#(which is - much like the use of credit cards - not really a European thing to do in general)

[ourtriptoswedenandnorway]

Epilogue

Here are some observations I made throughout our trip. These are just my impressions and experiences and not based on actual facts. Also included below are a couple of recommendations.

Weather: The weather was totally unpredictable and changed hour by hour. When the sun comes out in Sweden, it seems like everybody wears shorts, regardless of the temperature. It could be because Swedes are accustomed to cold weather and have developed a high tolerance for it. Or, they just want to make the most of sunny days, even if they are cold, to enjoy outdoor activities and soak up as much light as possible after their long, dark winters.

Crime: I felt safer in Stockholm, Oslo, and Bergen than in any other European city I have been to. Not that I feel unsafe in Europe—it feels far safer than in the US. It felt like crime doesn’t exist in Scandinavia, but I am sure it does.

Poverty: In the nine days we were in Stockholm, we never saw a homeless person or someone begging for money. It is unclear to me why that is, but I would guess they have a more comprehensive welfare system that includes housing and other social services. It was refreshing not to see people living on the streets, like in San Francisco. In Oslo and Bergen, we saw a few people (less than 10) non-aggressively begging for money, but again, nothing like you see in major cities in the US, or other cities in Europe.

Diversity: I found Norway to be more ethnically diverse compared to Sweden. The Swedes in Stockholm seemed more homogeneous. The best way to describe the Swedes is blond, blue-eyed, physically active, and fit. It seems like everyone on the street is in their 20s, 30s or 40s and dresses like fashion-aware preppy members of a fraternity or sorority. I know it’s not true, but I can’t help wondering where they hide their ugly and older people—or maybe they just age really well.

Walkability: Stockholm, Oslo, and Bergen are all very walkable cities. And when they are not, public transportation is easy to use and runs frequently. Because of that, I don’t recommend the Hop On, Hop Off buses, even if you have a limited amount of time. I would only use them if walking around presents a problem.

Pedestrian Friendly: Stockholm and Oslo limit the number of cars in the central area of the city, making it relaxed and very enjoyable for pedestrians. The few cars that are there have very courteous drivers who yield to pedestrians. Drivers don’t seem to be in a hurry, unlike in the US. E-bikes and e-scooters, however, are everywhere and used by locals and tourists alike. Bergen, however, does not limit cars in the central area, and I found the city more congested. But still, car congestion was nothing like you would find in US cities.

Tourism: We encountered very few crowds or signs of tourists in Stockholm. It might have been because it was June and still early, but it was very refreshing to go to museums and move around the city without long lines. Most of the people we encountered in Stockholm appeared to be Swedish. The only exception was in Gamla Stan, the old town, which had tourist shops and plenty of tourists. But there is so much more to Stockholm than just Gamla Stan. In Norway, it was the same thing—we encountered very little tourism. Do tourists exist? Sure, but not to the extent we have seen in other major cities in Europe, or where it presented a problem for us. Bergen appeared to have more tourists than Oslo. The only time tourists and tourism got on my nerves was in Flåm in Norway, where everything seems to be geared around tourists from cruise ships coming in to see the fjords. But rather than hanging around Flåm waiting for our cruise to depart, we went for a walk out in the countryside instead.

Cash is King—NOT: Before we left, we got $200 in Swedish kronor and $200 in Norwegian kroner. We typically try to pay by credit card for everything, but most trips to Europe we still end up going to an ATM to get cash for small purchases, tips, museums, taxis, etc. Not so in Sweden and Norway. They are pretty much cashless countries—at least in the cities we visited. Two or three of the hotels even advertised they are “cashless hotels” and have no facilities to accept or provide cash. Most of the restaurants and museums we went to would not take cash. Buy a gelato, charge it! So we had a hard time spending our cash—we found the cruise ship tourist areas had the highest likelihood of accepting cash.

Tipping: After talking with a number of locals we learned that in Scandinavia tipping is welcome, but not expected. The staff in restaurants appear to be paid a living wage and are not reliant on tips. How nice that someone can make a living as a waiter. The only place I found that not to be true was in tourist areas, where restaurants and taxis try to take advantage of tourists who are not familiar with tipping customs and get as much money from them as possible. Most of the time, I tipped about 10% and still got US tipping guilt.

Honor System on Transit: In Norway, the buses, trams, and subways all work on the honor system. No badging on, no badging off. It works so much more efficiently. Most buses are articulated buses. A bus pulls up, and everybody just gets on, with people entering and exiting from all doors on the bus. While we were there, we purchased a 7-day transit pass, which you have to electronically activate the first time and then just need to make sure you have it with you whenever you use public transit in case someone asks. No one ever did ask, but supposedly, they have people who occasionally check. I came away with the impression that Norwegians are honest and trustworthy. I don’t think that would work in the US. How sad :-(.

Public Restrooms: Scandinavia has clean restrooms. During our three-week trip, I only encountered one restroom down by the harbor in Oslo that grossed me out. Otherwise, every restroom would get my Good Housekeeping seal of approval.

Unisex Restrooms: In Scandinavia, it was relatively rare to find separate men's and women's restrooms. One restroom, and a man, woman, or trans person just takes the next stall available. Makes sense and eliminates all the transgender issues related to restrooms that we have in the US. And if there is a queue, men and women wait the same amount of time.

Utensils To Go: Scandinavia is much more environmentally conscious than we are in the US. In Scandinavia, when you get food to go, instead of plastic utensils, you get wooden ones—a wooden fork, spoon, and knife. Sure, they have a lot of trees in Scandinavia, but it is also very environmentally friendly. Wooden utensils do taste and feel a little bit strange the first time you use them.

Pride: Scandinavians take a lot of pride in their country. And so they should. There is a lot they can be proud of, and in many cases, the US should model our society after theirs. I guess I am a late-blooming socialist :-). When you tell them you are from California, they ask, “How do you like Sweden/Norway?” They even appear to be proud of their Viking warriors who looted and terrorized most of Europe, unlike the Portuguese, who barely acknowledge their part in the slave trade (e.g., no museum there acknowledges or explains their part in the slave trade). I felt the greatest sense of pride from the Swedes—they appeared proud of their country, their traditions, their music (ABBA), and their history.

Sell It, but Don’t Use It: I found it ironic that all of Norway's public transit is electric, including their buses, and that Norway leads the world in electric vehicle (EV) adoption, yet oil makes up over 70% of Norway’s exports.

Packing for Scandinavia: The weather is very unpredictable in Scandinavia, and it rains a lot. Stockholm had the worst weather during our trip, but was sunny and hot the weeks before. Scandinavia is beautiful when it is sunny and wet when it rains. Essential items to pack are an umbrella, raincoat, waterproof pants, and waterproof shoes.

Laundry: It is not easy to find a laundromat in Scandinavia. There is maybe one in all of Stockholm and two in Oslo. And they are very busy. Using your hotel’s laundry services is prohibitively expensive. So bring quick-dry clothes that you can wash in your hotel room.

[ideahat-universe]

There are Lies, Damned Lies, and Genetics

So lets talk about something that is already controversial. College Sports. It's nice that a lot of Black Americans find success in sports and sports are still one of the most popular past times for Americans to bond over.

So about Slavery, you know black slaves were sold by other blacks for goods and resources right?

Ya know the Ashanti, Dahomey, Igbo, and Yoruba (among others) sold us for firearms, textiles, alcohol, beads, and other manufactured items.

African children are worth at least one crate of alcohol right?

Anyways, after they were sold like cattle the grooming began.

Not the kind you're used to hearing these days.

Dog grooming more like. What happens to dogs happened to Black African slaves. Eugenics basically. Bred for physical tolerance, bred for endurance, bred for good breeding (slave masters sampled the product on that one).

And the end result is. Black Americans being some of the most physically exceptional human beings in America.

But that's the thing. When you put your talents into playing sports you are directly benefiting from decades of slave era eugenics that were done to black slaves.

When everyone talks about what the exact impact of damage slavery did to Black Americans what they should say out loud is "We think slave owners bred intelligence out of blacks."

Which is probably true but after breeding with whites (often not with consent) and other races like the Native Americans and the Hispanics, it's mostly a moot point. A white supremacist might still believe that Black people don't have the capacity for intelligence because they can't pass an IQ test with a big enough number but I think otherwise.

Black Americans can be quite intelligent when given the chance.

BUT that opportunity doesn't arise when you decide to pursue a career in entertainment and especially in sports. Colleges and the sports industry is highly greedy and manipulative. You've all seen the king of the hill episode where they try to fast track the idiot football player.

That's not hyperbole. If you are really good at sports you get to go on an escalator where you don't have to worry so much about school work, just remember to catch the ball and run fast. When education focused colleges started dipping their toes into sports, it was for the money and it was at the expense of a child's education, often a Black American.

And you know what happens when they play those games, especially football, brain damage, broken limbs, permanent and incredibly expensive physical damage that puts them out of commission for the rest of their life.

And what then? Back to school? They would need months of tutoring just to acquire the GED and you and I both know how crazy it is looking for a job when you don't have a bachelors.

But that isn't all.

Athletes get fleeced all the time. The average American who passed high school is generally quite illiterate on how finance works, well it's even worse for the Disney Fast Pass educated who weren't taught anything about money. Now they're rich they probably don't even think about their transactions until the credit cards bounce.

That just makes them big piggy banks for people to smash, and they do get smashed quite often.

And it's important to think about this meta contextually.

Europeans bought black slaves so they can do the job that other races can't or wouldn't do. They bred them for physical labor and nothing else.

Years later, large sports conglomerates effectively purchase college students with great skills in sports to put that same physical labor to use in making them generational wealth, meanwhile those players often end their lives with very little money and a whole lot of pain and anguish.

Now I won't go full Afro Centrist and call this slavery 2.0, but it is exploitation.

They are exploiting people who want to desperately escape poverty and are also taking the path of least resistance.

The solution is simple.

We restrict the amount of money college campuses make off of these young players. (Paying them a salary would probably give them pause for thought).

And make actually educating every potential sports player mandatory. They should know something in STEM before they start playing for some team.

How do we get Black Americans the education they need?

We put them in a quiet room, and then we have them read a book, read a book, read a mother fucking book.

Okay fine, we have them read articles or text documents of books instead.

They don't know how to read? Oh for the love of. Go on one of those websites where you can play abandon ware games for free and have them play Reader Rabbit!

And then when they have the basics of reading, well, give them a copy of Captain Underpants and DBZ volume one.

What? The stats show that boys read more when the books have images in them. That's how I got well read. I read Garfield Comic strips Graphic Novels.

I stand by what I said earlier this week, black culture is dying and will die or be assimilated by other races (wouldn't be the first culture to have that fate) BUT if you want to enrich black lives you have to push Black Pop culture off the pedestal and put STEM back on and then I dunno, practice monogamy?

What do I look like FD Signifier?

I didn't do this because I want to be some huge champion for black lives around the country. I did this because making posts like these is part of a ritual where upon hitting post I never have to think about this ever again.

It's a really negative subject matter and my data shows that people like the feel good posts more but this is what I have for Black History month. Black History month for all future months will be ignored.

You're welcome.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ari should i watch the apothecary diaries? i've been kinda interested in it for a while + you keep hyping it up... today i woke up with the opening playing in my head

i agree with what you said about jinshi, his behavior reminds me a little of cult leader geto's antics... he's so pathetic... (my all time most favorite genre of men after motherly). he's also so so beautiful and the lining of his outer thing (sorry i don't know what it's called... fake chinese moment) is really similar to the sash on geto's gojo kesa... which i think is sooooo beautiful as well

n my friend said i'm realllllyy similar to maomao so this will probably be a self-indulgent watch for me... read her backstory and it's making me so sad but she comes across as so strong... i'm already so attached to her it's not even funny. also i didn't know your whole family was into anime!! that's so wholesome and cute..

about the kenny plushes, they don't sell very well (especially in the jp fandom!) so you can get them for sooo cheap. you can use a proxy if you really want to! i use sendico and the shipping isn't bad! i know they ship to a lot of smaller european countries too ^ ^

i can NOT believe they got lost at sea. omfg i am fuming for you that is so very sad. we should track down the ship. that lost it. it's negligence.

are you talking about these? https://jp.mercari.com/item/m92282289388 i actually have the cat plush one that's fairly similar! https://jp.mercari.com/item/m20944297256 N ABOUT THE MERCH I JUST.......... ORDERED A LOOK UP.... finally found geto's for a reasonable price :( now i just have to wait for golden week to end for it to shipp,.w;...... AND THIS ONE https://jp.mercari.com/item/m89522427367 where he looks so hot that i'm literally about to die

thank you so much for listening to my rambles!! :D <3 🌖🌖

🌖 ANONNNNNNNN

YOU SHOULDDDD YOU SHOULD!!!!!!! it’s super duper duper good!!!!!!!!!!!! it’s so great!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the plot is amazing and the animation is gorgeous and the characters are so so charming…. JINSHI IS LITERALLY CULT LEADER GETO just. less evil. and more flirty. he’s kinda like…. if you mixed cult leader geto and teen toru in one big bowl. BUT HE’S GENUINELY VERY SIMILAR TO HOW I PICTURE CULT!GETO BEING W A CRUSH…. like….. in an au where there aren’t any complications and you’re on his side. i think he’s soooo silly and bratty and pouty. but he wants you to lean on him so badly.

he makes me insane btw motherly/pathetic men are the actual standard ANYWAYYY MAOMAO. i adore her!!!!! just as much as jinshi!!!!!! 🥺 AND WE’RE TWINNING SO HARD 🌖 ANONNNNN i see myself as super similar to her too 😭😭 just. the way she acts…. but she rlly is so lovely and funny and soso strong!!!! she’s a wonderful character……

AND YES KINDA PHDKDJ … honestly it’s mostly just. me and my two older brothers. but my mom likes manga!!! i think she’s still caught up on detective conan to this day…. the amount of chapters are frankly really silly i can’t believe it’s still ongoing 💀 BUTTT i do force my older sis to watch anime w me sometimes :3 yesterday i made her binge dungeon meshi w me!!! i’m still not nearly finished w it (and all the episodes aren’t out yet!!) but i recommend it SO strongly it’s so feel-good but also so???? idk. it’s special. and i adore laios like nothing else…. mr puppydog…….

BUT WAHHHHHH :((((((( kenny being neglected…. sniffle……… i tried using that site but it does Not work for me lmao it won’t let me register my credit card :’3 and i’m worried since i can only write my name and adress using english letters…… the kenny stuff rlly was so cheap grrr i’m mad. but oh well!!!

AND YES EXACTLY IT’S THOSE CATS!!!! 🥺🥺 wahhhhh i need the goken set so BADLY just look at them…. the meowmeows ever…….

all the merch you linked…. GRRRRR you are tempting me so hard rn 😭😭 THAT ONE OFFICIAL GETO ART. need him so bad. he looks soooooo fucking good it should be illegal…… i’m also sooooo jealous you found geto’s look up!!!!! i need to hunt him down!!!!!!!!!!!! but i can’t spend any more money on merch this month…. sobs…….. I’M ALWAYS VERY HAPPY TO HEAR ABT YOUR MERCH ESCAPADES THOUGHHH i hope your sugus reach you safely!!!!! pls send pics once he comes home plspls 🥺🥺🥺

[cinnaster]

RS RAMBLE HOUR

Lots and lots and LOTS of notes about Radiant Souls Chapters 1-3!

THE CHAPTER TITLES

Apart from the prologue (Chapter 1), all chapter titles have unique names. Many of the titles have references, word play, and idioms all while trying to encompass the subject or feel of the chapter, so I really try to stretch my creativity.

Chapter 2, "It's Apocalypse O'Clock Somewhere", is a reference to the Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffett song "It's Five O'Clock Somewhere". The song (which is very fun BTW and is seen on many vacation playlists) references the common saying as a way to justify day drinking after doing a lot of work. Isyris, similar to the song, justifies his day drinking (and vacation in general) as an "I did a lot of work so I deserve this" sort of thing.

However, the title references the apocalypse happening in place of the time. Interestingly, while the saying suggests that locations have a different times to justify day drinking, NYC and Aruba actually share the same timezone. This illustrates that Isyris is sitting on his ass drinking while in NYC his family is getting pummeled by alien invaders, and also illustrates the urgency. The apocalypse more or less comes to Isyris' attention whether he likes it or not, and it was only a matter of time.

Chapter 3, "So Long, Paradise", is a lot more simple. While there's no specific reference or pun I had in mind, paradise is often considered a place to be gained or lost, to find or to leave. In Isyris' case, it was cut off before he was ready. (Funny that even before he knew about the invasion, his paradise wasn't quite perfect. He knew something was missing and was trying to force his way through enjoyment.) He does not explicitly say goodbye to Aruba, but he takes one last look at the sunset. He's so dramatic lol. Meanwhile, the gargoyles get to spend all the time they want in paradise, chanting it as they run off with Isyris' card.

ISLAND LANGUAGE

Aruba is your typical case of European colonization. It is currently a state of The Netherlands, though historically Spain and England also had control over the island at some point. Isyris speaks neither Dutch nor Papiamento, which are the main languages of the Caribbean Dutch island states (Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao), but the English-speaking tourism there is well-established. Most people on the island (especially if they work in the tourism industry) speak multiple languages.

Isyris was in Orangestad, the capital city, and he was also more on the northwest coastline where the majority of ritzy hotels and resorts are. Most of his interaction with others had been with those in the tourism industry (tour and museum guides, workers at hotels, bars and restaurants, etc.) who spoke English, so he had no trouble with language.

He also went in early June, so it's right at the start of summer vacation for many American families (and himself). The location and timing meant he was around a bunch of other English-speaking tourists, which is why he was able to understand others around him and why the TV at the grill & bar was tuned in to an American news station.

YOU THINK I HAVE MONEY IN THIS ECONOMY?

Isyris does not really have much Aruba currency, the Aruba florin, because he's simply using his credit card for most things. He does know how credit cards work in general (he understands debt and interest), so he's not necessarily pulling money out of nowhere because he knows what he needs to pay back.

But yes, he is certainly living slightly past his means by going on this trip. Isyris is riding into dangerous territory (he has not worked long enough on the surface to gain significant savings, hence the credit card usage). He's knows he's at risk but figures that because he is a working man that after summer vacation he will be back to the cafeteria grind, so it isn't the end of the world and surely he can pay it off with time.

He's not being overly safe as it is, but this is because he has a background of wealth and is still getting used to, you know, not being rich. It takes time to kick habits and old ways of thinking, especially when you have then suddenly do not have. The idea of getting a summer vacation was sprung on him so suddenly that he was like "Yeah you know what I do deserve Me Time the moment I get a break from work" and did not think much about it beyond that. Just use the credit card and don't think too hard about it. Speaking of which...

CREDIT CARD WOES

The goyles, Merry and Pippin, don't really understand credit cards. Not because they can't understand it or that Yōkai don't have similar concepts in their society (canon Yōkai taxes and currency exist, after all), they're just idiots. They're confused because Isyris no longer lives a life of luxury yet can "pull money out [of the card] like magic", so they're under the impression that he chooses to live this way as part of his Soft Good Guy shtick. They (particularly Merry) are frustrated with this and think he needs some serious help. Pippin is a little more cautious, not wanting to suffer any more of Isyris' bouts of anger, but Merry will gladly criticize his boss for it, especially because his financial decisions affect them.

Merry also took Isyris leaving the note as a sign for them to do whatever they need to do on their own (instead of doing what Isyris meant, which was to come home immediately as soon as they could get a flight). Isyris had to rush home sooner and didn't care to take the time to drag them back, which he knew would have inevitably been a Whole Ordeal. It'd be like trying to get a cat or dog into its travel crate when it already knows it's going to the vet or some equally unpleasant place.

But this all feeds into the goyles not feeling remorseful (or fearful) for using Isyris' credit card the way they are. They're about to massively fuck this man over financially by being cute little idiots lol.

Oh well! It's as Honey said in Chapter 8, at least Isyris doesn't have rent to pay anymore. When Isyris lamented that he doesn't have anything besides the clothes on his back and in his suitcase, it's not really an exaggeration. He and Angel lost everything in the apartment fire. For Angel it was a far more serious and meaningful loss, as she had been living there for a majority of her life. For Isyris it hadn't been long, although he had managed to slowly turn the dingy apartment into something more presentable. But what little he has is gone, and now on top of it, his debt will be massive. Oops!

WASTIN' AWAY AGAIN IN MARGARITAVILLE

Out of all the details to get hung up on during writing the first chapters, what alcoholic drink Isyris had (and was originally just a long set-up for the spit take) was one of the hardest. In fact I left it as "[drink]" in my draft for the longest time lol. "A tropical drink that's not piña colada because that's too basic" was my goal. I went through a lot of cocktail sites to find some good options. A drink called Aruba Ariba was on the table because it's an emblematic drink of Aruba, only found there, but I felt that it was a little too on the nose.

After a lot of thought, I went with a Mai Tai. (I've never had one but it honestly sounds delicious.) It's not a Caribbean-specific drink, in fact historically more a US west coast thing, but it's associated with the sort of tropical commercialism that the area of where Isyris was staying advertises. It's touristy and amusingly inauthentic, just like his general vacation experience.

THE PORTAL SIGIL

I put a fair amount of research into the sigil Isyris makes to portal himself to NYC, and I made it accurate for what I planned. All of the symbols he made in the sigil are important. They're astronomical or alchemical symbols, representing different celestial bodies or elements.

The unit of measurement he uses, scrobi, is a made-up Yōkai one. But I based it on an ancient Egyptian/Greek/Roman unit of measurement called a schoenus, which was used for surveying. This was fairly convenient for the story because roughly the amount of miles he had to travel almost rounded out nicely to an even number, but not quite. (Isyris thinking it was exact, along with other tiny imprecise measurements or alignments, led to his little Upper Bay Adventure in the following chapter.)

When Isyris spun the compass-like sigil to align all the symbols with the celestial bodies, I had him actually align with what would have probably been in the sky. I used a fun website tool to figure out what stars would have been in the sky (even though they couldn't be seen, as it was still light out/evening), at the time and location he was, which was Oranjestad, Aruba, in early June. So the constellations that he listed as being at the zenith (right above his head) are actually accurate.

The idea is that for sigil portal magic to travel long distances, it needs reference points. Whatever symbol is put in the center becomes the main reference. In Isyris' case, he's on Earth, so he uses the Earth symbol in the center. All the other symbols around in the different tiers are how to align it. He aligns it with the Sun and with the more distant stars in the constellations, puts in the distance he wants to travel, and tells it that it's crossing land and sea.

There is one symbol in the sigil that isn't clearly defined on purpose. That one's special. You'll see.

OVERALL

Despite Isyris' dangerous money situation and his soon-to-be massive credit card debt, this big dumb sheep is still extremely catered to, just as any American tourist often is. While he didn't do nearly all the things he lied about much later in Chapter 8, nor did he have as much fun as he wished he had, he still got to experience a fairly nice vacation up until the point of hearing about the invasion.

He did in fact get to sit on the beach and see beautiful views, go to restaurants and bars, go on tours, etc., but he did so alone. He pretends like he was interacting with locals or something (or pretends that people think he, a painfully average American dad tourist in the eyes of others, is noteworthy and worth approaching) when that is very much not the case. While he was lying to make Masaru jealous, one has to wonder if a part of him did want a grander vacation experience that included other people in the picture. And not just the pretty women.

He didn't truly stay in Aruba that long, though; it had only been a few days. Had the goyles not taken and used his credit card, the trip would have been of little consequence to him, especially since he did not stay for the full duration that he planned.

Sadly, things do not always turn out the way you want them to when your name is Baron Isyris Draxum. Even if you do actually have your heart in the right place for once by returning home immediately to make sure your family is okay.

[beesandwasps]

Trump has demonstrated that being an abrasive, mindless attacker who appeals to and actively stirs up right-wing viciousness gets you enough support in the Republican base to get their nomination. The only reason there’s not another Republican with a huge following is because right-wing authoritarians want a single leader at the top; as soon as Trump is gone, Trump clones will spring up like mildew and one of them will beat the others and take over the Trump machine. And the last 20 years have shown that Republicans will always vote Republican. “Never-Trump Republicans” basically don’t exist, just as “never-Romney Republicans” and “never-Bush Republicans” and “never-McCain Republicans” didn’t meaningfully exist. You notice that the 3 Republican SCOTUS members who weren’t appointed by Trump fell into line immediately, right? (Incidentally, it’s really cute that you implicitly admit, by saying that a 3rd-party President would be impeached on day 1 with bipartisan support, that the Democrats are every bit as complicit in screwing us all over as the Republicans, but you still want to support them.)

NATO doesn’t hold back the US. When the US wants war, it has war. NATO just gives the US a fig leaf and access to European resources, which makes the US more able to wage war. (Fun fact: the only proposed or real war which I have been able to verify that Joe Biden actually opposed was Operation Desert Storm, for which his reasoning was that Europe should pay more of the costs. Having access to the European credit card is making things worse.) The US is currently fighting extremely dirty, unpublicized, anti-democratic wars in Yemen and Syria without NATO’s help. Removing the pro-war US and its overfunded, bloated military from NATO would force the rest of NATO to start being more realistic and stop writing the US blank checks. As for Russia: if we’re going to ignore the Israeli genocide of Palestinians and Arabs generally, which you want us to do, then there’s no reason to talk about Russian genocide. (Unless, of course, you’re going to say that you only think war crimes are bad when they happen to white people. That is definitely going on in the US and EU governments and media; we can literally compare side-by-side reports and reactions from the two fights. The other day Russian bombs killed 6 civilians and IIRC it was said to be “indescribably barbaric”, but when Israel was proved to have buried hundreds of Palestinians in mass graves, at least some of them buried alive, at a hospital which they then destroyed, that… was largely unreported.) If we can’t stop our own supposedly-democratic government from committing genocide, then I fail to see why we should expect to stop anybody else from doing anything.

If Trump were to win now, he would take over a partial police state. If he (or his successor) wins after another 4 years, or 8 years, or whenever, then he would take over a more complete police state and have that much more power, because the Democrats are — fairly openly, there are cop cities going up all over and Biden is trying to push through more funding for cops without any accountability and claiming that as an accomplishment — constructing a police state. Keeping the Democrats in office for now is not just merely putting off the inevitable, it is making the inevitable worse. You haven’t said a single thing to deny that. And also: please don’t use terms the meanings of which you don’t know. An “ad hominem attack” is an attack against the opponent’s personality instead of against their arguments. The only thing I have said on that front is that the views you hold (because you are arguing for them, which is undeniable) are unacceptable in an elected official, so I don’t want you to run for public office. That’s an attack against your arguments, not you.

Joe Biden has the privilege of growing old.

Something he denied to tens of thousands of innocent men, women and children by arming the zionist entity.

[missmaxime]

HOW DOES THE LAUNDERING SCHEME WORK?

In 4x14 Dave and Phoebe explained to the girls how Nick and Rio’s system works. Which left the girls looking like:

And maybe some of you too.

Dave already gives the TL;DR explanation. What starts with street crime like drug dealings, petty theft and carjacking, moves up to counterfeiting and extortion. From there it goes to washing, laundering and contracts. Those contracts come from shell companies Nick owns, that get distributed to the legit companies to realize projects he gets approved by the city council. Easy enough right? 1. Stripper Heel: Street crime: Petty theft, drug deals, carjacking. 2. Cutlet: Counterfeit and washing through Sweet P’s. 3. Bills: Counterfeit Canadian money goes to Canada, and comes back clean (Dave uses a physical bill, but that doesn’t have to be the case.) 4. Nipple pasties: Laundering through companies like construction, electrics, materials. So the IRS wont drop by and ask any questions. 5. The Banker: Additional money comes in through those companies paying a monthly fee for protection. - This is where Rio’s work stops and Nick’s begins - 6. Body glitter and thongs: Laundering from point 4 happens because those companies get contracts from shell companies which are owned by Nick (or likely a patsy). 7. These shell companies are hired by the city for projects Nick gets approved. With these projects Nick can make money by undervaluing the construction, or he can bribe someone (say, a politician – likely if he intends to move up his political career) by overvaluing the project. Let’s break that down: 1. Street crimes, drug deals, carjacking, etc. We know Rio deals pills aside from the counterfeit business. Does he still do that? Ehh, lets just assume he does. Maybe he has some other shady businesses running too, we don’t know. Point is, this is the stage where money and goods come in that are needed for the girls to create the counterfeit. For the American money this is the source for the one dollar bills the girls mushed up to create the bigger bills. For the Canadian money this cash is likely used to pay legit suppliers under the table that legally place larger orders than they need for bleach, nail polish, and whatever else they need to make those bills.

2. Counterfeiting and washing through Sweet P’s. These are two different things that happen in the same physical place. We know that the girls use the back room to create counterfeit, I don’t think any of us need any explanation for that. Supplies are delivered by Rio and his boys, the girls create the counterfeit, and they exchange these and their cuts on set times during their drops. And, finally, finally, bless us all, the girls own a service-based business. Unlike Boland Motors and Boland Bubbles, that work with buying in goods and selling those directly to customers – Sweet P’s delivers a service to a customer. The big difference is that in both BM and BB there is a physical trail for law enforcement to follow (cars and hot tubs), while in Sweet P’s one cannot suddenly uncover a fake lap dance, because those are obviously intangible. There’s a reason a lot of real life washing goes through massage salons, barbers, phone repair stores, tanning salons, car repair shops – service-based with lots of cash payments. Those stores should be legit, because they act like a front. Sweet P’s is a legit business; it has employees, taxes are paid, all the works. But because it delivers a service there’s a few loop holes, I’ll get back to that in a sec. Because, what is the money that they are washing and how do they do it? First of all, it’s not the counterfeit Canadian money. But The Banker receives a lot of unexplainable money every month from extortion, money that one can’t deposit on a bank account, because what will the IRS think of that? In comes a business like Sweet P’s. One that can easily say that on a night they had 10 private rooms booked, even if in reality it was only five. It’s all paid in cash, so there’s no trace. So now the dirty crime money sits all white and clean on Sweet P’s bank account. That’s of no use to Nick as it is, because he can’t hire Sweet P’s to get back his money, that’s the opposite cashflow that he wants. In this case Sweet P’s will need to get a contract from one of Nick’s shell companies from point 6, so they pay him the money. Judging by Dave’s examples these shell companies are likely building constructors, so in theory the girls would “hire” one of those to “remodel” the bathroom. But the construction never happens, only they still pay the bill. Washing can obviously not go through Sweet P’s alone, I can imagine Nick and Rio manage a lot of different businesses that work through a similar construction. 3. Counterfeit Canadian money goes to Canada, and comes back clean. Okay, so we’ve seen one way this goes down: The girls drive the money over the border themselves, delivering (or, well, intending to) it to some kinds of middle-man over there. For the sake of that episode it looks like a lot of trouble, but I can imagine if you have customs officer in your pocket it will go a whole lot easier. Lets not pretend there’s no one working there that could use a bit of extra cash to let them pass without a search. We know how Rio had the American cash washed from how it went at Fine & Frugal. His boys delivered Boomer with a bag of fake cash (and a fee for Boomer himself for his troubles), and he switched out the real cash that came in for fake cash. The fake cash goes to the bank, the real cash goes back to Rio. It’s a swap, easy as that. Whoever receives the counterfeit from the girls must run a similar scheme in Canada, so the fake cash becomes real cash. Now we made real Canadian money, but it’s still across the border, so how does it come back? There’s three ways the money can come back: cash, digital or exchanged for materials. If it’s cash the legit Canadian money must be exchanged for legit American money. Which, honestly, sounds like a lot of labor. I doubt this is how it comes back because it takes a lot of time, people, various exchange points, and is the most liable from all the options. If it’s digital Nick must have shell companies and/or legit companies based in Canada to hire his American shell companies so they can digitally transfer the money. The cash will get washed like the example I gave for Sweet P’s, wiring that cash ‘legally’ to the Canadian companies account. So they can safely pay the contract they have with the American shell company. If it’s goods I can imagine Nick uses his shell companies, or more likely legit companies. For example, if Nick owns a tile-store in America, and washes trough a Kitchen & Bathroom store in Canada – he can have the latter overpay the former (The worth of the tiles he sends is below the worth on the contract) so the cash flows back to him. But! There’s also another option. If he buys property in Canada with cash, and resells that for digital money, it can flow back to the shell company too. And if he doesn’t need the money right away he could buy property in cash, rent it out, and wash the money like that – this even creates a steady cash flow. !! 5. The Banker: Additional money comes in through those companies paying a monthly fee for protection. I’ll tackle this point first before I start 4, 6 and 7. So, from the episode The Banker we can get a good impression what kind of businesses pay for protection. Many if not all are warehouses, looking like they are companies like in point 4 (see below). Or, like the one Penny’s mom owns, an electrical company. All kinds of companies Nick’s shell companies might use for various projects (point 6). Another thing that might be going on is that these companies are involved with other parts of the crime system. Like Boland Motors wasn’t just a way to launder money, but they also received the cars with the drugs. Paying the protection secures the warehouse from retaliating from law enforcement or other gangs that might try to steal this (both Nick and Rio can put their network on that). And secures them contracts for doing work tied to the City. 4. Laundering through companies like construction, electrics, materials. So the IRS won’t drop by and ask any questions. 6. Body glitter and thongs: Laundering from point 4 happens because those companies get contracts from shell companies* which are owned by Nick (or likely a patsy). 7. These shell companies are hired by the city for projects Nick gets approved. With these projects Nick can make money by undervaluing the construction, or he can bribe someone (say, a politician – likely if he intends to move up his political career) by overvaluing the project. Point 4, 6 and 7 are very closely connected, so I will try to explain this for the outcome of Nick earning money himself. For example, say Nick proposes a new project to the council: Building a new school. (He needs at least four votes in favor, including his own. Having Beth on the council obviously increases his chances of getting a project through, because he assumes she’ll sway towards his choices.) If the project gets a go the City of Detroit will need to hire a company to do the building plans and construction – Nick will make it happen that this goes through his shell company. And the shell company will hand out contracts to the companies listed under point 4. From what we know from Dave’s examples these companies are all ties to construction: electrics, plumbing, materials, and so on. As long as Nick is on the council getting his projects, these businesses have a work guarantee – it’s another reason they pay The Banker. How does Nick make money from that? His shell company will have to present the City with a quotation for the work (before the vote). Lets say this school would cost 30 million to built if it was legit. But that’s not what the shell company will say, they will say it costs 35 million. While 30 million from the city will flow back to all the contracted legit businesses, 5 million will stay with the shell company. Although, it won’t exactly stay there. Nick will have ways to move the money around, invest it, bounce between money mules etc. until it will get lost or find its way back to another shell company. What matters is that he’s using this whole system to rob the city to fund his own career (which, if he has the ambition to maybe become senator or more, which I think is a dead given, he will need a lot of money for in terms of campaigning and whatnot).

Any questions?  

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

Analysis: FOX AND THE HOUND Re-issue Trailer UK

Animation Compendia is a great YouTube channel worth following for any animation historian and enthusiast. Their project, for the most part, is finding promotional materials and trailers for Disney animated features films and Pixar films, and preserving them on their YouTube channel... Sometimes, with the help of the good folks at Kineko Video and FemboyFilms, they find *rare* trailers, TV spots, and items for some of these films... Some of them even scanned right off of 35mm film reels! Uncropped, un-matted, unaltered... You can see the edges of the cels and even the backgrounds on some of these, and it's so. Damn. Cool.

Their latest upload is a 1995 theatrical trailer for THE FOX AND THE HOUND, which was made for the film's UK re-release that year. In North America, THE FOX AND THE HOUND had finally come to home video a year earlier. THE FOX AND THE HOUND enjoyed a single theatrical re-release in North America, in the spring of 1988. International release patterns were a little different, and usually the video releases - much like ours - corresponded with the theatrical return. For example, BAMBI was re-released in the UK in the summer of 1993, and then debuted on VHS there in roughly around the spring of 1994.

The dead giveaway that this is a UK re-issue is in the title card, which bears a mention of Disneyland Paris, complete with a slogan "It's close to home". Curiously, the announcer is none other than the late Mark Elliott, whose iconic voice is literally synonymous with trailers for Disney releases in the '80s and '90s. It makes me wonder if Elliott was tasked to do trailer narrations for both US and UK releases, though you barely hear his voice... If ever, on a preview reel on UK Disney VHS tapes... Elliott's narration seems careful, as if this trailer was meant for an international release. No mention of a release frame, for starters. The tone the trailer takes on is a bit different the '88 re-issue trailer, too. A little more emphasis on the action and dramatic beats of the story...

A "Buena Vista International" title card at the start of the trailer is interesting... This is definitely a sign of the times, given that Buena Vista used to be the tree that all the Disney films fell under until 2007. Buena Vista, named for the street that Walt Disney's studio was located on, was Walt and Roy's self-distribution company that they founded in 1953. Walt Disney Productions was always the movie studio itself, the "production" company. Walt Disney Productions was renamed to Walt Disney Pictures in 1983, the first film to bear that name was NEVER CRY WOLF. The iconic castle logo that we all know was created two years later for the films RETURN TO OZ and THE BLACK CAULDRON, and appeared at the start of Disney films since then, supplanting the distinct "Distributed by Buena Vista" title cards they had been using since the mid-1950s. In the end credits would we see the words "Distributed by Buena Vista". Again, we first saw that with NEVER CRY WOLF. Having seen this logo crop up a few times on various uploads, I can only assume European releases had to have this BVI logo present. There was a brief period of time where Disney's films actually weren't distributed by Buena Vista in other countries, including the UK even. BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, for example, was actually distributed by Warner Bros. in the UK! It's almost unthinkable that another major studio would handle a Disney release in another part of the world, that late into their existence!

The trailer also curiously makes use of Henry Mancini's score for THE GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE, of all things... And it wouldn't be the last time. The trailer for the American ARISTOCATS VHS release, present on the VHS release of THE LION KING from 1995, also uses the GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE music... Did Disney's marketing department really like that film's theme that much... that they used it in trailers for two completely unrelated pictures?

Long before this trailer re-surfaced online, I had seen a quad poster for this re-issue. An image of adult Tod and Copper walking down what looks like a countryside road, an image or scene that does not occur in the movie proper. It's also strange because the majority of the print marketing around THE FOX AND THE HOUND, in several territories, barely ever showed adult Tod and Copper. There was a Japanese poster that did, sometimes their adult forms appeared in the background of other posters. There was a Disney Movie Club exclusive Blu-ray cover that did as well, but 99% of the time... It's them as a kit and pup on posters, video covers, etc. The most amusing is the 1994 VHS cover: Tod and Copper are young, but the bear from the third act is in the background. Kinda misleading if you had never seen the movie at the time and got the VHS!

The film's logo used is the one for 1981 and 1988 re-release posters, too. It's the same design scheme, but it's little more detailed here. Same logo was also used in the film's original theatrical trailer in 1981.

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 11:

Gif Credit: @dudeitiskarev

A/N: I told you shit was going to kick tf off! Poor Hotch is not having a good day today.

Warnings: Explicit details of injury, strong language. 

———

“Each meeting occurs at the precise moment for which it was meant. Usually, when it will have the greatest impact on our lives.” - Nadia Scrieva

———

‘Fitzgerald House’ sits in white letters on an antique black board at the gateway entrance. Hotch turns over the engine and peers over at the notebook in McCall’s hand, squinting at the gated estate in front of him. 

They’re buzzed in by a security guard, and as they drive up, the estate expands. A pillared terrace is framed by dark brick, neatly trimmed shrubs line the circle driveway and encase a grand fountain. Behind it, a set of antique double doors are framed by more huge pillars and blossom trees umbrella the pathway. 

“Are you sure this is the right address, Aaron?” Mccall asks.

He nods. “Fitzgerald House. This is it.”

They step out of the car simultaneously, looking around them, the estate more intimidating up close. There’s something cold about this place, a familiarity he identifies with all too well. 

“This seem like the kind of place a twenty-something lives in?” McCall asks in disbelief. 

Hotch scoffs, air leaving his nose in an exhale. “Senator Fitzgerald’s twenty-something.” 

Hotch is light on his feet, feels as though he’s dirtying the kept tile pathway just by walking on it. Truth is, he’d grown up in a home like this - or spent his summers there at least. He’d felt just as uncomfortable then as he does now. He knows what kind of people are on the other side of those doors, and knows the kind of people that live here. Cold, calculating, drenched in privilege, toxicity and unbearable expectations. 

Borderline abusive. 

He was raised by them. 

He pulls his credentials from his inside pocket and reaches for the doorbell. They take a minute or so and when there’s no answer, he makes a fist and bangs on the door with the side of it. 

“Open up, FBI.” 

A woman finally pulls open one of the double doors, straining almost with the weight of it, the oak creaking. She’s around 40 years old, stands at 5’4 and she’s thin, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, greying slightly towards her hairline. A black and white apron completes her uniform.

“FBI? Can I help you?” She speaks with an accent, a thick lilt to her words. Eastern European, maybe, Hotch thinks. 

“I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent McCall. We’re with the FBI.” They flip their credentials to show the lady, her eyes squint to read the writing on them. “And you are?” 

“I’m the housekeeper. Carolina.” She says. 

“Hello, Carolina. We’re looking for a Jordan Fitzgerald?” Hotch inquires with a smile. 

“Oh.” She stutters and glances behind her, frozen in place. 

“May we come in?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Please, come in, I think Mr. Fitzgerald is still in bed. Just a second.” 

They step into the foyer of the home, taking in the room - it’s bright and airy, a white marble staircase leading up and off into both directions sits in the middle, framed by a dark bannister. The refined marble floor, and white walls make the both of them feel uncomfortable, uneasy. Tight-lipped family portraits and oil paintings of numerous well to do ancestors line the walls, casting a disapproving eye.

To the right, is a drawing room, where Carolina seats the two men, plush leather sofas are carefully placed in front of a massive window with a view of the front garden. An oversized antique ceramic vase sits in the corner of the room, perfectly polished and buffed.

Hotch swallows uneasily, his eyes scanning the room. 

They both sit tentatively, careful not to scuff the antique rug that lays below them. McCall glances at his watch and mutters to Hotch, taking care to look around so nobody hears him. 

“Bed? It’s noon.” 

Hotch scoffs, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, sees some missed calls from Haley that he skips over, shooting off a quick text to you. 

Hey. Good luck with your dad today. 

Talking to you is fast becoming one of the best parts of his day - he feels a little like a teenager again. His phone buzzes and he hopes it’s your name on the screen, he has a spring in his step whenever he’s on duty and he doesn’t have as much trouble waking up in the morning, knowing that you’re waiting for him. 

He’s suddenly ripped from his thoughts when giggles erupt from the top of the stairs, and two sets of footsteps approach. Hotch cranes his head in unison with McCall as a blonde woman with dishevelled blonde hair and smudged eyeliner stumbles down the stairs, shirt buttons done unevenly and skirt askew. 

She carries her shoes in her hands and has a purse tucked under her arm - Hotch concludes that she was probably drunk last night, the effects of which she’s still feeling now if her stumbling is any indication. 

Who he assumes is Jordan, trails behind her with a grin on his face. He’s undressed with only a pair of boxer shorts covering him and a dressing gown that lays open. Hotch and McCall shoot each other a wordless look and Aaron has to fight to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

Jordan surprisingly has the decency to walk his unnamed friend to the front door, who turns and plants what looks like a messy and unpleasant kiss on his mouth. 

This is Jordan? 

Nice.

He’s tall but still stands a couple of inches shorter than Hotch, he’s broad with brown hair and matching eyes and has a tattoo across his clavicle, which he covers up when he pulls his dressing gown closed. McCall clears his throat when the unnamed friend releases herself from Jordan’s grip and turns to leaves after having Jordan swat her ass crudely. 

Jordan turns his attention then to the agents in his drawing room, padding towards them as they both stand in unison to introduce themselves. He glances at Hotch, eyes narrow, a miniscule flash of recognition appearing on his face. He subconsciously squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter, gaze falling to the FBI badge Hotch has pinned on his lapel. 

“Mr. Fitzgerald? We’re with the FBI.” McCall tells him with an outstretched hand. 

Jordan takes it warmly, plastering a smile on his face. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

McCall tells him that they’re here in connection with an ongoing case regarding you, to which Jordan has surprisingly little reaction, Hotch notes. 

Instead, he turns his attention to Hotch. “FBI huh?” He places his hands in his hips, an obvious attempt at trying to assert his dominance, and Hotch sees right through him. “Impressive,” he continues. “How old are you anyway, man?” His words drip with sarcasm and do nothing to veil the obvious insecurity he feels. 

He unsuccessfully tries to level with Hotch, subtly tiptoeing. 

Hotch’s jaw clenches as he looks down at Jordan. “24.” 

He repeats Hotch’s words slowly, ignoring McCall - who finds himself frozen in place, uneasy with the almost confrontational atmosphere between his partner and Jordan. 

“Wow. Someone’s ambitious. Got a lot to prove-” he flicks his badge. “Hotchner?” 

Hotch finds the words on the tip of his tongue, wants to chew this asshole out for being a sleazy piece of shit, difficult and lazy. But the thing that really bothers him, the thing that makes Hotch want to give him a black eye, is the fact that at one point, you were his - and his own actions sent you running back into Jordan’s arms. 

That thought makes his stomach drop, because it’s a feeling he’s wholly unfamiliar with. 

Jealousy. 

And he finds that most disconcerting of all. 

He’s used to being able to do his job with a degree of separation and compartmentalisation, to keep his emotions in check - but he finds himself in a predicament now, one that’s becoming alarmingly clear. The lines are blurred and he knows it, no matter how hard he tries to push it down. 

But he tries anyway. 

He takes a deep breath and goes on. “You mind putting some clothes on, bud? We have some questions for you?” His tone is biting, condescension masked with amiability, similar to the way he would speak to a child. He tacks on the ‘Bud’ to purposely get a rise out of Jordan. 

If there’s one thing he learned from his parents growing up, it was how to get under people’s skin with a smile plastered on his face, and he knew people like Jordan. 

He used to be a Jordan.

Jordan steps towards Hotch, his eyes narrow, a slew of expletives on the tip of his tongue no doubt until McCall subtly steps between them. He stops in his tracks, eyes still focused on Hotch standing behind McCall. 

His demeanour changes completely and suddenly, the animosity melting away to make way for his initial warm manner. 

He takes a deep breath and plasters an unnerving smile on his face. 

With a tilt of his head, he says, “I actually have back to back appointments today, may I come into your offices tomorrow?” His cadence sounds eloquent, polite, the way Hotch knows he was probably raised to speak. 

He frowns at the rapid 180. 

McCall subsequently agrees to let Jordan come into the office to keep the peace but Hotch knows better. The only appointments he would have would be with a few lines of coke and a bottle of scotch if his jaw movements and body odour were anything to go by. 

Still, Ben hands him a business card and tells him to come by at around 3pm for a few questions and bids him a quick goodbye. 

Hotch’s phone buzzes on his way out, a message from you telling him that you’re on your way to your father’s with Emily. 

‘Oh and like three MPD officers.’’ You add. ‘One’s new I think? How’s it going with Jordan?’ 

A small smile creeps its way onto his face while his attention is diverted and his eyes are glued to his phone. 

Jordan watches Hotch and McCall walk back down the pathway and into the car. His eyes narrow from the doorway as he gives a cursory glance to the business card he holds between his index and middle finger, and he flicks it onto the ground outside. 

McCall clears his throat once they’re in the car, but Hotch’s attention is still directed at his phone. He clears his throat again, a little louder this time.

Hotch’s eyes dart up as he looks at McCall. “What?” He asks innocently, slipping the phone into the centre console. 

“That who I think it is?” 

“Yeah, I just checked in to see if everything was alright.” He rubs the back of his neck, a dead giveaway gesture to anyone who knew him well enough.  

“Yeah? Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what-”

Without warning, McCall reaches over and pulls down the driver’s seat visor, sliding the mirror cover over. Hotch’s face is flushed, a ghost of a smile on his face, akin to a smug teenager. His guilty reflection stares back at him and stops him in his tracks. He didn’t realise he looked like that when he was thinking about you and he’s alarmed at how transparent he is. 

No, he thinks. So what? It’s warm, it’s even warmer in this car. 

It’s fine.

Still, he sighs, rolls his eyes. “What?” Hotch says, insistent as he turns a little in his seat. 

McCall sighs deeply next to him, hesitant. “Just. Be careful.” He says, head tilting to motion to his phone. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know what I’m talking about, Aaron.” He says, his voice low. “I see the way you look at her. And what about that little display inside? Why were you so confrontational with Fitzgerald?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Oh come on. You gotta be kidding me! You saw the way he was antagonising me-”

“-Yeah and your job is to stay calm no matter what. You’re not supposed to let people get a rise out of you, especially not if you want a place at the BAU one day. Gideon got word of you, he thinks you’re good. Prove him right.”  

He sounds like an older brother lecturing him, but he has a point, Hotch thinks. Why was he so bothered by Jordan? 

He knows why. He doesn’t know how much longer he can deny it.

The feelings he’d tried so hard to bury deep inside were quickly rising to the surface, faster than even he could get a handle on them. Maybe all he could do at this point was to relax his body and let the water carry him - sink or swim. The possibility of what could be, maybe it was too big to keep fighting. 

He has feelings for you. 

He has feelings for you despite the numerous conflicts of interest, despite the moral implications and the danger to your investigation. 

He swallows dryly. 

“You have feelings for her.” McCall says, mirroring his conscience. 

He doesn’t know what to say back, but he certainly can’t bring himself to deny it. He’s not that good of a liar. Yet. 

He just stares back at McCall whose face is etched in concern for his partner. 

He has feelings for you. 

———

It’s dark when you hug your father goodbye. You hadn’t realised just how homesick you’d been for him until you’d visited today, more so now as you’re about to leave. 

You stand in the dreary rain and apologise again for not telling him about the restaurant incident, reassuringly rubbing his hand as you tell him you’re going to be okay. 

“Really, truly.” You tell him over the patter of the rain. “I’m going to be absolutely fine. I have Emily watching over me now.” 

He nods and places a kiss on your forehead. “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still worry.” He sighs. “Bye, baby.” 

You wave to him one last time, pulling your coat closer to your body before you and Emily drive away, MPD leading the way. You glare at her, watching her avoid your looks. She grips the wheel a little tighter, and keeps glancing in the rear view mirror despite there being nothing there. 

After a minute or so, she grits between her teeth, “What? I can feel you staring at me.” 

“You told Dad?” You hiss. “I specifically told you not to, and you still told him?” 

“I’m sorry! He asked me outright if anything had happened, what was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“Yes!” You squeal. “Yes! You’re supposed to lie if I ask you to!”

“Come on, that’s bullshit and you know it. He deserves to know that you’re okay. Think about it, what if it had been him? You’d wanna know.” 

In your attempts to not worry him, you’d forgotten that you were all he had, too. Maybe he was right for holding on so tight. 

“I am sorry, though. I should’ve let you tell him.” Emily whispers, glancing at you. 

“No.” You shake your head and apologise too. “You were right.” 

“Does he fly out tomorrow?” 

“Uh, no. Tonight. Some trip that’s been scheduled for months,” you reply distracted, watching the officers in front of you. 

The MPD car turns its hazard lights on, signalling to pull over on the side of the quiet road. You peer at the vehicle in front of you, confused, checking with Emily who shrugs. A text from one of the officers reads, 

‘Reports of a disturbance ahead, assessing alternate route.’ 

“Better settle in.” You show Emily the text and relax into your seat a little better now, leaning your head against the headrest and resting your eyes as the heater runs in the background. The rain slows to a drizzle now. 

She unbuckles her seatbelt to turn her seat. “Can I ask you a question?” Emily says after a while. 

“Sure.” You reply, eyes remaining closed. 

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” She whispers.

“Who?” You frown. 

“Hotch.”

You all but jump out of your skin. “What?!” You squeak.

Emily rolls her eyes now, embarrassed that you’re even trying to deny it. “Come on. It’s me. Don’t lie.”

Your mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words but your cheeks burn. It’s not entirely unexpected, Emily’s always been somewhat of an inner voice, a mirror that holds you accountable but you’d been quietly trying to work out your issues, the feelings you’d been having for Hotch, internally. 

Had you made it that obvious? Had you made yourself look stupid and naive, pining after a guy who was so much older and settled in life? 

“No of course I don’t, where is this coming from?” Your cheeks grow even hotter and you try to keep your voice even. 

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone can see it.”

“See what? There’s nothing to see!” 

You groan and bury your face in your hands in mortification. If everyone could see it, that meant that Hotch could too, he was on his way to being a profiler for God’s sake. He was probably just humouring you, sparing your feelings.

Oh God. 

“I mean the way you look at him?” Emily says.

“-Please stop, this is so embarrassing-” 

“-The way he looks at you?”

You freeze. “What?” You turn to look at her now and you find her smirking. 

“Come on, you’re seriously telling me you haven’t noticed? I noticed the day I met him, so you’re either blind or in denial, and I know you’re not blind. Even McCall knows it.” 

“What? No. He has a girlfriend and he wouldn’t-”

“Yeah that might be true, and I can’t speak to that. But it doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Even the way he held you that day? You don’t hold a friend like that.” 

Your chest feels fuzzy, warmth spreading to your bones, stomach flipping. 

“So?” Emily laughs next to you as she watches your expression. You try your best to stop the smile making its way onto your face. “I’ll take that as a yes,” She pauses. “He does too, y’know?” 

“What?”

“Have feelings for you.” She replies coyly. 

“Shut up.” You reply, rolling your eyes. 

Your smile reaches your ears now, cheeks aching from the strain. Still, you shake your head, and blow her off, instead turning your attention to the other side of the road. You chew on the inside of your lip, mulling over whether to let what you just heard go ignored or if you wanted to act on it. 

You turn back to confide in Emily but before you can, you see her squinting in the rear view mirror. 

“What the hell?” She mutters. You follow her gaze and see a car with beaming headlights, driving towards you, showing no signs of slowing down as it approaches. She sits up straight in her seat suddenly, as the car increases its speed and barrels towards you. 

The colour on her face drains as she fumbles with the gear stick and pedal, panic taking over as she attempts to move out of the way. You both flinch when the MPD car’s tail lights switch on, the engine revving and reversing. 

Both of your faces fall. “Emily...” You pant. 

“Oh God.”

It’s over in a couple of seconds. 

The headlights get closer and brighter, both cars barrelling towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourselves for impact, your hand clasping hers as both cars ram into you, the seatbelt searing the neck of your skin. The airbags pummel your body from the front and side and your insides feel like they're turning upside down. 

Your neck snaps forward with the impact, glass shattering and piercing the skin on your face and arms as the blood pools slowly from your forehead. A high-pitched whine penetrates your skull as you look over to a barely conscious Emily, and then to the side mirror, a dark silhouette approaching the car. Your breathing is rapid, chest rising and falling as you hyperventilate before you finally black out with the taste of metal in your mouth. 

———

Hotch throws his keys haphazardly on to the table that sits next to the front door, loosens his tie and shrugs his blazer off. He finally breathes a sigh of semi-relief, feeling exhausted. He doesn’t bother calling out to the empty space to let Haley know he’s home, instead decides to just make his way upstairs and get a shower before turning in for the night. 

His shirt is unbuttoned and his socks are in his hands when he turns his attention towards the laundry basket in the corner of their bedroom. He goes to throw them in the hamper when he frowns, some stray fabric catching his attention behind the basket. 

Haley strolls into the room then, rubbing lotion into her hands as Hotch moves the basket to get a better view of the fabric behind it. She double takes when her eyes fall to what he’s doing, spotting what he’s reaching for. The colour drains from her face. 

She’s too late. 

Hotch pinches the fabric between his index finger and thumb and inspects it in front of him, frowning, Haley swallows dryly, going lightheaded.

A pair of boxers.

He frowns. They’re not his, but he swears he’s seen some like them before. 

“Hey, where did these-”

He barely gets through the whole sentence before Haley’s face gives her away entirely. Her lips are pursed and she’s breathing hard, wringing her hands. 

His face falls and he blinks at her, stuck in denial. 

Surely not. She couldn’t have- 

She averts her gaze, looking instead at the carpet on the floor, cheeks hot when the boxers are thrown at her feet. She flinches. 

“Explain.” He demands. 

She opens her mouth but no words come, her head hangs in shame.

“How long?” He asks. “How. Long?!” His voice booms.

“It happened when I left for those two weeks.” Her voice barely registers above a whisper. 

Anger bubbles in his chest when he does the math, “You’ve been cheating on me for two months? Two months?! Was that him this morning?” His nostrils are flared and he knows he’s getting louder now, but he doesn’t care. 

She nods. 

“Use your words, was it him?” He hisses. 

She sobs, “Yes.” 

His mind runs rampant with fury and humiliation, he’d spent the last four months trying to make sure he put her first, had tried to balance his personal and work life and instead of meeting him in the middle, she had betrayed him in such a humiliating way. 

He paces the length of their bedroom now, head scrambling at the proverbial slap he’s just received . The cold familiarity of where he’d seen the fabric before suddenly dawns on him, creeping up his spine.

He stops dead in his tracks, turning to face her, asking the question he doesn’t want the answer to. “What’s his name?” He asks evenly. 

“Jordan - Fitzgerald.” 

He’d always thought the phrase, blood turning to ice, was just a saying but when Haley says those two words, he feels as though the floor has been pulled out from under him and his stomach sinks. He tries to piece together all of the moving parts, tries to connect the dots - he knows what this is, but his brain is still playing catch up. 

He’s in a daze when he answers a call from McCall, his voice even. “I’m on my way to you, there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?” That pulls him out of his daze, a cold harsh push back into reality. Haley’s head whips up when she hears the words, tears streaming down her face. “Where?” He asks. 

McCall pauses. “It’s her.” 

Hotch can already feel what’s coming next, dread settling into his bones, his stomach churning when he remembers you’d planned to have dinner with your father. A violent shiver runs down his spine and he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill out. 

“Status?” He whispers.

“Missing.”

———

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[we-dragons]

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 7 Damian x reader

"Ira! I need my emergency kit!" Molly is pulling at my hair with a brush, I grimace at my reflection, she had put pearls and violet gems in my hair. Seeing as it already wasn't long bearly pushing past my ears, even though there aren't many of them in there it ways down in some places. I had already allowed her to put me in a ball gown, which I'm sure costs much more than my apartment building. It reminds me of peacock feathers, purples, greens, blues fill the cloth they blend seamlessly dark purple at the top and ending with blue at the bottom. I look at the matching marbled shoes and guilt climbs through me.

"Molly I don't need makeup, I'm already in a peacock dress, and there are gems in my hair. Besides the mascara is enough I don't want to spend an hour rubbing anything else off." Molly gasps, a hand gripping at her heart.

"Why-how could you say such a thing!" Ira hands Molly her phone, she screams. "We're going to be late! Ira put the bag back!" I'm yanked from my chair and raced down the hall within minutes I'm thrown into a limo with Molly's parents. Molly jumps in starting to yell at the driver shocking her parents who kept telling her to calm down. It doesn't take long to get to Wayne Manor, the courtyard is crowded filled with flashing lights from cameras reporters, and newscasts. They surrounded every inch with an exception of a semi-circle right at the front of the building where the car pulled up. Once more I'm pulled roughly out of the vehicle by molly, I nearly trip going up the stairs.

"Molly dear, we need to go in together!" My friend's mother pants from behind her husband seems to be in a similar position as me. Like mother like daughter.

I pull my arm away from Molly gently and smooth out my peacock dress, I sigh internally finding relief that I had personally told Molly to make the dress so it covered without it being tight. If I didn't then I would be pulling up the fabric like Molly who went not so modest. Not only had she blinged out she full-on black and high heels that pushed out her height. She looked good, and she made her parents match. When her mother finally catches up she puts a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

What happens after the incident leaves me at a table sitting behind a card with my name on it. Molly was seated somewhere else because I had used my own invitation instead of being a plus one. My eyes cast over the room soaking in again the decor of the newly decorated main floor. My energy seems to drain while I watch the people chat dance and laugh. No one was seated at my table and I was slightly relieved but I still felt odd. I had gone to parties with my mom in the past, ones that were held in her honor about her findings. I feel myself relishing in those memories I had looking back at the times she would pull a silly face at me while I was bored at said parties, or told a joke in some of her speeches. My mother was the expert in The Islamic Golden Era, despite not being a Muslim herself. She prided herself on giving credit to those who deserved more but had their work stolen by Europeans. But then, when she went on that Egypt and Greece dig she had found something that unnerved her. I knew what it was, and I wish I hadn't either. My happy thoughts turn sour, and I can feel myself grimace. I am tired...so tired.

"You made it, It's good to see you here." my head whips around falling on emerald eyes.

"Yeah, I had already told Molly that she could take me to the next party she goes to. However, I didn't know that if you came with an invite and not a plus one that you had to sit at a separate table." He snorts and sits down to my right.

"You were originally sat by her but father assumed I needed a friend," He shows me a card with his name on it. "so he changed Grayson out for you."

"Do you not have friends?"

"None close by."

"When have I accepted you as a friend?" He smiles

"That is a good question, but the same goes for me, you more someone I tolerate."

"Same here, Besides your a bad influence."

"tsk,...touche." his gaze looks me up and down and I have the sudden urge to say 'eyes up here'.

"You look tired, would you like to go to the library?"

"Usually libraries and tired people don't mix."

"How about a tour then, we have several artifacts my father has purchased that you might find interesting." He pushes harder.

"You want an excuse to leave, don't you? I thought my main purpose for being here was to talk to Mr.Wayne, not venture into the mansion." He sighs with his own body, visibly exaggerating the movements.

"My father is deeply preoccupied already in another engagement, he won't even be here for hours. Would you prefer to stay here doing nothing or would you like to leave?" He sounds rather annoyed while looking off to his left and scowling more. I follow my eyes to a group of three who I recognize from the cafe, all of them are pointing and smirking. I being to feel more drained at the thought of them coming here and stand. "Your home, where to first?" He shoots up, grabbing my hand dragging me through the dense crowd of people.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Amazing, this would date back to the early years of feudal Japan, this is Greek! Oh! There's a Khopesh and a Canaan Sickel sword on this wall!"

Damian scoffs sounding more like a laugh than a mocking tone. "You can tell the difference." I give him a look, feeling offended.

"Of course I can, you mostly can tell by the markings on the blade." I turn my head back to the wall slowly pointing to the distinguishable pieces of evidence. "This one is older Hebrew, and here you can see small hieroglyphics depicting the sun. Plus the metals on each blade are very different." I tilt my head back to him, his face stays indifferent. "You knew that already didn't you?" He nods and walks again.

"You must really like history, seems like you could talk about it none stop." He calls back.

"Did you forget who my mother was?"

"I thought she specialized in the Islamic golden era."

"It didn't mean she didn't know the history of other peoples. My mother developed research of anything she could get her hands on." I pause for a minute. "What about you, where did you learn."

"I was taught by some of the best in the world, my mother made sure of it."

"I see." We talk more while examining the objects displayed, I had fun just listening to him explain how his father got some of them. Though the collection wasn't huge it still made me a bit happy to see the objects. My phone buzzes, and I quickly take it out of my pocket.

Molly: Hey where are you we need to get going!

Molly: Dad got too drunk and now he's crying about the world.

Molly: We will be outside, Be there.

"Sorry, I have to get going, I'll see you at school later!" I run through the hall and snag as many macarons as I can on the way out. Molly waves from the car opening the door so I slide in faster.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Sorcerer found. Name: Doctor Fate, Subject: host"

"Anyone else?"

"Database shows,... John Constantine, and Zatanna. All other information is unavailable."

"Gather what they have on the crows send probes if you must."

"Proceeding."

Nightmare stands by the window waiting for his queue. I pull a scale out from the box and open the window. I hand him the scale and he chews effectively destroying the small miracle. "Remember stay out of sight if someone spots you wipe it from their memory and if you see a crow take the fight to the in-between and go for the kill. You have a little bit of my power with you only use it when needed." He purrs, rubbing his head on my hand, then jumps. He vanishes. I sigh putting the device in the box marked with an X just in case and push it under my bed. I head out into my living room putting some things away and cleaning here and there. Proud of my work I turn on the TV and sprawl on my sofa with a bowl of popcorn. Reruns of Highlander play on one of my favorite channels, I smile at my luck and sing to the theme song.

*Thunk thunk thunk*

I jump at the sound, I hear the noise again and follow it to my kitchen bat in hand. I flip on the light and smack my face, a very wet robin scowls at me through the glass. Only then did I notice the rain, and I pray that Nightmare is staying safe. I open the door and let him in, he mutters a thank you while walking in dipping water on my floor.

"Not to be rude, but is there something you need?" He ignores me and continues dragging water on the floor to the living room.

"Robin?" I catch up to him, he pulls something out from his ear and stuffs it in his pocket.

"I would like to stay here for a little while"

"How long is a little while, will I need to pull out the bed in the couch?" He gives me a look.

"There's a bed in your couch?"

"Sometimes I want to watch TV while I do my homework, laying down here makes it easier." I go to the bathroom to pull out some towels.

"Where was this when I was heavily injured?"

"I'm sorry, but the fact that you were bleeding was more concerning. I also put new sheets on the bed and you broke a perfectly good window. There is still blood on my cushions, and you wanted me to place you on the bed?" grabbing the biggest fluffiest towel in the bunch walking back out to the living room.

"You still on about that?"

"It was expensive!" I hold out the towel, he takes it and places his yellow cape in my hand. I frown but head to the coat rack hanging the heavy fabric on the highest rung. I feel short noticing its length, I turn back to Robin who's sat down on the couch the large towel engulfing him completely minus his hair. The black strands stuck oddly to his face and drooped sadly, I almost laugh because he looks like a sad cat. Like Nightmare whenever I give him a bath, I think I have a picture of that somewhere. "Did you want something to drink or eat?"

"Why is it that every time I come here you offer something?"

"It's a hospitality thing I got living in Minnesota, it's just being nice. Besides, you work to protect people, don't you? It only makes sense that I offer you something, I doubt you get paid to do your job. I bet you have countless scars from just doing so, I can do my part and help you feel comfortable. Call it a form of respect."

"Tsk."

I stroll into the kitchen, "Well, I suppose I could give some soda, tea, or water after all you left plenty on the floor."

"What happened to respect?"

"Well, I have feelings to sir! Tossing my words aside like that, I shouldn't even feed you." I poke my head back out, I smile at his scowl while he in turn glares at me. "Now for once, I am out of tea but I have several cans of cherry coke and some popcorn and macarons from a party I went to earlier. How about that?"

"That's fine." I hum grabbing what I needed and plopped back down in my seat handing him the coke. I place the brightly colored macarons and some chips I found between us along with the popcorn. I let myself get absorbed into the Highlander again just as MacLeod beheads another immortal and gains his Quickening.

"What is this?" My Jaw drops while I look at him concerned.

"Just how uncultured are you." His face flushes and his face twists he opens his mouth but i stop him. "Say no more, I will be right back." I come out with my computer and pull up VUDU opening season one of the show. "Sit back buckaroo, now your in for the long haul. Now right now all you need to know is 'There can only be one." His face contorts in confusion, but gives in and moves closer.

"I'm not going to get in trouble with Batman am I." He smirks.

"Most likely."

"Dammit."

[destiniesfic]

i hate everybody (but maybe i don’t) 1/3

This is my @jurdannet​ & @jurdannetrevels​​ Secret Snusband gift for @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves​​! You tapped into a story I’d been wanting to write for ages, so you get three parts and three POVs (Vivi, Cardan, and Jude). Happy Holidays, I hope you like it. ♥ Thanks to @xdarkofthemoon​ for betaing!

This fic is rated E. Content warnings this chapter for excessive alcohol consumption, references to alcoholism, and (prescribed) antidepressant use.

Read on AO3 or read below:

Bars in Barcelona are not especially different from bars in the US. It’s a discovery Vivi has made over the course of her study abroad tenure: everything is different on the outside, but on the inside, not so much. She does like the outsides, though. She likes the tidy streets, the way the buildings don’t rise to blot out the sun as they have a habit of doing in American downtowns. She likes the cozy sameness of the facades, broken by the whimsical surprise of the odd Gaudí contribution. Like a lot of the European cities she’s visited there seems to be some unifying design principle, some common understanding. At home it’s anyone’s guess what the next office building or apartment complex might look like, a mishmash of styles as the cities clamor to reinvent themselves, modernist or postmodernist or deconstructionist or whatever.

Heather could name them all, if Heather were here.

But Heather isn’t here. Tonight, Vivi is out on the town with her two younger half-sisters, Jude and Taryn. Her twin baby sisters, although they hate it when she calls them that. The twins’ spring breaks overlapped by happy accident, so their adoptive dad, Vivi’s biological father, had sent them off on an all-expenses-paid Barcelona trip for a mini family reunion.

Taryn had been thrilled to go out. “I’m so excited that we can drink here,” she’d exclaimed, as she touched up her makeup in the AirBnB’s living room mirror. It’s a two-bed, two-bath apartment with an updated kitchen and certainly beats the dorms. Vivi was forced to give a silent, resentful thanks, Dad, but not out loud.

“You drink at home,” Jude reminded her from the bathroom, where she was trying to wrangle her hair into some style Taryn had sent her from Pinterest. “We have fake IDs.”

“It’s not the same,” Taryn had huffed, applying another coat of mascara. Vivi got that. It had not been the same when they came to Europe before, either, because they had been with Madoc, Oriana, and little Oak. Somehow parents at the table makes the glass of wine with dinner much less daring.

Jude had eventually settled on a high ponytail, and off they went.

Now they’re out at a bar not far from the AirBnB, with each of the twins perched on stools and Vivi leaning against the bar between them. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t seen them for so long except over FaceTime, but Vivi is shocked to notice that her little sisters aren’t kids anymore. They haven’t been little for a while, not since they overtook Vivi in height when they were twelve, but it’s one thing to not be little and another to be an adult. Taryn, who’s been yearning for adulthood since her tweens, finally looks more at home in the role. And Vivi doesn’t know how Taryn got Jude into that dark purple halter dress, which dips low in the front and lower in the back, but the way she wears that and her lipstick is a stark reminder that Vivi’s sisters are in fact nineteen, and no longer chubby, soft-faced children. It’s weird, and Vivi doesn’t like it.

Vivi gets hit on sometimes—with her undercut and piercings, mostly by “alternative” men and curious women—but the novelty of good-looking twins means Jude and Taryn shouldn’t need to pay for their own drinks. And they wouldn’t, except anytime a guy gets too close to Jude or Taryn, Jude adopts a laser-eyed glare and says, “No,” which is thankfully the same in both languages. Otherwise she might start speaking with fists.

“I don’t know why you won’t let us get free drinks,” Taryn pouts.

“The drinks are on Madoc,” Jude points out, nodding to the credit card Vivi puts back in her pocket. “They’re basically free.”

Taryn mutters, “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You guys are such sisters,” Vivi says, taking a swig of beer.

“What does that mean?” they demand in unison.

Vivi grins and closes her eyes, shaking her head. For a second she just stands there, between the twins, and lets everything wash over her: the sibling bickering, the pungent smell of beer and whatever syrup is in Jude’s cocktail, and the music. Music is a strange experience in bars here. First there’s a Spanish song Vivi’s never heard, and then there’s Halsey, crooning over a Chainsmokers beat, and then back to Spanish with perennial favorite “Despacito.” It’s total whiplash. Vivi loves it.

It’s only because she’s listening so hard that she hears Taryn give a tiny gasp.

Vivi opens her eyes. Jude has gone very, very still. Her shoulders, which had been hunched up around her ears as she leaned over the bar, roll down her back, and the muscles there tense. Vivi is not sure Jude is remembering to breathe. She and Taryn are both staring at some fixed point across the bar, so Vivi looks too.

“Oh, hell,” she says.

On the other side of the bar—of the small space they are all crammed into—are four familiar figures. Three boys, one girl. Vivi has to blink to place them, because it seems absurd that four kids they went to high school with would show up in Spain while they, the Duarte sisters, are also in Spain, and also because they weren’t in Vivi’s grade. She knows them, though. Everyone knows Cardan Greenbriar and his trio of hot, mean friends, but Vivi knows them particularly well because of how her sisters have tangled with them over the years.

Taryn whispers, “What are they doing here?”

“I can go ask,” Vivi sighs. That group of kids has no quarrel with her. She and Cardan were friendly back in the day, meaning “ten years ago when Vivi would go hang out with Cardan’s older sister.”

“No,” Jude says, voice firm. Without taking her eyes off the interlopers, she picks up her cocktail and downs the rest of it.

Vivi doesn’t know exactly what happened, but Jude shed her fight-or-flight response sometime in high school. Now, she only has a fight response. Maybe Vivi took her flight response, because it was Vivi who was the terror until she turned eighteen, when she got the hell out of dodge. Taryn has always been in the middle, trying to keep the peace.

“We can go somewhere else,” Taryn suggests.

“No,” Jude repeats, setting her glass down on the bar a little too hard. “I’m not going to let those jerks keep me from having a good time.”

“Which I respect, and more power to you, but also, like, there are plenty of bars in Barcelona,” Vivi points out.

Jude glares. “I’m fine.” And then she holds up one finger in the bartender’s direction.

“You know those are really alcoholic, right?” Taryn says. Worry begins to seep into her voice like melting snow through cracks in a sidewalk.

“I know my limits.”

Vivi and Taryn exchange a wary glance. Jude might know her limits, but she has no problem blowing past them. Jude may not think Vivi remembers the tae kwon do tournament she sat through when Jude was eleven and Vivi was thirteen, but oh, Vivi does. Vivi remembers how her sister volunteered to spar until she had tired herself out to the point where she could no longer stand. Vivi also remembers Jude driving to school on a single hour of sleep after staying up to finish an extra credit essay in a class where she already had an A. Jude somehow didn’t crash her car, but she had been unbearable the entire day. Jude is a danger to herself and very occasionally a menace to society.

But Jude is also an adult and it’s not Vivi’s business.

“Suit yourself,” Vivi says, with a shrug. “It’s dear old Dad’s money.”

A few minutes later, Jude is nursing her second cocktail, and Vivi and Taryn are trying to carry on a conversation as though everything is fine. Any normal person would be well loosened up by now, but Jude retains that unnatural stillness like a dog who’s noticed a squirrel on the other side of a yard. Or, more accurately, maybe like a deer who’s spotted a human hunter approaching over the ridge.

Jude is no defenseless herbivore, but Vivi knows half a lifetime of being bullied has made her feel like a target.

“Hey,” Vivi says, jostling Jude with her elbow.

“What?”

“Tell me about your freshman year misadventures. Taryn won’t open up.”

Jude snorts. “What misadventures?”

“You have to have a few,” Vivi says. “I didn’t raise my sisters to be boring.”

“You didn’t raise us at all,” Jude mutters at her cocktail.

Vivi has never seen her sister anywhere near drunk before and is not sure she likes her like this. “What about boys?” she asks, gently elbowing Jude again. Then she raises her eyebrows. “Girls?”

“No. Nobody.” Jude finishes her second drink and, glaring across the bar, apparently makes the decision to switch to shots. “Vivi, is vodka still ‘vodka’ in Spanish?”

“I’m not answering that.” Vivi sighs. “What about you, Taryn? Anybody?”

“Huh? Um, no.” Taryn had been looking at their erstwhile schoolmates too. One of the boys, the redhead, is looking back. Locke. Vivi exhales. Bad news. There’s history there, the kind of history that shouldn’t repeat.

“Reeeeally?” she asks. “Nobody? Not one boy?”

Taryn blinks back to herself. “Vivi, I go to school for fashion design. They’re all gay.”

“Well, that can be fun.” Vivi gestures at herself. God, she wishes her sisters had brought Heather along. The hot lady bartender with the gorgeous tattoo sleeve keeps trying to catch her eye, and Vivi and Heather had established a “what happens in Barcelona stays in Barcelona” policy before she left, but Vivi doesn’t want a hot lady bartender. She wants her girlfriend.

“Yeah, they’re cool.” Taryn glances back across the bar. Now the blue-haired girl—Nicasia, Vivi recalls—is looking back, along with Locke. Not good.

Since Jude is negotiating for a shot of vodka with hot lady bartender in competent enough Spanish, Vivi lowers her voice and asks Taryn, “Are you feeling especially homesick?”

“We’ve kept in touch.” Taryn doesn’t meet her eyes.

Vivi would hold more of a grudge if someone had tried to sleep with her and her sister, but that’s very much not her circus or her monkeys. She asks, “Did you know he’d be here?”

Taryn shakes her head. “He said they were doing a European tour for spring break, but, like, it’s a big continent.”

“Good news,” says Jude, holding up a shot glass. “It’s vodka in both languages. Cheers.”

“You are going to be sick,” Taryn says.

Jude gives her a sarcastic shrug and then downs the shot. She coughs a little, which somewhat ruins the impression she’s trying to make, but swallows it all down.

“Jude,” Vivi says, beginning to worry, “we really can just leave.”

But Jude is looking at her old high school nemeses again. Cardan had been a particular thorn in her side, or he in hers; Vivi never made sense of that conflict, of who had started what. What she does know is that they’ve definitely been spotted now. The blond boy—Vivi doesn’t quite remember his name—seems to make a move to walk over to them, but Cardan reaches out and grabs his arm, shaking his head. Valentine? Valentino? looks sour, but doesn’t approach. Jude stares them both down.

“I have to use the bathroom,” Taryn announces. “El baño.” Taryn had taken French in high school.

“But—” Vivi begins.

Taryn has already vanished into the crowd. Vivi puts her elbows on the bar and cradles her head in her hands. “This is all going great.”

“Not how you pictured our night out on the town?” asks Jude, who has obtained another shot of vodka from God knows where.

“Yeah, not really.”

“Well, I can fix it.” Jude drinks her second shot and does not cough this time. “I’m going to go talk to them.”

Vivi picks up her head. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“So what?”

“Dad’s going to hold me responsible if anything happens to you.”

Jude fixes a level stare on her. “Dad never holds you responsible for anything,” she says. She slips a little when she gets up off her stool. Vivi wonders if she’s really thinking about fighting someone in those heels.

“You’re mean drunk,” Vivi tells her, trying to grab her arm. “Don’t go.”

“I’m mean sober, but nobody notices,” says Jude, which doesn’t make any sense. She shakes Vivi off. “Besides, I have a few things I want to say.”

And for the second time that night, Vivi watches as one of her sisters pushes her way into the crowd of people, unsure if she should follow or not. Maybe it’ll be good for Jude, in the end, to get some of this out of her system.

The guys across the room are watching Jude approach. Cardan especially. The blond guy is sneering, but Cardan watches Jude with the same strange stillness with which she’d watched him. Like he’s holding his breath until she gets there. Unlike Jude, he doesn’t seem that drunk at all, which Vivi notices because, well, it’s a rare day that Cardan Greenbriar isn’t drunk.

But he is too busy watching her and not his blond friend, who decides that he’s going to intercept Jude before she can even reach Cardan. He pushes over to her first and bars her way, and although Vivi is too far away to hear what’s said between them, she notices the squaring of Jude’s shoulders and the widening of the blond guy’s sneer. Because she is watching closely, she sees that Valerian is the one who shoves Jude first.

Valerian. That’s his name.

It clicks right before Jude punches him in the face.

The bar erupts. Cardan springs to his feet and tries to pull his friend away from Jude. A couple of nearby patrons try to save Jude from herself—Vivi could have told them it was a fool’s errand—by holding her back, not knowing Jude has sharp elbows. Valerian struggles hard and manages to break away from Cardan, only to find himself being grabbed by more pairs of hands. There is shouting in Spanish. Even the hot lady bartender is drawn away, trying to signal her coworkers.

The most Vivi-like thing to do would be to leave Jude to it and keep her nose clean. But Vivi remembers asking Madoc on the day of that fateful tae kwon do tournament, while they revived Jude with sips of Gatorade, why Madoc hadn’t stopped Jude when it became clear she was flagging. “Your sister needs to learn for herself when to stop fighting,” he’d said. “If I make those calls for her, she never will.”

Vivi has a lot of qualms with Madoc’s parenting style, and Taryn is nowhere to be found.

“Oh, hell,” Vivi says again, and she dives into the knot of drunk brawlers to pull her sister from the fray.

---

“I can’t believe you got us kicked out,” Vivi says.

Jude, drunk, hapless Jude, is sitting on the curb with her head between her knees, presumably trying not to barf. There’s still enough anger left in her to flip Vivi off.

“Unbelievable.” Vivi folds her arms and looks left, then right. It seems like a good quarter of the bar spilled out onto the sidewalk with them, a crowd of people chattering about what just happened. Forget kicked out, Jude’s lucky she wasn’t arrested. “Do you see Taryn anywhere?”

“What do you think?”

Vivi pinches the bridge of her nose. Taryn will be fine. She has the AirBnB address and a phone she can use on WiFi. Besides, as far as Vivi knows, she ran off with Locke. Vivi hasn’t seen the two of them come out of the bar yet, and she would not be surprised. She knows a bad decision when she sees one.

“You keep sitting down,” Vivi tells Jude. “I’m going to figure out a ride home.”

“Your face should keep sitting down,” Jude mumbles spitefully.

“Hey, guys? Vivi?”

Vivi cringes as soon as she hears the voice, because she knows the voice, and because in this situation the owner of that voice will only make things worse. Vivi doesn’t have any personal grudge against Cardan Greenbriar—they’ve even sometimes been friends—except for how her sister feels about him. Taryn’s always said he was kind of a dick, but Taryn doesn’t hate him like Jude does. Nobody hates anybody the way Jude hates Cardan. Vivi wonders if Jude has something to prove.

Sure enough, Jude’s head swivels at the sound of his voice like the kid’s head turning around in The Exorcist. “You,” she snarls, and then stumbles to her feet.

“Jude,” Vivi says, trying to catch her sister’s dress to pull her back, but Jude is already out of reach. With another sigh, Vivi stands too.

“What are you doing here?” Jude demands of Cardan, openly hostile. It would be funny, because Jude is a full head shorter than him, if Jude was anybody else’s sister. “We were all having a great time until you showed up.”

“It’s anybody’s city,” Cardan says, but he doesn’t seem to be mocking her. He holds up his hands to show her they are empty.

“Go the fuck home!” Jude yells, and shoves him, sending him back a couple of steps.

Vivi shouts, “Woah!”

“It’s okay,” Cardan tells Vivi over Jude’s head. “She’s not hurting me. Let her get it out.”

With a little cry, Jude pushes him again, and this time he only stumbles back a half-step, but he keeps his hands up and his stance somewhat grounded. The next time Jude shoves him he doesn’t budge at all, and Jude lets out a grunt of frustration, fisting her hands in his jacket.

And then she bursts into tears.

“Oh,” says Vivi, but Cardan doesn’t seem that surprised. She wonders if he’s used to people behaving badly while drunk or just being drunk himself.

“You’re so a-awful,” Jude says between sobs. “Everything’s awful all the time.”

“I know, Jude,” Cardan replies. He gently pries the jacket out of her fists so he can remove it and drape it over her bare shoulders. Jude grabs onto his shirt instead.

“Why do you hate me so much?” she asks, with a small hiccup.

“I don’t,” Cardan replies. His hand rubs circles between his shoulder blades. “But I hope you’re too drunk to remember that.” He looks up at Vivi, and Vivi feels a brief flash of embarrassment, like she’s intruded on something intimate, before she remembers that they’re in public and, also, she has no shame. “Were you going to get a taxi? I can keep an eye on her while you do. I don’t think she should walk back.”

“Oh.” Vivi blinks. “Yeah. I’ve got it. Where’s your ‘friend?’”

“Sent him packing. He’s back at the hotel, or he should be.”

“Well… good.”

But Cardan isn’t listening. He’s already looking down at Jude again.

It turns out Vivi has, carelessly, let her phone die. She isn’t anal about things like that. Taryn’s the one who keeps a charger in her purse at all times, but Taryn has vanished, and Jude’s phone only works on WiFi outside of the States.

So they hail one of Barcelona's bumblebee-like taxis the old-fashioned way, and Vivi is the one who climbs into the passenger’s seat and tells the driver where to go in Spanish that’s fluent, if definitely not Spain-Spanish. It is deeply ironic that Vivi, the only sister without a drop of Duarte blood in her veins, is the one who speaks Spanish the best. But Jude and Taryn were only seven when their parents died. Vivi had been nine. Two years makes a big difference with these things, especially because memories are shaping and re-shaping themselves in the minds of children that young. As far as the twins’ brains are concerned, they only had their parents for a short time.

Vivi remembers more. She remembers sitting on the counter in the old kitchen, legs swinging, as her dad cooked on Fridays—the special day, the end of the week day—and pointing at things in the kitchen so Justin could tell her their names in Spanish and she could echo them back. Cebolla, onion. Queso, cheese, of course. Cuchara, spoon. The words had a favor of their own, different from the English words she learned in kindergarten. She remembers the smell of toasting coriander seeds, the bright songs her dad would hum, the vibrant melodies bursting from the CD player Vivi leaned her elbow on. When she got far enough along in school, she threw herself into Spanish, hoping the words would pave a road that would lead her back to the man who shaped her.

Sometimes Jude gets in a sulk about their awful twist of fate, or Taryn gets weepy, and Vivi just wants to yell Justin Duarte was my dad, too! She feels like her throat is raw from screaming it her entire adolescence. It was easier in the end to just move away for college.

She ended up in Spain because Madoc and Oriana weren’t keen on her going to Mexico. Oh, sure, they’d been before on vacation no problemo, but as soon as Vivi wanted to go alone it was game over. No matter how much Vivi told them it was very racist of them and a total double standard. Apparently Oriana didn’t want her getting kidnapped. Vivi, who has in fact seen the movie Taken, knows she can get kidnapped in Europe just as easily, thanks very much. That had not been a persuasive argument with Madoc.

So here she is, in Barcelona, where familiar words can have entirely different flavors, and that’s even before getting to Catalan, which she can now speak a little but not well. Most of the time, she’ll be honest, she does love it here. At this moment she’s not feeling charitable toward anything.

Cardan helps load Jude into the backseat of the taxi. The driver, looking in the rearview mirror, asks, “¿Su novio?”

“¿Qué?” Vivi asks reflexively. She cranes her head around to see Cardan sliding in next to Jude, his arm around her shoulder. She switches to English. “What the hell, dude?”

“She won’t let go,” Cardan says simply. It’s true; Jude is clinging to him like a very weepy barnacle, her shoulders still shaking.

“Alright, well.” Vivi turns back around. It’s good to have the extra pair of hands. She wishes again that Heather was here. “You’re the official Jude wrangler now.”

“Copy that. I just—” He sighs, and in the rearview, Vivi sees him rub his face with his free hand. “It’s my fault.”

“Sure is.” The taxi begins to pull away from the curb, and Vivi checks her anger. She amends, “Actually, no, it’s not your fault that my sister’s a lightweight and an angry drunk. But from what I hear, the years of prior psychological damage are totally your fault. So, credit where credit is due.”

Cardan nods. Jude sniffles forlornly. Vivi is intrigued by how gentle he’s being with her, how tolerant. His shirt looks like a regular cotton tee, but knowing him it probably costs about the same as a single night in their very nice AirBnB. He doesn’t seem to mind that Jude’s getting snot and tears all over it.

“Hate you,” Jude mutters, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Hate this.”

“I know.” He pushes a lock of hair that’s escaped from her ponytail. “What are you on?”

“Huh?” There’s a pause. Vivi is watching the road now, but she can imagine Jude’s confused blinking. “I don’t… drugs.”

“Meds.”

“Oh, um, fuck.” Another pause. “Zoloft. I switched this year.”

“You’re not supposed to drink on that stuff,” Cardan says, but it almost sounds like he’s teasing. “It messes you up. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Jude sniffs. “It’s not like I’m operating heavy machinery,” she says, slurring slightly.

Cardan chuckles. “I did the Zoloft thing, too. I’m not on it anymore, though.”

“‘Cause you couldn’t drink?”

“Like anything would stop me.” He pauses, and Vivi looks into the rearview mirror to find him biting his lower lip in an exaggerated way, so drunk Jude is sure to get the joke. “No, there were... personal reasons.”

Jude is utterly nonplussed. “What?”

“Ah, you know…” He leans over and whispers something to her. Her eyes widen, and then she lets out a small, nervous chuckle. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I was like ‘If I can’t have sex, won’t that just make me more depressed?’”

To Vivi’s great surprise, Jude giggles. A totally surreal sound. She hasn’t giggled like that in years, if ever.

“There we go,” says Cardan, weirdly indulgent. “No more crying. Or, well—oh, okay,” he adds, as Jude turns her head and begins quietly sobbing into the sleeve of his shirt. “I guess some more crying.”

“You seem very sober,” Vivi remarks.

“Yeah, I’m trying it on. Just club soda for me tonight.” He leans over to rest his head on top of Jude’s. “It, cómo se dice, sucks.”

“Like your accent.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Vivi is beginning to get vaguely suspicious. She says, “But you are handling this well. Just used to dealing with a lot of drunks?”

“Huh? Oh.” Cardan’s dark eyes flick up to meet Vivi’s in the mirror. “This isn’t the first time. Jude got wasted at prom, after the stuff with Locke and Taryn came to light. Completely trashed.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You were finishing up sophomore year, right? In like, Massachusetts? And it’s not like she would have told you. If she’s lucky, she doesn’t remember it. I loaded her into the Uber that took her home.”

Vivi’s stomach twists, but she channels the newfound sister guilt into suspicion and narrows her eyes. “Decent of you.”

“Yeah, I was trying that out, too. Got puked on for the trouble.” Cardan leans his head back against the headrest now. Jude’s sobs have quieted down. “But I still remember the Four Phases of Drunk Jude Duarte.”

“I’m glad somebody does,” Vivi admits. “What are they?”

“Angry, weepy, horny, sick.”

She snorts. “Basically Snow White’s shittiest dwarves.”

“Basically,” Cardan agrees. “But you’re not in danger of her getting sick yet, because we haven’t hit—ah. Um. Well.” He clears his throat. “Never mind.”

Vivi looks up into the mirror again to see Cardan plucking Jude’s hand off of him and returning it to her. “Did we just hit horny?��

“We just hit horny,” he says, his voice strained. Jude has her face buried in his neck again, but this time for entirely different reasons. The hand he had returned to Jude is already sliding back down his shirt. “Okay, hands above the waist. No, above—”

“Oh my God.” Vivi covers her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“Great. Very helpful, Vivienne,” Cardan says, grabbing Jude’s wrist and holding it still. It speaks to their relationship as nearly family friends that he can use her full name without invoking her wrath. “Your sister is outright molesting me and you can’t even tell her to knock it off?”

He doesn’t sound totally panicked, though. “I think you might want my sister to molest you,” Vivi guesses, turning around in her seat to look at him. Somehow, Jude has managed to thoroughly drape herself across him, but Cardan is showing admirable and frankly uncharacteristic self-restraint by keeping her from doing anything that can’t be undone. “Just a little.”

“When she’s sober. Jude, don’t bite my ear. Jude—”

Vivi snickers. The rest of the short ride passes like that, with Cardan deflecting Jude’s advances and Vivi deflecting the taxi driver’s questions about what exactly is happening back there and whether Jude is going to be sick all over his floor mats. They are lucky enough to not hit “sick” until Jude is out of the car and walking up the five stairs to the door of the apartment building. With Cardan’s warning in mind, Vivi is able to jump back in time.

Cardan, who is nearer to Jude, is not so lucky. She leans against the railing and doubles over it, but his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans are still caught in the splash zone. “Okay, great,” he says, gathering her back up. He does not sound entirely tolerant now, but he also doesn’t sound as angry as Vivi might expect. “That’s over. Feel any better?”

“No,” Jude mutters.

“You might in the morning.” He moves them both so Vivi can pass and open the door. “Man, is this really only the second time this has ever happened to you? I have to say, I’m jealous. Not of you in this moment, of course. Just in general.”

“We can’t all be charming teenage alcoholics,” Vivi says, propping the door open so Cardan can help her through.

“You hear that, Jude?” Cardan asks. “Your sister thinks I’m charming.”

“Uh-huh,” says Jude.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Vivi warns. “She’s almost out. Let’s get her upstairs.”

Jude doesn’t make it into the bedroom she and Taryn are sharing. They put her to bed on the couch, on her side, with Cardan’s jacket draped over her. There’s no laundry machine in the AirBnB, but Vivi finds some detergent in the cabinet and they fill the bathroom sink with lukewarm water so Cardan can wash his jeans. Vivi is not sure the right time for the conversation she should have is now, when Cardan is standing in his boxer briefs and Jude is passed out in the next room, but on the bright side, there probably isn’t a worse time.

“You know, I didn’t think we had this level of friendship,” Cardan remarks, dunking his jeans in the sudsy water. “Dealing with your sister must really be a bonding experience. You always liked Rhyia best.”

“Well, Rhyia’s cool.” Vivi folds her arms and leans in the doorway. She kicked off her boots when they got in the door, so Cardan now looks even taller, although certainly not very intimidating in his underwear. “Calvin Klein. Nice. You always struck me as more of a boxers guy, I have to say.”

“Sometimes. These jeans are pretty tight, though.” He looks over at her. “Do you need something?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, nothing. I just can’t believe you’re trying to fuck my sister.”

“I’m not trying to fuck your sister,” Cardan says, massaging his jeans in the sink in such a way that Vivi is forced to wonder whether he’s ever done his own laundry. “She’s wasted. And she hates me.”

Vivi frowns deeply.

Cardan asks, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Vivienne Leigh—”

“Don’t you pull out my full name for this. You’re playing some game here and I will figure out what it—oh.”

“What now?”

Vivi squints at him. “Are you in love with my sister?”

Cardan lets out an exhausted sigh. “Taryn isn’t really my type.”

They both know they aren’t talking about Taryn. “What the fuck. How long?”

“Like a year. Or maybe my whole life. I’m not sure.”

“Does she know?”

“I really hope not.” Cardan grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, and then looks past himself to see where Jude sleeps on the couch. “She’d never let me live it down.”

“Okay, well…” Vivi pauses. This is more older sibling responsibility than she signed up for. “What are your… intentions?”

“I don’t have any.” Vivi purses her lips, and he adds, “I really don’t. I wasn’t expecting to see her tonight. I kind of thought I’d never see her again after we graduated.” He pauses and looks down at the sink. “I think, someday, I’d like to be a person she likes. That she’s capable of liking.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Huh.” He has it really, really bad. Vivi can’t imagine what Jude said or did to make him feel that way about her. Maybe it was her total lack of regard for him? “Is this why you bullied her for years?”

“I hope not!” Cardan exclaims, in a way that suggests this thought has occurred to him before, and moreover, that it actually bothers him. “I don’t know! I don’t want to be that fucking cliché, Vivi.”

“We’re all cliché in our own special ways,” Vivi says, glancing back at Jude. A vague plot is beginning to take shape in her brain. Jude is the plotter, Taryn the planner—there is a difference—and Vivi the pantser, normally. But there is something here that she thinks she can exploit. “Seeing as you have no pants, you should probably stay over. I don’t think any of our clothes will fit you.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. You can have one of the twin beds.” After a beat, she adds, “I’m not telling you which one is Jude’s.”

“Darn,” Cardan deadpans. “Now I don’t know which one to jerk off in.”

Vivi pulls a face. “That’s the idea.” And then, because Cardan is hopeless, she reaches forward and yanks the plug from the drain. “Rinse off your jeans in clean water. Otherwise they’ll dry all stiff and soapy.”

“Thank you for the advice, oh wise one.”

She rolls her eyes and leaves him to it. After checking on Jude, whose coloring and breathing are both normal, she heads back to her room and looks at her phone. Nothing from Taryn, even though it’s later than Vivi thought, but Vivi isn’t worried. Taryn’s kind of like a cat in that, somehow, she always manages to land on her feet. Vivi fires off a quick text to her, then stares at the glowing screen, thinking about the way Cardan had rested his head on top of Jude’s in the back of the taxi.

She texts Heather: sisters are a lot of work

And:

i wish you were here

It’s much earlier in New England. When the three dots pop up to indicate that Heather is typing a reply, Vivi smiles.

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 9 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: I really really struggled with this chapter. I have a love/hate relationship with writing vacations and for some reason even the bedroom content was a battle. So I really hope you enjoy it because this one took some work to get everything to come together. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Next up: days 2-? of vacation. 

Warnings: oral sex

Word Count: 3,301

~~~~~~~

Dating Cale honestly felt like the most natural thing in the world. Some days, he’d meet you for lunch between clients after finishing a workout, others he’d come over for dinner or to watch a movie. Everything just fit and immediately felt like this was how things had always been. You sometimes forgot that you’d been together less than a month.

Two weeks after Cale had surprised you with dinner, your phone buzzed with a text containing the dates for your trip to Iceland. From that moment forward, you felt like you had stepped into a whirlwind. Suddenly your life was full of things like requesting time off work, googling what an appropriate wardrobe would be, shopping for the things you needed but didn’t have. Then there was the packing, trying to fit a week and a half worth of clothes into a single suitcase and your usual carry on, making sure you didn’t forget the plug adapter for your phone or worse your passport. 

They weren’t bad things, but they were out of the ordinary and you were looking forward to just being on vacation with Cale, the stress that came with vacationing put behind you. 

As Cale loaded your bags into his parent’s car on a Tuesday in mid-June, you finally felt your excitement kick in. Laura and Gary were dropping the two of you at the airport so that you didn’t have to worry about parking, and as Gary drove Laura rambled on about how pleased she was that the two of you were taking this trip together and how she was certain it was exactly what the two of you needed. When Cale mouthed that she ‘didn’t know the half of it’, it took everything in you not to bust out laughing. 

Assuring Laura that you would take plenty of pictures, you hugged both her and Gary before heading with Cale through the airport. After going through security, checking your luggage, and finding the proper gate, you settled into Cale’s side to wait for your flight to board. Cale had gotten an evening flight, allowing you to sleep the eight hours it took to fly across the continent. You were grateful for it now but you were certain you would be even more grateful when you landed, knowing that with the time difference you would spend 8 hours on a plane but arrive 14 hours after you had left. 

Sleeping on the flight, your head resting on Cale’s shoulder, made time move quickly and before you knew it you were fastening your seatbelt for the landing at Keflavik Airport. 

“We’re here.” You whispered excitedly, curious as to what was awaiting you when you stepped outside of the airport. 

“Someone’s excited,” Cale said, a soft grin on his face as he grabbed your carryon for you as the two of you navigated through the airport. Collecting your luggage, you followed Cale over to a rental car desk and watched as he chatted with an agent. He signed a few papers and handed over his credit card, and soon he was handed keys, the two of you making your way out to a lot to pick up your vehicle for the trip. 

“Ten days vacation with my boyfriend...you could say I’m a little excited.” You mused, stretching to kiss him after loading your bags into the trunk of the SUV. It was just after 10 am and the weather outside was brisk but comfortable. Cale kissed you back before pulling a map from his carryon bag. 

“Ready to be my navigator?” He questioned, closing the trunk before moving to the passenger side, opening your door. “We’ve got an hour drive into Reykjavik and then I was thinking food…?” Cale suggested. A late breakfast/early lunch sounded wonderful and you quickly agreed, sliding into the vehicle. It took Cale a few minutes to get comfortable behind the wheel in a new country, but once he did, he dropped his hand to the center console, allowing you to lace your fingers in his as you watched the countryside pass by. It was a quiet drive, comfortable, the two of you just enjoying each other’s presence. 

When you finally reached the capital city Cale found a public parking lot and the two of you ventured out on foot in search of food. Cale had clearly done his research because he led you toward the waterfront, straight to a tiny little food stand. Ordering you each a hot dog, Cale explained that it was Iceland’s national food and therefore seemed the natural choice for your first meal in the country. 

“You sure just one is gonna be enough for you?” You joked, knowing that his athlete’s stomach burned through calories faster than you could ever dream. 

“If I’m still hungry I’ll go back for another.” Cale simply shrugged and as the two of you settled into a picnic table with your food, you just shook your head, smiling over at him. Cale did indeed go back for another and you failed to bite back the laughter when he glared at you just a little. 

“I’d rather not see what you’re like when hangry so please, eat as much as you need to.” You giggled, looking around as you waited for him to finish. This was the biggest city in the entire country but yet it didn’t feel stressful or crowded like you’d experienced in other cities. Instead, it was a place you very much wanted to spend time exploring, enjoying the chance to witness just a taste of daily life here. 

When Cale finished, you disposed of your trash before heading back out onto the street. Leaning against his side, you looked up at him for direction, not sure what the plan was for the day. 

“Want to just walk around the city?” Cale inquired. Looking at him it was clear that he didn’t really have a plan and you twisted, planting your hands on his chest as you peered up at him. 

“And here I thought you planned this trip.” You teased. It wasn’t that you opposed his idea, you just had to give him a little bit of a hard time just because you could. 

“I did plan this trip.” Cale murmured. “I planned this trip to have the flexibility for us to go where we wanted to go and see what we wanted to see without having to worry about following a strict schedule. I’ve got a rough outline...or did you not look at the map?” He teased right back. As his hand drifted down to your lower back he dropped his head to kiss you. You were still getting used to this whole being able to kiss him in public thing, but you liked it. “I wasn’t sure how tired we’d be...so I figured we’d just start local, check into the hotel, and play it by ear from there. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You smiled, pecking his lips once more before settling back onto your feet. “So which way Mr. Makar?” 

With your hands entwined, you walked through the city of Reykjavik, taking in all of the sights it had to offer. At the Hallgrímskirkja church, you marveled at the height of the ceiling while Cale joked that it was like staring at a graph in math class all over again. Smacking him gently, you insisted on taking your first selfie, laughing at each other as you did. Already, your brain was cataloging that there would be two distinct folders of photos on your phone, one you could show the parents and one you could not. 

As you passed the statue of Leif Eríkson, you rambled on to Cale about how historians had new leads on where Vinland actually was located and how the Vikings had clearly discovered North America long before many of the other European explorers had. 

“Someone has been watching documentaries lately.” Cale smiled, his grin fond. “History was always one of your favorite classes wasn’t it?” You nodded in agreement and noted that Cale seemed unbothered by you playing mini historian. The fact that he remembered what your favorite classes were in school kind of surprised you. But this was one of the many reasons why this trip was such a good thing, you were getting to reacquaint yourselves with each other and learn things you didn’t know before. 

Soon, you walked through what seemed to be a shopping district. It was quaint and quiet and reminded you more of a small suburb than a big city. The buildings were all small and cute and there was graffiti art all over the place. When you reached Tjörnin Pond, you pulled Cale to sit on a bench for a few minutes, more wanting to just sit and take things in than actually needing to rest. 

“This place is gorgeous.” You breathed, your linked hands resting on Cale’s thigh. “Thank you for bringing me.” 

“Thank you for coming,” Cale replied, his lips pressing against the top of your head. Sitting for a few more minutes, you headed off again, continuing along until you reached the harbor. There you saw the Harpa concert hall, a modern glass building whose panes of multicolored glass shone brightly under the midday sun, and the Sun Voyager sculpture which resembled a Viking ship floating on water.  

Having essentially circled back to where you had started, the two of you made the decision to head back to the car. You’d killed enough time wandering around that you could check into the hotel and so you headed that way. 

You hated to admit it but Cale might have been right. The moment you settled into the car, you felt yourself immediately start to doze off. You knew logically that you shouldn’t be tired, but yet that was exactly what you felt. You didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep in the short drive over to the hotel until Cale was unbuckling you. 

“Hey sleepy.” He whispered. “I already checked in and took our bags up. You wanna go up and take a nap?” Cale’s question was answered only by a look of exhaustion on your face. It didn’t take long to reach your room and once you had, you flopped down on the bed, sighing softly at its comfort. Cale’s hands slipped your shoes off your feet and he chuckled, the weight of his gaze causing you to shift. 

“Don’t even say it.” You mumbled. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Cale defended. “Are we calling it a day though and just getting an early start tomorrow?” He asked. Though you wanted to keep going, you didn’t think your body agreed and so you sighed shrugging. 

“Yeah...I think so.” You pouted. The pout was pulled from your lips though when Cale stretched, the bottom of his shirt riding up to reveal the fine happy trail that started just below his belly button and disappeared under the waistband of his grey sweats. It was amazing how easily even a peek at your boyfriend’s body made everything better. 

“What do you want for dinner? I’ll run out and bring food back.” Cale insisted, his fingers running through his somewhat sweaty hair. 

“I’d say surprise me but I’m not sure that’s such a great idea in a foreign country.” You joked. “I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.” You whined. Or if you were hungry you just didn’t know what sounded good. 

“Women…” Cale mumbled teasingly under his breath. “I’m going to see if I can track down a couple salads. Will that work?” Your stomach growled at his suggestion and you both took that as your body’s agreement. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.” Cale stated, leaning down to kiss you before slipping from the hotel room. 

As your head fell back against the pillows, you knew you could easily just go right back to sleep. At the same time though, you couldn’t help but feel gross from the travel and from spending the afternoon walking around. So you forced yourself up and into the small bathroom to wash off. 

By the time you finished and had slipped into pajamas, Cale had returned with food. Though you weren’t super hungry, you forced yourself to eat before finally crawling into bed. 

You weren’t sure what time you fell asleep, though you knew it had to be ungodly early. When you awoke, it was to the feeling of Cale’s arms tightening around your body, his voice low and smooth in your ear. 

“Will you stop the tossing and turning...it’s too freaking early.” Letting out a hum of confusion, you twisted in his arms, your head landing against his shoulder. “It’s 3 am...and I’m awake because you can’t stay still…” Cale grumbled. “I know I said we’d get an early start but I didn’t mean this early.” He added. “So can you please tell your body to knock it off.” 

“Sorry.” You whispered, forcing yourself to go rigid against him. Apparently, your body had had enough sleep already and decided that any extra sleep would not be the peaceful kind. Cale’s fingers slid up your back and he let out a grunt of frustration when his touch only caused you to stiffen further. 

“Sweetheart...would you relax?” He murmured. 

“I’m trying.” You mumbled back, turning back over to face away from Cale with a sigh. You wanted to sleep, you did, but now that you were half awake, your brain was filled with anxious thoughts and silly worries. It had been less than five minutes since he woke you when you felt Cale’s lips on your shoulder and once again his arms tightened around you. 

“Let me help…” He murmured, his fingers shifting to brush against your stomach. 

“Cale I…” Whatever complaint was on the tip of your tongue was silenced when Cale rolled you underneath his body, his mouth seeking yours. His kiss was lazy and soft and he didn’t fully pull away until your body had turned to jello. 

“Do you trust me?” Cale questioned softly. You could only nod because of course you trusted him. You trusted him more than anyone else you’d ever been with. “Then let me help you relax so we can both sleep.” He pressed, one hand sliding down to rest against your hip. 

It was his blue eyes that revealed what he was planning on doing and you caught his cheek in your palm before he could start sliding down the bed. 

“Cale...you don’t…” 

“Sweetheart...if you think I haven’t thought about what it would be like to bury my face in your sweet pussy a million times in the last few months you’re insane. I want to...will you let me?” 

Nerves ran through your body at the thought of trying this for the first time with Cale. What if you didn’t like it? You’d failed to remind him that he wasn’t the only one inexperienced in this area, so it would be a blow to his ego for sure if this went badly. Suddenly, the image of Cale licking your fluids from his fingers popped into your head chased by the fantasy of his head between your thighs. All you had to do was agree for that fantasy to become a reality. Before you could even verbalize your assent, Cale had started sliding down the bed, dragging the blankets with him. 

“If I do something you don’t like just tell me.” He breathed, his fingers tugging your shorts and panties off of your body quickly. 

Nude from the waist down, Cale trailed his mouth across your stomach as he settled himself between your parted thighs. Then he jumped down to your left knee, nipping his way up your inner thigh before repeating the process with the other. 

He was both teasing you and giving you the chance to stop him if you needed to but now that he was there, you wanted nothing more than to see just what kind of damage he could do. 

“Cale, please…” You gasped, needing so much more than what he was giving you. 

“That’s my girl,” Cale mumbled, his eyes twinkling as he looked up at you. “I want to hear you, sweetheart.” The feeling of his breath blowing hot over your core made you shiver and your back bowed off of the bed toward him. Pinning your hips down under the weight of his forearm, Cale kissed your stomach one more time before sliding down, his tongue licking broadly through your folds. 

Squirming under him, your brain attempted to process whether that was a good or a bad sensation. It settled for the word different as you felt waves of heat roll through you when Cale’s mouth latched onto your clit, sucking gently. 

“That…more of that.” You pleaded. Following your direction, Cale focused in on your clit, sucking it between his lips again. Slowly things started to go hazy as he pressed soft kisses and little licks to your heated flesh before returning to the suction. There was no rush to his actions, and you reached down, your fingers tugging at his hair as he lapped lazily at your core. 

A grunt spilled from Cale’s mouth in response to your tug and the vibration rippled through your body, sending sparks across your skin. Sliding his other arm around your hip, Cale drew your leg over his shoulder. The change in angle must have allowed Cale better access because you felt his tongue press inside of you, your hips attempting to jolt out of his grasp at the feeling. 

The feeling of his tongue fucking inside of you made you whimper and when Cale pulled back to breathe, you could feel the growing confidence rolling off of him. 

“You doing okay?” He questioned softly, waiting for your answer as he pressed gentle kisses to your thigh again. 

“More Cale please…” You whined. Smirking Cale sucked at your clit harder than he had before. 

“More of this…” He questioned quickly before sliding his tongue back inside of you, flicking at your slick internal walls. “Or more of that.” He asked, pulling back once more to breathe. Your chest was heaving, your breath hitching with the feelings Cale’s mouth on you created. 

“Both...god both Cale…” You pleaded. 

“Okay...just relax and let go for me okay sweet girl…” Cale resumed his easy pace, switching between sucking your clit and pressing his tongue inside you. As your body responded to his actions, he adjusted speeding up and slowing down until you were crying out his name, your body shaking with the strength of your orgasm. 

Coming down, you shoved at Cale’s head as he licked over you slowly and carefully, cleaning you up. When he finally crawled up the bed, the grin on his face was a mile wide and his thumb brushed against your cheek. 

“Was that okay?” He asked, nerves showing only in his gaze. 

“If I didn’t know that was your first time...I wouldn’t believe it.” You said, voice slightly hoarse. Cale’s cheeks flushed even deeper and you leaned up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

“It’ll be better next time,” Cale promised, laying flat on his back again, pulling you into his side. Snuggling against him, you certainly felt calmer than before, a yawn spilling from your throat. As you drifted back to sleep you heard Cale whisper ‘thank you’ in your ear and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered at being able to give Cale an experience he’d never had before. 

Everything with him was new and different and you couldn’t ask for anything more. Just like this was only the start of your relationship, it was only the start of your vacation and you could only see both getting better with each and every day. 

[helpibrokemybrain]

writing-prompt-s facelessnamelessanarchist Follow

Follow welcomedhappiness Farewell online privacy

Follow tikalgirl What happened?

xdvisyrx Trump happened.

Follow pizzaalle just get a VPN?

Follow earth-ruins You can’t just tell people to ‘get a VPN (Virtual Private Network)’. Buying a VPN is like buying a house. It’s very very important. Having no VPN or having a ‘wrong’ one can seriously damage your life. Especially for Americans because their privacy laws are garbage. I am going to try explain why you should get a VPN but bare with me, I am from Germany and my English is far from perfect. Let’s start with a simple test. Click this link here: https://whatismyipaddress.com/ It will tell your IP adres, your ISP (internet service provider), and your location. The location might not be very accurate, but then again, it’s just a simple website. Imagine what the government can do! So basically, everyone can find out where you live. But there is more danger. Your ISP. Your ISP logs your every move online and they are required to keep it in case the government wants access to it (or if a 3rd party wants to buy your data (yikes). They have everything. What websites you visit. How long you stay on a website. What you download. Your search terms. European laws are more subtle on this but if you are from the US you are #@*#&, especially because Trump doesn’t support the open internet. It’s scary but maybe in the future you can’t get a job because the recruiter knows your searched on ‘how to deal with depression’ or anythings else that’s supposed to be private because it’s your f*cking right. Or you get a $100k fine because you pirated a movie 15 years ago. You need a VPN. You’re dumb for not using one. but what does a VPN do? A VPN encrypts all your data so if it were be intercepted no one can ‘crack the code’ and damage your privacy. Usually being online goes like this (simplified): Your computer —-> ISP (—–> keeps data —–> sells it) But with a VPN it goes like: Your computer —–> VPN (encrypts data)—–> ISP (ISP can’t see shit) Furthermore, a VPN hides your IP address and location by giving you another IP address located in Spain for example (you can often choose from a list and change as many times as you want). Now that you know why you should get a VPN and what is does it is important to educate yourself because people often choose the wrong VPN. VPN providers are also businesses and have to obey the law. If you choose a VPN provider located in the US then you are throwing your money away because the laws in the US shits on your privacy. If the US gov wants the provider to give all their logs they have to obey.  The ISP  still can’t see what you are doing online and sell your data but the US gov can interfere with your VPN provider so NEVER CHOOSE A PROVIDER LOCATED IN THE US. I just wanted to make that very clear so my followers don’t buy false security. There is still more danger!  Who says your VPN provider isn’t selling your data? You need to check their logging policy. Do they keep logs? If yes, what for? For how long do they keep them? Tip: Choose a provider who doesn’t keep logs More about law  The US is part of the Five Eyes program (the worst): The Five Eyes, often abbreviated as FVEY, is an intelligence alliance comprising Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom and the United States. These countries are bound by the multilateral UKUSA Agreement, a treaty for joint cooperation in signals intelligence (source) There is also a Nine Eyes (bit better) and Fourteen Eyes Program (better).  You don’t want a VPN provider who is located in one the Five Eyes countries.  If you had to choose go for a provider located in a country that’s part of the Fourteen Eyes Program or even better, go for a country that isn’t part of any program! I know this is a shitty explanation and please pardon my english but now it’s time to do your own research. Take your privacy seriously. Maybe WWIII breaks out and you get killed for liking the ‘wrong’ FB-page. Go to this website: https://thatoneprivacysite.net/simple-vpn-comparison-chart/ Make sure that your future VPN provider both has green boxes for Privacy Jurisdiction and Privacy Logging. I recommend ovpn.se and trust.zone. ovpn is located in Sweden so they are part

of the 14 Eyes Program and they keep minimal logs. Their business ethics, however, are alright. Trustzone is located in the Seychelles. No country can interfere and their privacy jurisdiction is the best you can get. The US want your data but needs to get it from Trustzone? The Seychelles will simply give them the finger and wave them goodbye. However, this makes this provider very appealing for people who torrent and criminals because they keep no logs (and that is how it shoud be) Also,  there are almost no marketing efforts so this provider is one the cheapest) Also, often providers such as ExpressVPN are being called ‘The Best’ on websites about VPNs but know that this is just marketing which also makes those provider more expensive (and they too shit on your privacy) This must be the worst article you have ever read but please, please take your privacy very seriously. EDIT: I got many people asking me which provider I use. For those who want to know, I use Trust Zone. They offer a free 3-day trial with no strings attached. But still do your own research!

writing-prompt-s I am also with Trustzone but I think you forgot to explain one of it’s most important features. It protects you when you are using someone else’s Wi-Fi. If you are at Starbucks and you use their Wi-Fi your privacy is at risk. Anyone with ill intentions could steal your information. Especially if you are using an unsecured Wi-Fi hotspot. With a VPN your data gets encrypted so no one can steal it.

Follow rabbittiddy Wait, what’s going, on? Did trump destroy internet privacy with a bill or something? Where’s the news? Oh wait, why am I getting visions of Alex Jones and selling water purifiers?

Follow thecrystalfems He hasn’t yet but he says he wants to. And if he is serious about it it would be really easy to do. Since all our data is already recorded, as the person above explained.

Follow coltrer Trump wants more surveillance of Muslim Americans. This in a country where internet privacy is already close to non-existent. Trust.Zone has a free trial. Use it.  btw this post only has 11k notes? That’s quite disappointing for something this important. Don’t reblog this post to save a life. Reblog this to protect an entire family!

Follow imthedoctor12 @earth-ruins @writing-prompt-s Should I get trustzone for my mobile device?

writing-prompt-s If you use public Wi-Fi, then yes. Which VPN you use is up to you, amigo. Take @earth-ruinsadvice. Do your own research first.

writing-prompt-s @elvesfromthedeep​ just brought the current situation in the US to my attention (March 30, 2017). SourcesAnger as US internet privacy law scrapped  Congress just voted to let internet providers sell your browsing history  To all my friends in the US, please read this entire post. Making everyone aware of VPNs is going to be my mission. Your privacy matters. Please reblog this post.

Follow greeneyespurpleheart Don’t tell me you just wanted to scroll past this. Stop looking at pictures of cats for a moment, okay? Don’t you realize how important this is? This is dangerous! ‘America, the best FREE country in the world’ my ass. With this new law your ISP can sell your Internet history which could include passwords, usernames, religion, credit card numbers, race and much more to the highest bidder. So here is what I want you to do. You are going to read the whole thing and before you think ’this is so important. Let me reblog this real quick and go back to admiring cats again-’ NO! Don’t reblog this. Take action first. Then reblog. Sign up for a free trial! Trust.Zone offers one (here). Yes. It might be difficult to set up a VPN for some people. But is that going to stop you from protecting yourself and your family? 30 minutes. 30 minutes is all that it takes. 5 if you know how to install software. The problem with some of you is that you see ‘difficult’ as something negative. I want you to see difficult differently. I need you to push through this stuff. You are going to protect yourself. There is nothing negative about that. VPNs are fun and costsaving too! A VPN bypasses geographical restrictions so you can access websites you normally can’t or you could start Netflix’s one month free trial over and over again- forever. And it’s legal! (unless you use it to buy weapons etc.,) Don’t tell yourself that you are too tired and that you will do this tomorrow. Because that isn’t going to happen and you know it. You have to do this right now. You only have to click on it. Don’t let this/shit/life just happen to you. Take yourself seriously. Get a VPN. Privacy is not a privilege, it’s a fundamental human right

joyfuldefender Ok sorry that it’s so freaking long and also sorry for the language, but this is extremely important. Please reblog!

Follow li-ionsandtigersandbears Reblogging again bc this is important

Follow mermaidz4ever We have a VPN you should get one too

killmongersbaby Please read.

Follow bae-in-maine Can you get them for your phones?

Follow kika-lei ^ you can. & when you have a subscription you can use it on your phone and computer. no need for separate subs or purchases. it is absolutely so important for safety. but one of my fave things to do with my vpn is access non-US netflix. I mean other places have all the new good place eps, all the ‘classic’ bggo eps…

i-cant-remember-who-i-am IMPORTANT

Follow theriflemanofroblox reblogging so new people can be aware :)

Follow facelessnamelessanarchist Long as hell, but read it!!!

Source: welcomedhappiness

————————— I found this post and I thought it was important but tumblr wouldn’t let me reblog it for some reason so I copy/pasted it because I’m not very tech savvy

[introvertguide]

Intolerance (1916); #49

This will be the only time that I will be introducing and reviewing a film in a single post. The next film on the AFI Top 100 was the oldest and most difficult to watch film of the group, Intolerance (1916). It is a rather famous D.W. Griffith production that was so expensive and poorly received that it ruined the man financially. It did not win any awards as none existed for film at the time. There is some lore to the purpose of the film, but I will give you a brief run down of the plots (yes, with an s) first. No spoiler warning needed, the film is 100 years old and a synopsis still won’t spoil anything. By the way, the entire movie is silent with tons of confusing transitions and constant dialogue cards so this is just my best guess/interpretation:

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Story #1: A boy and his girl clear out of a city because the boss at his work gave all the workers a pay cut. The workers went on strike and it was shut down by a posse, so many of the striking workers (including the boy) were run out of town. In the new location, she lives in a slum and he turns to crime for money. The boy makes enough money to marry his girl, but he is suddenly framed for a theft that he didn’t do courtesy of his old boss. The couple has had a child who is suddenly taken away and the boy is sent to prison. Upon eventual release, the boy returns home to find his ex-boss trying to rape his wife and the ex-boss is shot (I think by the boss’s wife by accident?). The wife escapes, but the boy is sentenced to hang. The wife meets a cop who then helps to find the real killer and set the boy free. 

Story #2: There is something about a religious story and the Saint Bartholomew’s Day Massacre of Protestants by Catholics. It is very short and involves a lot of murder in the streets. 

Story #3: There is a really short sequence about Judas and the eventual crucifixion of Jesus.

Story #4: A really big budget war sequence about the fall of Babylon. There were a lot of very long ancient names that were flashed up on cards very quickly and it is extremely difficult to tell what is happening. The scale of the Babylon palace and all the fighting is impressive. There is also a lot of pyrotechnic aspects that could not have been safe with all the extras. No way that at least one extra didn’t die during the making of this film. 

There is a pretty funny underlying story about a guy who is sick of his sister and takes her to court for being a pain. He then tries to sell her on the market, but she is so poorly mannered that they can’t pay people to take her away. The prince walks by and pronounces that she need not be married so no man will be saddled with her. 

The stories are split up by moments of a mother rocking a cradle, which I am pretty sure is supposed to represent time. I am not sure about this.

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This is the kind of artsy movie that turns off modern audiences from seeing older interpretive film. The main story of the boy in the city is pretty interesting, but the constant cutting in of other things really diminishes the overall message. The exploration of intolerance doesn’t need to cover 2000 years of history in a single film and it pushes what could have been a great 90 minute story into something that lasts into the range of 3 hours. 

Admittedly, the film has a lot of influence on the way that films were cut and battle scenes were shot, especially in early European film. The film was a giant step forward for cinematography at the time, especially the giant battle scenes in Paris and in Babylon. It is considered by many to be D.W. Griffith’s greatest film. It really doesn’t make it any easier to get through, however. My dad only made it through about half an hour. He didn’t fall asleep, he just up and left.

It should be noted that none of the non-historical characters were given names, which became a standard for early film. The boy was literally just called The Boy and his wife was called The Dear One. There was a woman in the massacre portion called Brown Eyes with parents named Brown Eye’s Mother and Brown Eye’s Father. Historical figure Prince Belshazzar was named while a female warrior was just called The Mountain Girl. 

I had read a very old article that called this film an apology for the previous film of Griffin (Birth of a Nation), but it turns out this was mostly written before the previous film was released. Also, Griffin said on many occasions that he felt no need to apologize for Birth of a Nation. He felt that he could tell a story from a perspective outside his own and he should not be held responsible for offense that is taken. A large part of his legacy is attached to promoting racist stereotypes, but his film techniques are widely applauded even when his opinions and subject matter are not. 

A good influence that Griffith had was that he used his money to produce his own films and made close to 500 films. He pushed for directors to have control of their own interests and step away from the commercial studio system. He also backed many of the great early directors like Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Douglas Fairbanks, and Hal Roach. Other famous directors that praise the work and contributions of Griffith include Alfred Hitchcock, Cecil B. DeMille, Victor Fleming, and Stanley Kubrick.

The one aspect of the film that can be clearly appreciated is the attempt at complicated story telling through juxtaposition and music. The fact that you can tell four overlaying stories with very little dialogue, even if they are convoluted, is an accomplishment in itself. This truly is a lesson in visual storytelling and allowing the soundtrack to move a story. For this I give it credit and appreciate as student of the medium.

So does this film belong on the AFI Top 100? Sure. It has a lot of influence and was a game changer for a lot of film makers. I can see why the AFI would put so much stock into this film. Also, one of the story lines is actually pretty interesting. Would I recommend it? No. If you want to watch this film, you will likely search it out on your own. It is not for the casual viewer in any way. It is very artsy, hard to follow, and my least favorite film on the list. Unless you are a film student or a completionist that has to see all the films on the list, this is one to skip.

[random-imagines-blog]

Killing Loneliness {James McAvoy x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2587 Summary: An unexpected meeting, a spilled coffee, and a VIP experience.

This was not at all how you thought your life was going to go. Here you were, on what was supposed to be your honeymoon, by yourself, getting lost in a small European city, with your phone dead in your pocket. There were worse adventures to go on, you supposed. At least you were safe and the day was gorgeous. Sunny, but with breeze enough to keep you cool. Europe in the early autumn was as gorgeous as you had hoped it would be. That’s why you had booked this place for your honeymoon - the sights, the weather, the cute couples strolling around with one another, arm in arm. But truth be told - you weren’t all that upset to be alone. Maybe you would meet a handsome European man who would sweep you off your feet with their exotic accent. Maybe this would be like all of those romantic movies that you used to watch. It certainly felt like the place for that to happen.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by familiar music coming out of a store that you were passing. No, it wasn’t a store, but it was something more welcome. Thank goodness for franchises like Starbucks which were worldwide. At the very least, you knew that you would be able to get your favorite drink to help warm your belly when the wind started to grow a bit cooler. You stepped inside and hummed along with the song as you stood in line and got your drink.

Alas, the good feeling was not to last very long. The Starbucks was small, and it’s entryway even smaller, so as you tried to exit the cafe, someone ended up sliding past you. It was a bit rougher than you had expected, and the two of you were so close. It was inevitable that your drink would end up getting onto his jacket. “Fuck,” The man swore in a Scottish accent. It took you a couple of seconds to work out that the drink ended up on you too, splashing on the both of you. “Are you alright? That’s really damn hot.”

“I - I’m so sorry.” You said, stepping back inside with him. Immediately, you went to grab some napkins and handed them to him. The jacket looked expensive, and the coffee appeared to have made a horrible stain. “Are you alright? I’ll um - I’ll pay to get it dry cleaned. Damn, I am so-”

“Whoa, take a breath.” The man put his hand on your shoulder lightly, the other one holding napkins to his jacket, trying to soak up at least some of the mess. “I asked if you’re alright, and don’t worry about the jacket. I’ve got plenty back in my room.”

“I’m alright,” You said. You took his advice and took a deep breath in and then let it out slowly. You moved your eyes away from his jacket, up to the bright blue of his eyes. Well, that hadn’t helped at all, for once you saw who the man was, your breathing stopped once more and you nearly went into a panic.

You really hadn’t woken up today expecting to spill coffee over James McAvoy.

AKA The actor you had a weird crush on since he dressed up as a faun in a children’s fairytale movie.

“Here, y/n, let me buy you another one.” He took his hand off his shoulder, took your half empty cup out of your hands and turned it to look at the order. You gaped at the fact that James knew your name, but as he spun the cup around, you saw it was written by the barista. With a slightly embarrassed smile, you nodded.

“Thank you - but I should be buying you one. It was my fault, I wasn’t paying attention.” You started, but James shut you up with a glance. It wasn’t a quick one. You might even be correct if you thought that he was checking you out. How your cheeks turned red at the thought of that!

James smiled and touched you again, hand lightly on the back of your shoulder, guiding you back towards the counter where a starstruck barista was waiting. You thanked him again as he said your order outloud, and then gave his own. “I really do owe you though. At least for the jacket. I don’t have much money to get you a new one but perhaps I can get it cleaned-”

“She’s adorable, isn’t she?” James cut you off, speaking to the barista about you. You stopped talking in that moment, and finally your mouth closed. You weren’t sure how to respond to that. He paid for the drinks with a credit card, and waited patiently by your side. “I can tell from the accent that you’re not from here,” He said, making conversation with you, despite the looks that he was getting from just about everyone in the place.

“You’re right, this is just a little vacation.” You said, trying to relax. He was being extraordinarily kind, the least that you could do was be the same way in return. “What are you here for?”

“We’re shooting here in the city,” James said, casually. He pulled out his phone and seemed to go through his messages. “Thankfully it’s a day off today for me. Eighteen hour days.” He sighed.

“I’m surprised you’re not still in bed. I would be if I had to work that long,” You chuckled.

“And waste a beautiful day like this? No, never, that’s why I’m getting coffee.”

As the last word escaped his lips, the barista put the two cups on the counter, one with your name and one with James’s. You took yours and held it close to your chest so that if it were to spill, it would be more so on you this time, rather than on your present company. A part of you did expect for this to be the end of your little adventure with the famous actor, but he surprised you by opening the door for you and followed you outside. “So where are you staying?” He asked pleasantly.

You named the hotel, wincing as you did so, since it had such a corny and romantic name. It was a hotel that basically screamed ‘Honeymoon’. As you said it, you saw James look away from you, slightly bashful.

“Honeymoon then? Where’s the lucky man?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Your smile had entirely disappeared at this point, and you shrugged. It was rough to say, but honestly, James seemed to be interested so you gave him the truth.

“I honestly have no idea, though the last I heard, he was in Hawaii with his new fiance. I ran into his mom a couple of days ago and she was more than pleased to talk about his rich girlfriend and all the places she took them so far.”

“Well, fuck,” James said, mouth slightly open, clearly not expecting that answer. “So you just came out here by yourself, then?”

“I already had put down the deposit, and it seemed like a waste not to? That’s really weird, isn’t it, wow.” You chuckled, just realizing how odd it really was.

“Maybe a little,” He said, laughing along with you. “Well, since you paid and all, why don’t we make sure that you have a good time while you’re here?’

“I’m already having a good time... though what do you mean we?” You questioned, pausing your walk to turn towards him with a puzzled look.

“I mean you and I. I was invited to a club tonight, and it’s not really my thing, so you should come with me. Well, us, the rest of the cast is going too. Here, give me your phone, I’ll give  you my number, so you don’t feel pressured.” He held his hand out to get my phone from me.

“My phone is actually dead,” You admitted, bringing it out and showed him the black screen. “I can give you mine though, if that works.”

“Yeah, that works. You can even give me a fake one, and I’ll get the message to just fuck on off.” He said with a pleasant smile. Your cheeks were beyond flushed as you put your phone number in his phone, saved under your name along with the word Starbucks so he would know who you were. Here you were, alone on what was supposed to be your honeymoon, and you ended up giving your phone number, your real number, to James McAvoy of all people.

“I gotta turn up here but I’ll shoot you a text later, give you the address of the place. I’ll make sure you get on the VIP list.” He started to lean in for a hug, but then seemed to second-guess it, which was probably for the best. You wanted that hug badly, but it might have caused your actual brain to burst. Instead, he gave you a smile and made his turn, his phone in his hand the whole way back to where he was staying.

-

The club had a line going around he building - lots of people were anxious to go in. You kept the texts from James in the forefront of your phone, just in case the bouncer didn’t have your name on the list like was promised. But he let you in without a second thought, and a hostess guided you straight to the VIP area where James was waiting for you.

“About time!” An actress who looked vaguely familiar said, putting her arm around you. She smelled like she had a couple of drinks already. “James over there was perking up like a puppy every time someone new came in.”

You looked over at the blue-eyed actor and saw that he had red cheeks, much like you had earlier in he day. “Oh come on, come on, leave her alone,” He said, swatting the actress’s arm off of you. “Do you want a drink, y/n? It’s on me.”

“Yeah, so you’ll buy the lady drinks, but when it comes to the rest of us-” One of James’s co-workers said with a good-natured laugh.

“Or we can go to the dance floor, where it’s a little quieter,” James muttered.

“I can go for a dance,” You said, paying attention to only him. “I do love this song, actually.”

“Good, yeah, me too.” James said. He put his arm around your back, and unknowing to you, flipped off the rest of the VIPs in the process, leaving them laughing hysterically. You didn’t actually know the song that was playing, but you could understand why James wanted away from the teasing. You both found a spot at the corner of the dance floor, and managed to move around each other without much awkwardness.

“They seem like a nice bunch,” You said with a smile. His swore under his breath and you giggled. “Oh come on, I think it’s sweet. If my friends were here, they’d be doing the same thing to me, I’m sure of it.” You assured him, putting your arms around your neck to get closer to him so you could hear his reply. His hands rested on your hips, rubbing them slightly as you swayed back and forth to the music.

“Is that so?” He asked, eyes shining brightly blue under the strobe lights. “And why would they be teasing you?”

“Because I’m dancing with you. Someone who I think I’m quickly beginning to fancy.” You were feeling bold. You were wearing your best outfit, the one you had hesitantly packed, not expecting to wear it but your best friend convinced you to. You were invited out by James McAvoy of all people, whose friends had teased him about you. There was every reason to be bold.

“Is that so?” He asked, smiling as he looked away. He was thinking that you were just too adorable to handle at the moment. How someone so beautiful could have such an endearing personality as well, he didn’t understand. And he certainly didn’t understand how someone could cheat on you, but it seemed to be to his advantage. You nodded to his question and a comfortable silence surrounded the two of you as you continued to dance throughout the night.

As it was coming to a close, James walked you out into the slightly chilly air. It must have rained while the two of you were inside, but what else could you expect? It was Europe after all. “So, headed back to the hotel then?” He asked, not wanting the night to end.

“I suppose so - not sure where else I would be going,” You breathed in the fresh air, which felt amazing after the heat of the club. “What about you? Back to your trailer?”

“I don’t have to be on set until tomorrow afternoon...” He looked at you with a cheeky grin. You were catching his meaning, and you bit down on your lower lip, feeling the anticipation.

“Do you want to come back to the hotel with me?”

-

You could not believe what just happened. You were laying in bed, completely naked, beside an equally unclad James McAvoy. Both of you were breathing heavy from the sexual acts that you just performed, and though you were now covered in sweat and a little sore, you rolled onto your side to nuzzle against his chest.  

“I’ve never done that before,” He said, wrapping his arms around you, bringing in you in closer.

“Neither have I,” You said, assuming that he was talking about bedding someone that you just met that day. He chuckled and kissed your temple, though there were wet strands of hair stuck to it.

“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing,” He said, eyes shining bright blue against the pink of his face. You raised your head up to question what he was meaning then. “I meant - I’ve never fallen in love at first sight like this before.”

“You do remember that we met when I spilt my drink on you, right? It’s not the most romantic setting,” You joked, though you were tickled pink at the fact that he was already saying that he loved you. This was like a fairytale come true - what your honeymoon should have been like. Never had 24 hours been so full of emotions for you. “It’s just a shame that you have to leave in the afternoon.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” James blurted. “If it’s about money, I can pay for the hotel-”

You shushed him by pressing another kiss on his naturally red lips and ran your fingers through his hair. “I can stay for a little while,” You assured. “But I do have work to get back to, my friends, my family...”

“I’ll come with you when we’re done,” James said, confident in that decision. “I’ll have a break for a while... we can see where this goes.”

After the rock bottom you’ve been in, you thought, there was no place this could go but up.

[iobjectfa20]

Print: ‘Imposed migration’ by Pudlo Pudlat.

1986. Cape Dorset, Nunavut, Buffin Island, Canada.

British Museum

Explanation

This image appears in the current exhibit at the British Museum, “Arctic: Culture and Climate.” The exhibit was prompted by some recent archaeological discoveries in the Arctic, but contains a variety of artifacts and art pieces through a range of eras. Not all the objects in the exhibit are accessible online, but some interesting items I found were an intricately-beaded woman’s coat from 1898, an engraved walrus tusk from 1954, and a snowmobile from 1986. Interestingly, none of the objects from the exhibit featured on the website or in downloadable educational materials featured any of the ancient, recently-discovered artifacts; all appeared to be from the 19th century and later. In addition to the various artifacts displayed, the exhibit also features art from contemporary Native artists. These art pieces came from a partnership with the West Baffin Eskimo Cooperative, also called the Kinngait Cooperative.

The Kinngait Cooperative was founded in 1959 by a white Canadian settler who has been credited with “discovering” Inuit art and a local Inuit artist. There had been a longstanding culture of sculpting in the area, but as the cooperative developed, printmaking, drawing, and painting became more popular. Similarly, Pudlat had begun his artistic career as a sculptor but after suffering an injury that made continuing to sculpt difficult, he turned to printmaking, drawing, and painting as his primary forms of expression. He ultimately created over 4000 drawings and 200 prints. Pudlat’s work has been honored and recognized in a variety of ways. He has been featured on UNICEF greeting cards and on Canadian postage stamps, as well as in a variety exhibits. Two years before his death, the National Gallery of Canada opened a retrospective of 30 years of his drawings, the museum’s the first solo show of an Inuit artist.

I chose this exhibit and this particular piece for a variety of reasons. What initially interested me in the exhibit was the murky moral quandary surrounding the newly-discovered ancient artifacts. They had been trapped in ice in the Arctic circle, and if not for Global Warming, would not have become accessible to archaeologists. I find it interesting that none of these artifacts were pictured on the British Museum exhibit page. Furthermore, to include the work of contemporary Native artists in an exhibit centered on cultural artifacts does not do justice to the value of the artistry itself. Pudlat’s drawing powerfully captures the impact of industrialization and militarization on the environment, and through the environment, on Native communities. The other drawings and prints from Native artist in the accessible materials for the exhibit did not offer such a jarring statement; instead they highlighted the aspects of Native life that many often romanticize. I do not know who chose Pudlat’s drawing, but I think it was a brave choice. I hope that soon, more museums will lift up Native artistry and resistance, rather than exoticize it as an anthropological artifact.

Reimagining and Reframing

The image is a simple one. A military-style helicopter appears suspended against a blank background. From the helicopter hang three animals: a walrus on the left, a polar bear in the middle, and a musk ox on the right. The walrus is hung from its head, the polar bear from its neck, and the musk ox from its belly. I find the polar bear in the center to be the most disturbing. It is emaciated, echoing the photographs of polar bears we see increasingly frequently, who due to climate change lose their homes and sources of food. Its coat is yellowed, another sign of ill health. But most notable is that the rope attaching it to the helicopter looks exactly like a noose. The title of the piece is “Imposed migration,” and the image offers the illusion that perhaps the helicopter is simply relocating the animals. We know, however, that this is not really migration, but extermination. The animals will not survive human expansion and the climate change that accompanies our consumerism and greed. The title of the work also echoes the history of forced relocation of Native people – a governmental policy that did not only result in displacement, but also untold death.

This exhibit serves as an example of the British Museum benefiting from climate change. They can attract crowds (putting the pandemic aside for a moment) with the promise of newly-discovered archaeological findings, without grappling with the reality that those items only became recoverable because of a catastrophic loss of Arctic ice. Native populations are among those most effected by climate change; for example, many still rely on hunting and subsistence activities for their livelihoods, and animals are becoming increasingly sparse, and no longer migrate as far south because of rising temperatures. Exhibiting these new archaeological discoveries in a museum provides no benefit or relief to Native individuals suffering from climate-induced food or housing insecurity. In a telling move, the British Museum intentionally kept the BP logo away from promotional materials about this particular exhibit, although BP is a major funding source for the museum. That the museum simply removed the logo, but changed nothing about the policy of accepting BP’s sponsorship and promoting the company, highlighted that this exhibit was constructed to skirt its moral murkiness, not engage in what could be a groundbreaking discussion of ethics.

Referring to the opening up of the new archaeological site as both a tragedy and a treasure trove, a curator at the British Museum continued, “It’s like the library of Alexandria being on fire ... You’re plucking out these books which are coming out … it’s a remarkable window into life, all coming out of the ground in one go.” It’s not like the library of Alexandria being on fire, unless that fire were in fact an arson set by an invading army who then tries to paint themselves as the heroes in the narrative.

There have been some interesting cases and discussions in recent years of museums returning items obtained through various forms of theft, including colonial force, to the original countries or peoples. Last year, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City returned a coffin to Egypt that was determined to have been smuggled out of Egypt by a multinational art trafficking ring. Benin City in Nigeria hopes to open a museum in 2023 to display Benin Bronzes in their city of origin, but has experienced difficulty in getting other countries and museums, including the British Museum, to return them. The blockbuster movie Black Panther featured a scene at the fictional “Museum of Great Britain” in which the lead villain comments on how the items were looted from Africa before stealing them himself. The director wanted to shoot the scene at the British Museum itself, and use the real museum’s name, but the museum did not consent. That the British Museum comes up again and again in examples of pleas to repatriate stolen cultural artifacts speaks to how much of its collection was obtained illicitly. I believe that the objects obtained from these archaeological sites made accessible through climate change should be treated the same way as the Benin Bronzes and should be repatriated.

Reading this account by the curator alongside the belief of James Houston, one of the cofounders of the Kinngait Cooperative, that he had “discovered” Inuit art, reminded me of many of the points Gayatri Spivak made in her groundbreaking essay, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” Although she did not use this terminology, she issued a powerful indictment of the white savior complex, famously identifying a dynamic of “white men saving brown women from brown men.” Colonizers give themselves credit for saving Native peoples without taking accountability for or even recognizing the compounded oppression that they inflict on those they colonize. Houston, for example, felt proud of introducing the Native people he encountered in Kinngait to art forms that they could profit from, taking public credit without also publicly acknowledging the role that the Canadian government and the industrialization and capitalism it introduced played in destroying Native economies.

I read that archaeologists felt rushed to excavate the Arctic sites because looters were pillaging them as the melting ice made them accessible. How do we know that these “looters” were not simply Native people looking to hang on to remnants of their culture? I think of the disparity in newspaper captions after Hurricane Katrina, in which White survivors who took food from abandoned stores were termed “resourceful” and Black survivors doing the same thing were portrayed as looters and criminals. What separates the archaeologists themselves from the title of looters? My reimagined exhibit would address these questions head-on. Who can claim ownership to an ancient item? What constitutes theft? How should such an artifact be displayed? If that artifact or piece of art is obtained through some form of violence, how should that violence be acknowledged? What is a just reparation?

There is a long history of museums degrading Native art. The American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) in New York City for example, which primarily features dinosaur bones, animal panoramas, and other exhibits on the natural (non-human) world, has a wing on Native American art and culture. The inclusion of Native Americans in the AMNH is, to say the least, dehumanizing. Native Americans are not Neanderthals. They are alive and could be thriving if not for European settler colonialism. The myth and romanticization of Native ways of living as an older and purer but unrealistic way of life does violence to all the Native people incorporating centuries of ritual into their 21st-century existence. For this reason, I believe that Native art should no longer be featured in exhibits that also contain archaeology; nobody would put an Andy Warhol painting in an exhibit with colonial-era embroidery. Native people deserve the same degree of attention and distinction.

—Mira R

[serenitydusk]

Until Midnight

A fluffy fic request from my dear friend @nerdqueenkat​!  Just in time for her birthday!  Thanks to @ijwrff for being my beta!  

“I have a favor to ask you.” 

A pit of dread opened up in your stomach. The fact your boss was asking and not telling you to do something told you exactly how onerous you were going to find this task.

“And I’m asking you because I know you’ll do a great job.” 

And that just cinched it. “I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?’ You sighed.

“Absolutely.”  Gressil grinned. It did have a drop of sympathy in it. “I wouldn’t ask, but I cannot go, and you’re the only one I trust to not make a mess of things.”  He quickly explained that in all likelihood, you’d be one of the few, possibly only, humans there.  “Just mingle a bit, make some connections. Be seen.”  It was one of those parties that he couldn’t get out of without offending the host, but even he couldn’t be in two places at once. “There will be a bonus in it, plus overtime.”

In the end, he gave you the bonus up front, plus let you have the company credit card to buy an outfit and shoes. 

“Get whatever you need.” Well, you certainly had. You’d never paid this much for an entire season’s wardrobe let alone one dress. And the shoes. You had actually texted Gressil how much they were, expecting him to blow up and tell you absolutely not. But he had sent you to this place in particular.

‘That’s fine. Whatever you need.’

‘Gress, it’s more than my house payment…for just shoes….’

‘If that’s a hint for a raise….’  There was a pause, then a new text came through. ‘Ok. You should see the increase in next month’s check.’

You nearly choked. You’d never, not once, asked for a raise, and to be fair, you’d never really had to. Gressil had always been good about making sure you were well paid, above what was considered a competitive salary.  

You had to admit, you looked …really good. The guy that helped you pick out everything had been a genius and had made a shopping trip you’d been dreading into something that was almost fun.  

But all that confidence dwindled once you got inside and saw everyone.  Every. Single. One. of them was perfection. Perfect smiles. Perfect hair. Perfect clothes. Perfect bodies.  And here you were a fraud playing dress up and feeling like a potato. The anxiety welled up inside, breaking you out in a cold sweat.  You’d promised Gressil an hour.  One hour. And then you could leave.  And after about fifteen minutes you decided you could do this.  It’s not like anyone was noticing you anyway. You’d made your appearance, now you just had about forty-five more minutes that would have earned you a nice bonus you could use at Christmas.

“You’d think a place like this would have hired decent help.”  A man smiled at you snidely.  You weren’t sure what exactly he was, but he definitely wasn’t human. Not with the green skin and scales. “Do be a dear and run and fetch us some more champagne, won’t you? If you’re quite done gawking.” He looked back at his companion snickering, “Humans… barely worth the effort to impress really.” 

You looked behind you, trying to figure out who he was talking to, when it dawned on you that he was talking ...to you. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking… but I don’t work here. I’m a guest, like you.” 

“Oh, that’s cute. You’re nothing like me.” His smile took on an ugly bent to it. “It’s insulting that you think so.”

A deep laugh came from behind the green-skinned fellow, “You’re right about one thing. She’s nothing like the boil on the devil’s arse you are, Heulog.”  A tall man stepped around them. He looked ...more human than the green skinned man, at first glance. But it was clear that he wore only the thinnest veil of humanity around him.  His eyes were like molten silver and the pupils were cat slitted.  And his face … he had to be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. “Come on, my dear. Let’s leave these jackeens to their own devices.”  He took your hand, deftly steering you away.  

Jackeens?  Who even said that?  He sounded vaguely European, but for the life of you, you couldn’t place the accent. Scottish maybe?  With a hint of something exotic?

He found a spot out of the way, a place for you to finally sit down as he handed you a glass of wine. “Dreadful party, really. Such a bore. I’m Ash, by the way.” 

Introducing yourself as well, you took the wine. “Thank you for that.”  You glanced around, not seeing the two jerks any longer. 

“They aren’t going to be bothering anyone here again.” He took a sip of his own drink. “And you’re welcome. I should be thanking you for giving me some noble purpose by saving a lovely maiden.” 

Your cheeks flushed at the ‘lovely maiden’ bit. As handsome as he was well, he probably just flirted with anyone and everyone. Giving him a wan smile, “I’m fine now really. If you want to get back to ..whoever you’re with here.” 

“Ah, well, I’m not with anyone.”  Oh he knew a few people here.  And liked even less.  Which was saying something for the gregarious prince. He sat down, “Maybe we can keep each other company until this thing is over?  At least keep each other awake?”  

Laughing a bit wryly, “That hard up for company?” Why was he even paying attention to you when… you looked out across the room and saw a sea of beauty that you couldn’t possibly compare to no matter how hard you tried. 

“I think you’re lovely company.” He gently tilted your chin, bringing your gaze back to his, “Inside and out.” He let out a slow breath, “Besides, you’re exactly what you appear to be and you have no idea how alluring that is for a change.” 

“What do you mean?” It was a struggle to look away from those beautiful eyes, but you managed a glance back out to the crowd. 

He shrugged as he leaned back. “Just what I said. You can’t see it, but that…” He tossed his head towards the crowd, “...is not what you think it is.” 

Well, that wasn’t nerve wracking at all. You knew Gressil wore a human guise, but you had never really thought beyond what was under it. “Are you telling me that everyone here is a monster?” 

“In one way or another, yes.” He didn’t seem particularly offended that you referred to them, ...or him, as a monster. 

“Even you?” Perhaps not the wisest question to ask, but the words had already left your liips.

Gressil had warned you once, “The illusions keep you humans safe, Don’t try to look past them.” And you’d tried not to wonder, accepting what you saw as what was real. But you couldn’t believe this gorgeous man sitting beside you was ...a monster.  Even if he wasn’t human.

“Perhaps especially me.” 

“I don’t believe it. You’re not human, but that doesn’t make you a monster.” You saw a look in his eyes as he sat back up leaning closer to you. A look you couldn’t name, some emotion that was so fleeting. Longing? Almost pleading with a hint of vulnerability and then it was gone. Leaving you to wonder if you had just imagined it. 

As you chatted, a new crowd of people wandered in and that’s when you saw him. Your ex. What in the hell was he doing here? “I have to go. I have to.” You stood, nearly losing your balance as you grabbed your purse.

Ash reached to steady you, catching you by your elbow, feeling your panic rise.  He glanced over to where your eyes kept darting to. “Who is he?” There was a hint of steel in his voice underneath the silk. 

You shook your head. “Nothing like that. Just …”  Dropping your head, embarrassed at your overreaction. “...a very bad decision that I let go on for longer than it should have. I just never expected to see him here.” He hadn’t noticed you yet, you could still slip out. 

A ...goblin? Ash could see through the glamour, but he doubted you could. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”  He rose. “Don’t run. He’s not worth it.” Tucking your arm in his, he stroked your cheek, “Please?” 

Shaking your head, “I have fifteen more minutes and I can go home.” 

Ash glanced up at the giant, ornate clock. “It’s not even close to midnight yet.” He grinned, knowing it was a cheesy reference. “Stay until then.  Be my Cinderella?” 

You scoffed, “You cannot be serious. This isn’t some fairy tale. Why would you want to be Prince Charming ...to me?” 

“Darling, why wouldn’t I?”  He frowned, clearly confused. 

Hot tears burned at your eyes and throat, but you’d be damned if you cried and ruined your makeup. “Because I’m a pumpkin not a princess?” 

Brushing aside the traitorous tear that slipped down your cheek, “Darling...whoever told you that you weren’t beautiful lied. They were afraid if you knew your worth, you’d know you were too good for them.”  He kissed your forehead and for some reason it calmed you.  If he had hugged you instead, you were sure you would have ended up sobbing in his arms. “There is a reason fae have stolen humans and taken them as lovers for eons past. You are beautiful.” 

“You’re fae?” You swallowed back a sob at his words.

His laugh surprised both of you. All of that only to ask if he was fae. Though, he was not offended, letting you move the conversation to less emotional territory. “Yes. My mother was.” 

At least until you asked, “And your father?” 

There was a flash in his eyes, bitter and sharp, “My father was not.”  It was gentle, but it was also obviously a closed subject for him. “Come. If you wish to avoid him, we can find a secluded spot and watch the party from the safety of a glamour.  Or you can venture out and be treated like the princess you deserve to be.”  

It was a tempting choice, to hide. But after thinking for a moment, “You won’t suddenly disappear?” 

“Not without you.”  Ash grinned, taking your hand and leading you out into the crowd. 

The two of you danced and he did introduce you to some people you could bring back to Gressil as potential clients. One of whom addressed your ‘date’...(was this a date??) as ‘your highness’.

Once they’d wandered off and you were alone again, you leaned close to whisper. “You’re an actual prince?” 

“An actual prince.” He nodded clearly amused at your shock.

“Your mother’s the queen?” You felt just a touch lightheaded at this revelation. 

“Sister, actually. It’s a bit complicated, but yes, she’s the queen, and as her younger brother, I’m a prince.” He spoke of it as if it were no consequence, though in truth, it was. He hadn’t been born into the role, both he and his sister had earned the right to be called fae royalty. It had been no easy thing for either of them. “It doesn’t change who I was five minutes ago.”

The idea of being with a prince was a bit daunting to say the least, but perhaps he was right.  He was who he was, title or not. 

It seemed like the hours flew by and before long the clock started the midnight chime. The two of you had found a quiet balcony, away from the noise and it seemed like the rest of the world had faded away. And you didn’t want this to end.

“It doesn’t have to…”  

Blushing you realized you’d said it out loud, “It does. I go back to work tomorrow and you go back to Neverland, or wherever it is you came from.” 

“I can always return, you know.  Or you could ...come visit. I promise I won’t steal you away unless you want me to.” He brushed a kiss over your knuckles. “If you’re interested, that is.” 

“IF?  If I’m interested?” You couldn’t quite believe this was all happening, especially that he’d want to see you again. 

“Are you?” A smile played at his lips as he brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, leaning closer as if he was going to kiss you. 

You were barely able to get out a whispered ‘yes’ as the clock struck midnight and his lips touched yours.