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mightymorphingayagenda · 3 years

Note

cant wait for lethal combination chapter 5! and loved the holiday nessian fic you wrote!

then you shan’t have to wait! and thank you so much, nonnie. the fic they’re talking about and all previous chapters of lethal combo can be found here, x

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”

Nesta kept her gaze on the wall of oak opposite her.

“Is this the part where I tell you to get on your knees for me?” She asked.

Humourless.

And she could practically feel the feral rage radiating from him. Bleeding through the grate to her left like he were trying to smoke her out.

“This is the part where you-“

“Shhh.”

A lean shadow, a head of auburn hair, muted in the darkness like the decayed verdure of autumn, barely distinguishable through the latticed window no bigger than her hand.

She’d made Eris wait almost a day.

In Nesta’s experience teenage girls understood psychological warfare better than any CIA types she’d met. And rule one in the handbook was never call him back right away.

Eris might as well have been a cute boy from home room, the advice stood fast.

She’d also chosen the time and place for their meeting, giving no concessions in authority. Picking the church as unlike her he’d inherited both the egregious wealth of his family and their faith. Irish Catholic. Meaning he’d find himself here every Sunday evening regardless, and providing not only the guise of normality, but the cosy anonymity of a confessional.

The only people who did secrecy better than assassins, were the Catholics.

It was perfect really, the perfect plan. Undistracted Nesta had been able to work it out pretty quickly after Cassian had left. Leaving her all those hours between four in the morning and her meeting the following evening with nothing to do but hate him.

Avoiding returning to the bed he’d screwed her in. Glaring at his jacket which still hung beside her front door over a bottle of vodka.

It was a blow to her pride to be sure. The closest thing to rejection she’d ever received from a man. Whatsmore, some gooey part of her she’d pushed down had been upset.

Too worked up to sleep she’d spent hours tucked into her armchair and entertaining plucking his teeth from his mouth like the petals of a rose. He loves me, he loves me not. Because worse than revealing himself to be a complete ass as most men did, Cassian had done so subsequent to fucking her better than she could have dreamed. And she’d had that dream. Multiple times.

Wet dreams that couldn’t hold a candle to the way he’d had her dripping down to her knees, begging for his cock, trembling on legs he’d thrown over his shoulder to lick out her cunt like it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. The man had spoilt her rotten.

Nesta knew she probably shouldn’t have been thinking about sex in a church. Her mother was likely burning with a fury hotter than the flames that surrounded her down below, but she couldn’t help it. Because while she hated the sinner- ever bronze buffed, tattooed inch of him - god did she love the sin.

“The adult is going to talk,” she said quietly. “If you want to throw a tantrum you can do it on your own time because as of this moment, I’m officially off the clock.”

Eris’ silence said he knew better than to interrupt her. Perhaps he was smarter than she was about to give him credit for.

“In fact I stopped working for you as of the moment you chose to question my methods and profess concerns that I may have jeopardised our venture because I lack the professionalism to keep my legs shut,” she said.

“So if you want Helion Day neutralised, you’re going to have to find someone else to do the job. Though I seriously doubt you’ll be able to.”

Cue phase two of the plan.

Because she may have hated Cassian, but she wanted the monopoly on causing him emotional anguish.

Like hell some other pro was going to put a bullet between Helion’s eyes and devastate his bodyguard. Making that man cry was Nesta’s prerogative.

“I have made it clear to anyone in my field you might attempt to solicit that you are a impertinent, trust fund brat, who insists on micromanaging the work of other’s despite your incompetence in an attempt to feel important beyond the breeding mummy lied and told you made you special.”

“I wasn’t aware you also specialised in character assassination.”

Eris’ voice was charred with a sweetness like wealth; earthy and rich it reminded Nesta of muscovado sugar.

He was right. She was being unprofessional. But she was tired and hungover and out of a gorgeous lay so fuck him.

“My specialities are no longer any of your business, Mr Vanserra,” she replied. “My displeasure however, should be of great concern to you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I wouldn’t do you the courtesy of warning you if I intended to kill you.”

Eris said nothing.

“You can consider it incentive if it helps you sleep at night though,” Nesta continued. “To do as you’re told.”

She gave him strict instructions. Wait five minutes then leave. Never contact me. Forget we were ever in correspondence in the first place.

“Murder is cheap, Mr Vanserra. You don’t want to learn the cost of disobeying me. It’s not the kind of thing daddy’s wallet can cover.”

She emerged from the confessional, slim shades obscuring her eyes and the deep bruises beneath. Her heels clipping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the station of votive candles at the back of the church.

Each glowing stick a prayer for a lost loved one. Matches and and a few unlit offerings still available.

She lit herself a cigarette on a flame.

And Nesta couldn’t have missed the fresco above those colossal doors of oak and rustic gold flake even through the plumes of smoke that curled upwards as she stalked lazily down the isle: a depiction of the Heavenly Father himself.

She didn’t bother flicking a glance behind her to the confessional.

Who’s your daddy, now?

She’d collapsed face down into already rumpled sheets.

They’d smelled like sex and heaven and she’d smelt like cigarettes and a church and that was all she knew before the exhaustion caught up with her, the world went black, and she was waking up in exactly the same position . Vex’s fluffy tail swishing against her ear. The tickling sensation plucking her from the bliss of pure nothingness.

Nesta groaned a little as she rolled over and pulled herself to sit up. Pleased to find she’d had the energy to take off her clothes. Unlike her makeup.

“Damn it,” she hissed as she saw the smudged mascara on the pillow.

Not that the sheets didn’t need washing anyway…

“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping flat onto her back again.

She’d been awake less then seven seconds and a man had already ruined her day. Just thinking about him…

“Ugh,” she said again, louder. Like she was angry with the ceiling for not acknowledging her the first time.

Vex meowed, his little head nudging at her bare arm. As though he were trying to coax her bra strap back up to a respectable position on her shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” she grumbled, picking him up for a cuddle. “You hungry?”

He meowed again.

Padding down to the kitchen she’d made them both breakfast (technically lunch, she’d slept in till almost one) and carrying her plate of fruit back upstairs to draw a bubble bath he winded between her ankles, catching her attention as he hissed at something in the living room.

“What?” she inquired, looking down at him before tilting her head to follow his own.

Cassian’s jacket.

Uhg.

Now she was thinking about him again.

Childish, dumb, insecure little prick. How he’d had the fucking nerve to call her a coward was truly a mystery.

He was so crippled by that fear of not being good enough he’d immediately presumed she wanted rid of him. Lashing out defensively- God he was infuriating.

She looked back to Vex who was now staring up at her. “If that thing somehow ends up on the floor,” she said, “you have permission to piss on it”.

He purred.

Vex truly was the only boy worth his salt. Something he proved yet again in hopping atop her bathroom counter and guarding her like a fluffy little gargoyle as she sank into the bath. Opening m the window to let out the smoke of her cigarette so as not to bother him. The sound of rain slipping something comforting through the January chill, twirls of smoke and steam visible in fatigued plumes.

Another lethal habit she’d picked up from Aunt Ripleigh.

The thought gave her an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Like a worm writhing in the rotted meat of an apple.

Ripleigh wasn’t actually her aunt. But Nesta avoided her much like she did the rest of her family and that was what really counted. Besides, spilling blood together arguably made for a closer bond than just sharing it.

Like Nesta said, not really her aunt.

Aunt Ripleigh – initials AR, an homage to the assassin’s preferred weapon the AR-47, American hybrid of the Russian Автома́т Кала́шников, A.K.A the AK-47.

Some mothers left their little girls pearls, or scrapbooks packed with baby pictures and the lingering scent of their perfume. Angelina Archeron had left her’s a Mafia assassin’s cell number.

Of course Nesta hadn’t known that.

Not until she’d found herself with her hands caked in something dark and sticky, her boyfriend’s skin stuffed beneath the lip of her nails and a taste in her mouth like hot rust.

She’d been seventeen the first time she’d killed a man.

Not a man. A boy.

A few months her senior, Thomas been a child just like her.

Her first crush. Her first boyfriend, her first love, and her first.

Nesta had known Thomas was using her for sex. Just as she’d been using him for his money, and wasn’t that what love was? Finding the gratification of your needs in someone else? In Thomas’s case he’d needed to get his dick wet. In Nesta’s…it was more than embarrassing but half the time all she’d needed was a hot meal.

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d called him in the dead of the night to hook up in his Porsche so she could sleep there instead of at home, where the windows screamed freezing air from their shattered mouths and the electricity bill was rarely paid.

But one night Nesta hadn’t felt like earning his kindness. And so he hadn’t offered it.

Instead he’d held her wrists, ripped at her shirt, forced his hands into her jeans. Pushed up against the bonnet of that Porsche by a lake in woods she’d torn through his face, her nails splitting through the waterline beneath his eyes as she’d kicked and screamed, blood pouring, his hand on her neck, throwing her head against the wing mirror. Heat spilling heavy down her jaw and neck from somewhere which had smelt like lose change.

She remembers blood in her eyes and the taste of soft, smooth skin and a kind of rubbery strength between her teeth as she’d bit down hard until something had popped or burst or split with a squirt or a tear. She remembers spitting out whatever of Thomas’s ear she’d torn off between her teeth and something swinging into her lower ribs so hard one broke. She remembers the sounds that had been both of them and then at some point just her.

Her screaming.

Her sticky, disgusting face, stinging with every horribly wet sob and shriek. The shrieks that hadn’t choked to shaky breaths until she’d pulled herself to sit back against the wheel of the car. Clutching at her ribs which had only hurt so much worse when she’d thrown up right next to her boyfriend’s body. What looked like a pint of blood glowing in the dust. His face…his head.

It’d looked like a Halloween prop. Like dark jam. Like a brutalised seventeen year old dead in the dirt.

And sometime after noticing one of his teeth in the dust, Nesta had realised how fucked she was.

It wasn’t much of an achievement when you considered Grafton, Vermont had a population short of seven-hundred: but the Mandrays had been quite possibly the most well connected and well off people in its less than seven-hundred square miles. And despite keeping Nesta’s name out of their sneering mouths through referring to her almost exclusively as “that white-trash bitch”, that population short of seven hundred didn’t give a shit about her.

Didn’t give a shit she’d been top of her class with a place at Georgetown. Because Nesta could never have afforded to accept it.

And it certainly didn’t matter she was a pageant queen when everyone knew the petty cash prizes were the only thing that paid the rent on their shitty one bedroom. Especially with things barely breaking even. In spite of Feyre’s making use of their father’s rifle and sourcing for the butcher any chance she could.

A too skinny child in the woods with a gun and blood in her braids.

Nesta’s efforts to keep food on the table had always seemed to pale in comparison to that. But she’d never felt bad about it. Wouldn’t bother hating herself when everybody else was already doing that for her.

Nesta Archeron was the cheap fuck that nice Mandray boy was messing around with. The gold digger with the dead commie mom and daddy issues.

No one would have ever believed he’d tried to rape her.

And she’d had no money for a decent lawyer- she hadn’t even had anyone to call. Not her dad, not a fourteen-year old Feyre nor Elain, sixteen and the last person she’d ever want wrapped up in something like this.

Nesta had been desperate and vulnerable and jaded for as long as she could remember but she’d never felt as terrified and broken as she had in that moment. Crying alone and hugging herself tightly, she’d just wanted her mom. As cold and neglectful and dead as the woman was.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь”

Her mother’s last words.

Ten numbers.

Nesta had somehow gotten to her feet, only realising Thomas had broken a few of her fingers when she’d tried opening the car door. All but collapsing inside once she’d managed as she’d fumbled for her phone.

“три три два пять семь девять пять шесть три восемь” she’d repeated to herself, voice hoarse and wet and cracking as she’d dialled.

Ten numbers. Ten numbers. Ten numbers.

Like a phone number.

No doubt concussed Nesta had deemed it logical enough. Her mother’s dying breath a kind of atonement for leaving her children with nothing in the whole word but a father that could watch his girls starve and go into the woods with his hunting rifle and whore themselves out like they meant nothing.

A life-line in the deep waters opaque with clouds of blood.

“Здравствуйте.”

Those three syllables had been like a punch to the gut.

Nesta had made a noise that might have sounded like “mom?” or the creaking of a damn as it ached under duress. She’d obviously known it wasn’t her mother, but she hadn’t heard a woman speak Russia since- hadn’t heard Russian at all in years.

“Who is this?”

Trying to pull herself together Nesta had taken a breath that had rattled, dripping wet and slightly wheezing. Everything was going to be okay. She’d been right. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Of all the phone numbers in the world what was the likelihood that the voice on the end of this one spoke her mother’s native tongue?

“I’m- I’m Angelina Archeron daughter. She gave me this number I don’t know what to do I-”

The specifics aren’t as clear after that. Like a jigsaw left out in the rain or soaked in fresh hot blood, the pieces, the details, they’d melted to mush.

A mess she’d held in her hands and wondered what the fuck to do with.

What do you do with a dead body and the knew found knowledge your mother was a boyevik for the Russian Mafia? What do you do with her retirement package which contained nothing but the contact for an assassin working for the New York arm.

Nesta had only known what she wasn’t going to do.

Go down for murder.

Aunt Ripleigh had told her what to do over the phone, instructing her on how to deal with her injuries and Thomas’ pulp of a body. How to explain the state of her face and ribs and fingers and head. What to do with his car and how to speak and sit and and react when then police came asking questions about Thomas’ disappearance. How to get away with it.

Nesta had followed each direction flawlessly. Consoled in finally having a definitive plan. Even a plan that started with “buy meat cleaver, trash bag, battery powered blender and bucket, with cash from dead boyfriend’s wallet.” Even a plan that got progressively worse from that point on.

Filleting chunks of a body that had once been inside her. Hauling a trash bag of boyfriend smoothie to the river with broken fingers. The thick slop sinking almost immediately just as Aunt Ripleigh had said it would. Before she’d told Nesta to burn the bones and roast marshmallows over them.

“If it had not been you it would have been next girl,” Ripleigh had said. “And she might not have had your fight.”

“You mean she might not have been disturbed enough to kill her boyfriend?”

“Killer instincts, Anastasia. Is not disturbed, is talent,” Aunt Ripleigh had said. “Cannot be taught but what can be taught you learn quick. No whining. Like very good puppy with very sharp teeth.”

“Woof,” Nesta had said dryly.

“Stray puppy though, no? Is why you have no manners.”

“You offering to adopt me?”

“I have pet already. And my husband is funnier than you.”

Nesta’s compromised rib had punished her for finding that funny.

“But you ever want job, you call me.”

Needless to say that was not the last time she’d called Aunt Ripleigh.

Three weeks later and four months shy of getting her high school diploma Nesta had turned eighteen and moved to New York in order to “pursue modelling”.

In reality she was doing coffee runs with a dash more arsenic than normal and luring prosecutors to hotel rooms they’d never leave. A personal assistant of sorts to Aunt Ripleigh.

She had kept the mafia, the Bratva, at an arms length whenever she’d been able. Paying off the shitty house she’d left her sisters in with one less mouth to feed and not wanting their address in any files accessible to people with skill sets like her’s.

And while working with Ripleigh had been a mortiferous riot, two gals shattering the glass ceiling in their industry and slitting throats with the shards; Nesta had developed expensive taste from the fringes of high criminal society. She’d cared less about the art of killing than she had about the art she could hang up in a penthouse apartment if she were in private practice. Her lust for comfort winning out after two years or so at which point she’d gone freelance. Assisting in a few heists before getting in with a crowd of Nazi hunters for a bit, all the while keeping in touch with her mentor.

Until Feyre had moved to the city.

Then she’d given up on the more dangerous antics, selling out for safer and even more lucrative bets like CEOs and cutting ties with Aunt Ripleigh. Terrified if not a little paranoid of something happening to her sister. Which had been shit. Because Nesta hadn’t had any other friends. Like, at all.

At eighteen Feyre was still as bitter and proud as she’d been when Nesta had left. As Nesta herself still was.

Elain had tried bridging her sisters’ relationship once she’d moved to New York but she’d had better success career-wise. Working at a florists before eventually graduating to a self employed wedding planner.

Nesta had kept her thoughts on the psychological tells of a girl jilted at the alter becoming a wedding planner to herself. Mostly because Elain was always brining her cake samples she’d stolen and Nesta wasn’t going to sabotage her supply of free cake.

Feyre on the other hand had gone about far less conventional means of making a living. The child was a force to be reckoned with if for nothing but her resourcefulness and almost objectionable will to survive. Fiercely independent and clumsily capable she’d taken a crack at everything while selling her art on the side. It was a piece she’d modelled for that had delivered her to true economic grandeur however.

Well, “modelled” maybe wasn’t the word. Her sister had essentially been used as a human stamp. Her naked body detailed with intricately painted swirls then pressed to canvas.

The work had been showcased somewhere high brow and had caught the eye of one Mr Rhysand Velaris, thirty-one and the sole inheritor of his late father’s worldly possessions. Among which were several millions of dollars.

Half of which now belonged to her sister thanks to a very reckless prenup on his part.

Though Nesta had briefly wondered if he’d spent at least that on the engagement ring. A glittering iceberg that seemed to only glare brighter next to the stark black band tattooed just beneath it, a matching tattoo on Rhysand’s own ring finger. Because of course they’d eloped in Paris and gotten tattoos instead of wedding rings.

If Nesta had been closer to her baby sister she imagined she might have felt betrayed on some level. But as things were, Nesta wasn’t entirely sure she would have received an invite even if they’d had a traditional wedding, planned to perfection by Elain.

It was probably the worst part of her job. The distance she had to put between herself and everyone she had the potential to care about. A distance she could never close even if she decided to retire right this minute because the damage had already been done. Nesta had become a liability to their safety the minute she’d moved here and started in this line of work.

She took another chocolate from the box she’d snatched from downstairs on second thought. Her supply already dwindling thanks to the rather depression freight train of thought she’d embarked on.

That and the fact they were really very good.

Cassian may have been a prick, but she couldn’t deny he had great taste.

In chocolate, and women, she thought smugly. Sinking deeper into the basin.

A heat flushed up her neck that had nothing to do with the bath as she unwillingly remembered how he’d softly coaxed one of these lovely little parcels between her full lips. The drunk hunger in his deep brown eyes and what he’d done next, snapping her lace thong between his teeth-

Her music stopped. Only to be replaced by a buzzing thrum of her phone.

Leaning forward Nesta checked the caller ID before swiping across the screen to accept the call and sinking back to her earlier position.

“I’m not in the mood,” she hummed dismissively, head tipped back against the lip of the tub and eyes closing. She’d known this was coming, better to get it over with.

“When I supply you with handsome, rich, and eligible men, I do not expect you to break them!” Feyre castigated through the phone, and anyone might guess she were the elder sibling.

Feyre indeed thought herself wiser and more worldly than both Nesta and Elain, and getting married hadn’t helped diminish her false sense of maturity. Thrusting her character into some weird sarcastic seriousness that mirrored her husband’s demeanour perfectly. It made Nesta cringe so thoroughly she was mildly concerned about getting wrinkles.

“And I thought we’d grown out of sharing toys, but it seems both our expectations were thwarted.”

“Humans aren’t toys!” Feyre reminded her. Not that Nesta didn’t already know that. No vibrator had never made her cum as hard as Cassian had.

“And if you resented me setting you up with Cassian then why did you fuck him ?” Feyre asked. And she said fuck as though it were synonymous to stab or poison.

“Was it to punish me? Because if so you did a spectacular job. He’s crazier about you than ever and won’t stop moping. The second-hand embarrassment is painful enough without the added agony of how annoying it is.”

If he likes me so much why was he so eager to assume the worst of me? Nesta thought spitefully.

It didn’t matter that she technically was lying to him. He didn’t know that.

“You told me to give him a chance.”

“And you couldn’t have decided you didn’t like him before having sex with him?”

Nesta wasn’t surprised Feyre had taken Cassian’s version of things at face value.

Her husband’s family were unimpeachably wonderful in her eyes. Meanwhile Nesta remained just another reminder of a time Feyre couldn’t have afforded the plane ticket to get to New York, let alone a town house on the upper east side. A cold bitch who hadn’t begged to join the weird cult that was the Velaris family and their innermost circle when Feyre had married Rhysand last year.

“Oh I’d already worked out he was an ass by that point but I thought he could at least make up for putting me through the date. Not much going on in that head but he quite clearly had it all going on-

“Ew ew ew!” Feyre interrupted. “One, I need this conversation to steer clear of anything anatomical, and two, do you have to be so horrible?”

“You’re the one pimping out your friends, I just took you up on the offer.”

“Ever heard of the third date rule?”

“Didn’t you marry Rhysand on the third date?”

Feyre sighed.

“Cassian’s a good guy, Nes. It takes a lot to come out the other side of what he’s been through a good man and he deserves the world so-”

“So why did you send him my way?”

Nesta knew what Feyre thought of her. And if she hadn’t then this conversation would have made it very clear.

“Because Nesta! You’re twenty-four and already a crazy cat lady! I’m sorry I tried to save you from dying alone and having Vex eat your corpse.”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Have you ever considered I choose to be alone because I like it?” She asked.

Feyre sighed again, but it was softer this time, sad more than exasperated.

“You’re not alone, Nesta,” she said. “You’re lonely.”

It was annoying enough that she was right, she didn’t have to be so pretentious about it aswell.

“I’m fine,” Nesta said.

“You sound just like Cassian,” Feyre grumbled.

“Well I’ve been smoking.”

“I’ll be sure to put how funny you were on your headstone when those things kill you.”

“I’m racing Rhysand to the grave, he has more cigars than I do shoes.”

“He only smokes them on special occasions.”

“And how do you know this isn’t a celebratory cigarette on account of you calling me?”

“Because instead of saying hi you said I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh so you did hear me?”

“I hear you, Nesta,” Feyre conceded, disappointment weighing on her words. “Loud and clear. Have a good week.”

She hung up.

“You too,” Nesta said into the silence.

When the silence replied she sank beneath the water. As though she hoped it might act as the cushioned walls of a padded cell meant to protect those who posed a danger to themselves.

It didn’t. And that unpleasant ache didn’t go away. It never did.

Worse than the dull pounding in her ears and tightness in her chest as she held her breath.

But it would be nothing compared to the devastation of seeing Feyre or Elain hurt. The tender ache of keeping them at arms length, knowing they were at least there to brush her fingers against, was worth avoiding spending the rest of her life reaching for someone taken from her.

Perhaps that was also why she’d wanted so fiercely to dislike Cassian.

Nesta re-emerged with a gasp, her chest on fire.

What an unpleasant notion, she thought, running her fingers through her wet hair and sinking back as she took a slower breath. That she’d been looking for a reason to dislike him even after overcoming the minor detail she was going to kill his friend and client. An excuse to throw in the towel as soon as she could. Because it was just easier.

Easier than accepting she was fundamentally terrified of keeping him around.

Easier than keeping him around and seeing him get hurt.

Fuck.

Her being mad at him had been a cop out.

Because yes he’d been a petty, insecure idiot; but hadn’t she told him she was going to fuck and chuck him? Hadn’t she been at typically fast to get in a fight with him? Substantiating his insecurities.

Nesta might have been furious at his calling her a coward, but he hadn’t actually been wrong.

She’d let some subliminal fear convince her to sabotage things.

A subliminal and blissfully irrational fear she realised because, Cassian, a monument of pure muscle, could definitely look after himself. He’d been marine corps for Christ’s sake. Not to mention she’d seen him take down Helion enough times in the ring while still working for Eris and the fact the man literally specialised in keeping people safe for a living!

Nesta felt a weird and almost unfamiliar lightness in her shoulders. It felt a little like hope. Which was also terrifying.

But she wasn’t going to the let the fear control her this time.

—

Cassian had ignored her calls.

All three.

Which was fine because she’d been stalking him for the past month. She knew exactly where he’d be that evening and doing things in person meant she could kill him if he kept up the asshole routine.

Nesta’s platform stiletto boots clipped against the laminate flooring as she emerged from the elevator. Stalking lazily through the top floor of the Illyria building.

Even if she killed Cassian he was going to die happy. She looked good enough to eat. Thick hair fastened back into a high ponytail, the details of her face were subject to full attention. Her eyes appearing almost wider and lashes lavished with a black like her jet thigh-highs and tied coat. Plump lips softly lined and shaded, she looked drop dead fucking gorgeous.

Though it was what she was wearing under her fastened coat that was the real killer.

Nesta didn’t uncross her ankles from where they’d flicked over one another as she let herself lean against the doorframe of Cassian’s office.

It was wide open. No privacy needed when everyone else had gone home around four hours ago. The night detail on Helion allowing Cassian time to catch up on work as he had every night and well into the morning for the past month.

“All work and no play?”

Cassian looked up from his desk.

“I can fix that,” she said.

He’d never looked more handsome.

Hair bundled into a dark band, his shirt cuffed at his forearms and a bit of scruff marring his chiselled jaw. A pair of slim reading glasses were pushed up his slightly imperfect nose and it was such a turn on Nesta was glad she was leaning against something.

He looked a little exhausted in a kind of brooding and adorable way.

It gave her this awful pining to massage those sculpted shoulders as he let loose a deep, tired sigh, arms folding across that powerful chest causing his white shirt to hiss as he leaned back into his chair. It was a fucking massive bit of furniture. But then it had to be to accommodate him.

“What are you doing here?”

Rude.

Nesta pushed off the doorframe and into his office.

“You ignored my calls,” she said by way of explanation. Making her way to the bookcase and running her fingers across a row of spines. It was mostly files, but she noticed a few novels as well.

“You kicked me out of your bed at three in the morning.”

She turned to find him watching her.

His words were dismissive and effortlessly confrontational as usual. But there was an edge to his voice. And it wasn’t arousal. Even if his gaze caught on her boots and lingering there for longer than he’d probably care to admit.

Nesta leaned back against the bookshelf, inspecting her manicure with an eye roll.

“You’re still upset about that?”

“Not at all,” he said with a smirk. Reclining back against the chair a little further, hips rolling and arms casually folding. Too casually. The dangerous grace of it speaking to the emotion that no doubt roiled beneath his bronze skin. Belied by that bullshit cockiness which grated her to the bone. “It seems I dodged a bullet.”

“Oh really?”

“The whole hot but mean cliché is one thing, but crazy hookup who stalks me-“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered.

She’d seen hints of this before. The rugged and crude act meant to cover up the insecurity she’d also been treated to.

“Oh I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t ever admit what it is you want.”

“You don’t have a clue what I want.”

“I have several, Nesta.” He looked her up and down pointedly.

The way he said her name. Even like this it made her weak in the knees while her fingers itched to choke him.

It was all very conflicting.

“Oddly confident in your last performance for someone so insecure,” she quipped lazily.

Cassian rose his brows with a mean a laugh.

“What do I have to be insecure about?” He said. “I didn’t hide behind a half-ass lie to throw someone out of my bed. And I’m pretty sure even your neighbours can attest to how good of a time I gave you,” he smirked again. “You’re not a good enough liar for the way you moaned my name to have been an act.”

The white hot fist in her stomach folded in on itself as it melted to a stickiness despite the misguided insult. She certainly hadn’t been putting it on Saturday. Every sound he’d drawn from her dripping with sincerity. Every moan and whimper well deserved.

“You’re right,” she said.

Cassian blinked.

Nesta prowled toward him and hummed, “those, four, orgasms, were about as fake as my emergency.”

The sultry softness to her voice thickened to something less affected at those last words.

Cassian scoffed. Though there was something withdrawn and careful to him that hadn’t been there a second ago. Like a snake recoiling in case it needed to strike. “Your emergency, of course. Which was?”

“Nothing to do with you.”

He shook his head, laughing bitterly.

“Seriously, Nesta? You’ve had two days to come up with something now.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Nesta slipped atop the corner of the desk, perching there with her long legs crossed over one another. The blade of a stiletto heel close enough to brush up his calf if she wanted to make him shiver.

But she didn’t. She just wanted him to listen. To understand what she was saying so she didn’t have to say anything more because for fucks sake he was the one who’d acted up and yet she was here putting her pride on the line again.

“It had nothing, to do with you,” she said slowly.

A weighted silence settled like snow between them.

Until Cassian took a blow torch to it.

“Shit.”

His head fell into those large hands.

“Shiiiiiiiit,” he cursed again. “Oh god, how badly have I fucked up?” He groaned, looking up. So humbled and distraught it was almost comical.

“Irredeemably.” Her eyes flirted with the notion of a little smile even if her mouth remained unquirked as she propped her hands against the desk behind her and leaned into them to more comfortably watch him suffer.

“I’d beg you not to tease me but honestly I think it’s the least I deserve- fuck.”

“Like me teasing you isn’t the highlight of your day.” She rolled her eyes.

Cassian laughed, pained and almost sheepish, which shouldn’t have been hot but god it made her blush.

Keep your cool goddamn it. She wanted a little more bang for her buck where grovelling was concerned before she let on how eager she was for things to get back on track.

“Want to flat out abuse me and make it the highlight of my year?”

She was struggling to keep the smile off her face even as she said, “I’m not in the habit of rewarding bad behaviour. You’re a man, you get enough of that already.”

“Nesta,” he took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk beside her thigh. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I’m, really, really fucking sorry I’m an idiot.”

Nesta slid of the desk.

“Go on,” she instructed.

“A moron a fool a stupid, stupid son of a bitch.”

Taking a step forward she was stood between his thighs. Picking up his glasses and pushing them back on his nose. Missing the sight of this hulking, powerhouse of a man in spectacles.

“I’m sorry.” Cassian was looking up at her with those big brown eyes, and the bastard actually leaned into her palm.

“Oh for fucks sake how did anyone discipline you as a child with those damn puppy-dog eyes?” She growled softly, furious.

“They didn’t to be honest,” he admitted with a breathy laugh.

“I can tell.”

She slid her hands to his shoulders, fingers curling soft and possessive over the stacked muscle and palms pressed to his upper chest, stepping tighter into him.

“I guess I’ll just have to do it.”

Cassian swallowed.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sweetheart,” he tried. Intoxicatingly deep, trying to maintain that arrogant and playful edge in a way that made his words all the hotter. The simmering ache he attempted to push down all but throbbing in his voice.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she returned, brows arched. Battling a smirk off her face.

“Can I ask you to do something for me, then?”

“If you say please.”

“Please don’t screw around with me.”

Nesta faltered.

Those warm hands came to rest on her lower back, long fingers curling slightly into the fabric and coaxing her that last bit closer so that her thighs brushed against the edge of his chair and her stomach was brushing up against his.

“I’m really into you,” he admitted. “You’re smart and you’re beautiful, and at first I thought the whole hard to get thing was an act but woman you are genuinely hard to get and it is, so sexy. But whatever it is that’s holding you back, that made you wait a week to call me, that made you claim all you wanted was a hook up; I’m clearly not cut out to compete,” he confessed. “It got in my head, and that’s on me and me lashing out at you the other night that’s on me too and I’m so, so sorry Nesta. I need to know where I stand with you though. I need to know if you’re actually interested in me. Because I like you. But I’m too old for games.”

The silence was so thick she could have cut through it with a knife.

Nesta’s hands fell from his chest slowly.

“That’s good,” she assured him at last. “Because I’m not a toy.”

She brought her fingers to the belt of her coat and pulled slow and deliberate.

Black glazed her figure with a gorgeous intimacy. The dress hugging at what little it concealed with perfection enough to make up for its lake of mercy. Long legs sheathed in those thigh-high boots, the item was short enough that a decent length of her thighs could be seen. Interrupted at the last possible moment by sleek jet as though she’d been dipped in oil of purest night.

Cassian’s eyes blew out to sticky treacle behind those glasses.

“I’m human, Cass,” she hummed, tossing her coat onto the desk behind her as she spoke. “Which means I make mistakes.” He swallowed as she sighed softly, her cleavage swelling a little with the motion. “And that I have needs. Needs you can be the one to fulfill or not.”

She slipped into his lap, straddling him, knees bent either side of his thighs. The corded strength of which pressed painfully and exhilaratingly apparent against the soft seam of her inner thighs and she was genuinely suffering from some kind of contact high. Every inch of him seizing up subtly, deliciously taught at her touch in an effort not to respond and yet it only revealed just how much she affected him.

“Nesta-“

“Shhhhhh,” she interrupted. Hands cupping that ruggedly handsome face and titling it back to tuck her’s against him slowly. “But I want it to be you,” she purred against his jaw, tracing her nose up the stubbled curve. “Let me show you how bad.”

“Someone could come back-“

“I don’t care,” Nesta murmured against his mouth. “I want you.”

His eyes fluttered shut. And she felt his cock stir in those immaculately tailored slacks.

“Nesta-”

She could feel every muscle that licked up his stomach tremble with a drawn out contraction as she said it again, her hands slipping down to his broad shoulders.

“I want you,” she purred again.

He might have tried to breath. And it might have rubbed up something uncomfortably nice in her lower tummy.

“Say it,” she whispered, tilting her face so that the tip of her nose brushed up the side of his. Her breath hot on his stubbled Cupid’s bow and hands running down the solid power of his upper body, burning up through his shirt. “Say it, Cassian.”

His brown eyes like cognac and magnolia were hooded behind his glasses as he conceded.

“You want me,” he breathed.

She grazed her mouth against his. Lips parted suggestively and an almost silent, utterly cruel noise escaping her.

The length of his thick cock pressed up against the seam of her plush sex as he grew to full, hard attention in his slacks. Warm and thrilling even through her panties and their open mouths melted into one another hot and heavy, tongues caressing as his large hands came to her knees and smoothed up her bare thighs covetously.

“Fuck,” he groaned lazily as her hips began rolling deeply into him, and her hands slid under his shirt. Fingers splayed, she snaked up the cobbled muscle of his stomach, the flesh burnished and warm beneath her touch. His shirt riding up to reveal the gutter of his hips, gruesomely toned and dusted with hair.

“This is…such a…” he breathed, between the perfect and yearning motions of their jaws, a hand smoothing up her waist in a way that made her shiver.

“Dream come true?” She hummed, kissing him wanton and unhurried. Dangerously close to becoming a brainless mess with the way his cock rubbed up her core.

His groan melted to a laugh or maybe it was the other way round.

“Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “And a bad, bad…idea.”

“Well you’ve been a bad, bad boy, Cassian,” she whispered filthily against his ear, before capturing the lobe between her teeth softly.

She sucked and nibbled oh so gently and he expelled a breath so gravelly and masculine it twisted the hungry knot in her core tighter.

“Nesta…we-fuck you’re good at that…” he groaned lethargically . “Sweetheart, we can’t…”

“Why not,” she coed quietly, the sound airy and affectedly filthy.

“We’re…” he choked as he took in the sight of her cleavage, pushed intimately to his chest and escaping the neckline of her dress like a plume of toothpaste squeezed from the tube. “Fucking hell Nesta we’re in my office.”

“And I’m saying you could be in me.”

She rocked her hips against him with a particularly cruel slant.

The groan that escaped him made something flip in her stomach, tossing about whatever sweet, impossible to describe feeling rushed there at the same time at the way his head fell back against the chair as she worked him over. The hot friction that rubbed against her sensitive core the cherry on top of the sweet, creamy, decadent sundae.

“Besides,” she moaned, breathless and sultry. Teeth plunging softly into her plump bottom lip as she continued rolling her hips. Hands rubbing over his shoulders and providing her leverage. “You’re the boss.”

“I think we both know…that I’m not the boss…right now…” he groaned. Almost pained.

“Your cock a little much for those slacks?” She hummed, faux sympathy dripping through her mocking pout.

“I thought you liked a tight fit,” she teased, still pouting but eyes smokey. Her toes curling in her boots as her fingers began work on pulling his shirt apart.

The buttons popped undone with a sensual and pining tempo and she was moaning quietly into his mouth as she explored the panes and ripples of that powerful upper body. More than thorough in her hands-on assessment.

Cassian’s own hands were keeping just as busy, massaging and kneading her ass indulgently before smoothing over her rolling hips and eventually coming to her lower back. His thumbs pressing to the small of her back either side of her spine and it made something tight inside her swoon. The touch so hot and the memory it conjured so good. His big hands on her as he fucked her from behind.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned deeply, as she began rocking into him tighter, hotter. The impression of his cock lined up just right with her aching core.

“Hey, baby,” She purred, drunk on the friction that made her whole body throb and hum with pleasure and the tip of her nose brushing the side of his. Hands snaking from his exposed chest to either side of his face and capturing his bruised mouth with her own. Chewing on his bottom lip obscenely, the friction beginning to push her over edge.

“Fuck you’re incredible,” he groaned huskily once she let up. Kissing back decadently. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed almost mindlessly. “I’m so fucking sorry, Nesta.”

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” she purred, sultry and low, mouth parting, forehead still pressed to his and eyes fluttering open to hold his own.

Cassian nodded, dumb and silent and eager and Jesus it turned her on.

“Yeah? You wanna make me cum?” She hummed.

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Touch me, Cassian,” she whispered against his open mouth. “Make it up to me, make me feel good.”

Cassian’s hands slid back to her ass and she moaned into the kiss he captured her lips in as he lifted her with a sensual squeeze, wrapping her long legs tightly round the tapered cut of his waist as he stood.

The surface of the desk was beneath her before she could work out which way was up and his touch smoothed down her legs to her knees before she could take a a breath in reprieve from kissing him. Her legs splitting either side of his broad hips and his erection, tucked to the side in his slacks and thick and heavy and hard, pushed against the inner seam of her thigh as he pulled that band from her hair.

“I’m gonna make these gorgeous legs tremble for me,” he pledged against the her jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to where her pulse throbbed for him as he a hand through the loose locks.

And he began suckling at that sensitive spot just as a calloused hand slipped between her thighs.

“Mmmmm,” Nesta moaned smugly, gripping at his biceps still sheathed in the sleeves of his shirt as Cassian’s thumb ran up the seam of her dripping cunt through her panties. The lace a flimsy veil between her swollen clit and his hot touch.

“Fuck I’ve missed you,” he moaned into her neck, her head rolling back as he snapped her panties and began stroking his fingers through her soft folds possessively. “Missed those little sounds and your mouth and this pretty neck and perfect pussy.”

“Then cut out the all bark no bite bullshit and prove it,” she breathed.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured thickly, the pad of his thumb coming to her clit and she moaned as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves expertly. Her nails pressing into his shoulders, a few through the hiss of his shirt but the others carving crescents into the bronze muscle and tattoos like the meat of an apple.

His forefinger began teasing at her tight entrance and Nesta’s breath caught.

“Tease me and you’ll fucking regret it,” she warned thickly, and he pushed the digit inside.

The intrusion was far from the thick, eight inches she craved, but when he curled his finger against a sensitive, swollen spot deep inside her Nesta keened aloud.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Cassian breathed, husky and bestial as he crooked his finger inside her over and over.

“More,” she demanded.

It probably wasn’t clear if she was demanding more dirty praise or physical attention but Cassian was a good boy and covered all his bases. A second finger pushing inside her that second.

She gasped as the snug walls of her cunt stretched to accommodate the two of them as he waxed lyrical about how hard her moaning got him. Their foreheads level and those deep brown eyes lathering her with his earnest attention.

“You’re dripping down my knuckles like a fucking peach,” Cassian told her as he thrust inside her over and over, the only thing more obscene than her facial expression and the breathless sounds she was making being the quite, wet noises his fingers illicited.

He hadn’t let up on her clit, and at the exact moment he decided to start curling those two fingers together, he increased the speed and pressure with which he rubbed at her most responsive spot with his thumb.

“Cassian,” Nesta moaned, her fingers running up the nape of his neck and delving into his hair, still pulled into that bun.

“That’s it, that’s so fucking hot, baby, I want your cum dripping down my wrist,” he growled softly. Her nails sliding down his scalp.

“You’re so fucking needy,” she got out, which only served to utterly delight him. His thumb working at her from an oh so subtly more intense angle that had a familiar buzzing low inside her threatening to pluck her apart at the seams.

“Oh my god fuck,” she moaned. “Uhhu, that’s it, just like that oh my god.”

“You gonna cum, Nesta? You gonna cum on my desk- Jesus I’m gonna be thinking about you moaning, long legs spread for me while you moan so fucking dirty for my fingers every time I’m sat at this fucking desk now, you know that?”

His words sent her over the edge.

Silently she threw her head back as her orgasm licked up every frayed nerve in her body. It was hard. And Cassian kept on working those thick fingers inside her and over her sensitive clit throughout.

Fucking her dirty and skilled. Prolonging her twitching and bone melting pleasure.

Until she was snaking her hands from where they’d wound through his fastened hair, and pushing him off her at the shoulders. Falling back on her forearms with a shaky exhale, thighs still trembling subtly.

Cassian smirked. And brought his fingers to his mouth. Licking up the length of the calloused, sticky digits. Eyes on her’s from behind those obnoxiously sexy reading glasses she had half a mind to slap off his face.

“You taste even better than I remember,” he purred.

“Then get on your knees.”

Her voice was shaky but he didn’t even throw her another of those antagonistic and gorgeous smirks, just sank down. All six foot whatever, two hundred and something ridiculous pounds of muscle. Knelt on the floor between her legs.

“Is initiative encouraged of am I to be strictly obedient?” There was that smirk.

“You can use your brain,” she permitted. Still out of it. But still dying for him to touch her again. “If only because I need to be convinced you have one.”

His chuckle felt like fucking heaven between her thighs. His stubbled jaw rubbing up against her aching cunt as he kissed her like he meant it. Open mouthed and his tongue then slipping out to lavish her dripping slit before he began playing with her clit with the tip.

Nesta moaned, chewing down on her lip once she located the dignity to quieten down so she could keep it that way.

Her previous orgasm should have taken the edge off, but it had only reminded her already whetted appetite what there was to gorge on. Leaving her pining for more and disastrously sensitive.

“Mmmm,” Cassian moaned deeply- though honestly it was closer to a growl which was hot- and brought those large hands to her thighs. Holding her open for him stoking the bruise-blue flame that writhed in her core and allowing him better access to her pussy.

“Oh god right there,” Nesta keened. His nose brushing up against her clit as he licked up her snug entrance, teasing his tongue inside.

He threw her legs over his stacked shoulders and obeyed, working his tongue inside her with shameful enthusiasm only emphasised by the noises he was making. Seriously he was putting her to shame.

In fact if she hadn’t been rapidly approaching another orgasm she might have thought he was have more fun than her.

Hands no longer occupied with gripping her black-clad thighs they came to her hips and waist. Coaxing her to slant forward at an angle that granted him an even more advantageous angle from which to eat her out.

She moaned, manicured nails almost clawing into his desk behind her. “Mhmm mhmm uh,” she gasped sharply at the sudden relocation of his tongue. Cassian capturing her clit in his mouth and sucking on the sensitive bud as he flicked his tongue up and down.

“Fuck, yes yes yes yes,” she was utterly breathless. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” she whined.

Cassian fucking groaned and it was like he’d pulled at the knot in her stomach with his teeth.

The muscles in her lower stomach twitching as she came, the cushiony walls of her cunt pulsing tight and the only thing grounding her to reality.

Though she was just lucid enough to know Cassian was lapping up the nectar between her legs with audible and pleased snarls of pure, masculine satisfaction.

Nesta couldn’t say how long it took her to stop seizing, just that she was completely drunk on pleasure by the time her body allowed her to at least try and think. She failed completely. Wasted on her orgasm, on Cassian.

“Come ‘ere,” she said, breathless and doped up. Eyes barely fluttering open, heavy lidded and probably glazing over with unabashed appreciation as Cassian did as he was told. Rising to stand before her, thick arms winding round her waist snuggly and pulling her to him tight.

His sheathed erection pushed to her sticky inner thigh and his powerful upper body, chiselled and broad and comforting, warm and hard and dusted with dark hair, pushed to her’s.

His sharp jaw, like her thighs, was slightly sticky, and his mouth looked even more abused than it from the attention of her teeth. But the best part- better than his mid-sex blush or the way he was breathing all deep and powerful and hungry for her, were his glasses. They were slightly fogged up at the edges.

“Apology accepted?” He asked huskily, like he was already sure of the answer. Like he didn’t care because no matter what she said he was going to have her screaming for him till they were both sick of each other.

“Apology accepted,” Nesta confirmed. Splayed hands smoothing up his broad chest as she captured his lips in a wanton kiss.

“That still leaves your punishment though,” she whispered.

Cassian’s dark brows had barely risen before she’d pushed him back and he was falling into the chair again. Breathing deep and thrumming with a desire that destabilised him as he watched her slip a stiletto heel beneath her panties on the floor and flick them up into her hand. Prowling toward him and climbing into his lap. Hoping it wasn’t obvious that her legs felt like liquid.

“Hold these,” she demanded, feeding the bundle of lace into his mouth, his groan muffled by the fabric and her hands making quick and embarrassingly eager work of removing his unfastened shirt. All but tearing it off his sculpted arms that must have been as thick as her thighs- his body was ridiculous.

She griped his wrists before he could start doing something like feeling her up and brought them behind his head. Elbows out and biceps flexed, his hands meeting in the middle at the nape of his neck.

Cassian kissed and nipped at her fingers as she plucked her panties from his mouth with one hand, holding his wrists with the other.

He licked at his lips as though chasing the taste of her lingerie, eyes on her’s from behind his glasses.

She wasn’t gentle knotting the lace round his wrists.

“Oh,” he grinned, trying to move his arms.

He couldn’t of course, the physics working against him and rendering it so his only way out would be pulling until the lace snapped for a second time this evening. Still, it was a fucking gorgeous sight watching him try. Biceps and broad chest flexing.

Tied up and at her mercy she was dripping wet for him and slipped her tongue into his mouth as a little reward for how fucking hot he looked like this. Kissing him obscene and wet.

“Safe word?” She murmured into his mouth.

“Harder,” Cassian grinned. No doubt referencing her answer to the very same question the other night.

Nesta bit his bottom lip, puncturing the bruised cushion subtly and she tasted blood on her teeth and his tongue.

“Safe word,” she insisted once more against his lips, fingers winding through his hair with a drawn out and yearning pull.

“Amren,” he groaned`. Then added, “don’t ask.”

“Yeah we’re done talking,” she informed him dismissively. Unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops of his slacks with a swift tug.

Cassian’s hips jumped beneath her and she unfastened the button slung low on his hips, pulling the zip of his fly down. Parted lips close to brushing.

“Down boy,” she purred.

“Bit late for that,” he breathed raggedly, jaw feathering as she slid her hand into his boxers.

“God you’re adorable,” Nesta pouted, freeing his thick cock. Obnoxiously engorged and a dribble of pearlescence spilling from the uncut tip.

“Now be a good boy and don’t you dare cum until I say,” she warned.

And sank down on thick inch after inch of his hot, rigid shaft.

Nesta couldn’t help the arch that slipped through her spine as he filled her up, the stretch so acute it had her eyes rolling back with a flutter of her thick lashes.

“Oh my god,” she moaned breathlessly, hands splayed against his powerful chest. Thighs straddling his, her walls hugged him vice like and- Jesus, he rubbed up that deep spot inside her perfectly.

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned beneath her. “You’re so… fucking tight.”

Nesta rolled her head to the side in tandem with her hips, growing accustomed to the sheer size of him and eliciting a raw sound from the man before she removed his reading glasses. Fitting them over the bridge of her own petite nose.

“No backseat driving now, sweetheart,” she purred a little shakily.

She rose onto her knees only to sink back down again with a filthy twist of her hips. Repeating the motion again and again. Gliding up and down his cock with a tight and slippery friction that had her stomach flexing and his gaze heavy lidded. Encouraging, low noises escaping from deep in his chest that she wanted to bottle up and get drunk on.

“Uhh,” she keened, dirty and blissful, hands on his stacked shoulders. “Uhhu.”

“Oh fuck,” Cassian breathed huskily. “Mmhhm…that’s it…fucking ride me baby”

Nesta felt a familiar heat fan at her core as she drank him up. Every perfect, delicious inch there for her to use.

“Cassian,” she moaned. The sound tasting like sex in her mouth.

She fluttered around him again on an upwards twist of her hips, his cock pushing in and out of her snug cherry with a delicious wet sound. Just audible above her filthy moans.

Riding him was like sucking on a hard candy, that intense sweetness at the centre burning ever closer. And he kept running that damn mouth. Gravelly and deep, lavishing her body with sickly sweet and dirty compliments.

“Fuck that’s it gorgeous, just like that sweet thing fucking hell you’re fucking perfect.”

Powerful and dripping with raw fucking desire his body rolled upwards into her, slick with sweat and chiselled sinew. His cock burying deeper inside her. The sounds he was making just to top it off causing a tight fuzziness to tremble in her upper thighs.

“Oh my god,” Nesta moaned, hands coming to his face and lips brushing his as so she moaned a hot, “I’m gonna cum,” into his mouth.

Cassian groaned. Kissing her hard and deep.

“Cassian,” she keened.

She began bouncing deeper in his lap. Up and down up and down. His cock thrusting inside her hard and rubbing at her g spot just right while her clit grazed the coarse hair at his rugged hips. There was a bead of sweat gliding down the chiselled muscle that carved his broad torso, washboard abs flexing as he resisted release and Nesta felt the pressure between her thighs reach a fever pitch.

Grunting he bucked violently beneath her once, twice, and she was undone.

Nesta might have made a noise this time. Airy and hot and open mouthed against his neck as she buried her hands into his hair.

He was so tense beneath her, like pure marble soaked in the heat of the sun. Trying not spill inside her as her walls flexed with every hot wave of pleasure.

And once it passed his breathing was as ragged as her own.

“You did so good,” Nesta whispered at last against his ear. Voice wrecked like she were experiencing a sugar crash. Nibbling at the lobe. Tasting salt on her lips and eyes fluttering shut at the heady scent of his aftershave.

“Does that mean I get a reward?” he managed.

“Something like that,” she hummed, repositioning herself so that her back was to his chest.

“Nesta please. Just untie me, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered against her ear. Voice trembling like he’d shot up something good.

Nesta only chuckled, head knocked back so she could hold his eyes as she rolled her hips. Teasing, tormenting.

“The second you get your hands on these,” she brought her hands to her tits, giving them a soft squeeze and biting her lip, “you’ll be cumming and out of commission.”

Cassian growled, watching her feel herself up as she rolled her hips in leisurely circles. Sensual and dirty. The length of his hard shaft, thick and velvet smooth beneath her.

“Fuck,” he moaned huskily. Nose buried at her throat and lips working against her pulse point with the assistance of his tongue and teeth. Just as slow and through as her hips.

She gasped softly, grinding deeper.

“You know how good I can make it for you,” he purred.

“Mmmm,” she moaned quietly in agreement.

“Let me take care of you.”

“Cassian.”

“You make my name sound so sexy,” he grazed his stubbled jaw against the bruise he’d worked into her throat, the sensitive skin blushing warm at the contact as he moved his mouth to another location and started kissing and nibbling there. “Untie me, baby, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Nesta smiled.

“Or I could keep you tied up and just take it.”

Cassian growled against her neck as she tilted her hips forward allowing his cock to spring up, and sank down on him again.

She moaned, loud and keening. Hands snaking through his hair behind her as she rocked herself up and down slowly. There wasn’t a lot of friction, but for now it was enough just to revel in how good Cassian’s cock felt. That last orgasm having finally takes the edge off.

“Fuck that’s it grind for me,” he moaned. His breath was hot against her neck and she could feel his heart beat. Feel every deep sound reverberate through his chest as she moved.

His cock rubbed up against her g spot, colours and stars bleeding behind her eyes like fireworks.

“Cassian,” she whimpered lowly.

It was so good.

Hands fumbling distractedly she brought her fingers to untie him. And he deemed it all the permission he needed. Tearing himself free with a growl. Capturing her mouth in a slow and wanton kiss as those big hands came to rove her body, taking his time to pull her apart.

His touch hot and calloused, Nesta moaned into his mouth as he ran up her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her tits. Massaging and glazing every inch of her with a rough heat that made her feel like she was going to explode. Her body a champagne flute dangerously close to shattering at the frequency of his hot groans and growls.

“Right there, oh right fucking there baby,” She moaned quietly against his lips, one of his hands rubbing her hip and guiding her motions while the other palmed at her breast.

“Yeah? You like that?” He dipped his head to pull down the straps of her bra and dress down with his teeth until her cleavage spilt from the cups. Pebbled nipples tight and rosy in the dim light, peaking over the balcony of her bra.

“Mmmmm,” he murmured against her throat, exploiting the sensitive spot as he made his way back up to her face and watched her plump tits sway. A hand running from her hip down her thigh and back up again to slip between her legs to stroke her clit.

Nesta whined softly.

“Cassian…more…”

She kissed him sluggish and distracted. The two of them humming and moaning every so often until he started caressing her clit tighter and her sounds grew more frantic.

“Fuck uhhu, uhhu just like that,” she panted quietly into his mouth. “Oh god uhh, uhhh more…more…more more Cassian fuck me.”

She was on her feet before she could complain that his hands were no longer between her thighs. Pushed up against the edge of his desk, hands falling splayed against the surface to stop herself falling across the wood and legs split apart.

“Oh!”

“Good girl,” he grunted deeply. “Moan for me.”

His calloused fingers came to her clit, coaxing her closer to the edge as the other gripped her hip.

“That’s it, that’s my girl such a good girl baby.”

Mouth caught open as though on a fish hook Nesta started seeing black splodges, the puddles flaring in her vision on every one of his thrusts. Deep and dirty and filling her till she was so impossibly full she spilt over.

“Fuck fuck just like that oh my god you’re so fucking tight, cum on my cock, cum on my cock, uh, uh, uh.”

Cassian finished inside her with a guttural sound as she came. Pumping her full one last time with a brutal snap of his hips.

She was vaguely aware of his ragged breathing against her ear. Somewhat sure her forearms had fallen flat against his desk and her head hung forward. Hair falling over her face and back arched as her tight sex twitched and fluttered around him.

Coming back to her senses took longer than she’d ever admit.

“Is that cctv?” Nesta asked eventually, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder. Eyes flicking in gesture to the tiny little camera in the opposite corner of the ceiling.

“Don’t worry,” Cassian breathed. “It’s switched off.”

She turned her gaze to him.

“Shame.”

He let out an exhausted and reverent sound that might have been a laugh. And just as exhausted, once he’d pulled out, he fell back into the chair behind him. Trousers pulled back up but unbuttoned.

Nesta followed in fatigued suit, working her dress back down over her hips and sinking to the floor, back against the desk. She probably shouldn’t have worn black… but the impending bill and judgement from her dry cleaner would be worth it.

“Friday night. Pick me up at eight,” she breathed.

Cassian grinned.

“You like Italian?”

Nesta rolled her eyes from behind the reading glasses askew on her nose, but nodded none the less. She was sort of screwed if she didn’t. Cassian’s adopted family were Italian on his father’s side. The cuisine was going to be pretty commonplace if they kept seeing each other she imagined.

“What are you thinking about?” He hummed, watching her.

Nesta smiled. Then crawled toward him across the floor. “How I still have that table cloth you call a dinner jacket at my place.”

“Was that plan b?” He laughed, snaking an arm round her waist as she climbed into his lap. “Hold my jacket hostage till I agreed to go out with you again?”

“No,” she glared at him softly, nestling into the crease of his shoulder. “Though I had thought about wearing it tonight. Just your jacket and a pair of heels.”

Cassian licked his lips as though contemplating the sight and liking what he imagined very much. “Next time,” he hummed distractedly. Less promise more pleading. “This was…,” his free hand roved down her side, the black fabric glued to her figure. “And these…,” his touch made her melt as he ran down her thigh and platform boot, her legs flicked over one another.

“Lethal,” he whispered.

Nesta scoffed. “You’re telling me. My toes are killing me.”

Cassian hummed sympathetically, fitting a heel in his hand and guiding the shoe off her foot. Nesta groaned softly and he did the same with the other boot.

“That bad?” He chuckled, starting to massage her.

“Worth it though,” she sighed, nuzzling into his shoulder.

Cassian held the door open for Nesta to emerge out onto the street first. The cool night air whipping lazily at her hair.

Their second date had been incredible.

He’d taken her to Gnocco in the East Village. Proper Italian food, fairy lights, and intimate little corners perfect for flirting over too many glasses of wine and playing footsie beneath the table. Not to mention casual enough to see Nesta Archeron fitted out in heels, a snug black top, and a jaw dropping pair of jeans.

Tactically quiet and effortlessly biting as ever, she’d been armed with passionate reviews on the podcasts she’d listened to or books she’d read that week. Asking him about his own week and listening thoughtfully in a way that had probably made him blush.

If it hadn’t, then the way she’d licked at the creamy vanilla gelato on her dessert spoon definitely had.

Cassian was far too tempted to slip his hand into the back pocket of her dark skinny jeans as he emerged after her, but he felt Nesta probably wasn’t one for PDA. Or more accurately, public groping. And he was determined to be on his best behaviour this evening. Determined to make her forget all about how shit-awfully he’d handled last Saturday.

Not that he hadn’t given her a thorough apology.

Consistency was key however, and there would be no lapse in his conduct any time soon when it came to Nesta. He’d lucked out so fucking hard in getting a second chance when he hadn’t even deserved the first with a woman like her. Clever and beautiful and passionate and god he had it bad.

Had been thinking about her all week. Their date the only thing getting him through the late nights that were pretty much killing him at this point and the days spent arguing with Helion.

Cassian had worked out who’d put a hit on his friend. And why.

The contracts Helion was in the midst of signing were of a more personal nature that he’d originally let on. His will to be precise. In which it was detailed that upon his death, the pharmaceutical powerhouse that was Day Inc. should be handed over to Saoirse Vanserra.

The married woman Helion had gone and fallen in love with twenty odd years ago. The mother of his child.

Not that Helion had been aware of the that little detail until recently. Terminally ill, Saoirse hadn’t wanted the secret buried with her, and had gotten in touch with her old flame to tell him her youngest was his.

Despite being well into his fifties, Helion behaved like a twenty-something at the best of times. But learning he had a son that actually was twenty-something had thrust him into a panicked play at accountability. Saoirse was going to die, and soon, but Helion would still have a piece of her, a piece of the both of them despite the estrangement that had haunted their relationship since the start. A piece he’d do every and anything in his power to do right by.

Which meant Lucien would inherit his father’s company when the time came.

But removing Saoirse from his will…it felt like signing her death warrant. At least that’s what he’d told Cassian. That it it felt like he was giving up on her.

Cassian wished Helion could process everything in as much time as it took him. But time was a luxury not even the multi-millionaire could afford. Not with Saoirse’s eldest, Eris, trying to take him out before the will could be changed.

As things stood, Eris was set to inherit anything of his mother’s- a compromise reached between Saoirse and her cunt of a husband who’d wanted everything in his name. The Vanserra court its own savage little patriarchy of snakes and vipers, meaning as long as Beron was around, what belonged to his sons, belonged to him.

Still, Eris was the undisputed second in command and Beron wasn’t getting any younger. If he could take Helion out before any changes were made to the CEOs will, and if Saoirse’s doctors were to be believed, Day would practically be his by the end of the year.

Maybe sooner. If Beron beat his cancer ridden wife to death upon learning she’d been left Helion Day’s company and why.

He doubted anyone would put it past the bastard.

“Hey,” Nesta’s voice tugged at his attention as they turned off tenth. “Where’d you go?”

Cassian snaked his arm around her small waist, pulling her against him. “Just thinking,” he said. And as hard as he tried to push those thoughts away, something of them lingered in his voice.

She raised a neat eyebrow. That little beauty spot above the arch lifting with it and the one beneath the corner of her plump bottom lip quirking just barely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that before.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Tucking her tighter to his side as he looked down at her. “That’s because the only thing I ever think about is you. And when I’m with you, I don’t have to do that, do I?”

Her blush was so utterly adorable it made him want to kiss her senseless.

“How do you do that?” Those eyes like the smoke of ice narrowed in sincere curiosity. It was a little terrifying. Which off course only made him like her more.

“What? Make you blush like a-”

“No,” she interrupted him with an embarrassed and chiding laugh, pushing at his chest slightly. “Say things, just say them- like the only thing that matters is that you mean them?”

Cassian smiled. “Not everything has to be done strategically, Nesta.”

“Says the military man.”

“And wouldn’t you say that makes me qualified to- okay fine, roll your eyes at me. Jokes on you because it’s actually very sexy when you do that so.”

Nesta laughed, her head falling to rest below his chest as they walked.

“Fortunate you say something to make me roll my eyes every five seconds then,” she hummed.

“And that I know just how to make those eyes roll back,” he purred lowly in response with a roguish grin, rubbing his thumb against where her coat lay over her stomach.

“Oh and you’re telling me this whole conversation wasn’t strategically constructed so you could use that line?” Nesta looked up at him.

“Sweetheart, when are you going to accept that I’m just incredibly smooth?” He grinned. “Besides, that wasn’t a line.”

“That was so a line!”

“You’d know if I was giving you a line.”

“Go on then. Give me your best line,” she challenged. Stopping dead and turning on him with her arms folded. Cassian didn’t let his arm slip from around her waist though. Kept it right where it was as he brought his free hand to tuck a lock of chocolatey hair behind her ear. Inspiration striking him.

“Are you a box of chocolates?” he asked, gravelly and suggestive. “Because I’d love to take your top off.”

Nesta really had the loveliest laugh in the world.

“That’s awful!” She put her hands firm against his chest. “How did you ever get laid before I took pity on you?”

“Um I’m gorgeous and rich,” he reminded her, both arms now caging her in.

“What a coincidence,” Nesta purred, their noses tucked against one another just barely thanks to his date’s shoes. No doubt expensive as they were tall.

“No coincidences here, sweetheart. This is all fate.”

“I’m deliberately not rolling my eyes just to spite you for saying something so cliché and dumb,” she murmured.

“Fine then. Fate and your meddling sister,” he admitted.

“Let’s not talk about my little sister right now,” Nesta’s hands snaked up to toy with the lapels of his coat.

“What would you rather we talk about?”

“I don’t want to talk at all,” she whispered. And pulled him down lazily to meet her mouth.

Cassian moulded his lips to the perfect pressure of her own. Hard and soft, her mouth like velvet and her body pressing into his tight and loose in all the right places.

Kissing Nesta was like brushing you fingers against the glacial softness of snow like flakes of glass. Irresistible and inevitable. Burning so soft at first before the sensation grew unbearably tender and acute. It reminded you that you were alive.

The movements of their mouths grew hotter, no less lethargic, but simply heavier. Like they had all the time in the world and planned to exploit every second.

So much for not into PDA, Cassian thought, as she coaxed his mouth open further with her tongue, his own slowly swiping to meet it. And he did slip his hand into her back pocket then, giving her a fond and pining squeeze which pulled her tighter into him.

The pads of her thumbs brushed at either side of his jaw as she arched a little, those perfect tits pushed against his upper body and he dug his fingers a little more possessively into the fabric of her coat. Bunching at her waist beneath his calloused touch.

Nesta sighed sweetly into him-

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cassian swore. Tame Impala playing from his pocket.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who likes your attention,” Nesta laughed quietly, hands smoothing back to her sides politely. The little menace. Her effortless composure all the more devastating with her mouth kissed cherry-red and pupils blown wide as saucers.

He fished out his phone, and declined the call.

“Well you’re the only one getting it.”

She rose her brows as though she were impressed, winding her arms back around his neck.

“For a man who hates games you have game, Velaris.”

“Would you feel less wooed if I told it you was just Rhysand?” He admitted. Rejecting his busybody brother’s phone call a far less bold gesture than if it had been work.

Nesta’s little smile was like molten satin.

“That makes it even better,” she kissed him again.

Cassian kissed her back through his laugh, dipping her back slightly for a more indulgent angle, her arms lacing tighter around him to hold herself up. Like he’d let her fall.

Nesta was the one laughing now and it tasted like gelato and champagne and sunrises. He nipped at her lip as he pulled her back up with him snuggly, and she brought her hand to cup the side of his face, the other at his tapered waist.

“I should get going,” she hummed distractedly, hand gliding up his body like she didn’t even realise.

Her tongue caressed his slowly before he was muttering against her, “probably”, chasing the plush heat of her mouth.

They didn’t stop. Not even as Nesta was murmuring a disjointed, “heighten the…suspense…keep you…wanting and all that.”

“I’m already losing interest,” he purred gruffly, their jaws knocking intimately as the kiss became hotter and fitful, short breaths and hungry mouths. Her nails scraping softly up the nape of his neck and through his hair.

“And you’re looking for it in my back pocket, is that it?” She whispered, and Cassian gave her ass a firm squeeze as either confirmation or reprimand.

She bit his bottom lip, the nip of her pearly teeth giving way to a sensual sort of chewing that made his eyes roll back behind closed lids and his large hands wound through her hair to guid her head back so he could take charge. Kissing her slow once again but dirtier, thorough and wanton and Nesta keened almost silently.

“Found it,” Cassian said thickly into her mouth.

“Want your prize?” She whispered breathlessly.

“Yes please.”

Nesta slid her hand between them. Fingers brushing his belt, then lower-

Cassian couldn’t tell if he was relieved or devastated when she slipped her way inside his pocket and plucked free his phone.

She withdrew just barely from the kiss, switched it on and turned the screen to him. The device unlocked as both his hands tucked into her pockets and her manicured thumbs were tapping away.

Cassian brushed at the curved beam of her high cheekbone with his nose, trying to see what she was up to.

“What are you doing?”

“Callander says you’re free Friday. Or it did. Now it says you have a date.” She nestled herself back into him tightly, tucking the device back into his pocket, exploiting that teasing proximity to something else entirely and driving him crazy as she grazed his mouth with her own.

“Congratulations.”

Cassian grinned.

“Tha- wait just to be clear the date is with you, right?”

“Yes, Cassian, the date is with me,” she chuckled. “And I can’t wait,” her humming melted to something wordless and heavy as he kissed her again.

Slow and explicit he stroked his tongue inside and he swore he felt the flutter of her lashes against his cheek.

“Cassian,” she breathed almost silently and it burnt his lungs like freezing air.

“Can I take you home?” Cassian whispered.

“May I take you home,” Nesta corrected between the sinful caress of their lips.

“Please do.”

She was kissing the smirk off his face like she could taste how snug he was and wanted a piece of it for herself. Like she were working at a marshmallow or strawberry lathered with thick chocolate from a hot fountain of the stuff.

“Maybe you are smooth,” she whispered and it only inflated Cassian’s self satisfaction. “But we both know I like it rough.” Ouch. “Just like we both know you’re way too exhausted to have your way with me.”

He pulled back abruptly.

But his mouth had barely opened to argue when she gave him a definitive “don’t”. It was little bit arousing. “You said yourself how late you’ve been working. Have you slept at all this week?”

For all her icy glares and hellish attitude, at her core, Nesta was kind. She cared despite her pretences to the contrary and it meant she noticed things. Like how despite his lively grins, Cassian was out for the fucking count.

“That’s what I thought. You can screw me when I know you won’t pass out before making it to third base.”

“The only one who’d be passing out is you once I’m through fu-”

“Save that thought for a night you have the energy to see it through,” she said.

“But I-”

A quirk of her neat brows shut him up.

He growled a bitter but accepting sound. She was right, of course she was right, because she was Nesta and a Nesta was always right.

“Friday,” he promised. “I’m gonna cook for you, something fucking romantic.”

“More romantic than that sentence?”

“Look I may not be Keats but I know my way round a stove, so hold all sarcastic comments until I’ve fed you.”

“I’ll try, but I know for a fact you’re going to make that very hard.”

“How have you already failed?”

“Shut up,” Nesta laughed.

“You have the sexiest fucking laugh.”

“So you’ve said,” she blushed.

“And I’ll keep saying it if every time I do you blush like that.”

“Like I’m embarrassed for you?” she countered with an arched brow and a cruel twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“You’re so mean,” he grinned.

They made their way to the curb and hailed down a car on twelf.

“Want me to ride with you back to your apartment?” he said, opening the back door of a yellow cab that had pulled up for her.

“That’s sweet, but trust me, I can take care of myself,” she promised.

“Text me when you get home safe and sound just to spite me then,” he said from the opposite side of the door.

“I will. But you better not be awake to read it,” She gave him a lingering kiss before gracefully tucking herself inside.

“Night, gorgeous,” he winked, and shut the door.

Her ride had just turned onto fourteenth when Cassian decided against hailing his own despite the cold. It was only fifteen or so minutes on foot, and he could probably do with cooling down.

Though even if he had to trek through tundra to get home he suspected he’d still find himself burning up under a cold shower in an attempt not to jack off to the thought of Nesta like a fourteen year old.

Stuffing his already slightly numb hands into his pockets he began walking, his fingers brushing against his phone. He should probably call Rhys back.

The phone rang for a moment before his brother picked up.

“Did you decline my call?”

“Yup.”

“Bastard.”

“I’m sure Feyre will kiss your bruised ego better,” Cassian grinned as he walked. “Along with something else so long as she doesn’t hear you’ve been calling me names,” he added slyly.

“Are you threatening to tell on me to my wife?” Rhysand asked, a little wound up by the allusion to Feyre’s kissing certain places even if he hid it behind an unimpressed drawl.

“Are you pretending the thought doesn’t have you quaking in your givenchy loafers?”

“On the topic of not upsetting Feyre, she’s demanding a family dinner.”

He laughed deeply at Rhysand’s avoiding the question.

“That why you’re calling?”

“Partly,” Rhys said. “Work’s been…She wants to be around family right now,” he said with an all too familiar casualness. “You free?”

“For Feyre?” Cassian said without hesitation. “Yeah, I’m free.”

He would just have to pull an all nighter on the Monday.

“Thank you. And also fuck you for implying if it was for me you wouldn’t be,” his brother said.

“Well you called me just as Nesta was about to slip her tongue down my throat so-”

“Nesta?” Rhys interrupted. “I thought that was over?”

Shit.

In all the carnage that had been the last week he hadn’t bothered letting his family know he and Nesta were back on. The woman was a touchy subject and he hadn’t had the energy or balls to get into it.

While Rhys had been able to excuse Elain’s inactivity when the Archerons had been at their financial lowest, he’d never managed to extend that same courtesy to Nesta. Maybe it was because the first time they’d met she’d called him a cradle snatching whore. Regardless, Rhysand pretty much hated the woman’s guts, meanwhile his wife was desperately trying to lure her into the inner circle of the Velaris family.

Cassian may have been able to bench a number higher than his IQ but he wasn’t dumb. He’d clocked on to the fact his sister-in-law was using him as Nesta bait. In all honesty he was loving it. Nothing made him happier than helping out his family, and if that meant taking out an intelligent, passionate, stunning young woman, then really it was a double-win.

Taking a second to grind his jaw softly he was reminded to tread carefully. Not something he generally excelled at, but for the sake of his brother he could try.

“I know you’re not her biggest fan,” he said. “But Feyre forgave her years ago for bailing-”

“Well Feyre’s a better person than I am.”

“I’ll say. She set me up with a smoking hot model, meanwhile you’re trynna cock block me,” he tried.

“You can put your dick wherever you want, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I guess not,” he ground out. Itching to hit something at the implication Nesta was just “somewhere to put his dick”.

“Cassian if you want to date a biblical plague in human form knock yourself out, seriously, god knows Feyre will be thrilled. And Azriel, your moping-”

“I don’t mope,” Cassian interjected.

“Fine, your stropping-”

“Fuck off.”

Rhys’ laugh was about smug as the bastard’s crooning voice.

“Mor’s gonna kill you by the way. You put a two grand dent in her wine collection over a woman you took back the next week.”

Cassian groaned, wiping a hand over his face. The only thing worse than the hangover he’d had Monday morning would be Morrigan’s laying into him on this.

“Don’t you dare tell her,” he warned.

“Fine but you’ll have to do it before next Sunday, you’re bringing Nesta.”

“Hang on a minute-”

“Feyre wants a family dinner and if you and Nesta are back on that means she’s coming,” Rhys said.

“Boy you are asking a lot of me here,” Cassian sighed dramatically. “I mean I can think of a few ways to persuade her but most of them are illegal in a lot of countries,” he grinned.

“I don’t care if you have to roofie her and strap her to the hood of your car, just make sure she’s there.”

“Alright, alright Don.”

“Don’t call me that,” Rhys growled irritably to Cassian’s delight.

“What else were you calling about then?” He smirked. “You said dinner was only part of it.”

“I wanted to ask how things were going with Helion,” his brother said. “Any update?”

Cassian sighed heavily.

“This a secure line?”

“Always”.

“The hit’s Eris,” he said. “Apparently Saoirse does pretty well for herself if Helion kicks it and it’s looking like she won’t last the year. When she goes Eris takes the lot so he’s trying to take Helion out before he can change his will.”

“That little bitch,” Rhys interrupted.

“I’m not done. Guess who Helion might be transferring that inheritance to?”

“Is Azriel going to finally have the funds to build that sex dungeon?”

“Not quite,” Cassian said. “The money’s going to Lucien.”

“Lucien?”

“Turns out the kid’s his.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Seems obvious in hindsight to be honest.”

Rhys was silent on the other end for a moment as he evidently thought through matter.

“You said might, is he waiting on a paternity test or something?”

Cassian winced. “No. No he’s dragging his feet about changing the will altogether.”

“Why the fuck is he doing that there’s a bullet with his name on it!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Cassian hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I’m the one whose gonna have to jump in front of that bullet if he doesn’t get his ass in gear. But he…he’s losing the love of his life, Rhys. I’m trynna cut him a little slack-”

“Slack Eris is going to have someone strangle him with.”

“I’m handling it,” Cassian promised.

Rhys went silent again.

“We could always just kill Eris.”

Cassian would have laughed at the unrestrained glee in his brother’s voice if the suggestion hadn’t been so tempting.

“No you can’t,” he reminded him, ascending the steps to his front door.

“Sorry, sorry, you probably want plausible deniability and all that- which is a shitty reason to leave a family business-”

“What are you talking about? I left because I don’t like any of you.”

“Dick.”

“See it’s that kind of thing that made for a hostile work environment I really couldn’t foresee a future working under,” he grinned, unlocking the door.

“You taught me words far more creative than that growing up, monte de merda-”

“Desenmerda-te, and don’t cuss at me in Portuguese carcamano.”

“I’m fucking Persian!”

“Tell that to your pale ass like unbaked garlic bread, minchia,” Cassian retorted in Italian as he tossed his keys onto the skirting board and shrugged off his coat.

“A fanabla!”

“Love you too, tell Feyre I said hi.”

“See you and Nesta on Sunday, I’ll text you timings.”

“No shop talk okay, she still doesn’t know anything about-”

“I know, I know, it’s not me you have to worry about. Feyre keeps asking me to hire her.”

“As what? Has Cosa Nostra began dabbling in the modelling industry under your direction, baby brother?”

“If I said yes would you come back to us?”

“I’m a one woman man, Rhys.”

“Jesus, it’s been less than a month.”

“At which point you and Feyre were engaged.”

“Nesta’s no Feyre.”

Yeah, Nesta has enough wit about her to know you can’t go round offering Mafia jobs like candy, he thought to himself.

“Whatever man, I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

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crossoverworldtree · 3 years

Text

Just Out of Curiosity, What Have Buffy and Angel Been Linked Too?

Within the show’s run and in other official canon material, Buffy and Angel have had crossover links to:

The Wild Bunch, Dracula, National Lampoon’s Vacation, The Lord of the Rings, Aliens, Buckaroo Banzai, The X-Files, Evil Dead, Neil Gaiman’s Sandman, Doctor Who, and Godzilla. The “Expanded Universe” Material (Dark Horse Comics before Season 8, the IDW comics, Licensed Novels) add:

Frankenstein, James Bond, The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the legendary figure of Springheel Jack, Sherlock Holmes, An American Werewolf in London, The Wolf Man, King Arthur, Zorro, The Cthulhu Mythos, Tarzan, Hellboy, Predator, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV Series), The Devil’s Footprints, Rosanne, Marvel Comic’s character Cytorrak (the thing that empowers The Juggernaut), Ghostbusters, the Dungeons & Dragons Multiverse, Peter David’s Fallen Angel, and Highlander: The Series. Buffy and Angel have been referenced by other series as well in the crossover sense. Those add:

Eureka, Simon R. Green’s Ghost of a Chance, Andy Barker P.I., Hack/Slash, Supernatural, Gen13, Blood and Bullets, House of the Dead 2 (movie), Marvel’s Legion of Monsters (featuring Elsa Bloodstone, Morbius the Living Vampire, N’kantu the Living Mummy, The Manphibian, Werewolf by Night, Tomb of Dracula, & Daimon Hellstrom), West Coast Avengers (featuring Kate Bishop, Clint Barton, Gwenpool, America Chavez, Quinten Quire, Fuse, Jeff the Land Shark, Madam Masque, Alloy (Ramone Watts), and Noh-Varr), and American Horror Story: Apocalypse. Those nods come in works that also reference: Carnacki: Ghostfinder, Drinking the Midnight Wing, The Monkeys’ Paw, Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter, Halfway to the Grave from the “Night Huntress” novel series, Sonja Blue, Blade (either comics or film series), Solomon Kane, and Nick Fury: Agent of SHIELD. Buffy and Angel have been featured in what I like to refer to as “Megacrossover” tales as well, adding a plethora of other series to the mix. The additions include: White Zombie, The Black Coats, Arsene Lupin, Marvel’s Brother Voodoo, Child's Play, Tales of the Zombie, Revolt of the Zombies, James Bond, Angel Heart, Duke de Richleau, I Walked With a Zombie, John Thunstone, Kolchak the Night Stalker, Pirates of the Caribbean, Captian Blood, Lorna Doone, Gulliver's Travels, the works of Stephen King ("Jerusalem's Lot"), Leatherstocking Tales, Charmed, Treasure Island, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (the original short story), John Carter of Mars, The X-Files, Moby Dick, The Narrative of Arthur Gordan Pym of Nantucket, Mayfair Witches, Doc Savage, The Phantom, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, The Wild West (TV Series), Gone with the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, The Lone Ranger, Martin Hewitt, The Shadow, The Body Snatchers (the story on which Invasion of the Body Snatchers was based), L'Enigmatique Fen-Chu, Atlantida, The Exorcist, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Next Generation, The Stepford Wives, Young Frankenstein, The Six Million Dollar Man, The Pretender, Beauty and the Beast (1980s Television Series), Bionic Woman (original series), Modesty Blaze, Knight Rider (original Series), The Equalizer, The Nyctalope, Cyrano de Bergerac, The Three Musketeers, The Scarlet Pimpernel, The Invaders (1950s Television Series), Blake and Mortimer (a Belgian comic), Sâr Dubnotal, Blithe Spirit (1941), Lensman, Simon Ark, Dark Shadows, Semi-Dual (The Occult Detector (1912)), Doctor Strange, John J. Malone, Kenneth J. Malone, Network (1976 film), I Dream of Jeannie, Northern Exposure, Jane Arden, The Continental Op, Nate Heller, Judex, Dr. Spektor, Some Like It Hot, Little Caesar, Scarface, Robin and the 7 Hoods, Dick Tracy, The Big Lebowski, Morris Klaw, Suicide Squad (Novel Series that began with Mr. Zero and the FBI Suicide Squad), Theodosia Throckmorton, John Thunstone, Fergus O'Breen, Rocket to the Morgue, Call Northside 777, "Bell, Book and Candle", Mr. Mulliner, Special Unit 2, The Quincunx of Time, Baal (of Renée Dunan's 1924 novel), Female Vampire (1975 Film), Doctor Omega (a Doctor Who pastiche), The Adventures of a Parisian Aeronaut in the Unknown Worlds, C. Auguste Dupin, Fantômas, The Merkabah Rider, Quantum Leap, Monk (TV Series), The Manitou (film), Simon of Gitta, Meaner than Hell, Kull, Conan the Barbarian, Steve Harrison, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Kung Fu, Indiana Jones, Batman, Something Wicked This Way Comes, House II: The Second Story, Winchester '73, The Quick and the Dead, Hombre, The Lone Ranger, The Pearl of Death, House of Horrors, The Brute Man, John Kirowan, Bran Mak Morn, Carmilla, World of Watches, Nosferatu, Underworld, Black Sunday, The Vampire Chronicles, Vampire City, The Black Coats, The Island of Doctor Moreau, The Most Dangerous Game, The Vampyre (1819), The Count of Monte Cristo, Tombs of the Blind Dead, Lord Peter Wimsey, Waldemar Daninsky, Curse of the Crimson Altar, Captain Kronos - Vampire Hunter, P. G. Wodehouse's Works, Viy, The Mummy (1932), Harry Dickenson, The Spider, Varney the Vampire, The Simpsons, Hellraiser/The Hellbound Heart, The Master Mind of Mars (part of Edgar Rice Burrough’s Mars series), The Wandering Jew’s Daughter, and She: A History of Adventure. Buffy and Angel also have two products that show up regularly in fiction.

One is Sugar Bombs or Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, which appear in Calvin and Hobbes, Marvel’s Runaways (featuring Nico Minoru, Karolina Dean, Chase Stein, Gert Yorkes, Molly Hayes, Old Lace, Xavin. Victor Mancha, and The Swarm), and The Incredibles 2. They also show up in the videogame series Fallout, but that is most likely an alternate universe. Morley Cigarettes are the other product that has a good travel life, enough to have its own Wikipedia Page. As such, I’ll only mention a few notable cases: Joy Ride 2: Dead Ahead, Murder in the First, Platoon, Psycho (1960), The World’s End (2013), 24, American Horror Story “Birth”, The Americans, Beverly Hills 90210 (1990s series), Burn Notice, Californication, Cold Case, Criminal Minds, CSI: NY, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Dick Van Dyke Show, ER, Everybody Hates Chris, Friends, Heroes, Jake 2.0, Judging Amy, Justified, Lost, Malcolm in the Middle, Medium, Millennium, Mission: Impossible (TV Series), Nash Bridges, NCIS, New Amsterdam, Orange is the New Black, Pushing Daisies, Reaper, Seinfeld, Space: Above and Beyond, The Strain, That 70s Show, The Walking Dead, Twin Peaks, Warehouse 13, Weeds, System Shock 2, and The Twilight Zone “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet”. Obviously, some of these would be alternate universes. Finally, there are two notable parody examples to bring up: Vampirella vs. Fluffy. Vampirella has had a LOT of crossovers, so she’s one step removed from Buffy at best, ergo, they probably met and given the tone of the comic, Vampi did not leave too happy with Buffy’s remarks about her outfit, or Willow. Big Wolf on Campus actually provides a rather respectful crossover, and all things considered, the title character likely met Faith before she came to Sunnydale if taken as a proper crossover. Totaling things up, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (and Angel) have had 10 nods to the Cthulhu Mythos, 7 crossovers with Dracula, 5 with Frankenstein and Sherlock Holmes, 4 with Ghostbusters, and 3 with Doc Savage, Solomon Kane, Evil Dead/Army of Darkness, The X-Files, and Hellboy. And all that from just Buffy and Angel. Can you imagine what you find when you got a link further than that? Or two links? Six?

To give a hint: The Mythos can add over 200 works, Dracula 160+, 79 from Frankenstein, 17 from Ghostbusters, 24 from Hellboy, 29 from Evil Dead, and 51 from The X-Files. There is a lot of overlap, of course, but it still sets a good idea of just how big this world is. Now, all Buffy needs is a crossover with Batman, and she’ll have hit the all the major crossover series.

#Buffy the Vampire Slayer #Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPG #Crossover Universe #Angel #List #World Building

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

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Love you to the Moon and to Saturn

Summary: Caring is not an advantage. To Mycroft, this was a belief he found through the calculated logic that ruled his life. If was analytical and detached and certainly had nothing to do with Sherlock or the childhood neighbor.

A/N: In a break from my regularly scheduled SVU writing, here’s a four part Folklore inspired Mycroft Holmes thing.

Please, picture me in the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

“Mycroft, promise you’ll remember me here,” Ruth whispered, laying on the blanket beside where he sat with his legs before him. It was wholly undignified, but it was the clearing they spent their free time in the summer when Sherlock wasn’t there for them to watch over.

“Why here?” he asked, brow lifted as he watched her carefully weaving the bevy of flowers she’d picked. It had made their walk three times as long, but he was content to watch her as the sun shone on red curls and the yellow sundress flowed in the wind. Uncle Rudy wouldn’t approve of the way he was beginning to think of her. The neighbor girl in the summers who helped him watch over his precocious brother and never knew the sister that still haunted his nightmares. He was sixteen now, but the tension was not yet gone in the Holmes house. Ruth’s insistence on dragging him to the clearing always served as a reprieve.

“You don’t act so stuffy, so it’s where I’ll remember you. I want our memories to match when you go off to school in a couple years.” He might have taken offense if she weren’t right, something she must have known because she added, “It’s probably good one of us already acts politely. But I like seeing you when you don’t look so stressed.”

“I’m under no stress, Ruth.”

“You’re a good liar. But we’ve also spent four summers together now. You always play quite serious, but I’m learning to read you.”

There was no reason she needed to know what weighed so heavily on his shoulders. His parents had yet to realize the weight their pressure put on him. He’d been scolded for not watching Eurus more closely, not watching Sherlock and Victor as they played. Then, Uncle Rudy had decided two years before that fourteen was man enough to know the reality and partake in taking care of the family.

Rudy would always claim he occupied a minor position in the British government, but whatever it was allowed him to put Eurus somewhere far, far away. In a few years, Mycroft would go to Oxford, study something that prepped him to join Rudy. When the time came, managing the secrets would be his job. He would minitor Eurus at Sherrinford, hide the secrets away from his parents, let them think their daughter dead and maintain the illusion she was. At least he would give her creature comforts, gifts on birthdays.

Mycroft wouldn’t lose the humanity or kindness Rudy had. It took work to learn it, but it was carefully curated and hidden away, reserved for a select few, and Ruth was one of them. He didn’t want to tell Ruth all the darkness Rudy kept tucked away or the way he had to monitor Sherlock to ensure he didn’t remember Eurus or that redbeard wasn’t truly a dog.

“I am unknowable, Ruth,” he nearly hummed, allowing the corner of his mouth to lift. “But I promise to remember you dirtying a perfectly lovely dress in order to weave flowers into a wreath.”

“It’s a crown, Mycroft,” she said emphatically. “I bring blankets now so you won’t dirty your slacks.”

“What a kindness.”

“You used to be more like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You act like a teacher. All serious and proper and wearing slacks and a sweater and a collared shirt to spend a day in the yard.”

“I’m just trying to act like an adult.”

“We’re not adults.”

He wanted to tell her he wasn’t allowed to be a child anymore. That he wanted to go with her to get drunk at bonfires and snog and do all the things his peers did. But, between his intellect making most people simply unbearable, the jealousy he wouldn’t acknowledge when some lad talked to Ruth, and the fact that would mean risking something happening to his brother, he couldn’t. If Sherlock were hurt, his parents would blame him, as they did with Eurus, so Mycroft hovered over him. Luckily, he seemed to like the attention from his big brother, often snatching books he knew Mycroft had finished and devouring them to discuss them proudly in earshot of Mycroft.

“I suppose you’re correct. I still have no intention of going to one of those bonfires with you. Sherlock will be home soon. We ought to go back.”

“You’re not his parent.”

“I just enjoy his company.”

She squinted, placing her newly finished ring of flowers atop her head, and he smiled despite himself. It was probably good she made him take these breaks in the summers. Otherwise, he’d never take the time to breathe or feel the sun on his face or anything else. One day, he wouldn’t have the option. Caring wasn’t an advantage. That’s what Rudy kept telling him, but Mycroft couldn’t see how this could be anything but.

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other… Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

“This isn’t tea, Ruth,” he said, distaste apparent as she set the pitcher before him.

“It’s sweet tea, Mycroft. Just try it.”

“You were raised by Americans. This is a bastardization of tea. I won’t have it.”

“You take your tea with so much sugar, anyway. It’s hot out, and I wanted something that wouldn’t make me hotter. There’s mint in it. And sugar. Just try it. For me?”

Mycroft made a noise of dissatisfaction, taking the offered glass and sipping it. He didn’t want to admit it was bearable, but when he took another sip, he could see the look of pride on Ruth’s face. Expectantly, she crossed her arms, and he sighed as he realized she’d wait until he answered.

“It’s acceptable. Still a bastardization. Hot tea is perfectly lovely on a hot day.”

“I’ll take it. Especially given how easily you’re drinking it.”

“Impossible.”

“You love me,” she sang playfully, and he wanted to tell her he was becoming quite sure he did. She was who came to mind when he heard love described. Ruth was who he trusted, was comfortable around, and made him want to be less of a miserable pain. She was also beautiful and smart and interesting, not like everyone else he’d dubbed as goldfish as of late. It was infuriating.

“To the moon and to saturn,” he said softly, mirroring the way she’d said the same thing affectionately to both him and his brother. His eyes were closed as his head rested against the back of the patio swing, and he felt the tickle of Ruth’s braids before he felt her press a kiss to the top of his head. His heart pounded, and Mycroft was suddenly more aware of her closeness as he opened her eyes. The sound of Sherlock calling out to his audience of toys as he played echoed to them, but for once they were the background noise to his mind and all he could focus on was Ruth’s soft laugh as she watched his brother from her place beside him.

“To the moon and to saturn,” she smiled. “You’re my best friend, Mycroft.”

He didn’t like the word friend in that moment, but saying as much would mean admitting he was smitten with her. There was no way he could keep that from mummy and father. He wasn’t one for affection, but he let her rest her head upon his shoulder, a dignified hand pressing to her cheek before returning to his lap.

“And you are mine, Ruth.”

“You mean that?”

“I do.”

“Thank you.”

Ruth stayed against his side, only sitting up when Sherlock ran up clutching some piece of a broken gardening trow he seemed quite proud to have found. Ruth took it gladly, promising she’d try to think of a way to give it a handle again. In the fall and spring, it was always harder for him to keep up with his younger brother; mummy and father both taught at the university and found their time researching and writing indispensable so they could enjoy the winter break and summer. They said the boys would be fine on their own, but what they meant was Mycroft would be watching. It was better with Ruth, who genuinely seemed to enjoy helping to make Sherlock feel included.

With Eurus gone and Victor dead, the ten year old only had his brother and their neighbor. He also had the same distance Mycroft remembered so well, the sea between himself and everyone else because their minds simply worked differently. People could be so boring, especially if they were unwilling to deal with the Holmes’ peculiarities. Everyone was so delicate, still learning who they were and building self esteem, that Sherlock and Mycroft with intelligence to rival the teachers and eccentricities abound didn’t know how to interact, especially given how long their mother had kept them home schooled. Victor had always understood his brother, and now he was gone. Ruth was the first close friend Mycroft had found, the only one where he didn’t have to calculate what his next move should be.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock asked, pulling on his brother’s sleeve. He was still all dark curls and blue eyes. It was still admiration on his face instead of the annoyance that would take its place ten years later. “Do we have any of the big wooden dowels left? Ruth says we could use them to make a handle!”

“We do,” he said softly, straightening the boy’s collar. “You’re quite lucky she’s always so willing to assist in your restorations. Her father does restorations for museums. I’ll fetch the dowels. You help Ruth set up your work station.”

I’ve been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why I think you should come live with me And we can be pirates, then you won't have to cry

“Why are you hiding?”

Mycroft looked up from his book, back against the wall of the attic. It was the first Christmas since he’d left for Oxford, and he was pleased to learn both families would spend it as they did their summers. If anything had been confirmed for him, it was that he was irrevocably in love with her. He’d now kissed and slept with a couple of people and each time he wondered how it would be if it were Ruth.

Rudy had made it apparent that until he was needed at a job once he graduated, his summers were his, and he was pleased to know he had three summers with her before Eurus was his responsibility. Sherlock had been acting out since he left, and he had a feeling soon enough the boy would be his responsibility from afar.

“I’m not hiding,” he argued as she settled beside him. “What, no hello?”

“Hello, Mycroft. I missed you terribly.”

“I missed you too, Ruth.”

“You never call me. We don’t get to run into each other when you’re at school. So we’ve got to put in effort.”

“I’ve nothing terribly interesting to say.”

“Call and bore me then, okay?”

“You require quite a lot of attention.” His tone was as playful as she’d ever heard, though to anyone else she was certain it sounded monotone. But, the corners of his mouth weren’t turned down, even if he did seem more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Mycroft.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I could hear your dad.” Mycroft sighed, placing his bookmark and setting the novel aside. His hands came to rest on his lap, fingers laced, and he just couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “Was it about Sherlock?”

“He’s been acting out with regularity. Mummy and father think I should come back more. That he misses me. I do not know when they expect that I will be able to, but I’m going to make an effort to.”

“Mycroft, he’ll find something else to act out over. He’s only turning eleven. It’s a change he’ll have to get used to because one day, you’ll be prime minister or something and never have time for any of us.”

“Don’t wish that upon me.”

“Sometimes, I think something bad happened here. And that the energy gets to your dad. He isn’t like this in the city from what you tell me.”

“Are you implying ghosts make my father angry, Ruth?”

“Maybe,” she shrugged. “You should come stay with me. I’ll sneak you in through the window.”

“Your father would have me killed. He’d assume I had nefarious intent.”

“He left,” she muttered, picking at the loose thread of the rug.

“Ruth-”

“I’m fine. He still visits me, and I visit him. It’s just so strange being here for Christmas without him. He met a woman at work…”

“How’s Catherine?”

“She’s taken it well. She stays out a lot. But she’s been home for the holiday since we came out here.”

“I am always here if you need to talk about it. You could have called me.”

“I know,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “Are you ready to run away from responsibility yet? I still think we could have a lovely roadside stand somewhere. A cottage.”

“You could always come to Oxford.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’ll always have a place for you.”

“I’m just pleased I get to see you. It’s been too long. You’re my favorite person, you know?”

“And you’re mine.”

“No, Sherlock is,” she teased, nudging his side. “But that’s fair.”

“I love you.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He’d said it dozens of times, but always in response to her. There was something else behind it now as they hid away from their families. It felt comfortable. He felt at home now that she was here. Wasn’t that a sign? That he still felt unstable when surrounded by his parents and Sherlock, but a peace washed over him when Ruth’s head poked out from behind the attic door.

“Mycroft-”

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t.”

“I do.”

“What?”

“I said I do. I love you too, Mycroft Holmes.”

He didn’t know what to do now. Oxford was the first place someone had kissed him, a brunette boy at a party his roommate had held. There was also a woman, one much older than him, who he met at the library. Those had been simple enough because the weight of his feelings wasn’t attached. He’d worked so hard with Rudy to control them, to remember caring isn’t an advantage. It was acceptable to love his little brother; Rudy reminded him that would make everything easier. But loving Ruth? He’d always made their friendship an exception, but as he realized he had the opportunity to kiss her he took it.

Long fingers cupped her jaw, and his heart soared as he realized she was looking to his lips. She leaned in before he could, hands going to his sides as she kissed him sweetly. Each kiss he’d had before had a purpose. It was hard and wanting and found the inexperienced Mycroft in a bed somewhere. Now, he could just hold his lips to hers like this forever, never progressing, and be happy. When they did separate, she buried her face into the crook of his neck, and his arms circled her waist as he savored the closeness. He could feel her heart pounding as his was.

“I love you, Mycroft.”

“And I love you, Ruth.”

“Promise?”

“To the moon and to Saturn.”

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft holmes x oc #mycroft holmes x original character #mycroft holmes fanfiction #sherlock #bbc sherlock

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overobsessedfanboy23 · 4 years

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Punch Out Halloween Headcanons

In the spirit of Halloween, here are some headcanons for what the Punch Out characters would do during this spooky season. This sort of ties into my mansion AU where they all live together in a mansion but that’s the only context you need to understand this.

Glass Joe

-Isn’t the biggest fan of candy.

-Bakes/cooks his own Halloween sweets, like cookies and cupcakes that he loves decorating.

-Favourite halloween food is candy apples.

-Doesn’t like horror movies.

-Goes through haunted houses with the others and squeals at the jumpscares.

-Makes his own costumes. They’re all incredibly silly but he tries to be scary. Nobody has the heart to tell him he isn’t.

-Really likes pocky, which Hondo introduced to him.

Von Kaiser

-Screams while giving out candy and throws them at the kids

-Doesn’t dress up.

-Helps Glass Joe decorate cookies and cupcakes.

-Watches horror movies and goes to haunted houses to prove he isn’t a coward. Ends up clinging to someone the whole time.

-Tries to go easy on the candy.

-Favourite candy is Reese’s

Disco Kid

-Dresses as musical characters or musicians. Has gone as Michael Jackson multiple times.

-Listens and dances to Thriller all the time.

-Calls October the “Spookay Season,”

-Lies about his age to go trick or treating “One is never too old for free candy!” “I’m a Disco Kid!”

-Goes to haunted houses and parties as well.

-Gets scared watching scary movies.

-Favourite candy is Starburst.

-Absolutely splurges on the candy.

King Hippo

-Eats all of the candy.

-Would try to eat it all before Halloween if it was bought pre-emptively.

-Sits at home and eats the candy.

-Is confused when the others watch horror movies.

Piston Hondo

-Gives out traditional japanese candies to trick or treaters and introduced these candies to the others.

-His favourite candy is Apollo. (A Japanese candy.)

-Still tries to eat somewhat healthy on Halloween, going easy on the candy and eating regular meals.

-Isn’t the biggest fan of American candy. “It has too much sugar.”

-Drives the others to and from parties if they need him to, but doesn’t attend himself.

-If he wears a costume at all, I could see him going as a samurai.

Bear Hugger

-Would 100% dress as a bear and you can’t convince me otherwise.

-Also splurges on candy.

-Favourite is Mike n’ Ikes.

-Watches horror movies with the others just to spend time with them.

-Loves going to parties too.

-Likes bobbing for apples.

-Gets the others to carve pumpkins with him and decorate the front of the mansion with them.

Great Tiger

-He would either be a cat or a tiger for Halloween. Either way, it’s a pretty minimalist costume.

-Each of his clones have the costume too.

-Didn’t really know what Halloween was until living in America so he just sort of goes along with what the others are doing.

-Helps the others put up decorations super high.

-Teleports away if something startles him in a haunted house. The others have trouble finding him after.

-Favourite candy is Sour Patch Kids. Would also love anything remotely spicy.

-Definitely pulls some pranks with his magic. “It’s trick or treat after all.”

-Is mostly pretty chill at the parties.

-Goes with Don Flamenco and Disco Kid when the latter trick or treats just to look at all the weird decorations (and low-key to spend time with his friends.)

Don Flamenco

-Gets super excited about putting up extravagant decorations all around the mansion and seeing all the fabulous costumes.

-Great Tiger often has to help him put the decorations in increasingly crazy places. (ie: the chandelier, the roof). Disco Kid also tries to help.

-Absolutely LOVES pocky and has definitely played the game with Carmen and maybe the others boxers at some point.

-Tries to pick a different costume every year. This year it’s a vampire.

-Goes to haunted houses with the others and is very dramatic when jumpscared. Is the same when watching horror movies.

-Brings the fruit punch to the party.

-Doesn’t have a favourite candy. Just eats all of them.

-He and Disco Kid play all of the Halloween themed songs on Just Dance and try to get Tiger involved too.

Aran Ryan

-PRANKS GALORE.

-Seriously, he’s always a prankster but he goes even more extreme on Halloween.

-Goes to multiple parties in one night, often stealing candy and wine from each.

-For some reason I like the idea of him dressing as a werewolf.

-Headbutts the water to bob for apples.

-Drinks a crap ton of alcohol as well. “It’s Halloween, I can splurge!”

-Brings alcohol to spike his punch with.

-Would definitely grief someone’s house with toilet paper.

-The most chill thing he will do is watch horror movies. In fact, he probably started that trend.

-Favourite candy is gummy worms. Probably also likes candy corn.

-Drags the others to corn mazes.

-Jumps in piles of leaves right after the others finish raking it. (Okay this one isn’t really Halloween themed but it’s something he would do.)

Soda Popinski

-He and Aran Ryan attend parties together, mixing every drink just to experiment.

-Will also help with his pranks.

-Also didn’t really know what Halloween was before America.

-Would go as a mummy. I don’t know why this came to mind, but I want it to be a thing.

-Loves any type of chocolate.

-Gives out cans of normal soda to trick or treaters. The kids love it.

-Bit of a scaredy cat when it comes to horror movies. Aran Ryan tries to awkwardly comfort him.

Aran: It’s just a dead person.

Soda: THAT IS THE PROBLEM, ARAN!

Bald Bull

-Doesn’t dress up.

-Questions the hell out of everything. (In broken english) “Why do you break the orange vegetables? What is this nonsense?!”

-Follows Bear Hugger around the whole night.

-Helps him carve pumpkins, even though it confuses him greatly.

-Viciously feasts on the candy. His favourite is Snickers.

-Bites lollipops/suckers into pieces, scaring the shit out of everyone.

-Is generally unfazed by the horror movies. If something does scare him, he will lash out at the screen.

-Tries to scare off trick or treaters.

SMM

-Would throw a party at his own mansion, inviting tons of people.

-Has the most over the top decorations, making Don super jealous.

-Tons of alcohol and candy.

-Aran and Soda grief his place and crash the party.

Mr. Sandman

-Wore a zombie costume on a dare from Disco Kid.

-He’s kinda like Bald Bull but more chill and knows what Halloween is.

-He loved trick or treating as a kid and totally went as Mike Tyson one year.

-Also bites lollipops and suckers.

-Gives out candy, since he really isn’t into the parties or haunted houses like the others.

-Scares the kids, but is more light-hearted about it.

-Watches horror movies with the others and isn’t scared at all.

-Will help Glass Joe with his Halloween snacks if requested.

-Sandman generally isn’t a prankster, but he might prank Little Mac.

-He likes the really sweet candy the best and his favourite is Hershey’s.

Doc Louis

-Loves handing out candy to the kids and often does it with Hondo and Sandman.

-Probably dresses as something cute, like a dog or something.

-Obviously really loves chocolate bars.

-Will buy the king sized ones on Halloween, with Three Musketeers and Milky Ways being his favourites.

-Along with Hondo, he tries to make sure nobody is getting into too much trouble.

-Will ride around the neighborhood on his bike to look at all the decorations. Little Mac will jog after him.

#punch out #punch out wii #glass joe #von kaiser #disco kid #king hippo #piston hondo #bear hugger #great tiger #don flamenco #aran ryan #soda popinski #bald bull #smm #sandman #doc louis #halloween

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theparanormalperiodical · 3 years

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Everything You Need To Know About Zombies, And 5 Sightings Of The Real-life Walking Dead We STILL Can’t Explain

At this point, I’m not sure anything would surprise me.

In fact, a zombie apocalypse would actually make sense at this point. But even if the grand finale of 2020 was the dead rising from their graves, it wouldn’t actually be the first time.

According to those that practice Haitian Voodoo, zombies exist. And according to scientists, zombies exist.

But the thing is, Hollywood has gotten our favourite flesh-eating, apocalypse-heralding monsters wrong. The folklore behind these monsters is actually rather different than men and women foaming at the mouth as they mummy-walk towards you.

The reanimated corpse didn’t take its first steps with the debut cinema screening of Night Of The Living Dead (1968).

It started with slaves.

Today we are going to cover everything you need to know about zombies from forgotten folklore of years gone by, to the rumours of the living dead among us in preparation from the incoming apocalypse...

What Are Zombies?

It’s pretty simple: a zombie is someone who was dead and is now not-so-dead. According to an official definition they are corpses which have been brought back from the grave to haunt the living.

Yep - they’re just like ghosts. But instead of wafting gently they have to lump around this great hulking cadaver which is in the midst of decay.

Zombies can be traced back to Haitian Voodoo which claims that a dead body can be reanimated by magical rituals. This supernatural take on the walking dead, however, is at odds with more modern fictional beliefs which centre on science.

Parasites, diseases, and viruses (*looks into camera*) feature as the main causes of zombies taking over the world in Hollywood’s take on the beast. This new zombie first pulled itself out of the ground in 1968 with Night Of The Living Dead, but the term ‘zombies’ was only applied by fans after the release of the cult classic. They were originally known as ‘ghouls’ in the film, confirming the premise that zombies exist to haunt the living.

Following this on-screen debut, the horror genre was overrun by zombie films with Dawn Of The Dead and Thriller going down in history as some of the most iconic movies of all time. The genre waned towards the 90s, however, and was due a resurgence just before the millennium thanks to predominately East Asian video games.

28 Days Later and Shaun Of The Dead resurrected the genre at the turn of the century and shaped what zombies are now known most for: the zombie apocalypse.

The terrifying claims of a civilised world being brought to its knees by walking corpses is now a pop culture staple, but more recently its been given a makeover and shopping montage as a part of its rom-com redo. Warm Bodies and iZombie are a novel take on the horror must-have and incorporate a human-zombie relationship that is an emblem for the sexual liberation of the era.

The severed relationship between supernatural zombies and the sci-fi alternative doesn’t just take place on Netflix. There is evidence that both could exist.

Zombies In Haitian Voodoo

In 1819, poet Robert Southey was the first to use the term ‘zombie’ in his history of Brazil. This heralded the emergence of zombies in Haitian Voodoo which chimed with a concept even more terrifying than the prospect of a zombie apocalypse:

Slavery.

According to Haitian Voodoo, bokors - or witches - would use necromancy to revive a dead person. This zombie would then be under their control as a personal slave and would have no personal will.

Bokors were also known to capture ‘zombie astrals’ - part of the human soul - in a bottle which would provide the owner with extra luck or healing properties, for example.

These beliefs were rooted in Voodoo traditions brought to Haiti by enslaved Africans: they believed Baron Samedi would take them to an African heaven after they died. Those that offended the Ioa (a Voodoo god) would be a slave forever - AKA a zombie. This fear of eternal slavery was reinforced by slave drivers who were often also voodoo priests; to prevent slave suicides, they would threaten zombification.

It was this widespread belief in zombies as slaves that would spread beyond Haiti’s borders during the US’ occupation of the country in the early 20th century. A number of case studies reporting zombies came to the US’ attention, such as in the William Seabrook’s The Magic Island (1929): he cited an article in Haiti’s criminal code which recognised zombies’ existence, (it essentially said even if you murder someone and you make them come back as a zombie, it is still murder).

It was shortly after US forces entered Haiti that one of the most famous cases of an alleged zombie emerged. We will get to Felicia Felix-Mentor’s story later in this article.

Zombies In Science

Zombies are deeply rooted in some of humanity’s darkest chapters in history - but they also have a place in our natural history, too.

Technically, zombies do exist. Sure, if you made the claim for human zombification via Voodoo priest scientists would counter with claims that these ‘zombies’ are schizophrenic, in a catatonic state, or are suffering from a mental illness that mirrors how we believe they would act. But if you made a similar claim for other animals - namely insects - they’d believe you.

In fact, there are numerous known cases of such instances.

Whilst there are no known insects that practice Haitian Voodoo, these cases follow the basic plotline of zombie cult classics - parasites infect them and alter their behaviour or use them to their advantage. The parasites effectively make slaves out of those they target, mirroring what we saw in Haiti.

Take zombie carpenter ants, for example:

A fungus enters their bloodstream, hijacks their mind and grows around their muscles. Within one short week the ant is compelled to leave its colony and seek higher ground which has the right temperature and humidity for the fungus to grow in. It then forces the ant to bite down into a leaf, grows a stalk through the ant's head, and cuts off the ant’s muscle control.

The ant’s corpse still moves its legs vigorously as the bulbous capsule of fungi spores grows through what’s left of its body to infect the ant colony below.

There are many more examples just like this with most parasites having their own unique - and uncomfortably brutal - method of killing off wildlife.

Scientists are unable to refute claims that a parasite might mutate and have a similar effect on humans one day, reducing us all to the zombie hordes seen in the movies.

We just have to wait and see.

Cases Of Actual, Real-life, Not-so-living-n-breathing Zombies

Although scientists don’t support claims that Haitian voodoo can in fact raise the dead and create personal slaves, various sightings and reports suggest that human zombies do exist.

Question is - do you believe them?

#1 - Felicia Felix-Mentor

In 1936, the owner of a farm in a small village in Haiti woke up to quite a shock.

A naked woman staggered towards them with her raspy voice mumbling and slurring that this farm belonged to her farmer. But the most terrifying thing about this strange woman that stumbled her way through the village was that she looked rather familiar.

In fact, they were pretty sure that this was a woman who had died and had been buried many years before.

19 years before.

Zora Neale Hurston - an anthropologist - investigated this alleged case of zombification and met Felicia Felix-Mentor at a hospital. The doctors were convinced she was a zombie and her husband confirmed this was his wife.

Even Hurston admitted that she believed what they were telling her:

“I know that I saw the broken remnant, relic, or refuse of Felicia Felix-Mentor in a hospital yard.”

#2 - Clairvius Narcisse

30 odd years after Felix-Mentor first wandered up to her father’s old farm, a 40 year old man admitted himself into hospital in Deschapelles, Haiti. Doctors, however, were unable to work out why he had a fever, was clearly fatigued, and was spitting up blood. He died 3 days later.

20 years after he died, a man claiming to be Narcisse approached Angelina Narcisse, his sister.

He told her and other villagers private, personal information in an attempt to convince them that he was in fact Clairvius and had been turned into a zombie for use on a sugar plantation. He had been paralysed for the duration of his burial and then dug up to be put to work as a slave.

He described in detail the process of his alleged zombification, claiming she was given a paste made from hallucinogenic chemicals which scientists would later use to refute most claims of zombies as simply a drugged state. When the bokor died and he was no longer fed the concoction, he regained his sanity and thus his free will, and returned to his family.

Much like Felix-Mentor’s story, Narcisse is actually widely believed to have been a zombie. His death was documented by 2 American doctors unlikely to follow Haitian Voodoo folklore, and even the man who investigated his claims - Lamarque Douyon - believed to some extent zombies could be real despite dismissing supernatural claims.

He brought a sample of the powders or paste used by the bokor back to the US to investigate whether ‘zombies’ were actually people who were drugged and then revived.

#3 - Woman from Port-au-Prince

Only known as FI to The Lancet, the journal investigating cases in southern Haiti in the late 90s, she was discovered 3 years after her death wandering near the village she once called home by a friend.

FI was mute and unable to feed herself but she was still recognised by her family, her fellow villagers, and the local priest by a distinct facial mark and other features.

The local courts opened her tomb to investigate the fact that she had apparently risen from the dead and found it full of stones. Her husband was accused of zombifying her after he caught her having an affair.

Despite local claims of supernatural goings-on, she was later admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Port-au-Prince.

#4 - Son of a secret policeman

WD (mentioned in the same study by The Lancet) was 18 years old when he became ill. He developed a fever, his body swelled up, and his eyes went yellow. They thought he was dying or at least already dead.

His father asked his brother to get advice from a bokor but WD died 3 days later. 19 months after he was buried, he reappeared at a cock fight and recognised his father before accusing his uncle of zombifying him.

#5 - Unknown young woman

MM (also mentioned in the same study by The Lancet) was joining her friends in prayer for a local who had been zombified when she fell under a similar affliction. The 18 year old became ill with diarrhoea and fever, her body swelled, and she died.

Her family immediately suspected a sorcerer had had their way with their daughter.

13 years later and MM reappeared at the town markets, claiming not only had she been a zombie in a village 100 miles away, she had had a child with another zombie.

When her bokor died, his son released MM from their control and she travelled home.

What do you think?

Are zombies real? Or are they merely a fictional beast haunted by the forgotten history of slavery?

If you liked this post I’m pretty sure you’ll love the other articles I post every Saturday! Make sure you hit follow if you want to see ‘em.

Can’t wait ‘til next weekend for a new hit of horror? Check out this online archive of paranormal experiences…

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captainjimothycarter · 4 years

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For prompts: We dated in high school but then you moved away but now you’re back in town

i’m sorry i got carried away.

There was something familiar about the woman waiting in line. Something Steve couldn’t quite make out. Maybe it was the curve of her body or those almond-shaped eyes that are tugging on a memory long tucked away. No, it’s defiantly those eyes. He knew those eyes anywhere.

They were the same shade of dark brown, with flecks of hazel and honey swirling in them. He knew how they looked when the sunlight would hit them, how they looked when she was furious when she was upset when she was beyond happy. He knew every emotion that she’d been able to give without saying a word through those eyes.

He’d loved those eyes. They filled his sketchbooks, even now two years after high school. He still loved her.

As the crowd cleared with their baked goods and hot coffee, Steve was finally able to draw himself up to full 6’0 height and smile down at her.

Her. Peggy.

Oh. She wasn’t alone.

His smile faltered at the sight of a little blonde boy clinging to the backside of her leg. He looked to be almost two years old, if Steve had to put an age to him. He looked just like Peggy with her nose and dimples. He had the brightest pair of blue eyes.

“Hello there,” he breathed to the shy, little boy, giving a wave of his hand that only caused the boy’s face to flush and hide. He turned to look up at the boy’s mother, his heart lurching in his throat. “And hello to you.”

Peggy’s laugh is just as he remembered, bright, and full of life. She reached over the counter to hug Steve, pressing a fond kiss to his cheek. “Hello to you.” She looked nervous as she dipped down to pick the boy up and put him on her hip. “You look amazing, Steven. This place…told you it would pick up.”

She knew Steve had a desire to work in his ma’s bakery after he graduated. He had an amazing hand when it came to decorating cakes and cupcakes. He loved to experiment and made beautiful baklava and cinnamon rolls that still lingered on her mind with a taste for them.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around at the busy place. He could hear his ma in the back, Bucky was out delivering their daily orders. Sam had just left after opening for them. “Yeah, you’re always right. Who's this?”

He felt too awkward. They’d dated in high school until she left just after graduation to return home in order to help her mother with taking care of her brother who’d suffered a career-ending injury with the military. He loved Peggy. He just never got to tell her that and seeing her here before him, it made him want to gush but become aware she had a child now, it seems. She was most likely married or at least dating, knowing her.

“Michael,” the little one said proudly, curling his h’s the way Peggy did when she was excited. “My name’s Michael and I’m two.” He held up three fingers, making Steve laugh. “And mummy and I just moved here cause she said she missed News Yorky.”

Oh God, that was adorable. Steve found himself smitten with the little boy.

“You’ve had a son?” He turned his eyes to Peggy, nodding his head at Michael, not really good with kids.

Peggy looked almost nervous as she held the little boy close to her chest, eyes fluttering towards the door. “Can we…talk?”

Michael sat in the little corner Steve had designed and painted for kids to enjoy themselves while their parents drank coffee and talked. He could hear the little boy humming loudly and playing with the art supplies. He turned to look at him and back to Peggy who’d nervously wrapped her hands around the blue coffee mug.

“When I left, I was distraught. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I was broken up about having to say goodbye to you and my brother. I didn’t know his condition. I didn’t know what happened and no one would tell me a thing until I got home because of the secrecy of the matter.”

Steve’s broad hand slowly laid over her own, rubbing the pad of his thumb against her wrist. “You did what you had to do, I don’t blame you. I only wish we stayed in contact.”

“I do too. I got so busy with Micheal and my mother and my career, I-I…” She sighed and closed her eyes, her fingertips curling around the mug to the point Steve thought she was going to break it. “At the time, I thought it was stress…missing my cycle, the sickness. Having to see your brother like that, I-I…”

Steve frowned as she stuttered. This was hard for her, but this was Peggy. Strong, confident Peggy. He unwrapped her hands and took both of them into his own. “Peggy,” he’d never sounded so serious before. “Were you…hurt?”

Her eyes snapped to his and she frowned, opening and closing her mouth. “What? No, Steven, I was pregnant!”

His hands dropped hers and he sat back, staring at her.

Oh.

“He’s…mine?”

Peggy didn’t need to say yes. He knew. Steve knew in his heart that she wouldn’t lie about this. No one should. And he could see it in the way Michael held the pencil with his right hand, the way he looked when he was concentrating on scribbling on the paper.

“Why didn’t you call?!” Steve furiously whispered, turning to look back at her. She almost looked close to tears, but he couldn’t help the betrayal he felt. The hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?! An email. A text. Fuck, Pegs, even a letter!”

She sat there, looking impossibly small. Blinking harshly and Steve’s throat was tightening. He could feel his heart-shattering. When she didn’t reply, he continued, “I would’ve been there for you! I would’ve been by your side through it all! I would’ve supported you! Done everything I could! I would’ve moved there to be with you. I love you and you couldn’t even tell me that you were pregnant with my child?!”

If Peggy had an answer, Steve didn’t hear it. He was storming into the back of the bakery to clear his head. He needed to think. He felt incredibly guilty for yelling at Peggy but he was right in these feelings. He was betrayed. He was hurting. He had a goddamn child that he didn’t know of, who grew up so far not knowing him, and thought of him as a stranger and why?

Why hadn’t she told him? Did she not feel the same way? Was he that horrible of a boyfriend in high school that she didn’t trust him? Was she ashamed that her boyfriend had been American? The father of her son was some Yank?

A string of curses in Galiec left his lips as he rolled a piece of fondant out on the table, his hands shaking. What had he done so wrong that he’d not been allowed to be there for the birth of his son?

“Youse can’t say those words. Bad words. Stave?

The soft voice caused Steve to look up from where he was still bending over the metal table. He could feel the tears running down his cheeks, trying to dry his face off. For half a second, he thought it was Peggy but no…no, it was her son.

His son.

Back in this kitchen, where he wasn’t allowed.

Had Peggy taught him Gaelic? It was important to him, to cling to that part of his identity that his mother had taught him. That he loved his heritage and wanted to share it. She taught him that?

“Hey, buddy, whatcha doing back here? You can’t be back here.” He knelt down to look at the kid, seeing now how Michael had his freckles and his hair. Oh and that smile, that was his ma’s smile right there.

The boy thrusts a drawing at Steve’s chest with a bright smile. It was what he’d assume was the outside of his bakery, with its pretty fairy lights and potted plants. “I made dis. For you! Cause you’se got a pretty place and yummy cupcakes.”

His lips twitched into a smile as he rubbed his fingertips over the crayon. “It’s beautiful, buddy. Tell you what, I’ll put it up on the counter for everyone to see. Here, let’s get you back to your ma.” He picked up a sugar cookie, still warm, and passed it to the boy in trade for the paper.

Steve was a little stunned to see Peggy talking to his mother. His mother loved Peggy and said she was the daughter she never had. Her leaving had hurt his ma just as much as it had him. He was a little more stunned at seeing the sun setting. How long had he been back there crying and cursing?

“Look, mummy! Look!” Michael waved the multi-colored cookie at Peggy as he ran over to her, climbing into her lap.

“I see, Michael. Did you thank Steve?” The boy’s head nodded, shoving a bite of the cookie into his mouth. Her eyes slowly looked up to Steve before dropping back down. She whispered something to Michael and then Sarah before slipping Michael into her vacant seat.

Crossing over to Steve, she stood with a foot between them, looking up. Her eyes were rimmed pink, a telling show she was crying. Peggy hated to cry, especially in public.

“I fucked up. I can admit that. I have no grand story to tell you. I have no excuse beyond my own failure and my own fears.” She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hands clenched behind her back to stable her emotions. Steve knew that sign. “When I realized I was pregnant, I panicked. My mother panicked. My brother panicked. My mother was a traditionalist and forbid me any contact with you. I allowed her to get into my head. I allowed her to control me in times of panic. I wanted you. I loved you. Hell, Steven, I love you. I should’ve come straight back home but I did not know what to do. Between Michael being dependent on me, my mother being dependent, and-and your career here. I couldn’t ruin any of that and I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. It takes away none of the damage I’ve done and I will forever be apologizing for that. I am not asking your forgiveness because I do not deserve it. I am not telling you to go bond with a-a boy whose a stranger to you and vise versa because you deserve to make that choice, I am-”

Steve cut her off, mid-sentence by closing the distance and capturing her mouth in his. By no doubt he was hurt, crushed, betrayed, still crying even but he couldn’t hear Peggy tear herself apart one more time.

“You talk too much, English,” he teased her, cupping her face. She opened her mouth and he shook his head. “Don’t. Am I hurt, betrayed, crushed? Whatever the hell you want to use, yes. God, yes I am. I won’t lie about that. But you have a child, you have my son and you went through all of that alone. You should’ve contacted me but you didn’t and now we both have to go through the consequences of that together. We have to work on that together. But I can understand why you didn’t with your mother…”

He sighed out of his nose and pressed their foreheads together, aware Peggy was crying at this point. Fuck, so was he. “I love you and never stopped and want to continue to love you. I want to get to know my son and…and…work on this. On us.” He pulled Peggy’s hand to his chest and squeezed it gently. “Let me take you to dinner – both of you.”

Peggy let out a blubbering sob and pressed her face into Steve’s chest. She sobbed to the point Steve’s entire weight was supporting hers, her arms wrapped around his waist and his around her shoulders. He rocked her side to side, kissing her temple. “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you and I will forever be making this up to you, Steve.”

Yes, Steve was hurt. Absolutely betrayed. This wouldn’t heal overnight either, but he was relieved. He knew how manipulative Peggy’s mother could be, always controlling her daughter and her desires and reflecting them onto her. She threw a fit when Peggy moved to Brooklyn and lived with the Rogers family for years for an international program. She was finally home, away from her clutches, and he could help take care of his son. Get to know his son. This would a while to heal from but Steve would. They’d heal together and find a perfect balance between them.

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #Peggy has a child #I mean they both do #Comfort/Hurt #angst/comfort #kinda terrifying #sorry nonny this isn't what you want

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paulinedorchester · 3 years

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Mosley, Leonard. Backs to the Wall: London Under Fire, 1939-1954. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971; reprint, as Backs to the Wall: The Heroic Story of the People of London During World War II, New York: Random House, 1971.

Each generation gets the history that it needs — or wants, or demands. That’s what kept going through my head as I read Backs to the Wall, which appeared three years after France’s youth explicitly rejected both Charles de Gaulle, the self-appointed leader of the Free French during World War II, and the political ideology that he represented, and amidst ongoing unrest over the Vietnam War. (It’s also worth mentioning that it was published in the same year as Norman Longmate’s How We Lived Then: A History of Everyday Life During the Second World War and two years after Angus Calder’s The People’s War.) This book gives up a World War II narrative in which Churchill was an improvement on Chamberlain only in that he wasn’t an appeaser, de Gaulle was worse than both of them put together, the Allied leaders all cordially loathed each other, half the British public wanted to sue for peace, and there was across-the-board mutual dislike between London civilians and American troops (and British dismay at the way African-American troops were treated by their white counterparts was far from universal). Do I exaggerate? Only slightly. Backs to the Wall is a sort of distant, city-specific pre-echo of Juliet Gardner’s sour 2004 book Wartime: Britain, 1939-45.

As with Wartime, however, this book does have the virtue of introducing us to a number of very interesting people. I became interested in reading it because it brought Vere Hodgson’s wartime diary to public attention. Mosley quotes or paraphrases Hodgson’s writing from the beginning of the war through its end, and also seems to have interviewed her extensively. His primary villain, meanwhile, is not Chamberlain but Chamberlain’s chief acolyte, Henry “Chips” Channon, from whose diary he quotes widely (and who turns out to have been born and raised in the United States, to my surprise). We hear a great deal from the chemist and novelist C.P. Snow and follow the misadventures of two civilians, Jenny Martin and Polly Wright, whose consistency in both bad luck and bad choices meant that neither of them was able to stay out of serious trouble for any length of time.

There are many glimpses of the London home front through the eyes of two boys, both eight when the war began: John Hardiman, of Canning Town and later of Aldgate, who was evacuated in 1939 but soon returned to London, and Donald Ketley of Chadwell Heath, who was never evacuated at all. Donald, who thoroughly enjoyed himself during the war, had an experience that speaks to our own recent reality:

Another good thing: quite early in the Blitz, his school had been totally destroyed by a bomb. Since Donald was shy, a poor student and unpopular with his teacher, he was overjoyed when he heard the place was gone. Thereafter he went each day to his teacher’s home to pick up lessons, which he brought back the next day for marking. In the following months he changed from a poor student to an excellent one, and although he was aware that his teacher rather resented it, he didn’t care.

Mosley also introduces us to Archibald McIndoe, the real-life counterpart of Patrick Jamieson, Bill Patterson’s character in the Foyle’s War episode ‘Enemy Fire.’ Art seems to have imitated life pretty accurately in that instance: he and his burn hospital in East Grinstead were apparently exactly like what was depicted, the only difference being that the hospital was set up in an existing hospital building, not in a requisitioned stately home.

Backs to the Wall seems to have been one of the earliest books to make substantial use of Mass-Observation writings. Most M-O diaries are anonymous, but there are two named diarists here who stand out. John James Donald was a committed pacifist whose air of lofty detachment as he observes the reactions of those around him to air-raids and other wartime event and prepares for his tribunal — which, in the end, he decides not to attend — quickly grows irritating. More interesting is Rosemary Black, a 28-year-old widow, in no small part because she differs markedly from what I had thought of as the archetypical M-O writer. Here’s her self-description on M-O documents: “Upper-middle-class; mother of two children (girls aged 3 and 2); of independent means.” Mosley continues:

She lived in a trim three-story house in a quiet street of the fashionable part of Maida Vale, a short taxi ride from the center of the West End, whose restaurants and theatres she knew well. She was chic and attractive, and lacked very few of the niceties of life: there was Irene, a Hungarian refugee, to look after the children; Helen, a Scottish maid, to look after herself and the house; and a daily cleaning woman to do the major chores.

Black took her children out of London at the beginning of the war but quickly brought them back, and when bombs began falling she kept them in place — air raids might be disruptive for them, but apparently relocation had been worse. She was very much aware that she was riding out the war in a position of privilege, and she often expressed guilt feelings; but this tended to fade away before her irritation at the dominance of “the muddling amateur or the soulless bureaucrat” in the war effort. Offering her services, even as a volunteer, proved very frustrating. “She was young, strong and willing; she typed, spoke languages, was an expert driver and had taken a course in first aid,” Mosley tells us, “but finding a job even as a chauffeur was proving difficult” in September 1940. (She actually wasn’t all that strong physically: as we learn, she suffered from rheumatism which grew worse during the war years and probably affected her outlook.)

Black was greeted with “apathy and indifference” by both A.R.P. and the Women’s Voluntary Service. Early in 1941 she was finally able to get a place handing out tea, sandwiches, cake, and so on to rescue and clean-up workers at bomb sites from a Y.M.C.A. mobile canteen. She was a bit intimidated by the women with whom she found herself working:

Their class is right up to the county family level. Nearly everyone is tall above the average and remarkably hefty, even definitely large, not necessarily fat but broad and brawny. Perhaps this is something to do with the survival of the fittest.

And the work did bring her some satisfaction, even if it was of the type that lent itself to being recorded with tongue placed firmly in cheek:

We had a pleasant and uneventful day’s work serving City fire sites, the General Post Office, demolition workers and Home Guard Stations, etc. We were complimented at least half a dozen times on the quality of our tea ... I think the provision of saccharine for the tea urns to compensate for the mean sugar allowance is my most successful piece of war work. What did you do in the Great War, Mummy? Sneaked pills into the tea urns, darling.

For all her good humor and astute observations, Mrs. Black was far from immune to tiny-mindedness. After an evening out in 1943 she wrote:

I had to wait some time for the others in the cinema foyer, and I was much struck, as often before, by the almost complete absence of English people these days, from the capital of England. Almost every person who came in was either a foreigner, a roaring Jew, or both. The Cumberland [Hotel] has always been a complete New Jerusalem, but this evening it really struck me as no worse than anywhere else! It is really dismaying to see that this should be the result of this war in defence of our country.

Indeed, Mosley cites the results of a multi-year Mass-Observation study that showed a marked increase in anti-Jewish views London’s general population over the course of the war. Since it’s just one study, and since I haven’t seen that study mentioned anywhere else, I am reluctant to trust blindly in its accuracy; and there’s also this:

The small flat which George [Hardiman] had procured for [his family] ... in Aldgate was cleaner and airier than the old house in Canning Town [which had been bombed], and the little Jewish children with whom John now went to school seemed to be cleaner than the ones in Elm Road; at any rate, he no longer came home with nits in his hair.

On the other hand, Mosley himself gives us only a fragmentary view of London’s wartime Jewish population: everyone seems to be either a terrified refugee or an impoverished East Ender. We hear nothing about the substantial middle- and upper-middle class population — mostly of German descent and in some cases German birth — that had already taken shape in Northwest London; and while we are briefly introduced to Sir David Waley, a Treasury official, in connection with the case of an interned Jewish refugee, we aren’t told that Waley himself was Jewish, a member of “the cousinhood.” On yet a third hand, Mosley also quotes other M-O surveys from the same period that indicate largely hostile attitudes to most foreigners in London, with Poles at the bottom of the ladder and the small Dutch contingent on top. (Incidentally, the book’s extremely patchy index identifies Vere Hodgson as a Mass-Observation diarist, which she wasn’t.)

Backs to the Wall closes with a very brief, remarkably non-partisan account of the 1945 general election and its immediate aftermath. “Neither side had any inkling of the way the minds of the British voters were turning,” he writes.

When [Churchill’s] friends suggested that he was a victim of base ingratitude, he shook his head. He would not have such a charge leveled against his beloved countrymen. Ingratitude? "Oh, no," he said quietly, "I wouldn’t call it that. They have had a very hard time."

The book is worth reading for the primary materials that it includes, but it probably tells us as much about the era in which it was written as about the period that it covers.

#world war II #u.k. home front #london #non-fiction after the fact #recommended with reservations #long post

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ladynestaarcheron · 4 years

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Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Seventeen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival )

i know all of us read for an escape, and that is especially true for fanfiction, so the only thing i will say here is this: i am sorry that elected officials have bastardized the phrase “thoughts and prayers” because i believe it is a sacred one. please know i am entirely sincere when i tell you i have been thinking of and praying for you all, especially my black american readers. i hope this grants you few minutes’ reprieve from the pain of the world. i wrote it for you, dear reader.

---

February 8 - Year of

Just as Nesta was finishing her preparations for dinner, Emerie knocked on the door. Nesta untied the apron she had donned before going to open it.

"Hello," she said in greeting, and not Happy birthday, even though that was why Emerie was coming over.

"Hi," Emerie answered.

"Dinner's ready. Come in."

Nesta was not naturally inclined towards cooking, and in their little cottage under the Wall there hadn't been much to cook with, but here she was learning. Sometimes she and Cassian even cooked together now.

"This looks nice," Emerie said, inspecting the duck carefully.

"I've learned, all right?" Nesta said, remembering the first and last time she had attempted to cook for Emerie. This time she had used Cassian's recipes.

"Where is he, anyway?" Emerie asked.

Nesta shrugged, although she knew. Whenever he left with a vague I have to go, it was to Velaris.

"That looks loved," she said, nodding towards a book on the countertop. She frowned. "Haven't you read that already?"

"It's children's stories. You're supposed to read them again."

"Or children are," Emerie said, stifling a grin as she poured herself some water.

Nesta scowled. "Cassian still likes them." They had even read some together. Nesta bit her lip tightly, trying not to think of the evenings spent in the living room, her reading aloud some of his childhood favorites.

"You have a great voice, you know that?" he said to her quite suddenly, interrupting what he had claimed was the best story in the book.

She had scowled at him then as she was scowling at Emerie now. For Nesta's voice had been described as many things: shrill, thin, even grating, once, by some horrible girl from her old village—but never great. "Shut up," she had snapped.

His eyes had widened and his arms went up in surrender. "What? I mean it!"

"You do not."

"I do! It's...clear. Soothing. And sometimes..." he moved his head from side to side, trying to think of the right descriptor. "Lyrical."

"Lyrical?" That was certainly a first.

"Yeah." His face had split into a grin. "Do you sing?"

"No," she said, forcing her head back into the book. "Don't interrupt me, or I won't read anymore of this Nicholas thief..."

"Nicholas, the Thief Who Stole the Night! And fine. Keep going."

But perhaps some of the memory bled onto her face, judging by Emerie's smirk.

"How do you normally celebrate?" Nesta said, quickly changing the subject.

Emerie's brown face fell flatly. "I don't, really."

"Well...how do people here normally celebrate?"

She shrugged. "Like this, more or less."

"Duck?"

"No, doing what they like. With...you know. People."

For the second time that evening, Nesta forced the flush out of her cheeks. A person knowing that they are one of your two friends isn't nearly so miserable when you are also one of their only friends.

---

December 23 - 4 years after

The children face leaving Velaris to go home to Sugar Valley with the same excitement they greet everything, but Elain is fighting back tears.

"We'll see each other again soon," Nesta reminds her, slightly exasperated.

"No, I know," she says. "I'll just miss you."

"You can come and visit whenever you want."

"Well, I will." She wipes her eyes. "I'll move in with you."

"Don't sound so miserable," Nesta says, laughingly.

"I just want to be with my whole family all of the time." Elain rubs at her face again, and, without much warning, throws herself at Nesta.

"Ugh—all right, Elain...yes, I'll miss you too..."

"Come on, Elain," Feyre says, walking towards them, Avery on her hip. "Give her some air."

"I'll miss you," she says again, muffled against Nesta's neck

"I won't," Nesta tells her, making both her sisters laugh. She hides a smile.

"You know," Elain says, finally taking a step back, "you don't look like you had a very relaxing vacation."

No, she'd wager she did not. Because after falling asleep in bed with Cassian on Solstice Eve, she had not managed to sleep at all for the two nights after that. Perhaps being back home in her own room would help grant her some peace of mind.

"There's not really a holiday from being a mother," she says instead.

Elain's eyes light up, looking over eagerly at Feyre. "We could give you one! We could take care of the kids for a few days and you could have some time with—for yourself! Or..." she says, backtracking at the look of alarm on Nesta's face.

"No, no, it's fine," Nesta says, bringing up her hands. "I just don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"We're here when you are," Feyre says, putting Avery down and throwing an arm around Elain.

"Mummy, I want to stay with my aunts," Avery says, tugging on her hand.

"They'll come visit soon. Where are your brothers?"

"Cass and Rhys have got them...oh, here they come."

"All set?" Rhysand asks when they reach them.

Nesta narrows her eyes at the extra bag he's holding.

"Is it all right if I join you?" Cassian mumbles in her ear, appearing at her side.

Well, she doesn't have much choice now, does she? "Sure."

"I just want to spend some more time with you all while the Illyrians are still celebrating."

This mollifies her slightly. "Of course."

After more tearful goodbyes from Elain—the children all seem upset to leave her, too, which softens Nesta's heart in a way she had not expected—Feyre and Rhysand take hold of them all and they are finally home.

"Elain and I will come soon," Feyre says, squeezing her tightly. "Thanks so much, Nesta. We loved having you in Velaris."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre!"

"Oh, goodbye, you three!"

"We hope to have you again, Nesta," Rhysand says, the picture of politeness.

But Nesta doesn't think she will ever be able to look at him without glaring. Still, she maintains the same civility he does. "Thank you."

And she doesn't even snarl at the cooed "Bye, Uncle Rhys!"

"It's been a long few days," Nesta says. "We're going to take a nap."

"I'll get them down," Cassian says, picking up all three of them in one swoop, making them shriek with laughter.

"Thanks," she calls after him as he wrangles them up the stairs.

She supposes he's given her some time to herself, but there's stuff to do. She's got so much new crap she needs to put away...and what on earth is she supposed to feed Ollie's new caterpillar?

Half an hour later, when Cassian sees her sitting at the kitchen table scrawling out a list, he laughs.

"I thought you'd take a shower or something."

"I have so much to do," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"Those authors you found?"

"They've given me some samples...I need to decide what I'm giving to Adil." And she was incredibly busy trying to avoid him, of course.

"Well...when can we talk?"

Nesta looks up at him. She sighs. "Now." She pushes away the work in front of her.

Cassian perks up, obviously not having expected this.

She opens her mouth, but he holds up a hand.

"Actually, do you mind if I go first?"

Nesta blinks. "Sure."

He gives her a reassuring, relaxed grin and pulls out a chair. "I really wanted to thank you for agreeing to come for Solstice. It was the best of my life."

She can't stop her lips from tugging upwards. "The children enjoyed it as well."

"I hope you did, too."

Her slight smile falters, and she moves to pull back. He puts his hands over hers. "Nesta, I know that you're still hurting. But we've come a long way since a few months ago, and I want to keep that. And grow stronger. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize what we have now...and what I want us to be."

This is far too confrontational—

"I don't want to scare you off," he says softly, "but I don't ever want to leave things up to interpretation with you." He pauses for a moment, perhaps not even noticing how he traces her fingers with his. "I want us to be a family."

That isn't fair. Of course she wants that. What's the alternative? That her children come from—from a broken home? "A family can be many things." The hoarseness of her voice is unfamiliar to her.

"I know that." A short laugh escapes him, probably as he thinks of his own makeshift family in Velaris. "But I also know what I want ours to look like."

Is he going to spell it out for her, in the name of loose interpretations? She hopes he doesn't. She's not ready for that, she can't hear him say it.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?"

"What was perfect?" she asks blankly.

"That night. The two of us in one room, the three of them in another."

She flinches. "That was..."

"A mistake, I know. But it still happened." He still hasn't moved his hand. She hasn't moved hers either. He squeezes it tightly. "I know you liked being under the same roof, too. Let's just...not lose our momentum. Let's keep going. This pace is fine for me."

What if it's too fast for her, though? Or her children? Or—and this might be worse—too slow for them?

Sometimes she feels like she never got out of the Cauldron. Like she's still drowning.

---

January 1 - 1 year after

The last of the Solstice decorations were being taken down when Nesta walked to the post officer, the letter she was twirling in her hands drawing far less attention than the ever-growing bump under her gown.

Everyone was staring at it. And—ugh—it was only going to get bigger, wasn't it? Amorette had told her that a triplet pregnancy could result in gaining anywhere north of forty-five pounds. And also to stop referring to her belly as it.

There's no easy way to write to someone I know I never intended to speak to you again, but I changed my mind because I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant, by the way, because I don't know how fae pregnancy works, apparently. Which I guess means I shouldn't be having sex, but well, at least I've stopped now. Write back!

After hours of writing and crumbling up parchment and throwing it against the wall, Nesta had settled on the more gentle:

Cassian,

Write back.

Nesta.

Nesta knew perfectly well how pathetic that was, but after the way she left, she couldn't say anything else. She didn't want him to come here. She didn't want to go there. They'd have to meet in some neutral territory.

Announcing her pregnancy, she believed, was not something she could do in a letter. She had to do it face to face. Not only because she thought, well, he deserved being told that way, but...

Because of her reasoning for almost everything: she was a coward. That was the truth of it.

She had left him, and now he had the opportunity to leave her right back. Pregnant and alone. Delaying his finding out was delaying the possibility of that happening.

So even though she hated herself for sending that letter, she knew it was the only option she could bring herself to go through with.

December 23 - 4 years after

After playing at the park and dinner, putting the children down for the night, Nesta asks Cassian if he'll be all right alone with them for a few hours.

"I'm just going out to meet Amorette," she says.

"Before you do," he says, standing up from the couch and slipping his hand into his pocket. "I forgot to give you this...in all the—er—excitement."

He pulls out a small black box, very much like the one she had turned down years ago. But he opens it and she knows it's not the same one, because of the gift.

A white gold heart on a fine chain, with three tiny stones in the left corner. One deep violet, one royal blue, and one slate grey, each engraved with a letter: A, N, and O.

She traces it lightly with her finger. "Thank you," she says. "It's beautiful. I have...I have yours, too. Wait a moment." She rifles through one of the bags in the kitchen. "It's not—I mean, I guess I should've...you..."

"Give it here, Nesta," he orders, making her laugh slightly. She hands him the book.

He unwraps it and his eyes widen.

"I didn't really make it for you," she explains. "I just started it when they were born and kept adding on. But...I thought you might like it."

She keeps things. Three tiny bracelets Amorette had snapped on three tiny wrists, locks of hair cut for the first time, the first cohesive "art project"...

He looks up at her after flipping through some of the pages, eyes shining. "Thank you. Can I..." He gestures to the necklace, which she's set on the counter.

"Oh. Yes."

He picks it up as he walks behind her. Is it the cold of the metal that makes her wince slightly, or his body heat so close to her.

"Thank you," she says, looking down at it, after he fastens it. "It's beautiful."

"Say hello to Amorette."

It's rather abrupt of him, she thinks. But perhaps he's worried about pushing her too far. At any rate, Nesta takes her leave, and it's only a few minutes before she is knocking on her friend's door and being ushered in.

"Nice necklace," Amorette remarks right away.

"Thanks."

"It's a heart."

"I noticed."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what warrants a heart necklace?"

Nesta rubs her temples. "Can't I have a drink first?"

Amorette laughs before obliging.

She frowns as she takes the glass from her, jerking her head towards a chair in the corner of the room. "What's all that?"

Amorette's clear blue eyes slide over. "Oh. Paperwork."

"You don't normally bring this much home with you."

"Some research, actually," she admits, "from another hospital. In Ciyaluck."

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "You're working with a hospital in Ciyaluck?"

"Not exactly...they've put out some interesting stuff. They asked applicants to do their own...never mind," she says, waving her hands.

"No, wait. You're applying for something? That's great."

"It's up in the air, really. And I'll spare you the gore. Tell me what happened in Velaris."

Nesta takes a deep breath. "Cassian and I fell asleep in the same bed and Nicky walked in on us."

Even Amorette's healer-patience and understanding are not enough to stop her eyes going wide and her jaw dropping. "You slept—"

"No! We just fell asleep!"

"Oh." She pauses. "But...you were in bed together?"

"We didn't do anything," Nesta hurries to say. "Really. Just fell asleep. We didn't...nothing. It was just..." Nesta lets out a groan and drops her head into her hands. "Nicky saw."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes." Earlier today. She had stolen a moment alone with him.

"What was your favorite part of the trip?" she had asked, pulling him into her lap, and listened to his ramblings about everything he enjoyed for a few minutes before gently stopping him. "Do you remember when you walked into Mummy's room? And you saw me sleeping there with Appa?"

His brown cheeks darkened, going rosy at the top. Eyes cast down, he nodded.

"And how did that make you feel?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her.

"Sad? Or angry?"

"No..."

"Happy?"

"I don't know."

"You know we both love you very much, right?"

"I know."

"And you're allowed to come into Mummy's room when you wake up in the morning. Or if you wake up in the middle of the night. You know that?"

"I know."

"Would it..." Nesta paused, wondering how best to phrase it. "Would it be good or bad if Appa slept in Mummy's bed again?"

Nicky had looked up, his grey eyes shy as he started wringing his hands. "I don't know."

"All right," she had said, keeping her tone cheerful. She kissed his forehead. "Do you want to go play at the park?"

"Well, that's all right, then," Amorette says when she finishes recounting the events of the afternoon.

"How is that all right?"

"He's not upset," she replies. "He may not know exactly how it makes him feel, but it's not bad."

"What do you think he is feeling, then?" Nesta tries to decide based on his expression when he walked into the room that morning. He had averted his eyes...embarrassed?

Amorette echoes her sentiments. "In the moment, at least. But from what you said...I think he might be pleased."

Is that worse than him being upset? Nesta can't tell.

"Look, he's clearly not losing any sleep over it, and neither should you. You spoke to him, reassured him, made it clear he can come to you. What else is there?"

"I don't know...do you think he told Avery and Ollie?"

Amorette shrugs. "Well, they're not very good secret keepers."

That much is true. "Should I talk to all three of them?"

"If they ask. Parents have done worse things to their children than falling asleep, Nesta," she teases. "When you traumatize them enough for them to run away, it'll be for something worse than this."

Nesta sighs and stretches out her legs. "Suppose you're right...thanks for the book, by the way." An extremely rare edition of one of Nesta's favorites. "Although I don't know if I should thank you for supporting my competition."

"As if," Amorette says, grinning. "Adil tracked it down for me."

Nesta feels a warm flutter in her stomach. "Oh."

She has so much here, doesn't she? The thought doesn't leave her, throughout the whole evening with Amorette and the walk home. Not just for the children...but for her. Adil and Miri and Amorette...and neighbors...and Zeyn.

Who calls her name just as she walks up the steps to her porch.

---

February 16 - Year of

The cold of the Illyrian mountains did not melt alongside the snow, but all of the iciness inside the General Commander's house had gone. There were quiet moments of awkwardness here and there, when Nesta could hear him not mentioning the forbidden words: Velaris, Rhys, Feyre, etc., but the other moments outnumbered them and were pleasant. Which was why Nesta had agreed to join him on one of the mysterious meetings he always disappeared to.

He had asked her a few days ago, after coming home from one of these meetings. Slumped on the couch and complained about how the preferred method rebellion appeared to be directly disobeying him.

"Step down," Nesta suggested, and he had rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't see why you try so much. There are more armies than just the Illyrian one. So let them choose a new commander if they hate you. Be the other armies' commander."

He stretched his arm out, his fingers trailing the spot next to where her knee was under the blanket, and smiled softly. "But I'm Illyrian, Nesta."

She knew that. "Well...I just don't think you should be giving so much to people who don't even want you there."

"There's no way," he said. "Think what the rebels will do if I step down."

"I don't understand. They're Night Court, aren't they? So aren't they loyal anyway? And aren't they pleased to have an Illyrian High Lord?"

"They don't see themselves as Night Court," he said. "They live amongst themselves. They are only Illyrian. So they don't like having an Illyrian High Lord. They like Night Court society about as much as you do," he added ruefully. His grin tugged downwards slightly as he mused, more to himself, she thought, "Actually, you do have quite a bit in common with them..."

"With the Illyrians warlords?" Nesta asked drily.

"Camp lords. We're not at war."

"Not at war yet, you said."

His fingers inched farther, and she leaned back as he began to rub one of the dimples in her knee from over the blanket. "Come with me."

He was still touching her. "Come with you where?"

"To a meeting."

She hadn't thought he would be able to convince her, but his pleading and a rare burst of curiosity on her part won out in the end. So after a morning of his teasing her that they were going to be late and her grumbling that it was so early, Nesta found herself at the entrance of a building in an Illyrian camp that looked very much like the one she and Cassian lived in.

"Lysander's the new camp lord," Cassian told her. "Relatively young. The old one...well. Not a fan of Rhys' or mine."

"Did you kill him?" she asked, half teasing, half genuine.

"What? No! I didn't kill him...and keep your voice down, if you're going to accuse me of political assassination."

"How'd he die?"

"We're not sure," Cassian admitted. "It might have been an accident. But probably not."

"Are you going to find out?"

"We are." He grinned at her.

Nesta scowled. "That's what I'm here to do? I thought you wanted me to sit next to you."

"You will. And add another healthy dose of fear while I interrogate."

"This is stupid," Nesta said, crossing her arms. "Don't you have a mind-reader on hand?"

"This is a new camp lord," he reminded her. "I want him to see me as his commander, not Rhys' lapdog who calls him in anytime things get rough."

She could appreciate that, at least. "And I'm your lapdog?"

She expected him to give her a wicked grin and say something stupid like, You're a wolf, but he only laughed and said, "No. Who would believe that? You're just here on an excursion."

"That's a big word."

"Oh, shut up. I need your help. All right?"

"Fine," she agreed, forcefully making her tone sound begrudging. "You don't think the new camp lord killed the old one?"

"I don't. But I could be wrong. Let's go see."

The building was not much nicer than the tents the Illyrian military had pitched during the war...and the people's attitude towards Nesta have not changed. Muttering greeted her when she entered the room at Cassian's side, and some of those religious hand gestures were thrown in her direction.

She stifled a scowl. She'd been living in Illyria for six months now. If she were going to unleash hellfire down upon them, wouldn't she have done it already?

Cassian didn't waste much time on introductions. On their part, that is. "This is your new commander's table?" He motioned for Nesta to sit down next to him.

Lysander cleared his throat. "I decided on a chain of command, yes."

He was nervous. That was...good? Because he was nervous about doing something without Cassian's permission first? But if Nesta were living here, she wouldn't like knowing that her camp lord was nervous when presenting his decisions.

Oh, she didn't know what she thought. She didn't really understand the politics before her and she honestly didn't care to.

The whole meeting seemed spectacularly boring to Nesta. Even things that should have been interesting—Cassian asking why no females had been chosen for the new commander's table, discussions of Illyrian separatists starting a fire in the middle of the camp—were not. She just...didn't care.

She didn't think much of it was interrogating, either. Until Cassian said, "It seems odd that an established camp lord, who was well-versed in aerial combat, fell to his death. Don't you think, Lady Nesta?"

It had been quite some time since she'd heard that made-up title. But she gave no indication. "I do," she said.

They all flinched at the sound of her voice.

Cassian ignored them, pretending like they were the only ones in the room, as he leaned back and said, "What's your theory?"

Nesta looked around. "Was he popular?"

"He was not."

"Hm." Nesta thought for a moment.

If Cassian had wanted a politician, he would have brought Rhysand.

So she didn't think up any veiled threats. Instead, she turned to Lysander, and asked, just as she had asked Cassian, "Did you kill him?"

Asking Cassian, though, had not been nearly so funny. There was no chorus of sharp breaths, no sputtering.

But the answer was the same—more or less.

"No, Lady!"

Ooh, he would've had to be quite young to look at her with that kind of fear. But it was still hard to tell with faeries, for her.

"I don't think he did it," Nesta said.

"Anybody else?" Cassian was looking only at her.

She studied them all carefully. There—two from Lysander's right. He was calling on his gods far too much for an honest male.

"Did you kill him?"

His brown face bleached. "I did not, Lady." There was, perhaps, less terror in his voice than in Lysander's, but that wasn't very impressive. Perhaps he did not kill the old camp lord, but he definitely knew who did.

"This doesn't strike me as a good commander's table," Nesta muttered to Cassian, who chuckled slightly.

"Lysander...and you...stay. The rest of you, take your leave."

It wasn't something that she hoped to do again, she thought to herself. She didn't particularly enjoy intimidating people; she didn't like to be around people in the first place. But it was for a good cause, she supposed. Tangentially working for the Night Court, but weeding out corruption, right?

And she couldn't deny it—she did enjoy the secretive grins Cassian kept shooting her way.

---

December 23 - 4 years after

Cassian doesn't mean to eavesdrop. Really. He just thinks, when he hears Nesta coming up to the door, that she'll appreciate his help with her coat. Walk her into the living room where they can go over the book she had given him.

But then he hears her say, "Zeyn."

He freezes. Is he—here to spend the night? Should he leave?

Footsteps away from the door, and a kiss.

"I missed you," he says.

"I missed you too. Thank you for your gifts. We loved them."

When had he given her a gift.

"Suppose they're asleep."

"You can see them tomorrow." She pauses. "How was Solstice here?"

"Same as always. Madam Sabina had the kids put on a dance show."

Nesta laughs. "I wonder what the routine was like."

"Oh, it's such a shame you missed it. I can only hope this routine is repeated an infinite amount of times at every single town fair, so you have a chance to see it."

"Fingers crossed."

She's not sending him away, but she doesn't seem to be inviting him in. He notices, too.

"He's here, isn't he?"

Zeyn's voice has changed. He's not cold, but he's certainly not warm.

Nesta's own voice is unapologetic. "He's my children's father, Zeyn."

"But what is he to you?"

Cassian holds his breath. He doesn't want to listen in anymore, but he's too in-tune to her voice. He'll hear her from anywhere in the house now.

"He's my children's father," she says again. "That's a lot, Zeyn."

"Come on, Nesta, you know what I mean."

He wishes he could see her face—well, no, he doesn't. He saw it earlier tonight. She's not ready. He knows that.

Finally, ever so soft, she says, "I don't know, all right?"

Zeyn waits another few seconds before saying, just as softly, "All right."

"I can't have...anything...right now," she says. "It's too much. I'm focusing on the children."

"You always focus on the children."

"Well, really, Zeyn, what the hell do you expect me to do?"

"No, it's not wrong. I'm just saying...do you really think if you take some time to figure out what you want you won't be focusing on them?"

Privately, Cassian agrees with him.

"I don't know."

Now she sounds tired. Cassian doubts she'll want to look at the album with him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Zeyn...all right?"

Another kiss. "All right. Good night."

Cassian is sitting on the couch in the living room by the time Nesta makes it to the door.

"Hey," she says, untying her boots as she sits down.

"Hey," he says, casual. "How was Amorette's?"

"Great," she says flatly. "How's the album?"

He can't stop the smile on his face. "Great."

She chuckles slightly and reaches for it. "Did you see the little handprints? When they wake up, we can ask them to hold their hands against it...I still make them do it sometimes...they've just gotten," Nesta pauses to sigh and smile slightly, "so big."

"Ollie was always the smallest?" he asks, looking at the prints.

"Yes. I guess he'll be bigger than Avery one day." She laughs. "Oh, wow...do you ever think about what they'll be like? What they'll look like? Nicky looks more like you every single day."

Cassian perks up. "Really? Do you think?"

She nods. "He's started losing his little cheeks already. They're really not toddlers anymore. Three and a half."

"Three and a half," he echoes.

Nesta flips some of the pages. "And the hair. Look, Avery's hair was so light when she was born. I thought she was going to be blond."

They sit for another hour or so, talking about their children. This time, when Nesta starts to doze off, she claps her hands together and announces she is going to bed.

Cassian doesn't mind in the least.

---

some of y’all might not be aware, but since last week was so tough for me, i turned to you. i asked for prompts to write things that might distract me, and i am so pleased that it distracted a lot of you. some of these are lpg-verse, some are not. all are short, and hopefully fun for you.

you can continue to come to me when things are hard for you. my writing will always be here to provide an escape, and i am always here to lend a listening ear.

don’t let the bad days win.

Chapter Eighteen

#nessian #acotar fic #acotar au #nesta archeron #nessian fic #<3 you all.

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years

Text

Promises Not Kept Part 13

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 13: The Christmas that changes everything

Leah had suffered through many Christmases alone. The first one she had after losing Jonah was one of the worst. It took a lot of alcohol and crying to get her through to January. She never wanted to face such a gloomy holiday ever again. But ever since their run-in, Tommy and Leah were quiet around each other. Both were too afraid to continue the conversation in fear it would really break them apart. They were trying to at least make it through New Years without arguing again. But the tension still lingered and the only person oblivious to it was Charlie.

Unbeknownst to her, Tommy was busy Christmas Eve morning. Things were heating up and his family was scattered about. A family divided was a vulnerable family and that was deadly. There was something unsettling in the air.

“It’s getting late, love.” Leah murmured. The little boy’s eyes had begun to droop as his bedtime approached. They were sat by the fire to stay warm in the drafty house. The toddler was nodding off in her lap, the flames casting shadows over his angelic face.

“It’s Christmas tomorrow!” Charlie exclaimed.

“I know, I wonder what Santa will bring you.” She stroked his hair that was starting to lighten, as he got older. He retained certain features that looked like Tommy but he did look like Grace the more he grew.

“Charlie, got a job for you.” Tommy walked into the big room with a plate. His son jumped up and hurried over. “We give these to Santa and Rudolph.” He knelt down and handed the plate to Charlie to set out by the Christmas tree. Leah stood up, watching father and son interacting with a faint smile on her face. Tommy poured a glass and placed it by the tree as well. “Put this out for Santa, for his whiskey.” He smiled and held his arms out. “Night-night, Merry Christmas.” He hugged Charlie. “Go on upstairs with Leah, sleep well.”

Leah reached out a hand for him to take. Her eyes lingered on Tommy for a brief moment before going upstairs to put Charlie to bed. He nodded and

“Lee, you stay here?” Charlie asked as he snuggled under the quilts.

“You want me to stay in here for the night?” She tilted her head in confusion. It wasn't like the young boy to need someone to stay with him the night. He tended to be more independent like his father. “Why, poppet?”

“No, here. Here with daddy and me.” He clutched his teddy bear close to his chest.

She sighed softly and touched his hand. “Of course, love. I wouldn’t leave you.” And she was speaking honestly. She had no plans to abandon him or Tommy. Not when they needed her the most and not when she loved them both so much. Deep down she knew she needed them both too.

“Okay.” Charlie yawned.

“Now get some rest. Santa can’t come ‘less you’re asleep.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you very much.”

“Love you too.” He replied sleepily and his eyes slid closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Leah returned back downstairs, she heard Tommy’s sister in the study. She paused for a second, listening to their conversation without intending to be sneaky.

“If we stay out in the open, isolated, he’ll pick us off one by one. We need to be together in a place even they won’t dare to come.” Tommy’s voice was firm and low as an authority figure.

Ada laughed in disbelief. “You mean back home?”

“Within a four-mile radius of the Garrison, every man is a guard and a soldier for us.”

Leah’s stomach twisted up in knots. What on Earth was he talking about? Who would pick them off? She stepped back a few steps until she heard Tommy raise his voice. “Anyone who wants to live to see another Christmas needs to come where it’s safe.” His tone held a great deal of anxiety even as he tried to conceal it. “These bastards will kill kids as well.”

She had enough of listening and pushed open the door. Tommy and Ada stopped talking and looked at her. “What’ve you been keeping from me?” Leah demanded without explaining away why she was eavesdropping.

Silence. Ada glanced over at her brother but he looked caught in the act.

“Tommy….” Her tone was warning and she couldn’t restrain herself. “Answer me.”

“There are men who are here to kill us.” He obliged without sugar-coating anything. If she wanted to hear the truth then he would give it to her.

Her mouth popped open in utter shock. Of course, she knew that Tommy had enemies but he never took the time to inform her how far things had progressed. “And how long have you fucking known?”

“We’re going back to Small Heath.” He skirted around her second question in his usual business fashion. “Tomorrow, there’ll be a family meeting. We’re all on his list and as far as I know, no one’s safe.”

Tears welled up in Leah’s eyes. She felt so far behind everything. Pushed aside because she was some delicate woman who couldn't handle what was going on with the man she loved so much. But now suddenly she was involved because it had grown beyond Tommy's control. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’ve been handling it…”

“How?” Leah lost her patience and it was a long time coming. She was sick and tired of Tommy’s business tactics. Sick and tired of him trying to pull the wool over her eyes.

“That’s nothing for you to fucking worry ‘bout.” His voice rose a bit too. His nerves were completely frayed. “I’m going to keep you and Charlie safe, that’s what matters. But you need to fucking listen and do as I say!” He pointed sternly at her. “Don’t need you questioning me.”

Her lips parted slightly in shock. “I’m not one of your men, Thomas Shelby.” She hissed. “I don’t follow your commands.”

“’Less you want to be fucking dead, you’ll listen. You’re not getting shot by these bastards. Not on my watch.”

“So I’ve to follow you blindly but you don’t have to tell me when my life’s in danger?” She retorted sharply.

Ada reached out to try and ease the tension between the two. “Why don’t we calm down a moment, don’t want to wake the baby.”

“I’m not having this fucking conversation. Not when I’m trying to keep all of you alive!” He stormed out of the big room.

Leah let out a desperate noise of frustration. Everything hit her like a ton of bricks. Tommy’s behavior, the revelation of what he’d been doing for months without her knowing, and the imminent danger. She collapsed onto the couch in tears.

Ada frowned and rubbed her shoulder. She was well aware of how frustrating her brother could be. “Let’s get you some tea.” The woman only sobbed in response. “Maybe gin instead.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Leah managed to drift off for a quick nap after a glass of gin. She curled up on the couch, warmed by the fire still blazing in the hearth. Despite the little amount of alcohol she’d consumed, it was enough to relax her mind even for a moment.

But that was interrupted a while later by Tommy who shook her awake. “C’mon, we need to leave.” His voice was low but agitated.

She closed her eyes even tighter and shooed him off. “I’m not in the mood, Tommy. Just leave me alone.”

“That wasn’t a request.” He asserted and hurried over to stuff Charlie’s presents into a bag. “Go get Charlie, we’re leaving.”

She begrudgingly sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“They know we’re here. We need to be in Small Heath where it’s safer.” He reached out a hand to help her stand up. “I’m sorry. I can apologize for days if you need me to,” He took her face in his hands, his blue eyes searching hers. “But right now I need to make sure you and Charlie are safe.”

Leah touched his wrist. Fear bubbled up in her stomach as if the second they walked out of Arrow House they would be accosted. “I love you.” She whispered. If they were to die, she needed him to know that. They could argue every once in a while but she would never stop loving him.

Tommy’s chest tightened. The world was against him and the only people who were standing by him were the people he loved. The people he once loved, who were gone weren’t there anymore. Perhaps in spirit. But he needed to rely on the ones who he could embrace. “I love you.” He murmured back and kissed her deeply.

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Leah tried to wake Charlie as delicately as she could. She didn’t want to alert him to anything wrong in fear of scaring him.

“Is it Christmas?” He asked sweetly.

“Not yet, darling.” She put his robe on over his pajamas and scooped him up.

“Mummy!” He looked over her shoulder and pointed at the night table.

Leah paused and picked up the frame of Grace before leaving.

~~~~~~~~~~

They were quiet on the way to Small Heath. Charlie had fallen asleep in Leah’s lap in the backseat while Tommy drove. There was no telling what would happen. It wasn’t known if they were overestimating or underestimating the Americans. They just didn’t know the worst was yet to come.

It felt like ages since Leah was back in Birmingham. Even longer since she’d been in Tommy’s room at Watery Lane. The bed was far too small for all three of them but Tommy didn’t even attempt to sleep. He stayed downstairs by the phone, trying over and over again to get in touch with John to no avail. By dawn, he could only pray that Michael had gotten there quickly and was bringing them to safety.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But the hope was shattered just an hour after the sun began to rise. A phone call came through and Esme was screaming on the other end of the telephone line. It all came out as nonsense, hysterical sobs masking her words. But Tommy finally caught a few snippets of what she was shouting.

John. Dead. Michael. Dead.

After that, it was just brief flashes of memories. Walking through the hospital. Esme screaming for her husband. Polly running alongside the gurney that held her son. Doctors and nurses hurrying him into surgery.

He felt so numb as if he wasn’t truly experiencing everything first hand. Instead, he was watching from another dimension, floating through time and space in a daze. Muscle memory carried him through the hospital, every step mechanical and stiff. All the voices around him began to blur into each other to the point he couldn’t tell where they were coming from. He just kept walking forward. That’s all he could do. One foot in front of the other. His brain wasn’t functioning. Nothing registered. Just one foot in front of the other.

Tommy had no idea how much time passed while at the hospital. At least not until Esme forced him and Arthur out of the morgue. As he pushed through the doors, he was met with Leah waiting nearby.

She looked terrified and grief-stricken. She’d tried to comfort Esme before she stormed into the morgue but with no luck. Polly was also inconsolable, waiting for the prognosis of Michael’s fate.

It made everything Tommy spoke about the night before feel all the more real. There were truly people out to kill each and every one of them.

“Tom…”

“Where’s Charlie?” Panic bubbled up in Tommy’s throat.

“With Ada.” She answered. “He’s okay.”

He nodded slowly and walked over to her, right into her open arms. He didn’t speak but began to cry against her shoulder. All the wounds that had finally scarred over were torn open again. Like clockwork, he was forced to face the consequences. Forced to put someone else to rest. Forced to pick up the pieces.

“I’m sorry.” Leah held him tight. It was clear to her now that they all needed to stick together if they wanted to survive. She just wasn’t sure how long that strategy would work for them. There was no telling when the world would close in on them and began to collapse right from under their feet.

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fortheheavenssake · 4 years

Text

MM Anon 5

Dec 1

MM ANON, I’m watching series 1 of the crown, BRILLIANTLY WRITTEN AND EDITED. The filming is so accurate and attention to detail. I remember Norman Hartnell designing the Queens wardrobe for the commonwealth tour. My mother was a dress-maker so I watched everything she watched. Methinks the Queen had something to do with this because it’s so accurate. Reason, she’s 92 ‘ what a visual legacy. I can imagine her throwing a ashtray at Philip, and HIS secret dalliances. EPIC!!

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Dec 1

MM ANON ……… the king in waiting ……… “Mmmmm , not many diversions left”……… in need of some TLC. ……… financial scrutiny ……… financial mutiny !!! ………… “ Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining!!!!!!”………… “Catherine ‘ it’s HM” ……… “ Catherine, I want your discretion”………… “ it would be my privilege ma’am”……… “ That’s a tough one, old thing” ……… “she can do it!! “…… “makes you proud old thing, he looks the part” ……… “backseat ,a Philip?” ………… “ dot The Is…………”

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Dec 2

MM ANON … “when we are born, we cry , that we are come”…… “your RH. that’s why you didn’t go” ……… “Four” ……… ahhhhhrrr , I hate mornings!! ……… “give a dog a bone …” ………… “ yes , we’re all watching it! It’s very addictive “ ……… “ How the f***did they know that!!!”………… “ I told them Philip!!” ……… “bloody snoops” …… At the last count sir , all was Ticketyboo.

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Dec 3

MM ANON ……… “Darling’ please pass the Wrinkle cream” ………”she’s on this blog I read”💜……… “ we’ve been invited to the Boxing Day shoot” …… WoW ‘ that’s a beautiful photo Kate …… “he’s to young ‘ good grief William!!”…… ‘This cobra has no fangs ……… “The service, maybe bring C&G.” ……… “ The spring diary ma’am’ was thinking they could do The America’s and Canada” ……… “ the Children too”…… “what say you Philip?” …… “indubitable , old thing” …… “ Settled!!”……” Sidney’ more refreshments”

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Dec 4

MM ANON ……… lovers not-on or emerald??…… Alexander McQueen green machine??……… Clean sweep!!!……………Trump wants his ball back…… Banquetiquette ……… “ One has to watch the hot mike Donald!!”……… Meanwhile’ crying in a corner……” a clash of Wills”……… “come on old thing,tell me all the gossip”………” Sydney ‘ gin and Du……” “ Ones a tad exhausted “…… “ you looked stunning Catherine “……… “yes ‘ I saw your killer 👀side eye “…… 👑👑💕💕And so to bed Zebedee!!……… “ Lottie ‘turn your pad off!!”…George’ sleep!!

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Dec 5

MM ANON …… “ no, not the service”……… Strip and rip…… IRSt in peace……” I think you’ll find it best ma’am”…… “ exactly ‘ peace and quiet”…… Distant thunder ……… “On Her Majesty’s secret service”…… No!! Not the whole enchilada………… The dossier, almost complete!!…… “Yes!! It certainly is personal”……… “she lived by the sor-did…… “gather thee rosebuds …………”…… “ not a word,old boy”. ……… “ Mmmm, unfortunate name for a club”……… “a sticky wicket,what!

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Dec 6

MM ANON … BREAKING NEWS ……… ‘ PGs WRINKLE CREAM FAILED MEGHAN-MARKLE AFTER EXHAUSTING APPLICATIONS. 😱😱😱😱 . Beautician suggests plastic surgery, no hope on skin care ……… laser treatment doesn’t cure problem. 🤣🤣🤣

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Dec 6

MM ANON …… megbots in crisis …… megs spotted on ISS…… megs searchers internet for archificial upgrade …… megs still breastfeeding …… frogcott staff witness meg and Harry in screaming row 😱……… meg accused of bugging KP……… meg and archbishop in risqué photo shoot …… Archbishop denies clergy gossip …… meg ,VF interview ‘ I hate my chicken legs ‘…… Harry in GQ interview, I want a divorce ‘…… GQ, shock ‘horror, Harry’s OK’…… meg pens, ‘confessions of my yachting years’. … $20 million advance.

Thank you MM Anon😊❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

MM ANON, todays post is a light hearted look at the relationship between M&H. ……… to all who interprets, my sincere apologies. 🤣🤣🤣 KEEP CALM AND MEGXIT.

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Dec 6

MM ANON 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻Prayers for victims of shooting at navy base in Florida. 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 God grant the serenity to accept the things you cannot change. God bless the families involved. 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

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Dec 6

MM ANON …… Muffin the mule…… looby loo & Andy pandy …… 95 , time!!…… “no’ not chaz”’……… “ I’m Meghan Markle and I indorse this massage” ……” An American Christmas card”…… betrayal in B&W……… “ it’s HMTQ your talking about!!!”…… “ tell her to PO ‘ it’s the Boxing Day shoot”……… 🎼I’m dreaming of a right Christmas 🎼…… a shortie but goody.

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Dec 6

MM ANON …💜💜💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜DEAR SKIPPY, WE HAVE EARTH ANGELS IN OUR HUMBLE MIST. GIANTS OF FORTITUDE, GODS OF DIVINITY AND LOVERS OF QUIET HUMILITY , TO ALL WHO WALK THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED WE ARE BLESSED BY YOUR AURA OF PROTECTION AND LOVE.

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Dec 7

MM ANON …… subpoenaed to swim uphill…… “withdrawal with notoriety”……… “pony!! “ she has no fear Catherine”……… “wherever did she get this wilfulness ?…… YOU!!!!…… “Philip will help me write it!!”……… “caution ma’am”……… “no colourful language”…… “ are you pensive LG”…… “frighteningly apprehensive ma’am”…… “I trust my subjects”………”one communicates with Netflix” ………”OMG😱😱”……”The Diana Years”……” it’s confidential LG!!”

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Dec 8

MM ANON …… not an engaging situation …… my LITTLE pony……… WOC-less……… We’re just mild about Harry …… a charitable laundromat ……… expenses,expenses ………”it’s a Multi million business, trim it”…… hangers OFF!!……… ‘‘twas the night before Christmas”……… a conservative Royalist ……… 12th night ……… morning sic -ness……… “ say goodnight Gracie.

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Dec 9

MM ANON ……… Re-Hab-itual behaviour ……” Gone In sixty seconds”…… ( six weeks?) ……… no sight, sound or visual,no optics???? …… old photos, photo shops and disinformation!!……… “ there OK, ma’am!!”…… “ones duty is, keep muddying the waters”…… The Peoples Princess, WHAT!!! ……… “capitalise on it ma’am”…… “AMERICA”…… “are you a gambling man LG?”……… “ only on absolutes”…… Charlotte’s wish-list Web 🤣🐴🦄🎼💕……… “what’s that racket basil”… “It’s Brahms, Brahms 4th racket”🤣🤣🤣🤣

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Dec 9

MM ANON, Dearest skippy, your blog is a cutting-edge example of investigative information and in depth research by your helpers. This community YOU have created is visited by world tabloids , broadsheets and cable TV. Some even associate royalty and the establishment. How many times “ RIGHT HERE,RIGHT NOW!!” has the SKIPPY 20. been spot on. EPIC POSTING,EPIC INVESTIGATIVE DIGGING. ‘JUST EPIC!! BRAVA SKIPPY.

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Dec 10

MM ANON, Soooooo, Nutmeg … The merchandisers whore, has been reprimanded after 2 years of pimping out anything she wears for financial gain …… NO OTHER MEMBER OF THE FIRM DOES THIS, the salacious saleswhore and professional grifter has soiled the monarchy enough!! “ listening H !!! ‘ the public see right through this obnoxious interloper, the gathering of unhappy people are testimony to this couples blatant disregard of royal prerogative. This nonentity must go. ⚖️⚖️⚖️⚖️Justice must prevail.

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Dec 10

MM ANON …… Predictions Guaranteed …… W&K increases commitment …… 🎼”no other love have i”🎼……… mummy serves a Christmas ace……4-0-tee-love…… advantage HMTQ …… nutmeg, FAULT!! …… DOUBLE FAULT!!…… Game, Set and scratch🤣🤣🤣…… “ these are actors,as I foretold you “………” thar’s gold in them thar Hills”………… 🎼”HOLLYWOOOOOOOD”🎼……… “An exit strategy LG.”……🎄 seasonal Sandringham🎄…… “I WANT A POOOOOOOOONY” ,please.🎅🎅😘😘😘………… “ ask your father!!……… ask your mother!! ……… ask Gan Gan. !!😂😂😂

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Dec 10

MM ANON, The first with the most news breaking!!!! The DOC is with child. PG said back in Nov. did I give a clue????? Can’t remember what yesterday’s riddle was 🤣🤣🤣🤣 I’m a mess of jumbled messages,and perhaps a little nuts. RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. speculation of course.

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MM ANON! ……… TRIBUTE TO TRUTH!! 💜💜💜💜 SALUTATIONS PG. TO SKIPPY AND THE BLOG COMMUNITY OF DEDICATED CONTRIBUTORS AND HELPERS. FOR HMTQ AND GBHMTQAOGC. TO THE curious who visit skippy, royal family,establishment and aristocracy. Thank you for your support. even the intellectually challenged misguided sugars who visit the bloggers blog. SALUTATIONS ALL. the truth will out. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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Dec 10

MM ANON , re-Full work mode. Don’t loose track of the fact that this full on grifting colonial carpetbagger has Sunshine Sucks!! It’s a desperate juggernaut of spin , lies and everything in between. That’s why they call it “pubic relations.” ……… just think ‘ sex lies and video tapes. So PLEEEEEEZ. take this bull$h!t with a pinch of salt. Nutmeg lives and dies swimming in PR turds. It’s the nature of that particular beast. It’s simple physics, shit floats to the surface. 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

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Dec 10

MM ANON …… Dear anon, a big juicy revaluation?????? Well dear friend,I give what ,and all information I’m given by my esteemed sources. Those sources are well under the establishment radar. Total anonymity,TOTAL!!! The wonderful information is sometimes current,sometimes elaborate and embellished sometimes “spot on!!!” So’ I’ll continue to inform and enlighten as is my want and skippy’s indulgence. GBHMTQAOGC

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Dec 10

MM ANON. , dear hearts , The loneliness of the long distance grifter, the isolation and contempt of the family “ she never had” and desertion of former associates in crime are deserting her in proverbial droves. The lifetime gravy boat she contemplated has listed ,and is rapidly sinking beneath the sea of turds she created for her self centred indulgence. This is our observation and her reality. NB. There is video evidence of her “ habits” from the , “ good old snorting days”. Allegedly!! 🤣🤣🤣

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Dec 10

MM ANON, Trolls have one positive point, they validate the existence of those they resent , they justify that resentment by insults and jibes infantile name calling and illiterate smears. Trolls are degenerate operatives of fallen social climbers,those sad creatures of the ones who once tolerated them but now have nothing left but contempt. Nutmeg is such a creature, an abysmal product of her own greed and failed dreams. How the might have ,have fallen. 🤣🤣🤣

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Dec 11

MM ANON, The anomaly that reportedly exists called archificial is a mystery of unfathomable proportions. The vision of it at the Tutu audience is somewhat baffling, nutmegs obvious unease and awkward stance when trying to hold the poor child,who reaches for… somebody it knows. The whole situation has never been experienced within a minor Royal situation. Nutmeg & Harry are causing ripples 🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣’ will the Christmas card explain more?????? Curiosity awaits!!!!

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Dec 11

MM ANON ………🎼 jingle smells, jingle smells 🎼……… 🎼” I’m dreaming of a POC Christmas”🎼…… “ no Christmas chemicals or alcohol in re-hab”……… “ on a whiter note”…… “ come on Lottie ‘ aunties found a little pony” …… “ So !!! You caved darling.”…… “well ‘ it’s Christmas!!”……… “not turkey ‘ Dover sole!!”… “ but it’s tradition Philip”……“ f**** tradition !!”…… “I’ll inform Sydney”…… “are you going to announce it old thing?”…… ANOTHER COUNTRY … “He’s a brilliant speech writer” …… “you’ll bloody need it

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Dec 11

MM ANON, 🎼she wore blueeeeeeeee velvet 🎼 and the lovers knot,and HMTQ In emeralds

Ok you all! These are hints she gave us….now let’s match to the riddles…..and of note…..she kept talking about the Emeralds….we presumed Kate……she never said Kate…..❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Dec 12

MM ANON ………emeralds should do the trick …… they certainly did…… W&K the lovers knot ………💍 a ring (Rock) of ages…… No Sin-ders you WON’T go to the ball😂😂……… 🎼”re-hab’ I said ,know know know!!!”🎼…… “ we ALL KNOW nutmeg!!”…… “GOD’ she’s in all the papers Philip”…… “ I see, she’s beautiful old thing”…… “she shines Philip”……… Wanta Konta and Kate🎾🎾…… Boris the spider…… “ doesn’t matter who you vote for, the government get in !!”…… sneezing ponytails 🐴🐴

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Dec 12

MM ANON, …… Princess Margaret’s Limerick at President Lyndon Johnson’s dinner party ‘ I quote … “ there was a young lady from Dallas, … Who used dynamite as a phallus,… blowing her tits to bits , Her vagina to China ,and her @sehole to Buckingham Palace. …… forgive the colourful language, but it is funny. 😂😂😂😂😂

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Dec 12

MM ANON , We all remember Fergie and the toe sucking/ pool screwing photos so for her to aligned herself with nutmeg is probably a “ girl’s of a feather “ both are ageing slappers , and who in God’s dear sweet world takes Sarah bloody Ferguson seriously , really REALLY !!! She’s always been an embarrassment to the firm , hated by PP and PC/Camilla PA. so it’s all a smoking mirrors BS-fest. And her association with Epstein, ……… give me a break!!!!!

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Dec 12 - Election Day, UK

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Dec 12

MM ANON, WELL ‘WELL ‘WELL …… nutmeg is apoplectic in re-hab after this mornings papers are FULL of photos of The fragrant Kate and HMTQ in Vlad & lovers knot tiaras. Her sugars are like Lemmings jumping of off Beachy Head 😂😂🤣🤣 and Fergie facedump is identifying with the old slapper because they both caught shagging by the poolside. 😂😂😂. EPIC

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Dec 13

MM ANON …… Cor’ bin a long night!!…… “ Darling ‘ it’s an allagee-gee” ……” majori-ty and crumpets ma’am”…… “ “That’s all ,I’m orf to Sandringham”……… George&Kate set and match…”that’s it Lottie ‘ walk on !!”…… “ I did it auntie Zara”…… “ Ducks in a row then Netty?”……… “Nurse!! What’s the bleeding time”?…… A little procedure!!…… “ the lids screwed down ma’am”……… “ones writing ones screech”…… “he’s coming Philip!!” …… “backlash old thing?”………… “it’s a Norwegian Blue Philip 😂😂”

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Dec 13

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Dec 13

MM ANON, NEVER A LONELY CHRISTMAS 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄Dear hearts , never will the soul that is Skippy abandon you this Christmas ,or her community of spiritual warriors, there love is endless, this is the land of earths angels 👼 and animal amazements. Join the fellowship of friends and hugs. God bless you all ,thank you Dearest skippy, no lonely soul this Christmas. 💜💜💜❤️❤️❤️💚💚💚

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Dec 14

MM ANON ……… Blueeeeeeee velvet …… pop pop Poppins ……… she met Mary ………” Mmmmmm , a bit sneeeeezy”……… “ we’ll go and get something really silly for her” …… it’s not a phone, it’s a MPC…… “ it’s all very Cloak & dagger”…… “ Catherine, I’m deadly serious!!”……… “meals on bloody wheels!! piss orf”……… Shut down everything!! ………… “A new broom,old thing”…………… “ well, ones not amused “………… “I’ll inform Sydney”……… From Cromer!!……… “Cromer???”

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Dec 15

MM ANON, sidebar’ thank you skippy,my favourite colour ROYAL BLUE / INDIGO mix. or blue velvet ‘ a joy. as you inform all the community in a couple of weeks we won’t remember anything else. I have a question dear heart ❣,are you broadcasting over Christmas 🎄 ? My Christmas is spent with a few friends of likeminded opinions. Belgravia is alive and festive. We shall wander into Chelsea to people watch and mull the wine and mince the tarts. Looking forward to wishing all a healthy Christmas 🎄.

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Dec 15

MM ANON ………… 🎼” give a little, take a little”🎼…… “Mary, Mary, quite …………”……FBI , (under the stones)……… “ very succinct old thing”…… “ blunt’ Philip!”……… “its a beautiful yacht ma’am” ………… “ I fear 20, more than 19” ………TO THE VICTOR……”………… a little late dear friend ……… WHITEHALL NOW!! …… only one came ……… IF , dear boy IF”……… “ you were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off”

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Dec 16

ANON, OMG’ something every royal father and mother dread…… “ can’t we take them back to our house, it’s HUGE!!” ( homeless inquiry’s by G&C. ) it’s like “ what’s electrickery” …… or “ why is the sky blue?”… so , Catherine’s response, “ I’ll ask Gan, Gan darling, maybe they’ll find a safe space for them ……… “ I know mummy, they could all live in Gan gans house” 😒😒😒😒 side eyes to William, William changes subject to pony’s and tennis.

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Dec 16

MM ANON, Sooooo’ Nutmeg And himself won’t be At Wednesday’s Turkey nosh at BP ,Mmmmm , no surprise there Ma’am. The insolent obnoxious self indulgent hoe and her now husband see’s it fitting to snub the invitation. Truth be known everyone is waving flags that she’s staying with her Calipornia besties , if they exist?? The anomaly in this puzzle, no comment from himself?? WHY? One would expect one to” come clean” and stop the speculation, strangely strange!!! On the fence? What’s happening?

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Dec 16

MM ANON, praises, salutations, respect, recognition, I stand in awe of the interpretations that anons gracefully post when sifting through the mine field of riddles. It’s an almost psychic melt of another’s thinking 💭 🤔 THANK YOU DEAR ANONS , AND MAY YOU CONTINUE INTO 2020 WITH TENACIOUS DILIGENCE AND APTITUDE. 💜💚❤️

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Dec 17

MM ANON , There used to be British comedy called Kevin and Perry…… two obnoxious teenagers, Kevin always used the argument “ it’s soooooo unfair!!” , this reminds me of that self pitying tw** nutmeg crying over perception of her importance!!! HOW CAN SOMEONE WHO IS IRRELEVANT BE IMPORTANT ???? THEIR PR IS IN OVERDRIVE DESPERATELY SEEKING EXPOSURE AND DEAR K&W IS KNOCKING THEM BACK EVERY DAY. nutmeg hiding in a cubicle screaming and kicking “ it’s sooo unfair” 🤣🤣🤣

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Dec 17

MM ANON , Methinks anon may be on the right track. Nutmegs Christmas card will be something that flips the bird at the establishment. Giving the middle finger to the royal family and her critics, bet whatever it is it won’t be subtle. The vacuous tart is resentful and insecure so she’ll be out to insult and justify her existence , although we all know it’s irrelevant, expect the unexpected. Tutu, B&W , archificial playing football, tits and bums , expect anything and everything

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Dec 17

MM ANON, A very Mary Christmas,has knocked the irrelevant one from the tabloids and broadsheets. W&K are right,left and centre of ALL stories today. What seems to be obvious is that William and Kate come across as relatable and normal, unlike the portentous and phoney nutmegs. Forgive my observation ,himself looks like he’s shot himself in both feet, all the stroking,touching claw holding, is sickening to observe. You could have fooled me he’s not with her. BUT!!! we’ll see at Sandringham.

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Dec 17

MM ANON …… The Christmas Royal choreography ……… Homeless hope……… “not just for Christmas”…… quiet compassions ……… Brits rage at nutmeg……… “ it’s Harry Jim,But not as we knew him”……… “ what’s the answer Spock?”……… EST…… “ eat your vegetables!!”……… “ but mummy, that’s sooooo unfair” ……… “no veg, no pony!!”……… “well from a PR standpoint, it’s an annual thing now”………… “ front and centre ma’am”……… “quite agree!!” ……… “Philip ??” ……… “people identify old thing”……… “ The Sandringham songbirds”

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Dec 18

MM ANON, Today The HMTQ will retire to the warming confines Of Sandringham. Reunited with PP and relaxing evenings in front of a real log fire 🔥. Sydney will be on call to deliver copious amounts of ones favourite tipple. Writing her speech and watching back episodes of Downton Abbey. Occasionally taking trips around the vast estate in the royal Land Rover. A relaxing few days before the tribe descend on them for the festivities 🥳. CHRISTMAS CARDS PLEASE !!!!

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Dec 18

MM ANON …… we are in the age of fast transport. Depending on what mode of royal conveyance Sandringham is one hour from London. ( to anon stuck in the 18th century). A cool Yule to all anons 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

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Dec 18

MM ANON ……… 🎼tis’ the season’ ……… 🎼……… “Tighter than ones ducks @ss under water ma’am”…… “indubitably LG, send the letters!!”……… “ Netty has it stitched!!”……… I think they were spotted on Elba……… someone saw them in Calvi ……… “Hmmmm, the historical significance doesn’t escape me”……… “ what say you Philip?”……” who gives a sh**, fancy a drinky?

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Dec 18

Anonymous asked:

MM ANON, The dynamic trio’ GC&L , these three children are about to embark on their life adventure, and yes’ I can see them taking over the world, first George, moulded by and coached by his father he will be diplomatic and educated in high tech and security of the family ,think oxford illuminati crossed with Bond. He will grow into a handsome man , followed and pursued by bright well educated beautiful women. He’ll be guided by his parents on who is a suitable girl friend, there will be many.

skippyv20 answered:

Oh yes indeed! Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

skippyv20

MM ANON / Part 2, Charlotte, Now this young woman to be will become the conflict within herself, opinionated and self willed she will be a laser focused neutral beauty of formidable character, mindful of her station she will develop compassion and empathy with her loving public, this will be a PRINCESS OF AND FOR THE PEOPLE, much loved in all circles of society, willing to get down and dirty and attend diplomatic banquets on the same day. Versatile perfection and stunning looks, 👀. Look out!!

MM ANON. Part 3/ Louis, this young man to be will find himself in a singular activity, I can see him as an explorer of his chosen passion. Space will become very important in 2040. and this young man could well be a pioneer in his chosen field. There may be a conflict and he will be part of that environment. No fear this soldier of fortune, And Again a handsome man followed by swooning beautiful young ladies. He will be advised once again to choose wisely. Speculation of course.

Sounds so wonderful! Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Dec 19

MM ANON …… Kate’s Christmas present to nutmeg …… Wrinkle cream!!😱😱…… new year getaway W&K……The Firm views pre-recorded QS. ……… A Royal decade, the 20,20s. …… “ up a gear ma’am”…… “ Keep calm and ostracise LG”…… 🎬it’s a wonderful life 🎬…… “ FROZEN mummy!!!”………”STAR WARS daddy!!”……… OMG ‘ it’s her Christmas card ……… “ we never received one” …… “ bloody lucky you!! “…… 🎼bye bye miss American pie🎼……… Kate’s tabloid cull…… “ what’s your 20?”

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Dec 19

MM ANON, THE CAMBRIDGE CHRISTMAS CARD. The M/ Cycle is a Triumph engine in a Rickman-Mettisse frame/ sidecar. Circa, 1955 ish’ The Duke being an ardent Biker, (photos of him sitting on a Norton Brietling at the IOM last year.) I’m sure he still goes on “race days at Brands Hatch”. Fast and safe ,all of this is testimony to a visionary CCard to show the world a relaxed and tight family unit. Unportentous and normal. It could be any family in any decade.

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Dec 19

MM ANON, Spending two thirds of your life with your legs open is a consequence of ones occupation, nutmegs stance has been an open book (legs) since we first saw her trundle into KP gardens. At every photographic opportunity she has her legs apart it’s a habit of the life she chose. ‘S’pose life transactions that include money in your hand ,smile on ones face and legs apart can only suggest what your occupation was ?? Yachting takes its toll, only speculation 🤣🤣🤣.

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Dec 20

MM ANON. BREAKING NEWS/ PP TAKEN TO KING EDWARD VII HOSPITAL IN LONDON THIS MORNING. OUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS🙏🏻

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Dec 20

MM ANON ………an unwelcome intrusion ……… “ and it was all going so well” …… “ sweeping the the whole bloody house!! “…… fun and games ……… C&G play charades …… Def-Con 4……… “150 million expected ma’am”…… “ my little Pony”…… mini scrambler,🏍Wow!!…… “grouse for the grown-ups”…… “dial it back ma’am?”……” what happens in Sandringham, stays in Sandringham”…… “Charles, see to the RPOs”…… “ night before Christmas,and all round the house “………… Great Expectations

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Dec 21

MM ANON ……… “ it’s a tad cautionary ma’am”……… visiting hours only!!! ……… “ no bloody fuss, piss off” ……… “ and SYDNEY!! no drinks !!!”……… she’s here until January …… Diplomatic immunity…… one way in, one way out!!……… Full cover’ face recognition and sleeper van. ……… “ 🎼the kids are alright!!👀🎼”……… “ to start with’ it’s a 50cc Yam.”……… “ a pony has more torque” ……… “stop worrying Catherine!!”…… “It’s His Decision”……… “ I’ll meet, just say when!! “.

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Dec 22

MM ANON ……… George in the mix. …… a royal blackout …… pensive at the Forth Bridge …… “ Royal Bostic sir”…… “ unity ma’am!!”……… Done and Dusted ……… No Card???……… Christmas IG word salad and virtue massage …… …… rapidly dissolving PR……… “ when in doubt use mental health” ……… “we need a distraction ma’am”……… it’s a win, win !!……… “that’s a silly jumper William”

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Dec 24

MM ANON …… yesterday’s riddle?? ……… Christmas Eve prayer’s …… 2.09 pm in England …… not on my watch. ………… Father Christmas 🎄 comes to Sandringham …… nutmegs not here 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳…… Mike incognito ……… Lost in Space ………” Yes , but dress them warm”. ……… A long wait for the faithful …… everyone is vetted and counted. …… it begins for little royals……” Andrew!!!”…… “Bloody hell’ I’m here you know!!” ……… “Ahhhh, Lobster 🦞 Bisque!!” ……… “Overtired!!”

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Dec 25

MM ANON …… Security , at church service is stitched up like a kipper. RPO is unobtrusive but very present. Notice HMTQ never left alone, always surrounded. GBHMTQAOGC

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Dec 25

MM ANON …… Lottie kills it with pink flamingo … 🥳🥳absent madam🥳…absentee ginger …… K&W now it’s a new monarchy!! …… happy Christmas to all our readers …… UK migrant terrorist alert …… PA on silent running …… skippy breaking news about Lottie on Christmas walk way back……… right here, right now!! ……… DM follows skippy …… dogs behind.

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Dec 25

It’s the time lag. ……… MM ANON ……… to all on the bloggers blog!! 9.26 am. At time of post. A Very special day to all , Christmas, pets , those flying, those being cuddled. Happy Christmas 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 skippy Family, 💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻LK🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜to all 🙏🏻🙏🏻💜

Thank you dear MM Anon! Merry Christmas💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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Dec 25

MM ANON 💜💜💜 HAPPINESS TO ALL THIS CHRISTMAS 🎄 🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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Dec 26

MM ANON ……… Morning paper!! ……… OMG………… she’s a superstar ………… “ your the one who wanted this” ………… “we’ve started a monster”……… 🎼I’m alumberjackandimOK🎼………… don’t go and tell them……… just friends!! ……… 🎼Substitute 🎼……… tumblr is a crap site……… you’ll miss me ……… stop listening to the static. ………… we need the space

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Dec 27

MM ANON …… Right here,Right now!! …………… lots of faithful followers ……… Skippy for news going into New year ……… sales of wrinkle cream skyrockets ……… Vancouver, Smancouver ………… DISINFORMATION …… “ May the force be with you “……… “ Lies, she tells, grifter she is!!”…… hiking,shmiking ……… Archificial in-samination…… happy new lies ……… PR incredulous …… Canada turns its back!!……… “ not another bloody photo!!”…… “ stupid bloody card!,”……… “ another Snifter old thing?”

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Dec 28

MM ANON ……… illusions of grandeur ………not in my Restaurant ……… Canada snubbing you. …… Britain will boo you……… LA New Years …… go to Alaska!!! ……… C&G new found fame ……… W&K , curb there enthusiasm ……… mid-wife’s helper……………United monarchy ………New Years at the Middletons. ……… “who said it.” … “he used to be more accommodating” ………… an empty £4,000,000 joke……… “ he’s not impressed” ………… “ that ship has sailed

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Dec 28

MM ANON … Many thanks for your input in 2019. Wishing you a happy new year. ❤️❤️❤️

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Dec 29

MM ANON, …… Thank you for all you diligently working on the riddles. 💜💜💜❤️❤️❤️ You are the real stars of MM ANON, you are the ones the skippetts look forward to reading. You’re there ( make it easy) day. To understand the riddles and give us the answers is a selfless action of altruism. Thank you all , especially PG and LK 💜💜💜❤️❤️❤️ God bless you all and a happy new year.

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Dec 29

MM ANON …… I have a minor task……… Due Diligence ……… 🎼And here you go again 🎼……… “ They will encounter a heavy work load”…………”it’s not impossible”………… The one thing we can’t take for granted ……… SNAKES and ladders ……… “she only comes out at night” ………… A challenging time ahead …… not their best decision ………… They have all the answers ……… The return will be difficult, if they return??………… make or break!!

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Dec 30

ANON , On New Year’s Eve Eve , we give thanks for the tribulations of 2019 because without them we couldn’t face 2020. We know what to expect, more two faced lies , action and disinformation via their PR. So expect more of the same and more of us with skippy’s help and the help of anons can plough through the coming year. Mutual support and tenacity demands our continuous vigilance. Joyous new year.

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Dec 31

MM ANON …… “ happy new year to all our readers”…… 20.20. predictions ……… MM implosion ………Keep it quite!!………G&C in the viralsphere …… K&W keep it real ……… C&C relax duties ……… The best of the best……… 🎼if your sweet heart sends a letter 🎼………🎼 keep on runnin 🎼………… lack of vision ……… “ she’s blind as a BAT”……… Times Squared…… “ ring out the old, welcome the new”

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27 notes · View notes

tazzle-dee · 4 years

Text

i was tagged by @playerpartner ᕙ(`▿´)ᕗᕙ(`▿´)ᕗ ( who is delightful btw ❤)

Name: Cassidy

Nickname: Taz

Zodiac: Virgo

Height: 5’4”

Languages: English, and whatever I can remember from my 3 years of Spanish which as you can imagine isn’t a ton

Nationality: American

Favorite….

Season: Fall 🍂 🍂

Scent: food but like when you can smell it from the oven

Flower: Bleeding hearts <3

Color: Orange (currently)

Animal: capybara

Fictional Character: Penelope animal crossing or like the mummy for satcm cause I love that dude

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Cocoa?: Coffee with cream and sugar or Earl grey when im feeling a lil under the weather

Average Sleep: honestly I probably get 8 hours on average i like cant take naps so i need them sleep hrs

Number of Blankets: upwards of 4 at a time but like im a baby so i also keep a fan closeby

Dream Trip: not necessarily dream trip but a road trip with friends anywhere that isn’t the midwest would be fun c:

Blog Established?: uhhh like 4 years ago, i would look but uh..... looking means i have to look at old art

Followers: holds up 526 fingers

Random Fact: Uh I dunno I'm allergic to carrots, bananas, and cats but also cannot help myself but eat both carrots and bananas and pet cats

oh shoot this is the worst part, I don't know whos active on my blog, literally anyone who wants to can or @peachpeachtea if i have to tag someone c:

#taz reporting in from quarantine #ooooof #im still in acnh mode tho #also jo if you are reading this #<3 yoooooouuuu

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lolainblue · 6 years

Text

Phoenix -- Chapter 14

Jared:

After texting that I had arrived I waited patiently in the hotel hallway, arms full of packages, careful not to alert Jane to my presence by any knocking. After a minute a door opened and a tall woman with bleached blonde hair spotted me and waved me over.

“Shh. She's on the phone in the other room. If we're quick she won't notice.”

She quickly pulled some of the packages from my arms and headed back inside, motioning with her head for me to follow. I made my way in as quietly as I could, carefully placing the things I was still carrying on the table near the window.

“Okay, I think I know what to do with all of this,” she whispered as she surveyed everything. “I'm Marisol, by the way.”

“Yeah, I kind of worked that out,” I whispered back. "Thanks so much for doing this for us."

Marisol ushered me back into the hallway and gestured to the adjoining door. Once again I found myself standing about, now just holding a garment bag and a tote, while I waited for someone to let me in.

Marisol soon appeared at the neighboring door as well, welcoming me with a flourish. Jane was just inside, still talking on the phone, her back to me. I set my things down and waited. “I know, I know. But Roger and I will be back for a week in June. You know we wouldn't miss Daddy's birthday. We miss you guys too,” Jane spoke into her receiver as she paced. “Are Mitch and Audrey driving up with the girls?” There was another long pause. “Well give them all hugs and kisses from their Aunt Jane. I'll see you guys soon. I love you, Mommy.” Jane hung up the phone and sighed. She stood in place, tapping the cell against her open palm. I couldn't see her face but from the way she held herself – breathing deeply, sighing – I was pretty sure she was fighting some intense homesickness. I was glad I had carved out the time to fly to Texas to see her. Finally, she turned around, the light in the room catching on a little extra dampness in her green eyes. “Marisol, was that someone at the door...” She stopped when she caught sight of me, her jaw dropping open before her mouth turned up into the biggest grin I had ever seen on her. She squealed and threw her arms around my neck. “Oh my god, Jared! What are you doing here?” I waited for her to release me, giving her a quick kiss as I set her firmly back down on her feet. “Well I couldn't very well let you spend your birthday without me, could I?” “How did you know it was my birthday? I don't think I ever told you...” she trailed off then finished her own thought. “Roger. Of course. I suppose he thinks this makes up for ditching me to do that magazine shoot in Poland.” I didn't know if I should correct her or not. On one hand, it didn't seem to be fair to take the credit away from Shannon for at least trying to be somewhat selfless. On the other hand, I didn't like the way Jane stiffened any time Shannon was mentioned. This was her birthday. We didn't need any of that. I decided to let it go for now. “I was hoping to take you out for your birthday. I made some reservations and brought a change of clothes....” I told her as I gestured toward my garment bag, now slung across the back of a chair. “Oh no!” Jane looked stricken and I had to try to keep a straight face. I knew what was coming. “I love that you surprised me and all but I'm afraid I have a dinner meeting. There this new donor...” Marisol broke first, chuckling from her position near the door. “Yeah, about that..” I said. Jane shook her head. “It's you. The meeting is with you.” “I wanted to be sure you kept your schedule free,” Marisol explained. “You were in on this?” “Who do you think helped me pull all this off?” I asked. “But there's bad news too. We have rehearsals for the Australian VMAs and I have to fly back out. I'm afraid I have to head back to the airport by 4:30 am.” I expected Jane to be disappointed, but if anything, she seemed touched. “Your schedule is that packed and you flew out here just to take me to dinner?” She settled her arms around my neck, running her fingers through my hair while she gazed sweetly into my eyes. “Are you trying to win best boyfriend of the year?” I chuckled. “I thought we weren't using that word.” “Pssh,' Jane said, releasing me with a peck on the cheek. “I'm a writer. I'll do what I want with the words.” Marisol excused herself with a wink in my direction. Once we were alone I tackled Jane, pulling her over to the suite's small living area. “We've got a while before dinner. What would you like to do? Have you been to San Antonio before?” “Yes, but just for business. I haven't really gone out and done any sightseeing or anything.” “It's a great town. I wish we had more time here. I'm sure we could find plenty to do. There's an amusement park, I know you love those, but we don't really have time for that.” “No. When are our dinner reservations?” “Seven thirty.” “Well, what do you like to do when you're here?” “Well, there's a couple of great parks, kayaking, hiking that sort of thing.” “That's definitely out. I don't want to spend what little time we have driving out to things, getting sweaty and then driving back to change.” “Agreed. There are some great museums if you like that.” “Like painting museums or dinosaurs and mummy museums?” “Art. Contemporary. There's this amazing artist in residence program here, and we could take a stroll along the Riverwalk after while we wait for dinner," I suggested. “Hmm," Jane hummed, mulling it over. "I'm not much into art myself, I usually don't understand it, but I think it would be nice to go to an art museum with an actual artist. Plus I love watching you when you talk about things you're passionate about. Your eyes get so big and you're always licking your lips and fidgeting with your arms like you're trying not to overwhelm the rest of us. I love your passion.” I couldn't resist pulling her in for a kiss at that moment. Her lips were soft and sweet, tasting of some sort of fruity lip balm, and it struck me as a very Jane way for them to be. “And I love your softness,” I affirmed as I pulled her against me. “The world could have made you hard but you're still such a sugar cookie.” Jane laughed and rolled her eyes. “I am not.” “You are. And it's wonderful.” We got changed into our dinner clothing after that. I had brought something simple, black slacks and a black button-up shirt, but I wished I had chosen something a little brighter when Jane emerged from the bathroom. She was in a breezy floral sundress, white with pink and yellow roses on it, her hair in big loose curls that cascaded across her shoulders and down her back, and I stopped what I was doing and just watched her as the sun filtering through the drapes illuminated her features. She saw me gaping at her and smiled, the same way she always did when I complimented her, laughing and blushing, dropping her eyes, and that tremendous something that hung in my chest whenever I was near her shifted and surged. “Well, don't you look like Captain Emo,” she teased. “Do you need to borrow my eyeliner or did you bring your own?” “What do you think is in the bag?” I quipped back. “I have basic black, ultra black, limo black, glam black, charcoal black, nighttime black, daytime black, formal black...” “Smart ass.” She slipped into my arms without any further comment. “You look and smell amazing,” I told her as a rush of her perfume hit me. I recognized it as the same one she had been wearing on our first date, and I was sure I had smelled it on her before, probably that summer she spent part of the tour with us. “Same to you,” she said. “Even without the eyeliner?” I joked. “Don't get me wrong, I like the eyeliner. I do. But I think we can skip it for tonight.” She gave me a light kiss and stepped back. “Okay. Go show me some art.” Everything fell perfectly into place once we headed out. Jane was enraptured at the museum, although I wasn't sure if it was from the art or watching me explain it to her. She definitely seemed to be having a good time. Marisol texted me while I was taking Jane on our pre-dinner walk to let me know that everything was ready back at the hotel. I was so excited to have Jane see my surprise I was almost ready to skip our meal. I hadn't been out for dinner in San Antonio in ages, so I took her to this Italian place that one of Emma's friends recommended. I wasn't too impressed with it, I thought the food was just okay, but Jane really enjoyed her piccata dish. We got to talking about our upcoming schedules and I mentioned that we would be shooting a video in Antarctica. Jane became very animated. “Oh, I have been wanting to go there for ages!” “Antarctica? Really?” I marveled. Jane nodded and set down her fork. “I want to climb Mount Vinson. It's one of the seven summits, you know. I mean, not that I'm ever going to do all seven, but Vinson would be such an adventure....” “How did you even get involved in climbing?” “Mountaineering,” Jane corrected me. “Okay, mountaineering. You don't really strike me as the outdoorsy type, to be honest, Jane. You never mentioned so much as going camping before.” “I really hadn't done much outdoorsy stuff before a few years ago. Some camping trips with Roger, a little hiking, that sort of thing. But remember when I went to Machu Picchu? Those Canadian tourists that invited me to go on that Rainbow Mountain trek with them? I'm pretty sure I wrote to you about that. Anyway, I think it all started there. And then after I climbed Kilimanjaro, it became this whole thing...” “Wait, you climbed Kilimanjaro? When did this happen?” “When I was on my walkabout. I was always fascinated with that mountain, ever

since we read about it in school. I never seriously thought I'd climb it, but I was looking at these adventure travel trips, and they insisted Kili was doable if you were in good shape, and I had done well with the South American trek, and I really wanted to try. I'm so glad I did too. It was the most amazing experience.” I took a sip of my water. Catching up on all the changes with Jane had been its own amazing experience as far as I was concerned. “Well I don't think we're going to be near Mt Vinson but you're welcome to join us in Antarctica if you'd like,” I told her. Jane's smile faded a bit. “I don't think that would be the best idea.” “Jane, I'm sure it would be fine...” “You know, my mountaineering group is going to trek Kathmandu Valley in June,” Jane said, quickly changing the subject. “It's a social thing, really. There's a climb that's more of a hike, takes about three days, ends up at this fifth-century temple. Nothing you couldn't handle, I'm sure. You could come to that if your schedule has space for it. I think you'd have fun.” “Okay, I think my ego is a little bruised,” I laughed. “I'll have to see what my schedule looks like. Have Marisol send the info to Emma maybe?” Jane nodded and changed the subject again, chattering brightly about her plans to go home to her parents in a little over a month. I countered with tales of my most recent visit with my own mother. Everything continued pleasantly after that, and before long I was paying the check and helping Jane out of her seat. I sent a quick text to Marisol to alert her to our impending return. Jane wanted to take another stroll down the riverwalk, but the air had grown a bit chilly and of course, I was anxious to get back to the hotel to show her the rest of her birthday surprise. She seemed irritated that I didn't want to stay out and see the lights but I knew she'd forgive me once she was what Marisol and I had planned. I slipped through the door as soon as she unlocked it, wanting to see her reaction. Her expression rapidly changed from puzzlement at my odd behavior to awe, her eyes huge as she took in the room. As soon as I had left, Marisol had begun setting the room up. I had arranged for dozens of helium balloons, in pearly white and pink tones and long curly ribbons, to be delivered. They filled the room now, clinging to the ceiling in little clusters, reflecting the light from the candles that had been set up. Those were Emma's find, from a shop in Portland, giant versions of birthday cake candles in bright colors that echoed the ones on the cake set up on the table near the window. It wasn't actually a grocery store birthday cake – I think Tomo would have killed me if he had caught me buying her one of those – but I had explained the situation to the bakery where I had ordered it and they had done a fantastic job of making it look like a slightly nicer version of one. I hoped it would be enough. The table draped in crepe and covered with flowers, showcasing the presents I had brought with me, including one from Roger, one from Tomo and one from Shannon. I had been a little unsure about that last one, but I figured it would be more awkward to leave him out of it. “Oh my god, Jared. This is amazing,” Jane said as her face erupted into an enormous grin. “You didn't have to go to all this trouble!” She noticed Marisol then, standing in the corner where she had been keeping a watch over all the open flames. “And you too! Thank you so much!” “You're welcome. Enjoy your birthday. I'm off to bed,” Marisol told her, giving her a quick hug and then retreating to her half of the suite. Jane walked over to the table. “Oh Roger, spilling all my secrets I see...” she mused. “The cake is perfect, as I'm sure you know. You're so sneaky.” Once again I didn't correct her, just slipped up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. “Well, birthday girl, make a wish. We have a cake to eat and presents to open.” Jane smiled at me and then screwed her eyes tightly closed. After a minute she took a big breath and blew out all the candles, clapping her hands and cheering when she made it on the first attempt. “You're going to get your wish now. I hope you made it a good one.” “I did.” She turned around and placed her arms around my neck. “Thank you,” she continued softly. “This is so incredible. You have no idea what it means to me.” “Anything for you, Jane,” I told her before drawing her mouth to mine. She sighed and shifted in my arms, lingering there with her weight fully against me. I took the opportunity to trace my thumb over her cheekbones and run my fingers under her jawline, memorizing the lines of her face as she gazed dreamily back at me. “Oh yeah, presents,” she giggled finally, turning back to the table. “They're not all from me,” I pointed out as she picked each one up and shook it. I pointed out Roger's, and the one Tomo had insisted on sending when he found out where I was going, and then figured we'd get the most awkward one out of the way first. “This one is from Shannon. You don't have to open it if you don't want to." I figured I'd just pull the whole band-aid completely off so I added, "He's the one that told me about your birthday, by the way." Jane looked at the little box wrapped in red foil for a moment, running her fingertips across the folds in the paper. After a minute's contemplation, she nodded in agreement with some question in her head and then tore the wrapping away. Once opened, the box revealed a silver, Singapore chain bracelet with a single charm – a Ferris wheel. Jane twisted it in her fingers, her lips pursed tightly together. I thought I saw a hint of a smile returning to them before she abruptly closed the box back up and set it aside. “Okay, what's next?” she asked a little too brightly. I handed her another box. “This is the one from Tomo.” This time there was no hesitation as she unwrapped it, but she laughed when she saw the contents, and so did I when I pulled them out – a giant pair of fluffy slippers, made to look like chickens. “Tell him I said thank you,” she managed once she had stopped giggling. I handed her Roger's package next, a long box with a large card attached to it. Jane opened the card first and then frowned. “What?” I asked. “To Jane and Jared. Sorry for ditching you, Jane and apologies to Jared for my lousy behavior. P.S.: Janey, your real present is at Mom and Dad's.” she read aloud. “Okay, now you have to open it.” She continued frowning as she peeled the paper away, revealing a plain black garment box. She took the lid off, looked inside for a second and then gasped and slammed the lid back down. “I. Am going. To kill him,” she growled through gritted teeth. “What on earth is in there?” I asked as I tried to pry the box away from her. She wouldn't let go. “Come on, it has my name on it too.” Jane sighed and released her grip on the box. I pulled the lid back open and pulled the tissue paper aside, catching a glimpse of red satin, an o-ring, and a tag that read Bordelle. “Is that what I think it is?” Jane asked. “Well, if you think it's ridiculously expensive bondage-inspired boutique lingerie, then yes, it's exactly what you think it is.” “Yup. I'm gonna kill him.” “Oh come on. I'm sure he meant well. You haven't even taken it out of the box and looked at it properly. How do you know you won't like it?” “Are you going to wear it?” she asked sarcastically. “I don't know. Does it do anything for you if I do?” She gave me a playful shove and I erupted into laughter. “God, you're as bad as Roger is,” she said before taking the box back and shoving to the side of the table. She picked up another present. “Who is this from?” “That's from me, but so is the other one. You should open that one last.” I grabbed the larger of the two presents and exchanged it for the one she had been holding, letting the matter of the lingerie drop for now. “Here, open this one.” I hadn't had a lot of time to shop for a present for Jane, and the one I had chosen from her risked not being ready in time, so I had enlisted Emma's help. This box had been her find. It was a silk pashmina-style scarf in shades of gold and rose that looked like a sunset. Jane snatched it out of the box as soon as she spotted it, running the smooth fabric against her cheek. “Oh my god, it's gorgeous. Thank you.” Jane wrapped the new shawl around her shoulders before retrieving the box I had taken back from her earlier. It was wrapped in white paper with pink roses, to match the birthday cake, and she gave it a little shake while grinning mischievously at me. I didn't give her any hints, just waited patiently while she turned it over in her hands, shaking it again near her ear, before finally removing the paper. She smiled when she saw the necklace inside. “It's so pretty, thank you,” she said, not understanding what I had gotten her. I took the necklace from its cradle, unwinding the chain and locating the clasp so that I could put it on her. It was a simple white gold chain with a pendant, a piece of clear resin surrounded with a gold ring. It was what was in the resin that made it special. “I almost didn't get this in time,” I told her as she lifted her hair so I could fasten the piece for her. “The artist that does these is a friend of my mother though, and she did a rush job for me. I literally got it from her this morning, already wrapped. I hadn't even seen the finished product myself until now.” Jane grasped the pendant and lifted it for a better look. “She did a lovely job. Is that a flower petal inside?” “Yes,” I said proudly as stepped in front of her again. The phone call I had walked in on earlier was hardly my first introduction

to how close Jane was with her parents. I knew that she loved them very much and although she loved her life as it was she got homesick often too. This one had taken a little help from Roger, and some from her mother, but I thought we had pulled off something very special. “It's a peony petal. From your mother's garden,” explained. “It will stay preserved forever like that, and now you'll always have a piece of home with you.” Jane drew in her breath sharply and her eyes grew misty. “Oh, Jared. It's the most perfect thing.” She threw her arms around my neck, murmuring thank yous as she sniffled against my chest. I pulled her tight and waited for her to settle down again. I knew how sentimental she was. The piece had gone over as well as I had hoped. When she finally let go she grasped the necklace again, keeping it tight in her grasp as she turned back to the table. “Uhm... Jared?” “Yes?” “The cake looks delicious. You didn't happen to bring anything with which we could cut it or serve it or eat it did you?” “Shit. I should have known I'd forget something.” Jane smiled, against nestling herself in my arms. “Nevermind. This has been the most perfect birthday I've had in years anyway. And I know what I'd rather have than cake right now.” “Oh, what's that?” She bit her lower lip, giving me a sly smile. “You.”

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