#vi even suggested the two of them stay at the commune TOGETHER

[joicecubes]

my take on this scene (arcane s2 act 2 spoilers. obviously)

if you’re active within the arcane fandom space recently i’m sure you’ve at least stumbled across the discourse where someone interpreted this exchange to be vi “realizing jinx is a better older sister” or something. personally i think it’s a lot less about comparison and a lot more about guilt.

vi has felt responsible for jinx her entire life. she was her protector when they were kids. she abandoned her after vander, milo, and claggor’s deaths leading silco to take her in. jinx went on to work for him. she killed caitlyn’s mother in the council meeting explosion. everything jinx has done and every horrible thing she’s experienced has been a direct result (at least in vi’s mind) of her own failures as an older sibling. and despite her guilt, eventually she forced herself to accept that powder didn’t exist anymore. even more painful, that since she’s the one who caused jinx to be this way, she also has to take responsibility and stand by caitlyn’s side in ensuring jinx won’t hurt anyone else.

but she fails. jinx runs free, vi wallows in her breakup sorrows, and the next time they see each other, jinx… has changed. and she has that same kid with her from their fight. and she’s come to vi willingly for her help.

i think vi is thinking a lot of things when she sees jinx comforting isha. surprise, firstly, to see this side of jinx she hasn’t seen since they were kids. the jinx she knows is a shell of her former self, changed beyond belief, and yet vi watches as jinx softens and treats isha with so much care. helps her dust herself off, says something vi might’ve said to powder what feels like a lifetime ago. “still got all your insides?”

the truth of it is, it’s not jinx being a better older sister than vi was. it’s jinx emulating what vi once was to her, and i think vi catches onto that. she’s watching as an outsider now, jinx and isha paralleling what her and powder’s relationship used to be like and i think it would make sense if the strongest thing she’s feeling right now is longing. how devastating it is that their relationship feels so irreparable, how deeply she wishes she hadn’t hurt powder so long ago.

but there’s also hope in her asking “why’d you come get me? you don’t actually need my help.” sure, she’s still bitter. how could she not be, after everything that’s happened between them? but she recognizes that jinx doesn’t need her anymore, it becomes especially clear seeing jinx taking care of someone else like vi used to take care of her. so why seek her out? why drag her all the way out here? there’s a deep, wounded, guilty part of her that’s desperate for reconciliation, so she reaches for it. especially now that she has no one else.

they make me so sad :(

[charlesandmartine]

Saturday 1st July 2023

Happy Canada Day

This day recalls 156 years since in 1867 when the US beneath them appeared to be gaining in influence, three great chunks of administrations decided to come together under one all embracing banner, Canada instead of BNA (British North America). Until 1982 it was called Dominion Day, but I guess that might mean different things to different people so it was changed again. Originally it was Anniversary of Confederation Day. Well that sounds exceedingly Victorian and stuffy. Legislation, passed by the British Parliament, created Canada as a new, domestically self-governing federation, consisting of the provinces of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Ontario and Quebec, on July 1, 1867, although it looks like BC didn't chip in their tuppence ha'pence until 1871. Further to this, a royal decree in 1868 requests all Her Majesty's Canadian subjects should celebrate on 1st July. It all seems very complicated and how Queen Vic kept up with it from thousands of miles away in London, goodness only knows. Well anyway from what we have seen so far is that Canadians are intending a right knees up and joining in with the spirit of the thing. Flags are up, schools are off and all the RVs (recreational vehicles) are on the road heading for the lakes and coast.

Now Lonely Planet does not brim over with excitement vis-a-vis Salmon Arm. It struggles to find any preoccupation for a tourist who has strayed this far off the beaten and has probably little sympathy if he did.

As the day progressed and expectations were high, the picture that comes to mind is rather that of a damp squib. There was a small hiatus along the main road in downtown Salmon Arm. A group of enthusiastic Canadian citizens were agitated about something. Canada maple leaf flags were abundant and there were placards regarding rights either to be in the LGBT community or possibly not to be as such. Honk if you agree. Hmm, not actually being exactly clear on the subject we deferred.

That being the only incident involving flags etc we proceeded down to the wharf on Sushwap Lake for a little Canada Day preamble. Well be careful who you talk to. We met an elderly Canadian and his elderly oriental wife on the jetty who surprisingly appeared a little anti Canadian and did somewhat confirm the Lonely Planet guide's summation of Salmon Arm; there's not much here. On reflection he came up with a couple of suggestions for us to occupy our time here with. Go to Herald Provincial Park he said. Also you might walk alongside the lake in the other direction. With no other suggestions we did just that. Sadly, all the other revellers went as well. In the middle of nowhere this place was too! We ate our sandwiches, looked forlornly around for somewhere to get a drink, gave up and drove 20km back to Salmon Arm to do number two on the long list of two. This was entirely agreeable. We strolled in the searing sun along the lakeside path which weaved around what was in effect breeding grounds for birds and waterfowl. We saw Red Winged Blackbirds, Clark's Grebe and Western Grebe among others. Loads of Canada Geese of course (in their correct home locality). It was like being in Slimbridge. Following the course of the lake was the main line railway. Amazing freight trains that I calculated to be 1.5km in length rumbled by!

On returning to town we went to search for the celebrations commemorating such an important day. Well, perhaps there'll be more tomorrow? The town was dead, no parties where we are staying, couldn't even find a pub for a beer, nothing....

We had our own celebration; bottle of Canadian SB and sausage egg fried rice.

ps It is said that one should drink a Caesar and eat chicken wings to celebrate Canada Day. We couldn't find anywhere open to even try this aspect of support for the event!

pps This is a stunningly beautiful country. The danger is not to be blinded by repetition of seeing too many lakes, mountains and waterfalls.

ppps Tomorrow we are on the road again, further into the mountains to a place called Golden. Lonely Planet seems a little undecided about this, but we are very optimistic.

[insomniiyac]

Edge of No Return (Pt. 1)

Ekko’s distrust of Piltover always made being in a relationship with him difficult for Jayce. Especially being a Councilor, gaining his trust was like going three steps forward and two steps back.

Pairing: Jayce x Ekko

Warnings: slight cursing

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: When what was meant to be a one-shot turns into a two-parter. 😭 Enjoy!

Link to Pt 2:

Ekko’s distrust of Piltover always made being in a relationship with him difficult for Jayce. Especially being a Councilor, gaining his trust was like going three steps forward and two steps back.

It wasn’t like Jayce was any better though. Sure he was less obnoxious, but the moments when he’d spit out a disparaging remark about Ekko’s people from the Undercity cut deep.

This divide in ideologies came to a head one day when Jayce was expected to come to a Firelight Community event and didn’t show up. Jayce was called to an emergency meeting by the Council, leaving Ekko wondering where he was.

Ekko sat up on the tree by the entrance while Scar and the others handled the intricacies of the event.

He heard Vi’s footsteps approaching him, then a figure taking a seat by him.

“You okay?”

“…Yeah. I’m fine.”

Vi puts a hand on his shoulder.

“He’ll show up. I’m sure he will.”

“I’m beginning to think he won’t. He hasn’t even texted me back nor called. Caitlyn managed to show up. You’d think they turn up together since they’re close or whatever.”

“Well he is a Councilor, Ekko. No offense to Cait, but it’s a higher position.”

“I guess,” he sighs. “It’s just… he knows how much this means to me. He promised-“

“Just give it time. He’s probably just late,” Vi suggests, sheepishly.

“Mm… okay.”

He wanted to join the others. He really did. But he couldn’t help but stay planted in that one place hoping… waiting for him to come…

…..

Jayce waves off the other Councilors before gathering his notes and leaving.

As he makes his way down the hallway, he feels a figure bump against him. He looks down to see Mel wearing her usual beautiful relaxed smile.

“Nice job, Councilman Talis,” she remarks teasingly. “Hopefully we can take Hextech to the next level for Piltover soon.”

“Ah yeah, thank you,” he blushes.

“By the way,” she walks forward and spins around on her heel, blocking his path out of the double-doors. “You’ve been ghosting often,” she leans in to whisper. “There’s rumors about you frequenting the Undercity.”

Uh oh.

“Oh? Well I have to go down there to, uh, keep an eye on them y’know?”

“Eye on who?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Just uh… Silco’s crew. And stuff.”

Jayce was a terrible liar and she knew it. He hoped she wouldn’t press it further, especially considering that he was already late to the Firelight Event.

But now that she and others were on to him, it was gonna be very hard to go down there.

“Mmhmm. Be very careful Jayce,” she warns. “You just became a Councilman. The last thing you want is a scandal. Even if you’re Piltover’s Golden Boy.”

“Yup, will keep that in mind, thanks,” he gulps.

“Have a good day, Councilman,” she pats him on the arm before taking her leave.

Jayce lets a huge exhale escape his lips before heading home to change into his Undercity clothes.

He checks his phone. Seven missed calls and text messages.

He winces. Ekko was certainly pissed at this point. As much as Jayce wanted to give him a call, Ekko had a nasty temper and little patience when it came to him. Maybe shooting a text would suffice?

[Jayce: Hey babe, I’m on my way.]

And with that, he pockets his phone and heads out again.

…..

Ekko had finished helping one of the Firelights pack up the food stand when he heard the door to the base open. He seemed to know who this was, turning away and heading towards the back.

“Ekko,” the footsteps become louder.

“Ekko,” he flinches when feels a firm hand on his shoulder, causing the other Firelights to jump to attention.

He turns around, wearing the dirtiest scowl- though raising a hand to signal the others to stand down.

Jayce surveys the scene half-heartedly. He was too late. Way too late. He exchanges glances with a worried Vi and Caitlyn before returning his attention to Ekko.

“Ekko… I’m-“

“Not here. Let’s go,” he cuts him off sternly, pointing to the tent that was off to the side.

Jayce’s chest felt like it was saddled by the heaviest of rocks as he followed his clearly upset boyfriend to the tent. He was relieved that he loved him enough to not let the Firelights tear him limb for limb, but with the look on Ekko’s face as he turned around, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

“Seven missed calls, Jayce. Seven.”

“I was in the middle of a meeting. You know I can’t miss those. It’s important-“

“It took eight hours?”

“I-I had to get everything together, Ekko,” he stammers.

“So you didn’t think to call me? Or at least send a message that you were gonna be late? Or did you forget?” his voice rises.

“Listen, there are other things to worry about. I have a city to run and I can’t afford to run around waiting hand and foot for you-“

“When have I ever asked you to do that for me?! All I ask for is your time and you act as if that’s a bother to you!”

“It is! Do you realize how much danger I put myself in to come down here?!” Jayce's voice rises as well, alerting some of the others outside.

“Oh! So you admit it? I’m a fucking bother to you?” His voice trembles as he says this.

“You know that’s not what I meant-“

“No, fuck you. The amount of times I’ve risked being beaten by Enforcers to come see you and all you’re worried about is a hit to your reputation!? You’d rather have me risk dying than to have someone see you come down here? Are you serious?”

“I am a Councilor, Ekko! Unlike you, I don’t get to run around and do whatever I want. I have rules I have to follow and I break them for you every single time. What more do you want from me?”

“And you wonder why y’all can never get shit done. At least we actually make changes- what the fuck have you done other than make our lives a living hell-“

“I’ve done a lot more for this city than your people can ever dream of-“

He stops, noticing the wild, but hurt look in Ekko’s eyes.

“Ekko… I didn’t mean…”

“Get out.”

“Ekko-“

“I said get out! And never come back.”

“Tch!” Jayce grits his teeth, turning to leave the tent.

[acatpersonapparently]

@plzdonthitmewithyourcar requested angst so therefore I come bringing Jemtoria angst

i.

Idealism must run in their blood. Victoria always looked up to Munkustrap and Demeter because they saw the world for what it was and still wished for more. No wonder their daughter was born with dreams dancing behind her eyes. She didn't view herself as negative, just realistic. The first time Jemima stops her paws to let ants pass she wants to scoff. She sits there for two whole minutes watching Jemima construct walls with pieces of bark around the ants marching path. Wishing them a safe travel, Jemima turns to her, smiling ear to ear, and thank her for her patience.

Anyone would do it, she says, pawing the earth.

ii.

Jemima cries when anyone else does. Victoria would call it a superpower if it wasn't so frustrating. The sniffling, the tears, the way she drops everything to sit there and let the tears flow. One time, Pounce takes a really hard tumble down a pile of trash and she finds Jemima on the tires, sobbing. She tells her that Pounce is fine, He wasn't even crying when I looked in on him and Jelly. But Jemima sits there, shoulders trembling and tears like rivers

He is, he is! Jemima insists. The tears just won't come out so I'm crying for him.

Victoria doesn't get that much at all, but she loves her sunshine girl and her little glass heart so. She wraps her up in the most loving and soft touches she can and waits for the storm to pass.

(Victoria checks on Pounce the next day. After Jemima had woken up and bounced on her way when the sun came up. He's limping and his shoulders sag with hurt pride and Victoria is almost frustrated with how right she was.)

iii.

It's after the Jellicle Ball that Jemima acts different. Her daydreaming girl is spending so much time... Elsewhere. A place that Victoria can't touch or reach. It's like she's floating along in a daze and Victoria is trying to tether her down. Jemima is still sweet and friendly and chatty with everything she meets, but the lulls in-between, it's like she stops being there at all.

Then she starts jumping. Startling out of their naps in the morning sun, jumping out of her skin while they're drinking water or chatting with Skimble, head popping up wide-eyed between bites of their meal.

Victoria sits next to her, shoulder to shoulder, and asks, Where are you?

Jemima avoids her eyes and bows her head, You don't hear that? Victoria shakes her head and suddenly her young friend looks much too old for her age. I just keep hearing somebody crying. And that's when Victoria reminds her that if someone is crying then she would be too and Jemima's shoulders shake a little with laughter and she agrees

They both decide to pretend that nothing is wrong at all now that it has become painfully obvious something clearly is

iv.

One of Victoria's proudest moments is when Jemima informs her that she's going to be the next Jellicle Protector just like her dad. Jemima is practically glittering with the good news. She positively gushes as she tell Victoria about the story-telling and fighting she's learning. The whole thing fills Jemima with a new vigor and sharpness that Victoria was starting to worry she had lost.

That's great... I wish you were spending more time with me. Victoria thinks to herself, Jemima immediately cocks her head like she's listening to something. Victoria asks her if she saw any cool flowers today to snap her back.

One of Victoria's angriest moments comes the next week when she swings by to visit Jemima and ask her how her first outing as Protector-in-training went. The den is completely dark and there's is a mountain of blankets shaking like there's an earthquake. She reaches out to lift them and-

Don't touch me! Jemima bursts out and scrambles across the room, pressing herself into the wall. Victoria flattens her ears. Everlasting, how long has she been crying in the dark? I'm his! I'm Macavity's! Jemima spits from across the room. Do you know what that means?

(She doesn't)

Victoria reaches out, to touch her sunshine girl and hold together that little glass heart. Jemima recoils like she's been offered poison. In that moment, rage bubbles up in Victoria's calm heart and she want to slash and claw and tear at everyone involved in making such a bright girl dark. Jemima flinches and Victoria's heart melts into love, love, love. They freeze, both waiting for the other to do something.

It means that all these voices are real. Jemima whispers to the dark and Victoria tackles her with a hug she can't say no to.

v.

Pollicles attack the Junkyard. A rush of frothing, gleaming, teeth and heavy paws thundering. They rip up through dens and scratch up Victoria's favourite spot to sunbathe. She doesn't see Jemima after the chaos begins and Jemima yells for her to grab Jelly and Jenny and hide.

(She feels like a useless kitten cowering before a storm at the din outside. She's boiling with the urge to do something and fear as to what may be left when she steps outside.)

It's Alonzo who sticks his head into their dark hole to let them know the storm has passed, blood marring his monochrome.

You need to stay calm, He says

About what? She asks. He shifts his weight back and forth in his feet. She does not stay calm

Jemima, glass-heart and all, is laying hands on the wounded. Her red fur flickers like fire. She's the saint of gentle as their breathing steadies under her touch and then she gets up, stumbling. Only the blood on Jemima seems to be fresh and flowing. Victoria rushes forward to stain herself with it.

I can take their pain, Vi. Jemima's words have the cadence of an excuse made to circumvent a scolding. See? I can do this as Protector. I can protect them from all the pain, Vi. Victoria feels a creeping light pour into her, a soft prying into her ribcage. It coils around her concern, her fear, the pain that's aching in her heart at her sunshine girl being blotted out by so much agony.

She kisses Jemima. She kisses Jemima and lets the tears from her eyes pour down the smaller girl's crusting cheeks. She kisses her to stop her and because she doesn't know what else to do with her.

You can have all of me, but you can't have that. Victoria whispers. She will never be allowed to have that. The girl in her hands who loves and cares for everyone so much that it hurts needs the selfish love in Victoria's chest.

vi.

Months of ceaseless "helping" and "healing" follow. Jemima drawing grief from people's hearts and into her own. Pulling out thorns of agony, terror, and fear and letting them bury themselves in her flesh instead.

Victoria hates it. She really hates it.

Your compulsive need to fix things and help people is destroying you. Don't you see that? Victoria tells her, drawing her gentle lover up from the fetal position on the floor. She pushes back the sweaty hair in Jemima's eyes and tilts her chin up to look at her. Jem's brown eyes are cloudy, like she's look at her from the other side of the veil.

Jemima croaks. Her whole tiny body trembling with effort just to support herself. They're not in pain anymore.

Yes, but you are. I don't care about them, I care about you. Why don't you care about you. Victoria swallows all of those thoughts down, but since they're already so close. Not just close as Victoria's hands support Jemima but as two people who have mapped out each other's souls. Jemima feels those thoughts pass through her skin.

But who else? Jemima whispers. Even now, she can hear it all. The pain, the heartache, the despair that seems to be flooding out of every heart on earth.

Anyone else, Victoria tries to communicate through kisses. She wants to wrap Jemima in a blanket of love louder than all the pain that knocks at her door. She runs her hands up and down Jem's arms (Everlasting, when did she get so thin?) trying to share some of her warmth.

Jem, you need to stop. Come home with me, sleep with me tonight. We can watch cartoons and I can paint your nails, brush your hair. Victoria whispers the suggestions to the hazy eyed girl in her arms. Jemima pushes her away and takes a few stumbling steps, collapsing back to her knees.

I have appointments... Tomorrow... I'm protector. Jemima's head bobs with the sleep that always is evading her. Her hands clutching her head, rubbing her temples. Brain flashing between boiling hot agony and freezing cold grief. Mom and Dad said... I have to help people.

But not like this, Victoria thinks, rushing forward to catch Jemima's head before it hits the ground. Those happy idealists who raised you and loved you, They didn't mean it like this

[auror-lovie]

Fairytale: Fairytale (Newt Scamander)

━━━•✦.✧. Author’s Note.✧.✦•━

It’s a little sad :(

If you want to be added to my taglist, just send me an ask, PM, or fill out the taglist form.

The playlist should be linked up on "Find Playlists Here" under "Fairytale" in my bio.

━━━━━•✦.✧. About .✧.✦•━

After taking Grindelwald down, (Y/N) was nowhere to be found. Five years later, Newt is on babysitting duty and he tells the kids the story of a lost fairytale.

━━━━━•✦.✧. Notes .✧.✦•━

Word Count: 2.1k

Smol Angst.

Character Death

So… I’m learning Tagalog. If there are any Tagalog speakers out there that read this, tell me if anything is grammatically incorrect. I’m really nervous. Translations will be provided next to the phrase in italics.

References to “I Loved You, Mr. Scamander”

Surprise at the end~

━━━•✦.✧. Disclaimer .✧.✦•━

Let’s pretend that it only takes two years to take down Grindelwald and his organization after the events of Crimes of Grindelwald.

━━━━━━•✦.✧.☾.✧.✦•━━━━━

|| general masterlist || series masterlist ||

Fairytale: Fairytale (Newt Scamander x Reader)

━━━━━━•✦.✧.☾.✧.✦•━━━━━

It took only a couple years after what happened in Paris to fully take down Grindelwald. Leta was killed in the final battle and that left Theseus in shambles. When he returned to London, he apparated to a lonely flat. The place where the only person who would understand his pain lived- Victoria.

From there, the rest was history.

•✦.✧.☾.✧.✦•

“Thanks for watching the kids, Newt. Theseus and I needed a day off.” Victoria said as her kids ran in the living room of Newt’s flat.

Theseus sighed. “Mei Anne Mendoza Scamander. Thaddeus Alden Mendoza Scamander, please stop running around. You’re sure to break something.”

Newt glanced at Theseus, his niece and nephew before looking back at Victoria. “It’s no problem. You know I love watching them…” He thought for a moment, “Merlin, those are long names…”

Victoria gave Newt a look, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re one to talk, Newton Artemis Fido Scama-”

He chuckled, “Okay, okay. Point taken. Now off you go before you end up missing your reservation.”

Theseus walked over to Victoria, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Vi… Do something.”

Victoria smiled. “Watch and learn.” She slowly got out of Theseus’ embrace and walked to where the kitchen met the living room. Her children were still running around, laughing at their game of tag. Victoria giggled softly before clicking her tongue.

In a blink of an eye, Mei Anne and Thaddeus stopped and looked at their mother.

“Halika dito,” ‘Come here’ She said calmly. Mei Anne and Thaddeus slowly made their way to their mother.

“See what you did?” Thaddeus whispered to his sister.

“Me? You started running!” Mei Anne replied.

When the pair stood in front of their mother, they could feel her staring down at them. Victoria squatted, making sure she was at their level.

“Maging mabuti, okay?” ‘Be good?’ Victoria asked.

“Yes, nanay.” ‘Yes, mom.’ They answered.

“Promise?”

“Yes.” They nodded.

Victoria smiled and kissed their foreheads. “Okay, your father and I will see you later then. Don’t give Tito Newt a hard time. You can go back to playing, just stay where he can see you.”

Mei Anne and Thaddeus smiled before going back into the living room and looked at Newt’s bookshelf.

Victoria stood and walked over to the brothers who were staring at her in awe. “Close your mouth boys, you’ll catch flies.”

Newt and Theseus shook out of their amazement. “That’s amazing!” Newt said excitedly.

“I know. I find it fascinating whenever she speaks Tagalog. It seems the children like it when she speaks to them in another language.” Theseus praised.

Victoria rolled her eyes playfully. “Just wait until I teach them Japanese.”

“I thought you were Chinese?” Newt asked.

She hummed. “I am, but my mom and I were never exposed to our Chinese culture whilst we were growing up. She learned Japanese from her caretakers, and I learned it from my mom.”

“You can tell me more about it at dinner,” Theseus suggested.

“Right! Dinner!” Victoria exclaimed. “See you around ten?”

Newt nodded, “See you at ten.”

~*~*~

After showing Mei Anne and Thaddeus all his creatures, and feeding them dinner (Yes, because children need to eat real food Newton), it was time for them to get some sleep.

“But Uncle Newt… We’re not tired…” Thaddeus whined.

“Yeah, I wanna play with the Nifflers again…” Mei Anne added.

With both kids in his arms, he carried them over to the living room and set them down on the couch. “If I don’t get you to bed your mum would lecture me.”

Thaddeus shivered, quickly holding a couch pillow to his chest. “I don’t like mummy’s lecture voice. It’s calm, but something about it is scary.”

Newt chuckled, sitting on the floor in front of them. “How about I tell you a bedtime story.”

Mei Anne nodded. “Will you? We love bedtime stories!”

He nodded, “Alright then… Where do I start…”

Thaddeus cuddled close to his sister for warmth. Mei Anne took the couch blanket and set it over their laps. They both were quiet and attentive.

“It all started a long time ago. When a stable boy fell in love with the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Day after day, he’d go out and pick the best-looking sunflower from the community gardens and gift it to her.”

“These are for you, (Y/N). I hope you like them…” Newt mumbled, holding out a sunflower bouquet.

(Y/N) smiled, playing with the ends of her sleeve. “Newt! How did you know these were my favorite?”

“I remember you saying they were your favorite in Herbology once…”

“But Newt, that was in first year!”

Mei Anne smiled. “I want someone to give me sunflowers!”

Newt chuckled. “Soon they became friends. And even though they couldn’t see it, everyone around them was aware that they were in love.”

Newt turned the corner, looking for the Herbology book he needed for his essay. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help it. “Last time I checked, you were a Ravenclaw this morning,” Victoria asked.

“What are you talking about?”

A pause before he heard (Y/N) speak again. “O-Oh! I was just cold… That’s all…”

Newt put the pieces together- they were talking about how he gave her his robes.

“I was just cold! That’s all..” Victoria mimicked teasingly. “But seriously… Are you ever going to tell him?”

“No, I don’t think I will…”

And that’s when Newt left to find the book he needed. Of course, they quickly changed the subject. Sure, he was the topic of interest for a second, but he knew how Victoria could easily change the subject without the person knowing.

‘She would never like me in that way anyway.’ He thought.

“Although, things started to get in the way of their friendship. In their younger years, the stable boy started being around another girl. He thought he could manage his time between his first love and the new girl, but in the end, he chose to be around the new girl.” Newt sighed as he reminisced on all the missed moments he had with (Y/N).

Mei Anne grumbled. “Ugh. Boys are stupid. Why couldn’t he just tell her!”

Thaddeus looked up to his sister. “I’m not stupid!”

Mei Anne sighed and ruffled his hair. “Okay… Boys are stupid… Except you, Uncle Newt, dad, and Uncle Jacob.”

“Oh, don’t say that. I was… pretty dumb when it came to certain things.” Newt admitted.

“What happened when they got older?” Thaddeus asked, looking back to Newt.

Newt swallowed. He tried to think of a way to explain the past ten years without going into too much detail. “Well… The stable boy got into some trouble and ran away. He kept in touch with his first love through letters, but he was always on the run- looking for new creatures to study. When he finally returned to the village, he found out that his first love had fallen in love with someone else-”

“WHAT? But… But they were in love! How could she just… love someone else…?” Thaddeus interrupted.

“Because she didn’t know! As mum always said, you miss all the shots you don’t take.” Mei Anne added.

“Can I continue the story?” Newt asked, causing the children to stop rambling.

“Thing is… There was a war going on. So the stable boy’s first love had parted with her lover. Within that time, the stable boy and his first love started getting closer. He was so close to confessing his feelings. Until a monster took her away.

“Oooh, I bet it was a scary dragon!!” Thaddeus exclaimed.

“T, it wasn’t a dragon. It was probably some kidnapper!” Mei Anne

Newt sighed. “Hmm… I guess you could say he was a kidnapper. He used his words to trick people into following him. The stable boy spent day after day trying to find his lost love. He vowed that the moment he found her again… They’d have a brand new start.”

“And did he find her?” Mei Anne asked.

“Legend says that he’s still looking for her,” Newt said, ending his story.

KNOCK KNOCK

“And that’s your mum and dad!”

“But!! The story!!!” Thaddeus whined.

Newt stood to open the door, letting Victoria and Theseus inside. “I hope they weren’t too much trouble,” said Theseus.

“Uncle Newt was telling us a story about a stable boy and his first love!” Mei Anne cheered, the feeling of sleep disappearing.

Victoria looked at Newt, “Oh really?”

“Uh-huh! And the stable boy went through so much heartbreak and… His love was kidnapped and the stable boy is still trying to find her.” Thaddeus said, waddling over to his mom.

Theseus walked over to the couch to pick Mei Anne and carry her. “Oh… Such a sad tale. Did the stable boy ever find her?”

Mei Anne shook her head. “No… Uncle Newt said that he’s still trying to find her…”

Victoria sighed and picked up Thaddeus, who was tugging at her skirt and making grabby hands at her. “Yeah… Me too…” She muttered.

~*~*~

Another date night and Newt was on babysitting duty. Not like he minded. A popping sound echoed through the basement.

“I’ll see who it is, Uncle Newt!” Mei Anne yelled as she turned the corner. She saw a woman standing at the bottom of the basement stairs.

The woman looked down at Mei Anne in confusion. “W-Who are you? Where are your parents?”

Mei Anne walked closer to the woman, her eyes ever so observant. She tilted her head to the side when she realized who it was. “Aunty (Y/N)?”

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?” (Y/N) asked, meeting Mei Anne halfway.

Mei Anne held her ground. “I’ve heard mum talk about you a lot.”

She squatted down to Mei Anne’s height. “So he married Tina, hm?”

“What? Are you talking about Aunty Tina? No… She’s mum’s friend.”

(Y/N) looked closer at the girl in front of her. Long black hair, soft blue-green eyes, slightly tan skin, and the cutest freckles on her face. Half of these were definitely Scamander qualities… but who was the other half? “It seems that you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“My name is Mei Anne Mendoza Scamander. I’m five years old and I have a little brother named Thaddeus Alden Mendoza Scamander!” She said proudly.

“Mei Mei, what’s taking you so long? Uncle Newt’s gonna show us Kelpie!!” Thaddeus exclaimed, turning the same corner. “Who’s this, Mei Mei?”

(Y/N) looked past Mei Anne to see her brother.

Thaddeus had nicely styled brown hair, dark brown eyes, and slightly tanned skin but a skin tone lighter than his sister’s. She swore that if he came closer, he’d have those Scamander freckles on his cheeks too.

She gasped, her hands covering her mouth. “Oh… How did I not see that? You two are almost sheer copies of your parents…”

Just then the door to the basement opened, “Mei Mei, Thaddeus, Newt! We’re here!” Victoria called out as they descended the stairs.

With every click of Victoria’s heels, (Y/N) had the urge to Disapparate out of there. That was until Mei Anne called out, “Nanay! Look who came to visit?”

Victoria quickly walked down the remaining steps, Theseus following close behind. “Who is it? Aunty Tina? Aunty Queenie and Uncle Jacob? Who could it be-” She stopped at the bottom of the steps and (Y/N) stood from her squatting position. They felt it.

The small bit of warmth from the charm bracelets they got all those years ago… “(Y/N)..?”

(Y/N) turned around slowly. “Hey, Vi… It’s me…”

Theseus smiled and softly pushed Victoria forward. “Don’t just stand here, hug her!”

“I missed you so much…” (Y/N) whispered as they shared a long hug. Soon, Theseus and the kids joined in on the hug.

When they all pulled away, Newt finally joined the rest. “Mei Mei, Thaddeus! Where have you two been? Have you found out who Apparated here? Victoria! Theseus! You weren’t supposed to be here until later- (Y/N)?” Newt rambled.

“Thanks again for watching the kids, Newton!” Victoria smiled. She then whispered something in (Y/N)’s ear before leaving with Theseus and the kids.

“(Y/N)...” Newt trailed off, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She smiled. “Hello, Newt.”

And all was well. It may have taken a while to adjust, but Newt and (Y/N) managed it. After all… it was their fairytale.

[snowdice]

Birthday Cuddles (Part of the Road Trips and Everything In Between Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus & Virgil, Janus & Remy, Janus & Emile

Characters: Janus, Virgil, Remy, Emile

Summary: Janus comes to a movie night at Remy’s house the day after his 16th birthday party. He’s exhausted.

This takes place the day after Birthday Gifts.

From the GRUMPY AFFECTIONATE STARTERS prompt list. One anon requested “Ew. Get away from me. No– not you. You stay” with Remy & Virgil & Janus and another anon asked for the same one with Virgil & Janus. So, you both get what you want here. :)

Notes: Secret Agents AU (but not even subtly mentioned), implied (emotional) child abuse 

This is set in the same universe as Road Trips and Missing Persons and is a prequel. You can read what’s done of that story below.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 My Master Post

Emile opened the door and smiled softly at the person on the other side of it.

“Hi,” Janus said. “Uh, Remy invited me over for a movie tonight. Am I too early?” Emile looked over the boy. He looked physically and emotionally drained, and Emile was honestly a little bit worried that he’d apparently driven himself over here. He knew why, of course. Remy had already told Emile that the boy had looked like he was ready to crack yesterday before the party from hell his mother forced him to host.

“Of course, you’re not too early,” Emile said. “Come on in.”

“Vi-” Emile started.

“Janus!” Virgil’s voice enthused as he ran in from the kitchen. He slammed into him, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. “Help! Uncle Emmy is trying to make me eat vegetables!”

Just a bit of life returned to Janus’s eyes in his brother’s presence. “How dare he.”

“Pizza this evening means cauliflower this afternoon,” Emile chided. He narrowed his eyes at the teenager. “That goes for you too mister.”

Janus and Virgil met eyes. “Two against one,” Janus said.

Emile opened his mouth to respond, but a voice from the kitchen called, “Three against one!”

“Remington! Set a good example for your child and eat the vegetables.”

“You’ll never take me alive!”

Emile groaned and looked back at the kids. “I’ll bake it and put buffalo sauce on it,” he offered.

Janus and Virgil looked at each other again, seeming to communicate wordlessly. Janus inclined his head slightly. “Deal,” Virgil said with a nod, “but you’re on thin ice.”

Emile shook his head with a smile. “Why don’t you two go watch tv for a bit,” he suggested. He didn’t want to give Virgil a chance to suggest something more strenuous. He knew Janus would go along with it no matter how exhausted he was.

“Okay,” Virgil agreed. He grabbed Janus’s hand and pulled him to the couch, and Emile walked back into the kitchen to start cooking the cauliflower.

“How’s he looking?” Remy asked. He was seated at the table working on some paperwork and drinking coffee.

“Exhausted,” Emile sighed. “All of that isn’t good for a kid.”

Remy hummed in agreement. “Who let his mother reproduce?”

“…Well…”

“Don’t say it,” Remy said with a glare. “And I took responsibility for that and removed my blood from her presence as much as possible.”

“So, you did,” Emile agreed, moving to start cutting up the head of cauliflower.

“Now, if only I could figure out something similar for her other kid.”

Emile didn’t comment. It wasn’t the first time they’d had that conversation.

Remy finished up what he was working on just as Emile was taking the buffalo cauliflower off the baking sheet and putting it into a bowl. Remy made a face at it and Emile rolled his eyes.

The walked together into the living room. Virgil had cuddled up next to Janus to watch Steven Universe. Janus appeared to be half asleep, but he jerked back awake with panic in his eyes when he heard footsteps. He relaxed when he realized where he was, pulling Virgil a bit closer to him. Emile set the bowl on the table in front of them.

“Eat up,” he said. Virgil obediently reached forward to pop one in his mouth, but Janus glowered grumpily up at him.

“You’re not my dad,” he groused.

“Eat the dam- er… dumb stuff so he shuts up,” Remy said.

Janus grumbled about it, but he did reach forward to take one.

“So, what movie are we watching tonight?” Emile asked.

“I think Janus should get to pick,” Remy said.

Janus blinked and thought for a moment. Then his lips twitched. “Ratatouille,” he said, unrepentant. “I want to witness a Remy with sense.”

Remy gasped dramatically. “I have been betrayed!” he bemoaned. “In my own home!” He looked at Janus with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I feel faint from the shock.” He then proceeded to throw himself on top of the two kids on the couch.

“No! Get off!” Janus said, shoving at him as Virgil giggled up a storm.

“No, now it’s group hug!” Remy said, throwing his arms around Janus. Virgil smiled big and threw his own arms around them both the best he could.

“Ew. Get away from me,” he said wiggling. Remy relented after a moment and released him. “No, not you,” Janus said when Virgil also started to detach himself. He swiped out an arm to drag the 10-year-old back into their previous cuddling position. “You stay.”

Virgil smiled happily at the display of affection towards him and nuzzled back into Janus.

Remy pushed himself to his feet. “I was going to let you decide the pizza too, but now I’m just going to order sausage and olives without your input.”

Sausage and olives was, of course, Janus’s pizza of choice. Janus rolled his eyes.

“And pineapple!” Virgil requested.

“Yes, and I’ll get you your own unholy pizza too, menace.” Remy said and reached forward to poke his forehead. Virgil laughed and swatted at him before tucking his face back into Janus’s chest. Janus placed his hand on the back of Virgil’s head with warm affection in his eyes. Emile wondered if they could convince him to stay for more than just one night. His mother likely wouldn’t even notice for a few days in the aftermath of the party. Maybe they’d enlist Virgil help to convince him.

Want to read more? Click below!

Road Trips and Everything in Between Master Post

Main Master Post.

[visionsofus]

Hi! I’ve been reading some of your Wanda & Vision mixtape series and after the season final, I HIGHLY recommend giving “Our Corner of the Universe” by K. S. Rhoads a listen! I think your series is such a great idea and it’s so well written; warm without being cheesy.

You seriously are trying to break my heart with this song - I'd never thought about listening to it in the context of Wanda and Vision but boy once I did my heart was in pieces. Anyway! I hope you like where I went with this. 

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |  

track #8 of Wanda and Vision’s Mixtape ~ Our corner of the universe 

Synopsis: In which Wanda and Vision are coming to the end of a few weeks together in Paris pre-IW and Wanda dreams a life for them where they no longer have to run and hide. Unknowingly, she draws Vision into her dream and they both must contend with the idea that this reality isn't something that will be easy for them.

Paris had grown colder in the last few days, as though the city knew the time was coming when Vision would have to leave.  The sun had disappeared early that morning behind a cover of clouds that had seen the day through until sunset, leaving a soft rain to patter against the glass French doors. They were huddled in bed now, Vision tracing soft patterns about Wanda’s back as he watched the rain drizzle down the glass.

“Tomorrow is too soon,” she whispered, her head shifting slightly from where it was resting atop his chest.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head affectionately.  

“One day we won’t run like this,” Wanda said looking up into his eyes and Vision tried to smile. Normally he was more hopeful, but it was now coming to the end of their second year of meeting up like this and it was difficult to see a future where they could be else. Of a time when they might have a life together that was more than stolen moments in distant cities.

“One day we’ll be able to live together in one place, we’ll have neighbours and friends, we won’t have to hide.”

“I hope so, my love,” Vision said opening his arms wider as Wanda got under the dark bed covers for the evening. Once she was settled, he slid off the bed and went about turning the lights out and checking the doors were locked. It was routine for them now. Once Vision was sure that everything was safely locked up, he joined Wanda, pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed atop the covers for added warmth.

Wanda shuffled closer to him as he lay down beside her and he opened his arms for her to rest atop his chest once more. They were often inseparable like this on the last night, needing the physical connection of each other to remind themselves to be present in the moment and not spend their precious hours dreading the coming morning.

Vision ran his fingers through Wanda’s hair in calming motions as her breath slowed. Eventually he stilled and started to drift off himself, into the version of sleep that his synthezoid body demanded.  

Neither of them was conscious when Wanda’s hand twitched atop Vision’s chest, red mist forming before dissipating in the air between them.

Vision didn’t dream. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, if he really wanted to his synthetic brain could replicate something close to the dreamlike state that humans experienced. But he generally preferred the endless quiet that came with his brain’s resting state. The chance for stillness, even for a few hours, was a relief. Perhaps there was an element of self-preservation to it, the fear that Wanda would be caught and that he would have to watch her be imprisoned once more haunted his waking hours enough, he would rather not be consumed by the same thoughts at night.

So it came as something of a surprise when Vision found himself opening his eyes to warm sunlight, despite his brain reminding him that he was indeed, still resting. It disconcerting trying to reconcile his physical form, which remained in the Parisian apartment in bed beside Wanda, and his mental form currently cast in sunlight somewhere, somewhen, else.

Judging from the light streaming through the four paned windows opposite his face, it was early morning, where though, he couldn’t tell. Slowly, Vision rolled over and came face to face with the peaceful, sleeping face of his partner. She sighed softly and shifted closer to him.

“Go back to sleep, it’s too early,” she whispered to him.

“It’s night-time,” Vision said in confusion.

Wanda’s eyes opened and she scrunched her nose up at him. “Just a few more minutes.”

This put him at ease, it was exactly what his Wanda said most mornings. “Of course, a few more minutes,” he said, and Wanda sighed happily, moving closer to rest her head upon his shoulder like a pillow.

“We should stay like this forever.”

Vision smiled and his eyes drifted closed against the sun, wishing that every morning might be like this.

He started when he suddenly found himself standing in an unfamiliar living room. It was a cosy space, mostly occupied by a large red couch and a collection of armchairs assembled around a flat screen television. He spun on the spot looking around for Wanda.

“Vis? Is that you?” Came Wanda’s disembodied voice and Vision followed it through the next room into a quaint kitchen complete with cluttered island and wooden dining table.

“Darling?” Vision said hesitantly, closing the kitchen door behind him. “What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to make sure that your evening is free for next Friday, we’ve been invited to dinner,” Wanda said running her fingers atop a calendar and marking a square with a black marker.

She was dreaming, that much he was now sure of. This strange transition to what appeared to be a few hours later was the most obvious indicator. Not to mention the haze like state of their surroundings, as though the interior designer had given up halfway through the décor process. Kitchen tiles faded off into exposed wall, there were two clocks hanging above the sink ticking in opposite directions, and though there were cookbooks sitting on the kitchen island, when Vision tried to make sense of their titles, he found he couldn’t read any of them.

He’d talked with Wanda about what kind of house that she would like one day, but that had been a while ago and he’d been hesitant to add himself to that image. Now here he was in her dreamscape, in a made-up house that they appeared to live in, together.

“So that is a yes for you next Friday?” Wanda said absentmindedly as she began to move around the kitchen assembling a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Yes,” Vision said, deciding it was best to play along, distantly recalling that it wasn’t a good idea to wake sleepwalkers. He didn’t want to give Wanda a fright or force her into a lucid dream state. Instead he watched in wonder as she continued to navigate the space with ease, her hands finding the cupboard with the saucepans and the cutlery drawer without hesitation, it was fascinating to watch. He wasn’t entirely sure how Wanda had drawn him into her dream, but for now he was content to observe.

“I was thinking of making Paprikash to take, what do you think?” Wanda asked as she brought her meal to the table and gestured for him to join her.

“I think—” Vision began, watching her smile up at him as he hovered about the table. “I think that is a wonderful idea.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said grinning and taking a napkin from a pile on the table, “perhaps I can teach you how to make it properly?”

“I’d love that,” he replied, thinking tenderly of his pathetic first attempt at the dish all those years earlier. Back when he’d been a lovestruck being, not entirely capable of processing the wave of feelings he got every time she was near. He supposed not much had changed, if anything the feelings had grown more intense.

Before Vision had time to further dissect the space about them, the scene changed yet again and he found himself standing in a park whose grass was slightly too green, the colours of the playground a little too bright. The colours lost their saturation around the corners of his view, as though the paintbrush had run out of paint for the edges.

Vision instead turned his attention to the woman walking beside him, her arm tucked into the nook of his elbow as they strolled through the park. He was distinctly aware of Wanda chattering away about their imaginary schedule for the weekend, suggesting a movie the following day at the outdoor cinema with their neighbours and reminding him of the community meeting the following Wednesday.

He smiled softly and listened to her creating this life for them, wishing it into existence. He was content to just hear her speak, to gain this glimpse into a future they clearly both wanted, even if it was just a dream for the time being. It reignited his desire to fight for a shared life with Wanda. The running and hiding had been wearing them both down recently, but it humbled his despair to know that Wanda still longed for this version of life. It made him want to do as much as he could to get them something close to this life.

Vision turned his face to the sun as they walked, relishing in its warmth as glimpses of light made it through the greenery above them. Her hand was a constant on his arm, her voice in his head telling him of all they both wished for, birds providing a background chorus.

His eyes opened once more, smiling as he turned his head to look at Wanda. It took a moment to realise this wasn’t part of the dream, that he had returned to their current reality once more.

It was still dark outside and for a brief moment his heart held onto the hope that time had paused while they dreamt, that it was still evening, but a glance to the digital clock on their bedside table told Vision it was nearing 7am. He was due to get the train at 10am.

Wanda was still curled against his side, her breathing slow and steady, one hand had reached across the covers as they slept, reaching for him. He took it rubbing her cold fingers to warm them up. As he did so, she stirred beside him.

“Wanda,” he murmured to the morning air, brushing her hair off her cheek with gentle touches.

“No,” she whispered back, scrunching her eyes closed causing little tears to leak from the corners. “I didn’t want to wake up.”

“I know,” he said.

“I wanted to stay there.”

“One day.”

Wanda opened her eyes at this and looked up at him, her questions clear. He smiled tightly at her but was sure it came across as something closer to a grimace. Understanding reached her eyes and he nodded sadly, confirming that he’d seen it all too.

“One day,” he repeated, like a promise and she slid her arms around his waist in answer, pulling herself closer to his warmth.

They held each other for as long as they could afford before knowing that they had no other choice than to get ready for their respective departures. With their bags packed, Vision set about making a quick breakfast for Wanda, the same scrambled eggs and bacon she’d made in her dream world. She stayed pressed to his back, her arms wrapped around his waist, as though afraid he’d disappear like her dreams.

At the station they waited at the platform as the train pulled in. Vision hated this part the most, hated that he had to be the one to turn his back first, but Wanda never told him where she was going next, it was to protect them both.

“We will find a way to that home,” he whispered at her ear as they hugged one last time.

“You really think we could have that?” she asked, voicing the question they both seemed too scared to ask all morning.

“I promise to you,” he said holding her hands tightly between them, “that I will do everything in my power to make that life for us.”

She smiled and leant forward to kiss him one more time.

“Travel safe,”

“And you,”

And Vision was leaving again, not knowing when they’d next be able to meet up, or for how long. At least some of his hopelessness had turned to hope in the last few hours, reignited by the knowledge that she longed for the same life he did. Doubt was always following him, and he’d started to wonder if he’d been overstepping where they were at in their relationship, but he could no longer ignore how right it had felt. They’d find a way to that corner of the universe, one day.

[felipeandletizia]

Pandemic days in La Zarzuela

Jesus Rodriguez - May 23, 2020 (Source)

This is the chronicle of how the crisis of covid-19 has been lived in the Headquarters of the State, of the challenge of being King in exceptional times. And also two and a half months of home confinement for a married couple with two daughters.

This April has been one of the rainiest in Madrid. Nature is in all its splendor. The path that leads from the first security control of La Zarzuela to the palace appears bordered by splendid vegetation and by deer that pass slowly. Here apparently nothing ever changes. But at the entrance of the Headquarters of the State it is already detected that it is not the same. The circumspect civil guards are covered with masks and black latex gloves. The identification is given to the agent with the arm to the maximum of its extension to maintain social distance. The gray hybrid car that transports you from that surveillance point to the heart of the royal complex, hidden in the immense mount of El Pardo, owned by National Heritage, incorporates methacrylate partition walls. The quiet, uniformed driver who doesn't open his mouth at the slightest attempt at a chat, wears his mask tight, almost to the point of cutting his breath.

We circulate slowly and alone in an environment that produces drowsiness. Four kilometers later, almost at the end of the route, you can see the tiles of the King and Queen's house hanging on a promontory one kilometer from the palace between the tops of the trees. It is the most invisible property within the invisibility that prevails in this place. The most hermetic place in La Zarzuela. It is never used for official acts. Just for some timid recording of their daily life. It is intended to be a home in which a family of four lives. Even more so in times of pandemic. They assure in this place that its inhabitants "are very respectful of the recommendations of the authorities, and in this case that means that grandparents, cousins ​​and other family members stay each in their own homes."

A family that has been confined since March 13 with minimal and well-considered official departures (only ten, of which five have been carried out by the King alone until May 20 and one by the Queen alone, to the Red Cross). That gets up at 7.30 and eats after two in the afternoon. And where each of its members faces in this strange time the mission entrusted to them, whether by the Constitution, by life or by their age: meeting with the Prime Minister (today is Tuesday, meeting day, and they will meet through videoconference, as usual during the entire crisis); support, by the Queen through videoconference with a brain damage foundation or, in the case of their teenage daughters, carry out their education with the school closed since March 11, but connecting with it from the first hours of the morning. Without any extra school help, but with their parents trying to help them out on English homework, a text commentary, or a story presentation. And a mother who ensures that they are not hooked to the tablet all day and read books and even immerse themselves in the kitchen. Something that the youngest daughter, Sofía, loves.

It is a family that talks a lot, goes to bed early and, if there are no setbacks, ends the day with a movie. Every night one of its members chooses the title. It is a battle between movie fans: a daughter bets on the sagas of Marvel and Star Wars; another, for dramas and science fiction; the father, for the action and the thrillers. And the mother plays the role of intellectual trying to suggest more cultural titles. It is not always imposed.

Someone who knows them recounts their state of mind during this time of pandemic and isolation: “Like all families in this country, in these two long months they have been (and are) closer together than ever. Father, mother and daughters. Alone. With the same feeling that is being experienced in all the houses of this country: of greater union, of being a team, of moving forward. And the same uneasiness as the rest, given the circumstances that were lived during these 10 weeks."

Especially sad moments have passed, such as when the dramatic situation of the elderly in some residences came to light: “It left them with deep despondency and sadness. That bitter sensation and that lump in their throats lasted a long time.” Those were the days, at the beginning of April, when more than 900 deaths were counted each day. And many hospital directors from all over Spain explained to them day and night by videoconference, on the field, in real time, that they were having a hard time, that they had a thousand daily incomes; they were overwhelmed. And yet, they say in La Zarzuela, these people talked to them with integrity and the best of their spirits. And they asked them to fight for "primary care" in the future.

During this time, the King and Queen have spoken with more than 50 hospitals in all the autonomous communities. Long talks that have provided them with a very precise map of the evolution of the pandemic by time and territory. And without filters. The King, the Queen, their interlocutors and a notebook. None of those calls have been recorded.

Before reaching our destination, we cross a stone bridge over the almost overflowed by the Trofa stream. Here is another checkpoint. This time, in charge of the Royal Guard. There are far fewer guards than at other times. Much of its 1,500 troops no longer honor each ceremonial step of the King; they are on the street, disinfecting residences and fighting coronavirus in Operation Balmis as decided by Felipe VI on March 23 during an interview with Defense Minister Margarita Robles. And a few days later he did the same with the members of the Security Service of the Headquarters of the State, composed according to various sources (because the King's House does not provide data) of more than 300 escorts, police and civil guards.

When the King sent his guard and bodyguards to work against the virus, he tried to send a message of solidarity within the framework of the policy of gestures with which the Spanish Monarchy communicates, an institution that rarely issues statements and hardly ever claims or denies. The Jemad, General of the Air Miguel Ángel Villarroya, declared in a martial tone on March 23 that with that act "the King proved to be the first soldier in Spain." He was wrong. What Felipe VI was trying to demonstrate with that decision, as with all of these months of crisis (people he has seen, words he has uttered, world political and economic leaders with whom he has interviewed, hospitals he has called, consultations that he has made to scientists, requests that he has communicated to businessmen), is that he is next to the people. His great concern is the "day after"; the problems that this pandemic is going to cause among the most disadvantaged citizens when it all ends.

A source from his environment explains: "He has analyzed a thousand and one times how it could be valued what so many entities are doing in the face of the impoverishment of thousands of people who were already very vulnerable and will see their ability to get ahead even more hindered. And see what he could do as Head of State in the face of the tragedy of those self-employed who did not receive their full salary in March, nor have they received in April and are waiting for May. And all those who await their ERTE.” As someone who knows the King well says: “From the moment he opens his eyes until he closes them, he doesn't stop thinking and scheming how, with the tools he has, he can make things go better for the Spanish. And it does not do so for personal or political interest. But out of a sense of duty. It is his job. It is his life ”.

The final destination of the tour of this immense farm where La Zarzuela is located ends in the Magnolias building, a 2,600-square-meter brick construction that was designed in 1987. Here is the structure of direct support for the head of state, connected to the palace by a tunnel and a staircase. The King's office is three minutes away. Magnolias is like the Semillas at La Moncloa, which houses the President's Cabinet, its nervous system. In La Zarzuela there are a hundred people, many career officials, and with an abundance of military and civil guards, who manage their agenda, write their speeches, prepare their visits, answer their mail, attend to the media, inform, advise and help make the most serious decisions. And, above all, they work on the relationship between La Zarzuela and La Moncloa. Two constitutional legitimacies forced to understand each other. They are the most hermetic officials of the Spanish Administration. They measure their words to the millimeter. At the head of this team is the harsh 64-year-old State lawyer Jaime Alfonsín, who has been working with Don Felipe since the now King was in his twenties. The average age of that team is 61 years old. Most have done their entire careers here.

The Magnolias building is quieter than ever. At the entrance, two gatekeepers in white jackets and military shoes as mirrors solicitously open the doors. Beyond, a cold semi-darkness of empty rooms, a pretentious decoration of Madrid's upper class and a sepulchral silence. No voices or footsteps are heard. Less than a third of the King's team is in place. The rest have been teleworking since March 13. La Zarzuela is in the box.

However, the head of the House, the secretary general and the six most involved directors (among them, Protocol, Coordination and Communication) are here. They arrive at eight in the morning. At nine they have the first meeting. And with the digital press summary prepared by the House already read. This daily meeting is a novelty, before it was only done on Fridays.

Their boardroom is quirky: a huge room with chandeliers and marble flooring with enough space to stay within the statutory social distance. They sit in a circle on uncomfortable Empire-style chairs. The agenda of the previous day is analyzed, the current one is reviewed and the following one is prepared. They eat from the machine. Not everyone sees the King daily. Alfonsín is the only one who dispatches with him every morning. He's the link with the director of the President's Cabinet and the secretary general of the Presidency. It is in La Moncloa where all the words of the King and Queen are given the go-ahead or "edited", however harmless they may seem, because "it cannot be forgotten that this is the Head of State." In the case of Felipe's message during the referendum crisis in Catalonia on October 3, 2017 nobody touched a comma in the La Moncloa from the Rajoy era.

On March 13, at 15:15, President Pedro Sánchez addressed an audience of 18 million spectators with these words: “Today, I have just communicated to the Head of State the celebration, tomorrow, of a Council of Extraordinary ministers to decree the state of alarm throughout our country”. There were 120 dead.

That afternoon the alarms went off in La Zarzuela. The situation was complex. There had been no national crisis of this magnitude since the Civil War. There was no road map. How should a Head of State who reigns but does not govern face a health, economic and social crisis of such magnitude? What should be his agenda? Should he go out? Should he address the Spaniards? Should he preside over the Councils of Ministers? Should he be involved in any activity? Does he have to intrude? Who does he have to talk to and who does he not? Does he need to appear with his family? Does his consort have to show up making cookies with their daughters? How would each action he takes be politically and socially interpreted? How does he get no one to complain? How to achieve a territorial, sectoral, political, cultural and opportunity balance in all of his actions, initiatives and audiences?

On March 13, the King's House (and the King himself) lacked an instruction manual. And it was not the best time for the Spanish Monarchy either. For years it had been hanging over Felipe VI and the institution the finances of his father, the King Emeritus, Juan Carlos de Borbón, 82 years old. For a long time, the relationship between father and son has not been the best possible. The last time they saw each other in public was during the funeral of the Infanta Pilar, on January 28, in El Escorial. They were in mourning. His greeting was protocol. And the old King looked out of the corner of his eye, his head down, lost, as his son, the Head of the State, walked away from him coldly.

The week before the declaration of the state of alarm, just when the dripping of infected people and deaths began and the situation began to be out of control for the Government, the King and Queen did not stop. Especially, the Queen. Reviewing the images of those days knowing what we know today about the COVID-19 causes amazement. Not an act was removed from their schedule. Not even a trip to Paris on March 11 that the French president, Emmanuel Macron (the couple's personal friend), did not want to suspend: at the gates of the Elysée, they greeted each other without handshakes or kisses. All the King and Queen's appearances that week were massive. An act with the ambassadors of the Marca España in the old palace of El Pardo; a women's soccer final riddled with screams and sweat in a packed sports hall in Salamanca (the same day as the questioned feminist 8-M demonstration); a meeting overflowing with attendees with the Spanish Federation of Rare Diseases ... And all trying to photograph, touch and hug them. The usual landscape.

But it was March 6 that gave the most. And lit the wick of the following events in La Zarzuela. Doña Letizia met that morning in the Uned classrooms, in the heart of the Lavapiés neighborhood, in Madrid, with the professionals of the Association for the Prevention, Reintegration and Attention to Prostituted Women (Apramp), an NGO which she had already called to La Zarzuela in June 2018 and with whom she maintains close contact.

That morning riddled with photographers had an added morbid: its "minister of the day" was Irene Montero, holder since January of the Ministry of Equality and leader of Podemos, a party very critical of the Monarchy. Would there be blood? Would there be a photo? The working meeting was held behind closed doors with Montero side by side with the Queen. It was long. Everything flowed. When they left, according to someone who was there, “they said goodbye with the usual kiss that the Queen gives in cases similar to the ministers, secretaries of state or general directors who attend. It had begun to be suggested in official media that perhaps it would be good to avoid kisses and handshakes (that day there were already five deceased), but neither of them dared to stop doing it, because it was going to be interpreted as an unpleasant gesture by one to the other and vice versa. Something that did not happen and has never happened between the King and Queen and the ministers, no matter the sector or the party they are. Everything always happens within the constitutional correction. It is their job. And then behind the cameras there may be more or less cordiality, but always absolute correction, starting with Podemos,” they assure.

Six days later, on Thursday, March 12, the bomb exploded. La Moncloa announced early in the morning that Minister Irene Montero had tested positive for the coronavirus. And the most difficult days of Felipe VI's reign began. In just six years, he has had to deal with four general elections (two of them repeated), eight rounds of consultations with political leaders, the motion of censure against Mariano Rajoy, a weak coalition government with one of its partners resistant to the Monarchy and the endless secessionist process in Catalonia. Without forgetting the trial and prison of his brother-in-law Iñaki Urdangarinand the continuous information on his father's activities, with private accounts in tax havens and income of dubious origin. These two more personal matters, Felipe de Borbón would be forced to face them as Head of State and not as a member of a family.

In January 2015, six months after his proclamation, he had already drafted a rigid regulation on the gifts that members of the royal family could receive, which stated in its article 6: “They will not accept loans without interest or with interest lower than the normal market, or gifts of money. In the latter case, it will be returned or donated to a non-profit entity that pursues purposes of general interest." From that moment the estrangement would come with his sister Cristina (to whom he revoked the title of Duchess of Palma in June 2015) and from his own father.

It has not been an easy reign for Felipe de Borbón. And nobody anticipates that things will improve. Journalists investigating the finances of the King Emeritus in Spain, Switzerland and the United Kingdom confirm that things will continue to come to light. They also have it very clear in that home in La Zarzuela. And that any action by Felipe VI as Head of State will be overshadowed by that judicial situation.

On the same morning that Montero was positive, the military doctor from La Zarzuela performed the test for the new coronavirus on the King and Queen. They did not have the results until early on March 13. Neither of them tested positive. However, it was decided that the Queen would keep two weeks of quarantine at her home, not isolated, but without leaving home or interacting with anyone from outside for two weeks, until the 26th, in case it was a false negative. She fulfilled it to the letter. During that time, she did not even go down to her official office in La Zarzuela, where she arrives every morning at nine. It is in an adjoining room, bright, white and minimalist, where she holds the videoconferences. By mid-May, she had already completed more than 60 within what she calls her specialization: culture, society, dependency, sexist violence, cancer, rare diseases, food and childhood. They last around an hour. "There is no protocol required in them other than politeness."

But between March 12 and 16 there was not a single event on the King and Queen's schedule. The King also did not leave the limits of the El Pardo mountain until his surprise visit, with no press called, to the field hospital of Ifema on May 26th. However, on the 13th he had already put himself in “virus mode”, started to make calls and was totally immersed in the crisis, a state of mind from which he has not escaped. “He keeps in constant contact with all kinds of people linked to the management of the pandemic, wherever they are. Today, at home, the virus is talked about at all hours. They are the only conversations their daughters listen to.”

On March 14 Spain closed. And also appeared published in the British press, in The Telegraph, the exclusive that Felipe VI was beneficiary of one of the foundations created in tax havens by his father with a patrimony of 65 million euros, apparently from Saudi Arabia. His team at La Zarzuela knew that information was about to come out. This was confirmed by journalists from The Telegraph and EL PAÍS (who had been months behind the subject) by email; they wanted to know the King's answer. But La Zarzuela did not answer. Why? "Because it was a judicial matter that we could not enter. And because there was no documentary evidence; not a bank paper, income or account to confirm it. They preferred to wait”. At La Zarzuela they always take their time. They say that its rhythm is more like that of the Vatican than that of the White House. Even if it is in theoretically banal matters. For example, the decision that the Princess of Asturias and her sister, the Infanta Sofia, briefly read passages from Don Quixote on camera on April 23 to commemorate Book Day took five weeks.

That Saturday of breaking news, March 14, La Zarzuela's team had to change plans on the fly and write an extensive and harsh statement that same afternoon of four pages that would be released to the public on the afternoon of Sunday 15 (the second day of confinement and when 288 deceased were already counted), in which Felipe VI disassociated himself from the activities of his father (who he claimed to be unaware of), resigned to his economic inheritance (also in the name of his daughter), placed the King Emeritus outside the administrative and legal umbrella of the Royal House and withdrew the official allocation of 194,232 euros per year. The statement concluded with this statement by don Juan Carlos: "That of the two foundations previously mentioned at no time did he provide information to HM the King." The elaborate formal and legal drafting of the text indicated that it had been prepared in sufficient time. For about a year, La Zarzuela had been aware of what was coming through the mouth of the British lawyers of Corinna Larsen, the old friend of Don Juan Carlos.

Why was this statement issued coinciding with the start of the confinement and on a Sunday? "As soon as we had documentary evidence of the accusations of the British newspaper, we could not leave for a second the slightest doubt that Felipe VI was the beneficiary of these accounts; it was necessary to act without delay; there could be no shadow on his conduct; that news could not be for a second on the internet without a response from the King”, explain his collaborators. "Why did we get it out that day and not a year earlier? Because until that weekend we did not have the documentary certainty of those accusations, a year before we lacked that documentary confirmation”.

That Saturday the King made the decision to publicly disassociate himself from any matter that related him to his father and that could be questioned, as he had already done privately a year earlier, on March 12, 2019, before a Madrid notary, exposing his intention to renounce the inheritance of Juan Carlos de Borbón at the time he passed away (now legally he cannot). Those dubious financial actions do not enter the head of Felipe VI. They go against his vision of the world and the “Monarchy renewed for a new time” that he has tried to build since his proclamation on June 2014.

On Wednesday, March 18, there were 598 deaths. At five in the afternoon a meeting of the King with the President began in the audience room of La Zarzuela; the ministers of Health, Defense, Interior and Transport and their deputies, the Coronavirus Technical Management Committee. It was intense. It lasted until after 7:30 p.m. The King concluded it with just enough time to run down to the Magnolias room and, without changing his tie, record a message to the nation, with no time to repeat, that would be broadcast at nine at night. The Queen and her daughters did not accompany him on this occasion. They were confined.

It was not the King's best speech. Not even gestually. It was witnessed by 14.6 million people. He and his team thought about referring in the text to the affairs of his father, Don Juan Carlos. They decided not to. There was not the slightest mention, to the perplexity of many citizens. "There was no attempt to hide anything," responds a member of the Casa del Rey, "but there was no point in talking about the King Emeritus in the context of a terrible health emergency, especially when he had done so immediately, extensively and firmly in the statement three days before. There was not anymore to say. And even more so when it is a judicial matter. On March 18, the Head of State talked to the country to give his encouragement against the pandemic and to tell the Spaniards that he was by their side. Not to talk about his father's problems."

The total activation of La Zarzuela in times of crisis did not arrive until March 26. That day the King went to Ifema, the Queen began her video conferences and a complex agenda of contacts and initiatives was launched. Dozens of calls and videoconferences with all sectors. Absolutely everyone. And meetings with 16 ministers (although it took more than a month to receive the first of Podemos, Manuel Castells, in La Zarzuela). Always with the idea of ​​having their own and direct information about what was happening in Spain and sharpen the shot. The utility of those actions of the King is difficult to specify. You never know if they are of any use. Because it is, as a person in his environment explains, “a job that involves being a link, generating trust, mediating, cooperating and weaving complicities to solve the problems of 48 million people. And to do it with a rectitude and exemplary that for this King is not negotiable”.

According to another person in his environment, "this work has a lot of soft power”. A parallel diplomacy that consists of having quick and direct access to the most powerful on the planet, Amancio Ortega, Jack Ma (the Chinese millionaire owner of Alibaba Group), the president of Huawei or Microsoft. And also to all the monarchs in the world (they have spoken with the majority, from the Queen of England to the Emperor of Japan or the sovereign of Morocco). Or to chat with Donald and Melania Trump in a long and intense conversation on April 1 in which the President of the United States did not stop questioning the King and Queen about the confinement and closure of economic activity; between maintaining business and the need to avoid spreading the virus. It was his concern. And, by the way, it unlocked the sale to Spain of a hundred respirators, at a time when there were already 4,500 deaths from covid-19 in the United States and they could be needed there.

Not everything is based on planetary relationships with ministers and statesmen. One of the great concerns of the King and Queen is, at this time with the curve of contagions and deaths in free fall, "the sustainability of the groups that work with the most disadvantaged and help them to have something of quality in their lives, for example, in matters of gender violence. If the subsidies and aid and the talks with the autonomous communities of the organizations of the third sector are interrupted, what will become of them? ”They ask themselves in the surroundings of the Queen. That is their job. Be helpful. Although they may not always have it easy.

[freddiesaysalright]

Peace Like A River Part 3

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee.

Word Count: 3.8K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural @someone-get-a-medic @bensrhapsody @deakyclicks @crazylittlethingcalledobsession @minigranger @simmisblog @assembledherethevolunteers @lookuptotheskiesandsee @readinghorn @riddikuluslypotter @doingalrightt @misslolasworld If you want to be added, let me know!

A/N: Glad you guys are liking this one! Hope you enjoy this next part! Shit gets real lol 

Part I  Part II

Part 3 here we go!!!

The following day, you went shopping with Stacy and Violet to find a gown for the charity gala. Boston wasn’t quite the shopping dream of New York, but it still had plenty to choose from. It reminded you of the first time you went to the Emmys and shopped for a dress. It was the most glamorous thing you had ever done.

“That’s really the only time you’ve been gown shopping?” Stacy wondered. “What about when you got married?”

“Henry and I had a courthouse wedding,” you said with a shrug. “We were twenty years old and couldn’t afford a big event.”

“I’m sure you still looked beautiful,” she insisted with a smile.

“It hardly matters now,” you returned, holding the door open for her and Violet as you went into the first boutique. 

An associate immediately came over and offered to help. Her name was Lisa and she was about your age, with a wide, eager smile. You took her up on her offer since you tended to get lost in places like this. 

“Go ahead and pick out anything that catches your eye, and I’ll get you a glass of champagne,” she said sweetly.

She went into the back while you perused the racks of gowns. They were designer and beautiful. You tried to imagine Gwilym’s face at each one. Violet called to you from another rack.

“Mommy, look! Try this one!”

She had her hand on the skirt of a poofy pink ball gown. It was a bit young for you. You were certain it was meant for a girl’s quinceañera and not a grown woman’s charity gala, but Violet was so excited about it. You sighed and smiled. 

“Alright, tell Lisa when she comes back to put it in my fitting room,” you said.

Lisa emerged with two glasses of champagne and a sippy cup of sparkling grape juice for Violet. When Violet showed her the dress, Lisa shot you an uncertain look, but you shrugged.

“Just to try on,” you said. “We can indulge her a bit.”

You and Stacy pulled a couple other gowns that captured your attention while Lisa put the ball gown in your changing room. Then you headed that way. Stacy took one of the chairs and Violet sat in her lap. Lisa closed the curtain and helped you into Violet’s choice first. You were surprised it fit you, but laughed when you saw it in the mirror. You looked ridiculous in it.

“Ready to show them?” Lisa asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” you returned.

She pulled back the curtain and you stepped out. You gave a twirl as Violet gasped.

“Mommy, like a princess!” she cried, clapping.

You laughed. “I don’t know if it’s right for tonight, but maybe next time, sweetie.”

She hung her head. “Aw, but it’s so pretty.”

“I do want to send Gwil a picture,” you said, and Stacy pulled out your phone.

“What are you going to say?” she wondered.

“I’m gonna tell him I’m wearing this,” you told her. “Just to mess with him.”

She giggled as she snapped a photo. “He’s gonna know you’re joking.”

You took your phone and typed out your message.

I’m wearing this tonight and you can’t stop me.

“Even so,” you said. “At least it’ll make him laugh.”

Gwilym was in the airport, waiting at his gate when his phone dinged and he saw the message from you. He opened it and did in fact burst out laughing. 

Love it, he wrote back. Did your abuela make it for you?

You looked at your phone as Lisa unzipped the dress and you chuckled. You couldn’t believe he’d had the same thought as you about the dress’s most probable purpose.

Actually, Violet did, you replied. She’s an incredibly talented seamstress.

He quickly sent back, She certainly is. Is there money to be made with such a gifted child?

You gave Stacy your phone back so Lisa could continue to help you out of the ball gown. It was truly a beautiful dress, and some girl would be very lucky to wear it, whether she was coming of age or just going to the prom. But it was not for you. Lisa took it out of the changing room and helped you into Stacy’s pick.

It was a red, sequined gown that was skin tight. The neckline plunged almost to your belly button and the slit in the skirt came all the way up your thigh, almost to your hip. It made you incredibly uncomfortable. In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of the scar on your right side.

“Do you wanna show them?” Lisa asked. “You look dynamite in this.”

You shook your head and looked away. 

“Are you trying mine on?” Stacy called.

“Yeah!” you returned. “Are you trying to make me look like Jessica Rabbit or is that just a coincidence?”

She laughed. “It was completely intentional.”

You rolled your eyes even though she couldn’t see you. “I’m not coming out, I look...well, I look bangin’ but a little too bangin’.”

Finally, you got into the dress you picked out. It was a black, satin dress that was fitted at the top with a loose skirt. It also had a slit, but it didn’t go up nearly as high. The sweetheart neckline and thin straps across your shoulders were very flattering. It was hard to convince yourself that you were beautiful, but as you gazed in the mirror in this dress, you knew you were. You could really imagine yourself beside Gwilym, and that he would be proud to have you on his arm.

“Wow,” Lisa breathed. 

When you stepped out, Stacy choked on her champagne. Violet’s mouth fell open but she was grinning. 

“Mommy’s a queen!” she exclaimed.

All of you gushed over the dress as you looked in the mirror. It was decided quickly that it was the dress. You looked too beautiful in it to not get it. They all helped you pick out shoes and accessories as well, so your whole look came together. Even you had to admit you looked absolutely killer. You were so excited to show Gwilym.

That night, he picked you up. Stacy came to stay with Violet while you put the finishing touches on your makeup before heading down to the lobby. 

“Hey, Stace,” you said as she greeted your daughter. “You sent my letter this morning, right?”

“Yeah, I did,” she assured you. “But try to focus on Gwilym tonight. Dear Friend will still be there while you have a good night.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course I’ll focus on Gwilym,” you said. “I was only double checking. Now, how do I look?”

“Incredible,” she told you, smiling.

“Okay, Vi, c’mere and give me a hug,” you said, kneeling down to wrap your arms around her.

“Have fun, Mommy,” she said, kissing your cheek. “I love you!”

“I love you too, precious,” you replied. 

You rose to your full height and headed out the door, shooting them one last little wave before it closed behind you.

When you made it to the lobby, you spotted Gwilym, already waiting for you. He looked dashing in his suit and tie. You beamed at him when he spotted you and you began walking toward each other. His eyes went wide as he took you in.

“My God,” he sighed, looking you up and down. “You look...breathtaking.”

A blush crept up onto your cheeks. “Thank you!”

He didn’t answer as he continued to gaze at you.

“Gwil?” you said. “Are we gonna go or are you gonna stand here and stare?”

“I’m perfectly content to stand here and stare if you’d rather skip the gala,” he teased.

You shoved him playfully. “Let’s go, you idiot.”

He smiled and offered you his arm. You took it and followed him to a waiting car. He helped you into the backseat before sliding in beside you.

“So how’ve you been since we last saw each other?” he asked.

“Great, actually,” you told him. “I haven’t heard a thing from my family, and - perhaps best of all - I’m in love.”

Genuine happiness crossed his face as he smiled at you. “Are you really?”

“I am!” you said, giddily. “It’s such an incredible feeling.”

“The most beautiful and natural of feelings,” he quoted.

Your heart nearly stopped and you sucked in a sharp breath.

“W-what did you say?”

“The most beautiful and natural of feelings,” he repeated, brow furrowing at your reaction. “It’s a Tolstoy quote.”

“Yes, but-” you shook your head. “Never mind.”

Your heart hammered against your chest as you replayed this moment in your head. Could it be that your friend, Gwilym, was actually Dear Friend? They were certainly similar. Both were well-read, educated, English, and very kind. But that couldn’t possibly mean they were the same person. Thousands of people had those traits. And thousands of people had read Tolstoy. It was entirely likely that Gwilym and Dear Friend both were familiar with such a quote. You told your heart to slow down. It was just a coincidence. 

“What about you?” you asked to change the subject. “How’s your love life?”

He chuckled. “I feel strongly for someone. But, I’m still not sure how she feels.”

“How strongly are you feeling?” you pressed.

He flushed and looked at the floor of the car. “Well...I’m very much in love with her.”

“Do you think she loves you too?”

“I think it’s likely, but she hasn’t said it.”

“Well, just talk to her,” you suggested. “I mean, relationships are all about communication. It can’t hurt to ask her the blunt question and she how she takes it.” You put your hand on his. “Sometimes, you have to take a risk.”

“Thank you,” he said with a small smile. “And really, Y/N, I am so glad for you. Even when we first met, I thought that of everyone, you were a person who deserves true love and happiness.”

It was your turn to blush. “That means a lot. Thank you, Gwilym.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“Now, tell me about this ex,” you said. “Why did you need a date so badly?”

“It’s a bit weird,” he began. “We only went out a few times, but it was never serious enough where we slept together or anything. I figured out rather quickly she was using me to network.”

“Ew,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Why are you going to her stupid party?”

“Y/N, it’s for charity,” he reminded you. “Just because I don’t necessarily like her doesn’t mean I don’t care about important causes.”

“What is this important cause?” you wondered.

“The proceeds are going to a women’s shelter here in Boston,” he said.

You huffed. It was hard to argue with that.

When you reached the venue, Gwilym helped you out of the car and you walked inside. It was an art gallery and you wondered how any of this worked. You figured if an organization had the money to throw this sort of party, then they had that money to give to the cause. The need for people to parade about their wealth in order to give to the “less fortunate” made you a bit sick. It was a beautiful party, but you found it hard to appreciate.

You walked over to the table where they were serving drinks while Gwilym went to say hello to some people he knew. That first crisp sip of wine was great and helped ease some nerves that had risen. You always felt out of place in these circles. A tall, blonde woman approached you with a nasty nice smile on her face.

“Hi,” she said, her voice dripping with an emotion you couldn’t quite name. She already didn’t like you, you could tell. But for what reason remained to be seen. “I’ve never seen you before. What’s your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you told her. “I’ve never been here before. Are you the hostess?”

“I am,” she replied, in that same uptight, trying to hard to seem calm and gracious voice. “I’m Helen Albright and I’ve organized this event. You must be here as a plus one.”

“I am,” you told her, resisting a brutal urge to mimic her tone. “I’m here with Gwilym Lee.”

You saw him approaching out of the corner of your eye. Helen didn’t see since her back was facing him. You gave a subtle pump with your hand to signal him to stop. He did, a bit confused, but stood close enough to hear what you said.

“Oh, yes, Gwilym and I are old friends,” she said. “Are you his girlfriend or something?”

“Yes,” you answered. “I’m his girlfriend. Didn’t you two kinda...have a thing?”

She laughed humorlessly. “It was nothing really.”

You let out a low whistle. “I don’t know how you got out of it.”

You caught Gwilym frowning, and held back a laugh. Helen looked confused.

“What...what do you mean?” she wondered.

“Honestly,” you said, under your breath, but Gwilym could still hear. “He’s a bit too much for me in bed.”

Gwilym choked on the sip of whiskey he was taking, and you bit your lip to stop your smirk. Helen looked astonished.

“What?!” she gasped.

“Yeah,” you went on. “I used to think I’d love starting every day with two or three orgasms, but after a while, it gets to be kinda overwhelming.”

“T-two or three?” she squeaked.

You nodded. “And that’s just with his mouth.”

Her cheeks were turning bright red. Gwilym’s mouth was hanging open, just gawking at you.

“He seems like your typical nice guy, but girl, in the bedroom, he is a straight up animal,” you continued. “I think I might have to end it because it’s so much, but I’m honestly afraid I’ll never have sex this good again.”

She was wringing her hands and could not look you in the face. Her proud head finally lowered. Her cheeks were pink and sweat beaded at her hairline.

“How did you manage it?” you asked. “Letting that go?”

“I - well - we never - I didn’t -” she sputtered.

“Oh, I see,” you relieved her. “You never got there. Well, it’s probably for the best. I mean, I’m basically ruined for all other men.”

At this point, Gwilym could take it no longer and approached, slipping an arm around your waist. You beamed at him.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” he returned, kissing you on the forehead. “I see you’ve met Helen.”

“I have,” you said. 

Helen finally turned eyes on Gwilym, and you saw a fresh hunger there as she looked him up and down. You got to her. She regretted what she had done.

“H-how are you, Gwilym?” she asked, batting her eyes.

“Excellent,” he said smoothly. “This really is a wonderful gala you’ve thrown. How do you do it?”

“Well, I’ve got lots of time on my hands,” she said with a casual shrug, recovering at last from her blushing.

“Lucky,” he said. “Not us, right love?” He shot you a smug look. “We stay very busy.” He accentuated the last word with swift pat on your ass.

You gasped and giggled when his large hand made contact. It sent a wave of heat through you that took you by surprise. A sudden image flashed through your mind - Gwilym, shirt off, lips on your neck, hands on your rear, and hips between your thighs. You cleared your throat and took a sip of wine to bring you back to reality.

“Very busy,” you said huskily, furthering the joke which had frustratingly turned against you.

Helen sighed and excused herself at last, giving Gwil one last wistful look before disappearing into the crowd.

“You are a naughty thing, aren’t you?” he said, removing his hand.

You looked smugly at him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Don’t pretend you didn’t, either.”

You rolled your eyes. Then it was time for dinner and speeches. The food was delicious but the speeches went on forever. Once again, you found yourself resting your head on Gwilym’s shoulder and closing your eyes. When they were over, he nudged you gently awake. You shook out your shoulders and clapped as the last speaker left the stage.

The room was cleared and a jazz band took the stage so people could dance. You were surprised at how many couples were already on the floor as soon as the music started. In your experience, people were too nervous at first. But, you told yourself, the alcohol had already been flowing all night, so maybe everyone was already well in the mood. Gwilym stood up and offered you his hand.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

“Sure,” you replied, taking his hand and letting him lead you onto the floor. 

He spun you into his arms and you swayed together to the tune. It was sweet, with the sax on the melody, which you loved.

“So, tell me more about this woman you’re in love with,” you said. “How come you didn’t ask her to come to this?”

“She’s not here,” he answered. “We’re sort of long distance at the moment.”

“What’s she like?” you wondered.

“How much time do you have?” he retorted.

“All night,” you said sweetly.

“Well, she’s smart,” he began.

“Smart?”

“Yeah. We discuss literature and philosophy and music. She’s really well-educated. I admire that about her.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Naturally.”

You smiled. “‘Naturally’ as in her beauty comes naturally or ‘naturally’ as in ‘of course she’s beautiful’?”

“Both,” he replied.

“What else?” you continued.

“She’s been through a lot,” he said. “Sort of like you. And yet, she’s incredibly kind. Her experience didn’t make her hard. She has a very soft heart.”

“A soft heart,” you repeated, letting those words form carefully on your lips. 

“Yes,” he said. “When we first started talking, she was defensive. But after a while, she became more open hearted and she told me things she had never told anyone.”

“Sounds like a great foundation,” you said. “I do hope she loves you too.”

“You and me both,” he chuckled. “What about your man?”

“Oh, he’s amazing,” you gushed. “Really, he’s one of the most understanding people in the world. And he really understands me. He’s gentle and sweet. A real Disney prince of a guy.”

He smiled, but it faltered.

“You know, Y/N, you can talk to me about things without making a joke to lighten it,” he said. “You don’t have to be defensive around me.”

It was like he’d pulled the pages out of your heart and read them to you. You wanted desperately to yank them back inside. To keep them to yourself. Locked away where only Dear Friend could access because he had never actually stood in front of you. Humor was your absolute defense mechanism. The wall that kept the rest of the world from your scars. Gwilym, faster and easier than Dear Friend, had blown a hole through it. You could not joke your way out of this.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m still getting used to easing tension.”

“I’m not saying you can’t joke around,” he returned. “You are funny. But you can tell me that you love someone without having to tease yourself or him so it’s not too serious. It is serious. And you’re allowed to feel it.”

The urge to make a snappy retort was overwhelming. The further he pushed behind your defenses the more uncomfortable you became.

“I love him so much,” you said earnestly. “He means the absolute world to me and I want to marry him and have his children and grow old together. He makes me soft.”

It felt clunky, but it was honest.

“Now that was a real moment,” he said, a gentle smile claiming his lips. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “That felt...really good.”

“I’m glad you shared with me.”

You continued to dance and as the evening wore on, you found yourself even more comfortable with Gwilym. He took you back to your hotel when you were both too exhausted to carry on. It was even harder to say goodbye this time. 

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he said.

“Thank you for a great evening,” you returned. “Really, I had a wonderful time. I’ve missed hanging out with you.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Let’s do it again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You embraced each other. You held him for a long time, grateful to have such a friend. He kissed the top of your head while you hugged and then you slowly broke apart.

“See you soon,” he said.

“Bye, Gwil.”

He left. You headed for the elevator and to the sixth floor, where your room was. You went down the hall, your heels making a dull thud against the carpet. When you came into your room, you found Stacy and Violet asleep on the bed, cuddling as Looney Tunes played on the TV. Smiling, you switched it off before slipping out of your dress and into your pajamas. After you washed your face and brushed your teeth, you joined your daughter and assistant. You felt whole. 

The next week, while you eagerly waited for a letter from Dear Friend, you thought about Gwilym a lot. If you were being honest with yourself, you had to admit you had a bit of a crush on him. Spending this time together and becoming vulnerable with him really made you feel connected to him. But, you both were in love with other people. You were resolved to just not act on your crush. They were harmless, and once you met Dear Friend you wouldn’t have it anymore.

You sat in your hotel room in Chicago, going over some notes for your set, making small adjustments based on the reaction from the last crowd. Stacy came into your room with an envelope and you leapt from the bed.

“Thank goodness!” you cried. “This is so much harder to do on the road.”

You tore it open and began to read.

Dear Friend. Now that we are clear on our feelings for one another, I think it’s time we met! You asked where I am in the world, and I’m glad to report I’m finally in the United States. I’m carrying your love with me, darling. I know you’re in Los Angeles, and it’s a long way to go, but I’m going to be in Atlanta in two weeks. Is it possible for you to come and meet me?

You checked the date on the letter. It was from a week ago, when you were in Boston. That meant he would be in Atlanta a week from now,  the same week you were going to be in Atlanta on your tour.

Dear Friend was going to be in the same city as you. At the same time. And he wanted to meet you. The color drained from your face.

“What is it?” Stacy asked.

“He wants to meet,” you said. “He’s going to be in Atlanta next week.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Oh, my,” she gasped. “What are you going to do?”

What were you going to do?

[forasecondtherewedwon]

“We Test on Rats”

Fandom: Deadly Class Rating: E (it’s all below the cut, it’s all NSFW sexual content) Ship: Petra Yolga/Billy Bennett/Lex Miller Word count: 9493 Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

If Billy and Lex can get Petra to pick staying with them over going to get lunch, Billy's life will be made. If Petra can get the boys to quit bickering long enough to locate a condom, it'll be a miracle.

As Petra reached for the doorknob, Lex scoffed.

“You must be bloody joking.”

She rotated back to the boys.

“As much as the Donner Party was joking,” she promised flatly.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Means someone’s getting eaten,” Billy piped up, educating his rival.

He was thankful for the gruesome thought; the sight of Petra unbuttoning her shirt had totally blown his mind and he’d gotten hard fast. Maintaining an erection with only Lex beside him on the bed was not something he felt good about.

Lex grinned cheekily at Petra.

“If you wanted to put me in your mouth, you’ve could’ve just said, love.”

She rolled her eyes and Billy’s jaw tightened.

“You’re really bad at convincing me to stay,” Petra said. “Both of you.”

Billy made a sound of protest.

“Are we supposed to be? I thought you were starving.” His eyebrows pushed together at the center and climbed his forehead. He didn’t get it, didn’t get her. Petra was a complex woman, right down to her stomach.

“I actually ate a contraband chocolate bar while you two wholesome creatures took turns huffing glue.”

“Hey,” Lex pointed out, leveling a finger at her, “you huff hard enough and everything’s puppies and rainbows and there’s nothing more wholesome than that.”

“So you’re not starving,” Billy checked, glancing quickly from the moron next to him to the love of his young life.

“Yes, that is what I’m trying to communicate.”

Lex shifted on the mattress so that Billy had to avoid toppling into him.

“Well, then you should just spit it out, shouldn’t you?” Lex suggested. “Give us a fucking break. We saw you with your top off not two minutes ago. Can’t exactly be expecting us to be thinking with the heads up here.” He poked Billy hard in the temple and Billy swatted his hand away.

“I guess that’s fair,” Petra allowed.

Billy’s head swivelled rapidly back to her.

“Stay, Petra. Please stay.” He pouted, hands clasped imploringly in front of his nose. He was in love with her and not above begging. What was the point? Everyone in this room knew how he felt.

She sighed and walked back over to them. Billy’s expression brightened instantly. Stopping with her arms folded, Petra glanced carefully from him to Lex and back. He didn’t understand what sort of assessment was going on, so he just smiled eagerly up at her. Beside him, Lex chewed his fingernail―a tell for his nerves.

“I have some rules,” Petra said after a few intolerably long seconds. She held up a single finger. “No foreign objects.”

“Hear that?” Billy asked Lex jubilantly. “Looks like you’re out after all.”

“Piss off.”

Petra raised another finger.

“No bickering.”

“I’ve got one,” Lex said abruptly. “No biting.”

“Someone’s vanilla,” Billy concluded.

Lex glared at him.

“Did you not see what Petra’s been reading since we got shut in here? A bloody vampire fiction! I will not have any of that seeping into reality, not on my neck, no thank you.”

Billy squeezed his lips together, but when he glanced at Petra and saw her little hint of a smile, a laugh trumpeted out of him. Lex punched him hard in the upper arm and Billy jerked away.

“Shit!”

“Just giving you a nice souvenir.”

“Speaking of unwelcome souvenirs,” Petra interrupted, “anybody have any communicable diseases they’d like to declare?”

“I would like to declare that to be impossible for Billy, whose soul is a single shade of white away from virginal.”

“Oh yeah? Yeah?” Billy challenged. “Well, your spikes get a lot more poking action than you do. All those sharp points feels a little like compensation, don’t you think?”

Petra’s hands smacked her thighs sharply.

“Again with the bickering. Seriously, you assholes. Are you clean?”

Both boys nodded. Petra nodded back in acknowledgement, then sat down between them in the space created by Billy’s flight from Lex’s fist.

“Are you?” Lex demanded of her.

Petra faced him.

“You see my eyeliner? Assume I’m that careful with every part of my body.”

“I just don’t want some fucking Russian pox from Vi―”

“Of course she’s clean!” Billy said, jumping to her defense.

Lex chuckled.

“Oh, touchy subject?”

Billy cracked a knuckle.

“I think you two have lost sight of what brought us together in the first place,” Petra hypothesized.

“Lockdown?” Lex asked.

Petra rolled her eyes and reached for the hem of her t-shirt. And there went Billy’s pulse in his groin, all his blood on a plummeting elevator. She barely had to glance side to side at them as she raised the black shirt and the boys were on her―Lex wedging a hand between her knees to grip her inner thigh while Billy’s palm landed more softly on the bared skin of Petra’s stomach. This was no dead vampire flesh; he could feel her breathing. He swallowed thickly, eyes on her chest, when she tossed the shirt to the floor.

She locked eyes with Billy and he felt brave enough to smooth his hand up over her breast, mouth suddenly on the tense line between her shoulder and neck. Anyone would’ve thought he’d never seen a boob before, but she got him excited. So excited. Petra exhaled heavily, the way she had when he’d had his lips on her the first time around, but it turned into a deeper sound―a sound that caught in Billy’s ears like they were glue traps―the second that Lex’s hand quit kneading her thigh and darted between her legs. Billy’s hand gripped Petra’s breast reflexively at the miraculous noise she’d made, callouses firming up her nipple, and she jerked.

The three of them fell back together onto the bed. Petra’s fingers were brushing over the shaved side of his head, making a prickly feeling go up and down his back. He stuck to his side, kissing her neck as fast as his lips could go, and trusted Lex to stick to the other. They moved bumpily as they tried to get better positioned on the bed, like a bicycle with a dented wheel. If bicycles had three wheels. Or, no, they weren’t necessarily the wheels, just different parts of the same bicycle. Or…. Whatever.

They had their first potential crisis when Billy stroked his palm away from the boob he’d been cupping in search of the other one and encountered Lex’s hand. Instinctively, they recoiled from each other, but Petra emitted a highly manipulative, girlish whine that pulled them back in.

“Tits are yours,” Lex said shortly. Billy assumed the other guy was avoiding making eye contact during this negotiation of territory, because he sure as hell was. “Not that there’s anything wrong with them, love,” he assured Petra. “Quite nice actually. Colour me contrite.”

Billy decided to drown out the Brit-babble by coaxing more noises from Petra. He skated his hand across her skin to that elusive other boob and trailed his lips down to the one closest to him. A jagged zip told him Lex was undoing her pants. He had to bite back a possessive urge with pointy rat teeth; Petra did not belong to him and he wouldn’t get even this much of her unless Lex was included. Shit, this wouldn’t be easy. This would be very, very… hard. He side-eyed his own crotch.

“Lift your arse, would you?”

As Petra shifted to accommodate Lex’s request, Billy waggled his tongue across her nipple. Her hand quickly forced his head tighter to her chest and her skin tasted like victory. Still, he couldn’t resist looking while he began to suck, sacrificing a comfortable angle for his neck in favour of catching a glimpse of Lex pulling Petra’s pants down. His hips humped the mattress once, reflexively, at the sight of black lace.

The bed jostled them as Lex stood, peeling Petra’s pants all the way off.

“The underwear too,” she said after glancing from him to Billy. “Might as well.”

“No objections here, love.”

Billy accidentally caught sight of the bulge in Lex’s shorts and had to look rapidly away or risk being violently sick all over two-thirds of his greatest sexual fantasy―himself and Petra. Lex could still go fuck the plastic bag full of glue for all Billy cared.

“Blonde?!”

Lex’s shout was enough to make Billy’s head jerk up. His gaze’s next stop was Petra’s crotch, which immediately explained the exclamation.

“You’re way more of an idiot than I assumed you were if you thought this,” she held a black strand of hair away from her face, “was natural.”

Her words were as cold as if she’d just chipped them out of the depths of a broken freezer―so, normal―but Billy felt how Petra leaned into him slightly. His expression hardened. Who the hell was the guy whose head looked like the prongs of a hairbrush under a microscope to scrutinize somebody else’s body?

“But… but… blonde?” Lex checked, though the evidence was still there in front of him. Billy wanted to bust a few teeth out of his head for standing there with Petra’s panties dangling in his hand.

“I should probably prepare you for the likelihood that you’re not going to see lime green when Billy strips either,” Petra warned. He wanted to wedge his arm in under her shoulders and hold her closer, but that would be too much.

“He better not see a damn thing,” Billy spat, annoyed and confused now as he was dragged into it. God, the three of them were always like this. Like those mice in Cinderella, when they twisted all their tails together. Except rats. Fucking rats.

Lex snorted.

“Not interested.”

“We good?” Petra asked impatiently. “Because I didn’t stay to listen to you talk.”

“Yeah, no problem, Barbie.”

She sat bolt upright. Billy joined her, belatedly, and much less gracefully.

“Are you cut, Lex?” she asked with poisonous calmness. Billy, at her side, watched her gaze drop purposely to the front of the other guy’s shorts. “I have a knife nearby.”

Lex chuckled nervously.

“I bet you do,” he conceded.

“Are. We. Good.”

“Right as rain.”

Petra turned to Billy. Her eyebrows lifted.

“I’ve never had less problems in my life than I do right now,” he swore. He was serious, though it was a little tricky to show that when he couldn’t stop smiling. Naked Petra. Naked Petra.

“We’re all fucked up enough for me to believe that’s true,” she acknowledged. “Now drop ‘em.”

Petra mimed underwear removal. Lex and Billy looked at each other warily. Billy felt like his face was actually trying to get as far from the other guy as it could, expression scrunching and tugging to one side in utter discomfort. They’d been in the same room half-naked long enough now to almost forget that this was an unsustainable equilibrium. Fuck.

“Can I just…” Billy’s neck arched as he looked to the discoloured ceiling, the assorted crap on Petra’s floor, a pile of shoes in the corner; anywhere but at Lex.

Petra sighed and grabbed Billy firmly by the jaw.

“Please don’t make me watch,” he begged, but she just stared hard into his eyes until he felt melted and sticky, like fresh tar in a hell-deep pothole.

“You know I trust you,” she said. He was getting hypnotized by her eyes, like there was a better world inside them, with free concerts and dealers who didn’t cut weird shit into their goods. “Trust me,” utopia requested of Billy.

Sliding her hand up his cheek, Petra leaned in. At this point, Billy believed it was more likely that he was about to feel Lex’s brass knuckles to the back of his ribs than Petra’s mouth on his. But he didn’t care if this was a trap. He would die happy. He would die… or not.

Billy’s high-pitched noise of excited confusion was muffled as Petra kissed him. He knew she was doing it to distract him, and he was ready to be distracted. Her mouth was warm, her cheek smooth as his nose pressed into it, thrusting forward with his jaw to rock harder into the kiss. Petra’s tongue teased and furled around his. This was making him way more lightheaded than the glue had, and without the threatening pressure of a bastard of a migraine thumping behind the buzz.

There was a rustle which, logically, Billy knew was Lex getting down to his birthday suit, and yet the combination of the paranoia about guerilla attacks that this school had instilled and his extra giddiness thanks to Petra made him begin to turn his head to look. Luckily, she stuck with him like a bee licking a flower (or whatever those little guys did in there), her face moving with his, and then her whole body. Billy inhaled sharply as Petra’s knee skimmed across his thighs to settle on the mattress on his other side; he got a nose full of something dark, but familiar, like coffee or a match that had just been blown out.

Heart racing like they might need to call an ambulance, Billy grabbed her thighs and urged her further into his lap. Petra went without resistance―probably not the first sign that Billy really was glue-stoned right now and none of this was real. She got close enough that Billy felt Lex’s knuckles (flesh, not brass) as he reached between them to massage Petra’s breasts. Yeah, that meant this wasn’t a fantasy.

With shaky fingers, Billy ran his hands to her ass. His dick throbbed. He knew if he looked down he’d see the kind of desperate straining against fabric that he hadn’t witnessed since their hands-on waterboarding lesson. Pulling back from Petra’s mouth to breathe, he watched Lex kissing her neck, her head now lolling back into Lex’s chest where he stood behind her.

Alright, well, if Lex got her head and her boobs, Billy could figure out what was available for him. His fingers retreated from holding her ass, hands scooping around the underside of her thighs. Petra twitched in his lap, shifting her hips nearer to his. Seemed like she was ticklish, but he was the one who laughed, delighted. Her eyes fixed on his as Lex sucked red marks into her neck (pretty damn clear who the real vampire was in their trio), so Billy, exhaling, dragged his palms back over the tops of her thighs until his thumbs were digging in a little about as high up on a girl’s legs as you can get before you’re at the part that’s usually covered by underwear and she’s screaming at you to get the hell out of the change room, even though one of Willie’s guys pushed you in there, and it’s not like you invaded their privacy on purpose.

Billy thought he could feel Petra’s pulse, but then he remembered that his thumbs had a pulse too, and then he wasn’t sure whose heartbeat was whose. She kept staring back at him and he wished that could’ve been enough to give him the balls to touch her, except it was Lex. That British idiot tugged her nipples, Petra’s eyelashes fluttered rather princessishly, Lex grunted, and Billy got jealous. It was possible that she saw it happen; his face wasn’t really great at hiding emotions. Billy turned his wrist, flipped his hand and cupped between her legs.

For a second, Petra traced her fingers down his arm and put her hand over his (which was, like, professional-grade sexy). He sussed her out with his fingertips, ignoring the loss of feeling beginning in his feet from having Petra’s weight on his lap. His long fingers trailed shallowly, barely parting her, but the wetness was there. Unfamiliar territory? No. But this wasn’t just any cunt, this was Petra’s cunt. And, ok, a significant chunk of Billy’s sexual encounters had been blowjobs. He was already ahead though, because she was aroused. Basically, he just had to keep her that way.

He dipped in hesitantly―the way you begin a meal when your demonic classmates have swapped out the anticipated farm-animal-protein for rat in the past. Petra was looking at him, so Billy clenched his jaw and stroked his fingertips forward, bringing some of that arousal across her clit. The look in her eyes sharpened; Lex’s groping might make her drowsy with lust, but Billy’s fingering seemed to increase her focus. And that focus was on him, not Lex. Shit, they were really going to have to work to be cool around one another after all this. Somebody should write a book about this, Billy thought. On how to have a threesome with a friend and afterwards not find yourself hoping that he chokes on his cafeteria lunch every time you see him.

Arcade and video games had gifted Billy with quick fingers and he used them on Petra’s slippery clit. She gasped in a throaty way that was just as satisfying for him as how she’d probably felt right before she did it. Her arm reached up, winding behind the back of Lex’s neck as he bit her earlobe and Billy seriously wondered if this whole thing was just fucking stacked against him… until her other hand found his hip. Her fingers pried their way under the elastic waist of his briefs and circled around to the front―a motion that forced her to caress the head of his erection.

He suddenly yearned to be butt-naked, Lex’s existence in this room be damned, but unseating lovely, nude Petra would be the greatest sin of his life. Billy finally understood what his teachers meant when they said things like ‘situations of moral turmoil.’ That was probably supposed to be in regards to, like, murder or whatever, but he wasn’t just an assassin―he was a teenage boy and he sure hoped the next few years would consist of a higher number of fucks than kills. Was that so much to ask for?

In the spirit of gratitude towards the fact that he had not yet been bumped off by some random junkie thug or a sparring session gone sideways and could, therefore, be here now enjoying the sight, scent, and touch of his one-and-only fantasy babe, Billy ground his teeth together and kept rubbing her. He’d endured worse than the torturously faint passes of her fingertips over the hot skin of his cock. The way Petra practically tickled him with her short nails was extremely bearable. Seriously. His eyes were just rolling back in his head because they were dry. Or he’d developed a tic. A convulsion that only cropped up when circumstances were so totally regular and fine and normal.

Petra kissed Billy again before he could start trying to mentally explain away his cold sweat. When he groaned against her hasty, wet mouth, he heard Lex echo with his own faint groan. Billy decided it was a groan of annoyance. End of story. He sped up, pressing and rolling her clit, sort of like when he had his skateboard flipped upside down on his lap and sat there spinning the wheels rapidly with his fingers. Petra cupped her hand and pushed the dome of her palm onto the head of his dick for him to grind against.

She tore away from their kiss, breathing hard; Lex pinched her nipples with gusto, two-handedly until Petra began to pant. Then, Lex ran one of his hands from her chest up to her throat, not squeezing (Billy had his fucking eyes on him), but massaging. She seemed to like it, from the way her eyes drifted closed. Seconds later, she came, hand flexing on Billy’s dick. He almost choked. Too stunned to keep rubbing her through her climax, Billy felt his hands land on her thighs. Lex leaned into Petra’s back, craning to look over her shoulder in the aftermath of this landmark event of their threesome: The First Orgasm.

Head back against Lex’s chest, Petra opened her eyes. She looked up to meet Lex’s as his hands shifted to neutral, settling lightly on her shoulders, then forward to meet Billy’s. Her face was relaxed, he thought, kind of lazy, except her eyes burned like a pair of Molotov cocktails. He would’ve said ‘cheers’ if that wouldn’t have come across mockingly British, leading to squabbling, leading to Petra being completely fed up with the two boys and ditching. Billy kept his mouth shut.

Until Petra―less sleepy than most of her face would suggest―worked the front of Billy’s briefs down, exposing his erect cock.

“Nononono,” he babbled, face burning because Lex was still peering down between them, over Petra’s shoulder. But then she wrapped her hand around his dick, getting a good grip, and Billy switched to, “Yesyesyesyes.”

He gave up on words completely when Petra shuffled closer on his lap. Billy’s eyes dive-bombed straight between her legs, the absolute only thought in his head that she had just orgasmed and was probably delightfully slippery. And she was definitely thinking what he was thinking, because she kept one finger hooked into the elastic edge of his underwear to stop it from snapping up to cover him while she―Christ on a bike―rocked her slick, hot cunt directly against his penis. Billy just about screamed (probably more like the yelp of a baby animal); Petra grinned.

“Hold up a moment,” Lex interrupted.

“I swear to god,” Billy promised tensely, palms sweaty on Petra’s thighs, “I will skin your face off with the end of my skateboard and use it as a placemat.”

“Uh, I have a valid complaint here, if you would let me speak!”

“Take a number and have a seat in the waiting area,” Billy snipped back.

Petra backed off, retreating to the midway point of his thighs, and sighed.

“What’s your complaint, Lex?” She slanted sideways to glance up at him. His hands remained businesslike on her shoulders, but now he looked at Billy.

“Just wondering how we’re going to figure out who gets to…” His eyebrows lifted and, for Billy, this did enough to convey his meaning, but then Lex had to go and add the old poking-the-index-finger-through-a-hole-made-by-opposite-hand.

The crudity of the gesture wasn’t going to be Billy’s criticism (he planned on suggesting that Lex use his pinky finger in the demonstration instead if it was supposed to be a self-representation), but Petra jumped in, glaring at them each in turn.

“You motherfuckers. Stop discussing this over my head. It’s my vagina! You’re not negotiating access rights to the Suez Canal!”

Billy grimaced, flinched. Lex just shrugged.

“Right,” he said, kneading Petra’s shoulders up to the back of her neck, “so, flip a coin then?”

That sounded pretty reasonable, actually, Billy thought. He pointed to where his pants lay on the floor.

“I should have a quarter in―”

“You’re not flipping a coin for it either!” Petra exclaimed. “Once again,” she grit out, “this is about me. I included both of you, which means I want both of you.”

That was sort of good news and bad news as far as Billy was concerned.

“At the same time?” Lex checked, hand lifting so he could chew at his nail again.

“No.”

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Billy said breezily, running soothing hands up Petra’s thighs as he contemplated sliding her towards his crotch again. “The man has no taste.”

“Sounds to me like he’s just been watching too much porn.”

The casual way she said it made Billy wonder what amount of porn Petra had watched and if this was a potential shared activity for the future.

“No taste in porn is what I meant,” he backtracked.

“As if you fucking know,” Lex barked.

“I think he was actually kinda helping you by intervening before I could kick your ass,” Petra informed Lex, reaching to pat one of the hands he had resting on the back of her neck.

“Ah.” Lex glanced at Billy. “Thanks, mate.”

No. No, they were not doing some sappy, tea party display of good manners with Billy’s dick out and Lex standing behind Petra naked as a baby―if babies had been known to accessorize with spiked jewellery. Although, if any baby would, it would’ve been Lex, but Billy had never asked for a peek at the ol’ family scrapbook for the same reason he wouldn’t have invited him into a sweaty tryst with Petra: HE DIDN’T WANT TO SEE LEX IN THE BUFF.

“The point,” Petra said, focusing the boys, “is that we’re going to need two condoms.”

She slumped suddenly in Billy’s lap, bare ass touching down on his thighs. Her hands went to her hips as she glanced around with a contemplative expression. Lex bent quickly, riffling through the pile of clothes on the floor and Petra twisted to see what he was doing, approximately halving the human wall that had shield’s Billy from the sight of Lex’s unclothed backside. Which he now saw, making him flail and hide his eyes in the crook of his elbow. There was a thump, but Billy kept his eyes shut, like the noise had been a trick to get him to look. Like Lex was some sort of ‘80s punk Medusa; the lack of improvement in hairstyle seemed like a clue.

“Are you ok?” Petra asked.

“Give me a minute,” Billy requested, face still buried, trying to picture anything besides the crack of Lex’s ass as he’d bent over. He shuddered.

Petra grabbed his arm and yanked it down from his face.

“Not you.”

He glanced at Lex to see him rubbing the back of his head. Billy snorted. Looked like the other guy had smacked his melon against the wall in his fervour to retrieve… Drum roll? Billy started one on his own thighs in case Petra wasn’t in agreement.

“Ahem,” Lex said, and raised a wrapped condom delicately between thumb and index finger.

“You had that in your pocket? This morning? At school? Who did you think you were…”

The dry way her voice trailed off was a flammable treeline to the wildfire of Billy’s jealousy.

“You, love. Bit obvious by now, isn’t it? A man can dream.” Lex let out a panicky chuckle and rocked on his feet.

“Wow, you really thought that sometime between classes I was just going to decide that I couldn’t get through the rest of my day without nailing you?”

Billy felt like her tone said ‘pathetic,’ but the fact that she was sitting here ready to nail Lex said she didn’t really have an argument.

“Oi,” Lex defended, “I’m not the only one.”

He gave a sharp nod, indicating Billy, who sighed. Cupping his chin in his palm, he watched Lex upend his pants and shake until a telltale square dropped out. Petra extended a hand and Lex deposited both condoms into it. She examined her prize.

“I’m almost disappointed you didn’t write my name on the wrapper,” she teased Billy, her mouth a serious line, but her eyes playful.

“It’s not like I’m some twelve-year-old girl ogling a Rick Springfield poster. I haven’t been saving myself for you.”

It was true that Billy wasn’t a virgin. It was also true that the wrapper bearing Petra’s name was back in his own dorm room, tucked under the mattress, which was nobody’s fucking business.

The three of them sort of looked at each other, but it was as though the presentation of the condoms had restored equality to their power balance. Petra had confirmed a major question in Billy’s mind (about if he’d actually get a chance to, well, screw her) and he was feeling much less antagonistic towards Lex. Somewhat less. Slightly less. So now that they’d worked out the logistics, he guessed, they just continued? Not exactly romantic, but this whole experience so far had been one long standards adjustment.

Petra set the condoms to one side and looked back at Lex, beckoning him to join her and Billy on the bed. Billy made a quick and dirty politician’s peace with the fact that seeing Lex’s erect penis was inevitable. That didn’t mean he’d quit trying to avoid it. Lex sat and though Petra remained perched on Billy’s thighs, it was now Spikey the Bear that she was kissing. Billy snuck a look to make sure Lex was enjoying it as much as he should be―because Petra was a goddamn gift―and yeah, the guy did seem pretty into it, grasping the back of her head with a happy grunt. Maybe a little heavy on the tonguing, if anybody had asked for Billy’s critique.

He raised a frustrated hand, tugging at his own mohawk, then jerked Petra forward in his lap. She let out a sort of moaning yelp against Lex’s mouth that Billy decided to interpret as being for him. Good. Slowly, he stroked his hands up and down the top of her thighs, soothed by the faint rasping sound. Aroused by the feel of her under his palms. He pressed with his thumbs until the motion was more like massaging her as he worked his way up her warm inner thighs. She shifted her hips towards Billy on her own, then draped a hand over his shoulder, looping him into the trio even more.

Before he could put his eager fingers anywhere more interesting, Petra repositioned again. Her knee pinched his inner thigh as she wedged it between Billy’s legs; she did the same with her other knee, but to Lex, so that she was straddling one of each of their thighs. This also forced the boy’s bare legs together. Not awesome. Billy glanced sideways and caught Lex giving him the same look he was sure was on his own face. They were really in it now.

Like she knew she’d just reminded her friends of Potential Naked Contact, Petra lowered her mouth to nip Lex’s throat―Billy saw the impish bite put the fear of god into Lex’s eyes and snorted. All the real world shit to be afraid of and Lex was crapping his pants (or lack thereof) over vampires.

A second later, Billy closed his eyes with a groan as he received his own treatment meant to draw him back into the encounter. Petra’s hand ran from his shoulder to his neck. Her fingernails scratched lightly up into his hairline, making his arms break out in goosebumps. Next, her hand smoothed down his chest and didn’t fucking slow down as it moved over his abdomen. He still jumped when Petra weaseled her hand into his briefs where they’d crept back up like they were trying to restore his modesty. The miracle of him not losing more than his mind right there had something to do with the overall balance of his life, Billy figured. A good thing to weigh against the bad shit. Petra’s fist closed around his shaft and gave him a steady pump. Billy whined and skidded his hand―not as steady as hers―up her inner thigh, claiming that place between her legs as his playground once again while Lex continued to enjoy her tongue doing who-knew-what in his mouth.

Soon, Billy had two fingers hooked firmly inside Petra and she was grinding down onto his hand as much as he was curling up into her body. (Honestly, his wrist was getting sore, but she could break it for all he cared. He’d already had one cast this year, he was pretty sure he could handle another one.) She was jerking him off with an unpredictable rhythm. Not that he was a fucking machine when he went to town on himself, but compared to the uniform up-down-up-down of Lex’s forearm―shit, Billy didn’t want to be aware of Lex stroking the salami, stupid peripheral vision―Petra’s pace was erratic. Billy loved erratic.

His ass bounced on the bed, hips thrusting to get a little more action from her heavenly snug fist. He tilted his head forward and kissed Petra’s shoulder as she whimpered into Lex’s mouth. Billy’s fingers were starting to feel arthritic as he prodded inside her over and over, so he called in the cavalry, rubbing his thumb over her clit.

“Come on, come on,” he hissed against her shoulder, lips bumping her smooth skin.

Then Petra did start to come, cunt clenching Billy’s fingers and hand moving aggressively, desperately over his erection. Because her mouth had finally separated from Lex’s, Billy reveled in her harsh panting. His name didn’t join the panting, but he’d never expected that. (As if he’d expected any of this.) Petra pressed hard into his hand as her orgasm chewed her up and spat her out; her wetness slid down his fingers and palm, trickling to his wrist. He bit her shoulder.

Carefully, Billy extracted his sopping fingers and brought them to his dick. He was too lost in the high of getting her off to worry about anything but following her. More accommodating in bed than in daily life, Petra scooted her hand down, allowing Billy to coat the head of his cock in her arousal. It was practically the real thing, he realized―then he had to stop realizing it or risk jinxing the real thing actually happening, as had basically been promised by Petra earlier.

He smeared and stroked and her fingers traveled lower and lower until it was his balls in the palm of her hand. It felt like his whole body choked, seizing, until she abruptly moved her hand away, drawn fully into Lex’s lap by no one less than Lex himself, that bastard. Billy gasped, floundering. He was sliding backwards down Mount Orgasm and the way was a lot rockier than it had appeared when he’d been heading for the summit. Next to him, Petra and Lex tumbled backwards, Petra still astride Lex’s lap while he―flat out―tore open the condom and rolled it on.

That left Billy flustered and horny. Story of his life. He didn’t really know what his plan was as he twisted around, getting up on his knees, to watch Petra settle onto Lex’s dick with a coy arch of her back that drove Billy absolutely nuts. Oh yeah, and witnessing it cut like a thousand shards of glass. He was looking for a way to insinuate himself back into this three-way tango when the girl of his dreams―day and night―turned her head to catch his eye over her shoulder.

“Both of you,” she insisted to Billy, grasping Lex’s forearm as his fingers slid up to rest against her throat.

“Yeah, mate, get in here,” Lex said, quick and gruff.

Billy recoiled. Had his friend, in the throes of passion, suddenly had a change of heart and/or sexual preference? This was an unnerving development and certainly worse than them just getting through this on extreme discomfort and moderate dislike. Shit, Billy didn’t know if he had the finesse to let someone down gently.

“Lex, man, I don’t really―”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the other spat. “I don’t bloody want you, but if you hadn’t noticed, this one―” A nod towards Petra. “―quit moving the second she looked over at you and saw that look on your face. Sad sack.”

“What should I do?” Billy asked Petra quietly. Lex threw his head back at the mattress, expression tense as he waited, erection buried inside Petra, but immobile.

She gave Billy a soft smile and he wanted to frame it, just her face, with his hands, blocking out the idiot whose hips she sat straddling. With her sparing yet slicing words, Petra had always survived on her actions in this place and now she acknowledged Billy’s question with a touch. Her fingertips were light on his chest. As her gaze dropped into his lap, he quickly shoved his underwear down before awkwardly fighting his way out of them―all knees and ankles. His previously rejected erection was stiffening up again, especially with Petra’s fingernail circling his nipple. Billy felt cold and hot and goosebump-y.

One hand on Billy’s chest and the other on Lex’s, she toyed with one and braced herself with the other, beginning to work her hips in Lex’s lap.

“Well thank god for that,” he said, thrusting upward.

Billy was trying to block him out, shifting close and combing his fingers into Petra’s hair until she closed her eyes and her head fell back into his palm. Lex’s hand flexed briefly at her throat and she rode him harder. The first time her hand started to skid down Billy’s chest, he captured it and pressed it to his skin. Maybe it was right over his heart. Who could say? The second time her hand fell, he was slow to react, trying to intertwine their fingers. Obviously, he would rather have Petra riding him, but the sight of two people fucking right in front of him was kind of distracting in an I could masturbate to this kind of way. But apparently Petra didn’t want to hold hands, shaking her fingers free of Billy’s and stroking down his stomach to grab his dick.

He groaned like he’d just been kicked in the stomach. She could’ve done that to him too and he would’ve said ‘thank you’ because he was fucked up, totally fucked up in love with her. Billy’s hips jolted and he gripped Petra’s thigh for strength―physical and mental. She was his Petra, no matter who was shaking her mattress, and her grasp on him was warm and tight as he propelled himself through her encircling hand. But his favourite part (as he clenched his jaw, trying to last longer) was her face and the way she let him hold her head up. Petra’s neck was exposed and Billy’s training said ‘vulnerable,’ but his eyes and his heart said ‘beautiful.’ It was breathtaking.

No, literally. Because Petra’s clever fist flexed and twisted and Billy came, gasping; he splattered the bedsheet and up her wrist like an ooey gooey bracelet. He slumped, head spinning, hand sweaty on her thigh, as Petra released him to wipe her arm on the sheet. Her fingernails lingered to scratch through his pubic hair. It made him want to thump his leg like a dog. Hell, she could collar him if she damn well felt like it.

Except right now, he had the hold on her. Billy turned her face towards his using the solid grip he had deep in Petra’s hair. Her head wouldn’t stay still, what with all the fucking of Lex she was doing, but Billy wasn’t deterred when he leaned in to kiss her. What was he supposed to be afraid of? A cut lip from her teeth? He wasn’t afraid of anything.

The hair on the back of his neck rose as their lips brushed delicately at first. After a minute, Petra touched his bottom lip with her tongue and Billy felt so zapped that it was possible that his entire mohawk had stood up too. When they broke apart, he thought she looked apologetic, but she turned to stare down at Lex too fast for Billy to be sure.

On impulse, he took Petra by the hips, heart pounding through his body like a stampede as he manhandled her through every rise and fall on Lex’s dick. Billy wanted to run his hands all over her. He wanted to dry hump the pleasured sound coming out of her mouth. Nuzzling his face and mouth from her shoulder to the back of her neck was like giving his blessing to the impending explosion.

Lex’s hands tripped over Billy’s as he reached up for the hearty grope that would accompany the homestretch of their fuck. Billy watched the other set of male hands fleetingly fondle Petra’s boobs, trace her waist, slide over the backs of Billy’s own hands, and go between her legs to wiggle her clit. Her small yelps increased in pitch and volume like they were climbing some precarious ladder. Billy’s groan just under her jaw as she came got blasted to hell volume-wise by Lex’s goddamn bellow (yeah, it felt good to be inside her―he fucking got it), but he knew Petra had heard him right there by her ear; she touched a limp hand to Billy’s cheek as the swaying of her hips gentled, like somebody up high on a swing who quit kicking their legs and just swung gradually to a stop.

Chest rising and falling as Billy’s palms slipped over her sides, grazing her breasts, Petra slapped a hand down to cover Lex’s mouth. Billy had been far too distracted to realize the guy had been about to release a triumphant shout. Lex mumbled against Petra’s palm and she moved it.

“If we get caught,” she informed him with a pant, easing off his lap, “I’ll only have had sex with one of you, which means that Billy will probably kill you.”

Billy nodded, suddenly unsure about touching Petra now that she was regaining her faculties and doing his damnedest not to let his eye be drawn by Lex’s hands removing and tying off the condom.

“I could take him,” Lex boasted, rising up on one elbow and shooting Billy a wink. He chucked the secured condom across the room and thankfully, it landed in the garbage can. “Our Billy’s more of a pipsqueak than a Rat.”

Petra’s bare shoulders jolted in an abrupt laugh.

“Yeah, alright, tough guy.”

She patted Lex’s thigh and he shifted, looking uneasy.

“I am tough,” he said defensively. “If not for my consideration for Billy-boy’s sensibilities, I’d’a been sullying your spotless reputation up against that wall all night, love.”

Lex pointed at a wall that Billy instinctively knew Petra would never have let him rub up against, seeing as it was pasted with overlapping posters, artwork, and other cool-looking shit. But apparently, that wasn’t the part of Lex’s statement that she was most interesting in calling him out on.

“Please,” Petra said flatly, planting her hand on the mattress. “You got exactly what you wanted.”

“Which was?” Lex challenged. Foolish, Billy thought, grinning.

“To submit. Shut up,” she added, pre-emptively. Lex pouted. Petra glanced over at Billy, on the other side of Lex’s still stretched out legs. “And what do you want?”

Billy hoped the question was rhetorical because he had so many issues with answering it. First off, he wanted too many things. Second, he craved whatever she’d be willing to give. Third, it was nothing that he longed to say in front of Lex. His wishes for the love life (yes, life―he was too hopeful to be a realist) of himself and Petra weren’t depraved (not mostly), but they were intimate. They were his. They were… probably never going to have a better opportunity to come true than this one.

Regardless, his mouth was dry. The sharp lines of black makeup around Petra’s eyes weren’t the only things that gave her the look of a predator, a big cat. It was her bright eyes that stared like a jaguar’s, somehow more intense the wider they were opened―as she had them now―than when disinterest kept her eyelids lazily lowered. Billy’s groin felt all hot and thumpy. He knew what was going on down there: he was getting hard again. It seemed like maybe his expression was pleading as he sat paralyzed, dick working its way back up like how they’d raised the flag on Iwo Jima, with Petra crawling over Lex’s shins to get to him.

“I,” he tried. “I… I lov―”

“It’s been established,” she assured him, hand on his thigh.

“You said this was about you,” Billy pointed out, feeling a little gutsier as his gaze darted over to Lex, struggling up to sitting. “So, on some level, even when you’re all ‘aaah, feelings!’, you must have thought about being with me.” He swallowed, but pushed ahead, through his fading bravery. “Even if it was only, like, a millionth of the number of times that I’ve thought about being with you,” he whispered.

“Starting to think that you’d get him off just by drying his tears, poor sod,” Lex contributed with a self-satisfied post-coital grin.

He smacked Billy heartily on the back and just as quickly, Petra had grabbed Lex by the thumb, using this weak point to twist his entire arm. Lex exhaled hard through his nose and kept his lips clamped until she loosened her hold. There was still a warning look in her eyes.

“You’re just about as touchy about him as he is about you,” Lex accused, the grin fighting its way back onto his face.

“Bite me,” she said.

“I think I’ve made my boundaries very clear, thank you, Countess Dracula.” When she glared, Lex held up a hand, laughing. “Kidding.”

“Getting back to me…” Billy hinted. Petra’s eyes shifted to him and he backpedalled. “Getting back to me talking about getting back to you.”

“Yes,” Petra agreed. “I’ve thought about it. I do know what I want.”

Because he couldn’t speak right away, Billy nodded. He glanced over at Lex who, confusingly yet not unhelpfully, gave him an encouraging thumbs up.

“So,” Billy started, “you, me, and this guy. How are we gonna―”

Lurching forward on her knees, Petra kissed him firmly.

“Just let me handle it,” she offered.

“Please do,” Billy said, breathless.

Now it was him, not Lex, being eased down onto his back, Petra’s hand on his chest helping him get there. She didn’t straddle him like before though, just kissed and nudged. Billy tucked her hair back behind her ear when it swung forward. It wisped past her neck, raising that dark scent. Petra still wasn’t making a move to put any more skin against him than her palm over his heart, so he rolled towards her. Unhurriedly, she toppled from her folded up crouch―her torso twisted, her legs shifted, she gradually straightened her body, bringing it in line with his.

Giving her hair a flick to keep it back from her face, Billy reached around, gathering Petra close to him and inching them lengthwise on the bed. He didn’t want his gangly legs hanging off the edge of the mattress to distract him when he finally got to have her. His fingers played where her back arched to curve her towards him, tracing her spine. God, she was soft. But Billy wanted her hips to come forward too, his own tilting restlessly in search of Petra’s. She nipped his lower lip before flashing him a quick smirk. Was she playing with him? Because Billy had to be honest with himself: that was turning him on. Turning him on more. The erection straining towards her probably made that point.

“Aren’t you two just the fucking cutest?”

Billy sighed. He and Petra drew apart, turning to glare (mostly Billy on that one) at Lex. From his spot near their feet, he looked like a huge creep, just looming there, watching.

“Thrown me over already, have you? Forgotten about me?” he checked with the currently impassive Petra. Lex waved a hand at Billy. “Decided to go for someone who is, in every sense of the word, greener than myself? Won’t you be needing this?”

He held up the other condom, still wrapped, from whatever rumple of sheets it had made its way into since the proper intercourse portion of events had begun. Maybe it was threatening, this little power-play Lex seemed to be going for, literally holding the key to their safe sexual gratification over their heads (or knees, actually). Plus the general taunting, consisting of both insults and rhetorical questions. But it was just so fucking Lex. Always a dramatic shithead whenever the occasion didn’t call for it. Billy started to laugh.

“You really do like Petra,” he said through amused wheezes. “You’re so jealous, dude.”

“Oh, shove it up your arse, Bennett.” Lex whipped the condom at him and it smacked his cheek, but it didn’t make Billy quit laughing.

“Come here, moron,” Petra said, stretching to hook her fingers under the cuff around Lex’s wrist.

Once he’d been convinced to lie down on Petra’s other side while she lightly stroked the inner part of his forearm, she switched her attention back to Billy. Her hips quit teasing and the second she came in contact with his erection, Billy felt like he’d been doused in cheap booze and set on fire. He scrambled for her, even though she was right there, clutching and pawing and hugging her close. Their mouths were engaged in a filthy wet kiss that gave his crotch the cavernous thrum of an amped bass. Excitingly, her hands were just as eager: jerking his mohawk, pressing his fingers between her legs, and then―gulp―gripping the back of his neck when she said, “I want you, Billy.”

As if he hadn’t already been wrapped around her finger.

He wasn’t really sure which of them was taking the lead, only that his sweaty palms were dragging across her skin, circumnavigating her waist, as Petra rolled over. Her back was to him now, but her hand was clenching his hip, trembling (though not as much as Billy’s) as he retrieved the condom and rolled it down his dick, aching for her. (Stupid wrapper didn’t want to disengage from his damp fingers and he had to flick repeatedly to send it fluttering away.)

With an abrupt angling of her hips and an assuring glance over her shoulder, Petra made it clear that she was ready. It took Billy a couple extra seconds to be that ready, since her ass pressing against his cock had cracked his brain open like an egg. He remembered about the lockdown, and the cafeteria schedule, and the lack of food in his body―eggs or otherwise. Hopefully supressing the thought would keep stomach rumblings at bay.

Scooting his hips lower, Billy got into a position where he’d be able to push up into the wetness he knew was waiting for him. Petra’s fingers tensed on his hip. As he prodded her entrance, she leaned her upper body away from him, kissing Lex. In search of his limit for how overwhelmed he could possibly feel, Billy pressed slowly into Petra. Wowza.

Once he’d completed the stage where his eyes were clamped shut, he opened them to see Lex’s hand, fingers splayed, on Petra’s back. Now, nausea was a genuine threat, but the sight of Lex’s hand―his bracelets and his fingers―didn’t manage to invoke it. Billy was thinking about Petra, Petra getting what she needed. Petra surrounded. Petra adored. Petra worshipped and caressed from the outside and within. It made the fucking blood pump in his cock.

Billy’s knee hitched up on its own, almost bouncing, as he eased in deep. His leg tangled with Petra’s, then Lex’s too, until the three of them had lower limbs like strands of a shitty friendship bracelet. Because when you were riffraff, when you were a Rat and maybe also an orphan, school was hell on earth and a threesome was a friendship bracelet. Tonight, Billy wasn’t afraid of his life’s grimy details or the grander horrors of its plot. He accepted that the night he would feel most himself and the night that he would see Lex’s balls were in fact the same night. And that night was this night. And this night ruled.

Petra gripped his cock with her insides―felt like she did it on purpose―and Billy whined in pleasure. Every time his hips snapped up and into her, he tried to go deeper, refusing to believe anything to do with this girl had a limit. He held her shoulder with one hand and pressed his other palm flat to the small of her back; his middle finger balanced along her spine. If he’d been a little less out of his mind, Billy would have asked Petra out loud for ways to make it better for her. Although, maybe his lack of constant double-checking made it better for her. She might’ve found his naked (in every sense) devotion sickening.

Her enjoyment wasn’t much of a question though; Petra’s arousal kept Billy moving on his path as slickly as a poisoned dart through a blowpipe. He was panting hard and had no idea when he’d started doing that. Possibly back when Petra had first suggested the threesome. It was getting noisy actually, with the three of them so worked up. Their breathing was all out of sync, then there were the soft, wet pat noises of the boys’ hands hungrily feeling Petra’s skin, plus the sound of Billy driving in and out of her cunt―something like the smack of a bubble gum bubble bursting. Another member or two with a real instrument and they’d basically be a band. And an orgy. Billy didn’t feel ready for that.

He did, however, feel like he was getting ready to flood this condom. Petra’s hips rolled and so did Billy’s eyes―back into his head. Lex was speaking a constant stream of praise for Petra’s boobs and Billy had a feeling that his friend was definitely forgiven for his earlier insult about their shape. There was a moment, a second or less than that, as Billy changed his angle to drill into Petra faster when he realized Lex must be rubbing her clit from his position in front of her. What tipped him off was feeling a brief brush of fingertips along his shaft on an outward stroke. Panicked and thrusting like crazy, he lifted his head to see Lex and was met with wide eyes. Billy dropped his head back to the mattress. Yep, that was something they were going to pretend never happened.

Petra―goddess among women―drew him back into the moment in an instant, reaching up frantically to clap her palm over the back of the hand Billy had on her shoulder. Her hips were slamming back to give his a rough welcome and when he matched the brutality of her thrusts, Petra moaned. It raised bumps up and down his arms. Whatever she was doing to Lex with her other hand, out of Billy’s line of sight, had him saying some really profane things about Jesus’s mother.

Figuring he and Lex were just about there (though also very badly NOT wanting to think about them having simultaneous orgasms), Billy stroked his palm from Petra’s lower back up to her neck. Then, stiffening his fingers into claws, he scratched all the way back down. Petra screamed. Her tightness at the moment of release nearly killed Billy. Which, strangely, would’ve coincided with his more-than-baseless prophesy that he was going to die in this school. Better a really good fuck than a stab wound to the gut, right?

His own orgasm tossed Billy around like an ill-conceived childhood experiment involving the dryer. Up was down and down was up and the center was Petra, like it had been since he met her. Eventually, things felt less intense and Billy pulled out, dick softening with what seemed like reluctance, to attempt to tie off the slippery condom three times before giving up and hurling it into the trash. He flopped back down on the bed and, when she didn’t squirm away, wrapped both arms around Petra’s waist. Yeah, maybe that’s where Lex’s arms were too (a little looser than Billy’s because Billy didn’t do casual), but who fucking cared?

It was kinda therapeutic, Billy thought, getting used to the sound of their breathing.

“Ok,” Petra said finally, twisting onto her back within the boys’ embrace. She had hickeys darkening on her throat. Her voice was hoarse and it tugged the corners of Billy’s mouth up immediately. “I know you two are mentally filling this silence with feelings, so somebody better talk instead.”

“And whatever would we discuss, love?” Lex asked innocently. “What a wicked little thing you are when you’re on top, or how you surprised Billy and I with that barbaric scream?”

Billy froze, horrified that he was about to witness Lex trounced by Petra, but she let out a low laugh.

“There’s no way nobody heard that. We are so fucked.”

“Nah,” Billy promised, “they’ll just think it was someone being murdered.”

Lex snorted, leaning up on his elbow.

“And you don’t think they’ll investigate that?”

Billy glanced at him and shrugged.

“They’ll do what they always do.” He smiled at Petra’s probing look. “Dick-all, and then give whoever did it a gold star.”

“This school doesn’t do gold stars,” Petra informed him.

“Yeah,” Lex acknowledged, “but how’d you expect Billy to know that? Not like he’s ever even come close to―”

Billy reached over Petra and slapped Lex across the ear. Before he’d managed to pull his arm all the way back, Lex―both swearing and laughing―had grabbed it and they were tussling, trying to get a grip on each other and land the next blow. Petra was trapped between the two, verbally berating them and then just directing her elbows towards their bare stomachs when they didn’t listen to her.

No heartfelt declarations, no tender kisses; this was the better ending. All of Billy’s best memories with these two included war wounds.

[pitofghosts]

Stuff about Pelageya

@yearlyaquariace’s influence

-A force to be reckoned with

-Ambitious!

-Really very funny when it comes down to it. She’s dramatic and witty.

-Fully believes that the Echyet Vis killed her dad. She wants to avenge him by toppling the Echyet Vis

-Wears a silver bracelet her grandma gave her before she passed away

-Saoirse went with her to the funeral. He really helped her through that.

-She feels like Saoirse is a really bad communicator and is kind of lazy. She doesn’t wish any ill towards him and wishes he would just stay out of everything and stop messing it all up

-Is legitimately scared of Vilev but since she’s kind of her pathway to the top, she deals with it

-She’s really really good at drawing! She wants to get better at painting, too, but paints are expensive

-Is nicer than she seems. She’s kind of mean and condescending up front but she’s quietly nice. If someone is struggling with something that she knows how to do she’ll usually teach them how or give suggestions on how to improve

-Kind of admires Illarion for his ambitions, just wishes he was a bit more realistic about them. Or that they amounted to more than “I wanna get high and sleep all day and be surrounded by beautiful women”

-She’s considered cutting her hair real short but ha denver had the guts to do it

-She thinks that Vikwo is the only true god and that Kolina is essentially a “false prophet” and that she deserves to die

-She’s kind of casually racist towards Enyans and Drekkans, but ESPECIALLY towards Gorrans. She’s not mean to the individual people but if she said something nice about Kai Fen it’s probably be “You’re alright for someone from Enyang”

-She and Kai Fen are definitely more similar than either of them will ever realize

-She has a baton that can be charged by someone with Vikwo’s blessing and can then discharge electricity like them. She is very liberal with it and Illarion has to refill it every time it runs out. He is going to KILL her if she keeps acting like a child with it.

-She really misses her mom’s sbiten

-She’s really good at hydvik (its basically hockey) and she and Saoirse used to play together all the time. She always beat him one on one, but when they played as a team they were almost unbeatable

-Really thinks Vilev is smart and knows what she’s doing. Although every time Illarion gripes about how her ideas seem kind of bad Pelageya is starting to realize that even if Illarion’s ideas aren’t good either, his problems with Vilev’s are... legitimate.

-Really likes dogs and wants to own two really big fluffy ones some day. (And maybe a cute small one, too.)

-She’s the one who originally got Saoirse into drinking. She hated when it started to become a problem for him. She asked him to stop and when he didn’t, and when he got drunk and found her in public and embarrassed her.... She knew there was no way she could be with him

-Not super religious but believes that Isayu deserves to be in control

-Or at least someone who believes in her

-Wants to be a high ranking military officer

-Will protect her family and loved ones to her dying breath

[sweetness47]

The Reality in the nightmare

Pairing Dean x reader

This is for Kari’s Supernatural Halloween Challenge @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

Prompt: “I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that any weirdo wearing a mask is never friendly.” Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives (1986)

Summary: What’s real and what’s not?

It was one of those weird creepy nights, the kind that just make you want to retreat to the safety of your bed, pull up the covers over your head, and silently pray to Chuck for morning to come quickly. Of course, it didn’t help that it was All Hallow’s Eve, or Halloween for the other 99% of the population. I used to be innocent of all the creatures and monsters that roam the earth, until my twin brother, the only living relative I had left, was brutally murdered, body parts scattered everywhere. I would have been next if Sam and Dean hadn’t burst into my home and dispatched the werewolves that had attacked my home. The brothers took me in and taught me to hunt, and over the years they have become family to me. Cas, Mary and Jack are included in that group. Dean and I married shortly after I came to live at the bunker, going on two years now.

But anyways, like I said, it was creepy, with a chill in the air that just felt wrong somehow. It was a horrific, terrifying evil kind of wrong feeling, and my stomach filled with dread. The town was dark, empty streets, and fog rolled in, as if it wasn’t already weird enough, and the temperature dropped drastically. The entire demeanor of the place seemed to change then, shadows seemed to come alive, like they were stalking us, waiting for the right moment to strike. We disproved the alive shadow theory quickly enough as Jack shot a ray of angelic light at one. Nothing happened, so we shrugged it off. My senses were on heightened alert, even with the shadows being just that, I just couldn’t shake that feeling we were in deep shit.

Sam, Jack and Mary decided to go in one direction where the town center split, while Cas, Dean and I went in the other. We kept Walkie talkies with us as the cell reception was choppy and unreliable at best. The plan was to check in every five minutes with each other. As my trio walked through the dark, deserted streets, I sensed some movement, so I motioned for everyone to duck down out of sight. What we saw is something I will never forget, even though I wish I could.

Weirdos, creepy ones at that, sauntering slowly down the road. What’s worse was who these shitheads looked like. They were masked horror movie villains, like slasher movie ones, and they looked so goddamn real, and worse, felt real too. These weren’t kids or teens. Every movement they made suggested they were every inch the real thing: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Leatherface, and Ghostface. The harder I tried to get any sign of people in Halloween costumes, the more I felt overwhelming dread. I glanced over to Cas, who nodded, confirming the bad feeling in my gut.

Dean, sensing my tension, tried to lighten the mood with one of his charming antics. “well, there’s something you don’t see every day. It’s a live action horror movie marathon!”

I shot him an unamused glance. “Funny Dean, truly hilarious. Smart Ass!” I slapped his arm. “Does this look like a fucking Sci-Fi convention? No! Those things in the masks? Bad news babe, trust me. I believe those are the real thing there. You’ve watched those horror movies with me. Go ahead genius, tell my gut it’s wrong!”

Dean sighed, knowing the truth. “Yeah Y/N, you’re right. I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that any weirdo wearing a mask is never friendly.”

I tried to send word to Sam through the radios, but all I got was static. Whoever or whatever was casting the spell that animated those creeps in the masks must have also put up a radio wave dampener. Fortunately, that wasn’t our only method of communicating. Cas seemed to have limits on his angelic abilities, but I was able to send word out to Jack, who relayed the message to Sam and Mary.

We tried to get closer to the group of killers and noticed Jason carrying something on his shoulders. Oh sure, cuz these assholes weren’t enough to make someone shit their drawers, we had to have Chucky here too. Fuck! This just seemed to get better and better. All we need now is Jigsaw, Freddy and the damn Loch Ness Monster, and we can do the fucking Monster Mash.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I pulled Dean and Cas out of harm’s way just as a large axe came flying at us from behind. We had been so busy trying to hide and stay in contact with the others, that we forgot to watch the dicks near us. We rolled and came up in defensive position just in time to face off against the very shit heads we were hiding from. The five had now become seven, and we were now fully surrounded and cut off from each other. I tried to warn the others, but Chucky somehow managed to shoot waves of pain through my skull, it felt like it was being driven over by a steam roller.

“Y/N!” Dean tried to get to me, but his path was blocked by Myers and Ghostface. Cas took out his angel blade and prepared to square off against Freddy and Jason. Dean retrieved his demon blade from his belt, preparing for the fight of his life. I was in a ball on the ground in a fight of my own, as my brain screamed at me. Chucky’s grip was strong, too strong, and I couldn’t move to save my own ass.

The Goonies funfest was interrupted by Jack, who sent all of them flying far from us. He was joined by Sam and Mary, who helped me up at Dean came rushing to my side.

“Sweetheart, baby girl, say something, please.” He pleaded, his voice etched with worry.

Everything sounded so far away, but I managed a whisper. “I’m ok Dean, I just need a minute.”

Cas spoke up. “Might I suggest we find someplace more hidden for your rest?” He gestured toward our adversaries who were already re-grouping and coming back for round two. We all agreed and took off down the road as fast as we could, with Castiel carrying me. I was way too disoriented from the mental attack earlier. We broke into a hardware store and barred the door with anything and everything we could find. We hid and waited, hoping they wouldn’t find us. Dean held me close, and for the first time, in all the years I’d known my husband, I felt fear from him.

I reached my hand to his cheek and reached up to place a kiss there. Then that sinking danger feeling came back as movement caught our attention in the dark. We all grabbed weapons and stood back to back, watching every angle, as creatures slowly advanced toward us. Dean grabbed my hand while we waited, perhaps to comfort me, perhaps for his own comfort, or maybe both. With chilling apprehension, we watched vengeful spirits, lycans and vamps we’d killed in the past, encircled our group, joined by the movie monsters.

“I love you Dean.” I whispered as the headache from before returned with a vengeance, and now plagued Cas and Jack as well. We all held hands, all six of us, and prepared to go down fighting…

“Y/N! Y/N! C’mon, damn it, wake up baby girl, stay with me! Fight it, fight with everything you’ve got! I need you, our beautiful baby boy needs you, we all need you!” Dean was holding my hand, pleading for me to wake up? What the hell?

Chucky must have been playing with my mind, part of his torture I guess. Dean was right here beside me, we’re still surrounded, and Jack’s power isn’t working. I can’t get my body to do anything, like I’m being held down by an unseen force…

Jack’s voice rang inside my head. “Come back to us Y/N. You need to fight her! Wake up! Follow our voices back and we can defeat her together. I don’t want you or your unborn child to die!”

I looked to the young nephlim beside me, also being tortured by the wooden puppet. He didn’t even glance my way. What the fuck was going on? Wait a sec, both voices said something about a baby? I look down at my flat abdomen, and for one brief second, I saw a rounded belly, and a lot of blood pooling at my feet. Then, as quick as it came, it vanished. The pain in my head got worse, like someone had put my brain on a busy highway and it was now being driven over by 100 semi’s simultaneously. Then the most excruciating pain I’d ever experienced ripped through my abdominal cavity. What the…was that a contraction?

“We’re losing her!” Dean’s panic rose. He turned to Jack and Cas. “Send me into her mind. I’ll get her out! We’ve got to try something!” They nodded, knowing that it was pointless to argue with Dean when my well-being was involved. Dean lay on the bed beside my pale body, racked with sweat and blood, and closed his eyes.

Mary waited at the end of the bed, ready to catch the baby. She looked over at Rowena, who was working desperately to undo the nightmare curse. “She’d better not die, or I’ll kill you myself Rowena. Dean won’t even get the chance.”

Cas came to stand by Dean. “Remember, if you die in the dream, you will die out here. It is a dream world, which means it can be controlled, but you still need to be careful, since it was conjured by that evil witch-demon. Keep the mindset that it is a dream, you can be anything, do anything, as long as you believe that nothing can hurt you. Find Y/N, the real one, and convince her you’re real, and she needs to wake herself up. I can keep you connected for about an hour before the baby’s health rapidly begins to deteriorate. Jack will be the beacon between here and there, and will guide you to where your wife is, but it will be up to you to get her out.”

Dean glanced over at Rowena, who rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I kin. I’ll have ye all know that Y/N is one of the few who treats me like a regular person. I consider her a friend and want her well as much as ye all do.” Her words were sincere for once, no hidden agendas, and Dean nodded, mentally preparing himself for the journey ahead.

Cas’s eyes became white as he touched Dean’s forehead, then touched mine. Jack then did the same to act as my husband’s guide inside the nightmare. Sam stood by Mary and said, “Bring her home man. And you come back too, alive.”

Dean nodded as his eyes closed, his fingers still laced with mine, as he travels inside the dark horror that is my supposed reality. He stands in the street intersection where the dream us first encountered the gore team. Jack appeared briefly to inform Dean of my whereabouts.

“She’s in a building about five blocks from here, to the east. It’s a hardware store.” Jack pointed toward the place where we had run to. “Be careful though, whatever is here…it’s evil and it wants Y/N dead.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks kid.  She’s not dying today, not on my watch. I’ll bring her home.” Then he took off down the street toward my location.

Meanwhile, I was completely immobilized between the pain in my head and the pain in my stomach. The gruesomes were all standing there, making sure all of us were trapped and forcing our loved ones to watch Cas, Jack and I slowly perish. We were the ones that had the power, I guess that made us more of a threat.

It was a shift in the air that caught my attention, breaking the hold on my power and my mind long enough to throw Chucky across the room, thereby freeing Jack and Cas. The masked groupies had also noticed the change, their focus no longer on us. Their mistake. Then I heard my name, and it sounded like Dean’s voice, but that couldn’t be…he was still here beside me. But I heard it again, closer this time. With the masks distracted, I moved and slowly made my way to the window. Sure enough, Dean was there, except he was dressed like Rambo and Terminator had a kid.

Dean the Rambo-inator stopped short as he came face to face with the dickheads. “Y/N, if you can hear me sweetheart, you need to wake up. This,” he gestured toward the town and the creatures, “none of this is real. You were hexed by that bitch witch-demon so that you couldn’t defeat her. It caused your labour to start a week early. Please, baby,” his voice faltered, “I need you to live, and our son needs his momma.”

There it was again, the baby reference. Then the abdominal pain started again, more intense this time. Contractions! Shit! I’ve been in a dream world this entire time. I looked down at my stomach again, now swollen and blood everywhere. Memories, real ones, surfaced. The witch, the baby, the hex…another contraction shot through my whole body, and I crumpled.

“Dean!” I cried as the pain took my breath away. One by one the villains and the imaginary town vanished, all except that stupid fucking wooden pest. Holy shit! The witch was the possessed toy!

“Dean, Chucky is the witch! Kill the doll and you kill her!” I shouted.

Dean’s imagination produced a large steel baseball bat with metal spikes all over. His body was now covered in warded armor. He gestured, mocking the bitch, “Bring it!”

The doll grew to match Dean’s size and strength. “Sure thing Rambo.” He lunged at Dean, knocking him off balance. He fell backwards but caught himself mid-fall using magic of all things. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I witnessed the act. Dean’s ever-present fun side surprised me yet again as he now took the persona of Dr. Strange, and all the ancient magic that came with it.

“Eat shit, bitch!” he yelled as he lashed out a powerful energy whip, hitting Chucky with a wood-shattering crash. The witch screamed as the puppet disintegrated, leaving nothing but dust. Dean ran over to me as he changed back, picking me up and carrying me back to the street intersection where Jack waited to pull us out.

We all came back just as another contraction hit, my screams reverberated through the bunker as Mary held her hands out. “Push!” she commanded me as her voice broke into my thoughts, and with Dean behind me I crunched forward, pushing with everything I had. “Again!” she yelled, and I did, past the pain and trauma, to the life begging for it’s first breath. As I collapsed my head onto Dean’s lap, a soft cry filled our ears. Jack washed the tiny infant and brought him over to us. As we marveled at the miracle in my arms, contractions started again.

“What the hell is happening? I know there was only one baby. Cas?”

Cas placed a hand on my abdomen. He frowned. “There is indeed a second child.”

All of us stared in shock at the angel’s words, then another wave of pain brought us back to the current issue, and everyone was scrambling for more supplies. Mary stood ready as the head crowned, then a horrified expression crossed her face before a knife lashed out, slitting her carotid and sending her to the floor. Jack attempted to intervene but Chucky swung a large sword, decapitating the nephlim in one clean stroke. Then without missing a beat, the doll cut off the heads of Cas and Rowena. Blood spray was everywhere, decorating walls and bedding.

Sam became the doll’s next victim as he tried to exorcise the possessed toy. His screams filled the room as his body was literally ripped apart, piece by piece. Dean stood to face the doll, grabbing a chair and swinging it at Chucky. He managed to catch the toy off guard for a moment, but his victory was short-lived the puppet threw Dean against the wall hard, shattering his spine with a sickening crunch. My husband tried to work past the pain and stand up, mouthing the words “I love you.” to me as Chucky split his skull in two with an axe, grey matter everywhere.

It was my turn to scream a I scrambled off the bed, my newborn tucked safely in my arms. “Stay away you bitch.” I snarled.

The Chucky-witch laughed, flinging me against the wall and snatching my child from me, dangling him just out of my reach, like a dog with a bone. “I swear, if you harm that baby I will make sure I haunt your ass across this plane and the next, and I will make it my mission to make sure you die painfully.” My words were laced with venom as I stared at her.

Chucky just smiled and snapped his fingers…

“Fuck Y/N! Wake up!” Dean’s panicked voice broke through the final barrier of the nightmare, and my eyes opened. The jackhammer in my head was going strong as I tried to focus. That’s when I noticed the abdominal discomfort. My pupils went dark with anger as my memories came flooding back in full.

“The baby…!” I cried.

“Is fine Y/N. You and Dean have a beautiful baby boy.” Jack beamed as he walked over to me, gently placing a small but feisty bundle into my arms.

I looked over at Dean, who’ grin was wider than the chesire cat. I wrinkled my nose at him. “You named him already, didn’t you.”

It was a statement more than a question. Without missing a beat he said, “Yep, and it’s a good one Y/N, don’t you worry. We were calling him Daisy, weren’t we?” He roared with laughter as I slapped his arm. “I’m joking sweetheart, honest. How about Jackson Dean Winchester?”

My eyes darted over to Jack, who was exceptionally happy with that choice. But I had one question left, and I scanned the room for the one person who could verify the answer for me. “Rowena, thank you for helping me get back. Is she gone now?”

Rowena nodded. “She won’t be comin’ back any time soon Y/N. The headaches should be gone by tomorrow.”

I smiled a thank you to my friend and then I held Jackson close, snuggled into Dean’s arms, and relaxed.

[lilithhawthorne]

Maiden Phoenix

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect - All Media Types Rating: Mature Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Cross Posted on AO3 First // Previous / Next

Many thanks to @black-rose4 for providing edits and suggestions! <3

The Lazarus Project has failed and Commander Shepard, long dead to the rest of the galaxy, is declared useless to Cerebus. Miranda Lawson has a backup plan in the form of a smuggler who bears a shocking resemblance to the former war hero. With the promise of a fresh start, Elisha agrees to assume Shepard's identity. She'll have to gather her crew, run her ship, and save the galaxy in the way only Shepard could. What could go wrong?

Or; Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire: the Strange AU No One Asked For

The bar was doing a good job drowning out the sound of the Galactic News broadcast, and each time the bartender increased the volume, the drunken and sober alike rose their voice to join the clamor. 

Elisha leaned closer to her companion, straining to hear over the competition that was taking place between flesh and technology. She braced her elbows on the table, her chest nearly pressed against the sticky top as she lifted out of her chair. “I can’t hear you,” she shouted needlessly. 

Jeks contorted his lipless mouth into what she thought was a scowl and blinked big, black eyes at her. If he meant to harangue her about the location she picked - a favorite of his before they ever got down to business - his quick tongue reply was lost in the roar of another, louder voice. 

“Hey!” a big man yelled, two meaty fists the size of Elisha’s head crashing down on his table with enough force to cause the drinks of his companion to slosh. The inharmonious crescendo of voices petered to a murmur. “Look,” he commanded. 

The bar followed his gaze to the screen that took up one wall. 

“-drive core was breached when an unknown ship-”

Elisha and the rest of the bar watched in silence, the wreckage of the Normandy floating across the screen, the hull ripped apart and pieces of her interior splayed across the void of space. Across from her, Jeks sucked in a ragged breath. All around the bar, patrons offered their own sounds of sorrow, gasps, and murmurs, a forceful but whispered, “ah fuck.” 

The human woman on the screen was hyper-focused, her pupils dilated as she read the text that was no doubt being supplied just off-screen. High definition and droid mounted cameras came with their drawbacks; everyone watching could see this woman’s panic, her eyes darting back and forth as she rushed to get the news out. 

“Commander Jane Shepard, Hero of the Citadel and the first human Spectre”- a photo of the famed commander appeared in the upper right side, the woman looking smart in her blues -“has been reported dead.” 

The woman pressed on, details about the rest of the crew and total casualties, but it was clear no one cared about anything else she had to say. Everyone was speaking at once, the shock of the situation escalating from the silent to noisy kind. 

“I met the commander once,” someone began the table over, the boast met with an incredulous snicker by others. 

“-the krogan tore about the bar before-“ someone else was saying. 

“Wow,” Elisha sighed. She looked at the screen once more and noticed a red banner scrolling across the top of the screen: COMMANDER SHEPARD DEAD it declared. “I guess being a hero doesn’t stop one good shot at your ship from killing you.”

“Yikes,” Jeks moaned, “that’s a little morbid.”

She shrugged and took a sip of the drink she had been neglecting. It was too sweet, sticky and viscous, and she smacked her lips to keep them from sticking together. Jeks squinted one eye at her, then looked at the newsfeed. “Has anyone ever told you that you kind of look like her?” he asked, motioning with his head towards the screen. 

They had switched to a new photo, this one less staged than the Alliance headshot. Shepard was wearing a black hard suit, a crisp - it had to be freshly painted, right? - red line on her right arm. She was looking over her shoulder as she stepped onto the Normandy, one hand raised in what could have been a wave or the beginning of a profane gesture. Her expression was blank, carefully neutral if Elisha had a guess at what was going on in her head, her signature red hair pulled high and tight in a bun. There was a turian in blue armor a step behind her, and another human woman was waiting just outside the airlock. The other woman looked grim despite wearing what appeared to be pink armor, her arms crossed and hip cocked as she scowled, presumably, at the camera. 

Elisha rolled her head, letting it dip from left to right, her eyes following the motion while he watched her performance, unimpressed and unblinking. “That’s not true,” she tutted. And she had heard it enough times to be unimpressed with the comparison. 

“Close enough.” He lifted his thin shoulders into the air and put up a hand before saying, “But hey, what does that matter now? No fame in looking like a dead war hero.”

“Whoa! Talk about morbid,” she teased with a toothy grin. 

The mood in the bar had shifted again, and even with the news flashing images from the destruction of the Citadel, the jaunty vibe and shouting had resumed. There wasn’t anyone in the bar who wasn’t in some way touched by what Shepard and her crew had done during the battle of the Citadel, but war heroes could only hold their attention for so long. The news would be on repeat for weeks, there would be public and private ceremonies to honor the commander and any other lives lost this day, and at more appropriate places. The most they could do here was drink to the honor of the dead human. 

“Enough talk, period.” Jeks brought his omnitool to life, the orange glow casting his face in an eerie pallor. He tapped on the ghostly keyboard with the nubs of his fingers, and within seconds, Elisha had received an alert. She tapped at her own omnitool, listening with a smile as her companion, Bekir, confirmed the credit transfer. 

“A pleasure,” she said with feeling. She rose to her feet, stretching her arms above her head and hearing a pop as her left shoulder protested. “Dock 372.” 

Jeks stayed seated, relaxing into the chair and motioning with two fingers for one of the staff to bring him another drink. “Wars never end, and neither does business.” 

“You’ve always been my favorite client,” she told him, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “I’m sure you’ll be in touch.” 

She didn’t wait for Jeks response, eager to get to her ship and skitter back to Omega. The cargo had been difficult to procure, and Jeks had rewarded her handsomely for the added risk he assumed she had taken to get it. Even without the bonus, it was a fat paycheck and would get the repairs she and the crew needed. Some of those repairs would come in liquid form, something from Thessia maybe. The team would love her for that. They might even do what she said for once. 

The thought brought a smile to her lips. If ever there was a way to a smuggler’s heart, it was alcohol.

Dr. Wilson reran the simulation. He was past the point of denial where he hoped watching it again would miraculously produce a new, more favorable outcome. Now he watched it as a punishment.

The holographic model of Shepard stretched before him, the orange lines that represented the parts of her they could fix intersecting with gaps, black holes in the data where nothing was being transmitted. Her head was missing from the hologram. Well, more specifically; her brain. If he wanted to, he could prop the body up, manipulate the cybernetic implants in her arms and legs to give her the appearance of movement. With the help of someone at the controls, the Shepard puppet could walk across the room, all elbows and knees, lurching forward like she was being pulled along a string. It wasn’t far off from the truth. 

The door slid open, the sharp snap of heels giving away Miranda Lawson without her needing to say anything. Wilson changed the view without a word, bringing up the scans of Shepard’s brain and enlarging them across the holo-emitter. There was a small, rectangular mark on the scans, the implant showing up as a black spot where it was attached to her cerebellum, another buried in the prefrontal cortex. Hidden from view were the wires running between the two and branching out into the other areas of the brain, a paltry mimicry of the neural network they had lost. 

“She’s useless to us like this,” he said, even though he didn’t need to. He had worked with Miranda long enough to enjoy seeing her disappointed, and he was rewarded when her mouth pressed into a thin line, her frustration gouged deep in the lines of her face. “We have a puppet, and for all the money we spent, we could have built an army of VI programs that can do as much as she can right now.” 

“Would you say it’s a lost cause?” She turned to the doctor. It was a dangerous question, one belied by her casual tone. She might as well be asking him if he didn’t like dinner, if they should order something. Only in this situation, there might as well be a gun to his head, because if she didn’t like his answer, she would probably kill him on direct orders from the boss. No, honey, the charring adds flavor. 

He considered his words carefully, but there was no use in denying the inevitable. He had been working in the dark, isolated ward for nearly two years, his work too high risk to allow him communications with anyone outside the staff he was provided. He had even been forced to wear their ugly uniform, black and orange. It was unflattering and he hated it. 

With the finality the situation merited, he looked at her and gave a curt nod. “It isn’t possible.” 

She looked stricken. Perhaps she thought he had a secret ace up his sleeve, or that he would beg for more time and delay the inevitable another six months. True to her nature, she recovered quickly and her expression melted into something almost serene. Her head was one that he would have given anything to peek inside. 

“Thank you for your work, doctor.”

The sincerity of her voice touched him, and he was thrown off guard. She reached out a hand, and he took it. They had done good work over the past two years, even if it hadn’t been a success. What they had been able to discover would - 

His death was quick. Even if she hadn’t been so close to him, she knew where to aim. She let go of his hand as he dropped to the floor, limp and losing color rapidly as he bled all over the floor. Miranda holstered her gun and tapped her omnitool, allowing it to begin transmitting her voice. “Put in motion Maiden Phoenix.” 

This was the longest she had been behind bars, and Elisha was feeling the itch of claustrophobia that accompanied her anxiety. She pressed her face against the transparent barrier that separated her cell from the hallway. There were three, fist-sized holes along the top, just out of her reach, and three more at the bottom. She guessed it was to make her feel like she wasn’t trapped in a coffin, but it only succeeded in making her feel like an insect. 

“Hello?” she called past the glass, her nose and cheeks distorted as she looked out. 

This was unusual. It had never taken Bekir long to get her out. They had a fund put aside for bribes exclusively, and it was well padded before she had been busted. 

Could there be no more corrupt C-Sec? she thought with a sudden chill of horror. She pouted for a moment, breathed on the glass and drew a frowny face in the fog left behind. The thought, as chilling as it was to a well-versed smuggler such as herself, was unlikely. She wiped away the frowny face, huffed on the glass again, redrew a happy face. 

Bekir would come. He always had, always would.

Placated, however briefly, she returned to the cot that jutted from the wall and settled herself as comfortably as she could. Across the hall from her, an asari was sleeping, one arm hanging off the bed and the other propped against the wall. Although the bed couldn’t promise a level of comfort the asari had clearly achieved, Elisha made a go of resting. Propped up in the corner, it was almost like sleeping in one of the chairs on the bridge of her ship. 

If she managed to fall asleep, she didn’t wake up feeling rested. The loud echo of shoes in the hallway startled her awake, chasing away the benefits of rest with a healthy dose of adrenaline. She had always been a light sleeper, but the feeling of waking up in an unfamiliar bed, blazing white lights overhead, kicked her into overdrive. She tuned her eyes to the door, taking in the two figures that stood there now. 

One was slightly familiar, the human who had escorted her to the cell. He was tall and thin, lanky even, with too big hands that seemed peculiar sprouting from his bony wrists. Their walk to the cell had been taciturn and without pleasantries, but he looked frightened half to death now. All the color in his face had migrated to his cheeks, his complexion sallow in comparison to the crimson flush. From a guess at their body language, it was the woman next to him making him so nervous. 

“It’s remarkable,” the woman breathed. She was staring at Elisha with a feverishly bright gaze, sizing her up like she was a buffet with too many options. 

“What’s going on?” Elisha directed her question towards the guard who was waving his ID in front of the scanner. The device blinked a green light, and the door to the cell slid into the wall. 

“Let’s go,” he said, ignoring her question and gesturing with one of his knuckly hands for her to step out. When she made no effort to move, he repeated the motion. “You’re being released,” he said with a barely hidden hint of exasperation, like that explained everything. 

She stayed rooted to her cot. “Who am I being released to?” she demanded. Now she focused her attention on the woman dressed in white. The women locked eyes, and Elisha glowered, her shoulders rolling back and her chest puffing out. The other woman’s smile deepened, and without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head to the guard and commanded him: “go.” 

The guard didn’t raise a fuss, and he made a hasty retreat, his shoes scuffing the length of the hallway. 

“Hello, Elisha Cirillo. My name is Miranda Lawson. I represent a group that is dedicated to preserving humanities interests across the galaxy, and I have need of your skills.” 

[justsomeantifas]

Leftist Zines: The PDF Masterlist

Here’s a list of all the leftist zines I could find online that have free PDFs available. With these you can read them for yourself or you can print and share as many as you want. Hand them out at your school or put them in your local coffee shops. You can even host a table at zine events and give them out (maybe ask for donations for your printing and binding efforts). Maybe these will even give you some ideas on how to start your own political zine. 

As far as the PDFs, there’s going to be a few options for some of them but they’re mostly just different layouts options or one’s in black and white and the other is full color. We also have this listed on our blog. Alright here we go:

To Change Everything: An Anarchist Appeal is one of the most popular free zines that introduces people to anarchism. It's available in dozens of languages and you can get this particular zine in bulk (under 300 copies is free) or print it yourself from a PDF. Click here if you’d like to see the language options available and click here for your PDF/bulk buying options. 

“And What About Tomorrow?” Anarchist Resistance and the “Blockbusterization” of Reality—A Response to the “Battle in Seattle” Movie Adaptation of the 1999 WTO Protests (PDF)

“The Struggle Is Not for Martyrdom, but for Life.”A Critical Discussion about Armed Struggle with Anarchist Guerrillas in Rojava (PDF)

(A)BC’s Mini Guide to Protesting (PDF)

10 Steps for Setting Up A Blockade (PDF1) (PDF2)

12 Things to do Instead of Calling the Cops (PDF1) (PDF2)

20 Theses on the Subversion of the Metropolis (PDF)

3 Positions Against Prison (PDF)

9 Theses on Insurgency (PDF)

A Civilian’s Guide to Direct Action: What It Is, What It’s Good For, How It Works (PDF1) (PDF2) (bulk buying)

A Compilation of Anti-Oppression Resources (PDF1) (PDF2)

A Critique of Ally Politics: Excerpt from: Taking Sides: Revolutionary Solidarity and the Poverty of Liberalism  (PDF1) (PDF2)

A Critique of State Socialism: Why Authoritarian Communism Leaves Us Cold (PDF1) (PDF2)

A Practical Guide to Prisoner Support (PDF)

A World Without Police (PDF1) (PDF2)

Accomplices Not Allies Abolishing the Ally Industrial Complex: An Indigenous Perspective & Provocation (PDF)

Accounting For Ourselves: Breaking the Impasse Around Assault and Abuse in Anarchist Scenes (PDF1) (PDF2)

After the Crest (PDF), After the Crest II (PDF), After the Crest III (PDF), After the Crest IV (PDF)

After We Have Burnt Everything: Correspondences About Revolutionary Strategy and Emotions (PDF1) (PDF2)

Against ‘Social Networks’ & the False Communities of Capital (PDF)

Against Assemblies: Organisation, Democracy & the Left (PDF)

Against the Romance of Community Policing (PDF)

ALF Prisoner Support: The Basics (PDF)

An Activist’s Guide to Basic First Aid (PDF1) (PDF2)

An Activist’s Guide to Information Security (PDF1) (PDF2)

An Herbal Medicine-Making Primer (PDF1) (PDF2)

Anarchism and the English Language//English and the Anarchists’ Language (PDF)

Anarchism: What It Is, What It Ain’t (PDF1) (PDF2)

Anarchists in the Bosnian Uprising (PDF)

Anarchists in the Turkish Uprising: An Interview with Participants in the Gezi Resistance of 2013 (PDF)

Anarchy & Alcohol: Wasted Indeed, How the Fiends Came to be Civilized, et al (PDF1) (PDF2)

Anonymity/Security (PDF1) (PDF2)

Anti-Mass: Methods of Organization for Collectives (PDF)

Art & Science of Billboard Improvement: A Comprehensive Guide to the Alteration of Outdoor Advertising (PDF1) (PDF2)

Ask First!: Resource for Supporters, Survivors, and Perpetrators of Sexual Assault (PDF)

Betrayal: A Critical Analysis of Rape Culture in Anarchist Subcultures (PDF1) (PDF2)

Between Rape and Racism: Deconstructing Rhetoric about the “Migrant Crisis” in Europe (PDF)

Blockade, Occupy, Strike Back (PDF)

Bodyhammer: Tactics and Self-Defense for the Modern Protestor (PDF1) (PDF2)

Bounty Hunters & Child Predators: Inside the FBI Entrapment Strategy (PDF1) (PDF2)

Breaking with Convention: Remembering where our Power Lies (PDF1) (PDF2)

Build those Collectives: A Workshop Pamphlet on How to Build A Collective, and What To Do With It When It’s Built (PDF)

Build Your Own Solidarity Network (PDF)

Building a Revolutionary Movement: Why Anarchist-Communist Organization? (PDF) 

Building: A DIY Guide to Creating Spaces, Hosting Events and Fostering Radical Communities (PD1F) (PDF2)

But What About Beer?: A FAQ on drug consumption at common activist spaces – camps, events, social centers, etc” (PDF1) (PDF2)

Can’t Stop Kaos: A Brief History of the Black Bloc (PDF)

Colonization and Decolonization: A Manual for Indigenous Liberation in the 21st Century (PDF1) (PDF2)

Copwatch 101 (PDF1) (PDF2)

Defend the Territory: Tactics and Techniques for Countering Police Assaults on Indigenous Communities (PDF1) (PDF2)

Deserting the Digital Utopia: Computers against Computing (PDF)

Direct Action Tactics (PDF)

DIY Guide #1 (PDF) DIY Guide #2 (PDF)

Don’t Back Down! (PDF)

Don’t Try to Break Us–We’ll Explode: The 2017 G20 and the Battle of Hamburg: A Full Account and Analysis (PDF1) (PDF2)

Dropping Out: For Students (PDF)

Electoral Politics are not a “Gateway Drug” (PDF1) (PDF2)

Elements of A Barricade (PDF1) (PDF2)

Emmanuel Barthélemy: Proletarian Fighter, Blanquist Conspirator, Survivor of the Galleys, Veteran of the Uprisings of 1848, Fugitive, Duelist, Ruffian, &—Very Nearly—Assassin of Karl Marx (PDF1) (PDF2)

Excited Delirium: A Protestor’s Guide to ‘Less-Lethal’ Police Weaponry (PDF1) (PDF2)

False Hope vs. Real Change: An Anti-Partisan (beyond) Voting Guide to the 2008 Election (PDF)

Fighting For Our Lives: An Anarchist Primer (PDF1) (PDF2)

Fighting in Brazil: Three Years of Revolt, Repression, and Reaction (PDF)

Forget Terrorism : The Hijacking of Reality After the Fall: Analysis of the Events of 9/11 (PDF)

From Democracy to Freedom: The Difference between Government and Self-Determination (PDF)

Grand Juries: Tools of Political Repression (PDF)

HEIST! Journal of Workplace Reappropriation (PDF)

Hidden Histories of Resistance: The Diverse Heritage of Squatting in England (PDF)

How To Form an Affinity Group: Essential Building Blocks of Anarchist Organization (PDF)

How To Put Together Your Own Consent Workshop (PDF)

How to Start a Prison Books Collective (PDF)

Hunter and Gatherer (PDF)

If a Man Commits Rape in Newtown and No One Knows How to Deal with it.. Then Did it Ever Really Happen? (PDF)

In Our Hands: Using a Community Accountability Approach to Address Sexual Violence, Abuse, & Oppression (PDF1) (PDF2)

Know Your Rights! What You Need To Know (PDF)

Land & Liberty: Against The New City (PDF1) (PDF2)

Learning Good Consent (PDF)

Let’s Talk (PDF)

Not Your Grandfather’s Antifascism: Anti-Fascism Has Arrived. Here’s Where It Needs to Go. (PDF)

Prologue: A Brief History of Capitalism (PDF)

Revolutionary Solidarity (PDF)

Revolutionary Solidarity: A Critical Reader for Accomplices (PDF1) (PDF2)

Security Culture: A Handbook for Activists (PDF)

Self as Other: Reflections on Self-Care (PDF1) (PDF2)

Short Circuit (PDF1) (PDF2)

Slave Patrols and Civil Servants: A History of Policing in Two Modes (PDF)

Small Town Organizing for Anarchists (PDF1) (PDF2)

Social Detox (PDF)

Supporting A Survivor Of Sexual Assault (PDF)

Syrian Underground Railroad: Open Border Activism in the Modern Landscape (PDF)

Taking the First Step: Suggestions to People Called Out for Abusive Behavior (PDF)

Tech Tools for Activism (PDF1) (PDF2)

Terror Incognita: Reflections on Consent & Consensus, Queer Sexuality & Subversion, and Breaking Entirely with the Known World (PDF1) (PDF2)

The Art of Politics: A Primer for Community Self-Defense

The Climate is Changing: False Solutions to the Climate Crisis (PDF1) (PDF2)

The Economy is Suffering, Let it Die! (PDF1) (PDF2)

The Illegitimacy of Violence, the Violence of Legitimacy (PDF)

The Illegitimacy of Violence, the Violence of Legitimacy: A Text for Occupiers, Freedom Fighters, and the Discontent (PDF)

The Mythology of Work: Eight Myths that Keep Your Eyes on the Clock and Your Nose to the Grindstone (PDF1) (PDF2)

The Party’s Over: Beyond Politics, Beyond Democracy (PDF1) (PDF2)

The Really, Really Free Market: Instituting the Gift Economy (PDF)

The Secret World of Terijian: A Children’s Story about the Magical World in Your Own Backyard (PDF)

The Storming of the City: June 18, 1999—A Comic History (PDF)

The Walls are Alive: A How-To Graffiti Guide For Those Who Scheme and Those Who Dream (PDF) (bulk buying)

This is Not a Dialogue: Notes on Anti-Fascism and Free Speech (PDF)

Towards A Less Fucked Up World: Sobriety and Anarchist Struggle (PDF1) (PDF2)

Ukraine and the Future of Social Movements: Reflections on the Ukrainian Revolution of 2014 (PDF)

Understanding the Kurdish Resistance: Historical Overview & Eyewitness Report (PDF)

Vortext: An Experimental Journal of Subversion, Witchcraft, Philosophy, and Literature (PDF1) (PDF2)

Voting VS. Direct Action (PDF1) (PDF2)

We Are All Very Anxious: Six Theses on Anxiety and Why It is Effectively Preventing Militancy, and One Possible Strategy for Overcoming It (PDF)

What Anarchists Have been Saying for Years, and What Liberals Need to Start Hearing (PDF)

What Is Prisoner Support? (PDF)

What is Security Culture? A Guide to Staying Safe (PDF1) (PDF2)

What They Mean When They Say Peace & The Making of “Outside Agitators”: Two Essays on the Rebellion in Ferguson (PDF)

Who Is Oakland?: Anti-Oppression Activism, the Politics of Safety, and State Co-optation (PDF)

Whoever They Vote For, We Are Ungovernable: A History of Anarchist Counter-Inaugural Protest (PDF)

Why Misogynists Make Great Informants: How Gender Violence on the Left Enables State Violence in Radical Movements (PDF)

Women, Witchunts, and the Reproduction of the Capitalist World (PDF1) (PDF2)

Writing to Prisoners: Frequently Asked Questions (PDF)

[tindang]

Nico!

3/28/21- It's been a week out from my visit to the emergency department at MGH. Blisters have formed since then, flowering from the red/brown patch of skin on my left thigh, where I had spilled boiling water in a terrible accident. I was in a lot of pain yesterday, but I woke up today to shrunken blisters and pruritus in-and-around the area. I'm sad to miss Palm Sunday mass and to have spent the whole weekend room bound. I've been trying to find some positives, but life has not been too kind lately. I'm back in a state of rollercoaster emotions and I'm waiting to get off.

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4/5/21 - Deviating from the Ideal: U.S. Migration Policies in the Context of Rawlsian Principles of Justice

In "Aliens and Citizens: The Case for Open Borders", the philosopher Joseph Carens begins his argumentation with the following epigraph:

Many poor and oppressed people wish to leave their countries of origin in the third world to come to affluent Western societies...[and] there is little justification for keeping them out.

He goes on to examine three distinctive political theories--Nozickean, Rawlsian, and utilitarianism--and applies them to the issue of immigration. Though distinct, Carens finds that all three approaches evince the moral failures of militarizing borders and restricting the movement of peoples, suggesting that a world without borders is one that respects the idea of moral equality. 

I found Carens's Rawlsian argument most compelling, insofar as it goes furthest in laying the framework for thinking about this issue transnationally. He does this in two ways: first, by arguing that people in Rawls’s “original position”--a tabula rasa -esque scenario in which people first come together to decide how they wish to be governed--would consent to principles of equal liberty and social redistribution if cloaked under a “veil of ignorance” that erases distinctions like race, class, sex, and most pointedly, national origin; and second, by refuting objections to the application of the Rawlsian veil to global contexts (Rawls had only intended for the original position to apply to certain societies with a “particular understanding of moral personality”, not all). 

I posit that the analytical power of Rawl’s original position, as it is applied to transnational affairs, comes from the tensions inherent in upholding principles of equal liberty in real-world settings. Of course, Rawls had predicted such conflict, and sought to address it by drawing distinctions between ideal and non-ideal theory: in ideal theory one assumes that people will abide by the principles chosen in the original position, even after the “veil of ignorance” is lifted; in nonideal theory, one considers the historical and human behavioral challenges of staying true to original-position precepts, which is more reflective of everyday problems and situations. I believe that these tensions between ideal and non-ideal theory serve as useful tools for critiquing restrictive U.S. migration policies. By exploring the deviations from ideal theory--in the context of U.S/Mexico border policies--towards the practicalities of non-ideal praxis, I hope to reify my understanding of border issues and justify (to myself) Carens’s conclusion, that there is little justification for restricting immigration.  

It is no surprise that current U.S. immigration and border policies fall far from the ideals of liberty envisioned in the original position. The question has always been how did we get here? The answer most likely predates any explanation that the Enlightenment might afford us, lying deep in the consequences of American settler colonialism and chattel slavery. Though I acknowledge this history and its foundational impact on modern American society, let me first flesh out my understanding of the gradual legal push away from ideal theory--while remaining always fully aware that the law is but one avenue through which principles of white supremacy and racism are encoded. If we are to then start with the legal perspective for answering the question posed above, we might begin with the Supreme Court’s decision in the Chinese Exclusion Case (1889), which contains the nation’s very first declaration of national sovereignty over immigration and vested Congress with plenary power over such matters. Sarah Song, a law professor at UC Berkeley, traces the philosophical tradition undergirding this decision to ideas espoused by Swiss author Emer de Vattel, whose Les droit des gens (The Law of Nations, 1758) outlined the parameters of sovereignty in the case of international law. Vattel writes:

The sovereign may forbid the entrance of his territory either to foreigners in general, or in particular cases, or to certain persons, or for certain particular purposes, according as they may think it advantageous to the state. There is nothing in all this, that does not flow from the rights of domain and sovereignty.

In staking this claim, Vattel followed already established notions of the state as being like a “moral person,” first laid out by German jurist/philosopher Samuel von Pufendorf, and later further developed by German author Christian Wolff. This personification of the state sanctions it with “an understanding and a will of which it makes use for the conduct of its affairs”, namely, as Vattel reasoned, in the interest of its self-preservation and self-perfection. It’s worth noting that Vattel understood that this self-interest deviated from the ethos of being a “moral person”, which if taken to its logical conclusion with regards to the idea of “moral state(s)”, would result in a “universal republic” in which “a real friendship [would] be seen to reign among them” (II.12). Here, it is not lost on me that this utopian conclusion mirrors the conditions of Joseph Carens’s ideal theory--that is, a global community void of hierarchical distinctions. In this sense, Vattel’s swing towards non-ideal realism, defined by state self-interest, may be at the heart of today’s polemics over immigration.

Indeed, I believe this is so. Public anxiety re the economic burden of migrants on American social institutions and fair wage have led to communitarian objections to increased migration from both conservatives and social democrats--while attending a protest against the Trump administration in 2017, I fondly remember standing next to a supposed feminist who, while rallying against the now former president, also expressed a resolute “no” when the crowd began reciting “Immigrants are welcome here.” The fixation on self-preservation may explain far-right popularization of terms like “chain migration” in lieu of “family reunification,” and the 2019 revision of the public charge rule which would have expanded the definition of being a “public charge,” and would have thus restricted poorer immigrants from either being admitted into the U.S. or attaining Legal Permanent Resident status. And, not surprisingly, today’s fears were enshrined in law vis-à-vis other, past Court decisions that occurred soon after that seminal 1889 case: in Nishimura Ekiu v. United States (1892) and Fong Yue Ting v. United States (1893), the Supreme Court again expanded the U.S. government’s power over immigration, citing further elaborations of Vattel’s theory of sovereignty (Song 2017); within the latter decision, these two passages from The Law of Nations are cited in their entirety:

Every nation has a right to refuse admitting a foreigner into her territory, when he cannot enter it without exposing the nation to evident danger, or doing her a manifest injury. What she owes to herself, the care of her own safety, gives her this right; and in virtue of her natural liberty, it belongs to the nation to judge, whether her circumstances will or will not justify the admission of that foreigner. (I.230)

Thus also it has a right to send [asylees] elsewhere, if it has just cause to fear that they will corrupt the manners of the citizens, that they will create religious disturbances, or occasion any other disorder, contrary to the public safety. In a word, it has a right, and is even obliged, to follow, in this respect, the suggestions of prudence. (I.231)

In other words, the state, by virtue of its personhood and the rights accorded to moral persons, has the right to exclude those it deems dangerous to its self-interest. As many scholars have pointed out, the right to exclude is essentially a property right; and the commensuration of individual property rights to collective, state territorial rights has been the source of much debate (See Carens’s Nozickean argument for open borders).

All this is to say that the principles of state sovereignty that underlie American immigration policy were founded under non-ideal theory conditions, which privilege human interest over ideal theory egalitarianism. The effect of this philosophical turn cannot be overstated; because while it is one thing to erect borders and deny access in the name of self-interest, it is another to punish those seeking opportunity and/or asylum for similar reasons. 

To explain today’s punitive approach to immigration, it is incumbent on me to outline another ideal to non-ideal theory transition: This time, I mark as my starting point the Bracero Accord, a U.S./Mexico bilateral program that, between 1942-1964, facilitated over 4.5 million temporary labor contracts to male Mexican workers in an effort to redress previous, depression-era deportations of Mexican-American citizens and to address labor shortages that appeared during and after World War II. Though imperfect (the program was ultimately deemed exploitive), this bracero initiative may have came closest in realizing the tenets of justice that ideal theory conceptualized, formalizing (now questionable) protocols for far pay and anti-discrimination; that is, in setting aside the dehumanizing experience that braceros encountered, we might think of the legal protections granted to these workers, and the imperative that the U.S. government showed in trying to repair its relationship with Mexico, as a promise towards an ideal--a quasi- “veil of ignorance” that ended up being unrealistic, ineffective, and violent. So, it might be here within the context of the hopes of the Bracero Accord and the porous border through which hundreds of thousands of Mexican workers made their way each year that we locate our ideal beginning.

From this point, the rapid progression towards non-ideal theory, which again takes into account the “historical obstacles and the unjust actions of others” that seek to undermine liberty and justice, paradoxically began during the civil rights era of the 1960s, when a) the termination of the Bracero Program and b) amendments to the Immigration and Nationality Act effectively ended the legal and cyclical migration patterns of years past. Princeton sociologist Douglass Massey summarizes:

Whereas in the late 1950s, some 450,000 Mexicans had entered the United States each year as Braceros and 50,000 as permanent residents, by the late 1970s the Bracero Program was gone and legal visas were capped at 20,000 (Massey 2014)

A closed door, however, does not mean a locked one; notwithstanding new restrictions on migration, former braceros continued their northward journey through unauthorized channels, paving the way for what has become considered “illegal” migration. In his article, Massey provides this useful figure, which takes data from DHS to assess Mexican migration to the U.S. in the three categories shown below:

The noticeable inverse between trends in temporary labor migration and unauthorized migration (measured by the annual number of apprehensions divided by the number of Border Patrol officers, expressed per thousand) in 1964 reveals the unspeakable harms of supposedly benevolent updates to U.S. immigration policy. Despite the tapering of unauthorized migration since 1986, shown above, the wide-ranging consequences of the 1964 recategorizing of what were once “legal” guest workers to now “illegal” trespassers on the political, social, and individual levels of society deserves pause and reflection. 

At the broad level of the body politic, the rising number of annual border apprehensions in the mid-1960s effectuated closer federal scrutiny of the border. At the behest of political racketeers, members of the U.S. Border Patrol, and a changing landscape of public opinion surrounding undocumented migration, Congress enacted a litany of measures that further restricted entry: 1986′s Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA), while granting amnesty and Legal Permanent Resident status to 2.7 million former undocumented migrants--subject to conditions of learning English and seeking citizenship--criminalized undocumented hiring and signed off the first of a series of significant increases in appropriations for the Border Patrol; 1994′s Operation Gatekeeper militarized the busiest border sector in San Diegos (See also ‘prevention through deterrence’ strategy); 2001′s PATRIOT Act made it easier for the government to employ immigration rules to detain or deport non-citizens without resort to the lengthy procedural regulations of the criminal justice system (Akram 2006). Juliet Stumpf and others have mapped these measures to a phenomenon they call “crimmigration,” which describes the American merger of criminal and immigration law that has happened since 1875 when the first federal statute was passed to restrict immigration of Chinese women. Since then, Stumpf writes, “the relationship between immigration and criminal law has evolved from merely excluding foreigners who had committed past crimes to the present when many immigration violations are themselves defined as criminal offenses and many crimes result in deportation” (Stumpf 2006). Indeed, today, immigration prosecutions outnumber all other types of federal criminal prosecutions, including prosecutions for drugs and public order violations (See “Prosecution/Courts”).

Interwoven into the political and structural realignments of U.S. migration policy during this time was the effect that legal/illegal discursive shifts had on White Americans. As politicians seized on the expediency of showing strength against the "Mexican Menace” and “alien invasion”, and as journalists found success in characterizing undocumented border crossers as “illegals” set out to “inundate” American society and “swamp” its culture (Chavez 2001), it becomes easy to imagine the kind of social re-engineering that must have taken place: As Mae Ngai reminds us in Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America, Mexicans were once considered legally white and enjoyed migratory privileges not afforded to Asian migrants (Ngai, 38, 2004); but, as UMASS-Amherst professor Moon-Kie Jung might say, racial differentiation happens when people come to hold schemas for “separating human populations by some notion of stock or collective heredity of traits” (Jung, 64, 2006). Viewed in the light of American genocide, slavery, colonialism and imperialism, the racialization of Mexicans based on notions of in/exclusion was par for the course. We might find then, within the border debates of the mid to late twentieth century, the seed of today’s social animus towards Latinx migrants, which has encouraged bias in enforcement of immigration law and (most likely) inspired Arizona’s Senate Bill 1070 (Read more about state/federal collaboration and interdependency when it comes to developing and enforcing immigration law in Judith Resnick’s “Bordering by Law”).

The human impact of these policy adjustments should not be forgotten, nor go unnoticed. For it is at the individual--and for some of my friends with undocumented parents, personal--level that federal immigration policies harm. This case is explicitly made in Jason de León’s The Land of Open Graves, which lays the blame for migrant deaths along the border squarely in the hands of the U.S. government. It is described in this podcast during which a university student talks about her experience growing up living in fear that her parents could be deported at any moment; and again, in the harrowing stories that undocumented child migrants have told, as documented by Valeria Luiselli in Tell Me How It Ends; and perhaps, more recently, in the iconic image of Yanela, the 1-year-old Honduran girl, who was captured crying for her detained mother. Between these examples, one thing is clear: U.S. immigration policies violate, if not the ideals of moral equality that America was founded on, then international human rights.

De Leon writes: “The benefit of the chronological distance from the pain and suffering of past migrations is that many Americans today have no problem putting nationality before humanity” (Leon, 26, 2015). In this blog post/essay, I make the case that this antipathy for life, or explicitly for the life of Others, has as much to do with historical myopia as it underlines the principles of self-interest that lie behind our legal and social interpretations. When people hear that undocumented migrant children are being separated from their families yet still defend the action as just since “They came into our country illegally,” I see this perverse rationalization as but a product of self-preservation. Mae Ngai has spoken about the consequences of normalizing such principles of sovereignty in immigration affairs, suggesting that it “generates the view that immigration is a zero-sum game among competitive nation-states” (Ngai 2004). Not only does this view fuel anti-immigrant resentment, it discourages us from seeing the moral worth of our neighbors and prevents us from coming together to form humane and bilateral coalitions for tackling transnational problems. 

Against the backdrop of U.S. human rights violation, and the radical transition away from the conceptions of justice laid out in Rawls’s original position, I remain cautiously hopeful that there will come a day when justice will be served. It might not happen during my lifetime, but I’ll be on the vanguard of this fight. 

[qsdblogging]

Another 10 TV Shows You Should Give A Shot If You Haven’t Already

This is the third installment of my recommendations of shows for you to add to your own lists. I watch a lot of television and I’ve got, what I consider to be at least, a wide variety of shows under my favorites.

If you haven’t seen the first or second list, you don’t need to unless you want to see another list of ten shows you may want to check out if you’re looking for anything new to watch.

Warning, though, some of these don’t end the best way and may end up more as a disappointment. I’ll leave that up to you to decide.

I. The Librarians.

Does this have to do with the movie franchise The Librarian? Yes. 

The Library has chosen a new group to help safeguard magical cursed artifacts throughout time and around the world. An art historian, a thief, a mathematician, and a warrior are tasked with finding and saving all the mysterious, ancient artifacts. (IMDB). 

This show covers action, adventure, comedy, horror, fairy tales, and much more. It’s a good choice of a new show if you’re a fan of Doctor Who and Warehouse 13, which then makes this feel like a strange mixture of the two shows. 

You might find some familiar faces in Rebecca Romijn who has played the older version of Mystique in the X-Men movies, Christian Kane who’s acted in Angel, Leverage, Supernatural, and is quite the Country singer, and Noah Wyle who is the original Librarian from the movie series reprising his role, Fallen Skies, ER, and Donnie Darko.

II. My Babysitter’s A Vampire.

Technically, this did air on Disney. However, it was a Canadian production if I’m remembering correctly. The show follows after the events of the movie by the same title, so I suggest giving the movie a watch first for some background before diving into the show. 

Now, because of the fact that it aired on Disney, it is a little more child friendly but it’s still quite a good show if you’re looking for a laugh. It holds more than just vampires and while things happen a little quickly (in the movie, at least) everything makes sense.

Unfortunately, it only has two seasons, but it’s worth a watch if you’re looking for something a little more light-hearted than most of this list.

III. Killjoys.

In the Quad, a planetary system on the brink of a bloody interplanetary class war, a fun loving trio of bounty hunters attempt to remain impartial as they chase deadly warrants. (Taken from IMDB).

Set in space with loads of action and adventure with all the added scifi bonuses. And while I haven’t gotten around to watching the show in full myself, I do quite enjoy what I’ve already seen of it. 

I highly recommend giving it a shot.

IV. Dark Matter.

Set in the 27th century, Dark Matter focuses on six people who wake up on a deserted spaceship with no memory of who they are or what exactly they’re doing there. The six of them reluctantly team up and set off to find answers regarding their presence on the ship together with the help of a female android.

If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m quite the fan of scifi and futuristic shows. Dark Matter was unfortunately cancelled, but not until it already produced three kickass seasons. 

V. Stargate SG-1.

If you’re a scifi fan, chances are you’ve seen this or heard of it. Maybe you’re like me, who grew up watching it over and over again because rewatching shows seems to run in the family. 

However, if you want to give this a go, be aware that there is a movie you need to watch first, Stargate (1994), that gives a bit of background before jumping into the show. Warning, actors were changed from the movie to the show but once the show started, those actors stay in those roles. 

Stargate SG-1 follows a secret military team formed to explore other planets through the discovered form of space travel, the stargate. It spans over 10 full seasons and a couple of movies too. Plus, two spin-offs.

I highly recommend watching this show if you’re a fan of scifi, ancient mythology, and just wacky goodness in general.

VI. Stargate: Atlantis.

Stargate: Atlantis is the first of two spin-offs to Stargate SG-1. This team is sent to a whole other galaxy in order to expand interplanetary communications and trade and end up coming across a whole new powerful enemy. You might see a familiar face or two pop up and I don’t just mean characters from SG-1. 

It’s a great spin-off and while the third spin-off (Stargate Universe) is not on the list, if you like the first two shows, you should give the third a shot. I, personally, have not seen or gotten around to seeing the third installment of the Stargate shows just yet, so I won’t recommend it until I do.

(Plus, Jason Momoa is in this one!)

VII. Sleepy Hollow.

When Ichabod Crane is resurrected and pulled two and a half centuries through time to unravel a mystery that dates all the way back to his founding fathers, things get a little crazy in the town of Sleepy Hollow.

While I’m a huge fan of sci-fi, I’m also quite the fan of fantasy. Sleepy Hollow was a wonderful show while it lasted and while it’s been a while since I’ve watch it on any screen, I know I’m still going to love it as much as I did when I first saw it. 

(Keep in mind, there are some issues that happened BTS with the lead Nicole Beharie [played Abbie, who is pictured above] and how they treated her alongside her character, so I completely understand not wanting to give this a go if that bothers you!)

And you might recognize a few faces amongst the cast. Orlando Jones who’s known for his role in American Gods, John Noble who’s known for roles in Elementary, Salvation, Legends of Tomorrow, and Fringe, Nikki Reed who known for the Twilight Saga, and Janina Gavankar who is known for her roles in The Morning Show, The Vampire Diaries, and The Mysteries of Laura.

VIII. Firefly.

Now, if you know underrated shows, there’s a high chance you know Firefly. Firefly is one of Joss Whedon’s works that unfortunately got cut way too short in its life span. 

Even with only 14 episodes to its single season and a movie that wraps up the story on the big screen (but don’t worry, there’s extra content available online to find to know more about the lovable Browncoats), Firefly is highly respected.

Set in the future, the show follows a ragtag team of renegades aboard a small ship named Serenity (Class: Firefly), they find themselves wrapped up in a bigger mess than intended and work their way out of it the best they can while still evading the authorities trying to hunt them down.

Now, Firefly had been aired out of order so I highly recommend searching up the correct order before giving the show a shot just so you understand everything going on. 

The cast is full of familiar faces that include Nathan Fillion who is best known for his roles on Castle, The Rookie, Big Mouth, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Con Man, plus his upcoming role in the second Suicide Squad film, Gina Torres who is known for her roles in Angel, Westworld, Pearson, and Suits, Morena Baccarin who’s known for her roles in the Deadpool movies, The Flash, Gotham, and V, and a young Zac Efron even appears in an episode. 

I will always highly recommend this show to people looking for something quick to binge while also being highly entertaining and catching. 

IX. Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

If you’re a Whedon fan or was alive at any point in the 90s, or have a father like mine, you’ve probably seen this show. Hopefully, you’ve at least heard of it if you haven’t seen it. The title kind of explains it, but you get seven full seasons (plus a bunch of comics that continue the story afterward) plus a spin-off. 

The show follows Buffy Summers, the chosen Slayer at the time, and her adventures after moving to a new town (after burning down the gym at her old school to kill a bunch of vampires, but she can’t really explain that one to the authorities) that happens to be sitting above a Hellmouth.

Between the action and slightly disturbing relationships, Buffy the Vampire Slayer handles a lot of teen angst and comedy. 

I always laugh throughout the one scene from the episode Hush and if you know what scene I’m talking about, you know why. 

It’s truly a great show and had a great ending. Highly recommend starting to watch ASAP.

X. Angel.

Lastly on this list, Angel. If you don’t know, Angel is the spin-off to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It follows Angel, the vampire, after he leaves at the end of season three of Buffy and moves to the lovely city of Los Angeles. Along the way a few familiar faces show up and new ones get added to the mix.

Some soul-reading karaoke happens, and a few people get killed along the way. Maybe even get turned into a puppet once in a while. 

Overall, it’s one of the best spin-offs to exist and holds it’s own through action, comedy, and pure spite. 

I highly recommend giving it a shot. It’s up to you however if you try watching it at the same time it lines up with Buffy. My dad does it due to crossover episodes, but I know it can be quite the difficulty figuring out. 

It’s up to you when to watch it.