#i have a union meeting on saturday

[embers-burning-bright]

i am actually so sick of retail it isn't even funny

[unopenablebox]

Hey I can totally deep clean my room for the first time in years and even vacuum the floor three times as long as I have a full day where I don't need to get anything else done and also I have Ritalin

[livvyofthelake]

why did my dad have to have his retirement party on a day i could have been going wonking instead. does he hate women or something goddamn

[arinrowan]

extremely pissed off because the union has been negotiating a contract with my place of employment for two years, and just as they’ve finished it and negotiated raised wages for everyone, work has announced that as soon as we settle on the contract they’re eliminated waived breaks (we forego breaks in favor of getting paid for half an hour). Our salary increases are NOT significant and doing this means we’ll essentially lose money or make about the same as we had been before they eliminated waived breaks.

All this is doing is driving home that if we didn’t have the union they’d screw us over even more, and isn’t even a subtle attempt to stop them from having to pay us more.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[peachysunrize]

[TANGERINE DREAMS]

summary: being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

Tangerines, in general, symbolize prosperity, good luck and happiness. So if these delicious fruits appear in your dreams - whole or in the form of juice - it is usually very positive. A dream with tangerines expresses the desire and the possibility of progress and prosperity

word count: 5.2k+

warnings: angst & fluff! English isn’t my first language<3

a/n: loviessssss welcome to the first chap of my summer romance! I hope you love this as much as I do when I’m writing it! Reblogs & comments are most appreciated🥹🍊 and very special thank you to @namelesslosers for betaing this for me<33🩷

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

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Updates: every Saturday!

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Chapter 1: runaway bride

He shouldn’t be stressed, should he? 

Everything is in the right place; groomsmen are standing behind him while fixing each other’s coats and reassuring him, bridesmaids are in front of him as they talk and giggle, the guests are whispering and the priest is tapping his fingers on his watch.

Alys is a few minutes late, but it’s just a few minutes, there’s nothing to worry about. Aemond knows she must be even more stressed than he is. It’s their big day after all and naturally, the bride is the more anxious one. Surely that’s true, right? But why are his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his coat uncontrollably, why is rocking on the ball of his feet? He can’t be that nervous.

He looks around, finding his mum biting her nails. She searches around the room, looking for someone, anyone, to come and tell her about her bride-to-be’s whereabouts. His eye finds Helaena, watching as she caresses the flower petals before meeting his gaze, smiling broadly at him. He smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes to convince her he’s doing alright. He is alright, just a tad bit too stressed for everyone’s liking, especially Helaena who can sense his nerves buzzing with excitement and fear. 

The church Alicent chose for his wedding has been used by Targaryens for years and passed on for generations. The walls covered in royalty tapestries of mythical Valyrian gods have seen many weddings and unions, and now, they will see his wedding.

He sighs, wanting to run his fingers through his hair but remembering his hair is in a low bun and his Mum would kill him if he ruined his perfectly done hair. He sighs again, looking up at the ceiling, his brow furrowing in worry.

What is taking her so long? She should have been here ten minutes ago.

Aemond turns around and looks at Daeron, their eyes meeting for a brief second before his younger brother nods and walks to the corner of the hall before slipping out the door without any hesitation. 

“Don’t worry, brother, she’ll come around,” Aegon says, his breath stinking with the three glasses of champagne he’s had from the bar in the garden attached to the church grounds, where they will host the party.

“This isn’t another simple date she can be late to. This is our wedding, Aegon!” He exhales shakily, his voice barely above whispering.

He knows he is right, even Aegon knows he is right, but there is little they both can do. They need to wait for her to show up eventually. She will, won’t she? Of course she will, it was Alys who was too eager to marry, start a family, and take a step towards their shared dreams. She reassured him of his hesitation, and he agreed to do this with a heart full of love.

“Sir,” the priest calls him, “I’m needed for another ceremony in about an hour and the ride there will take a long—“

“She will come,” Aemond’s response is more of a reassurance to him than the priest, “you must have seen this more than us, Sir, the bride always shows up.”

“Yes, yes, my apologies,” the man nods his head, going back to do whatever he was doing before. 

With every second that passes and Alys doesn’t show up he grows more restless, beads of sweat forming on his hairline. Aemond is a closed-up person, not really used to showing his feelings and emotions outwardly, but now, he is tapping his foot on the ground while his eye swipes at the guests, finding his half-sister’s family behind his Mum — he averts his eye quickly. The last thing he needs is to get furious over his sister’s goblins.

“What is taking her so long?” He hears someone say from the guests, even their stupid gossip is not enough to distract them from how late the bride is. He is growing desperate at this point, the muscles in his shin are growing tired with how fast he is tapping his foot on the floor, his fingers can no longer fidget with his coat instead his nails are digging into his sweaty palm.

Please, please, Alys, just open this door… He thinks to himself before spotting Daeron sneaking inside the hall with you on your toe. He watches as the two of you make your way toward Helaena, whispering something in her ear before she and Daeron leap out of the hall in a second, catching everyone’s attention.

The hall grows noisier, and the hushed whispers turn into loud accusations and questions; “Where is the bride?”

“I have always known she was problematic!” 

“Eight years older? How scandalous!”

“How did Viserys Targaryen let his son marry her?”

“I have heard she has quite the reputation with men, always after their money—“

Now his hands are shaking, he hides them by locking them behind his back before he looks in front of him, trying to mask out the noise. Aemond catches your eye, watching as you give him a reassuring smile before taking slow steps towards him.

“Hey you.”

“Hey…” he replies as best as he can without his voice breaking, “you look beautiful.”

“So do you, little nerd!” You reach to fix his bowtie, trying to calm him down a bit, “not so little though, right? You’re getting married before me!”

“Yeah, I’m younger and I beat you to it,” he chuckles a little, silently thanking you for keeping a leash on his nerves.

It’s always been like this since the two of you remember. Growing up close to the Targaryens as Helaena’s kindergarten friend until now, you have grown to know each of the siblings like the back of your hand, especially Aemond who was a constant presence in your games with Helaena since he could walk — sometimes it feels like you are his best friend and not Helaena’s with how attentive you are to him. As much as he wishes for that to be true, he knows the bond you share with his sister is something so precious and special that no one can break it.

“Just so you wait, Aemond, you won’t be invited to my wedding when the time comes!” You tease him, trying to lighten his mood, reaching to fix a few strands of hair that have fallen out of his bun.

“That’s not fair—“

Everyone falls silent when the door is pushed open, revealing a heaving Daeron and a very anxious Helaena. You both turn around to look at the siblings, meeting them halfway with Aegon following you closely. 

“We…” Helaena starts, but she can’t talk. Something bad must have happened for her to be so speechless.

“What?” You ask gently, resting your hand on her shoulders in hopes of trying to get her to talk.

“We found Alys,” Daeron looks at Aemond with an unreadable expression, “but she…”

“Spit it out for fuck sake!” Aegon whispers through gritted teeth, his hand shoved in his pockets as he waits for Daeron to finish his sentence.

“She doesn’t want to get married,” Helaena blurts out, swallowing the lump in her throat as she looks at Aemond with sad sympathetic eyes.

“Hel, this is insane. Did she say it herself—“ you say, frowning slightly.

“Criston is holding her back from running away. There’s a car parked outside, I think—“

Aemond can’t listen to these words anymore, so he pushes past his siblings and you, jogging out of the church towards the attached garden, finding Cole and Alys tangled in a messy fight as she tries to escape from his grasp.

“Alys!” He yells her name, making the couple freeze, but in a second, she knees Cole in his stomach and runs past him, her long white dress drags across the grass as she bolts out of the gates too fast for Aemond to be able to catch up, and once he does, he watches the car leave.

The noises around him vanish, and all he can hear is the thumping of his pulse in his ears, and the sharp breaths he takes. The world around him seems to disappear, and his good eye follows the path the car is taking, his fingers are tingling, his chest rising and falling rapidly while he tries to regain his grip on himself.

He sighs, finally his senses coming back as he looks around him, finding you, his Mum, and his siblings running towards him. Aemond doesn’t wish to talk to anyone, he wants to stay invisible, for the world to swallow him whole and keep him away from the humiliation that is about to be unleashed on him.

“Darling—“

“Aemond—“

The group reaches him, Alicent cups his face in her warm hands as she looks at him with tears stinging her eyes. Aemond can see how devastated she is about him, how she desperately wants to say something and ease his pain but the words are lost in the air when she opens her mouth to utter them.

He reaches and holds her wrists gently, pressing her palms against his cheeks as they silently communicate their emotions — no words need to be said, they understand, Alicent understands his pain, and he knows that she would take it away if she could.

“We should tell the guests,” Aemond says before letting go of his Mum’s hands, striding past his siblings and you towards the salon attached to the church, finding many of the guests already there — his half-sister and her kids with a few other relatives.

He knows they are waiting to hear more of this mess just to taunt him and make his day worse. Everyone knows they are looking for one mistake from him and his family to ruin their reputation, and now, with Aemond Targaryen’s runaway bride, they must be ecstatic.

“What happened, nephew? We thought we were invited for a traditional wedding, but all we see is a lonely groom—“

The glare Aemond gives his uncle and nephews is enough for them to shut up. He tries to put up a strong front, head held high and hands folded behind his back, but if you squint you can see how his resolve is crumbling with each second that he spends in their presence.

He decides not to give in to their silly games and walks towards the bar before he snatches the pack of cigarettes on the stool, leaving the room without saying a word. His mind is foggy as he tries to walk past everyone, he is handling many things at the same time but the bitter and heavy feeling in his chest crushes his strength to process it.

The sound of chatter and gossip fades away as he walks through the back garden of the church; a few little benches and a fountain in the corner hidden from the eyes of the guests with a wisteria tree.

This area could have made a romantic core memory for Aemond and Alys if only things had gone differently…

With a deep sigh, he sits on the ground, his back against the fountain as he fiddles with his bow tie, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, his coat falling on the ground next to him. He opens the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out before he reaches in his pants for a lighter — something he is sure you’d scold him for as you always do, teasing him lightheartedly about his obsession with lighters.

When he inhales the smoke, his mind gets clearer, and he can think a little better, but he is not sure if he would really like to do so. His ex-fiancé left him just a few minutes ago, and his mind fills with dreadful thoughts.

Was it him?

Was he too young for her? Too immature?

Did she change her mind because she loved someone else?

Was he too strict and selfish?

Was it really him who brought this on himself? On his family?

He blows out the smoke, resting his elbow on his knee as he reaches to untie his bun, his hair falling freely around his shoulders while the droplets of water land on the soft silver strands from the fountain.

It is the beginning of the summer, the spring chill of the weather is replaced with an increasing heat, the birds chipper and he can see the peachy hue of sunset in the sky from between the leaves of the tree.

He feels numb, a dull ache in his chest blooming as the reality hits him. Aemond takes another drag of his cigarette, throwing his head back, and letting his hair fall inside the water fountain. He sniffs, closing his eye to keep his tears from flowing down, the storm of his thoughts wrecking his mind once again.

He loves her, she was his everything from the start — his first kiss, first girlfriend, first fight. Alys was his everything, and now, she is nothing but a memory, a memory he wishes to wipe away quickly. 

How can you claim to love someone and leave them without any remorse? 

There is guilt and sadness, but mostly it’s the doubt and self-hatred that makes him want to sob. Many questions are swirling in his head about how he is the reason she has left. Maybe she was right about leaving him, no one would like to be the wife of a man who deals with heavy pain daily.

He takes another drag, relishing in the feeling of the soft evening breeze that kisses his heated skin, cooling him down a little. The smell of smoke grounds him in this world, making him forget about the mess that is probably happening in the church. He is sure his siblings and Mum are trying their best to talk to Alys’ relatives and other guests, explaining the situation in a hurry.

“Your suite must have cost thousands,” you say casually, announcing your presence as you walk with your long dress in hand, careful with how uneasy your heels feel on the soft grass, making your way to where he is sitting.

“Nothing compared to the decorations she ordered,” he scoffs, putting out his cigarette on the edge of the stone of the fountain before he straightens his neck and looks at you.

“Yeah, I saw them,” you sigh, fisting your skirt before sitting next to him, shoulders touching subtly, “she has a very… interesting taste. Who’d thought a lawyer would be into witchcraft?”

“She likes things no one can understand,” he says, gazing up at the wisteria tree, “I also paid for the dress you are getting wet grass stains on—“

“That was irrelevant because Hel bought it for me! She knew how much of an ass you’d be about it,” you chuckle a little, watching as a ghost of a smile finds its way to his face before it falters and his eye drops to the grass, the smile no longer visible.

“Yeah, maybe that’s why Alys left,” he scoffs in disbelief again, shaking his head a little as he thinks of every bad trait he has, considering all of them could be the reason she decided she was better off without him.

“Her loss,” you say softly, “you are too funny, little nerd, even for someone who can be a stuck-up ass sometimes.”

“You are lucky my sister loved you enough to keep you around because I’d get rid of you the second I could,” he mumbles, huffing out a small laugh when you punch his biceps playfully.

“That’s not nice, Aemond!” You laugh together, rubbing the place where you hit him, “You love me too, that’s why you will never get tired of me,” saying this, you can see his shoulder tensing — love, what a weird word to use. 

Does he love you? Does he even love anyone?

Maybe he does, but it wasn’t enough to keep his fiance with him.

Maybe his love was too much for Alys to bear.

“How did you find me?” He asks, his voice hoarse and thick, “I was trying to be invisible.”

“Give me that—“ you grab the pack of cigarettes from him, pulling one out and waiting for Aemond to light it for you. You inhale a puff, handing it back to him before looking up at the sky, “do you remember when you’d steal my books and go into your old stables to read?”

“I do, no one could find me,” he takes a drag of the cigarette, blowing out the smoke before he talks, “but you did.”

“I believed you would do it because you wanted someone to look for you,” you look at him with soft eyes, “and I always did. Your siblings had no idea where you would go, but I knew you like the back of my hand. Or maybe I just wanted my book back!”

He matches your smile, but you can see the pain in his eye, this is not a time to beat around the bush. He wishes to let it out — whatever it is. Perhaps it’s anger, frustration, betrayal, maybe it’s his ultimate desire to vanish into thin air to save himself from the press and humiliation that he’ll be going through.

“What did I do wrong?” He asks, and you must be able to see the agony he is in, he is in grave distress, and the cloud of doubt is causing a tornado in his head that will kill the remaining of his confidence, “did I not give her enough love, show her how much I wanted her?”

“You gave her your heart, something you would never do for someone you didn’t like,” you reach and squeeze his shoulder, “you did your best, gave her your everything. We all saw how devoted you were, it is not your fault.”

“Then why? Why?!” He asks desperately, looking at you with his wide teary eye, the ocean blue orb staring into your soul with need, “I thought I was everything she wanted, she said it herself—“ he looks away before he can cry, throwing his head back to stop the tears from falling, putting the cigarette between his thin lips.

“You are more than enough, Aemond—“

“She wasn’t worth it, was she?” He cuts you off, “she took me for granted,” he sounds so little, so fragile, and he feels so.

“You loved her! I’m sure, Aemond, that your love for her was so beautiful and precious, it was Alys who couldn’t be better.”

“She was the one who wanted to get married as soon as possible…” he whispers, closing his eye as he talks with the cigarette between his lips, “even Aegon made fun of me for not saying no to her, he said I needed to grow up and not give in to her whims.”

“Aegon is a little shit, he can’t even keep one girl in a one-month relationship. He should be the last person on earth to get advice from,” You nudge his shoulder, grab the cigarette, and pull it away from his lips, “loving your partner is not a crime. So what? You liked spoiling her, did you not?”

“Yeah, I did…” he says, looking back down at his fingers rubbing over the fabric of his pants, “Alys used to tell me I was a kid too, that I needed to grow up or else I wouldn’t be a good husband.”

“Oh, Aemond…”

He averts his gaze towards you, tears brimming in his eye, “I did everything I could,” he is helpless, the gut-wrenching feeling is eating him alive.

“Don’t bottle it up, little nerd,” you reach and push a few strands of his hair behind his ear, “you can cry, I’m here.”

And he does; he rests his head on your shoulder and starts sobbing quietly, tears falling on his scarred cheek.

“I’m here,” you whisper, wrapping your arm around his shoulders, making him feel safe enough to pour his emotions out.

Aemond has been avoiding the situation as best as he can; ignoring his grandfather’s calls, not leaving the house for a few weeks, and trying to get a hold on his life again.

All his efforts are in vain.

He still lives in the same apartment in Rosby he and Alys bought a few months ago, their photos and pictures hanging on the walls, the bed they used to sleep on together, their bathroom, their kitchen — everything feels like an old movie reel, a twilight zone he doesn’t know if he likes to leave or embrace and drown in it.

Aemond has been keeping contact with his siblings throughout the past week, refusing their help to come and live with him for a while, saying he wanted some time alone to figure out what he wished to do from then on.

The media is filled with pictures of him standing outside the garden catching the car speeding away — how the paparazzi get there? No one knows but the fingers are pointed at his half-sister and uncle. The pictures are all over the news and the internet, mainly using his Targaryen name to drag him into the dirt.

He plops down on the couch, unlocking his phone only to be greeted with thousands of texts from his Mum and Daeron, begging him to come home and stay the summer with them in Targaryen residency. It’s not an idea he hasn’t entertained before, in fact, he would like to go back home and take some time off for himself. So he texts Alicent and tells her he’ll move in with them for a while until he is better and ready to come back to this forsaken apartment.

He starts packing a few hours later, dirty clothes thrown into the washing machine while he sits on the floor with a huge suitcase ready to be filled. Suddenly his phone starts ringing, startling him greatly. He reaches for the phone on the bed, looking at the screen to see who’s calling him. You. Your name lights up his phone, making him smile a little, thinking probably the word has spread like wildfire.

“Hey,”

“Hey yourself, little nerd!” You say enthusiastically, “heard you wanna move back into your Mum’s place.”

“Hmm, yeah,” he sighs, securing the phone between his ear and shoulder as he talks to you, “a change would be nice, especially for the summer.”

“Then you’re in luck!” You reply, “Hel asked me to come and spend the summer at the mansion too!” he chuckles when he hears you groaning over who knows what before continuing, “Anyway, I’ll come to your place whenever you want so I can help you pack whatever you’d like to take there and then drive to King’s Landing.”

“Sounds great, I really appreciate the offer,” he agrees, grabbing the phone as soon as the washing machine stops, “I’d like it if you could take some time and come here tomorrow?”

“Of course, just send me the location, alright? The sooner we pack, the sooner we can have some of Aegon’s magnificent cocktails!”

“Urgh, that loser will be home too?” He feigns a groan, breaking character when he hears your snort.

“Stop being mean to him, he makes the best Sex on the Beach!” You both chuckle, knowing you are right, Aegon does make the best cocktails known to humankind, “We’ll have fun there, and I’ve missed Vhagar so much!”

“I missed her too,” Aemond says fondly, “thank you again for helping me out, I wouldn’t have reached out if you didn’t call me.”

“Oh I know, that’s why I called. You can always count on me! Anyway, I’ll come tomorrow and help you pack.”

“Alright, thank you, I’ll text you the address,” Aemond says, grabbing the basket to empty the wet clothes from the washing machine.

“See you tomorrow, Little nerd!”

“You should have told me you have a Chevy Camaro, I doubt we can fit anything in this little car!” you hug and greet him when he opens the door, “I brought my things too if it’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, sure, the sooner we pack, the sooner we can leave!” He replies, grabbing your suitcase’s handle, and leading you inside his apartment, “Don’t worry, my car has carried much larger things. This is nothing.”

“Whatever you say! Now— woah, you are packed already?” You look around the room, a few boxes neatly put on top of each other and labeled, one backpack and another half-filled suitcase on the floor.

“I just need some help with my clothes and whether I should…” he points at the framed photos on the walls, photos of him and Alys, “throw them out or send them to her with her belongings.”

“Well, I think you should give it some time before you do something you might regret,” you squeeze his shoulder lightly, “it seems we can go tonight, right? You don’t have many things left to pack.”

“Yeah, just a few clothes! You can get the snack while I put them in the suitcase—“

“No, no, lemme fold your clothes! You should start putting the boxes away, I’ll get everything ready,” you pat him on the chest, walking towards his bedroom to fold his clothes for him.

He nods silently and thanks you before he grabs the boxes and leaves the apartment. You both work quickly, taking a break and having tea together, you ask about how he’s holding up, and he dismisses your questions as best as he can, not really wishing to entertain the thoughts that’ll disturb him.

“Aemond, do you want to bring your books too?” You ask him, groaning as you drop the heavy box on his bed, “because I doubt we’ll have enough space to take all of these with us to King’s Landing.”

“Just those that are already tucked away!” He yells from the kitchen, finishing cooking for you, “We’ll finish it after dinner, c’mon.”

“Okay,” you sigh tiredly, not really expecting the packing to drag on for so long. After all, he said he only needed a few clothes, not half of his wardrobe with his expensive watches and sunglasses.

“I think we have packed enough for at least ten spontaneous parties Aegon will be throwing this summer,” you mutter, sitting behind the island in the kitchen.

“I doubt he’d let an occasion like my birthday let go so easily now that I’m back home,” Aemond shrugs, handing you a plate, “he mostly ignores the occasion but I’m sure he and Mum will do something, and make a huge deal out of it. That’s why I need to be prepared.”

“Well, it’s the first birthday in a while that I’m attending too so it better be something good!” You tease him, thanking him for the delicious meal.

“It will be, or at least Mum’s plans will be great. She has Daeron as her non-assigned assistant now that I’m gone and they make quite the duo. They always host the best gatherings together.”

“Alicent is a perfectionist, of course, she’ll be the best person to throw a birthday party for you,” you agree with him, “but you can’t deny that Aegon’s parties are always better! He’s reckless, and the drinks are the best.”

“Only the best for the oldest Targaryen son, right?” He sighs again, looking down at his plate, “Sorry, it slipped my tongue, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“It’s okay,” you reach and rub his forearm, “you’re dealing with lots of things now, I understand, we all do.”

“I hope I don’t ruin your summer with us with my stupid sappy attitude,” Aemond jokes — or at least tries to.

“Sappy or not, you are my best friend’s brother, and I watched you grow up! There is nothing you can do to make my time with you miserable,” you smile at him softly, finishing your plate before you both stand up to get ready and leave, “I’ll take care of the dishes, you go close your suitcase and we take whatever’s left to your car.”

Time passes quickly and you find yourself getting inside Aemond’s car later than you expected. He makes sure everything is packed and safe both in the apartment and in the trunk before he gets inside the passenger seat — he can’t drive at night because of his eyesight so you’ll drive to King’s Landing. It’s not a long ride fortunately; four hours by car and you’ll be there in no time.

Aemond, despite trying to keep up with the conversation, falls asleep halfway through the road, and you let him take a nap before you arrive there and get bombarded by questions left and right.

When you pull in front of the entrance gates, Cole is already waiting for you, ready to take your bags out and park the car even though someone else could be doing it.

“Hi, Cole,” Aemond greets him with a thick voice, rubbing his sleepy eye before he gives Criston a halfway hug, patting his back.

You shut down the engine, get out of the car, and greet Cole after you hand him the remote, following Aemond in the path leading to the entrance door with a few boxes in hand as you help him take a few of his belongings inside the house.

Alicent is already waiting in front of the door anxiously, slowly rubbing her throat and neck as she waits for Aemond to reach her before she brings him in a tight embrace, not minding the sharp points of the boxes digging in her sides — just having her son with her is enough to remedy all of her pain.

“My darling,” she tears up a little, caressing his hair and kissing his cheek, “I’m so happy you decided to come home, I missed you so much.” “I missed you too, Mother,” he pulls back a little to put the boxes down and hug her completely, resting his head on top of hers as she wraps her arms around him.

Everyone is interrupted when a series of barks echo in the house, and in a second, a huge fluffy black Chow Chow jumps on Aemond, licking his face happily. Vhagar, oh, how he missed his old lady. He chuckles and scratches behind her ears, ignoring all the stares as he reunites with her.

“Babyyyyyyy!” Helaena squeals before she runs towards you to help you with Aemond’s things, kissing you and giving you a side hug, “Thank you for agreeing to come! I’m sure we’ll have lots of fun together.”

“Thank you for having me, lovey!”

“I’m so thankful you helped him, darling,” Alicent pulls away from the pair nearly lying on the floor while one of them is having his face licked, her hand caressing your back as she draws you in her arms as well, “Thank you for bringing home, I’m in debt to you—”

“Oh, no, it was nothing!” You look at her before giving Aemond and Vhagar a cheeky smile, “It was the least I could do, I’m glad I could help.”

“Come, come! You must be tired, your rooms are ready. Cole will take your bags,” she says, leading the way with Aemond who has his free arm wrapped around Daeron, and Vhagar jumps next to his feet while you and Helaena follow them.

“Aegon is asleep, you know him, he has big plans for this summer, especially now that Aemond can use some distraction,” she bumps her shoulder to yours, “meaning we’ll have the time of our lives!”

“Yeah,” you smile at her before looking ahead of you, catching Aemond turning around to give you a quick smile, “What a summer it’ll be.”

[libraford]

(I have permission to share this.)

Text- from Walking Distance Brewing Company

Happy Pride month! We are here another year to celebrate Pride with you! Thank you for your love and support through a difficult year of slander and harassment. Your support has not just kept us afloat but has made us thrive! Our inclusive community isn’t here just for Pride - we’re here all year. It's not always easy being inclusive in town. The library, community organizations, and yes, even Walking Distance have been targets. In this post, we're going to discuss the attacks against the library and against us. Last June, the library had a pride book display [1]. On July 3rd, (now ex) city councilmember Deb Groat wrote an email to the library at the request of the Union Faith Family Coalition [2]. In this email, she wrote: “I am deeply offended by explicitly sexual material on display in the children’s section of our library. Shame on you and your staff for pandering to any social agenda in displaying reading material to children.” [3] Later on in the email she wrote: “The library may well want to pass a levy in the future, or have input in a community TIF.” [3] On November 27, 2023 - Deb Groat was joined by city councilmember Mark Reams in voting for a TIF that would divert money away from the library for 30 years. Luckily, the extension did not pass. [4] According to Union County Faith Family Coalition’s founder, Mark Reams is a member. [2] Deb Groat and Mark Reams vote together to divert money from the library. Let’s move on to us. In June 2023, we had a drag show. On July 8th, Mark Reams’ wife, Leslie Reams posted on Facebook calling Walking Distance “Little Epstein Island” [5] joining in the same rhetoric spread by the Union County Faith Family Coalition, who nicknamed us, “Walking Distance Grooming Co.” Additionally, on April 15th, 2024 - while on-shift at her job, Leslie Reams called us a “den of depravity bar [that] preys on children,” and called our bartenders and customers, “pedophiles” and “drunks.” Let’s be clear. Leslie Reams, the members of the Union County Faith Family Coalition, and their followers have never called law enforcement (to our knowledge) - something we would expect and want to happen if pedophilia was happening. Law enforcement has never been called, we suspect that even they know that it’s not true. We have heard many rumors, as bad as, “Walking Distance is full of pedophiles” to more innocuous rumors that hurt our reputation. Our guess is that the same people who don’t believe we’re pedophiles, but want to demonize queerness, also know their audience and are able to tone it back to do the damage they can. We saw sales dips directly following Leslie Reams’ statements. We have heard city council members echoing similar rumors. Last summer, we had around 10 citations against the owner’s house and the business from the city and council - none of these citations asked us to remedy anything (except for the one about mowing…oops), and in fact there were instances when the local officials said that we were doing everything right, but they are only reaching out to us because they had so many calls. The year prior, Walking Distance and the owner's house had 0 citations. We’ll never know exactly how much business we lost due to the slander against us. We do know, we lost a lot. Similarly, we’ll never know exactly how much the support of our community has meant. We do know, it meant a whole lot. The support has kept us afloat, and with time, it's made us thrive. We know that we have survived to see another June. And we are ready to celebrate it, in the face of the hate. There would be no pride with no hate. Looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday for drag BINGO; Saturday for drag brunch; and also visit us on Saturday during Marysville Pride. We have more Pride events this week and month, keep your eyes peeled! And even if it's not a pride related event, we are always inclusive. Oh, and there's a city council meeting next Monday, June 10th at 7PM.

[/text]

Here's some photos of the extremely offensive library display:

They haven't given a call to action yet.

So anyways, that's what's happening in a nearby town. Marysville's pride event is this weekend and if you'd like to show up for local queers its going to be a very fun time.

I'm thinking of grabbing some of my local gays and giving them our patronage, of course. Its somewhat unrealistic to ask strangers on the internet to do take a hike all the way to Ohio for drag bingo.

So I think I would just like to call attention to it- if this is happening in our area, its probably happening in yours too. If you were thinking of attending a drag show but were on the fence about it, I think you should. They're a fun time.

Being involved in the queer community can be as simple as attending a drag show. Or going to a silly queer-focused event. Or supporting a queer-owned business. Every little bit of support for your queer community counts!

[mclennonlgbt]

Paris in John and Paul’s life

30th September 1961:

“John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It’s ironic, he was always very ‘fuck you!’ and he wrote the song ‘Working Class Hero’ – in fact, he wasn’t at all working class. Anyway, one of John’s relatives gave him £100 for his birthday. A hundred smackers in your hand! That was a real windfall. None of us could believe it. To this day if you gave me £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? ‘Let’s go on holiday.’ – ‘You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I’m part of this windfall.’” - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“We planned to hitchhike to Spain. I had done a spot of hitchhiking with George and we knew you had to have a gimmick; we had been turned down so often and we’d seen that guys that had a gimmick (like a Union Jack round them) had always got the lifts. So I said to John, ‘Let’s get a couple of bowler hats.’ It was showbiz creeping in. We still had our leather jackets and drainpipes – we were too proud of them not to wear them, in case we met a girl; and if we did meet a girl, off would come the bowlers. But for lifts we would put the bowlers on. Two guys in bowler hats – a lorry would stop! Sense of Humour. This, and the train, is how we got to Paris." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just canceled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious, because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.”  - John Lennon, 1976, an interview with Elliot Mintz

“Last night I heard that John and Paul have gone to Paris to play together – in other words, the band has broken up! It sounds mad to me, I don’t believe it…” - Stuart Sutcliffe, Anthology

"They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from the Beatles and going off to Spain. En route, they’d stop a day or two in Paris, to size up the Brigittes, check out the kind of clothes Jurgen Vollmer wore, and perhaps see Jurgen himself, if he was around. [Johnny] Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday 30 September. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station with them and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent, and so close.” - Mark Lewisohn, All These Years: Volume One

“We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

We would walk miles from our hotel; you do in Paris. We’d go to a place near the Avenue des Anglais and we’d sit in the bars, looking good. I still have some classic photos from there. Linda loves one where I am sitting in a gendarme’s mac as a cape and John has got his glasses on askew and his trousers down revealing a bit of Y-front. The photographs are so beautiful, we’re really hamming it up. We’re looking at the camera like, ‘Hey, we are artsy guys, in a café: this is us in Paris,’ and we felt like that.

We went up to Montmartre because of all the artists, and the Folies Bergères, and we saw guys walking around in short leather jackets and very wide pantaloons. Talk about fashion! This was going to kill them when we got back. This was totally happening. They were tight to the knee and then they flared out; they must have been about fifty inches around the bottom and our drainpipe trousers were something like fifteen or sixteen inches. We saw these trousers and said, ‘Excusez-moi, Monsieur, où did you get them?’ It was a cheap little rack down the street so we bought a pair each, went back to the hotel, put them on, went out on the street – and we couldn’t handle it: ‘Do your feet feel like they are flapping? Feel more comfortable in me drainies, don’t you?’ So it was back to the hotel at a run, needle and cotton out and we took them in to a nice sixteen with which we were quite happy. And then we met Jürgen Vollmer on the street. He was still taking pictures." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“Jürgen had a flattened-down hairstyle with a fringe in the front, which we rather took to. We went over to his place and there and then he cut – hacked would be a better word – our hair into the same style.” - John Lennon, 1963

Interviewer: I heard you took a trip to Spain before once, didn’t you? On Holiday? Paul: I didn’t go to Spain, no. I tried once to make Spain but… and John and I were gonna hitchhike. We hitchhiked down from Liverpool… We didn’t hitchhike. No, we got the train down from Liverpool ‘cause we thought we won’t hitchhike down the first bit. And we got the boat over to Paris. Then we got the train into Paris ‘cause we thought: “Well, it’ll be too hard to get a hitch here”. And we just stayed in Paris all week. And eventually… I mean, all the time trying to get out of Paris and make Spain! We never made it, we just flew home at the end. What a lazy hitchhiking Holiday!

“The thing was all the kissing and holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic just to be there and see them even though I was 21 and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing. And they weren’t not mauling at each other, they were just kissing.” - John Lennon

"John’s 21st birthday was a month away, and he knew he was getting money — 100 pounds cash, more than he or Paul had ever seen in their lives. (…) Bob Wooler was party to their planning, and fought with them:

They were bored, and decided they would go away for a month. I thought this was disastrous because they would be away from the scene too long and lose their fans, Fans were very capricious: they moved from one group to another. And anyway, what about the other two members, George Harrison and Pete Best?. What about them, what do they do? We argued a lot about this — we argued in the back room of the grapes pub to a large extent —- and they said ‘Well, we’ll go away for a fortnight only’

(…) Equally, the promoters who paid the Beatles over-the-odds to present them every week had to “lump it” (….). To a man, and woman, they were incensed by it - but John and Paul hadn’t a care. They didn’t mean to be rude about it but basically it was tough shit.

it was tough too on Dot and Cyn, Dot simply had to accept the situation, but Cyn had a greater case of grievance. John was heading off without her when he could so easily gave waited for the art school holidays. (…).

That John was taking Paul, no one else, accentuates the renewed closeness since Stu quit The Beatles. They were the Beatles force, an unstoppable and authentically powerful pair. “Lennon had the attitude”, Wooler said, “and taking his lead from Lennon, McCartney could be similar. At times they reminded me of those well-to-do Chicago lads Leopold and Loeb, who killed someone because they felt superior to him. Lennon and McCartney were superior human beings”

"You’d always see them together, in the pub or walking along the street", says Johnny Gustafson of the Big Tree. "They were a duo, and seemed each other’s equal". Bernie Boyle, the young lad hanging around with them at every opportunity, says, "They were like brothers, with John as the elder and Paul’s mentor. They were so tight it was like there was a telepathy between them: on stage, they’d look at each other and know instinctively what the other was thinking"

They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from The Beatles and gofin off to Spain. 

Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday, September 30. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent and so close. - Mark Lewisohn, Tune In: The Beatles: All These Years (2013)

As was written in this post: That last picture is one Paul took of John sleeping in Paris. From what I remember of a performance he did of ‘Here Today’, and earlier comments, this picture hangs framed on a wall in Paul’s house.

Unconfirmed quote (may or may not be true): 

"He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted.”  - Paul McCartney

In January 1964, only a few scant weeks before the Beatles took America by storm, the band mates settled in for an extended stay in Paris. For the group, the Parisian visit proved to be a magical experience, with the Beatles playing 18 shows at the Olympia Theatre between Jan. 16 and Feb. 4 (source).

The Beatles were staying at the George V Hotel at the time. John and Paul composed "Can't Buy Me Love", "I Should Have Known Better" and "If I Fell" on the piano.

The photo Paul took of John (in the "Eyes Of The Storm" book):

1966: Paul, his girlfriend Maggie McGivern, John and Brian Epstein spend 5 days in Paris. "All of them flew into France separately — Lennon had been filming abroad and Epstein had been away on business. Maggie and Paul, she says, traveled apart ‘as part of keeping the relationship secret’. During the five-day trip the foursome stayed at the same Paris hotel where she and Paul shared a luxury suite. ‘It was a marvelous holiday,’ she says. ‘. . . just walking around the streets of Paris.‘My abiding memory is of me, John and Paul lying under the Eiffel Tower, gazing up at it. We couldn’t go up because we would have been recognised, and we were masters at the art of avoiding people." [x]

1969:

Hoping to get married in France, John Lennon and Yoko Ono flew to Paris on this day [16th March].

The couple had decided to marry on 14 March 1969, two days after the wedding of Paul McCartney to Linda Eastman; whether it was in response to this event on some level is open to conjecture.

On McCartney’s wedding day Lennon and Ono were travelling to Poole in Dorset, where he introduced her to his Aunt Mimi. During the journey he asked his chauffeur Les Anthony to go to Southampton to enquire about the possibility of the wedding being held at sea, on the cross-channel ferry to France.

(source)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible” - Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life (2008)

"We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required." - John Lennon

1974:

“After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.””

— May Pang, Loving John (1983)

1978:

Wings album "London Town" is released. It includes the song "Cafe on the Left Bank", the lyrics of which clearly refer to John and Paul's trip to Paris.

Late 1970s (maybe 1978?): John is singing to Paul about Paris in a home recording. Longer version

1970s: John writes "Skywriting by Word of Mouth", a book that would be released in 1986. One story is about sex he had with a woman in Paris. Here it is. As anon noticed here: "...the woman is called Amie L'Nitrate and Amyl Nitrate is a reference to poppers. He talks about grabbing her 'pomme de frites.' Her potatoes? He uses the term 'tread lightly on some loafers' which is an old euphenism for being gay. Amie says they should have sex to God Only Knows. Then John says their relationship ended in a seething rage but he still thinks of 'her.'" @sgtsaltsband concluded in the same post: "so he writes a story about PARIS ( where he and paul went on a trip for his 21st bday and never stopped talking about it ) , in the HOTEL where the Beatles stayed later on [Hotel V in 1964] , names the girl after POPPERS ( a drug commonly used by gay men during sex ) , the girl wants to have sex to PAULS fave song and he uses this PHRASE." Also: this is an excerpt of the story:

"Boogie" is a slang word for sex or dance (also, "Born to Boogie" is a 1972 movie starring Marc Bolan, Elton John and Ringo Starr). "Band on the Run" is a Paul McCartney and Wings' album which John loved. "Sue you sue me" can be a reference to to the Beatles' legal and business disputes and the fact that Paul sued John, George and Ringo in December 1970, and to "Sue Me, Sue You Blues", a song by George.

(thank you @menlove for uploading the story and pointing out interesting words!)

1994 - Paul inducting John to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

“And then on your 21st birthday you got £100 off one of your rich relatives up in Edinburgh, so we decided we’d go to Spain. So we hitch-hiked out of Liverpool. And we got as far as Paris, and decided to stop there for a week. And eventually got our haircut, by a fellow named Jürgen, and that ended up being the ‘Beatle haircut’.”

I also remember watching an interview with Paul about his album "Memory Almost Full" (2007). Thank you for adding, @ringompreg!

(it's like 7 minutes in) Interviewer: There is a very beautiful song called "The End Of The End", the way you talk about your whole ending, and the lyric goes: "It's a start of a journey to a much better place." You mean, better than England? Paul: It's basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that's what it is. It's a much better place, Paris.

Also worth mentoning:

"All You Need Is Love" begins with La Marseillaise.

"Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)" contains French-language speech by BBC broadcaster Pierre Le Sève.

Bonus

[darlingshane]

Something Crazy

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: On Natalie's wedding day, life takes an unexpected turn when you learn that your former crush, Michael, might be interested in you.

Content/Warnings: 18+, Explicit, Smut, P in V, Vanilla, Alcohol, Eating, Fluff, Crack, Pet Names, Kissing, Dancing.

Word Count: 4,6k

— You can read below or at AO3.

Today is the big day for your best friend Natalie. She's marrying her long-time boyfriend, Pete, and you've come back to Chicago for only two days to celebrate this lifetime milestone with them.

They've picked a perfect Saturday in the middle of spring to celebrate their union. Flowers are in full bloom, gardens are lush green, wind has calmed, welcoming a balmy weather to allow having a wedding ceremony outdoors.

Bright Sun rays slip like gold ribbons through the sheer fabric of the curtains as you carefully hang Natalie's gown and remove the garment bag. It's a simple but stunning empire dress, strapless, with lace and pearls adorning the corset. Though you've never fantasized about your own wedding before, as your hand slides softly along the skirt, you can't help but imagine yourself as a giddy bride, wearing that same dress.

Tying the knot is not on top of your list right now. Settling with someone? That's more likely to happen. But there's nothing like being chosen as the maid of honor, especially if you're single, to find yourself trapped in that Disney daydream of getting to meet your prince charming and live happily ever after. Hopefully, that unwelcome, sudden longing will vanish after a few drinks at the reception. Until then, your top priority is making sure your best friend's special day is as magical as she planned.

You're in the designated dressing room of the hotel with the rest of the bride's party laughing, sipping rosé, telling stories while the beautician works against the clock, getting all four of you primped and ready.

While you help Natalie get into her dress, Gigi comes back with a tray of pastries to soak the alcohol before anyone gets too drunk.

“You guys gotta see Mikey. He's so fucking hot I could die. I've never seen him all dressed up and clean like that,” she announces loudly, going around the room like a whirling handing croissants and muffins. “I swear to god his pants are so tight, it’s like looking into an x-ray photograph… you can see everything. And I mean everything,” Gigi stares at you, raising an eyebrow, while you stuff part of a croissant into your mouth.

“Ew, that's my brother,” Natalie frowns in disgust.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you say after swallowing part of your pastry.

“She's looking at you like that because, as we all recall, it was you who had a crush on him for the longest time,” the bride sharply indicates.

“She's got a point, babe.”

“I was like fifteen,” your tone pitches a little higher, as if you were still that age. “Why do you always have to bring that up?”

“Cause let's be honest, you were hung up on him for way longer than you said, and your face still lights up every time you see him. Why can't you just admit you're still love-struck?”

You open your mouth to counter her accusation, but words refuse to come out. You can't even lie for dear life cause admittedly, as fucking annoying as they are, they're also right. Michael was one of those crushes that was hard to shake off. Your friends quickly jumped from one infatuation to another, but you pinned for Sugar's cooler, slightly older brother for longer than you should have. And that's probably the reason every time all your friends get together, they use that embarrassing piece of information to tease you. Even if you ever wanted to forget, they'll never let you.

The last time you saw Michael in person was a few weeks ago for only a few minutes when you came to help Natalie with the last details of the wedding and barely exchanged a couple of words. You moved to Detroit for work three years ago, and the few times you've come back here, you haven't crossed paths with him that often. The soon-to-be married couple also forgo the rehearsal dinner altogether to save money, so you didn't get a chance to see him before the ceremony.

“All I'm saying is if you wanna take a stab at that, this is the perfect time. He's single, he has great hair, he's wearing a dope suit, and did I mention hot?” Gigi keeps cajoling. “Hell, I'll hit that, If you don't. So better act fast.”

“He always had great hair,” Samira agrees, downing the rest of her wine.

“And he asked about you the other day when I showed him the pics of our trip,” Sugar adds.

“Oh,” you try not to sound too pleased, cause you doubt he ever paid any attention to you. Why would he start now?

“Yeah, he was definitely checking you out, and loved that video of you at the karaoke bar,” Samira chimes in as she pours another glass.

“Okay, you're making that up. No more wine for you, missy,” you promptly snatch the bottle from your friend and put it away while they all laugh. “Wait… he saw the video of me singing?”

“Uh-hm.”

You file that information for later and once you are all dressed up, you hand Natalie a stunning bouquet of roses before leaving the room.

“Thanks,” she grabs your arm for a second as Gigi and Samira head out. “Sorry for making fun of you… again. You know we love you and that we just want the best for you.”

“I know,” you mumble timidly.

“Sweetie, you don't need my permission, but if you wanted to ask Michael out, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. He'd be lucky to have someone like you.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because… You've always been like a sister to me, and part of me wanted him to see how amazing you are, so I kept telling him about you. I showed him photos and videos, hoping that he would. And he did! He really loved that one of you vibing to TLC. Thought you were funny.”

“You told him, didn't you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“I'd stab you if you weren't about to get married,” your serious tone makes her snort.

“Look, you’re not dating anyone. He’s not dating anyone… I could ask him if he's interested before Gigi swipes him up.”

“Nat,” you sigh into a heavy pause, looking into her clear blue eyes. “We’re not in school anymore, you don’t have to play matchmaker. And it's your day! The last thing on my mind is hooking up with someone. Let alone your brother. So drop it.”

“Just saying. It could really be a wedding present for me if you two were to…” you scowl at her, which makes her leave that thought unfinished.

“Okay, that's gross, let’s get you married, so I can kill you right after.”

“Alright, alright. I promise I won’t mention it again.”

In your lavender dress and matching heels, you wait for your cue as the wedding starts. The quartet starts playing. Once the officiant and the groom are in position, groomsmen, and bridesmaids walk down the aisle in pairs. You line up with the bridesmaids by the floral arch on the side of the bride in the lush garden and watch as Natalie walks down the aisle, escorted by both brothers, Carmen and Michael.

She looks radiant, but your stare darts slightly to your former crush. He’s dressed in a dark suit and royal blue shirt, no tie. His fluffy hair pushed back, shining under the sun like black licorice. His features are sharply defined as usual, but there's definitely a certain glow around him that makes him look more handsome than you remember.

Credit where credit's due, Gigi was right. They all were. He still manages to stir those intense feelings and butterflies in your stomach that you thought gone when your eyes meet for a split second as they get closer to the altar. There's also a glimpse of a smile in his lips, directed at you. Or so it looks like. Maybe you're making it up in the chaotic mess that is your mind.

Carmy and Michael kiss either side of Natalie's face when they reach the altar, and then they take their seats on the first row as she stands face to face with Pete.

The quartet stops playing, the officiant starts speaking, and you aim your focus to the ceremony.

Once Natalie and Pete are pronounced husband and wife, there's a time dedicated to take a few pictures of the wedding party in that very same garden before losing the natural light.

Despite promising she was going to let it go, your now-married friend insists on making sure you and Michael end up in several pictures together.

“Mmm… Marcus, is it?” you shake hands with him, pretending to have forgotten his name.

“Michael,” his grip is firm around your hand.

“Oh, sorry, Mario. I have a terrible memory.”

“Don't be cute. I know you remember,” he scoffs, amused, linking one arm around your waist per the photographer's instructions.

You swallow, nervously placing your hand on his firm back, trying to keep your cool. As the photographer takes a series of snapshots, Michael starts humming a familiar song. No scrubs. The one you sang in that famous video your friends filmed.

You press your lips together, and pretend you're not hearing it. It seems like they've all been scheming together against you, or in your favor. You're not sure. You know Sugar wouldn't do anything to make you uncomfortable, but this is getting ridiculous.

“Save me a dance later, would you?” he requests with a wink once the photoshoot session is over.

“I can't, Mitchell. I've already promised that to one of the groomsmen,” lie.

“You're gonna keep that bit the rest of the day?”

You shrug your shoulders, “it's not up to me, Marley.”

“Alright, come find me when you grow up.”

He presses his lips in a tight smile and walks away, leaving you dwelling in that awkwardness that washes over you, and wondering if he's messing with you or if he's suddenly into you. Those are good questions that you can't leave unanswered. If there's a chance that Michael Berzatto likes you, and that's a big IF, you really need to find out. The ball is in your court now. The question is… Do you want to throw it back?

The party moves to the banquet room in the hotel. There's plenty of food, drinks, music, and people in the room, but none of it can't distract you from the presence of Michael. This isn't how you expected to spend the day of your friend's wedding. And it's really going to bother you if you don't at least try to have a nice conversation with him. This is probably your last chance, so right after your heartfelt toast, you wipe your tears, throw back some liquid courage to walk up to his table.

He's nursing a glass of scotch, watching people on the dance floor, when you quietly take the empty chair besides him.

“No Richie today?” you break the ice.

“Oh, you remember his name but not mine?”

“Get over yourself, Michael. You know, I always got a little awkward when I was nervous. And unfortunately, it still happens.”

“Think you're doing pretty good right now.”

“Had a little help,” you tilt your glass in his direction.

“Well, I'm glad you decided to join me,” he nods and points at the bar where Richie is conversing animatedly with your friend Gigi. “I had to convince Sugar to invite him. Hope he behaves for my sake.”

“Oh no, you're a dead man. Nothing good is gonna come out of that.”

“How so?”

“They're both insane, divorced and desperate. That's a dangerous cocktail nobody wants to drink,” you point out.

“Yeah, you're right. I guess I didn't really think it through.”

“You're screwed, Berzatto,” you take a sip of your glass and turn your eyes from the bar to Michael. “You know I was just joshing earlier, right? It surprised me that you were so… Direct.”

“Men aren't usually direct with you?”

“No, I guess I haven’t been very lucky in that department… Or maybe I’m just a bitch with unreachable standards that scares away any potential suitors.”

“That would explain a lot.”

“Gee, thanks!”

“I’m kidding. I’m sure your standards are reasonable. And I don’t think you’re a bitch if that helps.”

“Yet you’re wondering why I came here alone?”

“Not really. I didn't bring a date, either.”

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“I dunno. Maybe I have really high standards, too,” he winks casually at you, knocking you out of your game.

You should have come prepared for this, but you never thought in a million years that Michael Berzatto would ever show any interest in you.

Still trying to figure out if you're picking up the right signals from him, you prop your elbows on the table and let out a sigh as he presses the rim of his glass to his mouth to take a swig.

You bite your lip and watch the guests swaying animatedly on the dance floor.

“So. Do you wanna dance?” he softly taps one of your arms.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Did your sister put you up to this?”

“Why would she?”

“Don't play dumb. I used to have the biggest crush on you, and if you didn't notice, I'm sure your Sugar has told you.”

His lips draw a lopsided smile. “She might have mentioned something a while ago, but she didn't put me up to this, I swear. This is all me. I only asked you for a dance. I didn't ask you to marry me.”

“I suppose a dance wouldn’t be that bad.”

“I'll take that,” he throws back the rest of his drink in one gulp, stands up, offering his hand up to you, “shall we?”

You were hoping to have some more time to prepare, but his sharp conviction is something you can’t reject. That’s part of Michael Berzatto’s appeal. He’s always been such a bold and outgoing guy, it's daunting. It’s good to see that hasn’t changed at all. The only thing that’s different is that now he’s wasting his charms on you.

With some apprehension, you follow his steps into the dance floor. There’s a mid-tempo song playing that you don’t recognize that makes you forget altogether how to move your body. So you just stand there, three feet away from him, like a deer caught in headlights, bobbing your head, avoiding his eyes.

Michael stares at you, slightly entertained by how uncomfortable you look right now, and throws you a lifeline by stepping closer, picking up your hands and placing them on his shoulders.

“What are you so afraid of, sweetheart?” he asks, planting his palms on your waist, guiding you slowly to move with him.

“I'm afraid that I'm not a very good dancer.”

“I doubt that.”

“Wait till I step on you,” you subconsciously look down at your feet.

“Follow my lead. You'll be fine.”

“Okay, Johnny Castle, but don't make me mambo, salsa, waltz… Or anything that requires taking my feet off the ground.”

“Who the hell is Johnny Castle?”

“Patrick Swayze? Dirty Dancing?” you question, as if it was the most outrageous thing that he hadn’t heard about that film.

“I’m more of a Road House kinda guy.” Of course, he is. “Was that another crush of yours?”

“Oh, big time!”

“Ok, got it, nothing fancy, we're just swaying. See?” His hands guide your body to move side to side, but it's impossible not to feel a little clumsy in your steps.

“Hey, what do you think of Pete?” He asks, using his head to point at the newly-weds.

“Uhh,” you glance to the side to see Pete wrapping an arm around Natalie, “he can be a total douche sometimes, but he's always sweet to her. I guess that's what matters. Why? What do you think about him?”

“Words out of my mouth.”

“Michael?” You glance up to his deep dark eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Be honest, why did you want to dance with me?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

Your lips pull up on the sides as your head nods.

“Cause I wanted to dance with the prettiest girl I've ever met.”

If this is a dream, you don't wanna wake up to find out that this was just a concoction of your mind. It's not. It feels real. If you weren't holding onto him, you'd fall to your knees after hearing his words roll past his beautiful lips.

There are so many questions you wanna ask, but you can only sigh, and smile wider under the sweet glow of his brown eyes fixed on you.

“You really think that I’m that pretty or interesting?” your mouth opens after a pregnant pause, at the same time the song switches to something incredibly romantic.

“I've always thought that. It just took me a while to realize it.”

“God, you have the perfect answer to everything. That's really annoying.”

“I don't. I swear. You just caught me in a good mood.”

“I don't remember you ever being in a bad mood.”

“I have my moments. Trust me.”

He unexpectedly picks one of your hands from his shoulder, lifts it in the air to have you spinning ungracefully under his elbow before quickly wrapping his opposite arm around your waist to dip you. He grins at the shocked expression on your face for a second before bringing your body upright.

“Please, don't do that again,” you brace your hands to his chest right after.

“Why? That was perfect, sweetheart,” he laughs, “Johnny Castle would be proud.”

Your lips curl softly, letting your palms tentatively slide on his blazer until they're caught on the warm surface of his neck.

“Am I making you nervous?” he dares to ask, knowing pretty much that he's driving you crazy.

“A little,” a lot, actually.

He whispers, – sorry – as you run your fingers at the hair at his nape. You observe up close how he licks his lips, noticing his hands clutching harder to your waist. His head leans closer, and you draw a breath, preparing yourself for having his lips colliding against yours. It feels like the world stops spinning for a second and just about when he's about to kiss you something, someone in this case, crashes against your back making you lose your balance. Michael anchors you to the floor quickly before you can fall, as a slurred-drunk voice apologizes at your back.

“Fucking idiot,” Michael mutters and checks on you, “you okay, sweetheart?”

You're not. The spell is broken, and your dress suddenly feels cold and wet from the drink that was spilled along your hip.

You excuse yourself, and rush out of the dance floor, so you can clean yourself up.

There’s a big surprise in the nearest bathroom you find, and that is your friend Gigi making out with Richie with such passion, they don't even notice you opening and quickly closing the door.

The tiny glimpse that you caught of Richie propping your friend on the sink and sliding his hands under her skirt makes your jaw almost fall to the floor. You wish you could erase that from your memory immediately, but at least it has made you forget momentarily about your dress.

When you turn around, you’re faced with Michael again. You ran out so fast you didn’t notice him following behind.

“What’s wrong?”

“Richie and Gigi,” smacking your lips, you point with your thumb to the door with no further explanation.

“Wow, they didn’t waste any time.”

“That's the thing about weddings. They make people do crazy things.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael looks down for a beat, licks his lips, and steps closer.

He holds your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up. As he leans to capture your mouth, you flinch, “what are you doing?”

“Something crazy,” the corners of his mouth quirk up, making another move, and you jerk your face a second time in reflex. It’s not that you don't wanna kiss him, you absolutely do. You just need another moment to process it.

“Damn, girl. Can you just stay still, so I can kiss you already?” He demands without an ounce of entitlement. Just driven by the desire to taste your lips.

“Alright, okay… just give me a second,” you yield to his craving, letting him slowly guide you, so your back is pressed against the wall.

There’s no escape now, this is the moment you’ve dreamed with many moons ago that seemed like a pipe dream back then. All those thoughts vanish the moment his lips are pressed against yours firmly, before letting them bounce a couple of times together. His alcohol-tainted breath mixes with yours as his lips part wider. He captures your lower lip with a light suck, followed by the tip of his tongue shamelessly drawing the curve of your mouth. It's deliciously sexy and sweet and everything in between. You close your eyes and follow his lead, opening your mouth and letting him slot his lips against yours. His tongue invades past your teeth without resistance. It challenges you to kiss him back. It takes you a moment to respond, but soon enough, you're fully immersed in the depth of his mouth, taking the reins of the kiss.

You haven't been kissed like this in a while. Maybe ever.

When your mouths separate, you realize your hands are anchored to his back, and he's fully pressed against you. His lips are covered in your saliva and vice versa.

“I'm going to change my dress,” you sigh, giving him a little push, so you can put yourself together.

“Oh… Okay,” there's a hint of disappointment in his tone.

You clear your throat and harness an ounce of confidence to ask, “do you wanna come? I might need some help. The zipper is a little tricky in this thing.”

Right.

His expression turns on a dime, eyes wide open, white edge teeth showing behind his slightly parted lips. Speechless by the implication of your proposal, he cleans his lips on his palm before responding, “I… sure.”

Proud of yourself for taking a gamble and hitting the jackpot, you go back inside the banquet hall first to collect your purse from the table and then head up to the elevators with him following closely behind.

A palm lands at the small of your back while you press the button. The anticipation makes your stomach flutter wilder than ever. Who would have thought you'd be taking Michael to your room on this day? It feels surreal. Absolutely bananas.

You don't say a word during the elevator ride up to the fourth floor.

When you reach your door, you notice his palms framing your hips from behind. His touch makes your pulse tremble while using the key card. It takes you a couple of tries to open the door.

There's a strange force, an electricity buzzing, that grows more powerful the second you're inside.

You hit the light switch, drop your purse on the chair and turn to face him.

Following that unstoppable whim, you place your palms on his chest and push back his blazer. He shrugs it off as you move to undo the few buttons he's fastened. Your fingers tremor anxiously as you uncover his defined torso. You want to stick out your tongue and trace those two lines forming a V oh his abdomen that leads to the outline of his cock behind the tight fabric of his dress slacks. It’s too bold of a move for you right now, so you let your fingers do your bidding.

When your hands reach his belt, they proceed to unbuckle it under the lust-filled shadow of that flame of his gaze that could scorch the surface of the earth if he wanted to in a second.

He’s already half hard when you unzip his fly, and that's as far as he allows you to go. Michael's dying to touch you, to undress you and fuck you. He quickly turns you around, making you gasp, and finds the zipper of your dress. Your skin rises into goosebumps when he pulls the tab down. He nibbles at the crook of your neck, pushing the top of your dress down to your waist. You shimmy your legs out of it as his hands invite themselves to your skin.

His all hands and mouth around you as he removes your strapless bra and guides you to lay down on the bed.

The fire that lights up his eyes sears through yours as he slips out of his unbuttoned shirt. He then props a knee on the bed, hovering over you, and lowers his head to kiss your stomach. His tongue darts out and draws a circle around your navel. Your head falls back on the mattress, as he leaves a trail of wet kisses up your torso. He nibbles once more at your neck, increasing your arousal up to eleven.

“Michael, please,” you groan as he presses himself between your legs, grinding slowly behind layers of fabric, coaxing your juices to stain your underwear and growing himself a hard-rock erection that can barely be held by his boxers.

Lifting lifts his head, he props himself on his elbows, and surveys the tortured expression on your face as his hips keep relentlessly moving.

“Fuck, you're goddamn gorgeous, baby,” he exhales, proceeding to swiftly rid you off your panties, and pushing his pants and underwear down.

He drives his hardness inside you with great care, pushing inch after inch of that monumental erection that stretches your slicked walls. You close your eyes as he experiments with his thrusting, molding your opening to its generous size.

“Is this how you imagined this?” he pants against the corner of your mouth.

“No. This is better… Much, much better,” you purr, palming his ass, encouraging him to move faster.

If you had a free hand, you'd pinch yourself to check if this is really happening right now. It still blows your mind thinking that Michael Berzatto is deeply buried inside you, wanting you, claiming every cell of your body for his enjoyment. You gladly surrender to his desires as the cadence of his hips drive you into madness. As much as you try to contain your moans, he does everything in his hand to force every moan, curse, and breath to fly out past your teeth.

He slams into you with passion, bites your skin, grips your tits, devours your mouth, setting every inch ablaze. It’s as mind-blowing as it is fast, but he earns himself a good squeeze of your walls when he brings you to orgasm. He comes undone just merely a second after, releasing a wild grunt that ripples all over your skin, and pouring all his warm seed into the depths of your pussy, having his hips jerking erratically until he’s spilled every drop.

His cum sticks to your walls as he rolls to the side of the mattress with a grunt. Your head is spinning out of its usual axis, overtaken by that powerful boost of endorphins, and your lungs struggle for a deep breath.

For a long minute, you both stare at the ceiling while you regain your breath.

When he composes himself, he turns to the side to look at you, sweetly letting one of his fingers brush your cheek, “do you wanna do this again tomorrow?”

“Can't. I'm leaving, remember?”

“Right.”

“But you can stay the night if you want. And repeat later. And maybe one more time even later. Would you like that?”

“I'd love to, sweetheart.”

[moocowmoocow]

For the prompt ask - Margo takes Sergei to a basketball game as a “non-date” date. It can be NBA, WNBA, Harlem Globetrotters or college. 🏀🏀🏀

They had been friendly, professional since Sergei had started working at NASA after his defection. She had needed time to wrap her head around the fact that he was here and he was safe and he worked for her. And he had graciously given her the space to work her way through their new reality while keeping humans alive on another planet.

She knocked on the door to his office one Saturday morning. He was bent over the schematics for the next generation of engines to make the trip to Mars easier and less time consuming. When he saw her, he smiled.

“Aleida called me in a panic. Graciana is sick and Victor is currently stranded in a snowstorm in Chicago and Javi has a basketball game this afternoon. She can’t find anyone to take him, so she called me.” She shrugged and looked down. “I can’t promise fourth grade basketball will be exciting, but would you like to come with me?”

She was just asking him because she needed someone to keep her company. His face lit up. “Of course.”

“Like I said, I can’t promise anything, other than ice cream after the game.”

“I like ice cream. Very much.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Meet me in my office around one.”

They picked Javi up for the game. He was excited. He was regularly the first or second off the bench and the coach praised his improving defense. “I’m so glad you’re going to watch, Tía Margo!”

She didn’t know what she ever did to make this kid like her. But she liked that he did.

“Who did you bring along with you? Is he going to watch too?”

“This is my friend, Sergei.”

“Are you dating?”

She felt herself turning red. “No.”

“Oh. It’s just that Juan’s tía is dating someone his entire family hates. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Sergei chuckled. “I do not want that to happen either.”

“You have an accent. Where are you from?”

“The Soviet Union.”

Javi’s eyes grew big. “Wow.”

Thoughts about the globe flew out of Javi’s head as Margo pulled into the parking lot and he saw several of his teammates. They followed him into the middle school gymnasium and he disappeared into the locker room.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” she said. “It’ll probably be a bag of 50 cent popcorn and a can of coke that we’ll have to sneak into the gym.”

“I wondered why you had such a large purse.”

She smiled and allowed him to put his hand on the small of her back as they climbed the bleachers with their contraband. They both knew the basics of the game - you put the ball in the basket. It turned out they did not need to know much more for the game at the fourth grade level. They clapped and cheered for Javi whenever he made a basket. She never wanted Javi to have to question whether adults in his life loved him and if that meant making noise at a basketball game, then she would do it.

Javi’s team ended up losing the game by ten. He was upset until Margo announced that they were going to get ice cream. After they finished their cones, he insisted that they get some for Graciana and Aleida. When they dropped him back home, Margo wondered if she had really done Aleida a favor returning an excited child filled with ice cream.

As they pulled away from Aleida’s, Margo thanked Sergei for coming.

“It was fun.”

“Really?”

“It was a side of you I’d never seen. I quite enjoyed it.”

She was silent for awhile. “We should do it again. Sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

[allthecanadianpolitics]

More than 300 tenants at two apartment buildings in Toronto have been withholding their rental payments for weeks, claiming their landlord is failing to abide by rent control regulations.

On Saturday morning, roughly 100 tenants and union representatives rallied in front of 33 King Street in York-South Weston to bring awareness to the strike. The tenants marched from the buildings to the offices of both Local MPP, Michael Ford's office and Federal Housing Minister, Ahmed Husen's office.

"I [moved] into my bachelor at $500, it's now almost $1,000," Elizabeth Thompson, a tenant who is retired living on a pension, told CTV News Toronto.

"I'm making ends meet, that's all I can say, at the end of the month is the next month, and the next month,” Thompson said. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[choicesbookclub]

Welcome to the Guinevere Book Club!

This Book Club is open to anyone and everyone! You can participate as much or as little as you want.

Our playthrough of Guinevere will take place on Saturdays with posts going up around noon EST. While posts go up on Saturdays, late entries are more than welcome so you can play whenever is convenient for you.

Meet our Guinevere MCs:

If you have a profile page for your MC, feel free to send it to me so I can add it to our directory.

Reading Schedule:

Saturdays beginning July 13

We will play two chapters a week

Each week, I'll try to include questions, polls, or prompts to inspire some discussion. Feel free to send suggestions if you have something you want to see!

Weekly Prompts:

links will be added when the prompts are posted

Getting Started

July 13

Chapter One: The Woman Who Would Be Queen

Chapter Two: The Crown and the Sword

July 20

Chapter Three: A Snake in the Walls

Chapter Four: Tangled Threads

July 27

Chapter Five: By Sword and Lance

Chapter Six: Festival of the Round

August 3

Chapter Seven: The Hunt

Chapter Eight: An Elusive Truth

August 10

Chapter Nine: A Knight's Oath

Chapter Ten: The Joyous Gard

August 17

Chapter Eleven: Things Yet to Come

Chapter Twelve: Lady in Waiting

August 24

Chapter Thirteen: Bound

Chapter Fourteen: Camelot's Fall

August 31

Chapter Fifteen: A Kingdom Asunder

Chapter Sixteen: Threads of Fate

September 7 1

Chapter Seventeen: Bounds of Union

[Learn more out Choices Book Clubs and how to participate here]

[coochiequeens]

Considering that women critical of self id in women’s sports are threatened and harassed Yes we do need more men to stand up do this. TRAs know the difference between men and women when it comes to who they can intimidate.

A male powerlifting coach self-identified into the women’s category and broke the Alberta women’s bench press record in an apparent effort to protest gender self-identification policies in sport.

Avi Silverberg, a powerlifting coach who has worked with Team Canada, self-identified as a woman last week to participate in the women’s category at the Heroes Classic Powerlifting Meet held in Lethbridge, Alberta. Silverberg was attempting to highlight the unfair advantage males have when competing in women’s athletics. In participating in the Saturday event, Silverberg unofficially broke the Alberta women’s bench press record for the 84+ kilograms category.

The Canadian Powerlifting Union (CPU) announced a gender self-identification policy earlier this year, explicitly allowing any males to participate in women’s competitions on the basis of “gender” alone.

In February, the CPU’s “Trans Inclusion Policy,” was released, containing an explicit statement that the CPU supported allowing transgender powerlifters to participate in the sex category of their choosing based on a guidance from the Canadian Centre for Ethics in Sport (CCES).

“Based on this background and available evidence, the Expert Working Group felt that trans athletes should be able to participate in the gender with which they identify, regardless of whether or not they have undergone hormone therapy,” the document reads, deferring to the “inclusivity in sport” guidance from the CCES.

The official women’s bench press title holder in the 84+ kilograms category is Anne Andres, a trans-identified male. Andres was in the front row and witnessed Silverberg’s demonstration at the Heroes Classic Powerlifting Meet.

Andres is a biological male athlete who identifies as a “woman” and regularly participates in female weightlifting competitions. Andres has won eight out of nine competitions he has entered in the women’s category, and is listed as a female on the Open Powerlifting rankings site.

In February, just prior to the CPU’s announcement of a gender self-identification policy, Andres gained significant notoriety after sharing a video of himself appearing to mock female athletes, asking why female powerlifters were “so bad” at bench press.

In the video, Andres is seen sitting on a bench in a gym, leaning towards the camera in a casual manner and speaking directly into it. 

“We all know that I’m a tranny freak,” Andres jokes about himself before going on to state: “… I mean, standard bench in power lifting competition for women, I don’t understand why it’s so bad.”

Riley Gaines, a spokeswoman for the Independent Women’s forum and an accomplished All American swimmer, shared a clip from the viral video on her Twitter in February, captioning it: “Anne Andres (male who identifies and competes as a woman) doesn’t understand why female powerlifters are so ‘bad’ at bench press… well idk Anne, but maybe it’s because you have 20 times more testosterone than them. Just a thought…” 

ICONS Women, a campaign group dedicated to defending the rights of female athletes to single-sex sport, was first to post the clip of Silverberg at the Heroes Classic Powerlifting Meet on Monday, drawing attention to his act of defiance.

Speaking to Reduxx, ICONS Women noted that Silverberg’s demonstration provided insight into the end result of gender self-identification policies in sport.

“What Avi so obviously points out is that policies allowing men access to women’s sports completely remove any integrity in women’s competitions,” the organization said. 

“It doesn’t matter how Avi expresses himself or perceives himself. He clearly does not belong in women’s sport, and neither does any other male regardless of their motivation for wanting to participate.”

While some were confused by the display, others praised Silverberg’s ironic application of the CPU’s “Transgender Policy.”

“I can’t get enough of this guy, Avi for prime minister. It takes real balls to do this. I said this all along, any man can change their documents to say they are a woman then go in and take records. Finally someone did it for the women and proved policy is a disgrace,” one Twitter user wrote in response.

Many echoed the sentiment, calling for more male athletes to do the same.

Women’s athletic competitions have become a major issue in the debate on gender ideology and its impact on women.

The issue mounted in public attention after a trans-identified male swimmer, Lia Thomas, began breaking women’s records and winning medals intended for female athletes in 2021. Since then, there have been several instances of trans-identified male athletes taking the podium in women’s sporting events.

Amidst growing pushback, the World Athletics recently announced they would be prohibiting transgender athletes who have undergone “male puberty” from competing in women’s world ranking competitions. During a press conference last week, World Athletics President Sebastian Coe cited scientific consideration and fairness for female athletes, stating he and the organization “believe the integrity of female category in athletics is paramount.”

By Yuliah Alma

Yuliah is a junior researcher and journalist at Reduxx. She is a passionate advocate for women's rights and child safeguarding. Yuliah lives on the American east coast, and is an avid reader and book collector.

[canonicallysoulmates]

J2 Main Panel Charlotte 2023

I put this psa in the post for the Gold panel but I know some see one post and not the other so before we get into this panel quick psa that this con took place while the actor's union, SAG-AFTRA, is on strike. This means the boys cannot directly name any past, present, or future projects. For the sake of clarity I will be mentioning projects the boys are referring to by name but please be aware that the boys themselves did not do that they complied with strike regulations.

They had date nights! Jared said that they got to walk around a little bit on this day, as well as on Saturday and Friday they got some dinner ❤️

Jensen says he has some stories to share, and before the questions start he tells one of them; a few months ago D went to a charity auction thing in Austin, and she bid on a race car experience at the Circuit of the Americas track where he would get to ride shotgun in an actual racecar and get driven around the track a couple of times. As well as get to drive an exotic car himself around the track. She gave this to him as a gift, and at first he thought it sounded fun except when he asked her when it was she told him it was at 7am on a Saturday so he was not happy. He asked her if they (she and the kids) were gonna go and watch him and she replied no they were gonna sleep so he was like whatever, he got up super early, went to the track and he's looking around and the people at the track go over everything, they tell him to go downstairs to see who his driver will be and then he can meet them out on the track. He goes and looks at the chart and at first he thinks what he's reading is a joke but it wasn't his car was pink with a rainbow unicorn on the hood, and they name their cars, his was called sparkles glitter hooves which it had written on the side.

So he meets the nice lady who's gonna be driving him and he could tell she didn't want to be there that early either but she runs him through the whole thing, he gets in the car it was a big race car a McLaren, and they get to the track and take off do a few turns and they're not going that fast but he thinks maybe she's just warming up. They get to a section of track that's a straightway, it's over a mile long he thinks this is when she's gonna pick up speed, and she tried but the car was not accelerating like it's supposed to they got to about 50 mph and she tells him that something's wrong with the car and he's like "you think?" by that point they were already pretty far into the track so they have to limp back cause there's like engine failure. They roll in and she does offer to find him another driver but he says not to worry about it that it's okay thanks, gets in his car and goes home. Like an hour and a half later he gets a text saying his car was ready to get driven around and he deleted it, it was not a grand experience and he wishes he had just stayed in bed. Poor Jensen 🏎️

I do find it cute, however, that Jared says that if someone knows somebody who can take Jensen around the Charlotte motor speedway to leave them a card and show him some speed.

Question time!

Do they have a story about an embarrassing or ridiculous injury?

Jared says all of his injuries are ridiculous and embarrassing. For example he ripped his pants on camera for all to see once; also he pulls his back a lot and not doing really cool things like deadlifts or saving his children from a bus but by bending over and picking up a pair of socks in the morning. It literally happened one time when filming SPN (he says when working together on something in Canada) he got to work and said he pulled his back out that morning and Jensen asked him if it was from working out too early. And he told him no, that it was from grabbing some socks from his suitcase. And Jensen was like "grabbing some sock? were they lead socks?" and Jared replied like "no, they were regular socks they had some holes so they were lighter than usual." 😂 That and also tweaking his neck when drying his hair when it was luscious.

Jensen says he hurt his hand the other day while he was putting some stuff away in a hall closet. It's one of those closets that has double doors but the hinges are really tight so you have to shut them both together otherwise it won't close and as he was doing so he pushed on the seem and it pinched his palm and it was so hard that he yanked out his hand and left part of his palm in the door. And you can still see where his palm got pinched.

Related to that a few days ago he walked into his daughter's room and she heard him coming and was running away from the door but slipped and fell and when he opened the door she was on the ground and he asked her if she had fallen but she was like no but it was obvious that she had cause she was rubbing her elbow and her hip so he told her he thought she did and asked if she wanted him to hold her so he gave her a hug, flashforward to when this happened to his palm and he hears behind him "do you want me to hold you?"

He told her no and that he needed for her to go to mommy for some gauze and tape but they didn't have any then he remembered that when he had been going through a box of stuff he had seen a post-production s8 gift from Phil Sgriccia who would send them funny gifts and it was a little survival kit pouch so he figured it would have some bandages he could use till he could go to the store but it was salt, matches and a little thing of Holy Water.

Jared makes a dad joke about how this is why he leaves his doors slightly open so it's not longer a door it's a jar. That's actually pretty clever, that got a chuckle out of me. x

Keegan is there and Jensen asks him if he puts up with those jokes, he replies yes but that they're great....and that Jared's also his boss and he's the most amazing guy ever 😂

Keegan, asks a question, in the last year what have they done in their life that made it 10% better?

Jensen answers make the bed first thing in the morning. He didn't use to do that, he would maybe get around to it, sometimes he wouldn't go back to the bedroom until the afternoon and see it still unmade so now he gets up and makes the bed. Then I guess he remembers he's supposed to be married and he adds he has to kick his wife out of the bed first and then make the bed.

Jared quips that he's tried to get rid of some of his perfectionist inclines so one of the things he likes to do is not worry about whether or not his bed is made but seriously, he will not get on his phone when he's on his bed even if he wants to return a text message he won't do it on the bed, he will force himself to get out of it, and then reply. Jensen demonstrates what this would look like 😆

Jared says that truth be told he had the problem of if it was the middle of the night and he woke up and looked at his phone to check the time he would basically end up mindless scrolling, he would check the news, he would check ESPN, he would be more awake so he would go to youtube and then an hour would pass so if it's not important enough for him to leave the bed to do it then he just leaves his phone on the nightstand. x

If they were forced would they rather have the other's face for a butt or their butt for a face?

Jared saysJensen's butt grows better facial hair than his face and Jensen asks him how he would know that and Jared freezes and literally goes "do I answer that?" No need to Jared, we know 😏

So he goes for Jensen's butt for a face and says he could shave something to make it funny or like a heart. A heart, Jared? You want to have Jensen's ass as your face and shave a little heart on it?

Jensen answers Jared's face for a butt cause he could cover it up with a pair fo pants and Jared says they better be see-through pants otherwise he'd be wasting a damn fine ass. Without missing a beat, Jensen goes "Jared, I don't know if you know this I already have a damn fine ass." Jensen we have established Jared knows a lot about your damn fine ass. 😉

Next question is mostly for Jared but Jensen can feel free to answer: when picking a spatula what is his preference wood, metal, plastic or rubber, and why?

He says you gotta go wood because you can control the whip a little better. That when you're making an omelette sometimes it gets a little aggressive and flings a bit too much- at this point Jensen cuts in and asks him when he's ever made an omelette and Jared jokingly says on an online game from his phone.

Anywyas, Jensen says you don't do wood because you have to hand wash it, and you don't go metal either cause that'll scratch up your pan, you want a hard plastic they're dishwasher safe and not mess up your pan. x

What's their favorite inexpensive brand for whiskey or bourbon?

Jensen says Four Roses makes a pretty good inexpensive whiskey. Jared agrees and also mentions what I think is Diageo - I listened to the clip a bunch of times but it's difficult for me to understand what he says - which is actually a company that owns a large amount of the brands. Jared also says he used to prefer scotch to bourbon but now he prefers bourbon to scotch he thinks he likes a little bit of that sweetness these days.

Jared asks the fan which they like and the fan answers Jack Daniels. Jensen mentions that Jack Daniels is the only brand Robert Singer drinks. x

Any advice for senior year and life in general?

Jensen says he'll give senior year advice and Jared will give the life advice. Senior year advice do as much as you can, sign up for a different club, go play a different sport, try a different instrument whatever it is you're into do as much of it as possible because this is it. You're not gonna have High School again, part of the reason he's on that stage today is because he did just that, in his senior year he was playing baseball but he left the team early to do a play. If he had just stuck with what he had been doing the past couple of years he probably wouldn't have gotten on a stage and been "discovered" so try to do as much as you can and try to get as much as you can out of the year, you'll most likely be glad that you did.

Jared's life advice is similar, he says kinda do what Jensen said for the rest of your life. He remembers when he was a senior something was so scary about it because it was the finale of him knowing what to do with his life but the day after you graduate you wake up and you'll still be you and see there's something else for you to do so don't get overwhelmed by the seeming closure and finale of it just remember this is just a year in your life and if you're as fortunate as they were able to be where High School was four years of their 40-something year lives, you have your next 4 year growth cycle, your next 2 year growth cycle so this is just part of your life. Your life is not about to end it's about to begin. There's something strange and really scary but it should be scary if you feel some fear or trepidation about school being over that's okay but a year from now you're going to be in your next phase of your life. Somethings might look different especially if you follow as Jensen says and keep expanding your horizons, a lot of things will look the same but you'll still be you so keep your eyes on the future. x

If they were Earth embassadors to aliens what would they tell them, and what would they show them?

After joking around about face/butt, Jared says he thinks he would have more questions to ask than answers to give. He would probably try and communicate they mean them no harm, and he thinks he would show them a young child, be like we mean you no harm, and look how cool life can be- Jensen says here take this one, it's okay I got two more, and Jared says I have three that you can have 🤣

But no, he thinks becoming a parent is such a cool promise like seeing a baby or seeing a young child and thinking they have their whole life in front of them, they're gonna be going to their senior year, they're gonna fall in love, maybe they'll have kids of their own it's how wonderful life can be down here so please don't destroy us.

Jensen concurs that showing them the best part of humanity probably the smart way of doing things. x

If they could choose anywhere to live other than where they grew up, or where they live now where would it be?

Jared replies he has a soft spot for Italy. He loves Italy so if he were to choose somewhere international it would be there, if he was gonna choose somewhere in the states he really likes the mountains a lot. Someone in the crowd shouts Virginia and he says Virginia is awesome. Jensen asks if just mountains, and Jared replies yeah, and then gives as an example Sun Valley in Idaho where he got married, says G's family still lives there and they go visit. He says the older he becomes the less he can deal with the 100 degree hot weather in the city so somewhere cooler. He likes North Carolina too, they have a friend who lives in town and he has a place about 20 mins away from where the con is taking place and it's great no bugs, no sweat, beautiful. The crowd is shocked by the no bugs comment, and Jared says he didn't have any bugs do they have bugs and the crowd collectively says yes so he says he doesn't like Nort Carolina that much, he likes it less now 😂

Jensen doesn't know, he says he thinks he's pretty happy where he is.

Interesting answer coming from you at this period if time sir, where exactly is it that you're happy cause door was wide open to mention Connecticut and yet.....x

The next fan is from London and y'all know Jared had to do some accents, I laughed so hard with "Wales" accent 🤣🐳

Is there a book that they have recently re-read, or a book that they have connected to so much that they would want to re-read it?

Jared says his oldest son is entering the 6th grade so he is reading some more advanced books that Jared too would enjoy compared to the stuff from kindergarden or 1st grade. For example he just read Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief and this year in his curriculum is The Outsiders which Jared hasn't read since before getting to know and become friends with S. E. Hinton, and he actually reached out to her to say hey and told her his kid would be reading the Outsiders for school and she replied to let him know the school and she'd send over a signed copy. So he's excited to re-read that its been a while, he did not read Percy Jackson with his kid but he would discuss the book with him. And that's part of his summer homework to read the book and be able to tell not just what happens in the story but also what it parallels to and themes it explores, but he's really exited to read the Outsiders again.

Jensen says he's not much of a reader but D is an avid reader and a book he sees her pick up again and again is A Confederacy of Dunces. x

When will fans get to meet the two luckiest women in the world, their wives? 🙄

Jensen says the wives might disagree with the fan calling them the luckiest women. He says he thinks they would do a con but that he thinks they find it kind of like it's the boys thing and they don't want to encroach. Jared adds that furthermore and he's pretty sure Jensen feels the same, and he says it sometimes kind of like a joke but he also means it who's gonna watch the kids? That he and G do trips just themselves but they'll try as best as they can to have one of the parents around just be a tether for the kids as best they can. That it's just hard to know that far in advance for them to plan. Doing cons is something he and Jensen love doing and the wives can hold down the fort. x

I am more than happy about the wives not doing CE cons but these are such obvious lies. Both D and G have done cons with the boys before so they clearly don't think of doing cons as the boys thing, G was even a last minute guest at JIB. The whole "who's gonna watch the kids thing?" for starters sir we all know you got nannies and even if you didn't you can afford one but more than that that question and the whole wanting one parent to be around thing has not been an impediment in G attending non-CE cons with him. Including in Europe. But really the most hilarious part is Jared saying that it's hard for the wives to know that far in advance for them to plan when, two recent examples, FanX isn't till September yet G had already signed up for it in July and if you're thinking that's just two months in advance Infinity con in Germany is in May 2024 and she was announced as a guest earlier this month.

Instead of lying and coming up with cheap excuses these men need to grow a pair and admit they don't actually want the wives at CE cons.

Last question, what was their favorite video game growing up?

Jared says if the aliens came to Earth and said they were gonna mess humanity up unless one of the Earthlings can beat them in a video game he would be like okay and say Smash Brothers for Nintendo '64. Jensen says Golden Eye. Jensen also brings up the theory that Mario's cathphrase "It's me, Mario" is actually him saying itsumi in Japanese which means super so what he's saying is super Mario, and he does say he doesn't know if that's true or not it's something he saw online. It's not! It was something that made the rounds on tiktok but it's not legit, it's actually a form of a dad joke. Itsumi is not even a word in Japanese it's a surname.

What Jared says about Mario being named after Nintendo's landlord is partially true, they didn't do it because he let them live somewhere for free, they did it because the employees at the warehouse which is what he was renting to the company thought he resembled Mario so they nicknamed the character Mario and then the creator Miyamoto found out about it and he liked it so he decided to make it the official name. Real Mario's name was Mario Segale.

J2 Main Panel Charlotte

[newtonsheffield]

ok but imagine when they are back at oxford and anthony is out with simon and there’s this one girl who is new or something and she doesn’t know that he’s with kate and start flirting with him and everyone around her and anthony are like girl what are you doing?!😂

Simon and Anthony sitting in a pub in Oxford and a girl approaches him and Simon can't stop laughing because this girl is clearly trying her absolute most and Anthony hasn't even realised.

"So, I've got Kate's exhibition tennis match on Saturday and then I'm thinking I'm gonna surprise her, and we'll go down to London for the rest of the weekend." Anthony grinned, ruffling his hair. "So, No, I don't have time for a cheeky trip to whatever hell hole you've picked out."

Simon sighed, rolling his eyes as Anthony drained the last of his pint. "Who said it was a hell hole?"

Anthony raised his eyebrow, "You're right, you're right, I'm sure it's a premium establishment. I bet the Strippers there are in the union."

Simon gave him the finger, "There aren't any strippers."

"Sure there aren't." He chuckled, "I'm surprised I got you in here without the promise of strippers."

"Well, not all of us inexplicably have a beautiful girlfriend."

Anthony raised his eyebrows, "I'd have thought the charms I held for my future wife were pretty clear."

Simon clicked his tongue, pointing at his friend, "You do know you have to actually ask Kate to marry you before you can refer to her as your future wife right?"

Anthony's brow furrowed, "I don't think that's true."

Simon gaped at his friend, "I... think it is, Mate."

"Okay, but she found my list of baby names the other day-"

"I'm sorry, you have a list of names you want to name your children?"

Anthony blinked at him, "Yes."

"Your children with Kate? Your Girlfriend of nine months."

"Obviously. She's my dream girl."

"Jesus Christ," Simon sighed, "Go on then."

"So, she was going through my drawers, looking for one of my sweaters- She likes wearing my sweaters because they smell like me." Anthony grinned, sitting back against the booth smugly.

"Fucking god knows why, honestly. I like Kate, She's fucking great but she's clearly mental. She must be to be so all in on you."

"She circled the names she likes!"

"Jesus," Simon chuckled, "She really is balls to the wall for you."

"I know!" Anthony crowed, "Mark my words one day: a baby will be born unto me with Kate Sharma's glorious cheekbones, and exquisite hair and her name will be: Charlotte."

"unto you?" Simon chuckled, "Are we rewriting the bible? And you think Charlotte is the best name for your daughter?"

"Say what you will but-"

"I couldn't help but notice you over here."

Anthony turned towards the voice that had interrupted him, blinking at the woman who'd slid into the booth across from him, right next to Simon, batting her eyelids at Anthony.

Anthony looked at Simon, waiting for him to greet the woman who'd clearly come over for him, and Simon stared straight back at him.

"What are you two talking about?" The woman prompted, and still Anthony stared straight back at Simon, completely baffled as to why his friend was completely silent.

Anthony sighed, figuring one of them had to say something, and he'd be damned if anyone could say he was a bad wingman. "What do you think of the name Charlotte?"

The woman blinked at him, clearly surprised. "I... have an aunt named Charlotte? It's nice I think?"

Anthony clicked his fingers, "See, Argument settled, Si. Three against one."

Simon rolled his eyes, taking a swig from his drink.

"So... Who's Charlotte?"

Anthony sighed, "No one yet. I really want to have kids and I liked the name Charlotte."

"Oh," The woman cooed, "That's so sweet."

"Thanks!" Anthony continued staring at Simon widening his eyes, in a clear, Are you going to fucking say anything? She's hitting on you

"That's rare, to meet a man who's so forward about wanting a future."

Anthony shrugged, ruffling his hair, "Well, when you meet the right person it just makes sense. My girl's great"

The woman blinked. "Your Girlfriend."

"Yeah!" He nodded, "Kate! Wanna see a picture of us?"

"Sorry," She cleared her throat, standing to leave, "I better get back to my friend."

"Have a great night then." Anthony smiled at her as she left before rounding on Simon. "Well, you cocked that up Mate."

Simon blinked at him, "I cocked that up?"

"Yes!" Anthony scoffed, "She came over here to talk to you, and you didn't say anything! She was nice!"

Simon blinked at him, as though he were stupid, "Ant, Mate, she was here for you."

"What? No!"

"Yes!"

"But I have Kate!"

"Well, She obviously doesn't know that" Simon chuckled, "How's she supposed to know that from all the way over there?"

Anthony shrugged, "I thought there was just like... A wife guy vibe about me."

"Oh there definitely is that." Simon rolled his eyes.

And he was joking, mostly, Simon was when he bought Anthony a shirt that said Ask me about my Soulmate, Kate. But he wasn't joking when Anthony insisted on wearing it the next time they went out. And it baffled him immensely when three seperate women cooed,

"Oh, Your soulmate? That's so sweet. Kate's so lucky!"

"Thanks, but I'm the lucky one! She's so incredible!"

"Unbelievable!"

[hell-much]

Next chapter is moving along, dears. Hoping to have something for you by the weekend. Here a peak into that promised strapless strap-on scene. NSFW goes without saying I guess? :)

.

The act of impulse buying items from Amazon and opting for next-day delivery contradicts every single one of Margaery’s principles. From their well-documented abuse of their workers’ rights, over union busting and a poor climate record, to their tax avoidance strategies, it’s the peak of everything any consumer with basic ethical standards should avoid.

Going against her principles isn’t something Margaery does lightly.

She knows that’s a privileged position to uphold. Principles and morals are always very bound to your circumstances. A single mother of two who works two jobs, will not have the time to spare that ethical consumption requires. The guy working a minimum wage job while paying off student loans can’t afford the higher prices that come with supporting small business.

There are situations and circumstances when upholding principles becomes tricky.

It’s debatable if your girlfriend coercing you into breaking those principles with sweet kisses and dirty words qualifies, but as Sansa licks her lips when she takes her in, eyes dark with desire, Margaery decides to postpone those moral qualms to tomorrow.

Her muscles clench around the end of the dildo rooted inside her as she looks at Sansa. She sits on the bed, in the same glorious state of undress she’s been in since Friday evening. How she rests there -braced on her hands, one of her legs bend, the other stretched in all its gorgeous length, offering a glimpse to wetness lingering between toned thighs-has Margaery so turned on, she’s struggling to breathe.

“Suits you,” Sansa says, a smile playing on her face.

Margaery takes a step towards the foot end of the bed, feeling the bulbous end shift inside her. Setting one knee on mattress she takes the end strutting out into her hand and smirks. “Matches my eyes, doesn’t it?”

Sansa nods, her chest heaving in a heavy inhale.  

She holds her breath when Margaery crawls towards her; the shaky exhale caught by Margaery’s lips as they guide her back into soft pillows. Settling between legs that spread to accommodate her, Margaery puts her whole body into every kiss. She nestles the length of the cool silicone between Sansa’s drenched folds and it isn’t before long that short nails rake down her back, dig into her ass, encouraging every motion eagerly.

“Make love to me,” Sansa pleads, her voice hoarse with desire.

After a weekend of using that phrase as excessively as they did (if they’d turned it into a drinking game, they would have suffered alcohol poisoning by Saturday morning) Margaery thinks she should be somewhat desensitised to its effect. But she isn’t. Whatsoever.

Tingling arousal spreads through her and has her muscles clench tighter around the dildo. Tearing herself out of open-mouthed kisses covering her neck, Margaery braces herself on her hands and meets eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

“How do you want to do this?” Margaery asks, out of breath with both excitement and the effort to hold back the primeval urge to take Sansa so hard and so fast, her eyes will roll back in her head.

They’ve never done this. Not like this. Not her penetrating Sansa. And she’ll be damned before she lets anything ruin the most wonderful mood, charged up with excitement and lust.

Ever aware of those musings, Sansa looks up at her with features cast in soft adoration. “Missionary will do,” she says, reaching between them and getting a hold of the dildo. Teeth dig into her bottom lip and she holds onto Margaery’s eyes as she guides the tip into herself. “For starters anyway.”

“For starters?”

She nods, spreading leg wide, and Margaery dares herself at a first, shallow thrust, watching Sansa’s face closely as she slips into her with ease.

“That’s the beauty of overnight delivery, you see.” Legs snap up and winch around her hips, like a wild animal tackling its prey. “You have all day to enjoy your new purchase.”