#anyway just recording. also faith if you’re reading this this is why your ask last night made me cry and was perfect timing

[itspileofgoodthings]

Sweet things from an otherwise brutal week:

—ran into a parent who saw me and said “Macbeth right now, right? My son is so excited about it” and when I say I would never have ever guessed that. Except that as soon as he said it I was like oh yeah, he’s been volunteering to read more than usual and looks the smallest bit more awake

—I was doing some basics of writing review with my sophomores and touched on the ‘don’t use first person pronouns’ rule and we were talking about why and then Jane Eyre popped into my head so I told them that first person pronouns could be used to great effect in fiction and quoted the “reader I married him” line and two girls GASPED in wonder and delight. It was the CUTEST

—I passed two 7th graders in the hallway and they were talking about chicken nuggets and I said “I LOVE chicken nuggets” and they started to laugh and as I left I heard one of them say ‘I love Miss K.’

[shattersstar]

waiting room

pairing: dick grayson x (criminal) reader

summary: dick wanted to save you, but he never intended on falling for you as well.

warning(s): kinda angst, mostly dialogue, mention of death and crime stuff

a/n: ah yes another random fic written in my notes. grammar and such is probably bad and i haven’t written for dick in like..forever so be nice. feedback is always appreciated

—

“You left.” You heard him before seeing him. Voice carrying in the air above as you shrugged, flipping through the files stacked in front of you.

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?” He had moved closer in the rafters, but still out of sight. You weren’t going searching for him, he could come to you.

“Finding this building.”

“I would’ve helped.” He huffed out a breath with the last word, softly landing behind you.

“Don’t know if you’d approve of my methods.” You turned your head minimally, eyes downcast, but listening as he approached. He rested his chin on your shoulder, making you grin before turning back to your search.

“Probably not.” You could hear the pause in his tone, the unasked question lingering in the air next to you.

“I didn’t kill anyone Dick.”

“Nightwing.” He warned, pulling himself away from you and rounding the other side of the table. Dick scanned over the files from behind his mask, hair falling in his face as he leaned over the accounting records. “Looking for strange fund activity?”

“No, a name. Some accountant who has covered his trail for years, but was some junior worker or intern here. Signed off on a few deals under his old boss, its the only paper trail he’s left.” You explained, shoving a stack of files his direction.

“How come he didn’t get rid of these?” Dick pondered, gloved fingers brushing overs as he picked the top folder.

“Didn’t think to hide back then maybe? Don’t know how many people preplan a criminal life.”

“When’d you start planning yours?”

“Shut up,” You grinned, glancing at the figures Dick pointed out. “I also heard that this company was digital when he worked here, but just happened to print out a few years of records for some lawsuit. He probably deleted the digital records, and was unaware of these.”

Dick hummed, opening the folder in his hand and realizing he had no idea what to look for.

“How are you gonna find him if you don’t know his name?”

“Ye of little faith, I expected more from you Di—Nightwing. You always seem so optimistic in turning me to the good side, and now here you are thinking so little of me.” You teased, joining his side of the table. He scoffed at your remark, nudging you with his elbow after you bumped him with your hip. “I have his first name and the amounts of signed off for. Just gotta cross reference them.”

“How long you been at it?”

“You should know, you were in the rafters like what? ten minutes after I broke in?” You raised a brow, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Had to found out what was so much more compelling than staying in bed with me.”

“One of us was gonna leave anyway, I just happened to be first.” You were pragmatic to a fault, pulling your lip between your teeth at Dick’s pointed silence. You knew what he was going to say; if you finally gave him your real name, finally gave into him and all the tumultuous feelings wrapping the two of you up, no one would have to leave. You wouldn’t have to leave. But something bitter and destructive in you resented the idea, giving in wasn’t apart of your nature anymore, love and romance weren’t players in the scheme of your life. You had work to do, and despite standing near pressed up against him, and already deciding which safe house to go back to with Dick tonight, you still couldn’t bring yourself to fall into this. He wasn’t yours to love, despite how the light parts of you wanted it so. “I will admit, this definitely isn’t more compelling.”

Dick chuckled at that, reading the figures and name to search for on the slip of paper you had tucked into one of your pockets. You two kept sorting through the records, silent and focused, only speaking when you needed him to pass you more or he came close to finding what you needed. You were aware that Dick hadn’t asked why you needed this name, that he wasn’t going to suddenly decide for you to help you. He knew how deeply your strove for independence, rarely ever going back to his place or asking for help.

And, it was hard not to step on your toes when all Dick wanted to do was help you. It was how you met, why he continued showing up in your life. He wanted you to be good, and fair, and at some point the lines of vigilantism and his feelings started to blur. He thought letting you into parts of his life, showing you the good he did while out as Nightwing and giving you kindness in shared meals on rooftops would help you see some light.

But after some point, Dick realized he wasn’t only helping you because he wanted you to be on the right side of things, but he was doing it for his own moral compass. It felt wrong to love someone who had hurt so many, cared only for themselves and would always resort to the same types of violence, and same means to get what they wanted. All your dark parts felt like they were his too, as if you were the jaded version of what Dick could become and saving you meant saving himself and proving his feelings right. He wanted to tell you that, but it always choked low in his throat.

How could he tell you he loved you without even knowing your name? Dick had offered his many months ago, after the first kiss you shared, pressed close in an alley and so enamoured with each other. He had breathed it against your lips, making you laugh once you realized he was serious. Dick was used to the reaction, only shaking his head and letting himself kiss you again.

He let himself lean into you now, strong arm pressing into yours. You glanced sideways at him, letting your gaze flicker down his side profile before dropping to the pile of records to his left. They towered high, you both had gone through the majority of them, and you were still unable to find the information. You let out a long exhale, grabbing the next folder and starting your scan. It seemed if some higher power was testing your patience, forcing you to rake through hundreds of papers, all covered in names and numbers and dates. It was tedious at least and down right infuriating at most. You tossed the useless file with a bit too much force once you were done with it, earning Dick’s attention. “Wanna take a break?”

“No."

"Are you sure?" He pressed, hand coming to rest over yours, fingers trying to curl into you, but you yanked it away.

“I don’t need one.” You hissed.

“I can keep looking—“

“Dick I don’t always need you to solve my problems alright? This shit is so repetitive and tiring, and I just want to get it over with.” You snapped, gathering as many files as you could fit in your arms and crossing the room. You slid down a wall and began sorting them away from Dick who only sighed in return. You didn’t exchange words for another hour, the pile you picked up dwindling when Dick walked over, letting a sheet of paper flutter into your lap. Your eyes lit up as you found it easily, his name and the sum of the funds adding up to the information you were given. You pushed yourself to stand, nearly toe to toe with Dick. And like that, all your anger dissolved, you had gotten what you wanted and could smile again.

“Thank you.” You said softly, hand coming to rest on his forearm, but Dick turned away.

“You’re welcome.” He breathed as he walked to the window, unable to stop himself from looking back at you and your half raised hand. He wanted to stay, to stop being so stubborn, but he had already let so much of himself go for you. And you bitter words, echoing the main issue with your relationship was a wicked reminder. You weren’t going to give in, not for a very long time and Dick couldn’t wait. He couldn’t spend months in love with someone who always left his bed empty. Despite what you said earlier, you were always the one to leave first.

And he couldn’t bare it anymore.

With his last words hanging in the air, Dick grappled into the night, fond he helped you, but aware it would be for the last time.

[talkfastromance4]

4. Minefields--Ashton Irwin ‘Lovers in a Song’ series

a/n: So while each ‘chapter’ is titled after a song it’s more of the mood and a few choice lyrics that really made the story. This story changed a lot as I wrote it but in the end it all flows really nicely together. I’m so excited to share this with you! Each part is 3,000 with the exception of the last part. Please don’t hesitate to send me messages, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Word count: 3k

warnings: PLEASE READ THIS FIRST, there is physical abuse in this, it is minimal/accidental and happens after drinking/drug usage please, please read with caution, drug use mentioned briefly but no particular drug named, aftermath of drugs, aftermath of hit, more angst

Masterlist

LIAS masterlist

***

1 Year Ago

Cressida is flipping through her magazine on the couch in her hotel suite in Italy. She’s here on a promotional trip for the newest Brandy she helped design. It has a hint of vanilla and is in a beautiful gold bottle. Ashton gave her the idea.

Ashton is also in the hotel across the street. She wonders if he’s thinking of her too. The last time they were together they got into a big fight about Gavin and Lucinda. Ashton’s heard rumors he’s a part of a large drug cartel involving opioids, hallucinogens, the whole nine yards. Cressida disagreed because that’s all just rumors to stir the pot.

She fired back that Lucinda is only after Ashton’s money and plans on taking it all in a large divorce battle where she’d play victim. Ashton told her she was insane and they both left the hotel in huffs of fury.

She flips past a page that has her and Gavin blown up on both pages while they were out walking for lunch. The small article claims there’s “trouble in paradise and alcohol might be at risk.” Gavin has been partying a lot more recently and doesn’t come home until five a.m. most days. Cressida checks the watch on her wrist that matches the bracelet Ashton gifted her.

It’s nearly 2 in the morning now, her jet lag is still a nuisance. She glances to the open window and sees movement in Ashton’s room behind the white curtain. The only way she knows it’s his room is because that’s where they stayed while they were here that wonderful summer.

Her lips are pursed as she contemplates and thinks, eyes glancing to the pink rotary phone and the short yet oh so far distance to where Ashton is. Giving in, she reaches for the phone and dials the hotel’s number asking for the room Mr. Irwin is staying it. When asked who they should say is calling she told them, “say it’s Miss Gold.”

The phone hums in her ear and she saunters over the window waiting to hear his voice and to hopefully see him in the window.

“It’s you,” his voice is soft and quiet. He almost sounds relieved.

“It’s me,” she smiles and begins to pace. “I know this might be a mistake calling you this late but…”

“But what angel?”

The use of her nickname is a sign that he misses her too. She moves in front of the window and sees his silhouette facing her.

“These dreams I have of you aren’t real enough.”

He’s silent for a beat.

“Is he there with you?”

“No, he’s at some club. He doesn’t get back until early in the morning anyway, I could come over and—”

Cressida stops short because she hears a woman’s voice behind Ashton asking if he ordered the turn down service yet. Her heart sinks as she watches in horror when Lucinda wraps her arms around Ashton, their silhouettes become one large shadow. There’s a lump in Cressida’s throat and her vision becomes blurred with tears.

“Is that them? Let me tell them there were used towels—hello? I’d like to complain—”

Cressida slams the pink phone in its cradle, the ringer tings loudly as her tears fall in rage and hurt. She shuts her curtain and falls into bed falling asleep by draining the sadness from her heart.

There’s a New Year’s Eve Party happening at The Golden Lion and Cressida is there with Gavin. When she spotted Ashton by himself at the bar with a friend of his, Luke she thinks is his name, she wants to put on a show for him since Lucinda is absent.

Cressida’s felt embarrassed ever since that phone call to him in Italy. Clearly there’s something going on between Ashton and Lucinda, right? More than just publicity? Cressida downed two lemon shots in a row, loving the sweet and sour taste of the lemon and sugar.

Anytime she and Gavin were in eyesight of Ashton, she’d drape herself over Gavin and laughed extra loud. Sober, she’d hate herself for acting this petty, but being intoxicated made it all appear crystal clear. She could feel Ashton’s gaze on her the whole night until she ducked away to the bathroom.

When she exited she caught sight of Gavin with his hand up some woman’s dress and she’s giggling at something he’s saying in her ear. Cressida sees red, because not only is Ashton happy in his ‘relationship’ leaving her in the dust, but Gavin is also doing it for all the world to see.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cressida shrieks making her way towards Gavin.

The girl he was hitting on gasps then quickly ducks away back into the main hall where the party is. Gavin sighs rolling his neck from side to side before facing Cressida.

“Please, don’t tell me you’re hurt about this,” he scoffs. “Why don’t you go run to Irwin?”

“What are you talking about? You can’t be seen making out with someone who isn’t me, not when our relationship is in the spotlight 24/7.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t need me to be in the spotlight. You don’t need anyone because you’re Cressida Leigh James, the princess of Brandy because your great grandaddy double-crossed his partner. Guess that does run in the family.”

Cressida felt like she got slapped. While her and Gavin’s relationship is merely for public eye, they always seemed to have gotten along pretty well. She thought they were somewhat friends, but she has been double-crossing him this whole time. She’s been double-crossing her entire family from three years ago.

“You really think I want to marry you?” Gavin stalks closer to her and she backs away, he’s never acted this way with her before. “You’re a selfish rich girl expecting that everyone loves you. I never did and I never will, so when it is announced that we are to be married, I’ll be as faithful as you’ve been to me. See you at midnight.”

He shoves past her and Cressida is left alone with her shame and guilt. It falls out of her from her tears that won’t seem to stop. She hobbles from the room to go back into the bathroom, she’ll stay there for the rest of the night. No one wants her. Ashton has Lucinda, Gavin has everyone else. While she’s swiping at her cheeks trying to dry her tears, she collides into someone and by the smell of his cologne she knows exactly who.

“Cressida? What happened?” Ashton asks steadying her by her shoulders.

“It’s not like you care,” she cries trying to continue her way past him.

“What are you talking about? Did Gavin hurt you? I’ll kill him, I swear I’ll—”

“I’ve hurt myself. I’m hurting other people, too. Leave me alone, Ash, you should be with Lucinda.”

“Angel—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I should have known you’d be right here waiting in the wings for her to fall back into bed with you, Irwin,” Gavin’s voice strikes her like a whip. “I came to apologize but I was right. You are a slut for him.”

“Watch your mouth, de Poiters,” Ashton warns shifting Cressida behind him. He takes a step closer to Gavin, his fingers twitching. He’s wanted to punch Gavin ever since he saw he’s been linked with Cressida.

Gavin laughs and comes toe to toe with Ashton, Cressida sniffles watching what will happen. She’s thankful no one else is around, but at the same time she almost wishes there were people witnessing. Then this whole hidden façade could end.

“You hit me then everyone will know about you. Even her Daddy.”

Ashton clenches his jaw and Cressida gasps. Why would he say it like that?

“I know a lot more than you two think,” he jeers. “But I guess I owe you thanks, because I don’t ever have to fuck her.”

Ashton’s fist connects with Gavin’s nose in record speed. Cressida shouts in surprise and watches in horror as they tousle, fists colliding with flesh and snatching onto shirts trying to get more than one hit in.

“Stop! Stop! Please!” Cressida cries trying to break them up.

A defensive backhand meant for Ashton strikes Cressida’s cheek and she falls to the floor with a pained scream. Her vision turns black and spotty, and her ear is ringing from the commotion above her.

“You bastard!”

“I didn’t mean to! Cress, are you all right? I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean to hit you. I took some pills to ease off tension and—”

“Shut the fuck up and get away from her,” Ashton seethes shoving Gavin against the wall. His face is centimeters away from Gavin’s. “If I hear you talk disrespectfully to her again or if you lay a hand on her, I will kill you with my own bare hands. If you have any drugs that are near her, you get rid of them, you hear me?”

“Y-yes. Please, I’m sorry. I need to make sure she’s—”

“She’s not your concern now because you’re on a trip. Sober up and get out of my sight,” Ashton threatens pushing him towards the door. “She’s going to be with me until you stop acting like a fucking teenager and if I hear you’re anywhere near this building, I’ll have you arrested to rot in prison for life.”

Gavin gives one last pleading look to Cressida who is rubbing at her cheek before leaving. Ashton rushes to her side, his fingers graze at the shine on her cheek. It’s already bruising, and she flinches at his touch, her eye clamped shut.

“It’s me. He’s gone and I’m right here,” he soothes keeping his hand hovering above her face. “Can I help you up?”

She nods sniffling, her hands reaching out for him. She’s off balance from drinking and her head is still spinning from the backhand. Ashton helps her walk but it’s hard for her, so he just lifts her into his arms. She cries out in pain when her cheek rubs against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he hushes, “I’ll take you up to our room and clean you up.”

“Okay,’’ she whimpers, lips trembling. She closes her eyes to blink and when she opens them again she’s staring at their room. Her ears are ringing and it’s hard to see through her puffy eyes, both from crying and the slap.

“I’m setting you on the bed and I’ll call Louisa to send up your clothes and a first aid kit,” Ashton tells her. When he sets her on the bed he removes his hands from her like a hot iron. “No one will know what happened, okay?”

Cressida sways in her spot on the bed, her head feels really heavy and all she wants to do is sleep. It seems like forever until Ashton is back in front of her with a pile of clothes she keeps here that the staff washes and a first aid.

“Do you want to change first or have me clean your cheek?” Ashton’s voice is so soft it reminds her of a feather.

“Change. My feet hurt,” she whispers.

He helps her change out of her dress and into the sleep shorts and t-shirt. She lets out a cry when the fabric touches her cheek, he quickly apologizes then opens the kit. His fingers are very cool and gentle as he splays them on her cheek inspecting it.

“You’re bruising already,” he breathes then dabs at it with an alcohol wipe.

“Ow!” she cries.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos sympathizing with her pain. “I need to clean it and Louisa brought up an ice pack so we can bring down the swelling.”

Tears roll down her cheeks as he cleans her up, he comments on what he’s doing, how well she’s handling it, and when he’s almost finished. He places a small band-aid on the small cut that’s on the apple of her cheek.

“You’re all done,” he kisses her hand then rests the ice pack on her cheek. She winces again when he places her hand over it to keep it on the most swollen part of her bruise. “What can I have the front desk send up for you?”

“Water,” she croaks, “and bread.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone again and she feels oh so tired, so she lays down on her side letting the ice pack stay on its own. It’s hard to see because her eye is swollen shut, the pack feels good on her bruise. She wants Ashton.

“I’m here, I’m right here,” his voice soothes, and she’s being lifted to the center of the bed. Cressida crawls onto his chest, his arms wrap around her protectively. Hesitantly, and very carefully, he kisses the top of her head.

He helps her drink the water that’s sent up and feeds her the bread in small pieces, it hurts her to chew. And all the while he holds her, his heart aching for her yet also bursting in happiness by being with her. He lays the blanket over them and holds the ice pack on her cheek while she sleeps. It’s a restless night, whenever she turns she lets out a small cry and Ashton is quick to pacify her.

The next morning, she can only see him out of her left eye because her right is shut completely. Ashton smiles at her warmly but then memories of the night before come creeping back. Gavin’s words, his and Ashton’s fight that resulted with her on the floor. Ashton’s lip is cut but other than that he still looks perfect.

“I bet I look horrible,” she croaks trying to sit up then groans. Her body feels like cement and her head is pounding. She lays her head back down gingerly on Ashton’s chest.

“You’re always beautiful,” his fingers rub over her hair, “you’re just a little bruised up right now.”

They lay in silence as the sun starts to rise, the light lifting higher and higher on the wall facing the window. The steady beat of his heart is a familiar tune to her ears. She’s been graced to be in his presence five months earlier than they planned and from what she remembers from last night, she’ll be here with him until Gavin’s sober.

That could take months.

“He’s never hit me before,” she tells him quietly. His fingers pause on her back. “And I know it was an accident. He’s also never talked to me how he did.”

“He was on something, Cressida. That’s why he was acting the way he was. I know it’s fake between you two, but I thought he had respect for you. I want to make sure you’re taken care of when I’m not with you. I meant what I said, you know.”

She shifts her head so she can look at him properly. He’s a little blurry from her distorted vision, there’s some scruff on his chin. The cut on his lip is dry and she’s confused.

“You were hit more than me and I’m the one who looks worse. And I know you did, thank you for helping me.”

“It’s always the beautiful things that suffer the most damage,” he kisses her head giving her a sad look. “I’ve missed you.”

“Lucinda wouldn’t like to hear that.”

“She’s not here.”

“She was with you in Italy.”

“Is that what has you so upset? I had to accompany her for fashion week, my whisky was the premiered drink. You honestly think I wouldn’t have called you over to my hotel room if she weren’t there?”

“Really?” she smiles but it’s more of a grimace. Even her lips hurt.

“Try and relax your face, angel.”

“It’s hard. I’m so happy to be with you. Is that twisted?”

“A little,” he grins, “but that’s part of your charm. You’re a twisted woman.”

She frowns remembering what Gavin had said, she really is a twisted woman.

“Hey, what he said to you wasn’t true. All four of us are guilty of pretending with each other and lying to everyone else.”

“So, you don’t have feelings for Lucinda?”

“I respect her business, she’s great at branding and marketing. She’s a friend, and she asks about you.”

“She knows about me?”

“It’s no surprise they both caught on eventually,” he smiles, “we’ve been doing this for a long time, angel, and always in the first week of May.”

She touches her cheek carefully; her head hurts from all the thoughts coursing through it and from the throbbing pain in her cheek. She’ll call Gavin later to make sure he’s all right and to let him know she’s okay. Maybe the four of them could come up with a plan where they could all be happy.

“Ashton?”

“Hm? Are you hungry? I told Louisa to have breakfast delivered by ten. I figured you’d sleep later.”

“No, I’m not—” she stares at him.

Memories of their past push away the dark parts that have occurred. This situation isn’t fair to any of them. Even this, her staying with him now might be a mistake, it’s all broken in so many ways. Ashton always puts her back together again, much like last night. They’re in a constant minefield waiting for a bomb to go off. Last night was explosive but it wasn’t the nuclear bomb ticking away like the time they share.

She’d walk through a hundred minefields to be close to him.

“Kiss me, please?” her request is so soft he barely hears her.

“What I risk to be close to you,” he sighs with a teasing grin before pressing his lips ever so carefully on hers in a tender kiss, and she smiles in contentment. She doesn’t know how long they have, but any amount of time is worth it. Ashton is worth it.

“I still belong with you.”

Taglist: @calpalirwin​​ @myloverboyash​​ @loveroflrh​​ @cxddlyash​​ @princesslrh​​ @spicylftv​​ @notinthesameguey​​ @itjustkindahappenedreally​​ @calumance​​ @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt​​ @sarcastically-defensive17​​ @another-lonely-heart​​ @devilatmydoor​​ @thatscooibaby​​ @suchalonelysunflower​​ @dead-and-golden​​ @mymindwide​​ @blackbutterfliescal​​ @redrattlers​​ @karajaynetoday​​ @quasighost​​ @i-like-5sos​​ @creampiecashton​​ @calpops​​ @littledrummeraussie​​ @sexgodashton​​ @f-mu​​ @mystic-232

[taylizmasterpost]

Swiftgron Shows Up, Liz Spirals (March 2012 - September 2012)

This is not going to be a timeline of Swiftgron and their relationship. For that, you can go to the @swiftgronmasterpost​. This is just to show how, when things got serious with Dianna, things deteriorated between Taylor and Liz:

25 March 2012 - Swiftgron go watch the Hunger Games together. Taylor follows Dianna on Twitter afterwards. This is likely their first actual date:

27 March 2012 - Liz tweets this:

Was this in response to Swifgron’s first date? Maybe. Was Liz jealous Taylor had pulled the exact same move on Dianna that she’d pulled on her back in 2009 when she took her to Valentine’s Day? Also maybe. But also maybe not. Still, #Lizgototherapychallenge.

30 March 2012 - Taylor introduces Dianna to her mom, they all get dinner together:

12 April 2012 - Dianna blows a kiss to Taylor on Jimmy Kimmel.

18 April 2012 - Mutual friend Chantelle tweets that she spent the night and early morning hanging out with TayLiz.

Chantelle will post a picture of her, Taylor and Liz hanging out in a kitchen together almost a year later -- when the girls don’t seem to be on speaking terms -- making me think this picture was taken on this night:

24 April 2012 - Swiftgron Shirley MacLane party happens:

27 April 2012 - Taylor and someone (possibly Liz) are papped getting lunch together in LA. The secret message for the song “The Last Time,” which will be written in a few months, is “LA On Your Break.” They’re certainly in LA, and the tour is certainly on break. Perhaps this is Taylor finally ending things with Liz.

Liz tweets at Taylor about Skittles later that day, making me think it was her at lunch.

28 April 2012 - Dianna’s birthday party. Taylor dresses as a tiger and leaves a note on the door with a joke they’d made that reads “I’m a little kitten and I need to nurse because I’m a runt and I’m likely to fall victim to predators.”

10 May 2012 - Taylor posts on Instagram “Going back to Nashville. Thinking about the whole thing. Guess you gotta run sometimes.”

This is from the song Nashville by David Mead. Other interesting lyrics include:

You’re a distant memory, you’re an exit sign I was talking crazy on the driver’s side

I was talking crazy on the driver’s side I will always love you like a long goodbye

The driving references are interesting, considering that Red has the theme of driving all over it. “I will always love you like a long goodbye” also seems to support the theory that Taylor has just finally broken things off with Liz.

15 May 2012 - Taylor finishes writing Everything Has Changed with Ed Sheeran then gets dinner with Dianna Ashley and Claire. The original lyrics of Everything Has Changed talk about “falling for a Gemini,” which describes Gemini Liz, but Taylor seems to have re-fitted the song to be about Dianna and removed those lyrics:

27 May 2012 - Liz’s birthday. Taylor does not tweet at her. No pictures are posted of the party, if there is one.

28 May 2012 - Taylor and Ed record Everything Has Changed:

Late May 2012 - Taylor writes The Last Time:

Here’s what she had to say about the inspiration for the song:

The Last Time is a hard song for me to analyze, not because I don’t have theories about what it means, but because I think Taylor is oversimplifying the story here. To me, looking at this song, assuming it’s about Liz, it reads less like a pleading “baby I want you back” song, and more like an “I’m losing you to addiction song.”

We haven’t fully gotten into this yet, but Liz was dealing with a lot of mental and internal shit at this time. According to rumor, she’s about to be let go from The Agency due to getting “out of control,” and the songs she writes this summer, including Wreck of Who I Am, definitely seem to imply she was trying to claw her way out of a spiral here. When I listen to The Last Time through this lens, it feels more like a last chance, pleading intervention.

Wreck of Who I Am:

And the tide is strong that it keeps me from the land

And I’m low on faith and I pray with shaky hands

Well it hurts like hell tryna tell myself

This ain’t the only thing that’s meant for me

Gotta piece back together the wreck of who I am

The Last Time

This is the last time I’m asking you this

Put my name at the top of your list

This is the last time I’m asking you why

You break my heart in the blink of an eye

And there’s also the fact that The Last Time seems like it was written on if not around Liz’s birthday (May 27).

3 June 2012 - Dianna jokes at the GLAAD Awards about having kissed girls before:

4 June 2012 - Liz does some songwriting of her own with Seth Jones and Megan Mace:

Taylor and Liz’s dresses from Mean are placed next to each other at the Speak Now Tour Exhibition:

10 June 2012 -  Taylor diaries about recording 22, and IKYWT, says she’s already written WANEGBT:

Story behind WANEGBT: I wrote it with Max Martin and Johan Shellback who are two of my songwriting heroes, they’re amazing. And we were in the studio, and we were writing a different song and this guy walks in who I- was- A friend of someone I had previously… dated. And he comes in and he’s like “Oh, I hear you and [redacted] are getting back together” and um that was like his opening line. And we weren’t. We’d done that whole like on/off on/off just the worst. Bleh. And um… And so when he left I just turned to Max and I was like “We are never getting back together. What? That’s ridiculous!” Um and I told them the whole situation as I do ‘cause I tend to share, as you know. And so uh he just looked at me and he was like “I know the song we’re writing today. Let’s start a new one.” And so I got the guitar and it just sort of happened and so uh this is that song.

So what we know from this is that it is HIGHLY more likely that a friend of Liz just happened to walk into the studio that day than a friend of either Jake or Dianna (I’m guessing someone from The Agency maybe? Taylor seems to fumble when choosing how to describe them)

Martin and Shellback are credited on three songs on red -- WANEGBT, IKYWT, and 22. We know Taylor wrote 22 here. She also says she “came back to trouble.” From that I can assume they were trying to write IKYWT when this story took place.

The secret message for WANEGBT is “When I stopped caring what you thought.” To me, this really signals things have broken down between them. Rather than the pleading in The Last Time, this is song is much more distant and moved on, where Taylor is able to have a sense of humor about the breakup.

18 June 2012 - A friend of Liz’s tweets this at Taylor (am I the only one sensing some shade??):

1 July 2012 - Liz does some songwriting in Nashville:

Between this session and the session on the fourth, presumably the songs she’d release later that winter (One Hand On the Wheel, Wreck of Who I Am, and Blessed Are the Brokenhearted) are written here, making it seem like Liz is processing both some depression and a breakup of some sort.

8 July 2012 - Taylor takes pictures with a fan at a coffee shop (presumably in Nashville). According to the fan’s account, Liz was also there, sitting at the table behind them. The fan ends up taking pictures with both Liz and Taylor:

I’m not entirely sure what this means for them. Obviously Taylor has just written The Last Time (presumably about Liz) and then gone off to Hy(i)annis port with Dianna to go frolic in the waves and all that, so I don’t think this means TayLiz is back on. However, we know from fan accounts (which I’ll get to in a second) that Liz thought she was going to be coming on the Red Tour until she was let go from The Agency in September. Perhaps this is some amount of reconciliation? A check in? An ultimatum to get her act together or she won’t be allowed on tour?

Truthfully, we can’t know for sure. But this is one of their last hang outs together (that we know of) this year.

13 August 2012 - Taylor’s Red Youtube Webchat. She describes what some of the songs on the album are about

22: This is a song that I wrote with Max Martin and Johan Shellback and it’s a song about the way I spent my summer when I was finishing this album. Kind of hanging out with my friends all the time and I really decided that I love being twenty two. It’s um kind of my favorite age that I’ve ever been. I kind of have like different theories of the years in my life and like what they meant and 22 has been so much fun. It’s- it’s been so much fun and I decided to write a song about that and just all the ridiculous nonsense that my friends and I got into. And, um, so this one’s called 22.

Treacherous: This is a song that I wrote with Dan Wilson… I’ve always wanted to work with him. So I called him and um it turned out that he was into the idea of working with me. And um so I went in with this idea and uh we wrote a song about when you’re falling for someone and you know that it’s dangerous. And you know that it could really really really really really just annihilate you if it were to not work out and it could possibly not work out and it probably won’t work out, but you go for it anyway. And so this is called Treacherous.

31 August 2012 - We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together is released as a single. The MV features the rest of the Agency, but not Liz. Fans take notice.

13 September 2012 - The news breaks that Liz is leaving The Agency and will not be on the Red Tour:

Interestingly enough, according to the L Chat, Liz had been telling fans that she was planning on going on the Red Tour before this point, so something must’ve happened:

And because of this fan encounter below, we have somewhat of an idea of what it was:

So from the combined events of this summer we know this about Liz being let go:

1) Liz wrote songs that summer about having a hard time and trying to claw her way out of it.

2) Taylor and Liz met up twice that summer, and Taylor did not acknowledge Liz’s birthday publicly.

3) Taylor may have written The Last Time, a song about begging someone to choose you over other things (possibly addiction) on Liz’s birthday.

4) Liz thought she was going on The Red Tour.

5) Liz was fired for “getting out of control.”

The picture this paints to me is that, while Liz was spiraling, Taylor was trying to help her, using coming on the Red Tour as a reward for getting her act together. When she ultimately couldn’t, presumably after that meeting in July, Taylor had no choice but to ask her to leave the Agency, since hardcore intense tour life is likely the last thing Liz needed to get better. This is a really difficult and hard situation, regardless of whether or not the two women were ever sexually or romantically involved. 

Fortunately, as we’ll see moving forward, this seems to be the wake up call Liz needed to start the process of getting back on her feet. However, it’s clear that for at least a little bit after this, Taylor became a taboo topic around Liz. But ask anyone who’s dealt with addiction or helped a friend/family member through it -- there’s some resentment that’s bound to happen, even towards the people trying to help.

20 September 2012 - Liz spends “quality time” with Claire and Taylor:

I personally read this as one last hurrah of the trio after Liz was not asked back for the Red Tour. The “not mad at this day” feels a little weird to me too, and I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be shade or not. Either way, this is the last major interaction between Taylor and Liz for a while.

IN CONCLUSION: Liz had her demons. Whether this is what caused the end of her and Taylor’s relationship or something else, it’s almost certainly what caused her to not be asked back on the Red Tour. In the winter, she would release the music she was writing over the summer, making it clear she was going through some shit, probably not helped by seeing Taylor so obviously move on with Dianna. But this is the low point. Things with Liz can only go up from here.

Liz After the Agency (September 2012 - September 2014)

[unholyhelbig]

Yassss my friend!! I loved your latest update of your werewolf fic with jealous Chloe!! I wish I knew what made Chloe so jealous and possessive! I love it so much. I have such a soft spot for jealous Chloe. It’s one of my favourite versions of her. Can you include more of it? Whether in your werewolf fic, or any of your other fics? Keep up with the amazing writing xoxo

A/N: Listen, this isn’t exactly what you asked for, but I just saw an advertisement for Malcolm and Marie and I was feeling angsty! Also, I’m so sorry I made you wait over a year for a response. Thank you for the kind words! 

Read on AO3  | Request prompts here [closed]

Chloe let the red wine wash over her tongue, a single line dripping past her lips and falling from her chin. She cringed away from the sour taste because it was cheap and from a cardboard box that sat at the back of their fridge for months on end. But it didn’t’ stop her from drinking it- no, it made her reach for a second one as she tipped the large container and watched the crimson color slosh around a soap-stained glass.

It didn’t’ matter, none of it mattered because her cheeks were already blossoming with blush and she had stripped halfway from her elegant dress that caught all the right edges of the moonlight. Her skin prickled from the cold on her bare arms and her ankles were sore from the heels she had palmed and then left by the door with her keys.

She stumbled to the large windows that faced the ocean and stared out at it. The waves were black like the ink on the pages strewn across the piano and the sand was bleached white like the paper it was written on. She could see a few blurry shapes crowded around the low light of a bonfire and two young girls screaming at the cold of the breaking water.

Chloe wanted to slam her fist into the window until it matched the color of her wine. She wanted to scream at them that they were foolish and that young love never lasted until her throat was raw and bloodied with distaste. But she didn’t. They wouldn’t hear her anyway.

Chloe turned from the beach and placed the half-empty glass on the top of the piano. She hit the shrillest note with her finger and frowned. Beca could make it sound so effortless; the way her touch would glide across the keys and make something more. It was the creativity that got them this house, that had won her gold records and even a few platinum ones. It got her a Grammy tonight too.

So did the light touches that she ran across her executives back, and the way she leaned in and laughed with alcohol on her breath. Beca Mitchell was Hollywood’s heartthrob and she could play into the role like a violinist that had the strings sewn into the pads of their fingers.

She wasn’t one for jealousy.

Not at first. Chloe had been secure in their relationship through college, and the years they lived in a shitty one-bedroom apartment above an Indian place that always smelled of spice and sweetness. She knew Beca would come home after her shift at the station, and pull her close after sliding a simple golden band around her finger. They were married on the beach, that shown of black waves and white sand.

But things were different now- things were glamorous and expensive and Chloe clung on as hard as she could. She taught with her maiden name at a local elementary school and wore sunglasses and low-bearing hats to ward off the people that hid in the bushes, and all of that was manageable because Beca was faithful.  

Chloe finished off her second glass of wine in three gulps.

She sat down on the piano bench and scratched at her bare collarbone. The sleeves of her dress hung low around her waist and touched the back of her ankles but she made no move to shift them. She watched as the fire down the shore dimmed and the girls moved their shivering bodies back to the warm sand, still holding the heat of the day.

She didn’t’ hear the door open or close. Her blood was rushing past her ears and her fingers were twitching as if she wanted to hit the strongest key again, but she could barely muster the softest. The moon was full and that meant something more.

“You’re sitting in the dark.”

Chloe didn’t’ dignify it with an answer. She wanted to reach to her side and pull another sip from the glass of wine but there was nothing to swallow but her own words. Her bones ached and her skin was cold and she didn’t shift when Beca sat down next to her on the piano bench.

Her wife hit the deepest note three times, right where the groove of her fingers usually fit. She balled her hand into a fist and swallowed and didn’t’ dare let out a sigh. “Chloe, I know you’re upset.”

She had half expected Beca to follow her from the award show and the after-party that was littered with white powder and little tabs that you slipped under your tongue. It seemed to go hand in hand with the gold statues and the bubbling champagne. Chloe had had four glasses and called a taxi and didn’t’ bother squeezing her wife’s hand before stumbling up their front steps and stripping, only halfway, out of the gown that was given to them.

Those six drinks were throbbing against her temple now. She gave a watery laugh “What gave it away?”

“I knew I fucked up the moment I said it. Or didn’t’ say it. And you were upset then, I saw it all over your face. You said you were fine and I knew you weren’t fine.” She took an even sigh “But I was caught up in everything… the lights and the drugs and,”

Chloe turned to face her. The woman’s cheeks were wet with tears and they reflected the color of her velvet eyes. There was a twinge of guilt that was outweighed by the pain and anger of earlier. That urge to grab her face and kiss the pain away was only there momentarily.

“Do you remember the first apartment we were in?” When Chloe didn’t’ respond, Beca continued softly. “You came home from work and looked exhausted, and I wanted to cook you dinner. But we couldn’t afford pots and pans yet so I promised the food place downstairs that we would pay them back.”

Chloe lifted her chin “We ate curry on plastic chairs with our fingers.”

“Yeah,” she smiled and sniffed “Yeah we did and it was messy, and kind of gross. But I- I miss that. I miss not having to fight every single day to fit in with these people. I never had to try to fit in with you.”

“Then why didn’t you say it?”

“Because I’m a fucking tool, Chloe. You married a douche bag that forgets to thank her wife in her awards speech even though she practiced it a million times in the mirror.”

Chloe stared at the way her face softened and then hardened again in thought. The way her fingers were twitching but not fully pressing the keys. Their bones ached and their breath mingled with the scent of alcohol and mint mojito gum.

Her heart burned with jealousy, and she still wanted to hit the glass that trapped them in this extravagant house. But instead, she intertwined her fingers with Beca and moved until her head was on her wife’s shoulder. They sighed into the slight touch, each of them for entirely different reasons.

[your-lips-are-very-red]

St. Vincent x Emma Madden Interview

This is the text from the St. Vincent interview that Emma Madden was asked to not use. Since Miss Madden has decided to take it down, I wanted it to be available somewhere online - in case she manages to get all the cached versions taken down, too. 

SOURCE: https://archive.is/wFkLN

About a fortnight ago I was commissioned to interview St. Vincent, an artist I have been inspired by, impressed by, turned on by, compelled by, curious of, in awe of, occasionally suspicious of—for the better half of a decade. I try not to think about other journalists too much, but St. Vincent has developed a reputation for intimidating us. For her last press cycle, she made her interviewers crawl into a pink box; she would play a pre-recorded message on a tape recorder if a question bored or irked her. I found that quite funny—irresistibly imperious—but I considered it an act of degradation rather than an interesting switch of power. I love famous people but I also find them quite silly, like a Schnauzer wearing a bowtie.

  I didn’t know why, but for around two hours after our call ended, I was reeling with nervous energy. I was vocalising it and trying to get to the other side of it, the way I sing songs when I’m walking through a haunted house. I woke up the next morning with a voice message from the editor who assigned this piece. I am fond of this person and I will not name them. MBC, the team in charge of St. Vincent’s publicity (which is helmed by Barbara Charone, who also works for Madonna, and is considered one of the more powerful and intimidating publicists in the industry) had been on the phone to this editor, demanding the piece be pulled. My editor’s words: “They said she’s terrified of this interview coming out.” The publication didn’t have a leg to stand on.

"Terrified"? That word didn't seem to square. I thought I had done a not-so-good job the night before. I ended the call thinking I hadn’t asked the right questions. St. Vincent and I didn’t feel like a good match in conversation (or at least not in this conversational setup set-up, for which I was given thirty minutes, and continual reminders from the person on St. Vincent’s team, who remained on the call with us, that we’d need to wrap up well in time for St. Vincent’s Instagram Live session with Paul McCartney, which directly followed our interview.) St. Vincent tended to interpret my questions in bad faith. I assumed she believed me to be a Bad Reader; presumptuous, judgemental, simple, anti-curious—all qualities that her latest album ‘Daddy’s Home’, which I’ve interpreted as a counter to the folly, inadequacy and meretriciousness of moral purity—counters. Anyway, she read me wrong. I love Lana Del Rey.

  I got a call from MBC later that morning by a man who sounded quite nervous. I told him I was confused, I asked him what the matter seemed to be. He wasn't totally sure, he said, "she found the interview aggressive." Aggressive? I complimented her and cowed to her and laughed at her jokes. "Well, the message has been passed down a line of many messengers, she might not have actually said that." The man on the phone said that this—one of his artists demanding an interview to be pulled—had never happened to him before. It hadn't happened to me either. I felt annoyed by how easy it was for St. Vincent to kill something I had researched and expected money for. But the interview started to seem valuable to me after I was told that she didn't want it out in the world. "Can we draw a line under this and just kill the piece here?" said the man on the phone.

Below is the full transcript of my interview with St. Vincent (save for a short and-forth about Tool which didn’t make sense when turned into text). My questions are in bold, her responses are in italics.

**for the sake of this post, Madden’s questions are bold and Annie’s answers are not** Hi, how are you? Good how’s it going?

Not too bad. What’s your mood for today? My mood for today, well it’s good, I’m getting on an Instagram Live chat with Paul McCartney in a couple minutes so my mood is a little bit nervous but good.

I’m excited to talk about this album, I think it has a sick sense of humor that I appreciate a lot. I’ve had a really fun time listening to it.

Oh I’m glad, thank you.

I’m sensing there’s kind of a 70s trend at the moment in terms of fashion and the ways some other bands are presenting themselves. Is that something you were anticipating, is that something you feel you belong to, or was it just kind of accidental?

Accidental.

Do you feel bummed about that? No I don’t, I always just kind of do my own thing.

Do you think there’s a reason why people might be inspired by the 70s today? Do you see an analog with our world today and with the 70s? I guess this album is based in 1973, right?

Between ‘71 and ‘76, so post flower children idealism, post the Summer of Love hangover, but pre escapism of gay disco and pre nihilism of punk. Life was bad but music was good, kind of vibe.

Kind of when the trash aesthetic was taking hold, especially by Andy Warhol. Does trash inspire you? Um like literal rubbish?

No like the trash aesthetic, I guess in the PR you call it sleazy, grimy. Yeah but the difference with sleazy is that sleazy tries to present as glamorous but there’s something off, trash is just trash. I don’t know if trash pretends to be anything other.

  Can you have glamour without sleaze? Sure, absolutely. I mean, like the 20s Greta Garbo way, I would say Golden Era Hollywood, I mean behind the scenes it was probably a nightmare but you look at it and it is very genuinely shiny and beautiful.

I love the sitar on this album especially on ‘Down’, the riff is so sick. How did you get to the sitar? Well it’s not a sitar per se, it’s a choral electric sitar guitar and so it was I think George Harrison made them kind of popular in the ‘60s, I think the one I have is from ’67 and it plays like a guitar but it has a resonating body on it so it sounds sitar-esque. It was made very famous in the Steely Dan Do it Again solo.

  I guess the main PR bulletin point of this album is about your dad coming out of jail. Why did you want that to be the main way that people might read this album? More like an entry point, the title Daddy’s Home to me I mean one, it is literal but also it’s funny and cringy and pervy and also I think more than anything kind of refers to my own transformation into Daddy as it were. Yeah it’s probably not anything I would’ve really thrown out there except that it was made public without my consent but I didn’t really get to tell that side of the story and I don’t bring it up for sympathy. It simply is my story, it’s not intended to be indicative of necessarily anything, it’s just my story and I was gonna tell it with humor and compassion, all of that.

Did you anticipate a lack of sympathy for your dad’s crimes and the subject matter of this album and did that factor into how you shaped this record? That’s the tail wagging the dog my dear. No, no. A lack of sympathy, well, which crime would be the most sympathetic? I didn’t do anything, I’m simply writing about something that I think on some level everyone who’s ever had a parent can understand in the sense of you’re often going “How much of you am I?” and we kind of do identity projection through all these things so no, it’s again, it’s not really there for anything other than my own anecdotal story.

At what point did you transform into this daddy character? For how much of your adult life have you been the daddy? Oh I would just say over the past few years, I’ve just been quite a bit more leaned back and shoulder shrug and say let’s just sit down in the old beat up leather armchair and have a tequila and chat it out you know. Life is complicated, human beings are complicated and I wanted to just write stories about flawed people. There’s a whole lot of judgement going around and not a whole lot of understanding. And judgement is anti-curious. There are some people, perhaps the more sanctimonious and morally pure, who might not be interested in an artist’s reflection on their father’s white collar crimes. Do you have much sympathy for those kinds of people? I mean I think I can get sympathy for all people. If that is the reason why they decide not to spend 46 minutes with my work then I’m sure there’s plenty of other work out there for them that they can enjoy that is morally pure. They should find pure work from pure people and enjoy it.

I guess last year’s riots brought abolition towards the mainstream, during the time you were making this record, which is partially about your father’s time in prison. How did that square with your thoughts on prison and the US carceral system? Well I have plenty of thoughts on it, I’m not totally sure how it’s relevant to this.

Well I was wondering if you have a standpoint on it or if you’d rather just be ambiguous? I have so many thoughts and opinions, I don’t presume that my thoughts and opinions are relevant on every subject though. I don’t have that much hubris.

I understand. I was wondering about the Candy Darling inspiration, how does she come into the fold? Oh I just, Candy Darling to me is such a beautiful heroine in that she came from Queens and went not geographically far but worlds away to Manhattan and became her true self and in that particular kind of combination of glamour and toughness, where you feel like her name should be on the marquee and yet she could stick you with a shiv if you said the wrong thing. And I just find her inspiring and really beautiful, and I didn’t know but I found out a friend of mine was close with her and was at her bedside when she died so I was just picturing Candy Darling’s ascent to heaven as taking the final uptown train.

Wow. Did you feel like you were embodying her on this album or presenting as her? No not as such, but definitely taking inspiration from some of her energy for sure. I do hear a bit of her voice on the title track, I was wondering if you were kind of modeling your voice after her? On Daddy’s Home? Oh, no.

I love the sultriness of that song, even though it’s just about signing autographs in prison. I found it really funny. Yeah it’s definitely again, I’m writing about my own story with humor and compassion and self-effacement, all that.

Do you see this album as a movement, does it have a narrative? Yeah. It’s a full story, it’s a full collection of short stories. It has a shape and everything.

That’s just how I listened to this album, as a series of short stories. I was wondering how they interlink in your mind? I guess you have the person on Broadway, you have your dad, you have the person who’s maybe thinking of having a baby or not having a baby. I just could write stories of flawed people doing their best to get by because I’ve been most of the people on this album at one point of my life or another. And again I could write about them without condemnation and judgement just, here we are.

Are you a nostalgic person? No not generally.

Not even during the creation of this album? I’m thinking of the humming tracks, your mum cooking in the kitchen. Not exactly, I think that this particular kind of music with its sophistication and some of the jazz language in the harmony and its sense of time, it was a kind of music that I’d loved for so long but never really dipped into myself, and I think we kind of learn things a lot of times when we’re ready to, and I think I was kind of ready to learn some of the lessons that this kind of music had to teach me.

Do you think about shame a lot? Um, I think that shame is the reason why most people do the violence that they do. I think violence is an expression of impotence.

What was it about the post-idealist era in particular that you were drawn to, why not go through the flower power utopia sort of 60s route? I think that there’s an intellectual orthodoxy that is involved in utopian thinking and a lot of times it doesn’t allow for either a complex set of incentives or it doesn’t allow for the totality of human nature in its equation, and then it fails and because the structure of any kind of power is really complicated so I think in general the desire… and I understand that we’re living in, in some ways, I think just with the internet part of it, in some ways unprecedented times. And I understand people’s desire for certainty in times economic strife, cultural upheaval, all this stuff. I completely understand the desire for certainty. But I don’t think it’s as simple as demanding moral purity and punishing anyone who doesn’t fix the orthodox criteria. I understand the desire but I’m not sure it’s gonna get to where I think we want to be, which is just general more equality, whether it’s wealth equality, wealth disparity, all that kind of stuff I just think the matrices of power are really complicated.

You were saying earlier about Daddy and how you were thinking about your dad and the overlap between you two and how we all possibly become our parents. I was wondering how you consolidate the influences of your parents? I don’t know anything about them obviously but I know that your mum was a social worker, your dad was an entrepreneur, and those seem like two totally opposing worlds. Yes, my mother is a social worker and she instilled in all of us I think the idea that the work we do should be meaningful and she’s definitely really humanistic and that kind of thinking I think, that had an impression on me. My dad wasn’t an entrepreneur, my dad was a stock broker I think? But I grew up with my mom and my stepdad and my stepdad was a very different kind of guy, just was an army brat and grew up really poor, and was just coming from a different mindset and they’re just very different kinds of people. Not a judgement thing, just very different. Yeah my mom definitely errs on the very humble side. And yeah, my dad is a complicated, charismatic person who’s also very intelligent, and who went down a path that was full of consequence. Yeah they’re really, really different people so it’s funny to kind of square who was who.

What does your dad think of this album? Oh he loves it!

Yay, that’s good to know. Did you ever rebel against your dad’s lifestyle growing up as a teenager? I didn’t grow up with him, and he was in Tulsa Oklahoma. I don’t know what lifestyle you’re necessarily presuming but..

No I’m not presuming, just wanted a little background on your relationship with him I guess. So he wasn’t in your life that much where you were younger? I would go and we would spend summers there and Christmas, but I grew up in Dallas for the most part with my mom and my stepdad.

Was this album in any way an opportunity to get closer to your dad? Not in any way consciously, no.

  But are you finding with age and with time you’re getting closer to him? Well him being out of prison helps in terms of just proximity. Yeah, here’s what I’m finding. I’m finding that we live by the stories that we tell ourselves and that sometimes we realize that the story we’ve been telling ourselves for a long time was either wrong or lacked a certain amount of information, and then we have the choice of whether to reject the new information because it’s too painful to rethink the story that we’ve been telling ourselves, or assimilate the new information and go, wow life is complicated, this is an interesting wrinkle. I choose to do the latter.

  Yeah, it’s very easy to bullshit yourself, right? Yeah, it's true in all kind of ways you know?

This story, the story of your dad, it almost seems redemptive. I mean I would say so, and that’s not in any way what I intended and you know, a lot of times when you’re making something, I mean you’re a writer you know, you have the compulsion to make it but you’re not necessarily sure where it’s coming from or why or any of those kind of questions, but I think there is the possibility of redemption, I do, I think there is the possibility of people to change and I think there is a possibility of things like forgiveness and growth. And if I didn’t think that there was a possibility for human beings to change, to grow, to take in new information and then continue to write their story, then I don’t know what we’d really be doing, you know? And that’s not really the world I want to live in, we’re a moving picture we’re not a still photograph.

Do you want to try and change the world, do you feel like you have that power, do you feel hopeful that there can be a better future? Sorry for the cheesy language. No, I mean I don’t think that many people would accuse me of being an optimist in a lot of ways, and I don’t think in terms of my “power to change the world” I mean I think all I can do is try to study the human condition and write about the human condition in some way that resonates and then maybe people will hear that and that will resonate with them and I think that ultimately the best case scenario for music is empathy because it’s like psychologically this is why we like to listen to stories or this is why we like to watch movies is so we can go down the empathy exercise and you can see yourself as that person in the film, see someone who isn’t like you in any way, shape or form from a just box ticking kind of way, but then realize oh, we’re very similar in some ways or what would I do if I was in that situation, we do all these things and we live by these stories and I think those stories well-told can encourage empathy and empathy can go out into the world and have a kind of transformative experience. I don’t really think about, I mean I think once I make a thing and then it’s out in the world and it’s for other people to assimilate or enjoy or not, whatever, however they take it, is absolutely fine by me. But it’s for them, it’s not my place in any way to say how people should or should not enjoy it or assimilate it.

Yeah the reason I brought up prison abolition earlier is because that might be how some people contextualize this album. I would say that that’s one lens. That to me would not be the main lens.

[I’m told to wrap it up]

Yeah let’s wrap up. So Tool cover album next? No, I wish.

Someday I’m hoping. I love Tool.

I feel your Paul McCartney nerves Yeah, I’m gonna go shower.

That’s always a good idea. Okay take care, thank you again for you time Thanks, bye.

[cattles-bians]

damie vibecca exes au part 8

post directory

obsetress: now i just want fanart of damvibecca at the gym

em: well. pitch it to me comrade ghostfucker

obsetress: idk that's about as far as i got i just reread that bit about vibecca in their matching gym outfits and my brain got stuck

em: hypothetically do u have a colour palette in mind bc i associate gym outfits w like. bright loud colours and

em: idk if it works w our earth sign queens

[em note: emily is a liar and did NOT draw fanart of damvibecca at the gym]

[em note 2: we have the gym art now [x] [x]]

obsetress: i was imagining like charcoals tbh, or jewel tones

obsetress: i could see them in like jewel tone purples or that jewel tone blue green color

obsetress: yeah viola jewel tones or blacks n charcoals

obsetress: becs pastels and camels but jewel tones at the gym

em: it’s about Matching

em: And Destroying Ur Ex (platonically)

obsetress: yeah

obsetress: viola's feeling particularly smug about it but then

obsetress: dani's in an old school tshirt and shorts and jamie's in............ one of dani's old school tshirts and shorts

em: YES

obsetress: not intentionally, she just grabbed whatever was there

obsetress: dani chirps "oh you two look so cute! baby look, they have a matched set"

obsetress: viola arches an eyebrow "and so do you, it seems" and dani laughs "not on purpose, jamie just grabbed whatever was on top in the drawer"

viola: you two... share... a wardrobe?

dani: yeah?

em: god cute

obsetress: cute n dumb

em: they can share nearly everything except pants

em: well. pants as a treat

em: haha pants

em: trousers

obsetress: also rly nice rly clean smooth funny juxtaposition in my brain of vibecca being the ones who intentionally match and damie the ones for whom it just accidentally happens

obsetress: hahahah pants

obsetress: they can share pants but................ should they

em: idk miss chapter 12 danis thighs jamies pyjamas

em: should they

obsetress: PLEASE

obsetress: that's exactly what i was referring to THANKS

obsetress: anyway

obsetress: rebecca just laughs

obsetress: viola huffs and bex is like "sorry, babe, but it is kind of funny"

em: dani jamie wearing like

obsetress: YEAH

obsetress: MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY

em: poor viola

obsetress: thinking about dani's ass in those

em: yeah....

em: violas huffing until jamies exercise flush lasts a little Too Long

obsetress: big blush jamie taylor

em: she’s still like ‘oi dani close ur mouth’ but then she

obsetress: yeah

obsetress: just ogling each other

obsetress: (they briefly pause to ogle vi and rebecca passing a medicine ball back and forth as they do squats and have to acknowledge that, yeah, they've all done alright by themselves)

em: funny montage of the gang doing exercise while surreptitiously taking Peaks

obsetress: omg all i want

obsetress:sometimes having friends as a lesbian means they're all your exes except one, who's your gf, and you're all checking each other out always anyway

em

And That’s Beautiful

obsetress

obsetress: dani: checking out viola's biceps, rebecca's abs

viola: checking out dani's thighs n ass

rebecca: minding her business

jamie: scowling n scrawny

obsetress:(n also checking out dani's thighs n ass, viola's biceps, and begrudgingly peeking at rebecca's abs)

obsetress: every other woman at the gym: checking out jamie, trying to figure out the entire dynamic here

are they a polycule? what

em: jamie probably like

em: maybe she gets really into running bc she just checks out and listens to her audiobooks but like

em: slow twitch vs fast twitch fibers so stays scrawny

obsetress: i can see that

obsetress: just gets on the treadmill and zones tf out

em: jamie ‘why don’t i have biceps’ taylor vs jamie ‘no u gotta lift w ur hips’ taylor

obsetress: she hates it but her psych told her it'll be good for her routine so you know she was like yes ma'am every day ma'am

em: cant believe safe lifting procedures screwed her over

em: ‘yes ma’am every day ma’am’ ur just Going for it arent ya anshdjdh

obsetress: sorry but don't tell me you can't hear it

obsetress: jamie's the person who takes notes in therapy

obsetress: jamie, in the locker room after their workout: do my biceps look bigger?

dani, patiently, already knowing where this is going: bigger than what, baby?

jamie: than yesterday

dani: mm, rome wasn't built in a day, you know

jamie: do they look bigger at all?

dani: well

em: i mean not to perceive her too much but mattresses scene indicates AE/jamie like. at least some muscle in the leg area

em: poor jamie

em: not playing to her strengths

obsetress: yeah she does

obsetress: i mean ae has toned af arms

obsetress: she's just wiry

em: how could i forget the benchpressing dog gif

obsetress: dani's like "jamie, baby, come do squats with me and vi" "m'good" "baby, c'mon, you'll like it" "don't wanna do squats" "it could be good for you" "don't wanna do squats with you two"

em: dani: you gotta like. eat more

jamie: i eat plenty

dani: no u graze all day and then u don’t eat dinner

obsetress: dani: five biscuits spread out across a day doesn't count as eating more

em: dani: protein jamie it’s abt protein

obsetress: dani: you need more protein, which is why i think some lentils would really––

em: jamie thinks protein shakes are Nasty

obsetress: jamie does think protein shakes are nasty but dani will make her a smoothie and sneak it in like she's a child

obsetress: viola and rebecca, with their matching monogrammed blender bottles, just staring

obsetress: becca's like "jamie, just drink it, really, it's fine"

obsetress: viola just does this haughty sniff at her and that's what finally gets jamie to start

em: jamie can deal w being a brat but the idea of viola having Anything over her drives her Insane

em: Drives Her Fuckign Nuts

obsetress: she hates it

obsetress: just the absolute fuckin worst

em: do u think dani ever like

em: like they REALLY need to clear out storage but it’s a boiling frog situation where it’s increased so gradually that

em: like jamie thinks it’s Fine storage is Clear Enough

em: it’s Not

em: danis like. should we invite rebecca and vi over

em: just be Idea of A Snide Viola Comment fills jamie w a burning rage

obsetress: oh my god

obsetress: i'm obsessed with this

obsetress: i would read a whole oneshot about this

em: eventually dani comes clean abt it n jamie thinks it’s v funny bc yknow; open and honest communication is a v important part of their dynamic

em: jamie: next time just tell me my storage looks like shite dani or i will be grumbling abt viola for a Week

obsetress: inevitably

obsetress: when they do have to come over to clean

obsetress: dani offers them takeout and wine ("step up from pizza and beer at least," jamie grumbles) and viola's like "jesus, dani, let's just go out to dinner. my treat"

obsetress: at dinner, viola's like "if you want more storage, i have some wonderful properties––"

obsetress: rebecca's mouthing "sorry" from next to her across the table

em: every time they go out rebecca takes vi aside n is like ok sweetheart so you promise you’re not gonna try convince them to sell the apartment again

em: and violas like (mock horror) of course i won’t. ye of little faith

em: and every time

em: every time she does

em: she’s tryna HELP

obsetress: she would too she'd be like

obsetress: "i'm just trying to HELP"

obsetress: "they're our FRIENDS"

em: i’m on a mission to figure out like

em: this is way way down the line

em: but i wanna believe eventually viola and jamie start to, at the v least, Tolerate each other

em: jamie might even be fond of the crazy bird but she’ll NEVER admit it

obsetress: god like vi's on business or some shit in like

obsetress: the UAE

obsetress: negotiating some Deal

obsetress: and so dani and jamie get dinner with just bex and they're driving home after and having a perfectly mundane conversation and then jamie's just blurting like

obsetress: "i think i miss vi"

em: she’s HORRIFIED

em: she tries to play it off as like um

em: she’s Too Comfortable

em: things are Too Boring

em: which is weird knowing everything we know abt jamie

em: but actually she just... maybe misses viola

em: danis like god i wish i was recording this

obsetress: jamie's passed out next to her at home later (it's ten pm) and dani's chattering happily away on the phone with vi (drinking a martini in her dubai hotel room at one am since, y'know, no bars) in bed right next to her

obsetress: "jamie, uh, said she misses you. i know. no, i KNOW. don't tell her i told you. yeah, yeah, you win, vi, we know. uh-huh. uh-huh. i'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask me that"

em: CUTE

em: u can’t lord it over her vi it’s a little secret

em: vi's like when have i EVER

em: she does

obsetress: once they're good again, dani and vi absolutely just. lose time (there's a metaphor in there) talking to each other still

em: this is wholesome tbh

em: i really like the damie stories where like

em: look it’s nice when damie have each other but it’s also nice when they have their own friends and stuff

em: dunno how to articulate that well

em: it’s a balance! it’s a balance

obsetress: yeah! exactly

obsetress: because that's part of the love n possession thing too yk

obsetress: not to say either of them would ever be like "no friends for you" but

obsetress: wanting to have a life outside of your partner yk

obsetress: they're meeting vi and rebecca for dinner after vi gets back and vi's just grinning and sweeping jamie into a hug "i heard you missed me"

em: she gets jamie a souvenir t-shirt

em: it’s too big

em: OR

em: child’s t-shirt

obsetress: (jamie sleeps in it that night)

obsetress: oh childs might be better

obsetress: she's like "you're a little scrawny, so..."

em: jamie sleeps in it.... soft bitch

em: she feels too much

obsetress: jamie taylor softest bitch

obsetress: dani watches her pull it on and raises an eyebrow and jamie's just like "wot"

em: jamies like (grumbles) i knew she was comin back i’m just

em: shouldn’t you be HAPPY about this development dani

em: ‘s’a gift... s’rude not t’....’

obsetress: YEAH

obsetress: dani just grins "mmhm"

em: it accidentally makes its way into jamies workout clothes pile

obsetress: oh my GOD oh my god

obsetress: viola's shit eating GRIN when jamie shows up at the gym in it

em: jamies like fok

em: mental maths tryna figure if she wants to just. work out in a sports bra

em: she Doesn’t

obsetress: she Doesn't!

obsetress: (she's shy)

em: god it’s one of those shirts that’s like

em: someone who loves me went to UAE and got me this t-shirt or something

obsetress: dani corners her in their empty row in the locker room "you could've just taken it off, you know" "dunno, not everyone needs to... see that, you know?" "i'd certainly like to see it" jamie rolls her eyes but she's grinning "you can see that any time" "well maybe i wanted to see it during my workout" "dani......."

em: jamies embarrassed bc of her gnarly farmers tan means her tummy is at least five shades lighter than the rest of her

em: crisp tan lines

obsetress: god jamie's farmers tan

em: once again i am bringing my tan lines jamie agenda

obsetress: dani loves jamies dumb farmers tan so much

obsetress: she giggles

obsetress: but it's the most loving giggle possible

em: and then when she gets into running...

em: god when i was rowing there were a couple ppl w like what i called a neapolitan icecream tan which is

em: gimme a second

obsetress: jamie gets all huffy when dani giggles at her tan but then dani's like "baby, no, i think it's cute" and jamie gives her a look and dani grins mischievously and ducks her head

obsetress: and then she's licking and kissing and nipping her way along jamie's dumb tan lines

em: there it is

obsetress: it was inevitable

em: so caught up in the joy of jamies dumb farmer tans i forgot abt her gnarly scar she keeps under wraps

em: baby

em: the most baby

obsetress: baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

em: jamie decides the only way to claim the stupid t-shirt as hers is to cut off the sleeves

em: it’s abt the ritual of the thing

obsetress: she shows up at the gym wearing it and

obsetress: that's viola's "oh no she's hot" moment

em: YEAH BABY

obsetress: literally just like

obsetress: world stops

obsetress: viola stares

em: jamie finally gets to do an exercise that shows off her sinewy manual labor grip forearms

em: viola’s probably just as horrified to find jamie hot as every time jamies like oh no

em: violas hot

em: and once again jamie CANNOT know she’s hot bc she will be insufferable

em: she will be the Worst

obsetress: viola's tugging rebecca aside "why didn't you tell me jamie was hot" "what?" viola waves a hand and rebecca just furrows her brow a little and is like "that's just... what she looks like, vi"

obsetress: viola corners dani next "why didn't you tell me jamie was hot" "i did" "oh. right" viola pauses, then "why didn't you make sure i was listening?" dani just gives her a look and walks away

obsetress: dflksdjfldaj god the way jamie and viola are. the same

obsetress: kind of incredibly, in the same ways dani and rebecca are the same

em: “hey baby, did viola seem different today? seemed off”

em: jamies like. is she mad at me. did i break another social taboo.

em: rebecca ‘jamie looks like jamie’ jessel vs dani ‘my gf is so hot i can’t stand it’ clayton

obsetress: "i tell you how hot she is at least three times a week, vi"

em: danis tryna goad her into making the damn shirt a crop top

em: jamies like yeah but isn’t that a step too far. i feel like i am destroying this shirt too much

em: she does it anyway

em: so jamies workout clothes are danis endless grey baggy school t-shirts and this one ugly souvenir shirt that like

em: psychological warfare and she doesn’t even know it

obsetress: i would........ like to see it

obsetress: also crop top jamie is one of my favorite jamies

obsetress: she is severely underrated

em: crop top jamie is

obsetress: and we do not talk about her enough

em: jamie wear More crop tops

obsetress: viola and rebecca in bed, in matching facemasks, after going to the gym post-epiphany that Jamie Is Hot

obsetress: viola: are dani and jamie hotter than us?

rebecca: what?

obsetress: and like

obsetress: viola is NOT insecure

obsetress: she is constantly confident that she's the most attractive woman in the room at any given moment, but

obsetress: she's just so staggered by this realization

em: some neutral third party (ms grose and mr sharma probably) are like well. u guys definitely have a little more of a scary thing going on

em: i’m imagining rebecca and viola at brunch w hannah and owen v seriously discussing this

em: viola brings it up and rebecca GROANS but then she gets invested in the convo

obsetress: GOD yeah

obsetress: she's leaning forward and gesturing with her fork "when you say 'scary'..........."

em: owens like scary is a compliment

em: hannah grose sips her tea knowingly

obsetress: rebecca just narrows her eyes at hannah grose and hannah raises her eyebrows and shrugs

em: after a week or so viola bursts into a room w stupid big sunglasses and a tray of take out coffees and she’s like Don’t You Worry Jamie I Have Concluded You’re Hot But I’m Not Threatened By It

em: jamies like sorry WHAT

em: you’ve been thinking about WHAT

em: viola leaves without ever following it up

obsetress: dani is entirely unfazed

obsetress: doesn't even blink

em: danis like neat she remembered the oat milk

em: everyone in this au is insane

obsetress: any lesbian in 2021 is insane

obsetress: par for the course

em: was gonna protest but

em: Yeah

obsetress: this lesbian meme account i follow on insta is doing “stop asking who’s the top and who’s the bottom. start asking...” posts

obsetress: and one of them is “start asking who’s baby and who’s fuck around and find out” and it just makes me chuckle

obsetress: jamie taylor baby

obsetress: viola lloyd also baby

em: dani is baby passing and jamie is fuck around faking

obsetress: oh my god that’s why that’s why i think we cracked it

obsetress: dani (fuck around) dated jamie (baby) and vi (baby)

obsetress: rebecca (fuck around) dated jamie (baby) and vi (baby)

obsetress: the reason they could never cross further even tho per the transitive property dani (so similar to vi) should be able to date beccs and jamie (so similar to beccs) should be able to date vi is because

obsetress: you can’t have two babies and two fuck arounds in a relationship together

em: oh of course. i see. i see

em: however in the rare rare crack ship of the ‘jamie viola hatefuck’ a similar phenomenon to ‘social anxiety mum friend ordering food’ instinct takes over and someone fucks around and finds out

em: this is just my unhinged jamie viola hatefuck bulkshit which is. it’s ironic ok it’s ironic it’s ironic it’s

em: ok one last thought bc i know it’s super late for u but

obsetress: omg i also have a last thought let’s trade

em: what if mikey is about isabels age n jamie ends up looking after him for one reason or another for a bit

em: and viola absolutely Dotes on him

obsetress: omg

obsetress: that’s what does it. jamie seeing viola w mikey

em: grumble grumble i guess she’s not that bad

em: except then she’s like god what if mikey likes her MORE than me

obsetress: “dani what if mikey gets one of those weird first crushes on vi”

obsetress: dani doesn’t even look up from the laundry “who hasn’t had a crush on vi”

obsetress: jamie’s like “mE” and dani just gives her the most withering look

em: danis like It’s Par For The Course Jamie

em: danis a teacher she’s like it happens don’t sweat it

em: anyway

em: what was. what was ur last little thought

obsetress: i was just thinking more about viola also baby and how also she’s been so privileged her whole life that sometimes there are just some things she can’t do for herself because she just doesn’t know how

obsetress: like she’s never had to learn

em: rebecca gets um

em: freeze dried coffee

em: nescafé

obsetress: but like

obsetress: rebecca genuinely loves taking care of vi for whatever reason (it’s because she loves her) when she really needs it but

obsetress: rebecca also takes no shit and is like “i’m not making the nescafé for you. you’re 36 years old, vi, you need to learn to do it for yourself”

obsetress: and she’ll stand there and watch her do it and then she makes vi do it at least three more times for posterity

obsetress: “i’ll make a plebeian of you yet, viola lloyd”

obsetress: (god only the two of them would think a line like that is funny)

[mysteira6]

FukaFlower - (Mother) Flower’s Day

Summary:

She stared at the object in her hands, eyes glued on the two red lines smeared onto the white strip of paper.

Right. She has to tell him. Or rather, she has to surprise him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

In other words, wow, we’re going there for Flower’s birthday AND Mother’s Day, aren’t we? :D

… Sorry for being so late. Let’s just pretend that it’s still 9th May, okay? ><;;;

You guys get a heaping amount of fluff at the beginning as my apology for not writing in forever. :’D

Also, fair warning: Flower is notably more feminine here than many people would perceive her. As is Fukase being more mature than most interpretations. Don’t get me wrong; I love tomboy Flower and child-like Fukase, but I also like perceiving them this way too ;3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was just an hour after dawn when she woke up.

Thin rays of gold peaked from the horizon as the indigo hues from the wide expanse of the sky slowly faded away. In the passing minute, the scenery from their window transformed into shades of red, pink and orange while the sun rose, enveloping their neighborhood with its warmth.

Somewhere in that row of quaint houses was where the waking woman lived in. A humble two-floored home consisting of everything she could ever ask for. A kitchen to cook in, a living room to relax, recording rooms for musical expeditions, amenities… And the shared bedroom where she would spend all her spare time with her beloved husband.

The white-haired figure shuffled restlessly, even while lying down on her bed. She took care to not wake the still sleeping figure next to her, but the temptation to just shake him awake was unbearable. After all, how could she stay still? From the moment she fell asleep the night before to the early hours of the morning, she was well aware of how special today was going to be.

And also of how much her heart was pounding as she relayed her plan over her head once more.

Just stick to the plan, Flower. She firmly reminded herself, fearful of the one-in-a-million chance that she would forget about it at the last minute. Leave it in the box, get him to reach in and let the conversation flow from there. Not too hard for you to handle, right?

A minute of silence later and all she could do was sigh in frustration. It was not unjustifiable, however; it was already a known secret between all of their friends that between the couple, she was anything but the fun type. Even after she had spent so much time with the red-haired joker, it was impossible for her to really pull off a fun-filled trick to anyone else, much less to do so at the man who was able to see through her every stoic façade. It would be no surprise at all if he managed to see through her plan too, she realized. And for that to happen would be… 

Under the sheets, Flower slowly raised her left hand to her face, slowly sweeping her right fingers across the silver band on her ring finger, as if her subconscious was reminding her of exactly who she was thinking about. Ah, how could she forget? That the man she was about to try and trick was none other than her husband? The one person in the whole world that she had dedicated her life to her secrets, her weaknesses, and even her moments of joy?

As she pondered, she was filled with renewed vigor. This occasion was certainly a joyous one, and whether or not he saw through her procedure to unveil it, she was going to share it with him regardless.

Shuffling a little more on her bed, Flower reached over to the closet-door compartment of her bedside table, occasionally glancing back at the sleeping man on the other side of the bed in case he suddenly woke up. It certainly didn’t help that he had his back facing her, giving her no hints on whether his eyes were wide open and awake or closed in soundly slumber. The young woman eventually gave in to her taking the risk and assuming the latter.

Gradually rotating her body to the side, her hand stretched out to pick up the mostly-empty, cardboard box laying behind the wooden door, taking extreme care to not shake it around even a little bit, knowing that the small object within was sure to rattle if she did.

A quick visual and kinesthetic inspection of the apparatus managed to calm her heart slightly, seeing that everything was still in there (and not damaged in any bit, thank goodness). She spared no second in setting it up properly, placing the box upright and relocating the white, flat item in its proper place. With the preparations complete, it was finally time for phase two.

That is, waking him up and convincing him to play a game.

While she was still a little nervous, to boot.

Flower tried to take in a deep breath to calm herself, though much to her dismay, it could only help her so little. Was this how Fukase felt when he proposed to her? Feeling a deeply rooted sense of anticipation and excitement flowing through his entire body, almost ready to burst out of him while carrying the weight of nervousness on his back like rocks? Was he worried if she’d say no to him? Of course, he would, wouldn’t he? Who could really tell him that his girlfriend of so many years would still say yes to his proposal to be his wife?

Suck it up, Flower. You’re better than this. A last-minute attempt to push herself to go for it; pep-talk. This is Fukase, we’re talking about. Your husband, no less. He’s been with you through everything; singing together, chatting together, spending time together… He devoted his very existence to be with you and do everything with you. Have more faith in-

“Mmrph…”

Speak of the devil. His muffled groans were so sudden that she nearly dropped the box in her hands. Setting it aside on the floor next to the bed, Flower stared at the digital clock on the table again, its digits reading ‘08 30’, the time when they would emerge from their bed and prepared for the day ahead. She heaved a last breath of air for encouragement. Show time.

Quietly, she spun around to face the back of the snoozing redhead, though it was clear that he had moved slightly, as if ready to wake up. The young woman bit back the urge to just glomp on her beloved and beg for his attention on her special day, instead skimming her fingers through his soft, fluffy scarlet curls. A fitting payback for the countless times that he would wake her up by ruffling her own hair.

A smile that rivaled the cheekiness of a little trickster slithered to her lips. “Fukase…” She murmured in the quietest tone she could muster, keeping one hand buried in his hair while another gently held his left shoulder sticking out in the air, shaking it slightly. “Fukase, wake up.”

“Mmm? Fi… Five more minutes…” The groggy young man tried to inch deeper into the covers as if evading her attempts to pull him from the depths of his slumber. Despite the audible beating of her heart, Flower was certainly having none of that, and only advanced in swinging his body back and forth with a little more force. “I don’t have five more minutes, sleepyhead.” She uttered in mild impatience, saying each word bit by bit as if she was hesitating. It was only natural since the usually quieter, shyer Flower was a complete stranger to putting on a cheeky front, but since today was so special, she decided to give it a shot anyway.

“Can you get up? Please?” She pleaded after seeing that Fukase hadn’t moved for a few seconds, thinking that he might have actually gone back to sleep unknowingly. “I won’t stop messing with your hair if you don’t.”

“Go ahead and… mess it up anyways…” He grumbled, though his tone sounded more affectionate than annoyed. “I’ll just comb it back to normal when I wake up-”

“Then… I won’t stop shaking you back and forth. Like this-!” As if to emphasize her point, she propped herself on her right elbow, giving herself more leverage to rock Fukase’s figure even more. Though she managed to sway his body to lie flat on his back, it did nothing to tug his eyelids open, his sleepy chuckles indicating that he was still not waking up.

“Gonna have to…” He paused to yawn before mumbling again. “Try harder… than that… Flowie…”

The mention of his loving nickname for her sent a wave of warmth coursing through her. It was almost enough to distract her from her original objective and coax her to snooze by her lover’s side for the whole morning. Perhaps for the whole day, too, seeing that neither of them had any work to do for a good 24 hours.

Fortunately for her, it was only almost enough. And if she really had to ‘try harder’ to wake him up…

A knowing smirk and a bit of maneuvering later, plus a light pat on the redhead’s temple, and Fukase soon opened his eyes to the most flustered position he could ever be in. Straddling on top of his lying figure was his gorgeous wife, her shimmering violet eyes gazing at him with her loving adoration and a glint of mischief. In the now ivory rays of sunlight, Flower’s snow-white hair seemed to be sparkling, even the black streak sitting atop her scalp and the ebony highlights peeking from her neck. While she remained there, clothed in nothing else but one of Fukase’s shirts and her underwear, a playful grin was written all over her face, fully aware of the growing red blush spreading across Fukase’s cheeks.

No doubt was he wide awake at this point, though it was a struggle to keep his voice from trembling in excitement. After all, Flower just seemed to know exactly how to push his buttons and Fukase considered himself lucky and unlucky to fall victim to her knowing touch. “G-good morning, Flower…” His words came out in an unsure whisper that made Flower’s heart swell with pride. “Um, why are you uh…”

“Hm?” The young lady in question only fluttered her eyes innocently as she leaned her face close to his while gently caressing the intricate scars embedded on his left cheek, a remnant of a fire accident in his youth that caused the entirety of his left side to be riddled with darkened skin. For a long time, Fukase refused to let anyone see his full body disfigured and cursed to look hideous forever, let alone allow anyone to lay a finger on his skin and trigger a flashback of the trauma that was cruelly bestowed on him on the day of the accident. It was one of his defining features when they first met; him being the boy who would pat the shoulders of his friends to comfort them and ruffle the younger singers’ hair as a sign of affection, but would refuse to be hugged or touched by anyone else.

Though as they had seen through the past few years, Fukase’s fated meeting with his wife was the exact cure he needed to fully overcome his past, the exact remedy he needed to allow the love of his life to see beyond his appearance and love him just like any other human being.

As soon as Flower’s fingers left his face, he found himself sighing at the loss of her warmth, aching for it to return. “Fukase…” She cooed flirtatiously, her intense gaze on his ruby eyes making his heart skip a beat. “Is it working?”

“Wh-what’s working?” An uncharacteristic stutter from the usually confident man gave Flower the courage she needed to position her elbows squarely by his head, bringing her face even closer to his and making him anticipate a passionate kiss.

“Are you… wide awake now?”

“Yeah, I am.” He answered quickly, hoping that his voice did not sound shaky anymore. It had only been a few minutes and granted that he wasn’t wearing anything to cover his chest, but having Flower lay on top of him like this was getting him way too excited in the wrong place. “I’m uh, wide awake now, princess.” He hurriedly declared, trying to prop himself on both of his arms as a way to get out of bed fast. His efforts, however, were only foiled by Flower’s asserting hold on both of his wrists, pinning him back to the bed and certainly not helping out in keeping his inner passion in check.

Instead, the redhead was forced to keep watching his angel lean in close, close, closer to his face once more, not breaking eye contact for one single second as her lips barely brushed over his. No doubt it was her way of teasing him so early in the morning, all because he just wouldn’t wake up to the strangely provocative-in-the-morning Flower.

Hm. Something was up, wasn’t it?

Before he could confirm such a thought, and thankfully before he was about to give in to the fire that had been burning within him for a while now, Flower gave him a simple smooch on the cheek and rose from her straddling position, resuming her original spot next to Fukase on the bed, the latter who still hadn’t sat up properly after bearing witness to his lover’s inner seductive nature.

When he finally regained control over his limbs, the young man gradually raised his upper body off the bed, turning slightly to converse with the cross-legged lady next to him. “What, not gonna give me a proper good morning kiss?” He quipped, trying to reclaim his lost confidence.

Flower only giggled in response. “I just did, didn’t I?”

“Felt more like a nip than an actual kiss.” He casually commented, a hand lightly rubbing the spot where she had landed her soft lips on, a milder yet still present redness on his face. “Seems unlikely for you, my dear ice-queen-who-never-seduces-me.”

“Hey! It’s my special day.” The aforementioned ‘ice queen’ protested childishly, shifting her body away from the quipping man. “You have to spare me for being a bit cheeky for once.”

“A ‘bit’ cheeky?” A combination of doubt, suspicion and a dash of jest rose in his tone as he crossed his legs and his arms, facing the now beaming woman. “Flower, do you know how much of a tease you were back there?”

Her answer was in the form of a question, though it sounded as if she was replying in certainty as well. “Yes…?”

“And do you know what I could’ve done if you kept doing it?” Fukase continued, narrowing his eyes at her as if to intimidate her.

A sly wink was his answer. “I know~”

“ … You would be totally fine with me doing it, wouldn’t you?”

He could hear the smile on her face, even if she hadn’t whipped her head around and flashed a cheeky smirk at him. “Maybe~” She cooed before turning around again.

That look on her face, burned into his memory, was both alluring and annoying to him. The former, since it was so rare to see her emit such a daring and downright enticing persona, and the latter since her being such a tease was an even rarer sight for him that he would never get used to. Instead of acting on either of those urges, Fukase opted to crawl towards his wife, wrapping his arms around her petite waist in a tight hug from behind. The sensation of him nesting his chin on her right shoulder, effectively leaning against her face, cued a startled gasp from the unsuspecting woman, though it was soon followed by a melodious chuckle. He loved hearing her laugh.

“You are absolutely insatiable, you know that?” He remarked lovingly, letting out a relaxed sigh.

“So are you.” Came as her spunky reply, though that didn’t stop her from relishing in his warm embrace, placing her palms against those pressed against her waist.

All was still for a while as they sat there, sharing each other’s presence in the silence of the morning. Between their busy recording sessions and composing their songs, such peaceful moments between them seemed scarce, which was exactly why they both had come to treasure them so much.

“By the way,” Fukase suddenly spoke, breaking the momentary silence. “Happy birthday, dear.” He continued, brushing one of her stray hairs behind her ears with his right hand, as if to unveil her beauty to himself.

“Thank you.” Despite her calm composure, the blissful, congratulatory phrase had set a reminder ringing in Flower’s head. Right, how could she forget? A morning of fun-filled quips between the couple had nearly swept her plan under the rug. Her eyes darted to the ground next to the bed once more. The box was still there. And from the looks of it, so did her earlier trepidation and nervousness return to her senses.

The longer she held it off, the more likely she was going to forget about it for the rest of the day. Now or never.

“Ahem,” She slowly began, gradually moving herself away from Fukase’s arms as she approached the edge of the bed. “Before we get today started, because I know you definitely have a plan for today-”

“Only natural if you want to celebrate your lover’s birthday in the best way you can~” He joked, winking at the girl in question while he crossed his arms again, as if recalling his own schedule in his head.

“I figured you would.” She nodded, hands reaching down to finally grab the nearly forgotten box lying on the carpeted floor. “But before that… I need a favour from you.”

“What is it?”

Seeing him willing to comply sent a wave of excitement coursing through her, boosting her confidence in picking up the cardboard box and placing it right in front of her, keeping the opened side of it facing her while the side with a circular hole was facing Fukase. In her usual, straight-to-the-point tone, she spoke. “Just stick your hand in this box.”

“ … What?”

To say that the redhead was confused was a huge understatement, seeing that one, his wife might be seductive or cheeky, but in no way would she ever pull a trick like this, and two, what in the world was even in there?

“Are you trying to copy those reality TV shows or something?” He laughed whole-heartedly, shifting a little closer to the box. “Like when they put a fake cockroach or a live toad in the box?”

When the white-haired girl didn’t reply, only stifling her giggles under her breath, the light in his eyes slightly faded. “Y-you didn’t actually put something absurd in there, did you??”

“Nooo…” If only he could see what was really in the box…! Instead of holding it off any longer, Flower simply held the upright box and nudged him again. “There’s only one way to find out what’s in there so…”

Though he continued his skeptical gaze at her, Fukase went ahead and raised his hand anyway. “I guess  it is your birthday, so I’ll comply. But if I get my hand chopped off by a baby alligator-”

“Fukase, do you think I could fit a baby alligator in a small shoebox like this?”

“So it’s something small?” He narrowed down verbally, about to reach in until he retracted his hand at a terrifying thought. “Is it a spider?”

She couldn’t hold back her giggle. “No, it’s not.”

“Is it…  slime?”

“You know how I hate touching those things, let alone expect me to leave one in there for you to hold it.”

He held up his spare hand as if surrendering. “Just making sure that you weren’t pulling my leg. Or arm, I guess.” He reasoned, seeming to eventually give in and squeeze his hand through the hole while Flower tried her hardest to restrain her eagerness. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would respond to all this, let alone sit still as she watched him.

From the back of the box, Flower could see a rough coarse left hand swinging around cautiously, as if Fukase had already forgotten how he deduced that the mystery object in the box was likely smaller than he thought. The sight of his fingers skittering across the cardboard walls made her snicker so much that the redhead took the hint and just went straight for the bottom of the hollow space.

Only to come in contact with a flat, rod-like item that rattled every time it moved. Something that was made out of plastic and was quite long. A quick grab-and-drop of the object proved that its weight was nothing to scoff at; for a rod small enough to fit a shoebox, it was rather… heavy… Wait… 

“So…?” Flower’s voice shivered a little, likely due to both her nervousness and her anticipation of his answer. “What is it?”

He didn’t respond for a few minutes, the initial cheerful aura that was always present on his face gradually ebbing away, the reality of what he was holding sinking into his head. The young woman’s heart was threatening to sink to the depths of her chest too if it weren’t for his free right hand springing out and latching on hers, conviction dripping from his unusually low tone. “Flower, please tell me if I got this wrong.”

Half-letting go of the box and interlocking her fingers with her lover’s, she spoke softly. “What is it?”

“This… This is a…” As if for further confirmation, his left hand held the object inside once more before dropping it again. “This is a pregnancy test, isn’t it.”

It didn’t sound like he was asking a question but she decided to answer him anyway. “Yes, it is.”

“And today… Today’s also Mother’s Day, isn’t it?”

So the ultimate trickster managed to see through why she decided to tell her today of all days? To that end, Flower giggled again. “Yeap…”

“And this…” The atmosphere in the room felt as if a huge revelation was about to drop on the floor. “This is actually… yours…?”

There was no stopping the brightest expression that was spreading all over her face, through her wide, sparkling smile and radiant eyes, and even to the rapid nodding of her head as her other hand reached into the box in front of her, holding the test kit before the both of them while gently shoving the now forgotten box to the side. The natural lighting of the room was more than enough to illuminate the two very visible red lines contrasting against their pale white background. He didn’t have to look at the guide written next to the small window to understand exactly what was going on.

The fingers clenched around her left hand tightened. For a long, nearly unbearable silence, Fukase stared at the test kit, then at Flower, then back at the test kit over and over again. It was only when his other hand reached for her face that he ultimately spoke in the shakiest voice she had ever heard. “Th-this isn’t a joke… right?”

The overwhelming emotions bubbling inside her rendered her unable to speak, leading her to shake her head enthusiastically enough times for her husband to get the hint that she wasn’t joking. At all. “Y-you’re… You’re really gonna… holy shit-”

What happened next went by way too fast; both of his hands flying to her wrists, exerting enough force for him to pounce on top of her as she laid on her back on the bed once again; his body being propped up on his elbows while his fingers searched for hers, his face dipping low to land a long, very well-deserved smooch on her soft lips as both of them closed their eyes, enjoying the bliss of their intimacy; one lasting kiss following another as he smothered her with physical blessings of his undying adoration of her; his forehead naturally perching itself on top of hers as his eyes shuttered open again, greeting his lover, his wife, his everything with the most tender gaze any woman would envy for.

“Oh my god.” It was a barely audible whisper, but the still flabbergasted look on his face spoke volumes of what he was feeling. So did the small beads of saline water slowly dripping down his eyes. “Oh my god, Flower.”

“I know.” An almost voiceless reply came from the usually sharp voiced singer as a hand shot up to rub his tears away. She couldn’t tell if she herself had started crying too. “I just… I can’t believe it either.”

“You’re going to be a mom,” The sheer joy in his heart bleeded through those words. “And I… I’m gonna be… a dad.”

“Are you nervous, Mr Mad Hatter?”

Though he was still sniffling, Fukase sulked at the childish nickname. “That was from ages ago, darling.” He commented with a single choked up laugh. Even though it was a fitting name for the still humorous and top-hat wearing Fukase, it felt like way too long ago when she would call him that. “Besides, aren’t you speaking too highly for someone who’s been trembling all morning?”

“I wasn’t trembling that much.” She protested, raising a small finger to sweetly boop his nose, musing at how odd it felt seeing that his usual red cross was missing (normally, he wouldn’t have it on until they were out of bed). The red-haired man chuckled at the gesture, returning it by caressing her face as if it was a precious jewel, seeming to wipe her cheeks clean of any remaining tears streaking her face. “I beg to differ. After all, you were trying to pull a trick on me, weren’t you?”

“Like I said before, it is my birthday.” As if mimicking him when he successfully pulled a prank on her, Flower stuck out a tongue like a child would. “And I’m so happy that I got to spend it with you, dear.”

Hearing that cued him to slowly rise from his hovering position, allowing Flower to sit up a second time as he continued. “And speaking of which, now that you’ve completed your plan, it’s time for me to execute mine.”

She laughed amusingly. “Oh?”

“I did have a plan of how to spend your birthday with you, you know.” He winked knowingly as he stretched across the bed to reclaim the nearly forgotten pregnancy test kit and fateful shoe box. “Of course, I’ll need to make some minor tweaks here and there, but I intend to still follow it through, you know.”

Flower could only beam at her husband’s ever-present devotion to make her special day even more special for her. It was one of the thousand of things she loved about him. “I can’t wait.” She gleefully declared as she too approached the edge of the bed, ready to doll herself up for the day ahead.

While Fukase slipped on a spare tee and made his way to the bathroom, a quiet mutter slipped out of his mouth. “Looks like the night plan’s gonna need a replacement…”

“What night plan?”

“N-nothing!!”

The young lady only raised a palm to her mouth as she laughed once more, watching her lover duck behind the door and fully aware of what he meant by those words. Indeed, how in the world did she gain the affections of such an amazing man?

One thing was for certain; it was going to be her best birthday yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

by the way, I kinda want to have an idea of how much my one-shots have impacted the fukaflower army, so I would appreciate it if you would answer this poll really quickly, thank you!!

https://www.strawpoll.me/45273276

[wolftraps]

For the reverb inspiration thing honestly I'd kinda like more Ethan stuff? Mostly because it'd be fun to see someone adjusting to the future institute and that sort of flavor of outsider POV intrigues me. Plus I also just... Love Naomi a lot...

As happens with literally everything I write, this ended up longer than intended. So here’s Ethan’s first week at the Blackwood Institute. Poor guy. His boss is a creepy moron. Warning for a brief mention of self-harm and eye trauma right at the start here, but pretty much everything is canon-typical. This is also on AO3.

--

Being an Assistant Archivist at the Blackwood Institute is… well, it’s nerve-wracking honestly. There’s no formal training, and this seems to be largely because there’s been only one other person to have held the position in… ever, as far as Ethan can tell. And that had been over fifteen years ago and lasted a grand total of nine months before Chloe Halloway, age 29, had a “crisis of faith” and tendered her resignation by pouring bleach directly into her eyes.

“If you’re going to reconsider your position here,” Jon said matter-of-factly, after telling Ethan this, “I highly suggest you do so prior to signing a permanent contract.”

Which was really unnecessarily creepy, sure, but creepy is sort of why Ethan is here in the first place, so not that surprising. The least Miss Halloway could have done, in his opinion, was leave some kind of manual or something behind. A guide. Notes. Ethan would probably be willing to kill a man for a “To-Do list” at this point.

Technically Ethan has his own office, but the room is dusty and cluttered and doesn’t actually have a desk or chair yet, so he set up in the main Archive area, where there are three ancient desks, three slightly less ancient desk chairs, a small table, and inexplicably, a wardrobe and a worn armchair. Finding the least uncomfortable configuration of furniture made him feel a bit like Goldilocks, despite the desks and corresponding chairs being virtually identical. He figured that was what had been meant by “make yourself comfortable.” Jon didn’t say any different.

Between orientation (signing papers, sitting through general training, another tour, getting his picture taken with an actual polaroid camera, etc) and “settling in,” it hadn’t mattered the first day that Jon didn’t give him any direction. And when Ethan got in on the second day, Jon had already been in the middle of taking a statement, so Ethan had busied himself going through the desk he’d taken. And then another desk. And then the other desk.

At the end of that task, he had various office supplies, a good dozen unfiled statements, five tape recorders, sixteen unlabeled tapes, five labeled tapes that didn’t match any of the unfiled statements, a small notebook with a few unfinished poems, a bag of what might have once been gummy worms, a nearly empty bottle of vodka, two very faded polaroids of a younger Jon and Martin with a woman identified on the back as Sasha, and a large, large stack of poorly drawn and seemingly conflicting maps. Also a lingering feeling that he would never be able to fully get the cobwebs off his arms.

He wasn’t sure what to do with any of it.

Well, except for the gummy worms and vodka, which he promptly disposed of.

Most of the rest ended up on top of one of the unused desks. And by the time that was done, it was nearly time to leave. As far as Ethan could tell, Jon hadn’t come out of his office once. Though, apparently the statement-giver had left at some point without Ethan noticing, so he couldn’t actually be sure. He does have a tendency to block everything else out when he’s focused on a task.

When he came in on the third day, the desk he’d placed everything on was clear and Jon wasn’t in his office. In absence of anything else to do, Ethan started looking through the database. From reading (and supposing any of what he heard on The Observer Chronicles was accurate), he thought he understood a couple of the categories. Others seemed a bit too… arbitrary. Most entries appeared to have corresponding files regarding any follow-up done, but very few had actual digital copies of the statements themselves. And only the discredited statements had audio files.

Jon didn’t return until well after lunch time, and when he did he seemed almost surprised to see Ethan there.

“You should take an early day,” Jon told him, before Ethan managed to formulate any of his questions. “Daisy’s brought me a statement. Probably best it doesn’t see you in case we decide to let it go.”

And then he went into his office. Ethan had no idea who Daisy was or how a statement was supposed to see him— or what it would do to him if it did— but it didn’t look like he was going to get any answers now, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to risk it. So he was left with nothing but to do as Jon suggested.

—

“You’re home early,” Naomi says when he walks in to find his mum sitting on the couch.

“So are you,” Ethan replies, and he didn’t even do all that much today, but he feels exhausted none-the-less.

“I had an appointment,” she reminds him. Right. He knew that. He’d just… forgotten. But he knows she hadn’t really expected him to remember. “Nothing to report. So? What has you home already?”

“Jon told me to go home. Someone named Daisy brought him a statement, and he thought it was better I wasn’t there. Why? I have no idea.”

“Well, it’s early yet, and they deal with some pretty dangerous things there,” she reasons. “The Jon I knew tried to look out for people. Can’t say I’m not glad if it’s still the same.”

“Sure, but…” Ethan stands there, fiddling with the strap of his bag, staring at the coffee table as he tries to find the words. Naomi waits, but he’s not sure what to say.

“Why don’t you go put your bag down,” she says eventually. “Think it over a bit, then come sit with me. I’ll get you some tea and wake up Beaker.”

True to her word, when Ethan gets back in more comfortable clothes, there’s a cup of tea waiting on the table, just barely steaming, and a squirming, growling ball of orange fluff in his mum’s lap. The moment he sits and Naomi lets go, the cat is in his lap, squeaking her indignation. Her brush is already set on the couch beside him.

“Thanks,” he says, and his mum just nods.

“So?” she prompts.

Ethan sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ethan, you’ve only been there three days. Not even three days. Everyone feels lost when they start a new job. It happened literally every time you started a new year in school, if you’ll recall.” He keeps brushing Beaker, but he can see his mum smiling in his peripheral vision and he rolls his eyes.

“No, yeah, I know that. I mean I literally have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing. There’s been no training. No instructions. I don’t- I cleaned out desks and I looked through the database and I read some old statements, and I keep waiting for Jon to say something. Tell me what I’m supposed to do. Explain anything.” Beaker squeaks again, nipping at his arm as he absently tugs a bit too hard at a knot of fur. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Naomi says, huffing slightly the same way she does every time the tube runs late, even though she expects it. “That’s far, far more common than you’d think.”

“That makes no sense, though! How are people supposed to do their jobs if no one explains how to do the job?”

“Well… I think a lot of people try to pretend and copy the people around them. It’s usually better to just ask, though. People can get so used to doing something that they honestly forget that other people don’t know how, and Jon’s been doing this for a very long time. What did he say when you asked?”

On the table, Ethan’s tea is going cold. If he leans over to get it, though, Beaker will probably yell at him and run away, and brushing her really is helping him relax. But his mouth feels so dry, and it might be worth it.

“Ethan,” his mum says in that tone. That one she always got right before Caleb tried to lie to her. “You did ask Jon, right?”

There’s another knot in Beaker’s fur, but he takes more care with this one and she just keeps purring. He rocks. His mouth is still so dry.

Naomi sighs, setting her own cup down and passing Ethan his, handle out. It’d be alright today, he thinks, if their hands touched when he took it from her, but she’s always careful anyway. He takes a sip. The tea is good, as always, though he can’t help thinking of his interview with Martin. There’d been a cup waiting for him in Martin’s office. His favorite kind, perfectly made. He’d meant to ask Martin how he knew, but then he just… hadn’t.

“You didn’t. Ethan, you… Okay. Okay. Why not?” his mum asks.

“I don’t know! He’s always… in his office and- and busy or— I don’t know. He makes me a little… nervous or something.”

“Intimidated.”

“Maybe?”

“I can understand that,” she says. “The first time I technically met Jon, I was terrified of him. The first… many times. Even after I actually met him and got to talk to him, I kept having to remind myself that he didn’t want to hurt me. If he’s still like I remember him, and I’m willing to bet he is, then I don’t think leaving you to figure things out yourself or not talking to you is intentional. He’s really a very… very awkward man.” She’s staring at the wall, but doesn’t seem to be looking at anything, and after a moment she laughs a little. “Promise me you’ll at least try to talk to him Monday?”

Ethan promises, of course.

—

Jon doesn’t even seem to understand the words at first, when Ethan asks him what an assistant here does. For a few seconds, there’s no expression, and then Jon’s brow furrows and he looks down at the papers on his desk like he might read the answer there.

“I— Hmm,” he says. “F-file? Organize? I— What did they— I never actually was one, so… It occurs to me that I am very lucky I chose to include Sasha after all. You might ask her? Or- or Martin. They actually did the assisting once upon a time, so…” Jon shrugs, or Ethan thinks he does. There’s a cat draped across his shoulders, so they don’t actually move much. And then Ethan stands there, and Jon sits, and neither of them say anything, and if Ethan’s mum is right, it’s because neither of them is quite sure what to say.

Ethan leaves.

Martin was nice during his interview. Encouraging and friendly and patient when it took some time for Ethan to decide what to say. It was a far, far easier interview than he’d feared. And Martin had said Ethan could come to him if he had any questions. Despite that, Martin makes Ethan even more nervous than Jon. It’s always worse disappointing friendly people.

So instead, Ethan makes his way to the Library, because that’s where Sasha works, if he’s remembering right. Once he’s there, though, he has no idea where to look, and it occurs to him that there may be more than one Sasha. The one he’d seen when he interviewed was young; maybe a couple years older than him. But the one in the pictures he found in the Archives would surely be Jon’s age at least. There’s no one who looks like either of them that he can see.

“Excuse me,” he says to someone who is probably a librarian, since he’s sitting at a desk with a plaque that says the date and ‘You’d have been out of here days ago if you’d just asked for help.’ The man doesn’t look up from his book. “I’m looking for Sasha?”

“Upstairs,” the guy says. The library is only one floor, though. It’s the first time he’s been in it, but Ethan made note of all Mara’s warnings.

“I’d like to speak to Sasha,” he says, firmer. The guy doesn’t look up and doesn’t look up and doesn’t… and then something changes and he stiffens and slowly looks up at Ethan, and he seems almost… nervous.

The man coughs. “O-oh. You’re- you’re from the Archives.”

“Yes,” Ethan agrees. “I need to talk to Sasha?”

“Right. Sure. Um, I’ll get— uh, Kelly- Kelly will help you.” The man nods toward something over Ethan’s shoulder. When he turns there’s someone already there, a bit too close, and Ethan didn’t know teeth could be that white.

“Hi!” They smile and smile. “I’m Michael. You can call me Kelly. I’m here to help. This way please!” Literally turning on their heel, they walk away with a gait more like a bounce than a walk, and Ethan follows. Right up until they hop onto the first step.

“I—” he says. Even before they turn their head, he can somehow see their smile. Human necks almost definitely aren’t supposed to turn that far. He almost forgets what he meant to say.

“Yes?”

“I— I was told the library is only one storey.”

They smile and smile. “That’s right.”

“But… the stairs?” he asks.

“What stairs?” Their head tilts, like a curious dog, still looking over their shoulder. And human necks definitely aren’t supposed to turn like that.

Ethan looks down at the stair Kelly is perched on, and they look down as well. There is no acknowledgement of the stairs.

“Come on!” They smile. “Best to take the first step at a bit of a jump!”

And they keep going up the stairs, so Ethan takes a breath and hops onto the first step.

Except it isn’t a step. It’s… a rug maybe? It doesn’t stop looking like stairs, but the whole thing is level, and he nearly trips more than a couple times expecting his foot to hit the floor before it does. When they reach the end, he looks back. Back and down. Down at the library, one storey below.

At the end of a short hallway, there is a yellow door; one that Ethan is sure he’s seen before, except somewhere else. Kelly bounces up to it and knocks, and looks back at him and smiles and smiles, and then the door creaks open.

The person who emerges is definitely the young woman he saw when he came for his interview, but she’s also almost definitely the woman in the photograph from decades ago.

“Hi, Sasha!” Kelly smiles. “This one wants to talk to you!”

“Oh? Oh!” Sasha also smiles, and there’s a ringing in Ethan’s ear when she talks, but it seems like a fairly normal smile. At least, comparatively. “You’re the new Archival Assistant!”

“Uh, A- Assistant Archivist, actually.” It probably doesn’t matter. People are always telling him things like this don’t matter, and he shouldn’t bother correcting them. For some reason, though, it really feels like this does.

Sasha, at least, looks a bit surprised. “Really? Huh. That’s fascinating.”

Ethan is at least 75% sure she isn’t being sarcastic. “Is it?”

The hallway couldn’t have been more than five meters, but her laugh echoes down it. “It is! Thank you, Kelly. I’ll be sure Ethan makes his way back alright.”

It’s a clear dismissal, but Kelly doesn’t move. They keep looking at Sasha and they smile and smile and smile until eventually Sasha rolls her eyes and scoffs.

“Please,” she says. “I couldn’t lose one of Jon’s if I wanted to. He’ll be back in the Archives as soon as we’re done talking.”

Kelly smiles. “Okay!” they say cheerily, as if there’d never been any tension at all. “Nice to meet you, Ethan!” and then they’re gone.

“They’re a good kid,” Sasha says. “Well, then. Please, step into my office.” She closes the yellow door behind her and opens a different one beside it, that Ethan is also sure hadn’t been there a moment before. It’s a normal enough door, though. Looks a lot like Jon’s, actually. Sasha waves him through, and if he didn’t know better, Ethan would be sure he was back in the Archives.

In fact, he’s pretty sure that’s the same couch that’s currently sitting in Jon’s office and the same armchair he’d moved into his own “office” the other day; though both look in significantly better shape here.

“Have a seat,” Sasha says, dropping onto the couch— or draping herself across it rather— and eliciting a grumbling meow from an almost opalescent white cat that flicks its tail when she goes to pet it and jumps into Ethan’s lap the moment he settles into the chair. At first touch its fur feels like marble, but then he pets it and it feels like plush. He can’t hear the purr, but the rumble makes his fingers tingle.

“So, Ethan. What can I help you with?” Sasha asks.

“Well. My job… I hope.”

She sits up and sounds delighted when she says, “Oh, did you find a statement about me already? You’ve only been here a couple weeks, haven’t you?”

“Four… days?” It’s not a question. Ethan knows this is his fourth day. Knows. Yet for some reason he starts second guessing himself. It has only been four days… right? Yes. Yes, four days.

After the “stairs,” he doesn’t bother asking why there would be statements about her.

Sasha thinks for a moment and then waves his comment away. “Close enough. Time is fake. So… which one is it?”

“I didn’t— find a statement. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. Jon told me to ask you because you’ve actually done the job before.”

If she keeps laughing like that, he’s going to end up with a headache. The ringing is terrible.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I wish I could think you were joking, but I know you’re not. I love Jon. He’s such a disaster. You know he knows basically everything?” Ethan does not know that. A lot, definitely. More than anyone logically should or could, sure. But everything?

“That… sounds improbable.” Buried in the cat’s equally improbable fur, Ethan’s fingers start going numb.

“He does. He knows almost everything and then always forgets that he knows anything. It’s hilarious,” Sasha says with a grin. “Alright. We used to do a lot of research, but that was back when we were cleaning up Gertrude’s mess and all the work the actual Research department did somehow got lost on its way down the stairs. The real ones. And Jon only knew most things rather than basically everything…”

She tells him she did research and reorganized possibly the worst archiving system in the world. She tells him she took statement-givers’ information and caught flies to feed the spiders in the corners. She tells him she killed worms and mapped underground tunnels and scanned in old letters and typed up written statements and managed “monster relations” and blew up mannequins and recorded false statements and hacked government networks and provided alibis and stole old books from museums and sang to the recorders so they wouldn’t start eating people’s fingers and updated the database and appeased disgruntled “youtubers” and collected obituaries and plotted her boss’s death.

Ethan is sure some of these things aren’t true, but he just walked up a flight of not-stairs, so he honestly couldn’t begin to guess which. He’s also not sure how many of them are relevant.

“Mostly, though,” Sasha concludes, “you take care of Jon.”

He does try to ask about the categories, and a couple of the titles she gives them make some kind of sense, but she also says category 06 is “me”, 09 is poker, 10 is geese, and 15 is millennials, so he decides to take those with a grain of salt as well.

When they finally leave her office, the door opens into the front lobby.

“There we are! Back safe and sane, just like I promised. I know I said I’d get you back to the Archives, but I’m not actually allowed to open doors down there anymore. And it’s only… Oops.” The lobby is quiet and the windows are dark. It’s definitely well into evening, though Ethan suspects midnight has come and gone. His watch starts buzzing with missed messages. “Well, I’m sure it’s at least the same day or Jon would’ve yelled at me by now. I could give you a shortcut home?”

The yellow door is back, and beyond it is a long hallway.

“I think I’d better take the long way,” he says.

Sasha nods. “That’s fair.”

—

If Ethan could actually figure out how to message HR, he would just message them. Even if it took them a day to get back to him, he’d still be better off than he has been so far. Unfortunately, he can’t find any sort of contact information for them at all. So the morning of his fifth day, he goes to the front desk and meets Priya No-Last-Name-As-Is-Tradition, who handles “reception, admin, and whatever Martin needs.”

He doesn’t ask, but she informs him Martin will be in a meeting all morning anyway. That’s fine. She’s more than happy to walk him up to HR and introduce him to a woman named Hope.

Hope startles when she sees them, and her fingers freeze on her keyboard, but there is definitely some kind of movement in her lap, barely visible over the edge of the desk. Then she smiles and turns to face them and Ethan does not comment on the fact that he can see two long, black limbs trying to shove some sort of yarn project into the drawer of a filing cabinet behind her. Priya nods at a job well done and leaves him there.

“How can I help you?” Hope asks. There’s something not quite right about her smile, but Ethan doesn’t comment on that either.

Instead, he says, “Do you have any sort of job description or scope of duties for the Assistant Archivist position?”

Hope blinks.

“The what?” she asks.

“The Assistant Archivist position.”

She blinks again. Her smile is gone, and he’s honestly glad for it. “Assistant… Archivist.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a thing?”

“I would hope so? I was just hired as one, so…”

She blinks again, then shakes her head. “Right. Sorry. Of course. I just… Honestly, I was sort of under the impression no one could work down there but the Archivist.”

Given that apparently only one other person has in longer than Ethan’s been alive, he doesn’t exactly blame her. Still, he’s pretty sure it’s her job to know these things, and he’d really like an answer.

“I understand,” he says, “but I do work down there. So…”

“Right. Yes. Assistant Archivist, you said? Just a moment.” She turns back to her display, taps a few keys, and then starts scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling. All the while singing “Assistant Archivist Archivist Assistant Assist Assist the Archivist” under her breath.

Three minutes later, Ethan is still waiting.

“Are you… sure that’s your position title?” she asks finally, and Ethan turns around and heads back to the Archives.

—

While he hopes he never has to do most of the things Sasha listed as her duties, there are a couple Ethan thinks he can probably manage. He has no idea what, if anything, might need to be done with the statements that already have case numbers, but there’s a shelf of boxes near the Archive entrance labeled “Me Next!” that Jon had said were unprocessed. Maybe he won’t be able to fit them all into the proper categories, but there have to be some that are obviously false, and it seems as good a way as any to get more familiar with the database.

Halfway through the day, he switches to listening to some of the old audio files to figure out the format. It doesn’t seem too complicated. Probably he can record a couple test statements, get a feel for it.

Twenty minutes later, he gives up searching and asks Jon where to find their recording software. Jon frowns and tells him he’s better off finding a free one online, so Ethan reaches out to IT instead.

Ten minutes after that, he gets a message from Cass Walters telling him to check his apps again and that he’ll “know it when [he] see[s] it.” So he does.

Halfway through the list there’s an icon with a stylized cassette tape. It’s labeled “IM TELLING YOU IT FUCKING WORKS JON”, and Ethan figures that’s probably it. Thankfully it’s fairly intuitive, and it might end up being a total waste of his time, but by the end of the day he has three halfway decent recordings and feels like he accomplished something, at least.

-

On his sixth day, one week after starting, Ethan comes in just in time to hear someone say, “Are you kidding me?!” really quite loudly in Jon’s office.

It doesn’t sound like the sort of conversation he wants to disturb, so he goes to his desk and gets set up as quietly as he can and meets the cat’s judging stare head-on while eavesdropping. She blinks and rubs up against his leg, and he can’t help but think it was some kind of test. Apparently he passed.

“You know everything, Jon,” the same person says, and Ethan is at least 80% sure it’s Martin.

“Not ev—”

“Everything,” Martin repeats. “How can you possibly not know what your own assistant is supposed to be doing?”

“I can’t know things that don’t exist, Martin. Chloe always wanted to figure everything out herself and made things up as she went along. It may as well be a new position. So, I don’t know.” There’s a moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says.

“… Yes, Martin.”

“Love,” Martin says.

Jon sighs. “Yes, Martin. I realize—”

“That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Yes, Martin. I get it.”

“He’s an Assistant Archivist! Tell him what you need assistance archiving!”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jon says. If either of them say anything in the few minutes after that, though, it’s too quiet for Ethan to hear.

“Alright,” Martin says, like they’ve come to some kind of agreement despite the silence. “I love you.”

“Yes, Martin,” Jon says, the same tired way he’d said it before, though there’s a slight laugh at the end now. “I know.”

Martin is smiling when he comes out of Jon’s office. Instead of leaving the Archives, he walks up to Ethan’s desk and sets a mug of barely steaming tea down upon it.

“It should be just right now,” Martin says, like he’d known exactly when Ethan was going to arrive— despite him being half an hour early— and purposely made the tea so it would have cooled to the perfect temperature the moment he walked in. It is, of course, made perfectly as well. “I should have warned you a bit more about Jon. He’s a bit of a moron sometimes, but he means well. The next time you ask a question and he says he doesn’t know or tries to send you to someone else, just ask again, a bit slower. Usually the critical thinking capabilities will catch on then. Come see me whenever you’re free on Friday. I’d like to hear how you’re doing, once you actually get into the work.” And then he’s gone before Ethan can say a word.

In the doorway of his office, Jon clears his throat.

“I’ve been— reliably informed that I owe you an apology,” he says, and Ethan really would rather he didn’t. Apologies are almost always terrible, no matter which side you’re on. They’re awkward and often pointless. It’s not like he’s hurt or anything. Jon feeling bad isn’t going to do anything but make Ethan uncomfortable. “I sho—”

“Okay,” Ethan says. “Can we just skip to you training me?”

“… Yes. Yes, we can,” Jon says, possibly as relieved as Ethan to move on. He looks less tense, at least. “We usually wait until the end of probation to explain the fears, but that won’t exactly work here, so we’ll get to that in a moment. You’ve already started recording, so I suppose the first thing to know is that true statements won’t record digitally. The audio always ends up corrupted. I don’t think I’ll have you start recording any real statements quite yet, but once you do, you’ll have to use the— the tape…” He trails off, staring down at the small stack of statements Ethan recorded yesterday.

When Jon shows no sign of continuing, Ethan tentatively prompts, “The— tape recorders?”

“You’ve already started recording,” Jon says again.

“Yes?”

He pulls out the statement at the bottom of the stack and holds it out to Ethan, shaking it slightly. “You recorded this statement.”

“Yes? It was the last one I did before I went home last night.”

“Play it for me.” So Ethan does. Three minutes in, staring at the paper in his hand, Jon tells him to stop. “That’s not… Set up a new recording. I’m going to start reading this, and after two minutes, I want you to take this from me and stop the recording.” So Ethan does that too.

It had felt a bit… odd, when Ethan read the statement yesterday. Like the air got thicker, almost. But he’d also been very tired, and while a lot of things are weird at the Institute, that doesn’t mean everything is. It’s different when Jon starts reading. Not so much the air getting thicker as pressing down on them, and Ethan feels very uncomfortably like someone is making direct eye contact with him. It’s creepy. He almost misses the two minute mark.

The second he pulls the paper from Jon’s hands, the feeling lifts. Somehow, he isn’t surprised that playback of Jon’s reading comes out with a terrible screech and a whole lot of broken, garbled nonsense.

Jon looks between Ethan, the paper, and the display again and again.

“Jon?” Ethan asks.

“That’s not fair,” Jon replies. Then, with a sigh, “I guess I have more work for you than I thought.”

[harryskalechips]

Flash Part 2

A/N lol I think I have to stop with the angst I’m beginning to get chest pain as I write ahhahhahahah

Decided to post this early, thank you for 300!

Harry comes home to see the reaction of his wife and the very messy video 

word count: 2352

Part 1! click here to waste more time and read¡!¡

Spending the night in a club, you would think your heart is beating fast because of the adrenaline and the body heat surrounding you. Spending the night in a club, you would think you can get away from all the external factors in your life that make you feel weighed down. Yet Harry was far from the satisfaction the club promised to give. Yes, his heart was beating fast but definitely not from the loud music. Yes, he did forget about his bad day in the office earlier today but now he’s got a bigger issue at hand.

While he was too busy swirling around the dance floor having the time of his life, he decided to make his way to a pretty girl and maybe get to know her better. Get to know her better could have ended Mr. Styles’ night in many ways and although he stopped himself from cheating on his wife, he still got dragged in the mud. You see, when Harry was still in college with his friends, he was a total frat boy and he did get drunk every other night with a new girl in his bed but as adulthood kept coming his way, his past life soon began to fade. Harry’s new life consisted of his company, his family and friends but most importantly his wife, Y/N. I guess this is why tonight was not only shocking for him but very disappointing. He’s ashamed of himself that not only was he tempted to cheat... he got caught in the stupidest way ever! You have to admit, approaching a random girl on a dance floor, you wouldn’t expect them to steal your phone and send your wife a video of you rubbing yourself on her while she moans! In reality, Harry was trying to grab his phone from her hands but he was scared that he might hurt her or harass her in some way. So, continuing where we last left off, Harry was still angry but more like shitting his pants

~

“Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck, Fuck!” Harry yells over and over again as he stares at his phone. He can’t take his eyes off the text messages with his wife. He thinks the more he stares at the delivered video the more likely it would disappear. Maybe, he’s drunk? Maybe, the video wasn’t actually sent? So, he taps the phone and raises it to full volume bringing it closer to his ear, He’s really praying that the music drowns the audio out but what difference would it make? He’s grinding on her for fuck’s sake! Harry is religious but he wasn’t much of the man who would practice his faith... now, however, seemed like the perfect time to start.

The unnamed girl was just leaning on the wall, seeming to look too bored at the picture she painted right in front of her. Did she take too many drinks tonight? Yes. Was she high too? Yes. Does she care that she’s practically a homewrecker now? No. “You know you can use other words to express your anger than fuck?” She laughs as Harry’s eyes narrow at her.

“Fuck you.” He replies almost instantly and leaves her by herself. He couldn’t make the time to look for his mates and bid his goodbyes and most certainly not was he going to say bye to this random chick that fucked up his whole night. As he makes his way to the exit, he calls his driver, Elliot so he can drive this poor man home.

The car ride home was probably the most crucial part of this all. Harry couldn’t stop staring at his screen. He wanted to see if the “delivered” would turn into “read” but knowing Y/N, her read receipts were off anyways. His mind was in a total frenzy. His head was fucking hurting as his thoughts yelled at him for being stupid while his heart was aching, aching in pain. He didn’t know what to do. He could have the hardest problem at his work right now but no level of stress can make him feel like his heart was going to be torn apart!

“Sir, we’re here.” Elliot says calmly as he observes his boss’ body language.

“Thank you, drive home safe Elly.” Harry replied rudely as he tries to stabilize himself as he slams the door shut.

“Baby!” Y/N calls as she stands in the front of the big doors of their lovely modern house. Harry’s eyes turn into hearts as he watches his girl standing there waiting for him in her tiny tank top and sweats.

“Hey.” He says coldly as he hugs her and keeps one arm around her waist as he guides her back inside their home. “I thought you were asleep love, it’s late.” He frowns. He looks into their living room. The TV was still on and her favourite wool blanket and pillow laid recklessly on their couch.

“Well yeah I know.” She pouts as she turns off the TV “But it’s also 2 AM and I was worried about you, you know. You never go out to clubs that often and I was scared something might happen to you.” She takes him into her arms and cuddles into him. She misses him a lot. Y/N silently takes his hands and holds them against her back as she leads them into their room.

~

Harry stands quietly as he watches his wife take his tie off and unbutton his polo. “Harry, you okay? Did you drink a lot?” She asks sweetly as she makes eye contact with her husband. She doesn’t stop unbuttoning though and when he doesn’t reply, all she can do is take the side of his face so she can caress it. Maybe, he’s just tired, she thought to herself. After Harry was changed, he charged his phone sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. He couldn’t think, the guilt was eating him alive. Y/N was in the bathroom, doing her night routine and all Harry could think is fuck.

His wife walks in a couple minutes later. As she rubs the towel against her neck, she looks at her husband who’s been too quiet. Throwing the towel on one of their chairs, she makes her way in front of her husband. Without another word, she puts herself in his lap and brushes the hair away from his face. “Can you please tell me what happened?” She asks quietly. Harry kept his hands to himself and tried his best to not look her in the eyes. “Baby, you’re crying.” Y/N calls Harry out in schock. What could possibly happen? Tonight was supposed to be fun for him. She wanted him to spend time with his mates.

“Where’s your phone, Y/N.” He replies coldly. Y/N didn’t know how to react. He seemed angry and all.

“Ha-”

“Give me your phone!” He pulls her off him as he stands up quickly, looking around the room if he can find it. “Where is it! Where is it!”

“Why do you need my phone Harry?” Y/N soon began to grow frustrated as she watches the man in front of her loose his fucking mind.

“Where the fuck is your fucking fuck ass phone!” He screams as he’s full on heavily crying now.

“Baby, tell me why you need it!”

“Y/N please. Just give it to me!” He pleads as he finally makes eye contact with her. Both of their hearts dropping as Harry’s eyes and distance hurts them more.

“It’s on my nightstand, it died after I texted you. Haven’t been on it yet.” She pouts as she watches Harry quickly snatch it off the wireless pad. She was stuck. She didn’t know why Harry wanted to see her phone so badly. A part of her wanted to take the phone first, see what’s on it so she can know what he’s screaming at her for but another part of her knows she has nothing to hide.

Funny thing is it’s true she has nothing to hide but her husband did. The real question now is  if Harry was going to show her or just delete the message off her phone so she won’t ever see it again. She will never know about it.

Marriage is a tricky thing. With all the love and butterflies, the real foundation was trust and unconditional acceptance. In a second, Harry had to make a decision that could either make or break his marriage. Of course, he wanted this whole night erased from his memory. He didn’t want his love to know, he approached another girl! Yet the other side of him, his heart was screaming to tell the anxious girl in front of him. If she really loves you maybe she’ll stay? He thought. If she really was smart, she should probably leave now. You’re going to always fuck up one way or another. He thought again.

“Harry. Can we talk? What’s on my phone that you need it so badly? Why are you crying?” She walks towards him with fear in her eyes. She was scared. She thought when Harry came home, he would come back at a reasonable hour and make love to her as they fall asleep but instead, he’s acting cold and crying.

“I fucked up.” He cries and goes on his knees, clenching his missus’ phone to his chest. “I’m sorry baby you have to believe me!” He cries harder. Y/N eyes widen. He cheated on her...

“What the fuck. Don’t tell me… don’t tell me you cheated please…” She steps away from him, looking at the window. This was a never ending nightmare.

“I didn’t! I didn’t” her heart feels relieved. “But this girl took my phone and recorded me while she was moaning and she sent it to you.” She turns around to look at him.

“Why would she do that?” Y/N was far from confused.

“I approached her on the dance floor, she saw me reading your text and-”

“You approached her? Why?” Harry cries harder as he watches the disappointment in her eyes rise.

“Niall pointed her out to me because she looked like the type of girl I would go for back in college. I-I was drunk I didn’t mean to-” “You were going to cheat on me?!” Y/N finally screams in anger. She walks into their ensuite and slams the door. Harry quickly rushes to the door, finding it already locked.

“Baby please I was drunk… I- I would never cheat on you I swear to God! I fucking love you please don’t fucking leave me please!” He screams as the tears feel salty in his mouth. Call him over emotional but he never thought there would be a day where his fear of his wife leaving him would possibly be true. She unlocks the door with a cold face.

“Show me the video.”

“Baby I don’t-”

“Show me the fucking video Harry! God damn it!” She yells and snatches her phone back. She sits at the end of their bed. Harry watches her as he stands far from her, only staying near the window.

Y/N puts her volume to the highest level as she taps play. Messy, nasty moans can be clearly heard as she watches Harry too close to the unnamed girl. She watches his hands near the phone’s camera, as if he was pinning her hands there. His eyes glanced at the camera but quickly looked back at the girl. His mouth close to her ear saying give it to me repeatedly.

Y/N quickly deletes the 6 second video twice and shuts her phone. Harry looks at her with tears still in his eyes.Y/N however is just about to start her water works once again. “Harry come here.” He comes close to her and kneels in front of her.

“In this video, you really look like you were grinding on her.” She pouts as Harry rubs her thighs. He’s always quiet when they get into fights. It’s not like he felt weak or anything to retaliate but with Y/N, he learned to stay quiet and let her talk. He taught himself to speak little in their fights and let her express her anger when she’s mad. He taught himself that in their marriage, he’s ready to lose arguments as long as he doesn’t lose her. “If I’m being 100% honest with you. She seems like a whore who was too bored and she wanted to mess around with you. I trust you. I love you so much that I trust that this video is not proof you cheated on me. I love you.”

“Baby, I love you-”

“I’m not done.” She whispers quietly and draws a heart on his forehead with her thumb. “I’m a bit mad that you almost cheated on me. What happened if she didn’t take away your phone, would you be sober enough to realize what you were doing? Drunk or not, I’m the type of girl who would cushion you for that.”

“Baby, I’m sorry. Please I don’t know what was in me.”

“You don’t have an answer for going up to that girl do you?” She frowns as her fingers play with his hair. His tears fall again.

“Y/N, I love you fucking much. You’re right, I don’t have a reason but I promise you that I would never act on anything or think like that ever. That girl and the amount of shots I had… I felt so drunk that I couldn’t comprehend my decisions. I love you and I promise I would never put you and I in that position ever again.” Y/N leans down to kiss him, to reassure him that although she’s a bit mad she understands him.

“You think I’m going to let a whore ruin our marriage?” She laughs, “Baby, we’re playing the long game here and nothing is going to change in a flash. You got me and I got you.”

[danganronpa-21]

Naegiri Week Day 4 - Rain

I can barely believe that it’s Day 4 already. Also that I’m on time for this one, because I didn’t think I was going to be. It’s a welcome surprise! This particular piece is much more of an angst/whump piece, but there’s still a bit of sweetness attached to it. 2020 is just the year of angsty Makoto, I guess! Anyway, I hope you like it! Feel free to let me know what you think.

Oh, and please keep in mind that this does contain some rather graphic depictions of death and violence. Be sure to play on the safe side if that’s not your thing. Thank you so much for your time and attention!

______________________________________

Makoto was about to shower for the first time in four years.

 Of course, that wasn’t to say that the man never bathed – quite the opposite, really. He tended to bathe rather frequently; it was just way he did it that changed the conversation. After all, taking baths was still apart of good hygiene. It was just widely regarded as less convenient to bathe that way. What was a man to do? There was something about standing under the showerhead, watching the water bead onto the tile and slowly roll away… Something about it just made his skin crawl.

 Well, perhaps it was wrong to say “something” when he was well aware of the cause. Four years since the School Life of Mutual Killing, and the image of her never left his mind. Sweet, beautiful Sayaka with a fractured wrist and a knife plunged into her stomach, blood pooling all over her belly and lap. Her eyes shut in a way that could not possibly have looked peaceful even if he wanted it to. Her last message to him written across the wall in disjoined letters – a final plea for him to try and survive. She’d signed her death warrant, yet she refused to sign off on his as well. Kyoko told him that he should take some comfort in that, but it was a comfort he could only half-hold. In truth, try as she might, there was nothing that Kyoko could tell him to take away that pain.

 That was why he was where he was, actually. Kyoko’s inability to remedy his pain. He’d been trying for ages now to counteract the thoughts and feelings associated with the shower, but none of his attempts bore fruit. Even Kyoko’s strategies, helpful as they usually were, did little to assist him. At this point, she could only hope to support him through his struggle. So, when he came to the decision to finally step foot in the shower once more, she did as she always did – supported him as best she could.

 Some would find it weird that a couple who had only recently started having sex would so readily strip down to nothingness and jump into the shower together, but neither he nor his wife found this to be a situation way out of their comfort zone. It wasn’t like the situation would be overtly sexual in any way, shape, or form. They would just be two people like any other, showering in each other’s presence. That was it.

 Still, Makoto wondered if perhaps it was pent-up awkwardness that made his hands tremble as he moved to lift his shirt off over his head, or if shower nerves were getting the best of him. He would always feel flustered at the sight of his wife completely undressed, but this felt like so much more. Within seconds he his throat started to dry up, and his heart picked up its pace. God, he wondered if this was a good idea. It had seemed like one at the time, but now he knew he had second thoughts.

 “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 It was like Kyoko sensed his anxiety without him having to lend his voice to it. It was almost funny that even after all that time together, he still found himself surprised by her ability to read him. She did still insist on referring to him as “Mr. Open Book”; she’d just also begun to refer to herself as “Mrs. Open Book”. Not that that was true, but he appreciated her joke about their marriage nonetheless. Her playfulness brought him respite.

 “Honestly… no,” he answered, pushing a hand through his hair, “I don’t know what’s going to happen if I do, but I don’t want to keep avoiding it like this.”

 Kyoko frowned. “What’s the problem with not showering? There’s nothing wrong with you only taking baths. Regardless, you still emerge cleaner than you were when you entered.”

 His shoulders rose and fell lazily; his eyes drifting towards the shower. The thing looked so innocent just sitting there, the glass pane cracked open ever so slightly to reveal the silver mechanisms inside. They looked so pristine and nice in there, glittering with a shine that proved how recently Kyoko cleaned the faucets and spout. The whole structure appeared so unintimidating; he felt foolish for even being frightened of it.

 “It’s a personal thing, I guess.”

 His wife’s arms crossed her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 Makoto gripped his arm tightly, his nails digging into the skin. He knew better than to grab at himself like that, but confessing to his pain was next to unbearable. Even talking about it threatened to send him spiralling. “Just that I think this is something I need to lay to rest. Not just for me, but for Maizono-san, too. I want her to be able to sleep peacefully…”

 Her expression softened like well-loved leather. “Always thinking of others, Makoto. You really are the kindest person I’ve ever met,” She murmured, reaching over to cup his cheek with her hand, “Still. Are you sure that this is how you can help her? Maizono-san wouldn’t want you to do anything that might cause you to hurt yourself.”

 “If there’s some other way to help her, I don’t know of it.” Makoto mumbled awkwardly, leaning his face into Kyoko’s hand. It was sort of strange feeling her hand on his face; without her gloves her hands seemed so much rougher than he was used to. Not that he minded any. In a way, he almost liked that Kyoko’s hands were like that. It made her touch easy to distinguish from everyone else’s, and made him a lot more comfortable knowing that she was right there at his side. The only situation in which he’d ever want her hands to change was if that was what she wanted. “I think this is the only way I can really go about it.”

 Kyoko nodded thoughtfully, a half-smile playing at her face. “If you’re certain. Still, I ask that you let me know if we need to put an end to it. You know I’ll be swift in putting an end to the exercise.”

 “Of course.”

 With that, the two separated once more, both of them moving to continue to do away with their clothing. It didn’t take them long to strip down to nothingness, feeling the cool autumn air hitting their bare skin. For both of their sakes, Makoto tried to make not too much unnecessary eye contact. Kyoko seemed to care much less about it.  When they were done, Kyoko took his hand, and guided him towards the shower. Sweat coated Makoto’s palms immediately as they made the venture forth to the silver beast; his body suddenly feeling much too cold for his liking. Part of him wanted to run over and snag his clothes, put them all back on, and tell her that he didn’t want to do this after all. It would certainly be a lot easier than confronting his fears. Still, could he really convince himself to give up on his task when he was this close? He should award himself more faith than that, after all. Like trying a new food, there was no sense in giving up before the flavour hit. As frightened as he was, he wanted to at least try to bear it.

 Unfortunately, his desire to soldier through didn’t stop his body from reacting to the stressors. He practically jumped out of his skin the moment Kyoko turned the faucet; he’d always hated the low rumbling the shower made when it roared to life. It had been a while since he was close enough to hear it, but now that he was… he was suddenly reminded of how awful it was.

 “Are you okay, Makoto?” Kyoko asked, turning her head back to look at him. Her face looked so innocent as she blinked at him, her brows knitting themselves together ever so slightly. Her obvious worry made his stomach twist. How could he be so determined to overcome his fear if it concerned the woman he loved so greatly?

 Attempting to swallow around the lump in his throat, Makoto nodded. “Just got a little surprised by the sound, that’s all… We’ve got to wait for it to warm up, right?”

 She bit her lip, taking one long look at his expression. Without even having to use her words or much expression, he could tell she didn’t believe him. “Yes. It should warm up fairly quickly, though. We’ll be able to step in soon.”

 “Good, good…”

 It was not good. Not that he was going to tell Kyoko that.

 Anxiety spun his head like a vinyl record; he fought to keep his belly from churning. God, he just wanted to get this over with. Be a hero, conquer his fears, and then curl up in bed with his wife and snuggle her until his limbs stopped shaking. Every passing second was agonizing. He honestly felt as if he could cry when she told him that the water was finally warm enough.

 “Do you want me to go in first?”

 “It would probably make me feel a bit better if you did… Just like… take me by the hand and guide me in, please.”

 She smiled at him as genuinely as she could manage, her worry still seeping through ever so slightly. “I can do that.”

 He breathed a silent prayer as Kyoko’s hand found his own, slowly guiding him towards the shower. He couldn’t stop himself from squeezing his eyes shut, letting himself be lured into the trap by his lover. The moment the water hit him, he let out a gasp. Desperate to stay grounded, he found himself squeezing Kyoko’s hand for dear life. She took such care to ensure that the shower rain wouldn’t be too hot, yet it scalded his skin as he tried to adjust to the feeling. He almost cried out the moment it collided with him. The sensation could be compared to freshly boiled water being poured down his spine.

 “Just breathe,” she spoke so softly he almost missed it, her hand rubbing against his back to try and comfort him, “It’ll be okay.”

 It’ll be okay, he repeated to himself. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.

 Adrenaline hit him in a crashing wave. It was as if a bubble had burst in his brain, soaking his entire being in paralyzing fear. Every part of his body suddenly seemed full of… something. What it was, he didn’t know. He only knew that he could feel it somewhere within himself, accompanied by a shooting pain somewhere in his chest. If he hadn’t known what the symptoms were like, he would have assumed that he was going to faint. This definitely wasn’t fainting, though. It was… something else entirely.

 All he could see was red. Red streaked on cold grey tile; the liquid having lost its warmth after spillage. A knife plunged into the depths of Sayaka’s belly, diving past her uniform and the protective layer of skin and muscle. How far did it pierce her stomach, one couldn’t help but wonder? How long was she in pain? Did she lay there bleeding out, praying that someone would come and rescue her? There were tear tracks on her face when they found her. She’d cried in pain. She’d sat there writhing in it, bleeding out – five minutes of bleeding out, Kyoko told him – with nobody to soothe her.

 He left her behind to die like that. He’d left her to die like that because he was too stupid to think about what she intended to do. If he’d stopped her, she’d still be alive. If he’d been smarter, or braver, or nicer, everything would have worked out for her. She’d have stood on Kyoko’s side at their wedding, hair curled and adorned in purple flowers. She would be positioned next to Aoi, looking absolutely beautiful in the soft material of her lavender dress. The gown would hug her curves in a way that would surely have made Leon talk, but she still wouldn’t be the most radiant woman in the room. He could picture the smile she’d give from where she was standing, silently wishing him a lifetime of happiness with the love of his life. She’d have been there. She’d have protected him from the harm of the shower’s rain, slicing through his skin like a blistering razor.

 “Makoto!”

 The image persisted behind his eyes, but the sound proved he could make out his own world. Sayaka’s death played on continuous loop like a movie; none of what was happening was real anymore. Water droplets having completed their race were not the same as Sayaka’s blood; there was no reason to see it as such. The grey tile had not been scrubbed white; it was the tile of his own home. The voice calling out to him was not his own frozen in a hellish scream; it was Kyoko’s. Shame seeped into his bones. Go away, he pleaded, I’m begging you to go away.

 Without any choice, his legs gave out, sending him falling to the floor. His knees would surely be bruised the next day.

 Kyoko didn’t kneel down to his level, not at first. Her hand instead went darting for the faucet, twisting it off as soon as she could. Only a twinge of relief washed over him as the pitiful rain dribbled to a stop, leaving him and Kyoko to bask in the new found silence. It made Makoto acutely aware of how sharp his breaths had become, with his body struggling to gather some sort of relief. He squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, how he prayed the darkness would swallow him whole to make this pain stop.

 He barely noticed when Kyoko knelt down on the floor, placing a gentle hand on his back. It wasn’t until her rough hand made contact against his skin… It wasn’t until that moment that he found himself anywhere close to okay. Oh god, he hoped she knew how much that meant. Even with his mind persisting at that image of Sayaka, the contact healed him like an EpiPen.

 “You’re experiencing a flashback, Makoto,” she murmured softly, tracing loops on his back. How could she sound so steady at a time like this? Jealousy at her coolness pricked him. What he wouldn’t give to experience it anywhere but between images of Sayaka, blood leaking from the side of her mouth.

 “Sayaka’s dead,” was all he could utter. No “help me”, no “hold me”, no “I need you to do this for me” … Just an admission that his dear friend was very much dead.

 “She died, but she didn’t die here. It was years ago, Makoto.” The circles she drew between his shoulder blades slowed down. She hoped for him to focus on the sense of touch. “You remember that, don’t you? And you remember that you didn’t have any control over what happened to her. She didn’t blame you for what happened.”

 He didn’t answer. Just kept staring aimlessly at the tile, wishing it would be the way he remembered it. The way it looked when Kyoko had just finished taking a shower. God, he’d have done anything to be able to breathe in the scent of her cherry blossom shampoo, rather than the vague stench of copper.

 “Do you feel my hand on your back, Makoto?”

 He licked his lips, blinking slowly. “I do.”

 “It’s rough, isn’t it?”

 “Very.” He muttered.

 “Just try to focus on that roughness as my finger moves. You can feel me there, can’t you?”

 “Yeah, I can.”

 “Good,” she outstretched her other hand so he could see it, her golden wedding band flickering at him, “Now look at the other. It’s kind of funny-looking, isn’t it?”

 “Like hamburger meat.” He murmured, not thinking about how that might insult her. His mind was too far into its loop to consider it. His body trembled as he tried to ground himself there on the tile; nausea prodding at him to have its way.

 To his surprise, Kyoko laughed. Not a full, hearty laugh like he could usually stir from her – but a laugh nonetheless. “I suppose it does sort of look like that. What I want you to focus on, though, is the colours. How many different colours can you pick out when you look at my hands? Remember, undertones count too.”

 His eyes wandered across her hand, observing it carefully. Naturally, red was the first colour that came to his mind. Red like blood, red like fire, red like a poisonous animal. The red on Kyoko’s hand was an inky layer sandwiched between lighter and darker hues, skirting about midway along her palm, it danced so close to her knuckles. From there, the colours faded into a deeper crimson, then to a brown, until finally they reached a blackened shade at the tips of her fingers. It was only below the streak of red that he could see pink, like apple snail eggs. So close to being warm and rosy, but a sign of damage nevertheless.

 “There’s… red, and brown, and pink… black, crimson…”

 “Crimson? It sounds like you’re getting a little excited with your colour comparisons there. Good for you. Just keep listing the ones that come to mind.”

 “Um… I guess there’s a bit of umber in there… maybe some charcoal?”

 She nodded. “Good. Now, do you know what day it is?”

 Makoto blinked once. Twice. Three times. His breaths still felt much too laborious, but in a way, he felt like things were almost getting clearer. Like he’d been freed from suffocation in ash. “It’s… the tenth of September, right? Autumn?”

 The circles continued as she cracked a small smile. “Good, good. Now can you rub your hands together for me? I want to get you a towel to dry off with. It will keep you warm while I do.”

 Once again, he didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her, just nodded and started rubbing his hands together for friction. He couldn’t bring his eyes to follow her as she pushed herself to her feet and strode out of the shower, tugging his fluffy white towel off the rack. Focus rested on the heat generating between his hands, he almost didn’t notice when she returned and draped it over his shoulders. His movement screeched to a halt the moment it connected with his body; god was it a soft towel. Taking hold of both corners, he pulled it over himself as much as he could manage. They definitely needed to keep buying whatever fabric softener they were currently using.

 Kyoko slowly lowered herself to sit at his side once more, returning her hand to the same position it had been on his back. It was true to say that he could no longer enjoy her rough skin against his own, but the pressure of her presence still made him a bit renewed.

 “Are you okay, Makoto?” Though he couldn’t find the energy to meet her face, the concern coated her voice. It wasn’t difficult to picture her lowered brows; her mouth curved into a hesitant grin in hopes of offering solace.

 His shoulders quirked, and he leaned himself into her. By now she must have known how badly he needed her; he figured she wouldn’t mind if he cuddled up. Touch always rejuvenated him when he grew melancholic or distressed. Hers, especially, brought him a comfort unlike any other. “Honestly… no. I’m not.”

 Kyoko scooted closer to him, and pushed his head so that it would rest on his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

 “No,” the answer came much faster than expected, “Not right now, anyway.”

 “That’s fine. I don’t expect you to be okay. We can talk whenever you would like,” she paused for but a moment, carefully scrutinizing his face, “Is there anything I can do?”

 “I don’t think so.”

 He could tell she was frowning now. “That’s a shame.”

 Makoto quirked his shoulders once more. “It’s okay. You’re already doing everything you can, and I appreciate that. All I really need right now is your company.”

 Cautiously turning her head towards his, she pressed a kiss against his head. Her hand rested on the top of it, stroking his hair ever so gently. A miniscule happiness swelled within him at the sensation. He was a lucky man, who had a woman who cared about him so much. “I think I can manage that.”

 Though it was hard, he did everything he could to push a smile. It must have been awfully weak, but he hoped she could appreciate it nonetheless. “Thank you, Kyoko… I love you.”

 “I love you, too. And I’m here for you anytime.”

 “Shower or no shower?” He joked, chuckling half-heartedly.

 “Shower or no shower. I’ll love you, always.”

[matsuoclan]

you and me and this temptation

Pairing: Morgan x Det. Lucy Liang (f/f) Rating: Explicit (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Content: explicit sexual content, kissing, fingerfucking, dirty talk with mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism, d/s undertones

Summary: The detective attempts to lay down some ground rules. Morgan does her best to sidetrack her.

Notes: Takes place sometime shortly after book 2, before book 3. Also brownie points to whoever can tell me who the mentioned siren is and what series they’re from!

[ read on ao3 ] [ masterlist ]

–

She’s doing this on purpose.

Lucy shoots another look at Morgan from across the table. All Morgan does is grin shamelessly and lick her lips, not at all paying attention to Nat’s mini lecture on various supernatural species.

“Sirens are incredibly rare that we know of. Most of them keep to themselves and try to interact with humans as little as possible until they have full control of their powers. There used to be a great family of them in Greece, and they’re probably still there, but the only one I know of is in Houston, Texas…Lucy, you still with me?”

Lucy jumps in her seat and smiles sheepishly at the vampire next to her. Morgan snickers. “Sorry Nat. Continue, please.”

“Hmm.” Nat trains a suspicious eye on Morgan but then turns back to the massive tome open in front of her. “Anyway, when they’re exercising their powers, some sirens can manifest translucent wings. The color will vary depending on the siren, and some are even said to have…”

Morgan shifts in her seat and once again Lucy’s gaze is drawn helplessly in her direction.

Every. Fucking. Time.

It’s been like this for over an hour. She watches as Morgan runs a slow hand through her hair and it’s not hard to imagine those fingers in her hair instead, tugging to give her that slight flash of pain. Morgan leans in like she knows exactly what Lucy’s thinking, eyes falling to her mouth, and even though there’s an entire table width between them, the heat that spikes through Lucy is enough to make her breath catch.

“Morgan, I am right here,” Nat snaps.

Lucy stifles a groan. Caught. Again.

“Yes, but can you blame me when the detective’s sitting there looking good enough to eat?” Morgan’s eyes haven’t moved, still trained on Lucy’s mouth, and Lucy shivers.

Nat splutters. “That’s hardly appropriate. Stop distracting Lucy, this is important knowledge for her to have.”

“If the detective wants me to stop distracting her, she can tell me herself.” Morgan smiles lazily at her. “Right, sweetheart?”

Lucy opens her mouth to respond. Mortifyingly, nothing comes out. Nat takes pity on her and sighs.

“We can pick this up tomorrow, Lucy. I don’t think we’ll get much further today.” She stands and closes the tome, setting it off to the side. “And Morgan, I’m serious, I want you nowhere near the library tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.”

“Nowhere. Near. The. Library,” Nat growls.

Morgan leans back in her chair and winks at Lucy. “Like I said. We’ll see.”

Nat takes her leave with an exasperated shake of her head and a muttered good-bye. With Nat gone, there’s nothing stopping Lucy from feeling the full weight of Morgan’s attention, and she shoves back from the table to put more distance between them before she does something incredibly stupid, like jump her bones in the middle of the library.

“I think we need to establish some ground rules if we’re going to keep this up,” Lucy says, gesturing between the two of them.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “This is just sex. And you’ve liked everything so far.”

The arrogance. Lucy grabs a stack of books to reshelve them, just to give her hands something to do. Fortunately these books belong on the opposite side of the room and it’s with half relief, half disappointment that Morgan doesn’t reach for her when she walks by. “Yes, but—”

“You’ve liked every single thing I’ve done to you. Don’t pretend you weren’t remembering all the places my mouth and fingers have been just now.”

Lucy whirls around. “You can’t keep saying stuff like that when I’m working!”

“But you like it when I do.”

“That is so not the point.”

“It’s completely the point.”

“Fine,” Lucy grits out. “I do, but it distracts me, and I can’t afford to be distracted at work. Nat was right, this is important knowledge for me to learn, and I can’t learn any of it when you’re looking at me like...like that!”

“I want you,” Morgan says, shrugging. Like it’s as simple as that. “I don’t see any issue with letting that be known.”

“Morgan.”

“All right.” Morgan rises from her seat and slowly saunters over, collapsing into an armchair a few feet away. Lucy’s throat goes dry. “How about...I cut back by twenty-five percent?”

“Excuse me?” Lucy squints. Unbelievable. “Are you negotiating?”

“Yes. And sweetheart, I suggest you take it because you’re not going to get a better offer.”

Lucy turns on her heel and starts aggressively placing the books back where they belong. “Is it that hard for you to keep your comments behind closed doors?”

“Just my comments?” Even without a visual, Lucy knows exactly which infuriating smirk Morgan’s sporting as she speaks. “So you’re fine if everything else is out in the open?”

“Morgan.”

“You let me fuck you at the carnival where anyone could’ve seen, so the lady doth protest too much about this, methinks.”

Lucy drops a book.

“Actually, given our track record, I’m inclined to believe you have a thing against closed doors.”

The conversation has spiraled so completely out of control, but she shouldn’t have expected anything different when it comes to Morgan. It takes a massive effort for Lucy to turn back around and adopt a calm, pleasant expression. “Fifty percent and I’ll kiss you after we finish this conversation.”

Morgan’s eyes darken. “You’ll kiss me anyway.”

“You seem awfully confident that I’m a sure thing,” Lucy says shakily. A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up inside her. She already knows she is. The slow smile unfurling on Morgan’s face says she already knows Lucy is, too.

“...aren’t you?”

Lucy doesn’t respond. She can’t.

“Fine, fine.” Morgan rolls her eyes and extends a hand in Lucy’s direction. “Come here.”

Lucy eyes it suspiciously. “Why?”

“A show of good faith. Kiss me so I know you’re good for it, and you’ll have your forty percent.” She pats her lap and motions again.

“Fifty percent.”

“That’s what I said.” Morgan is unrepentant in all her glory. “Come here, Lucy.”

One day she’ll figure out how to resist Morgan’s pull. It’s not good for her dignity that Morgan has all but figured out she only has to crook a finger and Lucy will come running despite herself. But until then...

Lucy takes two steps in Morgan’s direction. Instantly Morgan reaches out and pulls her in to straddle her lap, hands resting on her waist as she smirks up at her. The feel of Morgan’s warm hands through the thin fabric of her dress gives Lucy a full body shiver.

“Show me my good faith,” Morgan murmurs, and then Lucy’s kissing her.

Morgan doesn’t bother with easing into it. As soon as Lucy parts her lips, Morgan’s there, licking deep into her mouth until Lucy’s dizzy with want.

Everything about Morgan overwhelms her. Her scent, her taste. The way she sucks on her tongue kicks Lucy’s pulse into overdrive and she whimpers, body on fire. Morgan’s hands tighten at the noise and then she’s running them along Lucy’s shoulders, up into her hair, down her back to squeeze her ass...

Lucy jolts and bites down on Morgan’s bottom lip in retaliation. Morgan laughs roughly against her mouth.

“I like this tart side of you, sweetheart.”

“Saved it just for you.” Lucy leans back with monumental effort, panting. “Is that enough good faith?”

“It’ll do for now.” Morgan bumps her nose against Lucy’s. It shouldn’t be so charming, but fuck, it is. “Anything other ground rules you wanted to go over?

“No. Wait, yes.” This one hasn’t come up yet in the limited time they’ve been doing...whatever it is they‘re doing, but Lucy figures now is the best time as any to get it out there. She makes to get off Morgan’s lap to allow herself some distance for actual thought, but Morgan catches her waist and maneuvers her so that she’s sitting with her back against Morgan’s chest. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s just more good faith.”

Lucy squirms. It feels remarkably like the time on the carousel, when Lucy thought she might explode from the tension. “I think you’re getting more out of this negotiation than I am.”

“Then get better at negotiating.” The hand Morgan has resting on her thigh tightens just a bit but it’s enough that Lucy has to fight from spreading her legs. “What’s the next rule?”

“...No one else.” Lucy swallows. “No one else if you’re fucking me.”

Morgan stills so suddenly Lucy wonders if she just made a huge misstep. Maybe that’s too much to ask, too soon. She’s not ignorant of Morgan’s past exploits. What was she thinking, asking Morgan something like that? They haven’t known each other all that long, and even if they could probably be called friends on the best of days, they don’t have a relationship where she can ask something as brazen as this—

“No one else,” Morgan agrees quietly. It takes a moment to register, and then the relief is dizzying. Morgan’s hand on her stomach curls and Lucy’s not stupid enough to think it’s possessive but she can pretend it is, for a moment. “That goes for you too.”

Lucy snorts in surprise. “Oh please. Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

“That ex of yours keeps sniffing around.”

It can’t possibly be jealousy she’s hearing, but Lucy calls on whatever bravery she has left to poke. “Worried you have competition?”

Morgan has the gall to chuckle. “Sweetheart, I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

“You are incurably arrogant,” Lucy grumbles.

“And one hundred percent correct. Is that it? All the ground rules?”

“For now.”

“Hmm.” Morgan ghosts her mouth over Lucy’s ear. “Before I agree, I think I need one last show of good faith. Just to know you can uphold your end of the bargain.”

“Morgan, you have a supremely skewed idea of what a negotiation is.”

“Maybe. But for some reason I don’t think you’re complaining.” Morgan slowly spreads her hand across Lucy’s stomach, brushing along the underside of her breast. Lucy fidgets in the cage of her arms and squeezes her thighs together as her breath quickens. “This feel familiar to you at all?”

“...The carousel. When we were undercover at the carnival.”

“Mmm. Made the entire mission worth it, having you perched so sweetly on my lap.” Morgan slides the straps of her dress down her arms, baring her bra. Lucy’s nipples instantly go tight.

“You made the most delicious little gasp when I put my mouth here.” She seals her mouth over the scars of Murphy’s fangs on Lucy’s neck and sucks hard. And even though she should’ve expected it, Lucy gasps all over again, body going taut.

“And that fucking little skirt, teasing me all night long.” A hand idly strokes up the inside of her thigh, close to where Lucy’s pulse is pounding between her legs. And just like that, Lucy parts her thighs. “If I had reached under your skirt like I’m doing now…” Morgan draws a finger over the front of her panties. “...would I have found you just as wet?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice comes out breathy.

“Would you have let me do this?” She pulls Lucy’s pantiest to one side. There’s no urgency in Morgan’s movements as she traces her fingers over Lucy’s entrance, circling her clit, seemingly content to just explore with featherlight motions. “Touch your pussy with all those people around? No closed doors to speak of?”

She palms the front of Lucy’s bra with her other hand and yanks it down, baring her breasts. “Would you have let me do this?” Morgan cups one of her breasts and tugs at her nipple and Lucy almost comes on the spot. “There’d be no hiding what I was doing.”

Fuck. Lucy shouldn’t want what Morgan’s describing in her ear. It’s way too public, way too filthy. But when Morgan touches her like that, all rational thought flees and the only thing left is the image of Morgan spreading her open in front of the carnival and not stopping until she’s screaming.

It’s more than a little scary how much Morgan can make her want.

Morgan sinks her teeth into Lucy’s earlobe at the same time she slides a finger inside her. “I think they’d be jealous of me, if they saw. It’s me who gets to touch you like this. My arms around your tight little body. My fingers fucking your pussy.” She slides another finger inside and strokes a finger directly over Lucy’s clit. Lucy spreads legs even wider, letting them drape over Morgan’s thighs. “It’s me who’s getting you off, and all they’d be able to do is watch…”

Oh god. Lucy lets her head fall back against Morgan’s shoulder and moans as Morgan fucks her with her fingers. Morgan keeps the pace aggravatingly unhurried, like she’s that certain her words are enough to wind Lucy up.

She’d be one hundred percent correct.

“Would you put on a show for them, sweetheart?” Morgan sounds supremely unaffected and Lucy hates her for it, just a little. “Let them see how wet you get at the idea of an audience? Moan when you come so prettily around my fingers?”

“Please. Please, Morgan.” Lucy writhes in her lap, not even sure what she’s begging for, but as always, Morgan knows exactly what she needs. She shifts the hand at Lucy’s breast to hold tight across her stomach and pushes a third finger into her. The pleasure building inside Lucy spikes sharper when Morgan finally, finally, speeds up.

“I’d let them watch if you asked. They can watch as much as they want and imagine they’re the ones you’re desperate for, but at the end of the day they’ll know it’s only me who’s allowed to do this.” Morgan pinches Lucy’s clit and the tiny shock of pain sends Lucy careening.

She cries out when she comes, grinding down on Morgan’s fingers as Morgan continues her strokes. Distantly she registers Morgan’s mouth on her neck again, and something that feels suspiciously like fangs dragging on her skin.

“Beautiful,” Morgan murmurs against her ear when she finally slumps back against her, completely spent. “So fucking beautiful.”

Lucy turns her head to get a look at Morgan but Morgan just kisses her, gentler this time. It’s a kiss without a goal, and Lucy’s happy enough to sink into it and be swept away. When Lucy finally draws back for breath, Morgan’s grinning at her in that self-satisfied way of hers and even after everything Lucy’s heart still skips a beat.

She leans in to press another kiss to the corner of Lucy’s mouth. “Sweetheart, we have a deal.”

[athingofvikings]

I don’t usually do “call-out” posts, but this case is particularly egregious.  It’s not strictly plagiarism, but it definitely qualifies as some form of creative dishonesty, and I need to vent on it.

So last night (Nov 15, 2020), I saw that my “Related Works” tab on AO3 had iterated up a digit and went to investigate.

What I saw made my blood boil.

“An Englishman Among Vikings” by Heinkelboy05

Checking the comments, I found that, unsurprisingly, the serial liar had lied again, saying, flat out, that he hadn’t worked with me on his story.

So.  

Let me get the record straight.

Here is his first message on ffnet, note the date:

May 27, 2018 

Hello there. This is Heinkelboy05. I'm a 21 year old college student studying to become a history teacher. I'm a big history buff and I try to incorporate it into my stories. My current story is one based on the game Valkyria Chronicles set in an alternate version of 1935. It's mostly historical though with some twists into it. Anyway, before I bore you with anymore details, just bought I'd let you know that I've been reading your story and it inspired me to try and do something similar here for HTTYD. I'm still working on it and trying to get some historical background and such. It's going to have historical information but also some small twists here and there as well. Still working a bit on finding historical information on some things. This one is going to be set earlier in the Viking Era. Just thought I'd let you know.

I responded positively, because hey, why wouldn’t I?

And thus, with the hook set, he reeled me in, talking exclusively about his own work.  We shifted to talking on Discord quickly, but it was just draining to talk to him; he only ever wanted to discuss his own ideas, and he wanted real-time discussions; he would ping me with “free to talk?” and if I wasn’t there right then, he would go off-line.  Once I didn’t get there in time for a week, and I got a passive-aggressive comment that basically was designed to guilt me.  

But, hey, I’m a nice guy, right?  So I invited him to the ATOV Discord server in October 2018, after we’d been working on his story for nearly five months.  

And once he was invited in, he settled in to feed like a vampire at a boarding school dormitory.  

In the following 18 months, he almost never engaged with other people on the server outside of his writing, just pushing his own drafts regularly, and whining that he wasn’t getting any feedback or interest.  Once, he even pinged @everyone because he wanted attention and feedback on the draft he’d just posted.  

And then he made a mistake.  The specific details amount to this: He had claimed back in his first message above that “I’ve been reading your story”, and I had taken it on good faith that he was a reader of mine.  

He wasn’t.

Because in April, he asked in the history discussion channel if anyone had heard of a historical group who show up in a major fashion in my story.

@kalessinsdaughter confronted him later and got him to admit that he’d read “less than half” (i.e. almost certainly a lot less) of my work.

He gave me an “I’m sorry I got caught” nonpology, clearly hoping for a return to the status quo.  

He didn’t get it.  

The long and the short of what followed is that we didn’t kick him from the server immediately; meanwhile, he tried a half-assed charm offensive to try to bribe his way back into my good graces.  I saw right through it, and he ended up getting so offensive and hypocritical that at the end of June, after a breathtakingly disgusting display of White Privilege, I told him that he could either leave or wait for me to find an excuse within the server rules to ban him.

He left.

Last night, I saw that my “Related Works” tab on AO3 had iterated, and went to check it out.

After two years of working on it, he had finally started posting the fic that he had badgered me and others to help him with.

And in the comments was this.

https://archiveofourown.org/comments/363482519

PoeticalHufflepuff on Chapter 2 Sun 15 Nov 2020 11:10AM EST

Oh wow, this looks interesting! The premise reminds me a lot of A Thing Of Vikings, but set later in history. Did you work with him on it?

Heinkelboy05 on Chapter 2 Sun 15 Nov 2020 05:17PM CET

No, I did not. I do however read his story. I’m having this series tied to the events of the HTTYD series to differentiate it from ATOV.

“No, I did not work with him on it.”

Now, the premise of his story is very similar to mine, and that’s fine.  

But, well.  *motions to entire history*

I left a response earlier this morning.  Since I’m not sure if he’ll delete my comment or not, I’ll copy the full text here.

athingofvikings on Chapter 2 Mon 16 Nov 2020 09:42AM CET

Well. Imagine my surprise when my "Related Works" value on my dashboard iterated up a digit last night and I found this waiting at the other end. And then, just to make it worse, I decided to check the comments out of some masochistic impulse and found you lying--as usual.

I suppose I should feel shocked, I really should, given just how brazen this lie is, but I'm not. Because it's always all about you... well, I'm not surprised that those months I spent "working with you" nearly every day two summers ago--remember those days? back before I invited you to the ATOV Discord server?--doesn't count as having "worked with you". Still. Just wow. It's amazing. I knew that you were a Grade-A self-centered asshole, but this really takes the cake. You lied to me, used me, and took advantage of my kindness for two years, and now you have the sheer unremitted gall to deny that I gave my time and effort trying to help you before I realized how much of an emotional vampire you are?

So, let me make this clear to anyone reading this, and I'll be posting this elsewhere as well: I do not accept this work as "inspired by" my own. It was made abundantly clear during Heinkel's time on the ATOV server that he hadn't actually read my work, and that persisted until he was caught in a direct lie on it. Before being caught, he spent nearly two years feeding on people's attention and not giving back to the community I had built; one of the other authors there described trying to help him as "exhausting". Prior to when he was invited to the server (by me in one of my biggest mistakes), he portrayed himself to me as being one of my readers who needed help with his own work. I gave that help freely--and it was exhausting, because he was this weird combination of "I want more clicks/attention", "I want historical accuracy like you do" and "I want these specific ahistorical elements because they're Cool" that just made dealing with him a chore.

I'm not going to call him a plagiarist, because that would require him to have read my work first, and he only did that past the first few chapters after he was caught in his lie. Yes, he took the general premise that I had come up with, but it's so mutilated by the inclusion of ahistorical elements that it's an 'in-name-only' Hollywood-style adaptation, akin to Artemis Fowl, and that's not plagiarism. Anything he might have taken from me directly was just from the first few chapters, because that's all he read before he was caught lying.

But while he's not a plagiarist, he IS a toxic, creatively dishonest, attention-starved, self-centered, exploitive and all-around inconsiderate jackass who used me, used my community, and lied to me all the while, all the while pretending that he was morally upstanding (remember that time you AllLivesMattered my explanation on antisemitism, Heinkel? I remember. I was explaining why my people are so hated and you had to butt in with a "Well, I'm so morally upstanding and good!" comment; pity that you don't actually practice what you said there). When he was caught in his lie by his own clumsiness--he asked if "anyone heard of the Jomsvikings" after they'd been a part of ATOV for years--and after having presented himself as a reader of ATOV for years, he desperately hoped that he wouldn't be called to account. And when he was called on it, he admitted to my friend that he had read "less than half" of my story and gave me an "I'm sorry I got caught" nonpology. I cannot and WILL NOT forgive him for all of that. This lie that he never worked with me on this story is just par for the course with him.

So go ahead and write your fic, Heinkel. It's clear that I can't stop you, and neither can your sense of shame or your sense of honesty, while your sense of integrity has been demonstrably MIA for a while now. But as I told you before I threw you out of the server, you're not getting anything more from me. Not attention, not acceptance, not friendship, not readers. You lied to me for two years, and this is just more of the same self-centered falsehoods. First you kept whining at me to pay attention to you, and passive-aggressively sniping at me when I didn't hop to it, did the same on the server because you were so desperate for attention of any kind--I haven't forgotten that you pinged @everyone because you wanted feedback without having to work at it by giving back to the community--and now you're saying that all of hours I spent helping you in good faith didn't exist, all of the time you spent getting advice and help from people on my server didn't exist.

And now you have the gall to say that you didn't work on it with me.

I only wish that I was surprised.

~~~

So that’s the situation.  

Don’t go harassing the guy.  Don’t report him to AO3--while skeezy, he hasn’t violated the TOS as far as I can tell.  

But I had to get that off my chest.  

[kittehkwrites-backup]

Out of Time (Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

Summary:

The team goes back to the compound to debrief and find out the two super soliders may not be the only ones out of their time.

Warnings: mentions of death (but not major)

Gifs & images aren’t mine.

The team had made into the new facility and agreed they’d meet back in the conference room, after having cleaned up and had some nourishment, to debrief and discuss the findings from the intel Nat and Tony got a hold of.

Steve was currently sitting on the edge of his bed when he pulled out a small letter box, containing copious amounts of envelopes, cards, a few small passport sized photos and some smaller scrap paper with sketches on them.

He had ran his finger over the sorted envelopes and plucked one out at random.

Steven Grant Rogers

He looked at his name and brushed his thumb over the cursive writing.

He hadn’t looked through this box often since being out of the ice and since the death of Peggy.

But today made him do it. The shocking revelation that someone else from his past may still be living and still in her youth, like he and Bucky, made him question how and why he hadn’t even looked into finding out what happened.

Shaking his head at the thought he opened the aged envelope carefully and saw the small note in her handwriting.

Thank you for your service Capt.

You got our boy back, along with many others.

I knew you’d do great things, didn’t I?

Steve could almost hear her let out a giggle as she was writing this. He remembered she said he’d be great.

She always believed in me. He thought as he finished the letter

Don’t ever think I’ve forgotten about you two.

Hope you haven’t forgotten about lil ole me.

I do recall you boys saying you wouldn’t, so I’m expecting a response this time “Cap.”

Stay safe, take care of eachother and remember,

We’re routing for you here in Brooklyn.

Go be the man I knew you’d be.

Love,

Vi

She was the only one that knew who he was, outside of those he fought alongside with, the scientists who conducted the experiment and the government officials who had access to his files at the time.

Wow he thought.

All this time and he still felt warm after reading one of her letters.

She always showed kindness to the skinny boy from Brooklyn. Never once did she treat him any differently, or favour Bucky over him. She was always fair and she always had faith in them.

He flipped the paper over to see if anything else had been written and he almost broke down

P.s.

When you come back, make sure you bring Miss Carter with you.

I’d love to meet the woman you’re so head over heels for.

xooo

Steve had forgotten he made the promise to always come back and see you. It didn’t matter if he and Bucky were sick and dying. They made that promise but not even they could’ve prepared for the events which had took place many decades ago.

He had also forgotten that he mentioned Peggy to her and so reading the letter brought so many emotions he wasn’t ready to face yet.

This was sent before Bucky fell off the train, before he went under yet he didn’t even have any recollection of getting anymore letters from her after.

He had placed it back in its envelope and was going to open another when F.R.I.D.A.Y come over the houses system

Captain, Mr Stark has asked that I send out a reminder to everyone to make way to the debriefing room.

“Thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’ll be on my way”

I shall notify mr stark and the others who are already in the room.

And with that, Steve closed the box and put it under his bed before releasing a gust of air and exiting his room.

“Ok. Lay it on me.” Nick had come in to hear the mission report once the team had returned.

“Well we all know Taskmaster and his goons have been making headway over the last few months” Said Natasha as she placed the image of the man on the holographic projector.

“Well there’s been talk of him opening a training institution.” Tony took over as he stood to meet agent Romanoff on the opposite side of the table.

“Taskmaster?” This was visions turn to ask who this character was. The other members had encountered him or heard about the man from previous missions and various connections on the ground. Vision hadn’t been present for those times and had accompanied Wanda to this particular meeting since they may need their help in the future.

“He’s a bit of an oddball, I’d say. Sometimes good, sometimes bad but it’s now just mostly bad.” Shrugged Nat as she thought about saying he was a double agent of some sort but that might be hypocritical to her and he also favoured committing crimes, receiving rewards, instead of helping others like she is now doing.

“He basically caters to the highest bidder and seeing as the bad guys are the ones with the most capital, why not market to them?” Came Nick’s summary. He had been sitting back in his chair and watching the holographs each time they changed, soaking it in.

“Anyways, the intel we gathered showed locations of some of these institutions and some even had how many were enrolled and names.” Tony said as he made the map bigger and began singling out the known locations they were able to retrieve from the mission.

“There was also a list of which of those students have been traded, or their services sold to other evil organisations.” Nat spoke up as she pointed to another list tony had shared infront of everyone.

"What we’re slightly more interested in is his accomplice.”

“They call her mainly things...”

“There’s Countess V, Lady Lila, or Commander V.”

Tony and Natasha were going back and forth explaining the basics of the accomplice in question.

“How’s it gone from V to Lila? And what’s the V stand for” Sam asked raising his finger slightly to indicate he had a question. He wasn’t the only one confused on the name change.

“From what we gathered, Lila is German for purple and it seems that people that have encountered her always mention seeing her eyes turn purple. They would draw people in and put them in hypnotic trance”

“and there had been mentions in some old compromised S.H.I.E.L.D record of a “project v” where the patient also had the visible mutation of purple irises.”

“Does that answer your question Mr Wilson?” Tony’s voice came out a bit snippy causing Sam to put his hands up in surrender. Tony caught on his attitude wasn’t needed and gave Sam a look which said sorry. Sam gave back a slight nod, acknowledging the silent apology. They were all tired and wanted to be done with this so he understood it came out harsher than intended.

“We can only assume that means she possesses the ability to manipulate others which is threatening to the government and other officials if she’s deciding on which jobs to take like Taskmaster makes his decisions.” Being able to access codes and data only to give them to an enemy of the nation or state for some cash was enough to put anyone on edge, especially sine they’ve only go found out about this woman, and that she’s working for an entitled criminal.

“She was last time-stamped back in the 40’s, around the same time Mr Barnes was presumed dead, as a missing person, yet here she is now” The team knew that it was tough to mention that period in Bucky’s life but Nick knew it was important for emphasis.

“What does this person look like?” Wanda sounded. She had heard of the project back when sh was being tested on along with her brother, yet no one had an image in their heads of who project V was or the full extent of their powers, just that they were using the same methods and the serum they extracted from her at some point to test on others.

Only problem was that everyone was different and so everyone present different powers or enhancements that didn’t seem to be fully connected with all of hers.

Nick stood from his chair and made way to where agent Romanoff and Stark were standing.“May I?” He asked Tony when referring to using the device to retrieve the photo.

“By all means” Tony has stepped back as Nick put in his credentials for the database.

“We found this image under a file left open from a hydra agent working undercover.” He pushed the holographic image to the rest of the team, it rotating in the center of the table

At the sight of the image, both Steve and Bucky stiffened and the team turned to look at the two

It’s her, they both thought.

“I can assume you know this face?” The team kept watching the two men and wondered if the person that caused them to freeze on the roof during the mission was her.

“She was a friend.” Uttered Bucky. He had turned his head down at the thought of seeing her face again. Hs doesn’t know why, but he’s felt like he’s seen her before. Maybe his memory was still foggy. He was probably hallucinating is what he thought when he attempted to recall whether or not it was a true memory or false.

Even with the help of Shuri and the Wakandan doctors, they just weren’t able to unlock certain areas of his momery like they were able to get rid of the trigger words he was once controlled by.

They had suggested getting help from Wanda but he was apprehensive until now. Maybe this was the push he needed to try and fill in more gaps.

“She lived in the same building as me before they injected me with the serum when I got enlisted... I thought she’d be much older, or dead.” Steve face was scrunched up in confusion at the revelation that his first lo- well the first person he’s felt deeply for, was still alive, or at least he thought she was the same person as he remembered.

“Well it seemed that the same doctor that experimented on Steve, Dr Erskine, had a hand in this but stopped once he realised they were doing this for the wrong reasons.”Nick was leaning over the table and bring up more documents they had found or were able to retrieve.

The more documents brought up, the more the two soldiers figured the person they thought they knew probably wasn’t all she had been. This was something big to Nick also, it seemed he was deeply invested if he was willing to look for all these documents and translations that he was providing.

“So this was before Steve?” Clint asked looking at Natasha who had kept her head down.

“Not exactly. The project was a round the same time as Steve and from what we gathered, she was one of the few that passed all the tests they had set out.” Tony explained.

Nick watched as Natasha remained with her eyes down. She was playing it off as if she was looking at the files. She knew something. Nick thought as he moved his eyes off of her to look around the room.

This was something that they hadn’t expected or accounted for since they thought they had dealt with the remaining hydra super soldiers and had gotten the twins. There were no other mentions of past experiments dating back before (or during) Steve or Bucky that they were aware of, yet here she was.

Hydra was good at keeping secrets and it seemed once they exposed their infiltration in government agencies, that all hell broke loose.

“My thing is how was she able to stay under the radar for so long? Surely she would’ve made a mistake along the way.” Tony said. His posture straightened and hand under chin, contemplating how it was possible they’d have another enhanced that was supposedly younger than Steve and Bucky, yet they’re only just discovering her existence.

“And that’s why it’s concerning” Nicks voice was still monotonous but his body language displayed different.

He was tense and confused. The others were as well.

“Seems like you two weren’t the only ones that made it into the 21st century then.” Came from Sam as he kept looking at the woman on the screen. He and everyone else were at a loss for words.

The two soldiers looked at eachother and back at the picture of the woman they once knew.

How? Was the main question running through everyone’s head.

Hey everyone:)))

Hope you’re all doing good.

Love y’all ❤️

-Kai

[qqueenofhades]

“This is because poor white people have been systematically conditioned to support white supremacy at the direct expense of their own economic and social interests; it’s terrible, but that’s how it functions.” Do you think the rich white overlords have also been conditioned to support the system?

“while disdaining the government as tyrannical the rest of the time, unless it’s Trump’s actively tyrannical lot, but hey, we don’t have time to unpack all that)” Can you unpack some of that? I don’t understand. Thanks. Love your political posts. 

Sure!

(If anyone’s wondering, this is carrying on from/in reference to this ask from yesterday on how to dismantle arguments about “I’m white and my life has been hard therefore racism isn’t real.”)

The third part of the white supremacist equation in America, aside from racism and capitalism, is religion, especially fundamentalist and evangelical Christianity. We didn’t get to that in the last ask, but it’s an equally important factor in the social and cultural landscape of this particular demographic -- especially because the GOP has essentially become its political manifestation, and religious conservatism has become tied so deeply to a set of hot-button social issues (immigration, the gays, abortion, etc). As a lot of social scientists and lay observers have noted, religious belief in America remains staggeringly high relative to the rest of the industrialized Western world. Ever since the rise of religious conservatives as a mobilised political force in the 1980s, we have had to deal with their influence and the GOP’s willingness to function as an eager and uncritical vehicle for their social agenda. Fundamentalist/evangelical Christianity in America has also served as a powerful tool of promoting white supremacy. In fundamentalist religions, it’s a sin to question anything you’re told and you have to trust that a “higher authority” has your best interests at heart. This lends itself easily to personality cults: think the charismatic mega-preachers and other high-profile figures that exist in mainstream and fringe American evangelicalism alike, as well as the cult of Trump that now exists around the Orange Fuhrer.

Some books on this:

The Sin of White Supremacy: Christianity, Racism, and Religious Diversity in America, by Jeannine Hill Fletcher

White Too Long: The Legacy of White Supremacy in American Christianity by Robert P. Jones (you can also read a Washington Post interview with him here, and his piece in The Atlantic here.)

The Cult of Trump by Steven Hassan

When you intertwine the moral imperatives of fundamentalist religion (if you don’t believe the right things, you’ll go to hell), with the centuries-old American system of prizing whiteness at the expense of everything else, with the belief that your rich white overlords are more “your people” than your differently-colored working-class peers, you get an incredibly powerful and coercive system of mental conditioning that works on multiple levels, constantly reinforces itself, and is very difficult to break away from. And frankly, it’s difficult to tell if the most high-profile mouthpieces of these views actually believe it (maybe to some degree) or if they just use it to obtain a comfortable life at the expense of vulnerable people. Honestly, I’m not sure if it matters whether or not the overlords believe everything they themselves teach (and I’m pretty certain that they don’t). They know that it ends up as a good deal for them, and so it’s in their interests to maintain the system as vigorously as possible.

You may have heard of “prosperity gospel” evangelists, who claim to their poor followers that if they give them, the evangelists, all their money as a demonstration of faith, God will automatically reward them/provide for their economic needs, and it’s a sign of too little faith if you don’t believe this, therefore you will stay poor. You may have also heard of the recent sex scandal involving Jerry Falwell Jr., son of the famous Jerry Falwell and current president (though he was forced to resign) of the ultra-fundamentalist Liberty University in Virginia. This, of course, goes up there with all the other hard-right politicians who preached family values and Moral Purity and then turned out to be hypocrites who were failing to live up to these ideas in private. American evangelicalism is a deeply weird and self-reinforcing universe that provides adherents with everything they need to live in a parallel version of reality and feel holier-than-thou about not interacting with “infidels,” and yes, a huge part of that, especially white Protestant evangelicalism, involves preaching the gospel of white supremacy, implicitly or explicitly.

So at the end of this, we have a system which orchestrates and indeed insists upon complete obedience to the overlords (be they economic, racial, or religious) by the underclass at every turn. As I noted above, the rich white overlords themselves know that they benefit immensely from this setup, so the question of whether or not they actually believe it is less important. As also noted, they sure don’t make any attempt to live up to it in private, or at least trust that they won’t be found out if they don’t. That’s because (at least in my opinion) they know perfectly well that it sucks. They don’t want to be poor either, but it’s useful for them if there are poor people. Fundamentalism is also deeply predicated on suffering: it’s holy to suffer, poverty is a virtue, you shouldn’t worry about this world so much as what you will get after you die, thinking about material things is Sinful, God will magically provide everything that you need, so on and so forth. So even if they’re voting against their own self-interests, white working class religious people have been assured that is a virtue anyway and they should keep doing it. Only heathens like socialism.

That also makes it harder to get any dialogue of social justice going in (white) churches. Black churches have obviously been at the forefront of social justice struggles in America for their entire history, but that’s because white and black American Christianity are often very different. There are overlaps in places, but the black church was founded in the slave tradition, rather than the slaveholder tradition, as the establishment church in the 19th century was often a zealous supporter of slavery for the “moral good” of the slaves -- hey, they might be in terrible bondage, but at least they had the chance to be saved by becoming Christians! White Americans tend to go to church to be reassured that what they’re doing is good and doesn’t need to change, or if it does need to be changed, it’s to outlaw abortion or gay marriage or whatever social issue is the order of the day. It’s founded on repression rather than liberation. This isn’t true of every church everywhere, of course, but the overall trend is one toward social and religious hyper-conservatism.

This ties into the “civic faith” of America, i.e. the sphere of cultural Christianity that everyone participates in whether they’re actively religious or not, and which has also been the subject of political studies as to how it has been twisted into an organ of feel-good jingoistic American nationalism with very little reference to what Jesus Christ is recorded as having actually taught. The point again is that this entire belief system prizes absolute obedience and adherence to a (white and male) Supreme Leader, which is really easy for a fascist to exploit with populist rhetoric draped in the shabbiest veneer of religious language. The enthusiastic evangelical support for Trump, and the way the religious right has bent over backward from trying to impeach Bill Clinton for a blowjob in the Oval Office to defending serial rapist Trump is... both enlightening and terribly depressing. (Not to say that Clinton isn’t gross, because he is, but that’s beside the point; the GOP went on a frothing-mouth moral crusade over his behavior and it’s absolute crickets over Trump.)

In the end, we have this entire subset of people who have argued that they need their guns and their paramilitary organizations to defend against a theoretical “tyrannical” (read: non-white, non-Christian) body politic or American government. That’s why we had constant claims that Obama was going to throw people into concentration camps or send federal agents to arrest people off the streets or turn America into a military dictatorship; these proud AR-15-waving nutcases were happy to inform us that they would rise up and prevent that from happening. Of course, Obama didn’t actually do any of that, but you know who did? Trump. And his supporters, of course, didn’t make any attempt to stop it from happening. Instead they actively went out to help it happen more. (Side note: a little racist shitstain literally named RITTENHOUSE being the face of armed and murderous white supremacy in the Kenosha protests is like... ridiculously on the nose, PAGING GARCIA FLYNN.)

So when I say they’re protesting “government tyranny,” we’ve already gotten a good look at what they imagine tyranny to be: i.e. anything except the actual tyranny we’re already enduring, because it’s coming from their orange messiah and it is the culmination of everything that their religious, political, social, and cultural values have taught them. They mean “tyranny” of anything that is not their extreme right-wing, white-supremacist, religious-fundamentalist fascist version of things, which means respect or tolerance or room for anyone who isn’t exactly like them, which they can’t abide. Totalitarianism never can.

Anyway, I hope that was helpful. Thanks for the question!