#(and again after the biscuit debacle)

[silencedrage]

@ladyintree sent in "a ‘👄 + tai’ to hear simone talk about her

"Mom, no- stop it, me and Sammy are just going to come by and stay for a little bit. Of course everything is fine with Taissa, she's just stressed with the election coming up and I think a quiet house would be better for her." Simone wonders when it had become so easy for her to lie, to her own mother no less. Her hands still ache a little from how tightly Tai had gripped them, her desperation shining through like nothing she had ever seen in her wife before.

She pauses before placing another few items into the bag she's packing for herself in the bedroom she shares with her wife. Her wife. The woman she had made vows to, standing up in front of the world, and declaring that she would be with her, for better or for worse. If this was the worst, then Simone thinks she can handle that. For Taissa and their family, she would do almost anything.

And for that reason, she interrupts her mother (a deadly proposition if you know Leanne Abara). "Please, just stop. You've never liked Taissa and we both know it. But she's my wife and I love her." Her voice is firm, like the kind she gets when she's scolding Sammy or talking to her students. There's no room for argument as to how much Simone Abara loves her wife, despite this very terrifying thing happening to her. "We'll be there in a few hours. Let me know if you want me to pick something up for dinner on the way."

She hangs up the call before her mother can say another word, and her shoulders slump as she looks down at her half-packed bag. There's something about the action that feels devastatingly final, even if spending a few nights at her mother's is something she's done countless times throughout their marriage. Like all the pieces that she has been ignoring up until now are falling into place. The late nights. The constant distraction. The fights over Sammy's wellbeing. Now that she has the context of Taissa's sleepwalking, of understanding just how much stress she's under, Simone feels like running away like this is a betrayal of everything she stands for.

But she also knows Tai. Given how resistant she is to getting Sammy the help that he needs, she can only imagine that it would be exponentially harder to get Tai to see someone. Simone almost regrets never trying to push her wife more on the trauma she went through. Fifteen years in, and she's gotten comfortable with their routine and now, it's difficult to know how best she can help. "God, Tai... please, just let me in..."

[leschanceux]

Thinking about work, in retrospect, was utterly inevitable. They were literally still in their workplace, even if they were taking a quick break --- so how could their thoughts not turn toward the work they had done, the work they still had to do? But seeing Ed smile makes Gordy smile too. He's always been empathetic; happy when those around him are happy, and upset when they're not. Ed's family now, and that makes his apparent cheer even better.

And what better to create a happy atmosphere than a drink and a biscuit?

"There's always Match of the Day at the weekend for the highlights," Gordy points out, demolishing his first biscuit and moving quickly onto his second. "She might want to watch too, you never know." He's got good memories of watching matches on the telly with Mum as a kid though, dressed in a football kit that was so different to any of his schoolmates', yelling ecstatically for each and every goal scored. Football on his own just wasn't the same, so most of the matches he catches these days are watched in the pub --- either with friends or with like-minded strangers. "Bayern has an excellent team, and you're right --- they seem to have far too much money to spend on new players right now." He's almost certain Artie will agree with him at Christmas too.

"Sounds like it's going to be busy again, then." The Christmas Chaos (tm) had definitely stepped up since Ed had gotten involved in their lives; Christmas with the three of them had been wonderful growing up - some of Gordy's absolute favourite memories were of the Christmas holidays with Mum and Moira, but it had mostly been quiet. These days things were loud and overwhelming and the house was packed --- but it was still fun. "If Moira's coming, I'll make sure to hide the matches after last year's debacle."

Still smiling at the idea of Maya wrestling whatever Colonel was standing in the way of an easy conversation and a conference cut short, he couldn’t help thinking about work just a moment longer. Things had changed. With UNIT visible to the world… It just meant a lot more paperwork for him to, beside the fact that the group of people under his command (technically) had grown, too. He preferred to see them as equals, however. Maya was his secretary on the paper, yes, but he trusted her with more than just getting into a verbal fight with superiors.

Finishing his first biscuit, he took another one from the package – taking a thoughtful bite before he snapped back into the conversation with Gordy. He nodded slowly. “ – Maybe I can find it on catch-up later, but I don’t think your mother is too interested in watching football with me. If I manage to get home early today, I think it’s just cooking dinner and then some reading? I’ve been staring at a screen most of the day already… But I agree. I think it would be a loss, but are we surprised? Bayern has a good team. And they seem to have the money to blow on new players.” He was sure they would talk about this at Christmas again – could see his brother bringing it up, too, if he felt in the mood to talk.

Gordy’s question made him chuckle softly; glad, that his step-son would be coming to the annual Christmas chaos dinner. “The real question is: who ISN’T coming. I think it’s everyone again. My part of the family… Though I don’t know if Delia’s coming this year or not. They might spend Christmas with her husband’s family in Tennessee. Ah, and your sister is coming.”

[furymint]

👍

header | non verbal starters | wc: 635

Send 👍 for my muse to approve of something yours did. i totally forgot the point after resuming this 2 months later but yknow

Ninira had been on international panels of realm-shaking importance before. She had observed the polite confusion when Admiral Merlwyb outlined an action plan with nautical jargon; when an Ul'dahn ostiary turned his palm out for a tip, she had coached the Elder Seedseer herself on the Ossuarry's practices; on a half-night's sleep she had been summoned to interpret Dozol Meloc's nervous squawks for a Halonic Inquisitor.

Part of her wanted to admit that each experience paled to the council afore her.

"If it's called the Sea of Clouds," L'selle went on, "and instead of depth, your traveling is measured in altitude, that makes--what?--the heavens your ocean floor?"

Every eye in the Congregation moved to L'selle. He returned his cider to his lips with a bastard's contentment and a foreigner's disregard. Across the table, the bastard and the foreigner mulled through their grief. Ninira sank under her embarrassment.

"I just think so," L'selle started again.

"Then don't--" Rothe hissed, but Estinien interrupted:

"No, no, let him have it."

Ninira prodded L'selle and transitioned one of her biscuits to his plate. Momentarily distracted, he broke a chunk of it free and stuffed it into his evil mouth.

The others regrouped.

Estinien was still trying to keep from laughing after the first outburst to L'selle's conclusion. "None of us can say the man's wrong."

"Neither can we say he's right-headed for it," Rothe insisted. "If he and I are to be arrested--again--then surely the Inquisition will be less forgiving than the Alliance towards that rat's complete lack of documentation. I have enough funds to collect ingredients from the Crozier, not to post bond."

Estinien was of no help: "Bond? One would think the clergy venal enough for such an institution, but no, sir, not here."

Ninira sympathized--especially under the continued judgement of the Congregation regulars. "If the Holy See has permitted you thus far, you should be in no danger of rejection at this point."

"That's right!" L'selle asserted. "If airships wanna hawser and gaff their way into other city-states for their markets, they ought to think about what truths and lies they bring back in new perspectives. The horizon may be neverending but this world's small."

Rothe whined something about Rhalgr moving in skies too far east to protect them. For his part, Estinien renewed the debate when he gave a half-formed contribution about there being the cardinal directions to account for in addition to altitude. 

"Oh, aye, that grasshopper thing you do," L'selle said contemplatively, though still talking around a mouthful of food.

Estinien pointed his knife in Rothe's direction, wagging it with no concept of how plainly threatening it was, and squinted as he struggled to recall, "Not that chapuli debacle?"

Rothe slapped his palms to the table. L'selle howled at the memory and roared his pride, too far distracted now to correct Estinien. And Ninira smiled sheepishly into the face of the approaching guard.

"Gentlemen. Lady Ninira," the knight began his censure--and never continued. L'selle sprung up from the bench, already "in the know of what a swad's got to say," and bounded for the exit.

The first to grumble "leave him" was also the first to follow. Rothe tightened his scarf about his face and chased the ever-more-faraway sound of L'selle's raucous chatter.

Estinien dismissed the gaping soldier with a curt shove at the man's regiment badge. He turned to offer Ninira his hand, but he hesitated when formality seized him. It was too late--Ninira took hold of his palm and gave a tug for his attention. He bent to her.

"How long until they have half the Pillars on alert for renegades and drunks?" she asked, the last one to lose her reserve.

He felt the return of his laughter in the squeeze of her hand. "Fury knows I'm looking forward to it."

[dustnstars]

My Obey Me MC learning how to fight because once he sees Michael it is On Sight but the bros think he just wants to learn to defend his short ass but.. no, sorry, he's totally gonna deck an archangel

Honestly the idea of MC fighting Michael is something I would pay to see.

MC’s patience having run thin after the whole bracelets debacle. Who does Michael think he is? Michael is associated with nothing but trouble for the brothers, and MC start wondering why is Michael so obsessed with them? Like dude let it go, it’s creepy.

After being two times in the Devildom, one day MC decides they want to learn self defense. Seems legit, after all, it would do good for them to have more means of protecting themselves.

I mean sure, the self defense classes start to get a bit on the offensive, but who could blame them?

MC ropes Beel into the training with them. He’s a sweetheart, but incredibly tall and built like a brick house, which means he’s the perfect partner to put into practice all you have learned. If they can at least land a punch on him, then MC might have a chance against Michael. Next time. Next time the archangel tries something funny they are getting decked.

Eventually they find themselves in the Celestial Realm, be it by Michael’s own invitation so they can properly meet, or because the Angels wanted MC to visit and it gives them the perfect opening to talk to Michael.

It takes exactly three minutes before Michael makes a comment about the Demon Lords and MC SNAPS. Out of nowhere, this five foot nothing human is lounging themselves at Michael, before being dragged (screaming and kicking, mouth still filled with feathers where they actually bit the Archangel’s wings) by Simeon who reacted conveniently late.

“Put me down! I’m not done with that self entitled feathery fuck!”

“MC please.”

Is this considered a political incident? Eh, what's the most that could happen, they not being allowed to heaven after they die?

Luke is going to need therapy after this.

As for when MC is back with the brothers, you can’t convince me it wouldn’t play between MC and Lucifer like that time when McGonagall gave Harry a Ginger Newt biscuit after he yelled at Umbridge.

“Aren’t you going to punish me? Lecture me? String me down from the chandelier?”

“Why? Is there something I should punish you for?”

“…no?”

“Here, take a hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookie”

Satan and Levi would find the whole thing hilarious. Mammon would complain about how MC didn’t brought back any feathers, they would had sold so well on Akuzon. Belphie — he would probably be upset you didn’t let him know about the plan: he and Satan could have tough you some hexes and tricks to try on Michael!

Beel and Asmo would probably be the most concerned.

Diavolo —he would ask for MC to tell him the story time and time again. When it happened, MC wasn’t his exchange student, so he can enjoy being nothing but a happy spectator.

[junikshanasar]

The Character of Gon pt3. (ft. Killua)

Part 1, Part 2

Longest one yet~  \(￣︶￣*\))

We’ve established Gon is selfish, and I also mentioned Killua is extremely caring towards the people he loves. From the moment they became bestfriends, Killua has been fiercely loyal towards Gon, deferring to his decisions and always looking out for him. 

I like shipping as much as the next person, and usually to make non-canon love bloom people focus on the little things in interactions and find/create implications of certain behaviours/appearances/panels in manga and story.  

You will find a helluva load of people shipping Killua and Gon. A) because everyone forgets they’re like, 12, and B) because the bromance between Gon and Killua is very explicit, to the point we get remarkably romantic lines.

And then this scene here:

Incredibly loyal Killua is part of why I love him so much (I’m a simp for loyalty), but this near obsession with Gon, his first and closest friend after finally engaging with the world outside his family, is the reason their friendship isn’t healthy. In fact, I would call it toxic.

Gon is selfish, and Killua enables him the most, while in the end it’s his mental state that is the most affected.

I’m not the first person to note this, and I guarantee you’ll find other people who have said the same, but here are my thoughts specifically:

Take a look at the second picture above - it is an iconic Gon x Killua scene that takes place during the Chimera Ant arc. If you remember, earlier I mentioned this is when Gon finally pushes Killua away. Why this time, compared to every time earlier? Because here, Gon’s charisma breaks. He is emotional and incredibly upset at what happened to Kite, so he isn’t in a sound state of mind, even developing a temper.

As a result, he utters a line that is incredibly hurtful to Killua: “It has nothing to do with you.”

This is the complete opposite to every other time Gon has brought Killua over to his side. Remember in the dodgeball fight, how he stated “it can only be Killua”. This visceral feeling of being important, irreplaceable, and incredibly needed by Gon is vital to Killua in their friendship. This can be seen in Killua’s following internal dialogue, where he states that he understands why Gon is behaving and speaking the way he is, but he still really wanted him to say “let’s do it together”.

His earlier enabling on Gon allowed the boy to become so self-absorbed in his own goals of saving Kite, and then killing Neferpitou, even to the point that Gon was willing to nearly kill himself in order to achieve enough power to destroy Pitou (i.e. forcefully age himself up and then enter a coma afterwards).

It’s worth mentioning that Killua’s extreme loyalty and desire to protect Gon does not just stem from being his first friend or having no other life goals than to stay by his side, but from his mental state while Illumi’s needle was still in head. One of the biggest struggles within himself is to reject what he doesn’t realize the needle is making him think, which is to save his own skin even at the cost of Gon dying. This anxiety gets worse when Biscuit comments that he would get Gon killed if he didn’t get over this self-preservation. This all ends when he finally takes the needle out in order to force himself to fight a strong opponent to keep Gon safe while on his ‘date’ with Palm. 

We see Killua often force himself to move or take action in order to prove to himself he will fight for Gon no matter what (i.e. the scene in the Yorknew arc where the Spiders capture the two boys and Nobunaga keeps an eye on them). But with the nen needle out of his head, Killua can think clearly for the first time during the Chimera Arc, and this is another factor: he no longer needs to force his devotion in order to prove himself.

And so Gon finally pushes Killua away, but it’s a good thing. After the whole debacle with retrieving Alluka and healing Gon, the two boys go their separate ways (for the time being). It’s actually really good that Alluka came in when she did, because taking care of her becomes a new goal in Killua’s life, apart from Gon. She provides the perfect opportunity for Killua to separate himself from Gon, and allows the two friends to have some space to mature on their own.

Doesn’t mean I wasn’t sad when they parted ways, because their friendship is so wholesome and a lot of fun to read (and I was down in the dumps when I saw no Killua in the next volume’s character introductions page after he’d been there for every single volume so far - except the first). I really can’t wait for them to reunite again!

All in all, it’s important to remember that in the end, Gon is a kid. Killua is a kid. They’re both ‘real’ people that obviously have their flaws, and so you can’t blame or condemn either of them for their actions, choices, or behaviours.

Let me know your thoughts!

[rhodeys]

I wish you would write a fic where tony has accidentally turned into a child and Rhodey has to babysit him Thanks !!

thank you for the prompt! 💞💞

(i may have had too much fun with this) 

The thing is, Rhodey's used to being greeted by an empty penthouse every time he decides to check up on Tony. It's precisely the reason why the rest of the penthouse blend into the background while he makes his way to the private elevator that leads to Tony's workshop – the sectional sofa, the mezzanine, the staircase leading to the mezzanine, the kid, the–

Rhodey does a double take. 

There's a child in the penthouse - staring back at him like a baby deer caught in the headlights. The child blinks, just once, before brown eyes are back to being impossibly wide over the tiny hand perched upon the glass handrail. He's wearing a black t-shirt that's ten sizes too big for him, the edges of it ending at his knees. His feet are on two different stairs, almost like he'd been in the middle of making his way down before Rhodey conveniently barged in. The child doesn't even move a muscle. 

"Uh," is all Rhodey says, eyes flicking around the penthouse in sudden uncertainty before he turns to the boy. "Hey." 

The boy continues to stare at Rhodey for five odd seconds, making the older man feel oddly conscious. And then, finally, a careful: "Hi." 

"Hey," Rhodey says again, softer now. "Are you alone here?" He scans the empty penthouse once more. "Where are your parents?" 

"Why?" The boy is quick to ask, tone changing as his eyes narrow, and Rhodey's never seen a five-six-whatever-year old sound so defensive. "Where are yours?" 

Rhodey's taken aback, if only for a brief second, at the sudden shift in tone. Brown eyes are no longer wide, but slitted with something close to suspicion. "They're not–" Rhodey starts. Stops. "I'm sorry. Just–" He turns his head away, still maintaining wary eye contact with the boy, and calls out in the general direction of Tony's bedroom. "Tony?" 

"Yeah?" The boy asks. 

"No, not– that's my friend," Rhodey elaborates, making a vague motion with his hands to the space around them. "Have you seen anyone else around here?" 

"Is your friend's name Tony, too?" The boy asks, slowly continuing to make his way down the stairs, sharp eyes still fixated on Rhodey. 

"Yeah. He's–" Rhodey starts, and then something the boy had said registers. "Wait. Too? What's your name?" 

The boy finally takes the last step, and it's right then that Rhodey sees the familiar design of Black Sabbath printed across the oversized t-shirt. The sleeves were pulled up and knotted at awkward angles to prevent it from dangling down tiny arms. "Tony," the boy says. 

Rhodey's lips part in growing surprise as he takes in the messy waves of dark hair, matched with a pair of brown eyes that shine too bright, the layer of chub across a familiar bone structure, and the all too familiar expression of suspicion that Rhodey was once subjected to in MIT – one that, over the years, had eventually been hidden behind a perfected mask of cool. "Tony."

"Yeah," the boy says, making a face like Rhodey's being stupid. "S'what I just said."

---

"I mean," Rhodey clarifies, pinching the bridge of his nose after Pepper had calmly pointed out through the call that Tony's always been a child. "He's an actual kid. Physically. He's–" he cuts off as he shifts his attention to Tony, who's scowling from the other end of the sectional with tiny arms crossed over his chest. "Do you know how old you are?" 

"Course I do," Tony huffs out, eyes narrowing in offense. "I'm eight."

"Eight? Kinda short for an eight year old, aren't you?" Rhodey teases, and Tony's eyes narrow even further. The boy looks away just as his cheeks flush pink at the jab aimed at his stature. 

"Wait. Is that Tony?" Pepper's voice filters through the phone. "It doesn't sound like him."

"Gee, I wonder why eight year old Tony doesn't sound like fifty year old Tony."

"How are you even sure it's him? Did you ask Jarvis?" 

"Trust me, I'm sure," Rhodey says, deciding against bringing up when eight year old Tony had unashamedly called out 'who's the broad?' the second Pepper answered the phone, which ended with Rhodey fumbling to put the phone off of speaker. 

"And Jarvis isn't responding. He must have gone down when Tony did– well, whatever he did." Rhodey sneaks a quick glance at his watch. It's been almost an hour since he walked into this debacle. "He should be back up soon." 

"Okay," Pepper says after a heavy sigh. Her calm demeanor doesn't even surprise Rhodey – god knows the pair of them have been through enough and more of Tony's eccentricity. When it comes to Tony, this is just another day for them. "Jim, listen. I'm still in DC, but I'll be there in a few hours." There's distinct shuffling from her side. "Just– stay put. Read him a book. Put him to sleep."

"Put him to–" Rhodey cuts himself off before he can even consider the ridiculousness of the suggestion. "This is Tony."

"And you're his best friend. Which is why I'm sure you'll figure something out." And by thrusting her sheer level of confidence upon Rhodey, Pepper ends the call, leaving him staring helplessly at the phone in his hand. He looks over at Tony, who immediately looks away, defensive hands still folded across his chest in an act of petulance. 

Pepper had a point, Rhodey figures. Smaller Tony can't differ much from the real deal. He just has to make Tony talk; keep him occupied. Maybe play an R-rated movie– 

"Keep staring at me like that, 'm gonna think you're a pedophile."

"Jesus Christ."

---

They're not even ten minutes into watching Eraserhead before Tony decides it's too unrealistic, and therefore not worth his time. 

"What?" Rhodey asks, barely able to suppress the disbelief in his voice. Tony loved this movie – even watched it twice a month, every month, while they were in MIT. Sure, it had Rhodey worried for Tony's sanity at first, but he got around to movie nights soon enough. "You love this movie."

"Nope," Tony says, and that's that.

---

"Aren't you too old to be a babysitter?" Tony asks after spending a whole of five minutes scrutinizing Rhodey with a fairly impressive stink eye.

Rhodey huffs out a breathy laugh. "Tell that to the guy who put me here."

"Maybe I will," Tony says pointedly – sounding like he fully intended to file a formal complaint. "Where is he?"

"You're talking to him," Rhodey says, which shuts Tony up.

---

Rhodey's making a mental checklist of how else he can entertain eight year old Tony who hates Eraserhead – when Jarvis comes online.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis greets, and Rhodey immediately shoots a silent prayer of gratitude to the AI. On the other side of the sectional, Tony's head jerks up in surprise from where he was fiddling with the StarkTab – eyes darting around for the voice. 

"I apologize for my inactivity. My servers may have been affected while Sir was testing the functions of…" Jarvis trails off, and there's a very telling silence that follows – Jarvis apparently having noticed Tony's absence and the kid's presence. Tony's still looking around for the source, and when his attempt turns futile, decides to zero in on Rhodey. 

"Mr. Rhodes," Jarvis starts, his words edging on hesitation. "Is that–" 

"Yep."

---

Tony takes it upon himself to find out the source of the voice. There's ten minutes of Tony opening and closing doors, crouching under tables, checking behind furniture five times his size, and because Tony - no matter the age – is still Tony, returns to where Rhodey's seated, newfound determination plastered across his face. "Who was that?"

"Who was who?" Rhodey asks, raising an innocent brow. 

"The guy who was just talking to you." 

"Don't see any guy here."

"I heard him."

"Heard who?" 

"The guy!" Tony blurts out hotly, throwing his arms out in frustration as his cheeks flush a shade of red. The movement makes the full sleeves of Tony's undershirt break from the knot Tony had made, resulting in them splaying out like loose wires before they end up dangling flimsily at his sides. Tony pays no mind, and Rhodey tries to pay no mind. 

"Which guy?" Rhodey asks, and he can barely contain his grin watching the way Tony puffs his chest, lips parting to make way for whatever childish blabber before they snap shut in annoyance. 

His face turns into a scowl as he brings his arms back across his chest, dangling sleeves and all. "Stop pulling my leg." 

"Whatever you say, kid."

"Not a kid."

"You're, like, five."

Tony looks like he's about to explode from frustration. "Eight!"

"Full fledged adult, then."

---

"You have a lot of grey hair," Tony speaks up all of a sudden, working on the offense this time. 

"You're short," Rhodey answers without missing a beat.

"But I'll grow," Tony says, grinning now, like he'd struck gold. "I'll be taller than you."

"Oh, yeah," Rhodey agrees for the sake of entertaining the kid, deciding against breaking his bubble as much as he'd like to. He adds an enthusiastic "definitely." 

Tony, self-proclaimed genius that he is, catches on to the intent. He looks almost giddy with excitement as he crawls over from his place on the sectional to where Rhodey's sitting. "You're jealous!" Tony exclaims, eyes shining in delight. "Aren't you? You're jealous that I'm gonna be taller than you!" 

"You got me, kid," Rhodey shrugs, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "What can I say? Life can be a– biscuit, sometimes."

"A bitch, you mean."

---

They go through the StarkPad together, not that Tony needed much help anyway, seeing as he already figured out most of how it works by himself. Rhodey gets his fair share of questions anyway, from why do people need such a big screen? to I can watch an entire movie in this?

"Ha, this makes you look even older!" is the first thing points out when Rhodey switches it to the front camera. 

"Yeah, yeah," Rhodey says smiling, and in a split second, contorts his face just as a grinning Tony holds up the tablet and takes a selfie of them. 

"This is so cool," Tony exclaims in barely contained excitement as he proceeds to take a dozen more pictures of himself, some of which Rhodey accidentally ends up in the background of. 

"Yeah, remember my friend Tony? He made it."

Tony perks up, suddenly more interested, and Rhodey thinks he's going to ask more about the StarkPad until– "Is he taller than you?" 

Rhodey snorts. "He wishes. Tony used to stuff paper balls into his shoes when we were in MIT. He wears heels now." 

"I know MIT! My dad studied there," Tony says, and Rhodey makes a surprised sound, like that wasn't news to him at all. Tony cocks his head, eyebrows knitting as if something just occurred to him. "Wait, how does he wear heels?" 

"He gets them custom made into his shoes."

A pause. Then: "And he's still shorter than you?" 

"Yep."

"That must suck balls."

"Yep."

---

"You never told me your name," Tony says out of the blue after spending a good few minutes drooling into Rhodey's shoulder while he was dead to the world.

"It's Jim."

Tony shifts, drawing his feet towards himself so he can curl into Rhodey's chest. "That's an old man's name," Tony points out softly. 

"Rhodey, then."

"How many names do you have?"

Honeybear, Platypus, Sourpatch– "A few."

"My name is Anthony," Tony says, voice softening even more, as if he'd pass out any moment now. "But nobody calls me that anymore."

"Thought you didn't like-"

"Because when they do, I kick 'em in the dick," Tony finishes, words coming out in soft mumble before he drifts back to sleep.

---

When Pepper walks into the penthouse an hour later and spots Tony snuggled against Rhodey's side, soaking his polo shirt wet with drool, she flashes him a triumphant smile. I told you so.

[cwfprophet]

YULE BALL EDITION - 15th JANUARY 1983

Where do I begin? The Yule Ball was definitely less dramatic than All Hallows Eve, but when the entrance fee includes free alcohol drama was bound to unfold. Generally, when it comes to getting drunk on cheap champagne we tend to allow our hearts to drive us. JAMES POTTER was one of the first to let it go to his head. To say that he had an eventful night would be an understatement. It seems like he has overcome his obsession with redheads (to LILY EVANS delight I’m sure) and has diversified his selection pool. Not only was he seen baking biscuits with NARCISSA BLACK the week before, but he was also spotted entering the wizard’s bathroom with EDWARD TONKS with his pants around his ankles. Considering that the two men came out with different trousers on, whatever went on there must have been so steamy that they couldn’t see who’s pants were who’s. Two down, a few to go. James then found his way to EDGAR BONES. Sure, sometimes a kiss means nothing like the kiss that LUCIUS MALFOY and AMELIA BONES shared whilst trapped under enchanted mistletoe. However you could see literal sparks fly as these two allowed their lips to embrace. Obviously Edgar’s kissing skills must be horrid as James was then later seen trying to make out with CLARICE FARIBAULT. Dearest James, I hate to burst your bubble but not everyone wants to kiss that mug of yours hun. 

Speaking of kissing skills, MARLENE MACKINNON thankfully refrained from kissing anyone which has apparently resulted in one less person dying than last time. Even RABASTAN LESTRANGE must have some skill with those lips, how else would he have managed to convince AUGUSTUS ABBOTT to hold his hand and dance with him? This debacle hasn’t seemed to sit well with Augustus’s friends. SAOIRSE MACMILLAN was seen exiting the pavilion in a rush and was shortly followed by Augustus who just couldn’t keep up. Whilst Edward Tonks, had other plans for the party. Not only was he seen arguing with Rabastan, no doubt over Augustus, but he was also spotted cosying up with ANDROMEDA BLACK. The two of them returned from a break outside, suspiciously smelling of smoke and cheap cologne. Although the two would make an adorable couple, I can’t help but wonder if Narcissa knew about that since she also seemed to be getting her fair share of Ted that evening. But “Rita, the Black siblings, pining over someone like Ted? Surely I have my facts wrong?” I tell you beloved readers, I witnessed these events for myself! Either this generation of the Black family have decided to disregard tradition and break free from their parents grip like SIRIUS BLACK had, or there was some serious foul play at work. Perhaps Narcissa was simply distracting Edward whilst her cousin REGULUS BLACK was up to no good or cleaning that ridiculous crown he wore. 

Speaking of the Black sisters, what was even more interesting and out of character was that Bellatrix left the ball without a stolen wand in her hand or in handcuffs. I suppose it’s good to have a change now and again, it keeps us all on our feet. Bellatrix was rumored to have spent the night with a Half-Blood, who I’m guessing was SEVERUS SNAPE. Snape was also blamed for hexing Jame’s pants but if you ask me it was James who just couldn’t keep them on. Bellatrix then left the ball in a hurry and was soon followed by Rabastan who abandoned Augustus at the ball. Poor Gus, breaking all those friendships just to be ditched at the end of the night. Hun, if you ever need someone to take you home, you know how to find me, x. Speaking of being ditched, HARRISON BAGNOLD was seen running from HESTIA JONES and towards the back wings of the pavilion. Merlin only knows what Hestia did to deserve that and someone should tell PATRICIA RAKEPICK that Harrison is trouble before she decides to have another intimate conversation with him. It seems Patricia wasn’t the only Gryffindor alumni making bad choices. ALICE YEN was also seen arguing with Rabastan that evening. Perhaps if these Aurors paid more attention to things, ROSALIE FLINT might have never gone missing. Who knows what happened there but that’s a story for another article. 

All in all, I had a lovely evening and was graced with many beautiful faces including HENRY GRIFFIS who could have taken me home but had his mother’s arm around his instead. I hope that everyone had a good evening and that all my readers got home safely after the event! It seems that the nights are growing colder and our streets darker despite winter coming to an end. As always, my owlery is always open and if anyone has anything they’d like to share or if there’s anything that I missed, I gladly respond to anonymous owls in my daily column. xoxo

Rita Skeeter Daily Prophet Scandal Sheet

@jamspctter || @oh-evans || @blondsblack || @badgepuff || @edgar-bones || @lxciuss || @ameliabcnes || @claricefaribault || @starryeyxdmckinnon || @youngestxlestrange || @augustusmabbott || @inkstainedmac || @andromedhs || @padfoot-chaos || @regulus7 || @half-a-prince || @harrisonbagnold || @hextias || @patrakepick || @alicexyen || @foolgraves || @henrygriffis

[amorisabelle]

Breakfast Debacle

INVOLVED: Levi Morgan, Maya Morgan, Naomi King, Calvin King, Victoria Perry, Dominic Perry, Isabelle Marshall, Alexander Marshall, Israel West, and Melaine Ashton TIME FRAME: Saturday, December 21, 2019 and Sunday, December 22, 2019 LOCATION: Elk Trail Lodge; Denver, Colorado SUMMARY: After Naomi saw Levi speak into Melaine’s room the night before, she and the girls make breakfast for the house resulting in conflict, of course; Maya finally arrives and greets her friends and husband, with Israel in tow.

Levi tip-toed out of his room, gently closing his room door behind him, and into the hallway carefully, looking around vigilantly. He was trying to be as quiet as possible, as to not wake any of his friends or their wives. Licking his lips, he continued his watch as he moved down the hallway, trying to step lightly as he did.

Having been denied sex by her husband, Naomi laid in bed reading a book quietly to herself as she festered over Calvin. Hearing a creak in the night, she raised up a little noticing the shadow as it passed by their assigned room door. Squinting she got up, sitting the book aside and she opened her door very slow and still, as she peered out to see Levi creeping down the hall and into their friends room.

Feeling that the coast was clear, Levi hurried the rest of the way to Melaine’s room. He reached for her handle, smirking to himself as he gently and carefully opened her door and made his way inside, closing it behind him swiftly.

Naomi watched Levi closely before she turned closing her door with her mouth gaped wide open, she couldn’t believe the no-good son of a bitch. “That motherfucker,” she sneered to herself, Maya was the sweetest and most humble friend they had. She didn’t deserve this shit one bit, not from him, not from anybody.

“I saw that low-down dirty dog,” Naomi exclaimed to her friends as she scrambled some eggs in a pan. “He was in there up until about two hours ago,” she said looking at them both as she ratted out Levi for the piece of shit he was.

Victoria’s whole face contorted as she pushed the lever on the toaster down and looked to Naomi. “What?!” She grunted out disgusted.

Isabelle poured orange juice into the glasses before she looked at Naomi, shaking her head, a scowl on her face. “I knew it,” she grunted bitterly.

“Yeah,” Naomi said as she looked to Victoria. “I am telling Maya as soon as she gets here,” she promised as she continued to whip up the eggs in the skillet.

“Uh-uh, Naomi, wait a minute,” Victoria said waving her hand in front of Naomi.

“Wait for what?” Naomi asked the woman her neck jerking back, ever so slightly as she looked to her crazily.

“You don’t know what kind of state-of-mind she’s going to be in,” Victoria said, turning to look at Naomi, expectantly.

“Oh, come on Vicky,” Naomi said to the woman beside her as she sat the spatula down for a moment. “Let’s forget it with all that psych mess right now,” she waved off. “I am telling her,” she said sternly.

“No, Vic’s right,” Isabelle chimed in. “You know she’s been really depressed lately. Let’s just wait,” she said thoughtfully as she began to pour some of the orange juice into more glasses.

“Why?” Naomi asked the two of them whipping her head back and forth. “If it was one of us, we would want to know right?” she asked them seriously her hand on her hip.

Victoria scoffed, shaking her head, adding more fruit to the plate that she was holding.

“Uh,” Isabelle shook her head at Naomi. “You don’t know that. Sometimes people get angry at you for telling them,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Exactly,” Victoria added, “and she’s been so unhappy, the least we could do as her friends is take make sure that she’s gonna be okay.”

“Still, the fact that we are her friends–” Naomi said coming back with a counter argument before some of the gang walked into the kitchen with them. She fell quiet, moving back to her original duty.

Levi moved through the door first saying, “good morning,” as he moved for the fridge.

“Good morning gang,” Alexander said cheerfully as he walked into the kitchen to reconnect with his wife and their two friends. He sat down in a stool in front of the women that were preparing breakfast.

“So, just where the hell have y’all been?” Naomi asked as the troop came trotting in.

“We hiked a trail,” Alexander said to her easily, innocence laced in his voice as he sat down looking at her oddly. It was far too early in the morning for Naomi to be cranky, or was it?

Dominic looked to their friends and said, “there were a lot of animals; foxes and things,” he told them having picked up a biscuit.

Melaine stood before the bar area and she smirked at everyone, toying with her Louis Vuitton scarf around her neck before she said, “it smells so good Naomi.” She popped a piece of biscuit into her mouth as well and said, “you belong in a kitchen” to her slyly as she leaned against the counter.

“Bitch,” Naomi said looking to Melaine, “don’t get me to where you belong, hoe ass. Ass belong on a corner… you already have your pimp,” she said slyly as she rolled her eyes at her.

Melaine looked to Naomi disgustedly as she called her not only out of her name but a prostitute all in one. The bitch didn’t really know her.

Levi sat the apple juice from the fridge onto the counter and sat down beside Melaine at the breakfast bar, his eyes going wide slightly at Naomi’s words, but he said nothing.

“Hey, good morning everybody,” Calvin said feeling bright and refreshed after a wonderful night's sleep. He sat down at the bar beside Alexander with a bright smile.

“Morning Calvin,” Alexander said to his friend looking at him and then looking down.

“Morning brother,” Dominic replied as he still chomped on a biscuit standing next to his wife.

“How did you sleep Calvin?” Melaine asked, still leaning against the counter.

“I slept great!” Calvin said, turning in his seat a little to look at Melaine. “I was out like--”

“Did you?” Melaine said with a grin on her face before it fell watching Naomi.

Naomi didn’t bother to look at her husband as she took the plate, she made for him and plopped it down before him. She didn’t care what happened to the content on the plate as she did so. She turned her back to everyone.

Looking down at the plate as Naomi dropped it in front of him, Calvin’s toast flying into the air before falling back down onto the counter, he frowned muttering, “I slept okay.”

Isabelle wasn’t even phased as Naomi dropped the plate before Calvin and she took a sip of her orange juice, looking at her husband.

Eyes growing wide as Naomi slammed Calvin’s plate down, Victoria picked up another plate and prepared it for someone without another word.

Alexander looked to the side of his friends face with eyes large as saucers as the woman literally threw his breakfast over to him. He looked from his face, to his disheveled plate, to his own wife with the same wide eyes he started with.

Calvin looked at Alexander out the corner of his eye slightly, then down at his plate, making a face at his friend. Didn’t he know his wife was crazy. This is why he couldn’t tell her about his VD.

“Uhm,” Victoria began, trying to ignore what Naomi had just done. “Levi, have you called Maya to see if she was okay?”

“No,” Levi replied quickly, shaking his head as he ate his biscuit. “Can I get some coffee?” he asked.

Naomi looked to Levi, her face hardening as she shook her head and turned her back to the group again moving for the sink to wash the dishes.

“I am sure she’s fine,” Melaine said as she licked her lips looking at everyone.

“Was anyone talking to you trick?” Naomi asked Melaine upfront, turning back around from the sink. Of course, she’d have two cents to add to this after, all she didn’t care as long as she had the opportunity to keep fucking Maya’s man.

“Trick?” Melaine repeated, at the point by now she’d had enough of Naomi and all of her disrespectful comments.  

“Yes trick,” Naomi said to her very quickly, “as in slut, whore, tramp,” she listed gesturing with her hand. “Are you unaware of your name?” she asked resting her hand on her hip as she gazed at her.

“Look Naomi,” Melaine said in a harsh accent, before she went on, “you don’t know me, I have tolerated you long enough,” she said pointing her finger at her as she did.

“I will beat your ass bitch,” Naomi said to Melaine in response, each word that left her lips came out forcefully and drew her closer and closer to the woman.

“Then do it bitch!” Melaine said as she hopped up from her position leaned over on the counter. Never mind Levi trying to get in between her and Naomi.

Levi stood quickly with Melaine, “Whoa, wait a minute,” he said wrapping his arm around her petite frame before he reached over holding his hand out to Naomi.

Calvin sat quietly, eating his food hungrily as if nothing was happening around him.

Victoria squealed as Naomi pulled her out of the way and she spun around, moving closer to Isabelle out of shock.

Dominic watched as the woman threw things at each other and he said, “hey, hey, hey, hey,” loudly, voice booming around the space as he tried to hold Naomi back. His head moved back and forth as more food continued to be thrown.

Alexander lifted his hands up, a fork in one of them as he too added that the woman needed to stop and calm down. “Wait a minute,” he called out as he watched on.

Maya climbed out of Israel’s truck as they arrived at the cabin, she took it in all of its glory as she stuck one hand in her fur coat and the other held her purse moving towards the entrance.

Israel climbed out of the truck, moving to the backseat to grab Maya’s bags for her. As well as the package that came for Alexander.

“Hey,” Alexander said as he looked towards Levi, “handle that,” he said to him as he sat his fork back down in his plate. “Hey, she cooked grits and I am just going to move the hell out of the way,” he said dipping his fork in his food and then into his mouth.

Levi looked to Alexander and said, “she ghetto,” throwing his hands into the air.

“Someone better get here before I do,” Naomi said in response as she backed up slowly.

Maya moved throughout the house and she headed for the kitchen, having smelt some food cooking in the house. They must have been eating breakfast. She began to pull her fur coat off when she reached the opening and said “hey!” happily “Divas!” she called out to her best friends. She leaned in for a hug from Dominic happily accepting the kiss to her temple from him as she chuckled infectiously. She moved toward her husband her hand now gripping her heavy coat and purse, she moved to give him a kiss despite his disposition. “Hey, what’s going on everybody?” she asked.

Levi leaned towards his wife out of courtesy as she reached for him. He allowed her to kiss his cheek, but he didn’t show her much affection back.

Israel moved into the cabin behind Maya, sitting her things down as he stepped in fully, assessing everyone quickly.

Maya moved towards Victoria and she smiled at her friend leaning in for a hug.

“Thank God you’re okay,” Victoria said, hugging Maya tight, rubbing her back lovingly before she pulled away.

“Yes, I made it finally,” Maya replied to Victoria before she moved over to Isabelle and hugged the woman to her as well.

Isabelle stepped forward; arms open to her friend. “We were worried sick about you, you know.” She said hugging her friend tight.

“I know, I am fine,” Maya said to Isabelle, “this man took really good care of me,” she said gesturing Israel off to the side.

Dominic looked to Israel and he smiled thoughtfully, he was glad the man had managed to assist their friend some way. He knew how much she was on his mind and the mind of their other friends.

Levi turned to the sheriff, shaking the man’s hand firmly as he looked him up and down.

“At least some man did,” Naomi she smartly back to her friend, a sneer on her lips as she looked to her friends shitty husband. Never mind that, she hugged the woman tightly wrapping her arms around her thick frame.

Pulling away from her friend, Maya moved over to Israel and said, “everybody, this is Israel,” she emphasized placing her hand on his arm as she looked to them. “I invited him for breakfast, is that alright?” she asked them.

Levi squinted at Naomi, holding his hand out to her with a huff before he moved to sit back down.

As Maya introduced him to the group, Israel smiled. “Good morning everybody,” he said with a slight wave before he gazed at Maya intently as she spoke, giving her his full undivided attention before he looked at the group to see their reactions and hear their thoughts on the idea of him staying to eat with them.

“Fine with me,” Calvin called out from his spot at the end of the breakfast bar.

“Good to see you man,” Alexander said to the guy kindly.

Dominic held up the plate offering the man a warm biscuit if he’d like it politely. Though honestly, he’d thrown back two and, in his mind, he owned the plate of biscuits now.

“Same here,” Israel said back to Alexander before he remembered the package tucked under his arm and added, “oh, here you are Dr. Marshall,” as he walked over. “A package came for you. When the postal service can’t make it up the hill, they leave it with me,” he informed the man.

Alexander looked to Israel as he approached, and he nodded his head grabbing the package that contained the shot he needed to give his best friend. “Thank you,” he told the guy, glad it had made to them in a quick and fast paced manner.

Isabelle looked directly at her husband, asking, “what is that?” He had some nerve telling her to put the work away for the week and he was getting doctor packages?

Alexander swallowed down some food and avoided his wife’s eye contact as he said, “something I needed.” Picking his glass of orange juice up and taking a long sip as she looked over at Calvin.

Calvin ate his food, slowly looking over at Alexander out the corner of his eye before he dropped his head quickly.

Maya looked around hand on her hips and she smiled again. “It’s so good to see you guys,” she said looking at her friend lovingly. God, did she miss them, her friends were always a good pick-me-up and she was sure she would get some peace of mind out of this trip. It would ease her and hopefully help her, and her husband rekindle their flame.

“It’s good to see you too,” Victoria said sweetly from her spot off to the side.

“Melaine,” Maya said smiling at the girl as she licked her lips slowly, the wheels had been turning in her head since she learned of Israel having been divorced.

Melaine looked to her friend and said, “hm,” sweetly back having gone back to her biscuit.

“That is Israel,” Maya said sweetly, “I talked about you all last night,” she told her thoughtfully. “Girl,” she started, “he is single,” she told her with a knowing look.

Melaine looked to her friend and then Israel, taking him in. “Is that so?” she asked her. “Mm,” she hummed out. “That’s great,” she told her as she shifted on her stool now before she cleared her throat.

Naomi looked to the three in an unknown love triangle and she pursed her lips slyly.

Levi looked at Melaine, a scowl on his face as he placed his hand on her thigh under the counter discreetly, squeezing tightly.

Isabelle pursed her lips, looking between Levi and Melaine and she brought her glass of orange juice to her mouth as she looked off mumbling. “I saw that,” to Naomi and Victoria.

“I did too,” Victoria added quickly, her face scrunching slightly as she shifted on her feet.

“Mm-hm,” Naomi said with her glass up to her mouth as she nodded her head discreetly.

“So Melaine,” Maya said pressing forward, “why don’t you move over,” she smiled cutely, “and let the man sit down,” she asked her with a smirk.

Levi rolled his eyes, sitting his coffee cup down as his head rolled to the side slightly, irritated as he bit his lip to hold his tongue.

“Oh, alright,” Melaine said playing along as she shift stools, moving one over to Alexander and giving the man space to sit in between her and Levi now.

“Yeah,” Alexander said as he gestured with his hand, “You’re single, he’s single,” he said to the woman as she moved next to him. “So,” he stuttered getting a look from his friend, “sit, there,” he said hiding his somewhat amusement as he looked down now.

Maya grabbed a strawberry and placed it into her mouth, chewing lightly as she asked her friend. “Victoria what are you doing?” curiously. The woman couldn’t cook, they all knew that. If you asked her, she was the best cook out of all four of them.

Victoria scooped eggs onto a plate, and she looked over at Maya saying, “what? I’m helping out.”

“You don’t know anything about cooking,” Maya said to her as she licked her fingertips gently. “Move over,” she told her with a grin.

Naomi looked to Maya and Victoria and she actually giggled to herself. It was indeed a known fact that the woman was not a good cook.

Isabelle looked over at Victoria and Maya and she smiled, a laugh escaping her as she looked to Naomi, chuckling with her friend.

“I got it,” Maya told the woman as she moved to wash her hands and dry them to assist with breakfast.

“Ain’t no secret… you know all about cooking and eating don’t you, baby…” Levi said to his wife harshly as he forked some eggs into his mouth.

“This motherfucker,” Naomi said lifting her finger up to Levi, he had some damn nerve. How dare he speak to Maya in that way and in front of all of them like that. His desire to embarrass her at every turn was starting to get under her skin considering they all knew at this point he was a cheater. “You got one more fucking time,” she warned the man seriously as she glared at him.

Levi looked at Naomi disgusted. “What is wrong with you?” he asked her. “Alex, please prescribe her some valium.”

“You’re just such a-” Naomi said trying to contain herself, but she really couldn’t at this point. “Asshole,” she told him. “Let me go and just-” she breathed, “get my ass out of here,” she told them all as she walked out of the kitchen.

Maya looked between her husband and her friend as she asked everyone. “What’s wrong with her?” very curious to know what she missed and why everyone was so hostile with each other right now.

“PMS,” Levi responded to Maya quickly with a shrug of his shoulders and as Naomi walked out, he turned in his chair his eyes following her as he said, “take a valium.”

“What is wrong with your wife?” Alexander asked Calvin as he turned to look at him. He picked his fork backup and began to eat some more.

Calvin looked at Alexander, his mouth full of food and he took a minute to swallow before he said, “what do you mean?” He looked around at all of his friends. “It’s Sunday.”

Alexander’s head snapped back up at his friend's words and he turned to look at everyone wide-eyed. It’s Sunday? Was his friend that bad, was she that much of a fighter and aggressor that her own husband didn’t notice how violent she could be.

Melaine watched the woman walk out and then looked between Alexander and Calvin. As the man spoke of his wife, she looked to him crazily before she looked over to Levi who had begun chuckling from the ridiculousness that was Naomi.

Levi looked at Calvin with a chuckle, unable to believe that his friend just sat there unbothered through all of that.

Israel sat in between Melaine and Levi shaking his head at the group of friends as a smirk tugged on his lips, his eyes watching Maya before him as she prepped plates.

Maya scooped a helping of grits onto her husband’s plate as she prepared him one, if she didn’t do it who would? She was his wife and it was her job to cater to his every need and she always would.

“You are so immune to her behavior, that you don’t even realize,” Alexander said turning to his friend still a bit shocked and amused right now. “What the hell?” he said chuckling at that.

Dominic looked to Alexander and he chuckled out shaking his head as he leaned against the counter. His friends were truly something else, none of them had the slightest idea of that.

Melaine chuckled herself, what a sad life to live, she thought to herself a she looked to Levi. She pulled her sleeves up to her turtleneck. “God!” she breathed.

Levi laughed out at Alexander’s words as he held his cup of coffee.

Isabelle stood there, not finding it amusing in the slightest as she shifted on her feet and as the phone rang, she turned and moved for it since she was the closest.

“Excuse me,” Maya breathed to her friend as she reached across her. “Here baby,” she said sweetly to her husband as she handed him over a plate she made, with everything she knew he liked with the proportions that she knew he’d appreciate.

“Thank you,” Levi said easily as he grabbed the plate from his wife and dug in.

“Hello?” Isabelle said answering the phone quickly as she leaned against the counter facing everyone. “Oh, hey Monica,” she said before she grew quiet, listening to Monica on the line. “No, it’s okay,” she said shocked, her eyes moving to her husband. “He said what now?” she asked, staring him down before she began to shake her head, pulling her gaze away from him. “No, it’s fine. Thank you,” she said. “Just tell him I’ll get back to him a little later,” she said as she turned back towards the base of the phone. “Alright, bye,” she said before placing it back on the dock. She stared at the phone for a moment before she turned and looked to her husband once more, moving towards him. “Alexander… Alexander…”

Alexander ignored his wife at first, having heard only part of his wife’s conversation. Once he heard Monica’s name, he knew. He asked the woman in kindness to let them enjoy their trip and she failed him. “Yeah,” he finally said looking to Isabelle as she approached the counter again.

As he answered her, Isabelle arched an eyebrow. “Did you tell Monica not to call me?” She asked him, her voice laced with a slight attitude.

“It’s our vacation,” Alexander said to the woman with a bit of an attitude himself as he forked some more grits into his mouth.

Nodding slowly, Isabelle dropped her eyes before she looked back up at him. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked him, nodding towards the doorway that led into the living room.

“No” Alexander told his wife sternly as he moved away from the topic at hand. “So, Israel,” he said changing the subject, “we saw like snow mobiles, where do we get those?” he asked him.

Isabelle looked at her husband incredulously, her neck jerking back slightly, her eyes rolling as he told her no. She let out a harsh breath as she pursed her lips and turned her back to him.

Looking over at Alexander, Israel chuckling saying, “Ah that’s easy--”

“I’m not worried about snowboarding,” Melaine said to Israel, “I want to shop,” she emphasized. It was her favorite past time and she loved spending Levi’s money.

Levi began choking on his food at Melaine’s words and he looked at her wildly before dropping his head as he coughed into his fist.

“You okay?” Melaine asked Levi as everyone looked over at the man as he coughed roughly.

“Sorry,” Levi muttered holding his finger out to everyone to excuse himself as he choked.

i

[theyearoftheking]

Book 1: Carrie

I wish I could write you a melody so plain

That would save you, dear lady, from going insane

That would ease you and cool you and cease the pain

Of your useless and pointless knowledge...

-Bob Dylan

I first read Carrie seven years ago as part of the Rory Gilmore reading challenge (sense a trend yet?). Despite reading a handful of books in the challenge, I quickly gave up because the prospect of reading Finnegan’s Wake was just too much. Even as an English major, I just can’t stomach Joyce. But I digress, and promise to stick with this challenge until the bitter end. Besides, I have a blog. I’m obviously big time now.

Carrie was first published in 1974 and the overriding theme for me was relevance. What’s old is new again, human beings never really learn lessons and bullying is a tale as old as time. Let’s do a deep-ish dive, shall we?

The book opens with a pretty embarrassing scene set inside high school hell: the girl’s locker room. Carrie is showering after gym class, and gets her period for the first time, blood streaming down her legs. She’s scared as hell,and has no idea what’s happening, because she was raised by an evangelical crazy woman. Her classmates lose their shit, begin throwing menstrual products at her, and yelling, “plug it up!” 

So cringy. 

But on the bright side, this didn’t happen during the age of social media. This would have made Snapchat, Insta, TikTok, or whatever social media thing the kids are into. But you could still see it happening in 2020. Hell is other people, particularly high school girls of a certain bitchy persuasion. 

After this humiliating moment, Carrie heads home to lick her wounds, and wonder why her mother, Margaret, never talked to her about menstruation. Her mother informs her, “And God made Eve from the rib of Adam...Get up, woman. Let us get in and pray. Let’s us pray to Jesus for our woman-weak, wicked, sinning souls...” 

At this moment, my blood ran cold. This statement should sound like the ramblings of a crazy person. But instead it reminded me of another matriarch...

Yeah. Michelle Duggar of 19 Kids and Counting, and Counting On fame. Michelle with her crazy eyes and crunchy perm, who believes women shouldn’t be cutting their hair, wearing pants, or bikinis, or any article of clothing that might entice men to think wicked thoughts; because apparently women do nothing but illicit sinful thoughts in men. It would be funny, if it wasn’t for the legions of fans and multiple babies she and her evangelical brood keep popping out on their living room couches with alarming frequency. We won’t even get into the whole, “covering up the fact her son molested several of her daughters and brushed it under the rug, because... Jesus”. 

Shudder. 

After Carrie’s locker room situation, the school administrators try to punish several of the girls responsible for the tampons/pads attack. One of the ringleaders, Chris Hargensen is a right little bitch, and sends daddy into the principal’s office to plead on her behalf so she won’t miss prom. He and the principal get chippy with each other, and Mr. Hargensen says, “I don’t intend... to sit here and listen to a tissue of half-truths or your standard schoolmaster lecture, Mr. Grayle. I know my daughter well enough...”

This whole interaction between Mr. Hargensen and Principal Grayle cracked me up. Millennials (of which I am not) get a bad wrap for not being held accountable for anything. They are stereotyped as special snowflakes who need participation trophies, and their parents make excuses for all their bad behaviors. 

Bro. 

Tale as old as time. Need I remind you this book was published in 1974? 

Ok, Boomer?

The story progresses with Sue Snell, one of the ringleaders of the Plug It Up debacle feeling guilty for her actions, and convincing her boyfriend, Tommy Ross to ask Carrie to prom. Tommy loves Sue, and agrees to do it. Carrie sews herself a crushed velvet prom dress, her mom repeatedly calls her a slut, and Carrie ends up looking beautiful. I imagine it much like Rachel Leigh Cook’s “startling” transformation in She’s All That. 

 Tommy and Carrie go to prom, and he realizes she’s actually kinda pretty, which makes her worthy of his respect. The crushed velvet dress gets all the compliments, and the night doesn’t start out as a total disaster. Well, bitchy Chris Hargensen isn’t having it. She convinces Billy Nolan, her greaser boyfriend, to pull off some kind of spectacular prank at prom to put Carrie in her place and remind her of her station. 

Billy and his crew of greasers go to a local farm, kill two pigs, and collect the blood. Later on at prom when Carrie and Tommy are announced king and queen, Chris pulls the cord rigged to the buckets of pig blood, and douses them both. Carrie loses her shit, and uses her telekinetic powers (did I forget to mention that’s a thing she has?) to blow up the school, kill her classmates and destroy the lovely town of Chamberlain, Maine. After prom, she walks home, where Michelle Duggar, Mama White is waiting with a knife, and stabs Carrie in the chest. Carrie uses her powers to slow Michelle Duggar Mama White’s heart down, until she’s dead. Then (with the knife still stuck in her chest), Carrie heads back into town to finish her reign of terror and kill Chris and Billy. Then she dies. 

And they all lived happily ever after. Well, Sue Snell kind of does, since she’s one of the only ones to make it out alive. No good deed goes unpunished, am I right? 

A few notable, funny moments... 

1. Early on in the novel, a reference is made to a letter Michelle Duggar Mama White wrote to a friend in Kenosha, Wisconsin. How did Steve decide on Kenosha? Such a strange city in Wisconsin to choose... Did he look at a map and randomly pick a city? Had he made a stop at the Mars Cheese Castle once and it left an impression? Did he throw a dart at a map of Wisconsin? Does he know Kenosha doesn’t have an especially high evangelical population? So many questions. As a Sconnie Cheesehead Homer, I’ll be keeping a Wisconsin Mentions tally throughout the challenge. 

2. At one point in the novel, a fictitious scientific article compares the genetic-recessive characteristics of telekinesis to hemophilia. Hemophilia is referred to as, “King’s Evil”, I couldn’t help with wonder if Steve threw this fact in here just to use the term, “King’s Evil”. Random observation 

I enjoyed re-reading Carrie, and still find it relevant and timely. And I think it speaks to King’s talent as a writer that he’s able to create a character like Carrie, who blows up a whole damn town and kills almost everyone, and you still feel sorry for her. She’s not quite a villain, but she’s not far off. 

In summation:

Total King Wisconsin Mentions: 1

Dark Tower References: 0

Book Grade: B+

Now, time for Salem’s Lot. It’s been on my to-be-read list for quite a while, and I’m looking forward to diving into it. Be patient, it’s 700 pages, compared to Carrie’s 290. 

I should mention, I’m reading all of these books in actual BOOK form, no e-books. I find when I use my Kindle, I get distracted by marathon games of Candy Crush, and lose focus. But with an actual book? No candy to be crushed, no FB messages to check, no cute dog pictures to upload. 

Speaking of dogs, Steve has Molly, The Thing of Evil. I have Biscuit Beast the Beagle. 

You can see her handiwork here on a bookmark a friend was nice enough to bring back from The Stanley.

 Beagles... to know them is to love them. 

Until next time- long days and pleasant nights, readers!

Rebecca

[emospritelet]

Honourable Members - 3/3

Yay, I finished something!  And yes, I know the spoilers for Cobra have the PM on the opposite political side to the one I picked for him.  I don’t care, I still got them laid, and that’s what counts.  Here there be smut.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3 link]

Sutherland was pacing his office.

It was an excellent room for pacing, he had discovered.  The rug was thick enough to cushion his steps to silence, but not so thick that his shoes caught on the pile when he turned.  Pacing was a habit of his, usually when he was irritated or had something that required a lot of thinking time.  Right now, however, his brain was concentrating on very little other than burning off the nervous energy that had been produced by a long night and too much coffee.

The prospective administrator of Wolsingham plc had finally backed out, restructuring talks had broken down, and the Government’s largest private contractor was being put into liquidation by its creditors, of which the biggest by far was the Government itself.  It meant that infrastructure projects would be on hold unless a new contractor could be found to take them over, and there would inevitably be widespread job losses, for which his administration would be blamed.  However misplaced that blame might be.

Since receiving the late-night call from the Minister of the Department of Innovation and Industry, a call which he had dreaded but which wasn’t wholly unexpected, he had been up and working.  He had approved the statement regarding the Wolsingham fiasco and sent it out to all MPs around half an hour before it was released to the press, at around seven o’clock that morning.  The Minister had appeared on Today to explain the Government’s position, but given what was already leaking out from the company itself following the announcement, it was more a case of damage control than reassurance.  Inside sources at the company, mouths firmly shut throughout its trading, were now telling anyone who would listen lurid tales about the rampant misconduct in the higher levels of the firm, and each new revelation made Sutherland want to wring the neck of each and every board member.

It was now almost midday, Parliament was in session and he was due to attend in an hour to give a statement.  Passing his desk, he snatched up the remote control for the wall-mounted television and switched it on.  The familiar green benches of the Commons flashed into view, already half-full of MPs gathered for the day’s business.  The Speaker called on Belle French, who stood up and raised her chin, and Sutherland’s eyes narrowed at the determined look on her face.  Here we go.  

“Mr Speaker, having received notification of the impending liquidation of Wolsingham plc this morning, I was appalled to discover the level of mismanagement and corruption that appears to have been going on!” she began.

“You didn’t bloody discover it,” muttered Sutherland.  “Somebody with a bloody axe to grind released the information.”

“I have received intelligence from credible internal sources at the company providing evidence of the most shocking misuse of public funds!  Evidence that the Government appears not to have acted upon!”

“Well, we’ve only just received it ourselves, give us a bloody chance.”

“Undercutting, loss-leading, deliberately pitching bids at levels they knew could not be delivered, then leaving the taxpayer to foot the increased costs when those projects foundered!”

“None of which you would know about if we hadn’t appointed a provisional liquidator!” said Sutherland, more loudly, as though she could hear him.

“Not to mention, Mr Speaker, the atrocious way in which this company has treated the weakest in our society.”  Miss French was on a roll.  “Thousands of jobs at risk, hundreds of small businesses going without payment!  This is blatant incompetence on a national scale, and the Government needs to be held accountable!”

“Oh, right, and the fact that we were tied into those fucking contracts by the last administration for the next five fucking years is lost on you, is it?”

Miss French stared out across the Commons, eyes flashing blue fire, perfect lips slightly parted as her hands gripped the notes in front of her.

“Moreover, Mr Speaker,” she added.  “Is this latest debacle not indicative of this Government’s utter contempt for the people it serves?  The failure to take seriously the mounting complaints about the small businesses and employees, suffering under the yoke of Wolsingham for years!  The slew of queries from local people that I and other Honourable Members have received and have raised with Government Ministers, only to be brushed off and sacrificed on the altar of progress!  A form of progress, Mr Speaker, that appears to be for a select few on the boards of these firms, and their shareholders!”

“Right, well, we’ll just nationalise everything, shall we?  Should be the work of moments...”

“This country needs fresh ideas and a fresh perspective,” she went on.  “The Democratic Socialists are the party of the twentieth century: a tired, worn out relic of the past run by tired, worn out men.”

“Bloody cheek!”

“It’s little wonder the Prime Minister spends so much time hidden away in Downing Street,” she said, seemingly uplifted by the chorus of jeers around her.  “I’d be ashamed to face the nation if I were him!  Presiding over those who have shown such blatant disregard for the people they were put in power to serve!”

“Can you believe this shite?” Sutherland demanded of no one in particular, gesturing at the television.

There was a rattle behind him, and he glanced around, to see Alice carrying in a tea tray.  He quickly cleared some papers on his desk so she could put it down, and turned back to the television, folding his arms.  Miss French stared out at him, proud and fierce as a warrior, her jaw set and her head high.

“Mr Speaker,” she said.  “The House demands that an urgent inquiry be held into the collapse of this firm and all who were involved in this alleged malpractice!  In the meantime, I call upon the Minister for Industry and Innovation and the Prime Minister himself to immediately make themselves available to this House for questioning on this most heinous of matters!”

“I’m attending in an hour for that purpose, and you fucking know it!”

He glared at the screen, but Miss French had sat down to a mingled chorus of cheers and heckling, and the Speaker called on another Member.  Sutherland turned off the television in disgust.

“What the hell do they bloody expect when we got the information only a few hours before them?” he demanded.  “I swear they want me to perform fucking miracles and then act all disillusioned when I don’t!”

“Seems to me like she’s already fighting the next election a year in advance,” remarked Alice, with a twinkle in her eye.  “Try not to take it personally, sir.  Coffee?”

He grumbled at that, but accepted a cup of coffee from her.

“Anything I need to hear about before I go over there?”

“The Press Office sent through a list of potential TV and radio programmes that have requested an interview,” she said.  “Carrie’s handling it, she says she’ll catch you up after you’ve been to the House.”

“Fine.”  He slumped into the chair and let his head roll back with a sigh.  “God, I’m tired.  If I have much more caffeine my head’ll explode.”

“I could make you some decaf if you want.”

“No,” he grumbled.  “If I tried to drink decaf I think my nervous system would be in open rebellion.”

“Have a biscuit instead, then,” she suggested.  “Chocolate Hobnobs.  I picked them out specially.”

“Sometimes I think you and Arthur are the only ones that care about me.”

“You know perfectly well that Arthur’s a greedy attention-whore and doesn’t give a shit about anyone as long as he gets fed and snuggled,” she said, with a grin.  “Mine is the only true loyalty around here.”

He chuckled, and sat forward, reaching for a biscuit.  Alice dropped a folder of documents on top of the pile already on his desk, and he ignored it in favour of dipping his biscuit in the coffee before sucking off the melted chocolate.

“Can you tell Carrie to come in here when she’s ready?” he said.  “I want to look over the briefing papers again and I could use her input.”

“Sir.”

She went out, and Sutherland ran a hand through his hair, pulling the papers towards himself and trying to take in what was printed there.  He ate the last of the biscuit, hesitated, and then took another, telling himself he could use the energy after pulling an all-nighter.  Tired and worn out my arse!  We’ll see who’s bloody worn out by the end of this!

x

The House of Commons was almost full, MPs clustered together on the benches, staring at him and muttering as he delivered his statement, the odd heckle or roar of approval cutting across the ever-present background noise. Sutherland ignored them, speaking in clipped tones, laying out the facts and avoiding anything extraneous.  He glanced around the chamber as he did so, briefly catching the eye of Belle French, who was staring at him with her mouth twisted and one eyebrow raised, as though she didn’t believe a word he was saying.  It was a little off-putting, and so he looked away again.

“The Minister for Industry and Innovation is in talks with other members of the cabinet and with major stakeholders at this moment,” he said, drawing to a close.  “I’m expecting an update from him in the next few hours, and this Government will keep Honourable Members briefed accordingly.  I have every confidence that the Civil Service will act with its usual expertise and professionalism to make the process as painless as possible for all those affected.”

He sat down, mentally readying himself for a grilling, and the Speaker shouted to be heard above the din.

“Order!” he bellowed.  “There’s a little time remaining for questions, but if you all get over-excited and shout over one another, it’s going to prove difficult for the Prime Minister to answer!  Mr Baron Samdi!”

“Thank you, Mr Speaker.” Samdi stood, suave and immaculate, straightening the cuffs of his shirt as he caught Sutherland’s eye.  “What reassurances can the Prime Minister give those of us with constituencies for which Wolsingham is a major employer that there will not be large-scale job losses?”

Precious little, at the moment.  Sutherland stood up again.

“The viability of the company’s ongoing contracts and the potential for TUPE to apply to firms willing to take them on is under discussion and will form part of the Minister’s initial report,” he said, and sat down abruptly.

“Miss Belle French!”

For fuck’s sake, she gets to ask a question again?  Wouldn’t be surprised if he bloody fancies her, the old bastard!  Sutherland scowled to himself, but tried to smooth his expression as Miss French stood.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” she said.  “There have been rumours circulating about the directors of this firm and potential misconduct in the handling of the firm’s finances and in the running of its business.  Misconduct, Mr Speaker, that touches the lives of millions of taxpayers and service users.  Misconduct that can only be described as contemptible—”

“Order!” shouted the Speaker, as the usual low grumbling increased in volume.  “Perhaps, given the early stage of this affair, the Honourable lady could limit herself to a question to the Prime Minister, rather than a damning indictment?”

Sutherland smirked.

“Thank you, Mr Speaker,” said Miss French, in a flat tone.  “Given the rumours of misconduct, rumours which I attempted very recently to bring to the Prime Minister’s attention, what steps is the Government taking to ensure that the directors are held to account for their actions?”

Sutherland wanted to grind his teeth.  He stood up, gripping the edge of the despatch box to stop his fingers from drumming on it in irritation, and fixed Miss French with a glare which she returned with interest.

“I admire the Honourable lady’s tenacity,” he said dryly.  “I’d like her to rest assured that the Government is not currently in need of her guidance in this matter.  Investigations will be carried out as deemed appropriate by the relevant authorities, misconduct will be reported and acted upon where they see fit, and the Government will act in accordance with any advice received.  If the Honourable lady could remind herself that the company has only just entered liquidation and it’s possibly a little too early to be erecting the scaffold, I’d be eternally grateful.”

A chorus of laughter rolled around the chamber, but he distinctly heard Miss French say “well, that’s bloody deflection, if ever I heard it.”

Her words needled him, but he stepped back from the despatch box, gathering his papers, a strange ringing in his ears that he recognised as growing frustration and anger.  The questions continued, but fortunately the Speaker only allowed another five minutes, so he didn’t have long to suffer.  He could feel Miss French’s eyes on him, and when he happened to glance her way she was glowering.  The questions over, MPs began leaving for lunch, the next debate scheduled for an hour’s time, and he allowed the room to empty a little before marching from the chamber.  Carrie fell into step beside him in the lobby, taking the papers from his hands and tossing her hair.

“Not a disaster, on the whole,” she said.  “I’ve arranged a press conference outside Number 10.  The Minister’s provided a brief update which we can go over in the car.”

“Fine.”

“Prime Minister!”

Sutherland let his head roll back with a rumbling groan at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Just keep fucking walking,” he muttered, and Carrie looked as though she wanted to burst into laughter.

“Prime Minister!”  Tap-tap-tap-tap went her heels as she trotted after him.  “If you have a moment?”

He caught a flash of chestnut hair and a whiff of her perfume as she drew up alongside.  Sutherland sighed.

“Whatever it is, Miss French, you have precisely ten seconds to spit it out,” he said curtly.  “I’m a little busy right now.”

“Fine, then I’ll keep it brief,” she said bluntly.  “I want in on the Wolsingham Committee.”

“The—”  Sutherland stared at her.  “There isn’t a bloody Wolsingham Committee!”

“Oh, so you’re telling me there’s gonna be no public enquiry coming out of this?” she said flatly. “No House Select Committee, no Government scrutiny whatsoever?  Pull the other one, it’s got bloody bells on!”

Sutherland was in parts outraged and impressed by her bravery.

“Miss French, I thought we already discussed your prior dealings with this company and decided that those disqualified you from having any part in Government consideration of its actions.”

“Well, I’d suggest to you that things have changed since the firm went down the toilet and took a bunch of innocent people with it, wouldn’t you agree?” she said tartly.  “At least put me forward for consideration and let someone else who isn’t blinded by prejudice decide whether I’m capable of acting impartially.”

Sutherland stopped abruptly, Miss French taking another step before turning to face him with fire in her eyes.  Carrie had stepped back from them, clutching his briefcase to her chest, her eyes flicking between them avidly.  He felt his jaw clench in outrage at Miss French’s thinly-veiled accusation.

“Are you saying I’m prejudiced?” he demanded.  “Based on what?  My reluctance to be accused of a rigged fucking system?”

“Right…” she drawled, nodding.  “Because it’s not like that exists in public office.  Perish the thought.  Thank goodness the Government is here to preserve public trust...”

“I don’t like your tone, Miss French,” he growled.

“I speak as I find,” she said coldly.  “You know as well as I do that this is an unmitigated disaster and it’s only gonna get worse!  But maybe you don’t care about the little people who get hurt, hmm?  I imagine being Prime Minister, stuck down here at Number 10, it’s easy to get out of touch.”

Sutherland prided himself in his self-control, something he had fought against his naturally volatile nature to address and improve over the years.  It was a mark of how far he had come that he hadn’t cursed anyone out on the floor of the House, in his opinion, but he was tired, and stressed, and so he did something that, looking back later that day, he would not be proud of.  He lost his temper.

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m out of fucking touch and don’t fucking care!” he spat, taking a step forward and wagging an admonitory finger at her.  “When I was working my arse off campaigning for equal pay you were probably at fucking pony club!”

“And what if I was?” she demanded, hands on hips.  “Just because my parents had money, it doesn’t invalidate what I want to do as a public servant!  And - and it doesn’t mean I can’t recognise injustice when it happens to others!”

He growled under his breath, turning away and heading for the entrance, but she followed him relentlessly, getting in front of him again and glaring at him.

“Okay, so I don’t have as many years of service under my belt as you,” she said.  “But then I am somewhat younger than you sir, and I’ve spent most of my life in school and in university!  During which time I also volunteered for Citizens Advice and a local women’s refuge!  Is that enough for you?  Have I earned whatever credentials you think I’m missing?  Or is it the fact that I’m challenging you that you don’t like?”

“Oh, so I’m a fucking misogynist again, am I?” he snapped, drawing to a halt again.  “Take a look at my staff, Miss French!  Take a look at all the women in senior positions in this Government and in Number 10 and tell me I’m a sexist pig, I fucking dare you!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, raising an eyebrow.  “I don’t think you have a problem with women, sir, I think you have a problem with me specifically.”

Sutherland tried to keep his rage internal, swallowing down the waspish retort that had risen in his throat like bile.  He even managed a tiny, bitter smile.

“If you have some sort of complaint about my behaviour, you know the proper channels to go through,” he said, as pleasantly as he could.  “As regards your request about involvement in future committees, put it in writing and my PPS will look it over.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I actually have to go and do some fucking work.  Perhaps you’d be good enough to do the same.”

He stepped past her, quickening his pace, and Carrie trotted at his side, shooting him an amused look as they made their way out into the sunshine.  He could still feel Miss French’s eyes on his back, as though he had a target painted there.  It made his shoulder blades itch.  He was inwardly seething as he walked to the car, and Carrie seemed to sense it, calmly drawing his attention to the briefing paper she had mentioned.  It was a useful distraction, and by the time he reached the podium that had been placed outside Number 10, he was as cool and collected as he could be.  The press conference went well, and when the door of Number 10 was closed on the world, he heaved a sigh, handing his coat and jacket to Alice, who winked at him and promised to bring him some tea.

Sutherland stomped into his office, followed by Carrie, who was smirking slightly, as though she was thinking of a joke she wasn’t about to share. Slumping into his chair, he snatched up a folder of papers that Alice had left on the desk. Reports with one-page briefings attached made up the bulk of it, and he growled under his breath as he saw what he suspected would be the first of many letters from the Honourable Member for Avonleigh, her complaints about the alleged mismanagement of Wolsingham there in black and white.  Snatching up the letter, he shook it at Carrie, who slouched in the chair opposite with a grin still on her face.

“And now I can’t escape the woman even here!” he complained, waving the letter.  “Look!  She’s gonna drive me up the bloody wall!”

“Well, if you let her set the tone of your encounters, that’s certainly true.”

“I don’t understand why we manage to push each other’s buttons so bloody much,” he added.  “I never had this problem with her predecessor.”

“That’s because he was hopeless,” she reminded him.  “Spent most of PMQs snoring on the benches, as I recall.”

That was true, but he grumbled under his breath anyway.

“You think she gets off on making me look an idiot?”

“I think you’re capable of doing that all by yourself,” she said, and he sent her a flat look, which made her sigh and roll her eyes.

“I think she gets off on the challenge,” she said.  “I’d say that you’re fairly evenly matched, on the whole.  Both very intelligent, both very passionate, just with slightly different ways of getting your point across.”

“As in I sound as though I’m shouting outside the factory gates and she sounds like a bloody orator?” he muttered.  “I’m well aware.”

“Well, you never know.”  She winked at him.  “Maybe she likes a bit of rough.”

“I’ll give her a bit of bloody rough,” he growled.

“I expect that’s what she’s hoping,” she said absently, flipping through her papers.  “We won’t say which bit, of course.”

“Remind me why I haven’t fired you?” he demanded, slapping the letter down, and she arched a brow at him.

“Because you think it’s important that people be able to speak truth to power, and you know I’ll always tell you the truth,” she said airily.  “Even if I take the piss while doing it.”

He grumbled at that.  It was accurate, of course.

“What am I gonna do about her?” he asked, and there was a hint of pleading in his voice.  Carrie pursed her lips, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Well,” she said.  “You could try sleeping with her.”

“Carrie!”

“I’m serious!” she protested.  “It’s obvious that you want to.  It’s even more obvious that she wants to.  Why am I the only one saying it?  You know, apart from the rest of the Cabinet, most of the Commons, Special Branch, the tabloid press...”

“That would be a total abuse of power and you know it!”

“Oh, please!”  She sniffed in derision.  “She’s not some gullible young intern gawping at you in awe.  She’s a very intelligent, very competent adult.  And she’s more than capable of handing your delightful arse to you.”

“She’s half my bloody age!” he said, ignoring the comment about his arse.

“Right, because that’s a total barrier to mutual lust…”

“For fuck’s sake...”

“You know I’m right.”

“I know we can barely stay civil when we have a conversation,” he said. “That’s what I know.”

“Yes, you’re both brimming over with passion,” she said absently.  “Go burn some of it off would you?  Preferably together.  Preferably naked.”

“No, I’ve got a better idea.”

“I very much doubt it,” she remarked, and then sighed again as she looked up. “Very well.  What’s your brilliant plan?”

“Easy,” he said.  “I’m gonna give her something to do.”

x

Sutherland took a sip of whisky, scribbling a note on the report in front of him.  The clock on the wall ticked its slow rhythm; it was approaching nine o’clock and most of the staff had left for the day.  Even Arthur had wandered out of the room and left him alone.  He was still expecting a visitor, though.  The business of Government continued.

He finished reading the report, added a final comment, and set it aside just as the clock chimed nine.  Sitting back, he took another sip of whisky, hearing voices outside the door.  He took another sip, draining the glass.  It appeared his visitor had arrived.  A swift knock, and the door opened, Carrie peering around it.

“Miss French to see you, sir,” she said, in a perfectly appropriate tone, which she spoiled entirely by winking at him.  “I was about to get off, but if you want me to stay…”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, in a very even tone.  “I daresay Miss French won’t be here long.  Thank you, Carrie.”

She nodded, disappearing, and Miss French took her place, black skirt and white shirt beneath a neat black jacket, her feet in some of those impossibly high shoes.  She nodded to him cautiously.

“Prime Minister.”

“Well, come in and sit down,” he said impatiently.

She closed the door behind her, crossing to the chair in front of his desk and taking a seat.  He sat back a little, tapping his pen against the papers in front of him as he looked at her, and Miss French pursed her lips.

“Am I to be reprimanded?” she asked lightly, and he raised a brow.

“For what?”

“For chewing you out in the corridors of power,” she said dryly.  “For not knowing my place, whatever.”

He rolled the pen between thumb and forefinger, raising a brow.

“You think I brought you here to chastise you, is that it?”

A slight blush bloomed in her cheeks, and he wondered what she was thinking.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Although I guess if you were going to do something, it would have been earlier, right?”

He allowed himself a tiny smile.

“Miss French, if you think that was the worst thing that’s ever been said to me in the Houses of Parliament, you’re very much mistaken.”

“Guess I’ll need to try harder.”

She smiled a little, to take the edge off, and he grinned, jerking his head towards the cabinet.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Are we celebrating something?”

“No,” he said tersely.  “But I’m gonna pour myself one, and I’m being fucking polite.  D’you want one or not?”

She eyed him, lips pursed.

“Okay.”

He got up, taking his empty glass to the cabinet and taking out another.

“Whisky?”

“Thank you.”

He poured two glasses, turning with them in his hands.  Miss French had stood up, and perched herself on the edge of his desk again, knees crossed, one foot bouncing a little as she watched him.  The light gleamed on her curls, shining waves of mahogany resting on her shoulders.  He wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

“No Arthur this evening?” she asked.  He handed her a drink, trying not to glance at her perfect legs.

“He wandered off an hour ago.  I should think he’s already gone to curl up on the bed.”

“Hmm.”  She took a sip, still watching him.  “Lucky Arthur.”

Her eyes held his, and he licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry.  He wanted to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.  He took a sip of his drink as he tried to collect his thoughts, and Miss French came to his rescue by speaking first.

“Do you always work so late?”

“Not always,” he said, and shrugged.  “Sometimes later.”

She smiled a little.

“Long days, then,” she said.  “Longer nights, perhaps.”

She took another sip, eyes fixed on his, and he licked his lips again.  He was nervous, he realised, and it was an unfamiliar feeling, if not entirely unpleasant.

“Country doesn’t run itself, unfortunately,” he added.  “There’s a reason every Prime Minister rapidly goes grey.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” she said.  “You look very distinguished.”

“That’s a kind way of saying knackered.”

She grinned at that.

“Well, you know what they say about all work and no play...”

“I know,” he sighed.  “Ridiculously long work days and no personal life to speak of.  I’m sure I must seem very boring to you.”

“Quite the contrary.”  She tilted her head a little, looking him over.  “I’m sure you can be very interesting indeed when it suits you.”

Her gaze was weighing, measuring, as though she was peeling off his clothing layer by layer to reveal the true man beneath.  It was a little unnerving.

“I hope you find time for - leisure,” he said awkwardly, and her lips pursed, her eyes sparkling.

“I can keep myself amused.”

Her gaze was making his skin tingle, and he began pacing, head turned away from her a little.  The silence between them stretched and grew, making his heart thump and his breath quicken.  He heard her shift a little on the desk, the soft swish of smooth skin against skin as she uncrossed her legs.  The sound made his breath catch, and he took a sip of whisky to cover it.

“Why am I here, sir?” she asked.

Her voice was calm, her tone mellow.  He could feel her eyes on him, tracing a line of heat down his spine and making him shudder.  Turning to face her, he took a deep breath, raising his glass.

“I thought perhaps we could clear the air,” he said.

Miss French sucked her teeth, looking thoughtful, and nodded as she crossed her legs again.

“Alright,” she said.  “That seems like something two mature adults would do, doesn’t it?”

“I was thinking we might have a calm and rational discussion,” he added.  “No one raising their voice, yelling or swearing.”

“By no one, I take it you mean you.”

Sutherland grimaced.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you earlier,” he admitted.  “I’m not proud of it, and I’d like to think it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I should think it’s almost inevitable,” she said.  “But is that a bad thing?  To give one’s passion free rein?”

She had raised her chin a little, one dark brow arching, lips a little pursed, and for a brief, distracting moment he wondered what other passions she had.  How else she might give in to them.  He shook his head, dispelling the images just starting to form, and stepped back on one foot, taking his weight on his heel as he looked her over.

“You and I appear to have an - antagonistic - relationship,” he remarked.

“Yes,” she said.  “I get on your tits, to use the vernacular.  You already told me that.”

She took a sip of her drink, eyes fixed on his, crossed leg swinging at the foot a little.  He could feel his breath quicken a little as she raised her head.

“If it makes you feel any better, you get on mine,” she added.

He was aware that his eyes had automatically dropped to her chest, where high, firm breasts pushed against her white shirt.  A brief image flashed into his mind, her shirt open, breasts bare as his hands gripped and squeezed, as his mouth and tongue sought hard pink nipples.  Swallowing hard and trying to ignore the sudden swelling of his cock in his pants, he dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.  Miss French smiled a little, a slow curve of her berry-stained lips and a knowing glint in her eyes as her foot bounced a little quicker.

“Well, be that as it may,” he managed.  “I’m sure we can work together to get past it.”

“I’m sure we can,” she said.  “Is this an offer of peace, then?”

“It’s an offer of work.”

Her smile grew.

“That’s a start, I suppose.”

“I’ve had some preliminary reports out of Arendelle Town Council,” he began, desperately hoping his rising arousal would dissipate.  “Perhaps you’ve heard the stories circulating in the press?”

She looked curious.

“I’ve heard as much as everyone else, I suspect.”

“Turns out there’s truth in them.”

“How much truth?” she asked.

“That’s what we need to find out,” he said, pacing again.  “I’m convening a committee to investigate potential large-scale negligence on the part of social services and the police.  I understand that you have a particular interest in women’s safety and child protection, so I’d like you to be part of it.”

A smile was already spreading across her face, her eyes widening.

“It’ll mean spending a lot of time in the constituency itself,” he added.  “I’m afraid that will mean reduced time in your own constituency, and in Parliament, but I want first-hand accounts from those involved before any hearings are chaired.”

“An unusual job for an MP,” she observed.

“Well, I want someone I can trust to oversee the investigations,” he said.  “Should be a good opportunity for you, and I have every confidence that you’ll do a first-rate job.”

“Thank you for your support, Prime Minister.”  Her tone was dry, and he turned to face her again, a frown already drawing his brows down.

“Is there something wrong with my offer?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said blandly.  “I’m sure this long-distance placement absolutely needs my feet on the ground in Arendelle and couldn’t possibly be done remotely.”

“I realise it’s a little unorthodox,” he said.  “But I feel it’s the right choice.”

“Is it?”  She pursed her lips.  “Because it seems like a good way to keep me out of your sight for a considerable time.  Getting me off your tits, as it were.”

“It’s a job that needs doing!” he insisted.  “I thought you’d welcome it!  I never thought that by offering it up I’d be accused of - of - what is it I’m being accused of, anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, looking irritated.  “I think we could work well together, but I get the impression you don’t like me too much.”

“Really?” He chuckled hollowly, taking a sip of his drink. “And here you’ve gone out of your way to endear yourself to me.  Can you imagine…”

“Oh, I’m well aware I can be a pushy pain in the arse,” she said impatiently. “That’s how I got here.  That’s how all of us got here, isn’t it?”

He supposed that was true.

“It’s just that you seem to have some difficulty being around me at times, like - like you find me repulsive or something,” she went on.  “Am I repulsive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped.  “You’re bloody gorgeous, and—”

He clamped his mouth shut, swallowing what he had been about to say, but Miss French smiled, looking deeply satisfied.

“Well,” she said.  “So it isn’t that.  How interesting.”

She picked up her drink, still smirking, and took a sip.  Silence had fallen, a strange, heavy atmosphere making his skin tingle.  He took a drink to give himself something to do, his mind working overdrive as he tried to think of a way to take back what he had said without looking like a total idiot, or worse, a total creep.  Miss French was watching him over the rim of her glass, eyes dark beneath thick lashes, and she lowered the glass, the tip of her tongue sweeping across her lips.  She set down her drink on the desk, bracing herself on the palms of her hands as she raised her chin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, having regained the power of speech.  “That was inappropriate.  I never meant to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” she said abruptly.  “It’s actually quite reassuring.”

“Reassuring?”

“Well, you’ve admitted you find me attractive,” she said.  “I was beginning to think all the hints I dropped were a waste of time.”

Sutherland blinked.

“Hints?”

Miss French tossed her dark curls, licking her lips as she uncrossed her legs.

“Perhaps I was being too subtle,” she said.

Her voice had lowered a little, grown smoky, sultry.  It made desire tug at him, a low-down pull in his groin as his cock twitched.  He took a drink to cover it, his eyes not leaving hers.

“Miss French—”

“You can call me Belle,” she interrupted.

He spoke her name in a whisper, the word ghosting over his lips, flowing from his mouth into the air, as though he were casting a spell, and her smile flickered into life again.

“We’re two adults,” she said.  “Two adults who had the ambition to get where we are and who know their own worth.  I think we can be honest with one another, don’t you?”

“I would hope so.”

“Good.”  She reached out, taking the glass from his hand and setting it next to hers.  Her eyes met his again, her lips moist from the touch of her tongue. “So. I find you attractive, you find me attractive.  It’s out in the open, no more awkwardness required.  Are you going to kiss me?”

He was beginning to think this was all a strange and vivid dream, and bit the inside of his cheek to prove otherwise.

“Do you want me to?”

Belle rolled her eyes.

“Definitely too subtle,” she sighed.  “Yes, I want you to.  But perhaps you should make sure we’re not disturbed first.”

His breath had quickened, his heart thumping and a high ringing in his ears as the clock on the wall ticked away, and he walked over to the door in a trance. Opening it up, he glanced outside, and caught the eye of the nearest Special Branch officer.

“Absolutely no visitors for the next half hour,” he said.  “Unless someone starts a fucking war, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Understood, sir,” said the man, his face perfectly clear of any expression.

Sutherland nodded.

“And - and even if someone does start a fucking war,” he added, “knock first, got it?”

“Understood, sir.”

Sutherland grimaced as he shut the door.  He hadn’t been kidding when he said they knew how to keep their mouths shut.  Bloody good job.  He turned around, heart still thudding in his chest as he walked back to the desk.

“They won’t let anyone in,” he said, his voice echoing strangely in his ears.

“Good.”

Belle raised her chin a little, shaking back dark, shining curls as he stepped closer, and he reached out to put his hands on her knees.  Her skin was cool and smooth as silk, and his hands spread out and slowly pushed upwards, the fine wool of her skirt bunching and rising, exposing long, pale thighs.  Fingers slipped down between her legs, slowly pulling them apart, and he stepped closer, in between her knees.  Belle’s breath was coming faster, her chest heaving, and he raised his eyes to hers as he shifted closer, their noses almost touching.  He could feel her cool breath against his lips, and for a moment he paused, gazing into wide blue eyes as his desire flared upwards, raging through him like fire ready to burst from his mouth, until he bent his head and captured her lips with his.

She opened for him, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she inhaled sharply, fingers sliding in through the short strands of his hair and making him shudder with pleasure.  Belle let out a tiny moan as his tongue stroked hers, and he answered her with a deep, rumbling groan at the sweet taste of her.  His fingers flicked open the button of her jacket, hands dropping to cup her breasts and squeeze before sliding down and around to grasp her rear and tug her towards him.  Her knees rose up, legs wrapping around him, thighs gripping his hips as he pressed up against her, his cock already hard.

Her hands slid from his hair, over his shoulders, raking his back through the jacket, and he deepened the kiss, his hands squeezing her as he ground against her.  The feel of it sent bursts of pleasure through him, desire that had lain dormant for what seemed like years surging through his body.  He wanted to feel every bit of her, to slide a hand between her legs and push his fingers deep inside her, to tug aside her underwear and bury his cock in her and fuck her hard.  The kiss grew rough and messy, and he pulled back a little, breathing hard, catching her gaze for the briefest of moments before he lifted his hands to sink into her hair and kissed her again.

Her arms had disappeared from around him, and she shrugged off the jacket, letting it drop onto his desk.  Desperate fingers clawed at the knot of his tie, working it open and dragging it from his throat, then dropped to his shirt, tugging at buttons and flicking them open.  He worked on her own shirt, breaking the kiss to press his forehead to hers so that he could see what his shaking hands were doing.  Buttons sprung open, revealing the pale mounds of her breasts cupped by white lace.  She shrugged out of the shirt, sending it to join her jacket, and he slipped his thumbs beneath the straps of her bra, tugging it down her arms, the cups falling down to reveal firm breasts with taut pink nipples.  She was beautiful.  She was perfect.  And she was half-naked on his desk.

He bent his head to her, sucking a nipple in between his lips, and Belle arched her back with a moan, fingernails scoring his scalp and making him growl.  Her skin tasted very faintly of vanilla lotion and salt, and he sucked at her, tongue scraping over the peak of her nipple.  He wanted to taste all of her, to spread her out on his bed and take his time uncovering every inch of that milky skin, to slip his tongue into the heat and wetness between her legs and lick her to a screaming climax and suck the cum from her.  But he was hard and desperate and it had been too bloody long for niceties.  Perhaps she’d come up with him.  After.

His hands shifted, pushing beneath her skirt again, bunching it up around her waist as his fingers sought the waistband of her underwear.  He tugged it down, Belle shifting to help him get it off, and he let her breast slip from his mouth, stepping back from her and drawing the little thong down her thighs to fall off at her feet.  Belle kicked off her shoes, leaning back on the desk a little, her chest heaving as her eyes met his, heat in her gaze.

“Touch me!” she whispered.

He kissed her again, one arm going around her waist and tugging her closer as he reached between her legs, touching hot, wet flesh.  She was soft as silk, slippery with her juices, and he groaned into her mouth as his fingers rubbed over her, feeling the tiny bud of her clit.  Belle moaned, fingers clutching at his shoulders, and he stroked her slowly, teasing her entrance with a finger before pushing inside.  She pulled her mouth from his with a whining gasp, head rolling back, and he kissed down her neck, sucking at her skin as his finger pushed deep.  His thumb rubbed over her clit as he thrust, and Belle arched her back, hands stroking through his hair and sending shivers through him as she opened her legs a little wider.

“God, that’s good!” she breathed.  “So good!”

He bit down into her neck, making her let out a tiny cry, and added a second finger, thrusting in and out of her, his palm wet from her arousal.  His mouth found her ear, and he felt her shudder, a ripple of pleasure running through her.  He could hear her ragged breathing, could feel her hips rocking as he pushed and slid and rubbed, the pad of his thumb flickering over slippery flesh.  Belle’s fingers had twisted in the short strands of his hair, her nose grazing his jawline as she put her mouth to his throat, and he let out a groan, feeling her soft, wet tongue stroke up his neck.  She nipped at him, leaning back a little to gaze at him with a dark hunger before she lunged to kiss him again.

He inhaled deeply as his tongue pushed into her mouth, wrapping around hers, his fingers buried in her to the knuckles.  She kissed him hungrily, nails scraping his scalp, her thighs gripping his sides.  A long, low moan made her break the kiss, taking panting breaths as she pressed her brow to his.  His cock was hard and straining in his pants, and he yearned to free it, to slide deep inside her and feel her all around him.  Belle was letting out tiny moans, still rocking her hips in a steady rhythm, and he timed his thrusts to match, fingers rigid, thumb loose.  He could feel her body growing taut, her moans increasing in volume, and she let out a loud cry as she came.

He thought it was perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, her back arching and head rolling back, her dark curls shaking out behind her, gleaming in the light.  She let her hands drop from his hair, bracing on the desk beside her as she tried to catch her breath.  Her chest was heaving, perfect breasts bouncing, her nipples dark from the pressure of his mouth and her pale skin marked with tiny pink patches.  He could feel her gripping him, slick with her cum, and her eyes flickered open as he slowly drew out his fingers.  Her scent was everywhere, sweet musk that made him want to lie her down and devour her.  He sucked her juices from his fingers, salt on his tongue, his own breathing ragged.

Belle opened heavy-lidded eyes, a slow smile curving her mouth.  Her lips were full and dark, glistening with saliva, and he watched as the tip of her tongue swept across them.  He dropped his hands to her hips, leaning in to press his brow against hers, to find a moment of stillness as they each let their breathing steady.  Belle let out a sigh, a shuddering, contented sound, breath cool against his lips, and reached up to stroke her fingers through his hair.  Her nose brushed against his, and he felt the urge to kiss her again, to explore her sweet mouth with his tongue.

He cupped a breast, squeezing gently as he nudged at her nose with his, moving her head a little so that his lips could meet hers.  Belle moaned, opening her mouth, her tongue stroking, the kiss growing messy.  His hands slipped down to her rear, tugging her against him, and he let out a rumbling groan as he rubbed against her, inwardly cursing the barrier of his suit pants between them.  Belle undulated, breasts pushing against his chest, thighs gripping him tightly, and his tongue swept across hers, his cock hard, his balls aching.

She pulled back with a wet, sucking sound as their lips parted, her chest heaving and her eyes dark with desire as her hands braced on the desk.

“Fuck me!” she whispered, and launched herself at him, slipping from the desk and pushing him down on the carpet.

He hit the floor with a grunt, a rush of air leaving his lungs and his head thumping against the thick carpet pile as Belle landed on his chest.  She pushed open his shirt and began kissing her way down, sucking at his nipples and making him groan with pleasure as jolts of sensation went through him.  It had been so long he had almost forgotten how good it could feel to have someone, to be with someone.  Too long.

He reached up to stroke his fingers through her soft curls, enjoying the feel of her lips against his skin, and Belle let her tongue trail in circles as she made her way down over his belly.  Sutherland closed his eyes, hearing the thud of his pulse in his ears and the clink of his belt as she tugged at it.  He smiled a little, feeling her hands get his pants open, and lifted his hips so that she could pull them down along with his underwear.  Belle let out a hum of appreciation, and he opened one eye a crack to see her looking him over.  And then she bent her head to draw her tongue up the length of his cock, and he lost the last shreds of anything that might have been called reason.

Belle took him in hand, lifting him up and taking him in between her lips before sucking him in deep, and he arched upwards with a long, low groan at the feel of her.  She sucked hard, moving with a slow rhythm, lips sliding up and down his length and making stars dance behind his eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he gasped.

He felt her smile as her tongue stroked over the head, sending pulses of pleasure rippling through his body.  Over and over it circled, the sensations building, making his body grow taut, his muscles straining.

“Belle!” he groaned.  “Oh God, please!”

She let him slip from her mouth, sliding up his body with a triumphant grin on her face, and he gasped for breath as she straddled him, hands bracing on his belly, his cock pressed against her wet heat.  Her skirt was still pushed up around her waist, the bra bunched around the waistband, and he watched as she unhooked it and tossed it aside.  She was pressed against him, every movement a delicious agony, and he yearned to get inside her, to sink deep into her.  Belle took a deep breath, fixing her eyes on his, and smiled softly.

“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded.

He reached between them, taking himself in hand, using his other to stroke through her wet flesh, teasing, probing.  Belle moaned, shaking back her hair as his fingers found her entrance, and he slipped two inside her, pushing in up to the knuckles, making her moans grow louder.  She was hot and slippery-wet, soaking his fingers, so he drew them out, lining them up so that she could lift her hips a little and sink down onto him.  He let out a low groan as she took him deep, scalding wet flesh closing up around him, a velvet glove surrounding him.

Belle stilled for a moment, breathing hard, hands splayed on his belly, and her eyes found his, her gaze intense.  She began to move, hips rocking gently, letting him slip out a little way before taking him back inside, and he pushed up into a sitting position, one arm snaking around her waist to hold her tight against him as he kissed her.  She clutched at his shoulders, her movements increasing, and he moved in time with her, thrusting upwards, pushing deep. The friction was incredible, the tug and pull of her flesh against his, and he reached up to cup her face, lips pushing hers open, tongue stroking inside. Belle moaned into his mouth, the sound a frantic whimper, and he quickened the pace of his thrusts, hips bucking, their bodies rubbing together.  Her nails dug into his shoulders, her body stiffening, and she pulled her mouth from his with a cry as she came, clenching around him, heat and wetness flooding over him.

He fell backwards with a gasp, back arching as he thrust up inside her, the sensations building inside him, a rising wave of bliss.  Belle was still moaning and jerking, and he slid his hands up her thighs to grasp her hips, holding her close against him as he thrust.  The wave surged, crashing through him, and he let out a loud groan of pleasure as he came, bright lights bursting behind his eyes, electricity coursing through his body as his cock spurted deep inside her.  It felt so good he wanted to burst out laughing, and he slumped against the carpet, every inch of his skin tingling.

For a moment there was no sound but for their own heavy breathing and Belle’s contented little moans, and he took several deep breaths to steady himself.  His heart was thudding hard in his chest, sweat beading on his upper lip, and he raised a shaking hand to run a palm over his face, inhaling the scent of Belle’s pleasure as he did so.  Belle let out a low giggle, leaning forwards a little as he opened his eyes.

“You see?” she murmured.  “We work very well together.”

He chuckled at that, reaching up to kiss her before letting his head thump onto the carpet with a satisfied groan.  Belle leaned forward, folding her arms across his chest and resting her chin on them as she eyed the door.

“You realise Special Branch probably heard everything,” she said.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Probably less than it bothers them.”

She giggled, eyes sparkling, and pushed up on her hands a little, looking him over.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say our professional relationship is ruined,” she remarked.

“Given the dreadful state it was in, that can only be a good thing.”

She giggled again, and he reached up to push a stray curl of hair behind her ear.  A feeling of contentment was stealing over him, the heat and bliss of his orgasm mellowed into something pleasantly lazy.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” he asked, and she raised her head, pursing her lips.

“Upstairs?”

“The private apartments are very nice,” he said.  “And very private.”

“Hmm.”  She pursed her lips.  “Is that where Arthur’s curled up on the bed?”

“Well, I was thinking we could politely ask him to leave.”

She giggled.

“For awhile, at least,” she said.  “I don’t mind cats being on the bed.”

“Nor do I, as a rule,” he said.  “As long as there’s no other company, of course.”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?”

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”

“I’d have to leave first thing,” she said.  “Need to get home to feed my own cats.”

“I’ll have a car take you,” he offered.

“A very early start, then.”

“Not too early,” he said.  “We’ll have breakfast first.”

“Most important meal of the day.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he growled.  “I can think of a few other things I’d like to eat.”

Belle giggled again, fingers tracing patterns on his skin.

“And you’re hungry, are you?”

“Starving.”

She leaned in to kiss him again, lips pulling at his before she sat back.

“Harder to sneak me past the press pack in the daylight,” she observed.

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” he said.  “Will you stay?”

She eyed him for a moment, then smiled, a wide, beautiful smile that made his heart clench.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Yes, I’ll stay as long as you like.”

She pushed up, mouth finding his, and he let his hands sink into her hair as he rolled her onto her back.  As long as I like?  That could be a very long time.

[kelkat9]

Groceries

Title: Groceries

Author: @kelkat9

Pairing:  Nine/Rose

Rating: Teen

Genre: Separated from the TARDIS, Blink AU

Part of Unexpected Domestics Series

Summary:  Rose, Jack and the Doctor have to survive with no TARDIS, no resources and a vague idea how they’ll get home after a run in with the stone angels.  The day has come for the Doctor to step up and do his part of domestics.

AO3 Link

“Here’s the grocery list.” Rose thrust her hand forward, scribbled scrap of paper shoved in the Doctor’s face.

“What do you expect me to do with that?” He barely glanced up from the spread of mechanical parts on the rickety wood coffee table.  Rose thought she might have detected something that looked like part of the transistor radio Jack bought last week.  Not a good sign.

“I expect you to do the shopping,” Rose shook the paper, glancing at the round vintage wall clock.  Well, vintage to her but this was 1969.  “I’ve got to leave or I’ll be late for work.”  She tossed the shopping list until it fluttered into the middle of his half-built device.  Followed by an envelope with currency, all she could spare.

“Send Jack.”

Rose pinched the bridge of her nose.  He’d been hiding out in their tiny one bedroom flat for days now working on his temporal detector thinga-ma-jig.

“He’s at work.  We’re out of milk, tea and anything edible.”

“I’m busy.  We have to be ready for anyone else that comes through and shopping, Rose?”  He snorted, aiming his sonic at the metal parts until they sparked.  “Domestics.” He spit the oh so familiar word out and shattered Rose’s last nerve.

She shifted the strap of her purse and straightened her sleeveless sheath, a pretty yellow dress with white daisies, the latest fashion.  Her manager had given her a few outfits to model and sell at the shop.  Rose was only too happy to help.  Someone other than Jack needed to support them and it wasn’t going to be the Doctor.

“It’s shopping. Not having the neighbors for tea which we can’t because we don’t have food.  I suggest you get over it.” she didn’t hold back. None of them had the luxury of ego.  She glanced again at the clock, backing toward the door, nearly tripping over a destroyed vacuum in her chunky heeled knee-high boots.  “Especially if you want to eat tonight.”

“Can’t you pick it up on the way home.” Another annoyed Time Lord snit and a slight whinge entered his voice.

“My manager offered me overtime.  We need the money if we want a roof over our heads or stuff for you to build your thing.”  Rose wasn’t being dramatic.  Jack made decent wages at the club but starting out fresh with no TARDIS or resources meant they were strapped for cash.  Rose’s stomach rumbled in emphasis.

The Doctor’s head snapped up.

“There’s small market down the block.  May not be the market on Rooglavik IV but it has the basics.  Go in, buy the stuff on the list, pay and come home.  Besides, you need to get out for a bit.”  She eyed the yellow light glowing against the avocado carpet, a stale scent in the air making her only to happy to head to her job even if it was back in a shop selling clothes instead of saving the universe.

“When did you eat last?” The Doctor stood up, grabbing the list and stuffing it into his coat pocket, before marching over to Rose, his face softening as he moved in front of her.

“I’m all right.  I’ve got a couple of biscuits stuffed in my purse,” Rose promised patting her handbag.  He bore enough guilt over the whole stone angel debacle that brought them here.

“No, you’re not.”  His hand cupped her cheek and Rose melted into him.  It was his secret power, low Northern burr and calloused fingers caressing her cheek.

“Doctor.” One word that she breathed out like a love song.  She denied it was.  “We’ll be okay.”  She stepped into his arms, pressing her nose into his leather clad chest before tipping her head to meet piercing blue eyes.  “I know you’ll get us home.  It’s just we all have to pull together and sometimes you have to go out, explore, mingle with the natives, use the wrong verbs.”  She grinned repeating back to him what he once said to her.

A brilliant smile lit his face.

“I’ll see you tonight.” She pecked his cheek, leaving a smudge of red lipstick which she smeared into a rosy glow on his cheek. “Try to stay out of trouble, yeah.  We don’t have bail money.”  She backed out as he rolled his eyes.

“Expert time traveler me.”

Rose slipped out groaning.  Expert time traveler and trouble magnet.  A lot more than he accused her of.

Later that night, after a day of feet aching and not having eaten more than crisps, a soda and cheese sandwich her coworker shared with her, Rose arrived home hoping for real food.  She found the flat quiet.  Too quiet.  But with the soft glow from the sofa lamp illuminating a metallic device that certainly looked like it detected something. Or blew up stuff.  One never knew around the Doctor.

“Jack?  Doctor?”

No answer.  Never a good sign.  Her heart skipped a beat in panic.  Her one fear was being stuck here alone. Rose dropped her purse, inhaling a deep calming breath fighting back the panic and that’s when the most incredible scent in the universe slammed into her.

“Chips.”  Like a zombie drawn to brains, she moved toward the kitchen.  Yeah, she really needed to not think about zombies.  Wasn’t Night of the Living Dead set in the 60s? Did they talk about zombies in 1969?  Pondering anachronisms, she walked into the kitchen to find the Doctor, greasy paper bags and paper plates laid out with fried fish, chips, and bananas.

A giggle burst out.

“Your list was rubbish.  Like I don’t know what my companions need.” Rose raced into his arms, hugs being her current favorite thing.  They always were with him.  Especially with leather clad arms wrapped around her.

Being cut off from everything, her mum, Mickey, the TARDIS and protecting the charge on her mobile for emergencies, hugs were part of survival.

“Thank you.”  Rose caught a glance of tins stacked in a cabinet along with some dried goods, bread and God was that jammy dodgers?  She should ask where he got enough cash to buy all this.  But right now, a hot meal came first.

He shuffled her out to the living room before she could say another word.  Shoving aside metal shavings, screws, glass tubes and wires, they sat together on the sofa, digging into their meal.

“Where’s Jack?” she mumbled around a delicious piece of fish, just the right amount of crispy batter.

The Doctor snorted.  “Date, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“Good for Jack.  At least he’s making the best of it.  Just like we are.”  She hummed and licked her fingers before bumping her shoulder into his.

“I suppose.” He drew out the word in that low not entirely believable tone.  Rose sighed, shoved another chip in her mouth before reaching for the bottle of beer sitting on the table.

“Course we are.  We got here, found shelter, made local connections and got to work.  Look at us now.  You’ve got your time thingy.  We know from meeting Sally Sparrow at least part of what happens is meeting some bloke from the future who’s sent back and is gonna help us.  May not know when but that’s part of the fun.”

“You and I have two different ideas of fun.  Fun Rose Tyler, is taking you to the banana festival on Phenor.  Stuck in a flat on Earth in 1969 Walthamstow with substandard tea on a squeaky sofa is not.”  He bounced up and down making said sofa squeak.

Rose choked down a swallow of ale before curling her legs under her and snuggling up to his side.  Another salty chip in her grasp.

“May not be a banana festival.”  She popped the chip in her mouth enjoying her treat.  “Or on a fantastic time ship but it’s not so bad.”

“It’s worse than I thought.”  He pressed cool fingers against her forehead and she grinned around another chip and grabbed his wrist.

“We’re safe.  Fed. And Together.”  She punctuated each word with a kiss before lacing her fingers through his noting how he swallowed hard and his lips parted ever so slightly.

“There are bananas in the kitchen,” she continued pleased at his reaction.  “And My Favorite Martian is about to come on the telly.” She inclined her head to their still intact small black and white tube television. At least he hadn’t gotten to that yet.  Or had he…

She eyed him staring at her, not flinching in fact, there was an intent look on his face.

“Did you sonic the telly?” The question spilled out before she could stop herself.  His lips twitched and his eyes developed that I’m so fantastic twinkle.

“Do you still trust me?”

“With my life.  And apparently my telly on date night.”

His face froze and he snatched the beer bottle, throat working until he drained it much to her amusement.

“Date, this isn’t… I mean dating is a lot more than this.  Especially for you.  And don’t let Jack try and tell you anything else.  You deserve better.”

“You took me for adventures in your time ship.  Met my mum.  Got slapped by her and still took me off. Bought me a flat and dinner.  Now we’re watching telly.  Best date of my life.  Now, that’s out of the way.  What are you showing me on the telly that’s better than My Favorite Martian or Time Traveling Alien?”   Gauntlet thrown.  If Rose was stuck on repressed Earth working in a shop having to control every instinct to lecture patriarchal idiots, she was setting things straight with the Doctor.

An unusual silence permeated the flat before he set the beer bottle down with a thump.

“You could do better.”

“Maybe, but I like what I’ve got right here.  Now you gonna sonic the telly or what?”  He stretched out, boots propped on the messy electronics covered coffee table.  With flourish he aimed the sonic at the television which flickered to life.

“Blastonik Corvack.  Alien Disney.  To be specific, Escape from Witch Mountain which doesn’t appear on Earth until 1975.”

“That’s not you preparing me to run from the evil government agency tracking us down to this flat is it?” Rose wiggled her toes still sore from work.  She wasn’t keen on a run for her life tonight.

“Hardly.  Even if they did, there’s the inklings of UNIT about.  Remember?”

“Yeah, they tried to kill you.  Along with a bunch of Slitheen.”

“Not in 1969.  They’re just getting wind of me. And there’s no sign of anything alien around here except me.  Just boring suburban London.  Now do you want to watch the film?”

Rose settled back, not entirely satisfied.  After all this was the Doctor and them.  Aliens tended to happen around them.  Along with evil organizations or those intent on taking over Earth.

“Far be it from me to ruin date night.  Go on then.  Impress me.”  She grabbed her chips, happily snuggled to his side.  His arm wrapped around her shoulders and soon they were both immersed in the English version of squid-like youths in a very Disney like film running for their lives and standing up against evil government types.”

1969 wasn’t all that bad after all.  Maybe she should send him to the store more often if it got her date night and snuggle on the sofa.

[avengerofyourheart]

Flour Girl {6} (Bucky x reader AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky (Jimmy), Wanda.

Summary: Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you’re distracted by a secret admirer…But who is he? (Inspired by “You’ve Got Mail”, Enemies to Lovers)

Warnings: none! Mild swearing?

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: She’s ready to fight!!! Are you ready? ;) There’s a bit more about the actual baking process in this part. I’m toying with the idea of sharing recipes or maybe doing short videos while making some of the yummy things I’ve mentioned. Let me know if that is of interest! And I’d love to hear your thoughts on this part, all feedback is appreciated and adored! Thank you alll for your love and support. I love you.<3

<<Part 5   Part 6   Part 7>> 

Flour Girl Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

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(**gif is not a representation of the reader, only the act of kneading dough**)

Recipe development was always one of your favorite parts of the job. Inventing some new product that no one else had thought of, testing it out, and then tasting the end result was a satisfying process. Baking was a science and in order for it all to come together, you had to have the right ingredients in the correct amounts. Some people struggled with baking because it required more attention to detail and a lot of patience. You loved it though, every bit of it. Ever since you started making cookies in your mother’s kitchen as a young girl, you felt at home.

In order to avoid wasting time and ingredients, you grabbed a few of your current recipes and took them back to your desk to formulate a plan. After about 20 minutes, you decided to modify a scone recipe and a filled croissant. Having written down your adjustments, you grabbed your bag and told Wanda you’d be back shortly before walking down the street to the market.

Stepping inside the store, you felt your stomach clench at the memory of the last time you were there, that night when you’d run into Jimmy. It was mid-morning, though, and the chances of having a repeat interaction were slim to none. Fetching a basket, you walked down the aisle and selected the ingredients you had in mind before stopping at the cheese department and then checking out.

Back at the bakery, you set out your savory ingredients and got to work. You already had a sweet scone that was selling well in your pastry case. The flavor pairing of tart, zesty orange and rich dark chocolate pieces filling the scone and then drizzled with an orange glaze after baking made for a tantalizing treat.

English scones were much like a crumpet or a buttermilk biscuit, but a little more complex. For the savory version you had in mind, you weighed out your dry ingredients like flour, baking powder, and salt, but reducing the amount of sugar so the other flavors would be more prominent. Cutting up the butter into small cubes, you mixed them into the flour until the butter pieces were the size of peas. Next you slowly added the heavy cream and egg mixed together until it became a dough. Last came the sun-dried tomatoes and cubes of Havarti cheese that would bubble and melt to perfection in the oven. The thought of it made your mouth water.

You turned out the dough onto a floured surface and kneaded it with your hands a few times before patting it into a circle and then cutting that into triangles. You placed each one on a baking sheet, brushed them with cream and sprinkled coarse salt on top before sliding them into the oven. Washing your hands, you cleaned up the table and checked in on Wanda before starting your next project.

The filled croissant combination seemed a little odd, but if it worked out, the taste would be divine. Plucking the pears from your grocery bag, you peeled one of them, halved it, removed the seeds, and then began to slice it thinly. After rolling out a piece of croissant dough and cutting it into long triangles, you spread a small amount of spicy mustard on the wider side, placed a slice of smoked gouda cheese over that, and then layered the thin slices of pear on top. Carefully, you rolled up the croissant and placed it on a baking sheet.

It was easier to adjust and experiment with the croissants, since they were rolled individually. You put more cheese in some, more pears in others and then did a few without the mustard, in case the taste was too overwhelming. You wrote the contents of each one on a piece of parchment in black marker and then brushed them with an egg wash before baking. As the timer went off for the scones, the croissants were ready to go in.

You waited a few minutes before trying the scones and as you glanced at the clock, you were surprised so much time had passed. Caught up in your new experiments, it was a shock to realize it was almost lunchtime. Your internal clock was out of whack anyway, given your extra early wake up call this morning. Just then, your phone chimed so you pulled it out and woke up the screen.

A text from “B”. Seeing the initial pop up on your phone made you smile, and just like this morning, there was an attachment. He seemed to be respecting your desire to keep your interactions anonymous, so you weren’t expecting a selfie or anything. However, you also weren’t expecting a picture of a slice of pizza with the sign for Ruby Rosa’s Pizza. The caption read “Best slice in the city.”

Grinning with a bite of your lip, you pulled up the keyboard to respond.

FG: I might have to fight you on that. Their sauce is much too sweet. I prefer Capizzi’s.

“B” replied with an emoji of a shocked expression with a hand on each cheek.

B: You can’t be serious. Their crust is all wrong! I really thought we could still be friends after the whole Beatles/Stones debacle but this might be the last straw…

Letting out a chuckle you, rested your hip against the table and replied.

FG: If that’s how it is, then so be it. I stand by my pizza. You and your sugary sauce deserve each other. I should have known you’d love it, considering your THREE SUGARS in your coffee.

Those three dots appeared and lingered for a few minutes, so you took that time to taste one of your scones. They were delicious and just as you had hoped, the melted cheese had created delectable little pockets of gooey-ness in the scone, but the sun-dried tomato flavor was much too subtle. It would take at least one more adjusted batch to get it right. You weren’t surprised; sometimes you had to re-make something five times before the recipe was perfect.

B’s response finally arrived.

B: Whew. Alright, alright. We’ll drop the subject for now. I’ll definitely convert you one of these days, though. So how’s your day been?

You felt a flip in your stomach first of all, because it meant that he wanted this…whatever it was…to continue. And honestly, so did you. It had only been a short time, but hearing from him had become the highlight of your day. It didn’t matter that you didn’t know his name or what he looked like, in fact it was part of the fun at this point. Pecking out a reply, you sent it and then made notes on your scone recipe as you awaited his reply.

FG: Day started earlier than I’d like, and ran into that insufferable person but it’s been all uphill since then. :) How about you?

B: Man, can’t that jerk take a hint? Franny doesn’t need any of your dickhead-ed behavior. Especially running on less sleep. ;) I’m sorry that happened again. Need any more distractions? I’m available.

Your heart skipped a beat at that last phrase. He probably didn’t mean it in the way you might have interpreted. Maybe? In fact, since you knew almost nothing about him, it was possible that you were conversing with someone who might be…involved? Married? It was a ridiculous notion, since all you were doing was texting, but there was definitely a flirty tone in your conversations. Or you thought so. It was difficult to tell through text.

Just as you were about to respond, you got a phone call and the name on the screen made your face light up as you answered.

“Hi, dad,” you said with a smile.

“Hey, how’s my little Flour Girl? The big city still treating you alright?” you heard your father’s voice through the phone. You spoke at least twice a week and he always asked how you were getting by in the city, even after living there over a year and half. You loved that he still worried, though, so you just smiled and shook your head.

“The city is fine, dad. The shop is still doing great. How are you?” you asked, peeking in the oven at your croissants at the same time.

“Oh, I’m just fine. Not much changes around here, not like in the city.”

You grinned, knowing how much your dad preferred the quiet, small town life. You told him all about your new savory pastries and everything about the shop, but you held back the information about Barnes Bakery and this new “competition” with Jimmy, or whatever it was. That information would only make your father worry and besides, you had it under control.

Your parents had always been supportive of your career choice, never failing to taste your latest cookies or cake experiments growing up. Some of your first memories were of spending time with your mom in the kitchen. Whenever your dad came home from work, most nights he found you in the kitchen covered in flour. Thus, you became his little Flour Girl. A play on words that also rang true.

When your mom got sick during your senior year of high school, you became obsessed with finding new recipes that would sound good to her and that the doctors would approve. Her passing the following summer left an everlasting hole in your life and heart, but she wanted your dreams to come true, no matter what. She even set aside some money for your bakery in her will, making you even more determined to succeed in her honor. Since then, it had just been you and your dad against the world.

“Well, pumpkin, I better sign off. The boss is giving me the eye,” your father told you after a wonderful, lengthy conversation that you definitely needed.

“Yeah, I better get back to work, too. I love you, dad,” you said, trying to hide the emotion in your voice. His phone calls never failed to make you a little homesick, no matter how much you loved living in the city.

“Love you, too, Y/N. You be careful.”

“I will. Bye.”

Lost in your thoughts after hanging up, you jumped a little when the oven timer went off. Pulling out the croissants, you waited for them to cool before tasting a little bit of each one. Confident that you had found a winning combination, you also had Wanda taste them and select her favorite, which also happened to be the same as yours. Never hurt to have a second opinion. One last test batch of your Sun-dried Tomato and Havarti scones and you felt good about the recipes. Clint was going to be blown away and you’d get your spot back in their pastry case. You were sure of it.

Preparing both the croissants and scones to be baked fresh in the morning, you cleaned up your mess and checked what was needed up front. A few more trays of cookies in the oven and you finally pulled out your phone to respond to B’s text.

FG: Sorry, got interrupted by a phone call and work. But I’ll take a rain check on that distraction.

You read it over one more time, hoping it sounded just a little suggestive but not over the top, and hit send.

B: No problem. Offer still stands. :)

Smiling from ear to ear, you left the conversation there and went about your day with a little more pep in your step.

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Part 7>> 

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OooOOOooohh!!!! Don’t those croissants and scones sound delicious?? *heart eyes* I actually do create recipes and change the flavors of baked good as part of my job. It’s pretty fun. :D And now he find out the origin of the “flour girl” nickname!! That’s pretty sweet, right? And a bit of background about why the reader loves to bake. Whether you sympathize or not, I hope you enjoy those little tidbits. Ooh, a distraction?? B just gets more adorable every day. ;) I’d love to hear your thoughts on this part, any feedback is appreciated. I adore every one of you!! Thank you. <3

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[abalonetea]

so probably best to start the whole thing off with a post about the main character himself, Skittles!

this is going to bounce around a lot, sorry y’all

okay, so, Skittles. he’s a mess, and i’m throwing that disclaimer out right now. the whole story hinges on the fact that he has a Rough Life that gets better for a little bit and then Gets Bad Again. this is rectified for good in the sequel series, but whatever!

he’s from a small town out in the middle of nowhere, New Jersey. it’s from the region closer to New York, but i’ve elected not to pick an actual existing home town because that seems complicated. anyway! Skittles is obviously not his real name, but he hates his real name and refuses to use it with anyone, pretty much ever. even his twin, Asher, just calls him Skittles.

they grew up in the sort of town where everyone knows everyone, probably a little more strictly religious than anyone would like. the basic idea is that their mother, Cynthia, had an affair, and Skittles ended up looking exactly like the guy she cheated on Hank with. his upbringing ends up being rough because of this - Hank’s not that great of a guy, big drinking problem, big anger problem, big issue with their wiley red-headed son. so even though Asher is the Official Bad Kid, Skittles gets the rotten end of the stick.

add in the fact that he gets picked on a lot out at school, particularly once he hits his older years and his natural flamboyant self started showing up. eventually, he comes to think “well fuck them if that’s what they think of me” and it’s partially where his nickname comes from. he embraces the rainbow, so to speak, and thinks that it’s Way More Funny Than It Is.

flash forward a few years. Skittles gets kicked out of school, and then he gets kicked out of his house. Asher hooks him up with the Friend Of A Friend’s Brother down in Florida, and Skittles couch surfs and hitch hikes his way there.

enter Eric.

Eric is Not A Good Guy.

he’s the kind of guy that see’s you’ve got a lot of broken edges and uses that to his advantage. he’s the kind of guy with a mean temper. the kind of guy that seems Really Great until you’ve known him too long to back out without help. 

he’s a dick, but one with a silver tongue and a charming persona. 

still, for a while, things are okay. Skittles and Eric get along well enough, and eventually they go out to a concert together. it’s just some little thing at a local bar, and the lead singer has a horrible voice but their style catches Skittles attention and he realizes that he really, genuinely can make a go at being that rockstar he always talked about back home.

enter Vipers N Honey.

they genuinely think that Skittles is Much Older Than He Is. he’s got a pretty face, wears a ton of make-up, has already had a rough go of it, and carries himself like a twenty year old that’s angry at the world. plus, he’s got a killer fake ID. 

so he sweet talks and sweet sings his way into the band; they really just want a pretty face as their cover, not realizing that it’s Skittles vocals and lyrics that are going to take them on a straight streak to the top.

so that’s how it starts.

desperately. 

and then a little about Skittles in general!

*he has undiagnosed BPD and DID *brilliant red hair. paler skin. tons and tons of freckles. his thighs look like someone’s splattered paint on them, and he burns like a biscuit. *grows to consider VNH not just a way out of his bad life, but as a family. once he gets his own apartment, thanks to Tony and Snazzy, he has an open door policy that most band members take up. it kills him when VNH breaks up. *eyebrows pierced. naval pierced. ears pierced. nipples pierced. other things pierced. wanted to get his tongue pierced, too, but was scared it might mess him up on set. *genuinely loves the aesthetic of the glam rock scene. loves the make-up, the hair, the clothes. has a pair of leather red thigh high boots that become part of his Most Iconic Look and years later people will still ask, “do you still have those?” and the answer is yes but Skittles always says no, because he doesn’t like being mistaken for the same person as back then.

*has a high, warbling laugh. has steady hands. smokes too much but it’s the 80′s and he’s famous so no  one’s going to say anything to him. prefers fruity flavored drinks but will down a bottle of jack in a heartbeat if he’s In A Mood

*is best friends with Marcello, a Brazillian guitarist that follows the band for a while, and has a bit of a crush on William, but that never comes into being until the Sequel Series.

*goes hard or goes home. likes to talk. likes to make jokes. has a bad temper and likes the thrill of the fight. adrenaline makes him feel more steady, more stable. it’s why he takes up drums after VPN ends.

*hates even the idea of pity for a really long time. if he’s made it this far on his own, he can make it the rest of the way on his own. also hates to be considered a failure, because that’s what people have called him for years. quickest way to make him mad, tbh.

*has a very complicated relationship with Asher. they lovingly call each other “bitch” and “fag” but will break the nose of anyone else who says it. will punch each other in the guts without a thought and grew up getting into very violent fights with each other because they both Have Issues but will also give each other their last buck and the only chunk of chicken in the fridge without batting an eye. 

*Skittles is actually a more stable influence than anyone else in the band. he’s kind of the Dad Friend, even with all his Issues and Life Happenings. this only becomes more apparent later on in life, during the sequel.

and i’ll tag @simplelinesunfashiond because she prompted this whole debacle, and @deadlyessencewhispers because she has to deal with looking at everything that i write!

this was so much fun sorry i rambled

[legobiwan]

A week or two ago, this post was going around. The TCW plot generator CRACK ideas were WONDERFUL and RIDICULOUS and WEIRD and for some reason I felt compelled to challenge myself to write one. 

I am almost as sorry for subjecting you guys to this as I am for subjecting myself to writing it. But a challenge is a challenge, even if it is stupidly self-imposed. 

So without further adooodoo----

“Jar Jar Binks is a baker and Eeth Koth is a scientist. They are facing an intimate encounter with a tentacle-limbed life form on Chandrila. Optional plot: They are falling in or out of love.“

———————————————————————————————————

It was a pity, really.

Eeth Koth, stone-faced scientist of Iridonia, a planet known for raising disciplined minds capable of tolerating the greatest physical suffering…

…had been reduced to this.

Oh, sure it had begun as a mere dalliance. A hidden peck outside the ‘fresher. A taste in the alley outside his lab.

Perhaps even a stolen bite in a back closet after lunch.

It hadn’t been enough, though, the casual exchange flowering into something beyond the Iridonian’s steely control.

“But yousa liked my buns before!” came the plaintive cry of the culprit, his dealer in dopamine, his co-conspirator in comfort.

Once a week had soon become once a day, and then even more, two, even three times in an afternoon. It was an obsession, an addiction, and his scientist brain chastised him for the irrationality of it all, even as he dreamed of the next time, of the future, long and hazy in its optimism.

The ballads of Alderaan were now as clear as solutions, the poetry of the Snivvians replete with meaning.

Eeth Koth had fallen in love.

With Jar Jar Binks…

…’s baking.

The Gungan himself was beyond intolerable, tripping over his own feet (and accidentally letting loose a few extra pastries which Eeth carefully pocketed), wandering into what should have been high-security areas (where he was always happy to sell his wares), and announcing his presence in the research facility’s cantina with an unmistakable bleat (oh, but how would Eeth have known he even existed, if not for those commanding, albeit warbling tones?)

Still, it was time to put an end to this. Especially as the Gungan had started to interpret Eeth’s passion for his baking as…passion for something else.

Baked goods had started to appear outside of Eeth’s lab. A tray of cream horns. A pile of breadsticks. A quick perusal of Gungan culture on the holonet proved his worst suspicions.

Binks was pursuing Koth in the Gungan tradition.

Which apparently involved a lot of chasing. Something to do with their ancestors’ flight to the sea millions of years ago.

The  day a crate of dough balls - one million of them , to be precise - had appeared in his lab, Eeeth knew something had to be done.

And so he did what every proud member of the Iridonian race would do.

He requested a transfer to investigate the biological attack on Hanna City on Chandrilla.

For a few short weeks, everything was back to normal. Eeth took readings, scraped residue from the remains of buildings, and willed himself to forget the whole baked goods debacle on Coruscant. Near the end of his third week on assignment, he traveled to the shoreline, to the edge of the Silver Sea.

Which was not looking so silver anymore.

The normally iridescent body of water had turned pale and dull, undulating in wide, grotesque waves. Curiosity won out over self-preservation, and Eeth inched forward, poking a gloved finger into the mass.

He was not prepared for it to reach up with long, sinewy limbs and…

And…

His cheek was wet, a trail of slime running from his eye to the base of his neck.

The sea, whatever strange being it had transformed into - had caressed his cheek.

It was incredible.

And dangerous, he reminded himself sternly.

But like all scientists, Eeth housed the embers of childlike wonder at something new inside of him, and this was an extraordinary display of evolution. To encounter a creature that evidenced this level of sentience warranted much further investigation and he should get a team and -

“Aaaaa!”

A starchy limb encircled his leg, worming its way up his inner thigh and past his belt buckle and suddenly Eeth was not feeling so enthusiastic about scientific research, batting away the offending arm. But just as he did, another on his left tried again, and a third trying to…

“Damn this thing and its lascivious advances!” he yells, and that’s when he hears it. All the fight goes out of him and Eeth just groans and takes one hand to his forehead, only to wrench it back to his waist as the sentient pastry makes another pass at him.

“Yoo-hoo! Mista Koooth!” a voice sings, its source wading towards him through the sticky, glutinous mass.

“Jar Jar! What are you doing here! This a restricted area, there’s been a biological attack and - “

“Mista Koooooth! I knooooow!”

Eeth stilled.

“What? Jar Jar you didn’t - “

He wouldn’t.  Right? Eeth’s heart trilled. There was infatuation, and then there was biological warfare via baked goods for unrequited lust and not even the displaced Gungan would go so far -

“Mista Koth!” Jar Jar waved a finger as another tentacle rose from the mass of dough wrapped itself around Eeth’s waist.

“Jar Jar - get back you damned thing!” The tentacles were multiplying, encircling the scientist in a warm embrace. Eeth pulled and pushed, but there was no give and he was stuck with a salacious biscuit while Jar Jar stood beaming at him and so help him if he got free -

“JAR JAR WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”

“A Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit!”

“What?”

“Mista Koth, yousa don’t knows the Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit? It was on the holo shows.”

Oh no. He did know what they were, they had showed up in several research journals. The amazing self-perpetuating breakfast food that devoured its chef. A feat of biology. And now it was here on Chandrila, and Eeth Koth, respected scientist, master of his craft - he was going to be eaten by a sentient, tentacled, horny kriffing pastry.

Something warm grabbed at his chest. Eeth yelped, heat racing to his cheeks.

“Jar Jar! Tell me you have the sauce.”

The only thing capable of halting the growth of the Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit was blue sauce, which, was the only condiment served with the Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit.

It was also probably the only mandatory condiment in the entire galaxy.

The Gungan fished through his pockets, loose change, a few spoons, and even a jar of insects falling into the swelling mass. Eeth shut his eyes, imagining what his colleagues might say at his funeral, or worse, what awful headlines the holonet reporters would come up with.

Dead by Dough.

Pulverized by a Pastry.

Lascivious Lattice Leaves Lab Scientist Leavened.

“Here we are!”

With a sweeping motion, the Gungan spilled the sauce on surface, blue creeping into the pores of the dough. The mass came to a halt, emitting a loud hiss as the entire thing deflated, sinking into the water without further incident.

Eeth stood and brushed himself off - powder and crumbs fell from the folds of his clothing and he can feel the granules of dough in his shoes, down his shirt, and his pants. It is like sand - rough, coarse and getting everywhere.

He coughed to cover his embarrassment.

“What yousa think of that, Mista Koth?”

Eeth fixed the Gungan with a glare.

“Jar Jar. No more pastries.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Not evens a bun?”

“Not even a bun.”

“But yousa liked my buns before!”

Eeth sighed and trudged towards the shore, leaving a bewildered Jar Jar in his wake.

——-

Back at the compound, Eeth locked the door to his quarters. The smell of dough and yeast had followed him for weeks, and not even the strongest cologne could rid the offending odor from his senses. After the incident, he quickly wrapped up his investigation on Chandrila, returning to Coruscant with a tersely-worded report and a number of strong words for his more inquisitive colleagues.

He glanced behind his shoulder, making certain that he was alone. Eeth entered a code on a nearby panel, and a door clicked open. He reached into the secret closet, napkin around his hand.

A satisfying crunch echoed in the chamber and the scientist moaned in pleasure.

One of the advantages of being a senior researcher was the ability to sneak field samples back from investigation sites.

Even if they were tentacled Gungan desserts.  

[tortricidae]

Scarecrow Show Off 3: All Time Low

If there was one thing that anybody knew about Anise, it was how much of an asshole he could be when he was right. This turned out to be a fairly frequent affair much to the chagrin of the organizers of the great corn maze of Wind Valley. The poor sods had spent the last thirty or so minutes entertaining Anise’s lecture about how the Wind Valley was the best and worst place to put a corn maze this early in the harvesting season.

About how it would have made more sense to put it in a place where the local farmers could handle the influx of corn and fox, and about how unlikely it was that any Scarfox worth their mist would spend an afternoon trying to scare away feather beasts when the time to offer meals to the Mini God was happening at the same time.

“Honestly, you think you would have learned your lesson after last year’s debacle,” he said, shrugging like he had landed the most successful “gotcha” of the century. “But I guess it’s probably about the same level of disorganization on your part, then, isn’t it? Will the wonders ever cease?”

“Will you just please let us do our job, sir?”

Anise shrugged again and swept away. He had already done what he had come her to do, and had even managed to make a connection to an otherworldly being in the interim. Though it was probably for the best that the odd entity hadn’t stuck around lest they be commandeered into this next ridiculous series of contests.

All to cover the ineptitude of the organizers, for shame. It was common knowledge that planting the corn maze too early in the season was going to draw the crows in. Normally, the crows flew a little farther southeast, but would stay if there was plenty of food. Unnaturally long summer rains and the influence of corrupted mist from Yste made the Wind Valley overpopulated and full of free food.

Free food for crows.

So they came in droves and pecked at the corn. It was an easily fixable problem if the organizers would have just held off on the corn maze for a week or so, but the calendars demanded it, and so it was meant to be. Anise vaguely wondered if the Mini God was getting a kick out of this. With all the food offerings, they had better, or it was going to be another year of wasted potential.

And while Anise would have loved to wax on about how he had been right and everyone else had been wrong, he had to stop himself as he spotted a familiar face. Well, butter his biscuits. It was Pepper! Who looked like she was trying to vacate the premises as fast as possible. And Anise also normally would have let her go without mentioning it, but he felt like he was a few hundred words short of proving how smart he was, and the longer he ruminated, the less he could talk.

And Pepper was the perfect target. After all, they had had such great rapport during the summer, and similar to that, they were in a state of going above and beyond for no other reason other than they wanted to. The lure of success was too much. At least for one of them.

Or maybe neither of them.

“Oh ho, I remember you,” Anise said, catching up to Pepper with little issue. “Color me impressed that you’re still bumbling around here after everything that happened with, oh what’s his name? Oh, he goes by Dipsi now, isn’t that right. How have you been?”

Pepper turned around, holding out her pouch of empty seeds, shaking it. There was a problem, however, as the crows were swarming after her now that the word had spread amongst them. Anise found this amusing.

“Not very good, I take it. Serves you right for enticing the little beasts with bird seed. Or should I say, magic bird seed? Looks like the Mini God isn’t as charitable as you might have been led to believe. Which you would have known if you had bothered to come talk to me earlier.”

Pepper groaned. “I don’t even know you, idiot. You’re just some guy. Don’t talk to me like you know who I am.”

Anise began waving his arms, and in the waning sunlight, the sparkling of his holographic fabric arms made the crows spin and twirl in the air, no longer sure if what they were after was even actually food. Food didn’t sparkle, and sparkling wasn’t for food. The logic infallible, the crows once again began to take off, cawing into the air with impudence.

“You should thank me for saving your life,” Anise said as the last crow flew away finally.

Pepper blinked. “You’re that guy from the cookout.”

“Yes, so you do remember! I have that effect on people, naturally. They can’t stand that I’m so sure of myself. I even saw an extraterrestrial cloth bag. A Scarfox but not quite. Just simplified for your ignorant mind.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Pepper said finally, wandering off. “Shut up.”

Anise let her go, as he waved keenly, a wide smile on his face. He liked Pepper’s attitude. She was just a little lost in the throes of trying to understand her place and the world. And while Anise normally didn’t give people that kind of space, he knew a feral creature when he saw one and was surprised, yet again, that she hadn’t just gouged his eyes out, stuffed him with straw, and hung him out on a wooden cross to scare the birds for the rest of his life.

Maybe he’d see the real her the next time they crossed paths, as Anise never had, and never would have time for dealing with the airs of the prim and proper persona. Fake bitches were of little interest to him.

Maybe next time they found themselves in the Wind Valley. Maybe even as the snow would start to roll in.

[whatevercomestomymind]

Interestingly enough @nargles-everywere , yes, toast started as a biscuit.

Back in Ancient Sumeria, when bread was invented, it quickly became problematic- it would mold or spoil very very quickly thanks to the relatively high humidity of the region back then.

So, in order to preserve the bread, so it could be shipped to waystations, supply depots, used as rations, etc., someone decided to bake it again in order to draw out most of the water content.

This resulted in a dense, crunchy, barley/oat/wheat/honey loaf that stayed viable for months at a time, not dissimilar to modern granola bars (the crispy kind, not the chewy ones).

Since whole loaves proved difficult to eat or slice, the decision was made to slice them after the first baking, so that the second baking turned them essentially into biscotti.

So that tradition of slicing bread, and then cooking it again has been with us for millennia, and as bread became easier to produce in large quantities all over the place, it became less necessary for it to be cooked again for storage, and became something people did purely for The Flavor.

Tl;dr: we've been making toast cookies for thousands of years.

The other fortunate byproduct of the whole bread-spoiling-too-quickly debacle was the invention of beer (arguably the 1st recipe ever recorded, because hey, bread is pretty easy, but beer is Science).