes again, feigning hurt. 

“Joel is just bitter I have a better love life and sex life than him.” You shot back, immaturely sticking your tongue out at the other male. 

“Gross! Dad in the room!” Your dad grimaced, watching his hands in front of his face. “You’re my little girl, I don’t wanna hear about you having sex.”

“Hey — that’s not even true, I have sex… plenty of it…” Joel huffed, trying to sound convincing as he lied through his teeth. In truth, Joel never really had an interest in the women he had met, sure he took a few women home from bar to sleep with them but after he lost his wife and child, Sarah, he never really had it in him to give dating a proper go. 

“Sureeee you do,” you giggled, causing your dad to let out a loud laugh.

You all laid about a bit longer, listening to music and joking around before you sat up and stretched your back out, causing your tank top to rise, showing a small sliver of soft skin to show. There it was again, Joel’s hand tensed in place and it was almost as if his jaw clenched down. You were sure you were imagining these things, like usual so you pushed yourself off the sofa and smoothed your clothes out. 

“Right, pop’s I better get old man Miller home before I pass out here. I’m shattered.” You yawned, reinforcing your previous sentence. 

After saying your goodbyes you walked back to your parked car, the cool chill of the late-night air made your skin prick up with goosebumps and sent a small shiver down your spine. 

Joel and you walked in silence, the silence remained as you started your car and cranked the heating up.

“Dick move, bringing up Ben to my dad by the way, Miller. Real dick move.” You spoke, your voice seeming loud in the confined and silent space, just the low thrum of your car’s air vents trying to clear the windows and fill the air with warmth.

“Ha, sorry, Peach. Couldn’t resist it. Was right there for me to tease you with.” He laughed lowly, bringing his hands up to blow some warmth into them. There it was again, that nickname, every time it rolled off his tongue it sent warmth straight to your core. 

“My dad doesn’t need to know what I would rather be doing on a Friday night, or rather who I would rather be doing.” You huffed.

“I wouldn’t go around proclaiming that sorta thing, especially round your pops. I’m sure he wouldn’t wanna hear how corrupt his good girl truly is.” Joel hummed, his finger tapping on his thigh as you began driving. 

‘Good girl’, it rolled off his tongue so effortlessly yet it sent sparks straight to your core, as you drove you shift in your seat and pressed your thighs together. 

“I — I uh, I’m an adult, Joel. I’m a fully grown woman, incase you haven’t noticed. I have needs and wants.” You argued, trying to remain confident in your words. 

“Needs… and wants, huh?” He laughed, raising an eyebrow at you. “Is that why I see you practically drooling every time you see me? Now would you say that’s a need or a want?” Joel asked, his voice low and sultry.

Your mouth dried up instantly, voice getting stuck in your throat as you tried to protest. “I — I do not.” You protested, your voice coming out as a mere squeak.

“Oh peach, I see the way you press your thighs together. So needy for me? Hmm.” He hummed, his hand reaching over to touch your bare thigh. “I’ve seen the way you shift in your seat when I spread my legs in the arm chair or when you catch a short glimpse of my bulge. I’ve seen it all, no need to hide it.” His fingers were barely touching you, ghost-like touches on your skin. It was a risky move, he knew that and he knew you could quite easily pull the car over, kick him out and tell your dad what he had done. It could ruin his only true, pure friendship if your dad found out. But Joel was also sure he had calculated this properly, he had seen you for the past couple years and your minuscule reactions only seemed to ramp up the older you had been getting. 

Your breath hitched harshly in your throat as you tried to concentrate on the road ahead of you but your mind was swimming with Joel once again, his fingers lightly traced patterns on your inner thigh and all you could do was whimper pathetically under his touch. 

“J-joel,” you whined. “Please don’t tease me, I’ll crash the fuckin’ car if you play like that.”

“Oh little girl, I’ve barely placed a hand on you and you’re already whimpering for me? Quite cute really.” He said, his voice seeming deeper than usual; he splayed his hand across the skin of your inner thigh and gripped it tightly. 

You forced your eyes open as you continued to drive, you weren’t sure if you were doing the speed limits or what, all you could think about was the large hand that was so close, yet not nearly close enough to where you needed it the most. You could feel how wet you were already, you had been a mess all evening but now you could physically feel your arousal collecting in your lace panties. 

“You reckon your ol’ man knows how needy you are for me? Your dad’s best friend. Oh peach, what a mess.” He continued, he had moved closer to you now, reaching over the centre console of your car, his breath fanning out over your neck. 

“J-Joel, I’m serious. I’ll crash if you carry on like that. Not funny.” You whined, trying to press your legs together again but feeling resistance in the form of Joel’s hand. 

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Joel tutted. “What are you trying to do there, darlin’?” He laughed, letting his pinky drift closer to your clothed cunt just barely brushing the fabric. 

You whined again, just a small noise from the back of your throat and pulled the car over, from what you could tell you were a few streets away from Joel’s house; the suburban area was dimly lit with few lights and no people walking around, especially not this late anyway. You pushed your car into park, turned off the lights and engine and looked at the older male for a moment, your lips wet and cheeks flushed. 

“Joel…” you started. “Y-you don’t have to do this, I know I’m not your type and I’m sure you’re just trying to play a bit of a joke on me. We should get you home and forget about all of this…” Your breath was shaky, you hoped to every god out there that Joel would continue but you wanted him to know he didn’t have to humour your silly feelings. 

“You don’t think I want this?” Joel asked, his face close to yours, hand still pressed teasingly to your thigh. “I’ve noticed recently, the way you react to me and tonight, w-when you were bent over. Took everything in me to not pull those little panties aside and bury myself deep in that little cunt right there in the middle of the street.” His voice sounded near animalistic as he finished that sentence and your cheeks burned a deep, cherry red as he finished speaking. 

“I didn’t mean to do that, didn’t really think.” You mumbled, looking past him to stare out the window. 

“Shh,” Joel hummed, he leant forward and placed a kiss to your lips with his hand still stroking soft patterns into your inner thigh. 

You sighed contentedly into the kiss, finally experiencing what you had craved for years, your hand snaked up to hold Joel’s face as you deepened the kiss; hungry to taste more of the man. Joel tasted like smoke faintly, salty from the foods you had eaten and there was the distinct taste of hops from the beer he had drank. Your fingers intertwined into his greying hair and you gave it a testing tug; Joel groaned and allowed his tongue to swipe across your bottom lip. Eagerly, you opened your mouth and urged the kiss to be deepened, taking as much of him in as you could in that moment. 

Joel saw this as his opportunity to advance his hand, he slipped his fingers under the hem of your skirt and let them stroke across the damp fabric of your panties. You whimpered into the kiss, your hips bucked forward searching for further contact. He couldn’t help but smile at how undone you were already. Joel teased his fingers across the waistband of the lace fabric of your panties, teasingly slow, just as you were about to pull away from the kiss and protest he allowed two fingers to slip into your wet folds and agonisingly slowly circle your swollen clit. 

“Fuck,” he growled lowly. “So fuckin’ wet for me already, darlin’?”

You nodded, gripping at Joel’s forearm as he started to rhythmically circle and play with your clit. He was right, you were near sopping as he slipped through your folds. 

“Wanted this for s-so long,” you whimpered. You couldn’t quite believe this was real, you were almost convinced you would wake up any moment, sprawled out on your bed with your fingers deep inside of yourself and not actually in your car, with Joel Miller’s fingers close to making you cum already. 

“Yeah?” Joel asked, his fingers speeding up. “Wanted to feel my fingers on your wet pussy, making you feel good? Huh? How does it feel to have my fingers finally in you?” Joel spoke, his voice a low huff as his fingers worked quickly. 

“So. Good.” You moaned, the noise low and breathy. “Feels so good. I’m going to cum. Please.”  

Joel groaned, he still couldn’t believe this was happening to him. Since you started maturing over the past couple of years he had thought so many times about how much he would love to corrupt you; to have his fingers, mouth and cock making you fall apart at the seams. Just anything to make you feel good. 

“That’s it, atta girl. Cum for me, good girl.” Joel whispered, his lips ghosting over your ear as he sunk a digit into you abruptly and let his palm bump up against your clit.

That was it, the white hot, searing heat in your stomach erupted and your eyes screwed themself shut so tight you saw white patterns dancing behind your eyelids. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip so hard the familiar metallic tang flooded your mouth, anything to stop you from alerting the neighbourhood with your screams. If that You that wasn’t just the best orgasm of your life, you would have been slightly embarrassed at quickly he had made you cum. 

Joel barely moved his finger in you, just circled it slightly but his palm nudged your clit as he worked your through your orgasm and it made you whimper loudly, your body flinching with over sensitivity. He took the hint and removed his hand from your wrecked panties and brought it up to his mouth, sucking his digits to clean them from your juices. 

“Taste so sweet, just like a peach.” He groaned, his fingers popping from his mouth, the noise startling you from your orgasmic comedown. There it was again, your nickname but now it just sounded sinful and you knew going forward, you wouldn’t be able to hear it without getting wet and embarrassed. 

When you finally regained some composure, you looked at Joel; your lips were swollen and red and your cheeks had a light flush settled on them. He smiled, thinking you were truly the most perfect sight he had ever seen. Your hand reached over to his lap, you had a hunger and needed to curb the insatiable need for his cock. Your small hand palmed him through his jeans, he was rock hard and fuck, he was big. You swallowed, almost nervously at the thought of his large cock stretching your tight hole out. Of course you had slept with people, you weren’t a virgin but your previous boyfriend was nowhere near that big and he definitely couldn’t make you come that hard, even on his best days. You gently squeezed at his length, stroking him through the rough fabric. 

“Not here, darlin’. How about we go back to mine so I can properly appreciate you?” He asked, and just as you opened your mouth to protest saying you wanted him right there and now he spoke once more. “I’ll drive, dunno if you can drive properly after that, little girl. I saw how hard you came on my fingers, now imagine how hard you could cum on my cock.”

Your whole body shuddered involuntarily, never in all your years of knowing Joel had you heard such filthy things from his mouth; he had always been the perfect Southern gentleman. You were soon pulled out of your thoughts by Joel opening your car door. 

“Shuffle over.” He commanded. 

You nodded dumbly and did as you were told. Joel swiftly started the car and continued the drive back to his, it barely took ten minutes but every minute felt like torture; your mouth watered at the thought of Joel filling your holes, using you how he pleased, your core ached with the need to be full of Joel again. 

Once the car was parked, Joel hopped out and was once again opening your door for you, you exited the car and grimaced at the cool air hitting your skin. You felt Joel’s hand on the small of your back, guiding you into his home, a place you had been hundred’s of times before but this time you felt nervous. 

He opened his front door for you and you walked in, just as you were about to turn and speak to the male he was holding your hips in his large hands and pressing your smaller frame against the wall. His lips were on yours and starting a bruising kiss, once again your hands found their way into his hair and you moaned softly. You wanted to be stuck like this forever, with his soft lips on yours and his rough facial hair scratching your skin slightly reminding you exactly who was kissing you. 

“Please don’t tease, I just want you so badly Joel. I have for years, b-been thinking about your cock filling me up for years.” You whined, sounding like a petulant child. 

“And I’ll be fillin’ you up real soon, sweet girl. But how about I make you feel good again, yeah? You think you can be good for me and cum again, I wanna truly taste how sweet you are, sugar.” He growled, his lips trailing rough kisses down your neck. God how he wished he could mark you up, head to toe, just so people would know you were all his.

Your knees buckled, and your body fell against Joel’s slightly, causing him to laugh breathily; no woman had ever reacted like that to him before, let alone just his words but then again, no woman was like you. He took you by the hand and led you up to his room, you couldn’t help but take in your surroundings, you had been in Joel’s room a couple times before but you had never noticed just how much it smelt like him. 

“How about we get you nice and comfortable, let’s get those clothes off you. Can’t wait to see your body.” He started by pushing your plaid shirt off your shoulders, throwing it over to the side; the heavy fabric landed with a dull thud onto his wooden floor and with that he swiftly removed your tank top. Somewhere along the way you had both kicked your shoes off but your brain was too murky to fully register it. 

Joel’s rough hands slid up your sides, he was drinking in every inch of your curves and soft skin; in the wake of his hands your skin was freckled with goosebumps. 

“So beautiful,” he breathed, a dim light casting beautiful shadows over his face. You felt embarrassed as his eyes fully drank in your form. “May I?” He asked, voice soft and smooth like honey, his hands were at the clasp of your bra and you simply nodded. It seemed like a trivial thing to ask permission for considering less than thirty minutes ago you were cumming around his fingers. 

He removed your bra, your perky breasts bounced ever so as the supportive fabric was gone. Your nipples hardened as the cool air hit them, pulling the sensitive skin tight. Joel could have devoured you whole, right there and then. His large, calloused hands came up to hold your breasts, his thumbs swiping over your nipples almost in a testing fashion. He did it again when it elicited a moan from your throat, he pinched the sensitive buds and your back arched towards him. 

“Joel, I can’t take it. Please.” You whined, his touches were entirely too much yet not enough all at once. It was your own form of perfect torture. 

The older male was loving this, watching your eager reactions as he toyed with your body, his cock was hard and leaking in his jeans and he couldn’t wait to be inside of you. 

“Be patient, darlin’. We have all night.” He smirked, slowly sinking to his knees in front of you. 

His rough hands begrudgingly left the peaks of your breasts and worked their way down to the zip of your tennis skirt, he unzipped the fabric causing it to fall to the floor. You took the cue and kicked it to side, out of the way. Joel’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties once more and slid them down your legs, you rested onto his shoulder and stepped out of them, just before you could kick them to the side, he was bunching them up and shoving them into his back pocket. 

This man — he would be the death of you, you just knew it. 

You were about to make a comment and protest but Joel was stood once again and gently pushing you back onto the bed behind you; you fell onto the plush mattress with ease, your thighs falling open without being asked to do so. You felt exposed, vulnerable but above all else, you felt needy. 

“Good girl, without even being told to lie like that. Such a beautiful girl.” He remarked, pulling his shirt over his head and slipping his jeans from his thick thighs. 

You rested up on your elbows to peer at Joel as he undressed and your throat tightened, all the air in the room seeming to have evaporated immediately. He was beautiful, all harsh lines to the outside world but in the glow of his bedroom now, he looked soft and warm. You were in deep, and you knew it meant deep trouble. 

He palmed himself through his boxers just to stave off some of the throbbing and your eyes followed eagerly, the thick outline of his cock making your walls clench around nothing. Wordlessly Joel knelt at the end of the bed, latched his hands onto your thighs and pulled you closer so you could feel his hot breath fanning over your sopping folds. Your hips bucked into thin air, nothing there to help you and he laughed, it was quiet and breathy but he definitely laughed — fucker.

Joel trailed two fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal on them once again and without warning he plunged them into you roughly. You gasped, your back arched off the bed and your fists balled into the sheets either side of yourself. His fingers were so thick, so much thicker than any man you had been with before; you weren’t sure whether that was down to the age difference or just Joel’s build. He slowly pumped his fingers in and out rhythmically, building speed and curling them so they brushed that perfect, sensitive spot inside of you. 

Your mouth was agape as you laid there, completely at his will, writhing under his relentless touch. Moan after moan, after moan spilled from your parted lips and just as you felt the tension tighten in your stomach Joel lapped his tongue of your clit. Your back arched and the filthiest moan escaped your mouth, you weren’t even sure how that noise had come from you but it had and it had Joel smirking as his tongue swiped through your folds again just to circle around your clit once more. 

Your hand laced its way into Joel’s hair, your fingers gripping the strands with a deathly vice and he groaned into your pussy causing vibrations to ripple through you. You weren’t sure how you were still holding on but your stomach was twisting, tightening and bubbling as your orgasm approached once again. 

“Mmm, good girl.” He praised as your walls clenched around his fingers as he continued to pump them into your wet heat. The room was filled with obscenely filthy noises; your moans echoed throughout the empty space as Joel slurped up your juices. 

“Joel —“ you sobbed, your back arching impossibly high off the mattress below you. “C-can I cum? Please. Need it.” You asked pathetically.

Why were you asking permission?

Never before had you felt so submissive for a partner in bed, never once had you asked permission to cum, no, normally you would be chasing your high, just trying to grasp at a fraction of how good Joel was making you feel. 

“That’s it baby, such a good girl for asking permission. Wanna make you feel as good as I can, peach.” He groaned in between pleasuring you. “Cum all over my face, wanna taste as much as I can.”

That was it, the coil in your stomach snapped abruptly and you were gushing onto Joel’s fingers, a pleasured scream tumbling from your lips. Never, not once had you squirted before, yet here you were, soaking the sheets beneath you and in turn, Joel’s beard and your own thighs. You would have felt ashamed if you didn’t feel such pure euphoria in the moment. Your back was twisted and contorted off the sheets as Joel worked you through it, making you squirt further.

He could have cum in his boxers, like a teenager as the first drops of your orgasm hit his face. He lapped up as much of you as he could, like a man who had been starved for years. And he had, he had been starved from allowing himself to have this moment with you and now he had you, he wanted to savour and devour you as much as you would allow him to. 

“Joel,” you whimpered, your thighs trapping his head. “C-can’t do it anymore!” You sounded wrecked, your throat felt raw from how loudly you had been moaning. 

Joel laughed, pushed your thighs apart and removed his fingers from you. You winced and your walls clenched around air, feeling so empty once again. 

“Please, p-please can I have you now?” You asked, positioning yourself on your knees in front of Joel. You reached your hand to feel his hard cock through his boxers once again and this time, he didn’t stop you. 

You abruptly pulled the checkered fabric from his waist and his boxers pooled at his feet; freeing his cock finally, it sprang up against his stomach and you all but moaned. 

“You’re so…” you whispered, looking up at Joel through your lashes as your small hand wrapped around his thick length. The tip was dark, a bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit and all you wanted was to taste it, to taste Joel’s musk. “You’re so big, fuck.” You cursed, your tongue sticking out to kitten lick at his tip. 

You wanted to sink your mouth down his length to fully take him in so your nose could bury into Joel’s thatch of dark hair but you resisted and gave him another lick, tongue flicking into his slit.

Joel groaned, a low and gruff noise from the back of his throat. “Fuck, darlin’, I gotta be in you. None of this.” He spoke lowly, his thumb coming down to swipe along your bottom lip and you quickly sucked it into his mouth. 

“Please, daddy.” You whispered, the honorific slipping from your throat before you could process it. A look of horror washed over your features and you knelt up higher to look Joel in the eyes. “I — I, — sorry. I didn’t mean —“

Your fumbling words were cut off when Joel placed his big hand around your throat and brought you in for a kiss. You were trouble, you were sinful and he was damned. He had been called daddy a few times by younger women, they thought it was sexy; the way they would flutter their lashes at him at the bar, saunter over to him and whisper ‘hey daddy.’ Normally it made his skin crawl and caused his body to cringe but the way it almost innocently slipped from your lips, it was like a curse from the devil himself and it made Joel’s cock jump, nudging your stomach. 

He squeezed his hand around your throat and you smiled? Trouble. Nothing but pure trouble. 

“Not such a good girl, after all, huh? Been acting all innocent all these years.” He whispered, his thumbs squeezing near your pulse point, hard enough to make your head feel lighter and floaty but soft enough not to hurt you deliberately. “God, what would your old man say about this? See his little girl begging to cum, see you squirting on his best friend’s face. Smiling as I wrap a hand round your throat. Your trouble, darlin’. Nothin’ but damn trouble.” He whispered, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before peppering small nips to the flesh of your neck. 

Your legs trembled as they held you up, it was wrong but his words went straight to your core and soaked you further, you didn’t think your arousal could get higher but here you were. He was right though; your dad would be horrified, would be downright mortified to know what his daughter was truly like and at the hands of his best friend? That would destroy your lives. All three of you. You pushed that bitter thought away as your head lulled back and you allowed Joel to grope at your chest, hungry to feel your body once more. 

“Say it again,” he growled into your ear as he pushed your body back down onto the bed. “Call me it again as I fuck you real good. How ‘bout I show you what it’s like to have a real man fuck you, not some silly boy.” He said, his voice gruff whilst he stroked the tip of his cock through your folds. 

“Daddy,” you whimpered, parting your legs further to allow Joel more room to enter you. “Daddy please fuck me.” You begged, sounding weak. 

“Oh, of course, baby girl.” He cooed, pushing his cock into you roughly until he was bottomed out. “Fuck,” he cursed. 

“S-so big, daddy.” You whimpered, your hands grasping at Joel’s biceps, just trying to hold onto something as you adjusted to the slight burn of him stretching you out. “Mmm, please move.” You moaned. 

“Atta girl, taking daddy’s cock so good already.” Joel groaned and he swore that he saw heaven in that moment; your tight body below him, contorting to how he needed. He had already built up a punishing pace, hips drawing back to slam forward roughly. The room was filled with echoes of your skin slapping together, his deep pants and your wanton moans and weak, pleading whimpers. 

“I’ve wanted this for s’long,” you sobbed, your eyes falling shut as the tension built further in your stomach once more. You knew from this point forward you would be wrecked for any other man, no one would be able to make you feel this good. Not even close. “T-touched myself so many times thinking about you fucking me.” You admitted, the words falling without thought. “Want you to cum in me, wanna be full of just you, Joel.” You moaned. 

Joel was a goner, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer, you were too tight, too wet and just too good for him to have any real stamina. Your admission didn’t help matters, either. The thought of you spread out on your own sheets, touching yourself to him?!

He gripped one of your hips tightly, hard enough to leave bruises on your delicate skin as he fucked into you harder with deep groans. “Can’t be saying that to me, peach. Gonna cum too quickly.” He hissed, his free hand snaking between you to trace circles around your clit. 

“I c-can’t do it again,” you stuttered, your body burning from the inside and out. “Too much.” You breathed, your sharp nails clawing at any bare skin you could find. Just anything to anchor you down as Joel pulled another orgasm from you. 

“I think you can. Hmm?” Joel spoke. “What you think? Wanna be a real good girl for daddy and give me one more?” His thumb sped up but his hips slowed to a sensual roll, his cock head bumping the electrified bundle of nerves deep in your walls. You clenched around him tightly and he moaned, louder than before. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. One more, come on now. Come on.” He groaned, working your clit faster. 

You whined, the noise stuck in your throat as your back arched once more and you clenched around Joel before gushing around him with a moan of his name. “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel, J—.” Your eyes had rolled back, any further and they would have disappeared into the back of your skull.

“Such a good girl, fuck. So tight. That’s it, squirt on my cock.” He groaned, removing his hand from your clit to hold down both your hips as he fucked into you with more fervour. He wasn’t going to last long, but he also knew you couldn’t take much more. You were cock drunk and spent. “Gonna fill you up so. fuckin’. good.” He huffed, accentuating each word with a thrust. 

“Daddy,” you cried, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as your body went into overdrive. 

That was it, that’s all it took. Joel looked down at you, your were a mess and all from him, tears fell onto your cheeks as he finished inside of you with a groan of your name. “Shhh, that’s it sweet girl. Such a good girl.” He cooed, his hand cupping your cheek as he emptied himself into you. 

You moaned, feeling the hot liquid of his cum fill you up, your walls clenched weakly, just trying to milk him of every drop and you turned to kiss his hand. The room smelt of sex, the air was thick and hot and sleep called to you like a sweet song. 

Joel pulled out of you with a hiss and you whimpered, your body felt like there were a hundred tiny pin pricks on your skin. You were overstimulated and completely spent but ultimately, you were so happy. 

“Hmmm, m’sleepy.” You hummed contentedly.

“I know, sweet girl but can’t sleep here. The sheets are a mess. How about you have a rest in the spare room and I’ll go sleep on the couch?” He asked softly, brushing your sweat-dampened hair from your face. 

“Sorry about the sheets,” You giggled, eyes heavy-lidded and barely open. “Although, was kinda your fault. You’re a dirty old man, too good at that.” You teased, still giggling. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m going to hell.” He huffed, his voice all too serious. 

Joel scooped your naked body off his bed with a gruff noise and before you knew it, you were in another bed with the duvet wrapped around you. Joel had cleaned you up with a damp towel, dressed you in one of his shirts and wrapped you up into the sheets. 

“Stay with me,” you whispered as Joel turned to walk out, assuming you had already passed out for the night. “P-please stay with me.” You cried, tears filling your eyes. 

He smiled and obliged with no arguments. The mattress dipped beside you and he wrapped his large arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Of course I’ll stay, peach.” He whispered and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You hummed sleepily, your eyes already closed and you felt peaceful. It was the most peaceful you had felt in a long time. Joel was there, you finally felt content and safe in his arms. You knew trouble was brewing on the horizon but right there, in that moment, you couldn’t find it in you to actually care.

Everything felt like it was too much, of course your fantasy came true but what did this mean for your futures? You only assumed it would be messy and all too hard on you both. 

You drifted off to sleep peacefully that night, the most peaceful you had been in far too long. Your senses screamed Joel and you felt safe. You knew trouble was brewing on the horizon but for now, you were content and happy.

——————————

——————————

[sircolinmorgan]

one of my favourite scenes in endeavour that i don't see talked about much is the one in 7x03 (Zenana) when morse tells bright that his wife was murdered. it's too long to gif and gifs wouldn't do the scene justice anyway.

morse has clearly spent all night trying to piece together all the unusual deaths and has realised it's ludo and violetta, he's still wearing the same clothes, he's dishevelled and it doesn't seem like he's slept. at this point his relationship with fred is so broken but morse still goes to him to try and make him understand. then bright comes in and thursday is desperately trying to stop morse from saying anything but morse carries on anyway. the way bright looks at fred in such a bewildered way, the desperation from all 3 of them. morse trying to get people to listen to him but doing it so badly, fred trying to protect bright and bright's anger. the acting!!!

i think morse is feeling incredibly guilty for not discovering ludo's crimes sooner which is why he goes in all guns blazing. he's probably already feeling guilt for the breakdown in his relationship with thursday, jim has just been stabbed after morse told him to go to that location, bright's wife has been killed, he's been kicked out of the station. as he writes in his letter to joan, he's just burned all his bridges and this (and eventually violetta's death) is the cause of his drinking and downward spiral in the next series.

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #8:

Judy Collins' Fifth Album

Judy Collins had it rough.

Like just about everyone else in history, her songwriting could never compare with that of Joni Mitchell, Sandy Denny or Leonard Cohen; rather she introduced the world to those artists by covering Clouds, Who Knows Where the Time Goes and Susanne. Nearly 60 years later we're more than content to listen to Joni, Sandy and Leonard's own versions and forget all about poor Judy.

And her version of Amazing Grace is nice, sure, but comparing her take to Aretha Franklin's is as silly as comparing my writing to that of my famous brother.

And no matter how many times she posed in the nude with odd, defiant joy Collins could never compete in the looks department with Linda Ronstadt. Who could? All Linda had to do was put on a Porky Pig tank top.

Collins couldn't even win the boyfriend war. Joan Baez claimed Bob Dylan long before his ship came in, so Collins had to shack up with none other than our forever nemesis Stephen Stills, her sweet blue eyes serving as the muse for one of his only good songs before he wandered off to forever suck.

So it's no wonder that the Dollar Bin is chock full of Judy Collins.

(Please note that I bought my copy for a mere 91 cents. And that was in the last year. After noting this, please join me in praise of the God of the Dollar Bin, from whom all blessings flow.)

Anyway, don't be fooled when you see Judy's Fifth Album lodged between Captain & Tennille's corpulent dogs and CS&N's schooner of certain destruction. Snap Fifth Album up; it's awesome.

So let's drop the needle!

Collins' spent her first four albums stuck in the Hootenanny Spin Cycle, producing an album every 6 months full of churning, seasick guitar work and strident, declarative singing. Baez's sound at the time is similar; like stage actors 25 years earlier who couldn't adjust to film's close ups, early 60's folk singers, Dylan excepted, all belt to the back row when in the studio. It's as if they are unsure how exactly this new fangeled thing called "amplification" works.

But with Fifth Album, recorded in 1965, Collins achieves comfort and ease before the microphone, setting the stage for every studio singer who's come since; she sings to us rather than at us, and every moment is wonderful.

Let's start with Thirsty Boots. I always wondered why Dylan covered the song, pretty terribly, for Self Portrait. Now I know. Bob wanted to sound like Judy.

Equally great is her take on Mr. Tambourine Man. There's a lot to say about the track; here it is if you'd like to listen while I ramble.

Dylan's original hit the street in March 65; the Byrds altered the world's axis with their cover a month later. Collins' version didn't come out until the next Fall but it's unclear when she actually recorded the song.

Without any proof, I'd argue that she laid her take down that same Spring. After all, she doesn't sing the song as if it's a Dylan or Byrds cover. Instead, it sounds like she heard Bob sing the song in her apartment one night, demanded the lyrics, then went into the studio and owned it on her own terms the next day.

Sure, Roger McGuinn, who'd served as a mediocre player and arranger for Collins on her previous studio record, invented that iconic 12 electric string sound. Sure, Dylan knew his way around a six string. But Collins straight up shreds on the guitar; no one else is playing for her here. Had she been born 20 or 30 years later and not been shackled by 60's and 70's sexism, it's easy to imagine Judy showing Kim Deal, Kristin Hersh, PJ Harvey and all the boygeniuses who followed how to rock.

There's a lot more to this record. Collins' does her trademark thing yet again, introducing the world to Gordon Lightfoot via her cover of Early Morning Rain. Yes, I know, Ian and Sylvia put out their version a month earlier. But who wants to listen to them when we could listen to Judy?

A year or so later she'd take her talent agent shtick to a whole other level by famously talking Leonard Cohen out of his reticence to even get on stage. Collins knew talent when she heard it, long before others. That's why she relegated Stills to bass in her band in the late 60's and never covered one of his crummy songs.

Let's end with perhaps the most obscure track on the record, The Coming of the Roads. I keep a list in my wallet of previously unknown-to-me artists to seek out whenever I'm deep in the Dollar Bin. Because of Collins' cover of this song, Billy Edd Wheeler is currently underlined on that list.

Dear friends, I hope you are all well. Thank you for reading. I hope your next hunt through the Dollar Bin turns up something half as beautiful as this track.

[casualtydept]

experiencing a particular sense of derangement today so how about an annotated walkthrough of my zeroskull playlist

there's a sort of progression to this that i intended to span their relationship as i portray it so keep that in mind. i hope you like 80s music.

this charming man - the smiths

this man said "it's gruesome, that someone so handsome should care"

my very first zeroskull fic has zero call him handsome and i shamelessly stole the idea from here. oh the romanticism of somehow finding yourself involved with an older english man who knows so much about these things...

2. unloveable - the smiths

i don't have much in my life, but take it - it's yours

sorry for all the morrissey it's not my fault he's also depressed and sexually complicated. i haven't written late 50s skull face in a while and this makes me miss him. oh you poor messed up thing.

3. love my way - the psychedelic furs

a kiss in not enough in love my way, it's a new road i follow where my mind goes

would you look at that another song about being gay. a comfy dreamy sort of feeling of falling for that older man that encourages him just to give in to all these terribly complicated feelings

4. later tonight - pet shop boys

and you wait 'til later, 'til later tonight 'cause tonight always comes

"the most gay song we've ever written" says neil tennant. i'll leave it at that

5. jack the ripper - morrissey

your face is as mean as your life has been crash into my arms, i want you you don't agree, but you don't refuse i know you

oh fuck he's back. anyway haha hope you enjoyed the sweet stuff here's one in which i compare zero to a serial killer. the "nobody knows me" lyric at the end fills my head with many thoughts. it's not zero if it isn't at least a little bit fucked up and morally questionable.

6. shake the disease - depeche mode

here is a plea from my heart to you nobody knows me as well as you do

hope you like this band as much as me or you'll be sick of them by the end of this. oh the desperation. ow oof the mortifying ordeal of being known.

7. in your room - depeche mode

i'm hanging on your words living on your breath feeling with your skin will i always be here?

be thankful i only quoted the chorus here. zero is a powerful man.

8. vampires - pet shop boys

say what you like i'll do what you want me to do you're a vampire, i'm a vampire too

the inherent romanticism of becoming strange and offputtingly wicked men who operate largely at night together

9. master and servant - depeche mode

domination's the name of the game in bed or in life, they're both just the same except in one you're fulfilled at the end of the day

i could have just quoted the whole song here. it's a lot like life!

10. stories of old - depeche mode

but we won't sacrifice anything at all to love

tfw you're totally in love but not enough to make you stop caring about controlling the global population/destroying the english language [delete as appropriate]

11. lovesong - the cure

whenever i'm alone with you you make me feel like i am whole again

i love pain and suffering.

12. love will tear us apart - joy division

love, love will tear us apart again

from the mgsv soundtrack itself. oh the misery.

13. wicked game - chris isaak

the world was on fire and no one could save me but you

[chanting] DIVORCE ERA DIVORCE ERA DIVORCE ERA. the bitterness... the longing.... the knowledge that the guy you essentially spent the last decade or more giving your life to is obsessed with some other guy and has ambitions that directly conflict with yours/make you want to murder him

14. diamonds and rust - joan baez

it's all come back too clearly yes, i loved you dearly and if you're offering me diamonds and rust i've already paid

[skull face voice] oh joan baez we're really in it now. music to drink heavily to after making a certain phone call, thumb running over the scratched metal of an authentic pin badge...

15. no children - the mountain goats

i am drowning there is no sign of land you are coming down with me hand in unlovable hand and i hope you die i hope we both die

oh you know i had to.

anyway hope you enjoyed this glimpse at what drives my insanity, i might do this for my (multiple) skull face playlists sometime but one is full of edgy bullshit + hungarian metalcore and half of my other one is just ennio morricone's dollars trilogy soundtracks lol.

[aroaceofthesea]

Anyways a bit of a recap of my life these last few weeks bc its crazy how much stuff ive done what do you mean its only the 14th of july it feels like summer should be ending soon and ive been very inactive on here:

Starting with sant joan lol (aka 24th of june) some friends came over and we hadnt really seen each other in a couple years (like yes but not really really like it was always super awkward but it was super cool this time😋😋)

Then the next day when they left one of my best friends came home too :) he was at the town next to mine and we spent the afternoon together :)

Then we did diving classes with my mom and also some family friends im now an open water diver that was pretty random ngl

Then after like. 2 days. chilling with just my mom (my sister was like 100% of the day every day with some friends that were around) some friends from a summer camp i did last year came over😋😋

They spent like 4 days i loved every day ngl we played cards a lot we went to the beach we did so many things how did we have time to play mao so much thats crazy lol (also so many crazy rules @ ppl that i know irl i have so many great rules to add when we play again weve gotta do iit)

When they left it was sad :( but i had no time to mope bc i had exactly 15 minutes at home so i kust took a shower and then went with another friend to canet rock (catalan music festival) it was super coool :) had the opportunity to see oques grasses live again♠️🪿 (though they didnt play bancals😭😭 one of my fave songs ever)(they have too many epic songs to play them all they need an extra hour at least ngl) anyways it was crazy loved almost all of it (not miki nuñez why did they put that guy in there) and yeah it was super cool

Then i went home arrived at like 9:15 am and proceeded to sleep almost 25h until 10 am the next day im told i missed a sushi lunch with family friends :(

The next day some friends were like who avalon :) so ofc i was like meee (usually during summer im not in the city but i was that say so ofc i was like i gotta go) (just so you gt an idea i couldnt talk like at all like half my sentences were whispered bc i had lost my voice at the festival and that game is like. you gotta talk or why are you playing lol) anyways luckily they guy i had gone with to the festival was also there and also couldnt talk so at least i wasnt alone😅😅

Then i was going back home and on the way home i met one of my only remaining childhood friends lol she went with me to elementary school (or idk what you call it until 6th grade whatever) and plays the trumpet with me and we spend a lot of the summer together and it was nice to see her she had also gone to that festival (its a very very popular festival and ppl my age could go basically for free so a lot of ppl went) and also had no voice lol but it was nice to see her

Then with my parents we went and had a pizza :)

Then i spent the week in barcelona (were talking about this week already) and tuesday a friend came over bc hes from outside but had a play in barcelona like every night that week (he plays the trombone hes reaaally good) so we spent the mornings together and then the afternoons he went there (i wish i could go they were playing with fucking dagoll dagom (catalan company that made famous musicals in catalan like mar i cel and they are closing the company this year😢😢) like hoow i wanna go😭😭)

Then friday i went to my summer home and there were my mom and also that friends brother and father lol so anyway weve spent the weekend together and it was rlly fun

And also like i was looking for cool concerts around here this summer bc festa major concerts are just 🔝🔝 you get to see your fave groups for free and like even if they are pretty popular when it isnt in a big town or a very well connected one maybe you have 100 or 200 ppl to very known bands like its crazy anyway i was checking (using the very efficient method of looking where each concert of each group was and putting it on google maps) and i was getting kinda depressed bc there werent any of the bands i like most and then i was like ok whatever lets check buhos AND THERE WAS ONE YESTERDAY (THE DAY I WAS LOOKING) AT LIKE 20 MINS so obviously we went and like even though i was basically alone (bc the guy i was with is like 14 and he knew some friends that were also close and went too so he spent most of the time with them and i didnt have any friends close) it was a buhos concert so obviously it was super cool also rlly cool bc they are like one of the only bands i like that didnt play at the festival from last week so rlly cool that ive gone to concerts of all my fave bands in just a week i love this (also i was like. 3 meters away from where the tahirt they threw fell😭😭 i wanted a buhos supporter tshirt thats sad)

OH ALSO yesterday too we went to the beach and we played volleyball with random ppl and it had been a whilr since we did that bc they usually see my sister who is very good and they are intimidated but my sister wasnt there so ppl kept coming and asking us to play (we have a net which is like telling ppl pls comee if youre less than like 7 or 8 ppl) and it was rlly fun (even though that one guy was very very annoying but the rest were rlly nice lol)

So yeah now you know basically everything about my life the last 3 weeks

[theherosreturn]

(A.N. Some of what’s happened…those epilogues have some stuff that’ll do, though none of what Jackrow’s actions post-separation (even that he was certainly the part with him being in that separation maneuver) are part of that...for now…my WoL will assume Jackrow is somehow making do anyways out of faith in Jackrow)

(Bradley saw a number of things the following nights, like what each villain was now doing, the barriers in the way, and that his allies over on the other side of the barriers were separated….but that only served to motive him, Ratha, and Joan into busting the first barrier down more. When not dealing with archfiends, mysterious entities that were like deities but not Primals, and other such things, they spent their time and days looking for a way to destroy the barrier, and though their attacks didn’t break it at first…they did chip at it. Soon enough…the apex of their attempts came…and so would success at last)

Bradley: Now then, we’ve thrown just about everything but a Limit Break at that thing. Even threw a kitchen sink at it for some reason. It seems to have held strong, but it’s cracked…I suppose there’s only one logical choice now.

Joan: Nyep! Let’s do this, Meowster!

(As Ratha let loose a roar of agreement, Bradley prepared to unleash Dragonsong Dive upon this first barrier. Soon enough, he was diving into it with the manifestation of his inner dragon (don’t ask) and cracking the barrier more and more)

Bradley: Come on…come on…*Notices the battier cracking more and more, even as it tries to reinforce itself* Yes! YES!!!

(Soon…it gave way, shattered by sheer force of will and determination, manifested through Dynamis. Soon Bradley found himself in a strange area, a bit away from the larger merged universe. Ratha and Joan soon came as well…plus Gilgamesh (who had heard the shattering and also jumped in to help, with a more graceful landing this time), and thus they all surveyed the land so far before they went out)

(A.N. Let’s start that is basically….Book number 2)

???: Welcome to The Maze of Corrupt Memories Bradley...Or as it was once called...The In-between Realm...*Everyone turned to see a half melted and half glitching Maskra that wore a messy lab coat* Do not worry, I mean no harm...I've seen your past exploits with my son Jackrow and I admire your determination...

Gilgamesh: Wait? Son?? I thought Sadistic Sam or rather: Cosmic Sam was his dad?

Mimic Joyce, after sighing: Biologically, yes...But I was the one who properly raised him like a son along with Susan...Or rather: Lightshow Yellow after being resurrected by Mr. Black...

[arospecsyourblockdudes]

So! Tumblr user @quaranmine I have decided to take you up on your Spotify wrapped challenge but I can’t draw. So it’s a fic! I’m cheating at the challenge but it’s fine. Anyway, my top song was The Haunted Phonograph so, here we go!

—————————————————————————

I curse the day I bought that phonograph for/You, my dear/For there are times I swear that it’s alive

“Hey man, are you ok?” Doc asked softly from the door to Ren’s Odditorium.

The man himself startled, looking up from the piece of moon rock he’d been starting at. “Oh, yeah dude! I’m alright. It’s just kinda cool a whole bit of the moon exploded our chicken coop, y’know?”

Doc hesitated. There was something about the light in Ren’s eyes that he didn’t like. “Are you sure? You’ve been in here a while.”

Ren just laughed it off and nodded. “You’re like my mom, Doc, geez. It’s fine. Promise.”

What else could he do? Doc just nodded and left to work on his own projects. He could only hope that he was being paranoid.

I chase at night the whispering from the music/Room so clear/But I’m mocked with silent scorn when I arrive

There are weird noises that come from the rock.

Doc had been half convinced it was some type of bomb at first, but now that it hadn’t exploded, that idea was gone.

For a few days, he tried to translate it to Morse code, but the sequence went by so quickly and smoothly that he gave up. Whatever the creepy moon rock wanted to say, he didn’t have to do it. He had real things to do.

Ren, however, fell in love with translating it. Or something. He claims there’s a faint whispering coming from it, and he’ll be able to decipher it. Just more time, he needs, and Doc is worried.

Ren has stopped responding as quickly when Doc checks on him. And he’s in the Odditorium more and more frequently. He doesn’t know what to do.

I try to play Caruso but the needle skips the/Grove/While calypso and Ravel keep coming back

“Hey, dude, could you keep the noise down? I can’t really hear.”

Doc obliged, turned the radio volume down. “I didn’t think I had it going that loud. Sorry if it was.”

Ren waved it off, shook his head. “No, no, you were fine. It’s just, I can’t hear what the moon rock is saying when there’s distractions, you know?”

Doc sighed. “Look, I don’t think your fixation on that thing is good for you. Why don’t you just help me go shopping for redstone stuff? Just for today.”

Ren shrugged and agreed, but Doc couldn’t help but notice how tense he was while they were away. The quick glanced he would toss in the direction of home. The way he practically ran to his Odditorium when they got home at sundown.

He tried, at least. He did something.

And there beside that damn machine, you lie/And never move/I’m cuckolded by metal and shellac

It was a couple weeks after this moon craze started that Doc noticed Ren wouldn’t come back for bed. At first he thought the man might just be going to bed late and waking up early, but there’s only so much you can deny it when he never sees the man inside the tiny RV they share.

So he stays up one night, just to see what he does.

And with a distant horror, he sees Ren building something by the Octo-bridge, dodging phantoms. Doc can’t tell what it is, sitting at the campfire, but it’s worrying that Ren has spent his nights doing this. As he watches, Ren seems to grow less and less afraid of the phantoms, just letting them swoop at him.

Doc feels slightly sick.

In the morning, he goes to check on what Ren had made. It was some iron pole, coming up from the ocean floor. It wasn’t taller than the bridge yet, so maybe that’s why Doc didn’t notice it before. Every so often there was a bit of gold or quartz, and it was a bit pretty but….why it was being built, was the question. What’s the purpose? Why is it worth Ren staying up all night, every night, and nearly getting swarmed to death by phantoms?

It has something to do with the moon, though.

It comes to me in dreams and it declares “I’m/Joan of Arc—/You can burn me but I’ve power from above!”

The spire grows. Despite Doc’s efforts to wrangle Ren into a bed and away from the moon, it grows. It branches off at seemingly random points, twisting up to the sky.

Doc’s started to dream of it himself. He stands on the Octo-Bridge staring at the thing, and staring at the moon. In the dream, the moon always says…something, and in the dream he can understand it and he knows to be afraid. But when he wakes up, he can’t remember.

He’s not going to look into it. One of them going moon-crazy is enough.

At one point, Doc gets desperate enough I try and get rid of the moon rock. He isn’t sure how, but he’s trying to leave the Odditorium with it when he’s stopped by Ren at the door. And Ren gets angrier than Doc has seen him get, ever. He tries to push past him, but when Ren tries to bite his arm, he just gives up and puts it back.

But I fear it’s not a dream and you’ll be/Swallowed in its darkness

When Ren builds at night, his eyes go white, Doc notices. And he moves like he’s sleepwalking.

Doc has taken to staying up just to keep an eye on him, make sure he isn’t hurting himself. He has to kill the occasional phantom, which Ren shouts at him for. Sometimes he has to just pick the man up and take him down to their treasure room, away from where the moon could touch him, to get a night of clarity from him. He uses it to get Ren to just sleep for once. He’s upset about it in the morning when he leaves, but it’s worth it.

Doc would keep Ren down there all the time if he could, but it doesn’t always work. And he doesn’t want to imprison the poor man.

One of these days, Doc fears, he won’t be able to get Ren back. He’ll wait too long or the moon’s influence will be stronger and Ren will just be gone.

He’s doing what he can. But with Ren now showing interest in this Mooner thing Mumbo has going on and the growing branches of the spire, he doesn’t know if it’s enough. Mentally, he makes a list of people who might know more than him. Might. He’s guessing.

It’s all he can do at this point.

It will one day speak your words for you, my love

[heli0s-writes]

pagan poetry*

A/N: Hey-o! After nearly 3 months of being a complete disaster, I ... did a thing. Very much my usual brand of filth. Thanks for sticking around as I continue to navigate this impending sense of oblivion!! 1.6k words of bangin’ Bucky Barnes. Yeeeeeeahhh.

Title is from this song, by Bjork. 🖤

Warnings: Smutty smut and heathen shit, what else is new with Helios?

brooklyn after dark masterlist

Steve asked if you were religious once.

It was an off the cuff kind of question, prompted by something you can’t remember now—silly banter over drinks and a background party, perhaps. Both grown weary of entertaining a crowd of strangers, etiquette spent nearing the night’s end. You’d shrugged lazily and prefaced that it’s hard to shake an entire childhood of indoctrination but now, by resolute choice, you aren’t.

You lied. You’ve never been more devout.

It was easier than getting into all the semantics, anyway. Where would you start explaining that you now spend more time than ever at worship? Not in the middle of Tony’s so-called “small” get-together of “only” seventy-five people. Certainly not a place to admit to Steve that your knees supplicate more earnestly than the most pious of priests, your throat constantly pouring the sweetest profession of faith—the name of the most divine.

Even if the two of you were somewhere more private, and he was at least half as drunk as you were, it’s a bit blasphemous, Steve, that you fuck Bucky six ways to Sunday and call it religion.

It’s a hard desire to curb when he looks like that. Bucky’s built like a god— his arm the kind of weapon you’d happily split your tongue polishing. Strong, powerful legs. Broad shoulders like lovingly carved marble, worked between the hands of a Renaissance master, tapered sharply down to his wasp’s waist.

His hips. Lord, you could dedicate eternity naming every last inch of his hips.

Such a pretty boy. How he makes you hungry to sin.

“Bucky,” you whisper, enthralled again when he steps out from a quick shower. Smoldering and glorious, and you’re Joan of Arc constantly being descended upon by a burning archangel. Some random night, like any other night, and you’re overtaken again. Hazy with orange glow, the billowing mist makes a halo to crown him and for a second you feel blind.

Then, you feel… hm.

Wet.

He cautions the way you chew on your lip, eyes twinkling brightly because what else is new. You? Turned on? Bucky could be brushing his teeth and you’d start climbing him like your personal jungle gym.

“Sweetheart,” he begins warily, adjusting the towel on his hips—those beautiful, beautiful hips. “One more dinner with us swinging in late and they’re gonna stop inviting us.”

You nod along dumbly, deaf now and set on a singular mission. Crawling on your knees, you reach Bucky halfway as he tries to put an end to your pilgrimage. Tries because your palms are fast over the damp fabric, fingers threading through warm fibers before landing flat against his abs, feeling up to his chest, murmuring stupidly, always so shocked at his everything. You graze up his wrists, his forearms, making paths of taut muscle.

“How bout after dinner?” His thumbs gently brush the swell of your breasts before he holds you back, straightening your spine when you arch into him. “Promise I’ll give it to you good later.”

“Give it to me now?”

He laughs. “You really gotta work on your negotiation skills…”

“Huh… Lemme try again: give it to me… right now?”

Bucky groans in equal measures of exasperation and exhilaration when you fall back on your knees. A few more half-hearted baby, quit it, ‘m serious, and then he gives up completely.

“Steve’s gonna get himself in a mood.”

“Steve’s always in a mood.”

Wilted protests quickly disappear into the hollow of your cheeks, licked away by your clever tongue. He grips the back of your neck firmly, tilting your head the way he likes best, eyes flicking down to meet yours before they close. He keeps you there a little longer, his toes curling into the carpet with each bob of your head.

“Yeah, you’re—always in a mood, too—uhhm—“

And you hum in agreeance, but the sound only vibrates into his skin, making him groan louder.

Bucky’s voice is slurred, as if half drunk. “Can’t hear— mm— you, sweetheart…”

So you make something up to give him what he wants, that buzzing of your throat on his cock, and his thighs tighten in response, the hand on the back of your neck reflexively scrabbling to your shoulder with a hard grip.

It’s a bit counterproductive of you to be so sloppy, considering that Bucky’s freshly showered and cleaned up— the scent of his brisk body wash strong and harsh in your nose— but fucking him like it’s your job allows some insight to what he likes, and it’s easily this:

Dirty, filthy, drooling wet blowjobs. The messier the better and the faster it gets him there. Your radiant Right Hand of God, but goddamn is he a little devil himself.

Bucky’s growling by the time he hauls you toward the bed, depositing your thrilled skin on the mattress firmly. Red lips meet yours with force, plush and full, nipping at the corners of your wet mouth like he’s kissing back every trace of him. He presses on across your jaw, up and down your neck. His voice is husky sweet and breathy in your ear.

“You bad, bad girl.” And you start curling yourself into him, nodding for more. One of his hands is working himself, the sound of your spit slippery in his fist. “You got me all messy again.”

Your skin feels blistering and freezing at the same time, chills racing to your fingertips tightly hooked around his biceps. The outfit you put on for a nice, quaint dinner at Steve and Sharon’s too heavy now, too constricting, but he doesn’t let you take it off.

“Every morning and night not enough dick for you, is it?” Bucky brushes your hands away, taking hold of your chin and peeling your head back until you’re looking at him. His pupils are blown wide, the only thing left of his irises are two thin rings of barely there blue as he scans your face. Your brain is short-circuiting, hanging onto every syllable, every purse of his cherry lips.

He switches on and off like a light. Beautiful, soft, thoughtful one minute, all force and darkness the next. You faithfully take it all, every facet of him. Your angel boy. Your wicked soldier.

Joan of Arc was only hallucinating, but she wasn’t half as lucky as you to have conjured something half as astonishing as Bucky. Gorgeous strong jaw, bristles along his chin and cheek scrubbing noisily against your lips as he kisses you. His mouth— open and wet, sloppy against yours— hardly landing right and you’re toeing delirium by the time his fingers slide up your shirt.

Bucky pushes you down into the sheets, rucking up your skirt until it bunches around your waist. “We’re in a rush, remember?” He tucks two fingers into the elastic of your panties and yanks them to one side. Just enough. In a rush. Your thighs meet with a determined shimmy of his hips— those incredible hips— and then you’re full, so full of him.

The blood in your ears crashes against reality and bends it all sideways. Not religious like that, but since the first time you’d touched him, you’ve been cocksure if heaven were real, it’d be this. It’d be him.

“Everyone’s gonna know,” Bucky promises, “You stumbling in there.”

The image flashes through your addled brain, the tell-tale sign of him screwing you stupid— lips swollen, legs wobbly, outfit crumpled up, smelling like him and sex in front of all your friends.

“You want it, don’t you, want them to know you’re all mine?” He smears your wet around the sides of where he’s connected— spit, slick— up to your clit. And then he pushes you like a button, flicking the pad of his thumb upwards and grins at the way you jerk in time to it like a trained toy.

“Bucky,” you mewl, “Buck.” The syllable breaks, your panting comes out in choked babbling.

He takes the back of your neck again, lowering his body over yours, faster now. Deliberately reckless and the entire bed is rocking, springs squealing under his pace.

“Oh my god,” you smash your brow into the junction of his shoulder, hanging on by a thread as he drives into you, on a mission to break either the bed frame or your brain, both were fine. In a rush. Can’t quit now. A little bit more. Your entire body is folded against him, insides fluttering desperately, maddeningly.

“Come,” he commands, “Come for me right now and I’ll fuck you through it, how you like. Then I’ll make you come again and we can go.”

His grip is tourniquet tight, thumb moving to the middle of your throat, pressing ever so slightly until your breath feels trapped under the swirl of his fingerprint. The curtain of his hair hangs over your face, blocking out the room going blindingly white. Your eyes shut tightly, opening only for a second to catch him panting over you, burning hot, his features flickering from utter control to trembling pleasure to something akin to frenzy.

Your vision shuffles like a deck of cards. His hands are everywhere. Eyes devouring every inch of your skin. There’s a million of him taking a million of you to a million more pieces. You shatter then, clawing his back and arms, singing like a fucking choir the infinity of his name.

Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. He makes your days holy. The altar of his body. The sacrament of his sweat. He breaks you apart into something luminous.

Religion. Not religion. Your heathen soul—whatever tiny fracture you may have—all his, forever. Now, tomorrow, at the end of the world.

So, when the two of you stumble into a nearly finished dinner, as predicted, over an hour late and in terrible disarray, Steve crosses himself before promising, “I’m getting you two a goddamn chastity belt.”

On the couch, Sam clicks the remote to a new channel, snapping his fingers with an offhanded, “A-fucking-men.” 

All you can do is duck your head and grin.

[generallybarzy]

i loved you first.

an: I wrote this mostly a couple nights ago when I was listening to my "ouch" playlist and sobbing so hard I got a 48-hour migraine over the fact that I'll never see my crush again and I can't do anything about it because a) I'm moving in less than a month and leaving everything I know behind and b) he has a girlfriend. But that emotion eventually evolved into "i'm never gonna see some of my best friends again after we move away from each other next month" and that just turned me into this big pit of anxiety where I felt like time was just moving too fast but not at all and I'll miss everything if I don't go do something. So. I was fucking sad and this was the result. completely unedited angst. probably sucks ass, but that's how I'm feeling right now. Anyway, I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't really been around for a few days. I deleted all my asks so if you had something sent, its gone, and i'm just popping in to post this. idk when I'll be back this time, but i'm trying to take care of my irl relationships and moving and college and all that and it hurts a lot more than i can explain and everythings putting my anxiety through the roof lately. anyway........

song inspo: i loved you first- joan

word count: 2.3k

"You keep running away when I need you most

Running away when I get too close

My heart is full but yours is running out

I think I'm afraid of what comes next

Yeah, I'm afraid you've lost your head

Baby, you know that I loved you first

But now, you're in love with somebody else."

Mat was losing you.

You were his best friend. You'd grown together, laughed together, made stupid decisions together in the wake of your last breakup, he always came to to with his troubles, and, as much as he hated hearing the way your ex treated you, he kept his mouth shut and kept being the shoulder you needed to cry on again and again.

And Mat had been in love with you for as long as he could remember.

Ever since the night of your breakup, he'd been waiting for the right moment to tell you how he felt. You were fresh out of a breakup, and he knew that was the worst time to say anything, so he kept quiet. He helped you get yourself out there and smile once again. He brought that beautiful, gleaming smile back to your face. And it warmed his heart to know he had helped bring some of the sunshine back to your life. He waited and waited, comforting you after all your bad first dates and keeping his cool when you came over for movie night. He tried to ignore the way his heart pounded when you circled your arms around his waist and mumbled "At least I'll always have you, Maty." He tried his hardest to calm his heart and keep his eyes on the movie while you cuddled up with him, wearing his clothes, but the light of his TV betrayed him and lit up the way you were smiling against his chest, deep in sleep, safe and comfortable in his hoodie. He didn't tell you how he felt, all those years. He couldn't lose what he had of you in trying to get more. He would be happy with just this for now.

You rested against his chest, unaware of the way Mat was staring at you as if you'd put the stars in the sky all for him. He was so ready to give you his all, to tell you everything he wanted to say, to finally get to call you his, and hear you call him yours. He leaned down to ghost his lips across your cheek, letting the words fall before he even realized his mouth was moving.

"I love you so much, more than you'll ever know."

Maybe he said the words then because he knew you wouldn't hear, maybe he was afraid of actually telling you, afraid of the chance that he would scare you away with how full his heart was. But he didn't mind. He said it, and as long as he knew he loved you, he'd be content with staying like this for a while while you picked yourself back up and regained your confidence. Once you weren't still reeling from your breakup, he'd let it out. He'd tell you for real.

But then, one of your first dates went well.

He'd gotten his usual post-date text from you, the one he always made you promise to send just so he knew you were safe. He expected another letdown, a list of all the things wrong with your date, or ways they were just like your ex. Instead, you were gushing. Mat couldn't stand the hope in your messages, the way you were so excited, rambling on and on about this guy. He wanted to be happy for you, he wanted to be glad you were finding someone you liked, but he couldn't help feeling the pain from the sting that someone was actually taking you away from him again.

Soon, your movie nights together as friends were overtaken by date nights, and Mat was left alone in his apartment, sitting on the couch you used to cuddle him on, wearing the hoodie you loved to steal, and watching the TV show you introduced him to, half heartedly checking your snap story to see you in the middle of a date with him. He tried to hide his jealousy whenever you spoke of your boyfriend, he tried to appear proud and excited for you, but the hard truth he didn't want to face was that he was losing you. He was losing his best friend, the person he loved the most.

He didn't know when this started. He didn't know how to stop it, but you were pulling away from him. And that scared him. Mat couldn’t stand watching you fall more and more in love with this guy, not when he was right there, willing to give you all the love he had in his heart.

You were the one Mat went to on his worst days. The days when he felt like a waste of space, like he'd never amount to anything more than he was. The days it seemed like the weight of everyone's expectations was about to make him crumble to his knees. The days he needed you most. It only took a quick 'you free tonight? I need you.' text, and you knew exactly the state he was in. 'Of course Mat, I'm always free for you.' But ever since you started dating this guy, his texts went unanswered, unseen, and he was left alone on his hardest nights, with harsh reminders that the girl he loved was falling in love with somebody else right in front of his eyes, while he could do nothing but watch.

This guy had no right to come between you two. After all, Mat had loved you first.

He had comforted you for years over your shitty boyfriends, and this newest guy was no exception. Mat would still find himself, on rare nights, holding you in his arms while you sobbed about how your boyfriend made you cry again, whispering to Mat that 'at least I know you would never do this to me'. But the next day you were gone, running away from him as if you'd never snuggled up in his arms for comfort, as if the late-night conversations meant nothing to you.

'You're right, I would never do this to you." He thought to himself, watching you toy with the sleeve of his sweater and snuggle into his chest to dry your eyes with your best friend's warmth. "So why do you keep going back to the man who hurt you, when I'm right here?'

Mat had so much he wanted to say, and though he didn't want you to run away again, he could only hold his tongue for so long.

"I'm so glad you invited me out for lunch, Mat. He's been such an ass lately, so I'm glad to get away. It's been a while since we talked, yeah?"

Mat couldn't bring himself to answer. God, his heart was throbbing in his chest. He loved you so much, but you were falling in love with an asshole who didn't treat you right. You looked so beautiful sitting across the table from him. The sun was gleaming off your hair, but the beauty was made sour by the necklace that sat around your neck, the necklace your boyfriend had given you on your 3 month anniversary. Mat swallowed back his nerves. "(Y/N), I need to be honest with you."

Any trace of happiness on your face was gone, replaced with dread. Part of Mat felt like shit for making you feel like that, but another, more sinister part, felt a little glimmer of revenge. You'd been running away from him for months, abandoning your best friend for some shitty boyfriend who you still cried over to him, and maybe now you were feeling a slimmer of what dread he had felt when he thought of your crumbling friendship, and the love he had for you that he couldn't do anything with. "What's wrong, Mat? It seems really serious."

"It is." Mat took a deep breath. He couldn't meet your eyes. He didn't know when he started to feel uncomfortable around you. You had always been the person he could admit anything to. Now, you were pulling away from him. "We've been friends for so long, but recently, I feel like I'm… losing you."

"Mat, you're not losing me."

"Yeah, I am. I'm losing you to your new boyfriend.”

Finally, Mat met your eyes, and was astonished by the fear there. How could you spend the last few months drawing further and further away, and then be shocked when he confronted you? Hadn't you realized how little time you spent together? Hadn't you noticed how the only time you spent with him was when he was comforting you from something your boyfriend did to upset you? Hadn't your words- 'at least I know you'd never do this to me'- meant nothing?

"Look, I know you're happy with him, and I'm happy for you… no matter how much you complain about how he's an ass... but… we- you don't come over anymore.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, Mat, I’m more busy than I was when I was single-”

“No, it's not just that. You stopped answering my texts. You know… the ones… when I'm vulnerable. When I need you. I get that you’re gonna be busy, but I opened up to you about shit I would never tell to another person, and I can’t even get a response. You're running away when I need you most…"

He let the silence fall between you again. After a few moments, you spoke up, "Mat…" but your voice fell flat when you couldn't think of the right words to fill the air.

"You still come over, but only when you need someone to dry your tears when your boyfriend did something stupid. You come to me. You only come to me when you need my comfort, but you can’t give me the comfort when I need it, and I’m fucking tired of it.” His words weren’t bitter towards you at all. That’s not what he felt. He wasn’t angry at you, he was angry that either of you had let your boyfriend come between you, he was angry at himself for letting you go, for being too fucking insecure to tell you anything. “You- you keep telling me you wish you could find someone like me. But can't you tell how perfect I am for you?"

"Mat, stop." You were picking with your fingers, a habit he knew all too well.

“I know you remember that night.”

“Mat…”

“It was when you were still trying to date, and always came over after your bad first dates. We cuddled, we…. We got way closer than friends should. I thought- I guess I just thought there was something there. I thought we’d end up as more…”

“I-” Your throat was tight. You hadn’t even realized how much Mat’s words were affecting you. “You can't just… drop all this on me right now, it's not fair."

"What do you really see in him?"

"What?"

"What do you see in him? Does he really love you like you know I do?" You sat quietly, your mouth agape, eyes dropping to the table. Mat’s voice dropped quieter. “You know I love you. I know you know. Friends don’t just cuddle and… and fucking open up about every single little insecurity and promise each other they’ll never leave, and say ‘at least I know you’d never do this to me. I loved you. So fucking much. And it’s so hard to watch you fall in love with someone else, when my heart is so fucking full of love for you.” Mat scoffed in spite of himself. He knew he was fucking it all up, your friendship, any chance of a relationship with you, and it was making his words taste even more bitter. "You know what's not fair? How I have to sit here, watching you fall in love with someone who doesn't love you nearly as much as I do."

“Please stop, Mat.” You quieted him, your hands shaking, in fear of what would come of your surely-shattered friendship. “I- I didn’t know. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Bullshit.” Mat was well aware of the tears beading in his eyes, but he tried his hardest to ignore the burn of them rolling thickly down his cheeks. “I- I was always there to hold you… to comfort you when your dates didn’t go well or when your boyfriend fucked up. Can’t you see?”

The silence that fell between the two of you was deafening. Neither of you could make eye contact, and instead focused on staring at the table, not caring about the people inevitably walking around you and wondering what was happening.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mat.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't… I’m with my boyfriend. I can’t just…” You shook your head. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Nothing.” Mat sat back in his chair. He’d said what he invited you here to say, and that was all he had planned. He didn’t think of anything else past this point. “I just… I had to tell you. I’m not gonna tell you what to do, I’m not gonna say you have to choose me or him, and I’m sure this fucked up our friendship like crazy. I just- I can’t keep watching this, okay? That’s all I had to say. I know you love him, and I… fuck, I still love you. I just hope you don’t forget about me, alright?”

“Mat, you’re my best friend.”

Mat stood up, sliding down some money for the drink he had bought earlier. God, he felt like shit, watching the girl he loved move on, knowing there was no way they could keep going on like this, no way she would want to keep seeing him knowing how he felt. But he couldn’t hide it any longer, and now, it was ruined.

“I gotta go.”

[hetalia-has-a-secretary]

Axis and allies when their mortal step/adopted kid who is usually an edgy teen (saying things like “Eww dad, don’t hug me I’m too old”) comes up to hug their country dad while crying and just snuggles in to their side and says something like “I just realized that I’m always going to have you, but you won’t always have me.”

*flips table* This is a scenerio I wasn't prepared for! *Screeches* but thank you, it hurts so good lol (It's been a few weeks since I saw this Request (´д`) my heart. My little heart!)

TW: Mentions and conversations surrounding death.

Dad!Allies and Dad!Axis: Their kid realizes what it means to be mortal...

Allies:

He had to swallow hard at the though.

It never really occurred to him that it was something that could happen.

After all, it's not everyday a country manages to have kids with a human. Even France didn't know this was a thing.

He put on a brave face, kissing the top of their head and telling them it's alright.

He was their father first and foremost. Nothing was going to take them away from him completely, and he mentioned that nothing lasts forever.

His job was to raise them, and make sure they had a good life. So long he got to see his kid fulfill their dreams and just live their life, he's okay with it.

He doesn't want to see them go, obviously, but his love for his kid will never fade.

England:

Immediately gets choked up about it.

All he can really do is hold them, and remind them he still loves them, and just because they will go one day, does not change that fact.

He is sworn by his duty as a father to take care of them. To see them age and grow is just a fact they both have to accept.

He's already so proud of his kid, so he won't miss them too much so long they promise not to hold back in life just because they will pass on without him!

France:

He knew this talk was coming.

He knows the thought can be painful, but laughs a little none the less.

He let's them know their life span doesn't matter. What they do with it does.

He wants all the emotions, and the normal dad and child moments. Even the bratty ones.

He reminds his kid that their memory will live on way after they do.

They're his kid and he will always love them, even in death.

Makes them give him a pinky promise they'll be his little guardian angel, and smack him when he does anything stupid.

This at the very least, got them to smile a little.

And also tells them to say hello to Joan of Arc for him when they do go.

China:

He gives a heavy sigh.

He was hoping they wouldn't do this to him, even if that seemed selfish.

All he wanted for his kid was to see them grow old, be happy, and live their best life. He didn't want them wasting their tears on the thought.

But for now he held them close, soothing away as much of the pain as possible.

He loved his kid, and would gladly lay his life down for them.

He knows it's going to be rough, but seeing his kid laugh and smile gives him such pride, and makes him want to be better.

He tells his kid that no matter what, they will always be a source of strength for him. Even when they pass they will keep him going. Just so they can see him thrive from the afterlife.

Russia:

Was not ready, not at all.

Starts sobbing with his child over it.

It was a painful thought and he knew he'd never be ready to lose his kid, but that's all the more reason to try and better himself.

He did not want his kid living with an agressive alcoholic. Though the kid's mother had already taught him the love and kindness he needed to raise their kid.

He did not let go of them until they felt ready.

That night they spent most of their time talking about it, and as morbid as it sounds, they fantasized about the kids gravesight. The one they wanted in the backyard, surrounded by sunflowers and other beautiful flowers.

Russia talked about how he would visit them everyday, and how keeping their grave was going to be his way of taking care of them.

After that talk Ivan had a weird sensation in his chest. It wasn't sadness, but the thought he was given a chance to raise a kid made him feel, satisfied with life.

He knew he'd have days where the pain would be too much, but he was okay with that.

He wanted nothing more than a happy life for his child, and was prepared to do anything for them.

Axis:

Germany:

He had to prevent himself from crying.

It was important now to show strength. This wasn't about his feelings, this was about his kid's.

He held them, and did his best to comfort them.

That whole situation turned into him telling them all the amazing things they do, and are going to do as they live.

He just wants to be a witness to it all. He was so proud of them, and was going to bend over backwards to raise them.

The thought did get to him that night, and his child witnessed him cry anyway. Despite their age, and despite not having to do so for a long time, they shared the bed and slept a little more peacefully.

Both sides getting their feelings off their chest.

Germany had promised them he's always be there for them, no matter what they did, or who they became.

Italy:

He knew it wasn't forever, but the knot in his chest still developed. And he cried.

He wanted so badly for his kid to be happy, and live their life regardless.

He repeated over and over how much he loved them, and how proud he was of them.

He didn't mind them being bratty time to time because that was a normal kid thing?

They'd only have the ability to laugh about those phases later in life and he was okay with that.

His father instincts kicked in and he did everything he could to make them feel better. To sooth away their worries.

Just because they were gone, did not mean he was not going to stop loving them, and vice versa.

Nothing was more important to him then seeing his child grow, and grow old. Having known he did his job as their father.

Japan:

He kept quiet as he let his kid sob, and only talked about it when they seemed to calm down.

He loved his kid, they were the most important thing to him.

Even if it meant losing them, he was headstrong about raising them, making sure they had the best life they could.

He also told them straight out that he'd rather them be mortal, then immortal. All their friends, and potential lovers would be with them, and they would never have to suffer the way he did.

He'd rather them live their life and pass, while he takes care of their grave, keeping their Spirit alive in his thoughts.

There came a comfortable silence after this.

He wasn't going to fully lose his kid, no matter what. So even if it hurt, he'd always have them by his side. Right until the very end...

[since0202]

Taking Time—Three

The council meets on a Saturday...

Word count: 3,389

Content warning: Angst, imprinting

What about standing up in front of a group of people automatically makes you feel persecuted? As a woman, it kind of comes with the territory. I can’t even escape it when I read—the pages of my required reading for AP Lit are littered with perceptions of women seen through the eyes of men. Pretty, pouty, reserved. A toe out of line is a swift step toward the pyre. So if I’m stepping into the fire, I’ll lean on Joan of Arc: ‘..To sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.’

Back in her darkened room, Maya still couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The rest of the evening at the bonfire was spent trying to catch a glimpse of the strange man she now felt connected to with a strange, tenuous bond that she swore she could feel tightening in her body.

When the rest of the evening passed without incident, Maya felt a thrumming in her chest start and her breath would catch in her throat. When she returned home, she excused herself to her bedroom, saying she was just tired. Behind the closed door, Maya placed a hand on her chest and tried to take in deep, solid breaths. She felt like she had run a marathon and no amount of calming breath could bring her back to normal.

His eyes swam before her, the firelight flickering in it’s dark depths, as she tried to make sense of what happened. Everything had been fine and now, everything felt somehow complicated, different, and slightly terrifying. Her heart hammered against her chest as she continued to breath, pacing her room for some clarity. Would it feel like this forever? Maya realized now that panic was rising in her. Should she tell her parents? They’d think she was crazy, surely. She might call Becks and run the event past her but she faced the same fear again.

Maya knew that what she felt in those short moments connecting with a stranger across the bonfire in the most visceral way possible had to be real, but how she explained that intense feeling to anyone else, she wasn’t sure.

Maybe…

Maya reached for her cellphone from her back pocket and opened to her most recent text messages with Jeremy. He had texted her earlier this week asking about some history homework they shared. When she opened the message though, and poised her fingers to type out a message, she nearly dropped her phone when she saw the three little dots appear on his end, indicating that he was typing to her. And just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared. A moment later, they reappeared again. Maya had no idea what to think. Had he witnessed the weirdness between her and the stranger tonight?

If Jeremy was a part of Sam Uley’s group, maybe he knew this guy and could give her some reassurance. She could see it now:

Who? That guy?! Oh yeah, don’t mind him, he’s just a weirdo. You were totally right to feel that, he can be a little….intense. Anyways, what did you write for the short answer response to number 3?

She closed her phone and tossed it on her nightstand, opting to crawl into bed instead. After much tossing and turning, she drifted off, but when she slept, the wolf was there in her dreams. He was waiting for her on the edge of the cliff now. Familiar, calm. Maya didn’t know if she should walk toward him or run the other direction. She stood frozen in place until the wolf pulled it’s head up toward the sky and let out a low mournful howl.

Maya startled awake to her mother shaking her shoulder gently. A strange look was on her face. It was raining but Maya could tell that it was early morning.

“Maya, sweetie,” her mom said softly, stroking some hair out of her face. “I need you to get up. The tribal council has requested a meeting with us.”

A weight like a stone dropped in Maya’s stomach. “What?” she croaked. Her throat was parched and she felt how tight the muscles in her hand were as if she’d been clutching around her sheets all night.

“Get dressed.” her mother said, sweeping out of her room. She could hear low talking in the living room as she pulled herself out of bed. A headache was ratcheting through her skull and she gave herself a minute before standing to ensure she wouldn’t get light headed from standing too quickly. Maya pulled off her clothes from the night before—she hadn’t even bothered changing before bed—before pulling on some light wash jeans and an oversized forest green sweatshirt. She pulled her knotted hair up into a ponytail and brushed her teeth quickly before running downstairs to pull on her rain boots.

Her family had never been summoned by the council before and Maya would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little nervous. Then she remembered elder Mila smiling at her last night, knowingly. Maya wiped the thought from her mind and pulled on her dark blue rain jacket as her parents emerged from the kitchen with odd looks on their face.

“Everything okay?” she probed. Rish looked at Maya’s dad for a split second before nodding and giving an enthusiastic smile.

“Of course! Let’s go, don’t want to be late!”

The council house was a modest cottage down close to La Push beach. Circular skylights dotted the roof to create natural overhead lighting. In the large main room was a long table that took of the majority of the space and chairs of varying shapes behind it. A small hallway led a to a back entrance.

Maya’s family entered the humble cottage through the front door and was greeted warmly by the council members who were made up of: elder Mila, elder Leo, Chief Black, Sue Clearwater, and elder Arbol. Maya was slightly placated by their eager faces and happily accepted the tea they offered her. Her parents sat down in the chairs across from the table and Maya stood behind them.

“Thank you for joining us on such short notice,” Chief Black said with a warm smile on his face. “And we wanted to thank you, Rish, for putting on such a great first gathering for the new year, as always.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure!” Rish blushed somewhat and waved them off. “It was nothing.”

Elder Mila was watching Maya carefully, her kind eyes twinkling in the low light of the cottage.

“We wanted to call you here to discuss a matter that has been brought to our attention. Last night, specifically.” Chief Black’s eyes flickered to Maya for just a moment before staying trained on her parents. The panic was rising in her again and she worked to control her breathing. In and out. Take it slow. She told herself. She was sure everyone could hear the sound of her heart thudding loudly as Chief Black continued. Outside, a low rumble of thunder swept down the beach.

“Oh?” her father said as he looked over his shoulder to glance at Maya. Her eyes darted frightfully to him and the look on his face changed to one of concern. Rish grabbed for her husband’s hand unsure of what was about to come next.

“You are familiar with our Protection group run by Sam Uley, yes?” Chief Black asked. They nodded as Maya remained stock still. “As you may know from our legends, each member is a direct descendant of our spirit warriors, our wolf warriors.”

“I’m familiar with the legends,” Rish said quietly.

“That’s good. That will make this explanation easier. Part of our legends defines the role of the spirit warriors to the tribe. They’re our protectors and keep us safe from outside threats.”

“The cold ones,” her father said to Maya’s surprise. Chief Black fixed him with a serious stare.

“Yes. And though our threats and the roles of the spirit warriors have changed over the years, two things remain true: those threats are still out there and protection is still needed and...that our spirit warriors have the ability to imprint.”

Maya was pulling in small breaths down her throat. Her vision was starting to blur from lack of air, she thought, or maybe it was just the panic making her lightheaded.

“Im-imprint?” Rish said confused.

“It’s the sacred bond between a wolf warrior and his or her soulmate. The imprint is integral to the warrior’s strength and focus, and is thus an integral part of our tribe’s protection. The imprint comes to the warrior when they need them most and last night...your daughter became an imprint.” Elder Mila said gently. Maya closed and opened her hands trying to stay here in this room.

“I’m sorry.” her mother said after a moment. Maya’s father was silent as he considered this. He was well versed in the legends of the spirit warriors and he seemed to have a better grasp of what was happening than her mother in this moment. “Are you saying that one of Sam’s group thinks my daughter is their soulmate?”

“Not think. Is. Maya is now intricately tied to the history and continuance of this tribe. Being an imprint is honorable and sacred and should be held as such. She will always be protected by her imprinter.” Elder Leo confirmed.

Rish’s mouth hung open in shock as she turned to look up at her daughter, but Maya’s eyes were trained forward, watching Chief Black with a sense of urgency. Even with the explanation, Maya wasn’t sure why she felt this way.

“And who might I ask is this mysterious person who has imprinted on her?” Rish said a little defensively. Maya’s father squeezed Rish’s hand reassuringly.

“Paul Lahote,” Billy Black said as he gestured toward the door. As he did, Paul walked through, a stern and measured look on his face. Maya stared at him and instantly recognized him as the man she had seen the night before. Paul. she thought, the name floating around in her head. He refused to look at her, she noticed. The relief she had read on his face last night was clearly replaced now with what she could only pick up as...irritation? Anger? He came to stand off to the side wall, facing the council.

“This is ridiculous. He’s a grown man! He’s 30! And you’re telling me he’s Maya’s soulmate!?” her mother was getting upset now and rightly so.

“He’s 28,” Sue Clearwater corrected with a gentle smile. To Paul she gave a sympathetic look. Maya was finally able to pull her gaze away from staring at Paul’s profile.

Her breathing evened out and the headache she had felt earlier had ebbed away. By all physical measure, she felt better, but the panic was still there and he wouldn’t look at her. Was that intentional?

“My daughter is 18. Imprint or not, this is inappropriate,” her mother finally says.

“Rish.”

“No Tom!” Rish shoots back at Maya’s father.

“As the imprint, Maya determines the relationship,” Chief Black says gently, “That means that it can be that of a friend, older brother, protector, mentor, or romantic partner if she chooses. The imprinter respects the pace set by the imprint.”

Rish seemed somewhat soothed by this but was still a little uneasy about the whole thing. Maya realized her hands were clenched into fists and she was hyper aware of Paul’s presence across the room. She felt an unconscious pull that was willing her to cross the room and make contact. The ache of it made her uncomfortable and she was almost annoyed that it was causing her physical discomfort to be in this predicament with him. She could tell from his side profile that he held the same look—annoyance that showed he desperately wanted to be anywhere but here.

“I feel like I have to stress, given the circumstances that while this is a little out of the norm,” Chief Black said. Maya internally laughed--what exactly was the norm in this weird circumstance? She was still teetering on if this was even a real thing, “And while Maya determines the characteristics of the imprint relationship, there must be a relationship between them of some kind. It is imperative that they maintain their connection in whatever vein they choose, but ultimately, there must be something.” He said this with a tone of finality in his voice and Maya noticed that his gaze was set on Paul and the look suggested that he has no choice but to cooperate.

Did he not want her as his imprint? Maya was floored and suddenly, that uncomfortable pull inside her transforms into hurt. She wanted to laugh out loud at herself for even caring that he didn’t want her. She didn’t even know him, so what. But still, the pain etched itself into her belly and she tried to keep her face serene and unreadable. When he nods his consent to the request, stone cold, Maya realizes she can’t take anymore.

She turns on her heel and bolts out the front door. The air is thick and the humidity nearly chokes her as she runs as hard as she can up the beach. Her rain boots aren’t really meant for running but she pushes on—she’d deal with the blisters later.

As Maya reaches the curve of the beach that takes her out of sight of the council house, she pauses and bends over with her hands on her knees trying to catch her breath. The skies open up and drip heavy wet drops of rain around her on the sand making satisfying splatting sounds around her. The rain started in earnest now and she was completely drenched. The discomfort and hurt bubbled up in her and she stood up straight, still huffing for air, before she threw her head back and let out a desperate, frustrated scream. Rain dripped down the back of her throat and she pulled off her rain boots, letting her toes dig into the damp sand as she made her way back home.

Her parents beat her home since they drove down to the council house. Maya comes through the front door, leaving her rain boots on the porch, dripping from head to toe.

“Maya?” her mother calls from the kitchen. She quickly swings around the corner, her eyes frantic and then relieved at the sight of her “Goodness, you scared me running off like that. Are you okay?! Let me get you a towel,” she said, noticing the puddle forming around Maya’s feet.

Maya was speechless. She didn’t know what to say or what this even meant for her, she just wanted to douse herself in hot water and crawl into bed. The walk back had done nothing to clear her mind.

Rish was back upon her with a towel, wrapping it gently around her shoulders and rubbing her arms. After a silent moment of communication between them, Rish put her hands on Maya’s cheeks.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetie.” she said softly. Maya so much wanted that to be true, but she had so many questions, none of which she wanted to ask. Rish leaned in and planted a warm kiss to her cold forehead. “This can be a good thing.” she whispered into her hair. Maya still said nothing and when she pushed out of her mom’s arms and climbed the steps, Rish didn’t follow her.

The rain slapped against her window as Maya wrapped herself up in bed after her shower. She didn’t even bother changing into any pajamas, she just opted to stay in her towel, her wet hair sticking to her back. Her gaze was transfixed out the rainy window and the thoughts that had plagued her throughout her shower were back.

She was an imprint. Which meant, if she understood the legends right, that he had some ridiculous claim on her. Imprints were revered in the history of her people but what Maya was hung up on was the fact that all of the imprints in the stories and legends were with their imprinter. As in together, together—marriage, kids, the whole thing.

In all the stories of wolf warriors and their imprints, she didn’t remember a single story that ended with them just being friends. Maya suddenly felt all of the air leave the room at this thought. Her whole life she was hoping to get off this reservation and now...now she didn’t know what the future held.

Would she still be able to leave for college? Would she always be tied to this place physically and this person forever? Why did Paul look so upset when Chief Black told him he must have some kind of contact with her? Was it because she was 18, in high school, and had her whole life ahead of her still? She hoped it was that and not the other insecurity that was plaguing her.

Maya wasn’t sure how long she sat there staring out her bedroom window but at one point, she snapped herself out of it and reached for her phone, determined. She had missed her study date with Jeremy, but unfortunately, she realized that he probably already understood why.

She navigated to her messages with Jeremy and typed a hasty message: Hey, sorry about missing our hangout today...something came up.

Maya didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

Jeremy: No worries. I assumed as much considering the whole imprint thing. How are you feeling?

Maya exhaled a puff of air surprised that he was so open and willing to talk about it. She got the distinct feeling in that room that what the council told her was not public knowledge. But if Jeremy was part of Sam’s group, he probably had a better understanding of what was going on than any of her friends. She hesitated to reply and then said:

Yeah, it’s...weird. I don’t know how to feel. He looked...upset at being there.

J: Who Paul?

M: Yeah…

J: Don’t take it too personal. He was caught off guard last night. I don’t think he thought he would ever imprint. You blindsided him.

M: Me blindside him?! Hello! Less than 24 hours ago I still had my freedom, now I have all of this… instant history.

J: LOL. That’s a funny way of putting the imprint “instant history.” I like that.

Maya didn’t know what else to say. She had so many questions but she wasn’t sure if Jeremy was the person to ask these things, but he was kind of all she had at this point. Before she could respond, Jeremy hit her with the double text.

J: So what are you going to do?

M: About what?

J: Uhhh, the imprint. Everything?

M: It doesn’t really feel like I have choice when it comes to anything any more. Especially the imprint.

J: I think you do have a choice, the way just doesn’t look like it used to. It’s just gonna take some time. I’m here...by the way.

M: Thanks, Jeremy.

She flopped back onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. What was she going do, indeed. Maya had no clue. After a hot second of panic, she felt her phone buzz aggressively in her hand. When she brought her phone up to her face a voice bellowed on the other end.

“UUUUH WHAT THE FUCK SOMEONE SAID THEY SAW YOU AT THE COUNCIL HOUSE TODAY?! WHAT’S GOING ON?”

Keye’s words smashed on top of one another. Maya sighed.

“It’s a mess. Can you get Becks on the line so I don’t have to tell this cluster fuck of a story twice?” Maya said. Might as well bite the bullet on this one. Of everyone on the planet, she knew she could trust her best friends to understand.

“Yeah, hold on one second.”

As Maya waited patiently for Becks to get on the line, she tried to figure out the best way to break the news to them. But when Becks picked up suddenly Maya was at a loss.

“What’s going on?” Becks said worried. Maya groaned and like ripping off a bandaid she said:

“Paul Lahote is my soulmate.”

Next > >

[kiarcheo]

Omne Trium Perfectum   

The Clarrward fic I promised @pikapals16.

Arranged Marriage AU, set in an imaginary past and world where women can rule and homophobia is not a thing but arranged marriages are.

Can read it on ao3

                                      —————————————

‘Cheer up, lass, you will want for nothing.’

It takes all the etiquette training she had ever gone through to stop her from rolling her eyes at her chaperon’s words. She knows he means well, but he is just telling her what she already knows. What is pretty much the only thing she knows. Or that she has been promised, at least. That her future spouse is abundantly wealthy. Enough to make the arranged marriage seem like a pondered, planned and advantageous choice for her family rather than what actually is. She has no misconceptions. She is on her way to a foreign land to marry someone she has never heard of before because her family hopes that over there the echoes of her....missteps will have not been heard. If you can call trusting the wrong guy a misstep. She protected her virtue, she is not an idiot. Even when she expected to marry him, she still would not give in, no matter how much he pleaded and asked and cajoled. And she has never been happier considering how it ended. But apparently nobody cared for that. Nor that she had been unaware and completely foreign to his actions. She had been his intended for years, everyone knew that, and that simple fact was enough to ruin her and her reputation.

So her family, the very same people who had chosen him for her in the first place, are now acting as if it is her fault that Thomas revealed himself to be a sorry excuse for a human being, and as if she should be grateful that they managed to find her a spouse despite everything. All the while not so subtly implying that she better not mess up this opportunity too...because they have no intention of taking her back.

And that’s how Catherine Parr finds herself travelling across nations to marry the head of the House of La Marck.

Why someone who holds three duchies and two counties needed to look so far away to find someone to marry, a complete stranger who will bring no lands, no political power, and no exceptional dowry is beyond her comprehension.

Age, looks, health, they all count nothing compared to power and money. Not matter how ugly, stupid, old or sick...if someone is wealthy enough, or powerful enough, there will always be someone willing to marry them. So why could they not find a single willing woman in the vast lands under their control? Or even nearby?

Did they look for someone who would have no knowledge of what she was getting into? For someone who would be so far removed from their homeland and family that she would have no way to escape?

Nobody will ever accuse her of lacking imagination...and none of the answers Catherine comes up with are comforting.

But then she arrives at what is going to be her new home, at least according to her chaperon. The same man who seems to decide that it might be important to let her know that her spouse is going to be a woman before leaving her in the hands of a welcoming committee that does not include her future wife…and...everything is nice.

The palace is impressive but not intimidating, and she looks forward to the tour promised by Lady Joan, who had introduced herself as the one in charge of her personal attendants. She is informed that her name is Jane but to distinguish her from another Lady Jane, who is momentarily absent, and apparently higher in ranks, she is known as Joan.

From Lady Joan to Lady Elizabeth, who fills the same position but for her spouse, to every staff member she encounters, they all seem nice. They greet her cordially, spare her too long introductions in favour of leading her to her chambers. Leave her food so that she can rest and eat when she feels like it, rather than having to put up appearances.

And yet, there is something....off. They are all pleasant and kind, but they all look at her with something akin pity.

Which she doesn’t get.

At first she thinks it’s because she looks dreadful, exhausted from the long trip.

But it doesn’t change once she is fully rested and she makes herself presentable. No, not just presentable, but putting extra effort to impress, both the household and her betrothed.

Then she wonders if perhaps it’s because of the situation she finds herself in, but all the staff has nothing but good things to say about her fiancée. Just like they seem to enjoy working at the palace. And she thinks it is genuine.

Her interactions with her future wife are sporadic and impersonal, but always cordial. Just like the first time they had met, the duchess nothing like she had expected.

‘Lady Catherine,’ the woman had bowed her head shallowly, ‘I hope you found your accommodation to your satisfaction.’

‘I did, Your Grace,’ Catherine had curtsied, ‘thank you very much. Lady Joan has been most helpful, just like everyone else.’

‘I’m pleased,’ the duchess had nodded in appreciation towards the attendants, ‘let her know if you need anything. Or anyone else. We will do our best to make you feel at home.’

Then she had swept out of the room.

She had been utterly polite the next few times they had met. Even going as far as graciously telling her she could call her Anna if she wished so, forgoing formalities. Not that she had many chances so far. Catherine imagines she is very busy. The alternative is that Anna is going out of her way to avoid her.

Still, there is nothing alarming or worryingly. She isn’t sure if she should trust her gut feelings and her reading people skills, considering how they failed her for years, leaving her blind to who Thomas really was. So she wonders if she is wrong. Maybe they are not pitying her. Perhaps they just...know things she doesn’t. Easy since she just arrived, with barely a clue about the new life she was getting into.  

She certainly feels her inexperience days later, when the palace seems to be buzzing and she has no idea why. Nor she has any idea who the young woman at the center of the activities is. Or why everyone seems to be waiting on her words. Even Lady Elizabeth seems to defer to her.

She has barely asked Lady Joan if she could make the introductions when she is spotted. Everyone seems to move aside, letting the lady approach her, an older woman at her side.

‘Lady Parr, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ she curtsies, ‘this is Lady Jane Rochford,’ she motions to her companion, ‘and I’m Katherine Howard. I hope your stay has been pleasant so far.’

Catherine curtsies back, suddenly aware that everyone’s attention is on her. She keeps feeling eyes on her as they exchange pleasantries. It doesn’t feel malicious, like they are waiting for a misstep, but rather out of curiosity...and she is curious herself, as well as confused. Why the interest? Lady Howard had said similar things to those her fiancée did...albeit the interaction had been much warmer and longer, the young woman enquiring about her trip as well as how she is enjoying her new home and whether there is anything they could do to make the transition easier.

She soon starts to understand. Because Anna might be the head of the house, but it is Katherine who runs it. It sort of makes sense. Anna has political responsibilities as well as administrative ones for five different territories, it is not surprising that she doesn’t have the time or desire to be bogged down in running the household. And Catherine certainly doesn’t resent that she had chosen Katherine to do so, not when it clearly had been going since long before she appeared on the scene, and Katherine had been doing an excellent job at it.

As she liaises with her to organise the wedding, her future bride apparently completely disinterested in the matter, she can see why everyone looks up to Katherine, and she dares say, even loves her. Spending so much time together, especially compared to the amount of time she spends with Anna (who, however, seems to be around much more often, if the glimpses she catches are any indication), it comes to no surprise that she is closer to Katherine than to the woman she is going to marry.

Perhaps that’s why on a wedding day that sees none of the brides happy, what hurts Catherine the most is how utterly sad Katherine looks, despite her best efforts to hide it.

She only has to wait until the next day to find out the reason.

Whenever Catherine had thought about her wedding night, whether with Thomas, with a mystery spouse when she didn’t know about the identity of the new match arranged by her family, and then with Anna, she had a lot of mixed feelings. Anxiety. Anticipation. Dread. Curiosity. Nerves. What she had never expected was that she would spend it completely alone, no trace of her new spouse.

The staff doesn’t seem surprised to see her leaving her rooms by herself...nor by her asking where her wife is, making it even more obvious she had not spent the night. She is grateful they don’t comment on it...and that they don’t direct her towards Anna’s chambers because she has no idea where they are exactly, besides in which wing of the palace they are in. Luckily she is much more familiar with the library location.

‘You were not in your chambers last night.’

‘You should not have been looking for me. Not on your wedding night.’

At least someone else seemed to share Catherine’s expectations.

‘Bessie told me you were crying.’

‘Bessie should mind her own business.’

‘Kat,’

Catherine had never heard her wife so gentle.

‘What?!’

Nor Katherine being less than gracious.

‘I’m sorry.’

Katherine lets out a heavy sigh. ‘Don’t apologise. I’m sorry for snapping at you. It is not your fault.’

‘I wish it could have been you.’

‘We always knew it was impossible…’ from her tone Catherine can imagine a bittersweet smile on Katherine’s face, ‘doesn’t hurt any less.’

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Catherine silently walks away. She can talk to her wife another time. She needs to process what she learned, anyway. She never had grand expectations of love from this marriage. Not with her family not even telling her whom she was going to marry, just sending her on her merry way to a foreign land to wed a complete stranger. Not after meeting Anna and being treated with polite, cool detachment.

Still, she surprises herself a bit when all she feels for Katherine is a new appreciation. She had been unfailingly courteous towards her. She went out of her way to make her feel at home, certainly more than her wife ever did. Not once she had betrayed her hurt or any kind of negative feelings towards Catherine for marrying the woman she loves.

Many things appear under a new light, giving Catherine a different understanding, from the way Katherine is in charge and treated as nothing less than the mistress of the house to why Anna keeps her distance, formal and aloof, seemingly completely disinterested in her.

Which is a far sight from the bad mood she seems to be few days later. When she cautiously enquiries where Katherine is, all she gets is a curt reply that she is away on business...it doesn’t feel her place to ask what kind of business or where, but it is evident to her the absence is the cause of Anna’s discontent.

Catherine resolves to steer clear from her wife, which is usually quite an easy feat. That’s why she starts to retrace her steps as she hears Anna’s terse ‘I’m sure that Lady Anne was only too willing.’

She is out of earshot when she stops. This is her house too now. If she wants to get a book from the library, she will. And if her wife has a problem with her entering a room she is in, she can vacate it herself. What she doesn’t expect approaching the library once again is to hear Katherine’s voice.  

‘-with your wife.’

‘You did it on purpose.’ Anna’s statement sounds like an accusation.

‘I had some business to deal with,’ Katherine doesn’t come across as fazed, ‘but the timing was propitious, I admit. Giving you the time and space to get to know her.’

‘She is not you.’

‘And that’s not her fault,’ Katherine rebukes her, ‘Anna, you can’t punish her for that.’

‘I’m not.’

‘We both know that there are many ways to hurt someone-’

‘I’m nothing like-’

‘Of course not!’ Katherine interrupts her. ‘Of course not,’ she repeats softer, ‘have you at least talked to her? Explained the situation?’

‘And tell her what?’ Anna scoffs.

‘That she should feel free to find someone else too, for starters. It is unfair for you to enjoy...well, me, love, companionship, while condemning her to solitude because she thinks she owes you fidelity when you don’t give her the same. Catherine is smart. Caring. Beautiful. She will have no problems finding someone to appreciate her if you don't want to.’

‘Someone like you?’

‘Why not?’ Catherine barely suppresses a gasp because that is not what she expected Katherine to say. ‘If she’ll have me, of course.’

‘Where are you going?’ Anna calls after her. ‘Kat. Katherine. Lady Katherine!’

Katherine stops by the door, just in time for Catherine to slip into the adjacent room without being seen.

‘Be careful. One might think you’re calling for your wife.’

And with that parting shot, Katherine leaves.

.

Catherine tries to convince herself that Katherine had been joking. Or better, that she had talked like that just to needle Anna. But Katherine never makes her feel like she is spending time with her to spite Anna or to make her jealous. As a matter of fact, her wife is never discussed and most of their interactions seem to happen out of her sight, although she has no doubt that Anna knows they are taking place. So Catherine just tries to enjoy the very pleasant company and the warm feelings it brings her.

‘Lady Catherine, would you like to join me for a stroll in the gardens?’

‘What could I get you to make you call me Cathy?’ she asks putting down her book. She had obviously known about it before, but since overhearing Katherine’s comment, it has been on her mind, how there is no way to differentiate their names when spoken aloud.

‘What are you willing to offer?’ Katherine cheekily counters back. ‘Only if you call me Kat,’ she adds, taking pity on a flustered Cathy.

‘If you like this, I’m going to take you to another property, it has a path lined on both sides by cherry trees, and another with camellia. They are stunning when they are all flowering,’ Kat tells her as she looks in awe at the surrounding colourful scenery. ‘If you want, of course,’ she adds, sensing Cathy’s hesitation.

‘Just...I wouldn't want to upset Anna,’ Cathy is aware that the more time Kat spends with her, the less she spends with her wife.

‘She is welcome to join us if she wishes so,’ Kat doesn’t seem to see any issue. ‘Besides, it will be good for you to get an idea of what you are the lady of. I don’t want to presume anything, but personally I would be bored to death in your situation...so perhaps you would be interested in taking over some duties. Either from me or from-’

‘I don’t want to take anything away from you.’ Not anymore than she already did, Cathy thinks to herself.

‘What if I tell you that I would appreciate the help?’

‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ Cathy can’t stop herself from asking.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Kat looks at her genuinely confused.

Cathy flounders.

‘I know how it is to be a girl in a foreign land, trying to find your place, barely knowing anybody, not even your spouse...not chosen nor liked.’

‘I like Anna.’ She doesn’t say it just because she is talking to her lover. Anna might be distant, but she has always been pleasant to her. And she has never seen nor heard of any ill-behaviour towards anyone else either.

‘She is very likeable, isn’t she?’ Kat smiles softly. ‘But it doesn’t mean it is an easy situation for you,’ she gives her an understanding look, ‘I know you are aware of me and Anna.’

Cathy gasps. She hadn’t realised Kat knew she knew. And she certainly didn’t expect her to broach the topic so openly.

‘You don’t seem to mind?’ for the first time Kat sounds hesitant.

‘I- it makes you two happy. And it doesn’t make me unhappy,’ Cathy tells her. Love would be ideal, but- ‘I count myself lucky for what I got.’

.

‘There you are!’ Anna sweeps into the library.

‘We have been going over the books.’ Kat had been showing Cathy the ropes.

Anna pointedly looks between the table where the accounting records are spread and the couch they are currently sitting on.

‘We are taking a break.’

‘You have been at it for ages, didn’t know we had so many books.’

Cathy dares say Anna sounds grumpy more than sarcastic.

‘If I am to seduce her, I will take my time,’ Cathy chokes on her own breath at Kat’s reply, ‘you should know better than to expect her to jump in my bed quickly. You should know better than to expect that from both of us.’

Anna merely grabs a nearby book and sits down next to Kat, huffing.

.

‘What can I do for you?’ Anna enquiries.

While they had been spending more time together, it had always been the three of them.

‘I was looking for Kat,’ Cathy admits. ‘She told me she would be unable to make our usual meeting, but I haven’t seen her at all since two days ago.’

‘She is away on business.’

‘What type of business?’ It comes out sharper than intended, but all Cathy can think is what could require staying overnight. ‘Where?’

‘You better not be implying what I think you’re implying.’ Anna’s reply is equally pointed. Then she peers at her wife curiously. ‘Are you jealous?’

Cathy doesn’t know what to say. It’s her wife. Asking if she is jealous of someone else. Who happens to be her wife’s lover.

Anna laughs, the lack of reply seemingly speaking for itself.

‘Proper business. She has a mind for it,’ she then graciously informs her. ‘Why do you think she runs the show around here?’

Cathy opens her mouth to answer before thinking better of it. She could be a lover without responsibilities. And she knows Kat doesn’t run just the household, but she also keeps an eye on other properties belonging to Anna too. She doesn’t know how she balances all she had shown her with other additional, apparently personal, businesses. But she understands even more why she was not upset about the idea of sharing some duties with Cathy.

.

‘I know I can’t compare to the one you’re wishing for,’ Cathy had not realised she was staring longingly out of the window until Anna’s voice brings her back to reality, ‘but would you like to go to the gardens with me?’

As they walk side by side, Cathy considers how, of all things, she had never expected to bond with her own wife over their shared fondness for another woman.

‘Speak true,’ Anna interrupts her musings, ‘you might have realised with Kat that I value honesty over politeness, especially when it’s fake.’

Yes. That should have been the first hint, how brazen and frank the younger woman was while talking to her wife, in a way no other at the palace would do, not even Bessie – Lady Elizabeth – whom Cathy had learned had been with Anna for a very long time.

‘Why call for me? When you had Katherine. And I’m sure plenty of other women around would have been willing to marry you too.’

‘Are you saying I’m an attractive prospect?’ Anna teases her. Then she gets serious. ‘Lady Catalina said you needed an out.’

‘You know my godmother??’ Will surprises ever cease? Catalina had promised that they would see each other soon in her last letter, but she had made no mention of knowing her wife.

‘Kat better than me,’ Anna doesn’t elaborate on the matter, ‘I needed a bride. Possibly one without expectations because-’

‘Kat.’

‘Yes.’ Anna had never been one for cruelty. She was getting a wife, but her heart was already spoken for.

‘We thought that someone just happy to leave, to start anew, would not care too much about love, as long as property and discretion was maintained.’

Cathy doesn’t miss the we. She can’t imagine being involved and planning for someone she loved to get married to someone else. But then again, Kat had planned their wedding...not for the first time she gets the urge to apologise to her.

‘Although perhaps we failed in that respect.’

‘Kat behaved exemplarily.’ Even while spending time together organising the wedding, Katherine had not let slip the tiniest negative feeling towards Cathy...or her affection towards Anna, not even once. Cathy would have not known if she had not overheard them...not that she will share that anytime soon.

‘And I did not?’ Anna asks, faking offense.

‘But why not marry Kat?’ Cathy has been asking herself that since she had heard them saying it was impossible. Can’t be a matter of status, Cathy had not much of it either. Kat clearly has the education and training of a proper lady. And it’s not like Cathy brought money or land or power.

‘That’s not my story to tell.’

Cathy adds it to the list of things to ask Kat, which range from how she knows her godmother to what her business is, exactly.

.

‘What a sight to come back to!’ Kat exclaims from the doorway seeing Anna and Cathy together.

Anna is immediately on her feet, reaching her in quick strides and drawing her in a hug.

‘Did you miss me?’ Kat wraps her arms around her with a laugh.

‘You know I did. I always do,’ Anna releases her from the embrace, ‘and someone else missed you too.’  

.

‘If your aim is reached,’ Anna asks, a lady on each arm, as they are walking through the gardens together, ‘does it mean that you won’t leave on business again soon?’

‘The timing was purely coincidental. Of course, I’m pleased that my absence brought fruit. But I truly had business to attend to.’

‘Was it a productive venture?’ Cathy politely enquiries, still no idea what the business is.

‘Very.’ Kat gives her a shark-like grin.

‘Nothing illegal, right?’

‘Who do you think I am?’ Kat sounds amused rather than offended at Anna’s words. ‘There is no law against what I did.’

It doesn’t sound reassuring to Cathy, who squeezes Anna’s bicep. Her wife shakes her head. Sometimes it’s better not to ask. She doesn’t look worried, so Cathy lets it go, figuring she certainly knows better than herself.

.

‘Would you like join us for a nightcap in our chamber?’ Anna surprises Cathy with the invitation.

‘Nothing untoward.’

‘Unless you count drinking. Because there will be drinking. Plenty of that.’

‘Not that much,’ Kat smiles at her reassuringly, ‘it can be in your room if you prefer.’

Cathy has never seen their quarters. Their shared ones, since they also have separate rooms, she always thought for appearance’s sake...not that she had ever visited those either. And she can't say what she expected from her first visit...but it certainly wasn’t that the three of them would be lying around, just in their nightclothes, drinking and chatting.

‘How did you meet?’ Alcohol fuels Cathy’s curiosity. Or better, it removes her usual restraints that keep it from being sated.

‘I was sent away in disgrace. For sullying the good name of the family.’ Kat rolls her eyes.

‘Kat.’

‘You’re not the only girl married off and shipped to a foreign country to be hidden like a dirty little secret,’ she continues, ignoring Anna’s slightly scolding concern, ‘sorry,’ she apologises to Cathy after a beat, realising how it came across.

‘Unfortunate but true.’ Cathy shrugs it off.

‘I was married to the former secretary of my step-grandmother, before he oh-so-conveniently left the country. I was part of his severance pay, apparently. Though I’m sure they would have given me away for free if they were not so money-hungry.’

‘She gets bitter when she drinks,’ Anna tells Cathy, who is surprised by this new side of the usually sweet Kat.

‘I used to help him in his office,’ Kat lets out an unladylike snort, ‘at least he taught me something. Which got me a job here...and away from him most of the time.’ Cathy frowns. She doesn’t like the sound of that at all. ‘And then he tragically died and I found out that he had amassed quite some riches...though I’m not sure I want to know exactly how. And he left them all to me, as long as I do not remarry. Only good thing he did besides teaching me stuff. Leaving me everything, not the clause. And coming here so I could meet Anna, I guess.’

‘And dying,’ Anna adds.

‘And that too.’ Kat nods.

Legally married is different from promised to someone like Cathy was. Marrying a widow, for someone of Anna’s status, was perhaps frowned upon, but certainly not illegal. And even if it were to set tongues wagging, Anna has enough clout to ignore them.

‘Can’t believe I’m asking,’ Cathy’s head feels fuzzy, her own brain processing the words leaving her mouth with some delay, ‘but why didn’t you marry her? I would have married her.’ Even if Kat was to lose her inheritance or whatever, it’s not like Anna could not provide for her.

‘Thanks,’ Kat giggles, ‘I would have married you too.’

‘Oi!’ Anna protests. ‘What about me?’

‘You know why I can’t marry you.’ Kat reaches out to pat her hip sympathetically.

‘Why?’

‘Do we really have to bring politics in our bed?’ Anna complains.

Cathy blinks at the possessive pronoun before turning to Kat, waiting for explanation.

‘Francis left me some lands. Quite small, but the position is…strategic. Without getting into too many details, they provide access to the sea to various inland territories. Including this one. I’m keeping the area neutral. Despite common knowledge of my...links to House of La Marck, with no official connection and no proof of favouritism…nobody will support an attempt to invade or conquer it. They like the neutrality. If I were to lose the lands, they would go to someone who will block our access to the sea. Not to mention that if I married Anna, they would probably see it as an attempt on her part to expand her territories and get sole access to the sea blocking others...and I’m sure an attack or more would soon follow.’

‘You might have to repeat that another day,’ Cathy admits drowsily, realising she had lost focus a couple of times during Kat’s speech.

Kat chortles kindly, ‘Not used to drink?’

Not used indeed. Cathy wakes up in the morning confused by the warm presences beside her but more than that annoyed by their chatting. She turns, hoping to find a pillow to hide her head under...only to roll over a body. A hand comes up to rub her back and...fine. This is good too.

‘Good morning,’ Anna’s voice cheerily greets her.

‘Why?’ is her groaning response.

Cathy feels the chest she is resting her head on vibrate against her cheek as Kat chuckles. ‘Anna has a Teutonic constitution. I learned my limits years ago. You will too with time.’

They lie in bed quietly until a knock interrupts their peace. Cathy tenses, but Anna calmly calls to come in without hesitation.

‘Oh. Should I move Lady Catherine’s chambers?’ Lady Elizabeth doesn’t sound surprised to see Cathy in bed with the two other women. As Kat doesn’t loosen her hold on her, Cathy peeks up...and yes, she doesn’t look surprised either.

‘Not so fast. Give her some time to figure things out...she might want to keep some distance from Anna.’

‘Me? Why from me?’ Cathy’s rooms are in a different wing than Kat’s too, not just Anna’s…or their shared ones.

‘I can see you point,’ Bessie agrees, ignoring Anna’s protests. ‘Would you like to break fast?’ She then asks what she had come for.

‘Could we have it brought here? Something to settle the stomach...and the head.’

Hearing Kat’s request, Bessie gives her a once-over.  

‘Not for me.’

‘Ah,’ Bessie nods, almost to herself, ‘I remember those days and you don’t look like then.’

.

As days pass, the three of them can often be found in the same room, whether working (with Cathy taking on more responsibilities for the household) or just spending time together. On one of such days, Lady Jane arrives bringing in correspondence. She hands one envelope to Anna, one to Cathy, and two to Kat.

‘Why does she get two?’ Cathy blurts out, prompting the others’ laughter. Blushing, she busies herself opening her envelope. She quickly reads the letter inside. Then she does it again. It’s from Catalina! She is going to see her soon! At a...ball? ‘Uhm, Anna?’

Before she can ask any further questions, her wife hands her her own letter. The invitation to said ball. Then Cathy looks at Kat, to see if she got something similar. After all, invitations commonly include spouses, so it makes sense that Anna would get one but not Cathy, and following that logic, Kat should get her own. But the younger woman is instead unfolding several sheets from one of her own envelopes.

‘Everything alright?’ Anna asks before Cathy can do it as they both watch a thoughtful frown appearing on Kat’s face.

‘Yes. I need to make a detour to take care of something before joining you at the estate,’ she replies while sending a meaningful look to Lady Jane, who nods in response.

‘Be careful.’

‘Always.’ Kat reassures Anna. ‘Besides, I have Rocky with me.’

Lady Jane gives them a feral grin that leaves Cathy half-terrified and half-reassured.

.

‘Tell me again?’

‘It’s the biggest ball in the land. It happens once a year and everyone who is someone is there. The ball is mostly an excuse to...trade gossip and make deals,’ Anna explains.

‘And my godmother will be there.’

‘Yes.’

When Cathy had learned of her arranged marriage, she didn’t know Catalina had been involved in organising it. She just knew that she would be able to see her again because she sometimes visited what would be her new country. During Kat’s absence, while talking to Anna, she learned that Catalina would visit them at least once a year – now she thinks in time for the ball – if not more...because apparently she is married to Kat’s cousin.

.

‘Who is that?’ Cathy hisses to Anna, glaring at the woman warmly hugging Kat for longer – and closer – that is appropriate.

‘Who knew that such a tiny body could contain so much jealousy.’

Cathy turns her glare to her wife, harrumphing both at the lack of jealousy and at the dig at her height, thus missing the object of her displeasure approaching.

‘Your Grace.’

‘Lady Anne, always a pleasure to see you again,’ Anna greets her.  

‘I trust you are treating my Katherine accordingly.’

‘Like a queen.’

‘What about your wife?’ She enquires with a fleeting glance towards Cathy before giving Anna a pointed look.

‘She treats her like a queen too.’

Cathy gasps at Anna’s reply, but Lady Anne doesn’t seem fazed. She tilts her head, ‘Is that so, Lady Catherine?’

Before Cathy can say anything, the other woman is already turning around, ‘Elizabeth! What did I tell you about this kind of behaviour?’

‘To leave climbing her to Aunt Anna.’

‘Maybe don’t say that around other people,’ Kat puts the child down, smothering a laugh.

‘Why?’

‘Because then everyone will want to climb Aunt Kat,’ Anne replies.

‘I want to climb Aunt Kat,’ another child announces entering the room.

Anne gestures to the boy, ‘See.’

Kat leans over to hug him, before standing and moving to hug another woman....And then Catalina, as she appears behind them.

‘Well, we have some last-minute matters to discuss, so we’ll leave you to it,’ Anne announces, moving to grab both Kat and the other woman’s arms.

‘Can I least introduce my wife to my goddaughter?’ Catalina stops her.

Anne rolls her eyes. ‘If your wife wants.’

Catalina holds out her hand and the third woman steps forward, a warm smile on her face.

‘Catherine, this is my wife, Jane,’ her godmother says once she leads her over, ‘and this is her son, Edward.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘I look forward to getting to know you,’ Jane reciprocates.

‘But not now,’ Anne reminds her, piping up from her position next to Kat.

‘Not now,’ Jane agrees.

‘Well, kiss goodbye and we will see you at the ball.’ Anne leans down to kiss the top of Elizabeth’s head.

Jane gives Catalina a peck and whispers some last recommendations to Edward, while Kat goes up to Anna and Cathy, kissing them both on the lips.

‘Guess that answers a question of mine,’ Catalina comments as the three women leave.

‘What?’ Cathy asks, once she recovers from the surprise. She had not expected to be kissed in front of people who are not in their household. Or perhaps they are, if they are Kat’s cousins...

‘Anna and Katherine are...not an open secret, but...if you know them, you know about them.’ Catalina gives Anna a meaningful look.

One day Cathy will ask her godmother why she suggested her for the marriage knowing Anna was taken...or perhaps it was exactly that. No hope for love, but also no risk of...unwanted interest? But that’s not the day. Besides, she got love. In spades.

.

‘Heaven helps us,’ Catalina mutters as a hush falls over the ballroom at the cousins’ grand entrance.

Cathy gapes. She thought Kat was beautiful at the wedding, but she had clearly gone for understated because that was nothing compared to how absolutely stunning she looks now.

Anna squeezes arm, ‘I know, but get a hold of yourself.’

Cathy closes her mouth and then turns surprised eyes to her wife.

‘I just have plenty of practice acting as if her beauty doesn’t leave me speechless,’ Anna whispers to her.

However, that doesn’t seem to be what had prompted Catalina's reaction. ‘They truly went all out this time,’ her godmother comments. ‘Don’t look at me,’ she continues, aware of their curious gazes. ‘I might be married to Jane, but it doesn’t mean I have any idea of what goes on in that mind of hers. Even less when all three cousins are involved.’ She chances a look at Anna. ‘Do you?’

‘She has been unusually busy lately but hasn’t shared so far.’

.

Catalina raises her head as they join her for breakfast, ‘Katherine was a no show too?’

It might take a while for Cathy to get used to her godmother knowing and not caring about her and her wife sharing...a lover? Mistress? Partner? Well, Kat.

Anna shakes her head. When they had left the ballroom to retire for the night, Kat and her cousins were still flitting from one guest to another, the remaining ones at least, weaving connections and networks as they had been doing the whole evening.

‘Lady Margaret, Lady Jane,’ Catalina calls their attention, ‘do you know where-’

‘They were in the library when we passed it,’ a third woman replies.

‘Thank you, Maria.’

Indeed that’s where they find the cousins, mess of papers on the table in front of them.

‘Did you stay up all night?’

‘We needed to check that everything was correct, make sure the deals are closed properly, didn’t miss anything.’

‘Deals,’ Catalina repeats.

‘Exchanges. Contracts. Transactions,’ Anne says.

‘Of course,’ Catalina mutters. As if she should have expected anything different. ‘Is it another gamefowl farm?’

‘I still don’t see what you have against that. It’s making us a lot of money,’ Jane points out. ‘But no. You have been talking about wanting to be closer to Cathy.’

‘And you about missing Catalina,’ Kat joins the conversation, addressing Cathy. ‘And I never gave you a wedding gift.’

‘But about me?’

‘You got Cathy,’ Kat tells Anna, who nods.

‘And she stayed,’ Anne adds, receiving a small glare from Anna. It is no secret that there is an open invitation for Kat to go and live with Anne...Invitation that has been repeatedly extended since the older cousin had first heard about Anna getting married…not to Kat.

‘But the new house comes with extensive stables. Horses included. All yours,’ Kat continues.

‘New house?’

Kat rummages through the papers. ‘Where is the map?’

Jane hands it to her.

‘No, not of the land. The one of the region.’

Another one is fished out from the mounds of papers strewn around.

‘So...Anne is the new owner of this area.’ Kat points a spot on the map, then another one. ‘Jane got this. Neither have legal connections to you-’

‘So nobody has ground for complaint.’

Jane looks at them expectantly.

‘I would say it’s the lack of sleep, but it’s not,’ Anne informs the married couple less acquainted with Jane’s love of puns.

‘Catalina loves them!’

‘Why don’t we let Kat continues?’ Catalina eagerly suggests before Anne can open her mouth and get her in trouble. She loves her wife, but she is not as fond of puns as Jane is...although she has yet to find anyone with the same love for wordplays.

‘As I was saying, officially they are completely independent, but we’re still securing the borders and sea access even more,’ Kat continues, ‘and everyone lives closer. Also I got this.’

Anna looks at the contract Kat hands her, then at the map. ‘Is this the one you have been eyeing for a while?’

‘Yes.’

‘And all of this...you got it legally, right?’

The three cousins in unison bring one hand to their chest. ‘Do you doubt us?’

.

‘Lady Catherine, a minute of your time.’

Waiting until they are alone, Anne then asks, ‘What do you know about Jane’s husband?’

Cathy is taken aback by the question. ‘Not a lot. Short-tempered. Openly pursued Kat despite being married to her cousin. Died falling from a horse.’

‘What about Kat’s?’

Cathy grimaces. 'Few things.’ Kat doesn’t like to talk about the matter so she never presses. ‘None too good. Or any good at all.’

‘I’ll tell you three things they had in common: they claimed to love my cousins, they hurt my cousins, they died in unfortunate accidents.’ Anne counts on her fingers. Then she looks at Cathy straight in the eyes. ‘Would be a shame if something were to happen to you...’

With her words hanging in the air, with a casual stride Anne leaves the room...and a gobsmacked Cathy.

Seeing her standing still, stunned expression on her face, Anna approaches her wife, ‘Are you alright?’

‘What happened?’ Catalina asks, joining them.

‘I’m not sure,’ Anna answers as Cathy gives no sign she is going to do so, ‘I saw Anne leaving and found her like this.’

‘Did she threaten you that if you hurt her cousin, you will meet your untimely demise?’ Catalina asks knowingly.

‘Oh.’ Anna nods in understanding. ‘Should have thought about that. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about warning you in advance.’

‘She did the same with you?’ Cathy finds her voice again, directing her question to both women.

‘Consider it the official welcome to the family,’ Anna grins at her.

Cathy smiles at the thought before it falls. ‘Wait- did she actually kill them?’

She thought it was merely a threat. A warning. Not-

‘I have no intention to find out…do you?’

                                  —————————————

Not sure if I’m happy with this as I'm struggling to get a read on this trio, but I wanted to write some OT3 for Pika so this is what I got.

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #1:

Joan Baez's Come from the Shadows

Joan Baez had a lot of options of where to go next in 1971.

She could elbow her way into the new female singer-songwriter space alongside Joni Mitchell, Sandy Denny and Carole King and kick some privileged male ass (Blue, The Northstar Grassman and the Ravens and Tapestry all came out in 71; Dylan and Young put out absolutely nothing).

She could shrug off that ridiculous challenge and compete with the blossoming Linda Ronstadt, turning songs by men into sexy, feminist anthems. Or she could play the dedicated wife to her jailed husband David. Finally, she could dump him and proudly sleep with strangers, all the while pining after Dylan.

Or she could just protest the damn war.

Come From The Shadows, which you can easily find in your local record store's dollar bin (that's what we will be doing in this blog: trolling through my hundreds of dollar bin records; thanks for reading!), has a cover which clearly announces that her priority is Protest.

Can you think of a less commercial and less self-promoting record cover? (I can: her husband David's painting of a funeral on her previous record, Blessed Are..., makes the cover of Self Portrait look like high art; the cover screams "don't buy me for kicks. I am an ugly bummer." Happily the double album is oddly full of light and joy.)

Come From The Shadows' cover photo of two elderly Vietnam protesters under arrest strikes a similarly confrontational tone, but this one isn't ugly. Instead, we know right off that we are either with Joan and her groovy octogenarian jailbirds, or we are pro-war. I'm obviously pro-Joan.

I wish I was in the room when this cover was discussed. Joe Salesperson must have choked on his pipe smoke while ordering a telegram that both begged and ordered Baez to put her pretty face on the cover instead. Somehow Baez had the chutzpah, clout and fierce determination to potentially doom her own record in the name of justice. And so we see these rain drenched hippies, who are matched on the reverse of the gatefold by a concise and angry essay from Joan herself, where she tells us, "in 1972 if you don't fight against a rotten thing you become a part of it." Sounds about right to me!

While we are at it, can you name one record cover by any other female artist before Court and Spark that does not focus on the woman's looks? (Damn, I just thought of one: Joni Mitchell's first record...). Anyway, Baez's cover (and the photo of her on the album's backside, in which she sports a reckless, can't be bothered haircut) manages to protest the war and female objectification at the same time.

But drop the needle on any battered, long-ignored, bargain bin copy of this record and everything gets way more complicated. Turns out that Baez had just about every goal possible in 1972, and all at the same time.

Prison Trilogy, the first track, is in keeping with her cover, as she protests the American prison system (not too surprising a topic given the fact that she'd married a guy, allegedly my mother's cousin's roommate at Stanford, who'd been in prison for refusing the draft). But Baez wrote it. Look out singer-songwriters, Joan's in the game! Songwriting wasn't entirely new for Baez; she'd written Song for David a few years before. But half the songs on this record are penned by Baez, by far her highest quota to date. None of her tracks here touch what Sandy, Joni or Carole had done in the preceding months, but they're all pretty good.

What's more, there's some weird stuff going on in her writing. She has a song about the crisis in Bangladesh and, as near as I can tell, she had nothing to do with George Harrison's male-centric benefit concert that had taken place at the end of 71. We know Stephen Stills was at that show, but was Joan? Stills, who doesn't belong as low down in Rock and Roll Hell as Mike Love but still shares the same zip code, spent the night of the Concert for Bangladesh backstage drunk and annoying everyone. He seems to have made that one of his specialties actually. Night of Hurricane found him demanding a whole room full of coke before he'd perform; and check him out in the bonus/rejected footage of The Last Waltz; it looks as though he is unaware of how one makes music. Anyway, was Baez riding the coattails of Harrison with her song about Bangladesh, or did she do this on her own and set the stage for the men to follow? Who knows!

Baez writes another song on this record that is straight-forwardly about sleeping around with some male stranger. There's nothing ambiguous about it; it's called Love Song to a Stranger and there's talk of him standing "nude by the mirror" while presenting her with a rose. A lovely image! I'll bet her husband would have loved hearing that one in the slammer. But he got out in 71, just before this came out, so I suppose she played it for him when he got home; hopefully the stranger had put on some pants by that point. I'm not passing any judgment here; it's a better approach than Clytemnestra took when Agamemnon walked in the door and I'm impressed with how bold and unapologetic Baez is here. We all know that non-males still get judged for being promiscuous while men still can get grinning props for the same thing. Happily, it turns out that Baez has been shouting at us from the dollar bin about this form of injustice for the past 51 years.

Growing up we had a copy of Diamonds and Rust, Baez huge hit record from a few years later. It was a relic of my mother's pre-motherhood life as a feminist who lived out the plot of 9 to 5 a full dozen years before that bizarro film was conceived. She also happened to have Kris Kristofferson as a cousin, which is endlessly cool. Anyway, the title track of Diamonds and Rust always struck me as a big deal because it's obviously written to and about Dylan, and it's intense. Well, it turns out Diamonds and Rust is the second (maybe there are more?) song Baez wrote directly to Dylan. Side 2 of Come From the Shadows keeps up her trend of obvious song naming; it's called To Bobby and it calls him out unambiguously for ditching The Movement to write songs about the man within himself whose ubiquitous brown coat appears on every cover instead of Joan's anti-war grandparents. Did Dylan listen to songs like this that are obviously about him? What was their conversation like when they next saw each other?

Bob: Hey Joanie, that's an intense song you wrote there. Who's it about?

Baez: You Bob. It's about you.

Bob: Gee wiz, Joanie. Just don't tell my wife, okay? I just wrote one called about you too. It's called Wigwam.

The songs on Come From The Shadows not written by Baez are an odd grab bag of moods. Baez out Ronstadts Linda by covering Imagine just an album after covering Let It Be. Both Baez covers are solid, with Baez sounding less strident than she can at times. But I'm guessing everyone on planet earth, including your great grandparents, had heard these tunes before Joan included them. We may scratch our heads at such obvious and seemingly redundant covers today, but keep in mind that for most of the listening public The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down was a song by Joan Baez.

Unlike Imagine and Let it Be, the album's very best track, Rainbow Road, didn't make its way into every progressive 70's summer camp songbook. My cool queer kids think it's a gay anthem - and it should be! Take a listen, and thanks for joining me in the Dollar Bin.

[thewildsophia]

.Sunflower. Clone High//Van Gogh x Reader

Van Gogh x Reader

A/N: It’s been a while hasn’t it?

Word Count: 1957

As a photographer, you saw the world in frames, scenes that were waiting to be captured. Sometimes, if you had the chance, after you’ve taken some photos, you’d return home and use them as references for your sketches. Most of them were of nature scenes or cities, but a decent size of your photos were of people. Most were of students at Clone High while the rest were of people you’d see on the streets, but recently you’re Nikon’s been filled with one person in particular. 

He was an odd choice and even you couldn’t explain why he had caught your eye, but your new subject was none other than Van Gogh. 

Call yourself strange or weird, but Van Gogh was generally just…handsome in your eyes. He was petite and short in height, yet he stood out in a crowd with his bright, orange hair and those striking celeste blue eyes. Many of your photos of him were taken from a distance and without him knowing, so he’s not even facing the camera in them. But the few that you did have where he was looking at the camera, where he was smiling, you cherished and often redrew. 

Along with photographing him, however, you began to photograph the things he likes, mainly sunflowers. Before, you never really cared much for sunflowers; they were just another flower to you. However, after meeting Van Gogh and learning his love for sunflowers, you gained a new admiration for them. 

Speaking of which, you were photographing a wheat field that had sunflowers scattered about in it -- you had found it after speaking to Van Gogh and finding out that that was one of his favorite places to just hang out -- when inspiration had struck. 

You were currently working on a piece for Van Gogh himself. You had heard from a little birdie -- that birdie being Joan -- that his birthday was coming up, so you decided to make him something. 

It wasn’t much, just a collage of a sunflower field that you made using the pictures of sunflowers you had with Van Gogh in the center (using, of course, one of the less creepy, stalkerish pictures of him). You had originally wanted to paint it but your painting skills were…less than desirable, so you stuck with something you knew you could do well. 

You had finished it a few days before his birthday and were quite proud of it. You wrapped it and waited for the day to come.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time flew by and his birthday was today. Joan had informed you that her and Caesar were going to visit him and had invited you to join, which you hastily agreed to. The only problem is that you had to stay after school that day to help out the freshmen in photography (since none of the other juniors would do so). 

Joan had asked where you were and you quickly sent her a text explaining that you were stuck with the freshmen and would be there as soon as you could be. Turns out the soonest you could be there was way after they had their gathering, close to 8 pm. You had told Joan to let Van Gogh know that you’d still stop by to see him. 

True to your word, after closing up the photography classrooms and making sure all the freshmen had gone back to their dorms, you went back to the student dorms and made your way to the 4th floor, where Joan and told you his room was. 

Collage in hand, you knocked on his door hoping that you weren’t waking him. You didn’t know how early, or late, he went to bed. After a moment the door opened and Van Gogh was there, looking up at you. 

“Oh, there you are,” He began, “I was wondering if you were coming at all.” 

“Sorry,” You said with an apologetic smile, “I got stuck helping the freshmen out in photography. No one else wanted to do it so I was left to.” 

“You’re fine. I remember earlier this year, I spent 5 hours helping some of the sophomores in painting I. It was…not all that fun.” He said with a small smile. You laughed at that and he soon laughed with you. 

“Did you want to come in?” He asked after the two of you had calmed down some. You shifted on your feet before answering, 

“Only if it’s okay with you.” 

“Oh it’s more than okay with me,” Van Gogh said, opening the door wider and moving to the side to let you in. Doing your best to keep your face neutral at that comment, you walked in and sat in an offered chair in his kitchen. 

Van Gogh followed suit, grabbing two waters from his fridge and giving one to you. You thanked him as he sat down in the chair across from you. The two of you were quiet for a moment before you spoke. 

“Sorry again for coming so late,” You began, “I really did mean to come here while the others were here.” You looked down at your hands where they were folded on the table. 

“And again, it’s fine,” Van Gogh said, making you look up, “I of all people know how difficult it can be when it comes to helping lower class men.” 

You smiled at his understanding before asking, 

“What did you guys do anyways?” 

“Not much,” Van Gogh said, “We just talked and listened to music while we painted. It really was nice; normally I spend my birthday alone.” 

“Paintings. Crap your gift…stupid.” 

“I’m glad to hear you had a good time, and before I forget,” You said, placing your gift on the table and sliding it over to him, “Here’s your gift, for me to you.” You finished with a smile. Van Gogh took your gift with a smile. 

“Aw, you didn’t have to.” He said, running his fingers over the wrapping. 

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” You said, rubbing your upper arm, “Now, open it!” 

“Now?” 

“Yeah now.” 

Van Gogh began opening it, gently removing the wrapping paper instead of tearing it. He placed the paper on the table and his face contorted when he looked down at the collage. 

At first you thought he didn’t like it, but that thought subsided when you noticed how his mouth opened slightly and blue eyes widened, tears beginning to brim at the corners. He sniffled and that’s when you spoke up.

“Hey,” You called out softly, “Are you…” 

“I’m okay.” He said, “I just-” He cut himself off by covering his mouth. He looked away from you, doing his best to not cry in front of you. You remained quiet, waiting for him to calm down. You were concerned, but you waited patiently. 

“I love it,” Van Gogh said after a moment, “I’m sorry, I just…” He said, covering his hand against his mouth. He stood up, walking over to you and hugging you. You hugged him back, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m always making art for other people,” He said into your shoulder, “No one’s ever made something like this for me. Thank you.” You smiled. 

“You’re welcome.” You whispered before he pulled away, wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand. 

“Sorry,” Van Gogh said, looking over to where the collage was still sitting on the table, “It really is a beautiful piece.” He sat back down where he was a moment before, looking over the collage in more detail. 

“I’m glad you like you,” You said with a smile, “I had to go through multiple flash drives in order to find good enough photos for this, so I’m glad my effort didn’t go to waste.” He didn’t say anything, simply looking over the collage more, but you didn’t mind. After a moment, Van Gogh’s face scrunched up and he looked up at you asking, 

“Are these…from the wheat field? The one with the sunflowers that I told you about?” You felt your face flush and you looked away from him. 

“Some of them, yeah,” You answered, “How could you tell?” 

“Here, look,” He said, waving you over, “This sunflower, the one that’s got the tiny center, is from the field. So is this one with the orange petals aaaand…so are these ones, the little siamese ones.”  He pointed to each sunflower and, sure enough, those were in fact the ones from the field. 

“You’ve got a good eye, Van Gogh.” You said surprised. 

“So do you,” Van Gogh said, looking up, “Most people would use the ‘normal’ looking ones but you chose the ones that were different. Why?” He asked. 

You thought for a moment before answering, 

“Well, I just thought of the person I was giving it to,” You started, which seemed to peak his interest, “You’re different. You’re somewhat ‘ratty’ looking, but you’re not gross. You’re -- despite how cheesy this is going to sound -- unique, and that’s what I like about you. That’s… was looking for in the flowers.” You quickly added onto the end. You felt your face burn as you finished explaining this, and you hoped to God that he didn’t notice the heat rising to your face. 

Van Gogh smiled softly, running his fingers over the work. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” He whispered, “I really appreciate this.” He looked up at you and you felt your heart melt at the smile on his face. It made all those late nights worth it. 

“You’re welcome.” You choked out. He stood up, walking deeper into his room and placing the collage and paper on, what you presumed to be, his desk. He ran his hand over the gift one more time before saying, 

“Damn I miss the field; I haven’t been there in a while.” He walked back over to where you were standing at the table. 

“Hey, I have tons of images of the field,” You said, “Did you want to see them?” You asked, holding your camera up. 

“Only if you want to.” He answered. You sat back down at the table, Van Gogh to your left, as you turned your Nikon on. 

The two of you then spend the next two hours or so flipping through the pictures you had taken of the field, along with some of the students, plants, and other landscapes while talking about whatever came to mind. 

You had only noticed how late it had become when Van Gogh pointed it out to you. 

“It’s past 10, I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.” Van Gogh said while he stood up. You followed suit and let him lead you to the door. “It was really nice having you over, even just for a few hours.” 

“Thanks for having me,” You said as you opened the door to leave, “Oh and before I forget,” You said turning back around. 

“Wha-” Van Gogh started but quickly stopped when he felt you soft, yet chapped, lips pressed against his forehead. 

“Happy birthday, Vincent.” You said quickly, pulling away when he just stood there and turning to leave. You had walked out the door, worried that you had made a mistake, before hearing Van Gogh call out to you. 

“Wait!” You quickly turned around and before you had time to think, Van Gogh had pressed a kiss to your cheek. You noticed that he was on his tippy-toes and that fact alone made you smile. He pulled away saying, 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” He smiled up at you and the pink-peach color that spread across his face was absolutely beautiful. 

“See you tomorrow,” You smiled, turning back around and closing the door to his dorm. 

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

I finished my second Joan Didion book today and am 30 pages into a 400-page Paul Theroux novel about Mexico. I have tomorrow to go so I'm hoping to finish that before school starts and then that will leave the audible Mystery Collection that I have been listening to but have not liked it as much as what I thought I would.

I'm probably going to choose a Wally Lamb book next.

On Vice there is a marathon still going on on Dark Side of the ring and I thought enough time had passed that I could sit and watch the Benoit episode. I got as far as Eddie's death and I just couldn't take it. I was crying as hard as the ppl on screen.

I had to change the channel I don't think I'm ever going to actually be able to watch that again and I marvel that I was able to get through it the first time.

Hubby took my car to put gas in it so I'm kind of stuck here at the house which I wouldn't have been going anywhere anyway but just knowing that I don't have a car kind of makes me want to go somewhere.

I was alerted that we got in the Cameo for the Sinister Minister and I am doing my best not to look at it until hubby gets home and we can watch it together. Hubby was able to guess at Sinister Minister because I told him I had got him one person who was not a wrestler but was a manager that he really liked and of course that was the first person that came to mind for him so I was glad I hit the nail on the head with that one. There is one left to go, I told him his only clue was it was someone that he liked more than Sandman but wasn't one of the big names. He has yet to guess that it is the Fallen Angel Christopher Daniels so I really excited for that one but I am so so excited for the Sinister Minister especially since the Sandman one was so amazing in fact I think from now on if I've ever sad I just can't turn on that can be able to watch it again because that was the funnest experience and that was the best 30 or 40 bucks that I've ever spent in my whole life.

Speaking of money, I sat down and thought about it and I think this year I probably gave about $1,200 to charity and for that I'm very proud of myself. However at least $300 of that went to Deuce. I hope it helped him out and hope to God it had to go for drugs. I sent him a message last night to tell him happy New Years and of course he responded by asking for money. *sigh*

Monday I will ease back into work with an in-service day and then it's all hands on deck and back to basically running the social studies Department stopped itself and will be doing so until the end of the school year

But I do have really good support and I would rather do it on my own then the hell of spending the first part of the Year trying to depend on someone who really had no business ever becoming a teacher and was just out of her depth for the first day but refuse to admit it and just continue to BS her way through everything it's doing a huge disservice to her students and to her colleagues.

I know I am blessed to have this time off and I feel for those who don't and continue to work through the holidays as I did this for the first 45 years of my life.

So if you are not spending today in Leisure as I am I hope that it was a good day somehow for you anyway. I hope the world treats us a little bit more kind this year.