#like again I am remaining in my camp of waiting on words from lawyers

[the-final-sif]

Also, just as a general comment on the whole Dream situation on one of the takes I kept seeing; y'all know that snapchat is like, an actual platform people use to talk to each other, right? It's not like, a creepy platform only used by predators. Right? Like. I've never had a snapchat account, and literally all throughout college I'd get offered people's snapchats and have to say I didn't have it and ask for their phone number instead. My like 45 year old boss uses snapchat to talk with her like 20 year old kids. I once had to write an actual email to another human being to tell them no, they could not put down their snapchat handle as an emergency contact method for their club paperwork.

Idk I had to actually check with other people in the discord to make sure I wasn't insane, and no, other people reported the same thing. Snapchat is a normal platform people use to talk to others. But for some reason, I kept seeing that take that somehow giving a snapchat was inherently predatory and that threw me for one hell of a loop. I'm really just not sure where that idea came from.

[curiousconch]

Chase You / Chase Me (Pt. 3)

Part 3: Remember when everything was different

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Aislinn, Gigi and Alex find friendship in the midst of the competition. One discussion led to another, pushing Alex to take a trip down memory lane, revealing the moment in her past where she and Gabe's paths crossed for the first time.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 1.7k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language. Scenes/themes may trigger trauma for some, reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

Sunday, downtown New York

"Wait, can you back up for a moment," Aislinn said across Alex, who was scooping the remains of her melted banana split. Gigi was sipping her ice-cold mimosa, their brunch table full of plates with scrapes of leftovers. The sun was out and so were they, dining al fresco under the shade of a huge white parasol and the gentle breeze cooling them every now and then. It was a perfect day so far.

The trio has agreed to meet up that Sunday to discuss what went down with the Rothswell case as well as to prep for the conference Sadie had invited them to. They were on some kind of a peace pact, all of them sharing the view that pitting women against women in the corporate world is just shitty business.

Alex has enjoyed their company. They exchanged imaginary one-liners that would have made Martin frown his heart out or Beau McGraw chortle his head off. And speaking of McGraw, they all concluded that the best strategic course of action was to let Beau enjoy his moment in the sun. One day, Alex would make sure to remind him that he tried to rain on her parade.

It was a refreshing and enlightening discussion, though she will forever be traumatized with how many swears Gigi can cram in a single sentence. But the sight of a flustered Aislinn while Alex and Gigi engaged in a battle of pick-up lines with their waiter was a strong second contender.

As their drinks flowed, the conversation naturally led to rhetorical questions, now settling at why they became a lawyer. Aislinn shared first, surprisingly, stating that her knack for analysis was just a natural fit to the demands of a career in law. Gigi's answer was simple - she can leverage her eidetic memory to earn herself some serious dough, allowing her to live it up and take impromptu vacations to Bali.

Alex tried to dodge the question. She had never needed to discuss her reason of leaving pre-med behind to attend law school. It wasn't a pleasant memory, and she doubted it will ever be.

The two ladies were quick to see her attempts of evasion. But together, they finally wore her down, Alex left laughing with their shenanigans as they cornered her to tell her story. So she told them that she knew Gabe Ricci. And that it was because of him why she was a lawyer. Alex decided that revealing the truth was worth it, seeing how their jaws just dropped to the floor.

"Girl, you have to explain yourself right now," Gigi demanded, to which Aislinn seconded.

Alex snorted as she went back to skimming what was left of her dessert. "It's a boring sob story, and I don't want to turn this lovely morning into a snooze fest."

"We're not going anywhere, right Gi?" Aislinn turned to Gigi beside her, who nodded whilst sipping another glass of cocktail.

"Fine, but only if you swear this won't leave this table," she said. The two held up their hands invoking a half-smiling Alex, sensing nothing but sincerity. So she drank down her glass of bloody mary and took a deep breath, composing her tale.

"Buckle up, ladies, you're in for a ride."

**

10 years ago, in a town near Boston

Alessandra Keating had never felt more alone than she did that day.

They said she needed to just move forward. But how can she, when every day since the crash, she felt nothing but emptiness? How can she feel alright, when the only life that she knew was suddenly taken away from her?

It wasn't long before she found out that the car accident was caused by someone being reckless, by someone who thought they were above the law. Then, she imploded. No way could she let her parent's deaths be forgotten. No fucking way.

For the past three years, she invested all of herself into this endeavor. Researching, studying, choosing the right counsel, even raising funds. It was what kept her breathing, what gave her purpose. Ultimately, it was what kept her sane.

From filing the lawsuit to attending mediations, to numerous settlement meetings and colliding with every legal roadblock possible - Alex made sure to see them through. Only for everything to be decided that day - the bench trial.

One sweltering summer morning in her hometown's courthouse, Alex sat on the side of the plaintiff, with her long brunette hair tangled in waves. She let her senses wander, taking in the dark wooden panels and pews, her sense of smell invaded by the scent of old mahogany. She sealed her lips into silence, hiding her nerves by straightening the bargain khaki suit that she borrowed.

She barely held it in as her eyes travelled to the table beside them, catching a glimpse of the man that caused her immeasurable pain. With jet black hair and looking as young as her, he sat with an almost mocking expression. He was wearing a crisper set of suit, creating an illusion of trustworthiness that Alex can easily see through.

Maximilian K. Cornell. The green-eyed teenager who swerved his sports car onto the same slippery road Alex and her parents were passing through. The very same boy who got out unharmed, but left Alex's family to die in the snow. Her opponent was a slithery snake who managed to screw the justice system so many times over, just because his parents had the grease to do so.

But after the crash, the town decided they can no longer turn the other cheek. Alex's decision to sue was propelled by the support of the countless friends and families whom her parents have helped in their hour of need. But that still proved not enough.

Her mind whirled back to the proceedings, and to how every strategy, every plan of attack was being thrown out. With every whip from the defense, she started to grow impatient. As another traffic expert from her camp was dismissed, Alex just snapped inside. She leaned to Mr. Leroy, a withering man on the brink of retirement who was her lawyer, asking for them to convene outside.

"I'm sorry Mr. Leroy, but your strategies were just scrutinized and torn into pieces," Alex said in a low voice the moment they stepped out into the hallway.

"Alex, I am doing my best here. We clearly don't have the upper hand, lacking the incriminating evidence that we need," the man replied, exasperated.

"Have we dug up his previous records? I mean, why on earth would he have a sealed history? Doesn't that mean something?" she continued.

She continued to dictate her litany of better-positioned moves, but even Alex knew she wasn't getting through. So she excused herself from the conversation, hoping a cup of iced coffee will somehow mitigate her frustrations.

As soon as she came back, she found Mr. Leroy convening with a much younger man in a dark navy suit. His aura screamed "big city hotshot", albeit the exhausted look in his brown eyes. Not wanting to interrupt, she held off from approaching. However, her curiosity didn't stop her from eavesdropping.

What she heard the charismatic man say was a legal precedent that would have opened the sealed records in question. And with all the mind-boggling legal jargon, that's just about what she understood.

"Gabriel Ricci? I'm looking for an attorney named Gabriel Ricci?" a female voice from a nearby window called out, which made the young man raise his head. She saw him end the conversation abruptly, where a flustered Mr. Leroy hastily thanked him. Alex took that as her queue to approach her lawyer.

"Alex, we might be able to turn things around," she heard Leroy say.

And by some miracle, things did turn around. With her lawyer using the precedent offered by the young attorney earlier, their side gained the needed momentum to tip the scales in their favor. By the end of the trial, the verdict was out - Cornell will never be able to drive another vehicle, along with paying her a hefty amount of damages and fees.

They won.

Alex had to pinch herself before the victory sunk in. When it did, she felt an immense burden lifted from her shoulders.

After a long, long time, Alex can finally breathe.

Broken free from her nightmares, she asked herself what's next? The answer came to her almost immediately. Right there and then, she decided what she wanted to be. Like that man from the courthouse, she will become a lawyer.

Fueled by this new sense of mission, she saw a future for herself. No longer held by the past, she finally was able to move forward.

Indeed, Alex became what she set out to do - a lawyer who took on hopeless, even impossible cases and won them. A lawyer her parents would be proud of.

A damn good lawyer, just like Gabriel Ricci.

**

Present Day, at a New York Penthouse

Gabe sat in his home office clad in nothing but his white bath robe, holding a worn manila folder.

Five years ago, Gabe saw this case as his opportunity to make Robbie proud. The defendant had all the parallels with his brother - a teenager, incarcerated young, where the punishment had presumed to be too harsh. He now knew it was rightfully just.

But at that time, he was blinded by passion and ambition. He wanted to prove to himself and to Sadie what he can do. Taking on this case that was practically unwinnable would give him more power, more control over the pro bono cases he wanted to take. Actually winning this though, that proved to be his fatal mistake.

Your cockiness got the better of you again, Ricci.

His mind went to Alex. That was the direction his every waking moment drifted to nowadays. Whether he liked it or not, he'd answer some other day.

He had to let her know. If he didn't, Alex would eventually find out herself. Once she discovers that he was the one who had set this man free, she would hate him.

Gabe can't bring himself to think of that happening, of losing that chance with her, or of losing Alex's trust.

Hell, I'm going to lose her entirely if she finds out.

These realizations devastated him.

But how can they both escape the looming shadows of the past unscathed? Even he couldn't figure that out.

Sighing, he rubbed his hand on his face, reeling at his lack of options. He then stood up, slamming the open folder on his desk as he turned to face the window, simmering in his own regrets. Papers slipped out to the carpeted floor, including a full-page mugshot of the defendant.

It was Maximilian Cornell.

Author's Notes: With Sadie being shady AF, I feel like we all need some dose of female friendship right? Also, this is my HC why Gabe constantly pulls away from MC, not only because of their working relationship. Did the reveal live up to the cliffhanger? Let me know in the comments! 👇👇👇

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily   @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses

@choicesficwriterscreations

Thank you for your continued reading!

Want to be added or removed to the tag list? No problem - just let me know 😊. Reblogs are also much appreciated! 💕

[acquariusgb]

The Clinton Tapes extracts of Bill as a father

Since tomorrow is Father’s Day in the US, here are some cute extracts from the book the Clinton Tapes by Taylor Branch about Bill being a wonderful father to Chelsea.  

-  Chelsea stopped by, neat as a pin, talking about an exam on Spanish verbs. She said good night and a preliminary goodbye for his long trip. When she was gone, Clinton said former president Bush had been encouraging him to spend more time at Camp David. Bush was hearing of low morale in its vast, attentive support staff, which remained isolated and idle because the Clintons almost never visited. The president said that while he appreciated such concerns, he saw few opportunities to change soon. Chelsea was fourteen years old. The last thing she wished for was a weekend at Camp David, which to her was the middle of nowhere. She stayed home, and her parents wanted to be apart from her as little as possible. So Camp David must wait. May 1994

- When Chelsea stopped by, the president tried to set a time to play cards, or just to talk. He said he had not seen her for a while, but she excused herself to get up early. Clinton looked a bit forlorn, telling me she had a summer job at the National Institutes of Health. July 1994

- Chelsea came in fretting about homework. In an exercise to hone succinct composition, she was writing an essay of no more than one page on the best and worst qualities in the legendary character Dr. Frankenstein, with illustrative passages from the Mary Shelley novel. Chelsea said her draft spilled stubbornly onto a second page, which was unacceptable, and she expressed doubt about her choice of quotations. The president paused to give counsel, and I left the recorders on as he read most of her essay out loud. He liked its cited images of Frankenstein’s passion for learning, enthralled in his lab, cheeks sallow with intense discovery, but he thought Chelsea was slightly ambiguous about whether his best quality was curiosity or ambition. On the negative side, where she wisely pinpointed an overbearing pride as the chief fault, he said she might find shorter, more precise quotes. We both complimented her language about the progressive blindness of Frankenstein’s zeal. Instead of creating life, Chelsea concluded, the mad doctor faced a “monster who had become his bane.” She went off to make revisions, and Clinton promised to consult her again before saying good night. May 1995

-   A festering wound could damage sensitive U.S.-Japanese relations for years, Gore warned. Clinton must visit Japan quickly to make amends. Just today, the president told me, he and Gore had tramped back and forth over a crowded calendar. December was out because of nightly Christmas parties, and so on, until Clinton circled dates next April. Horrified, Gore said that would be months too late, especially since the White House was announcing a peace trip to Europe for next week. Why not substitute Japan for Northern Ireland? Alternatively, Gore zeroed in on three lightly committed January days, but the president pronounced them vital to Chelsea’s schoolwork. Gore blinked. So what? He stared through Clinton’s halting explanation why this would be a bad time—because Hillary must join him in Japan, and junior-year midterms are the most pressure-packed events in all of high school. Mutual exasperation spiked. “Al,” Clinton told him, “I am not going to Japan and leave Chelsea by herself to take these exams.” Gore erupted. He thought Clinton had lost his bearings. They had a big fight, said the president, and were still wrangling about dates for Japan. November 1995

- During this preview of the campaign, Chelsea popped in the doorway to say she was sorry she may have disturbed us. She had been singing to herself in the hall, and did not realize we were here. Before he could reply, she vanished, and while I was rewinding the tapes shortly afterward, the president rummaged around the big Ulysses Grant desk. A decade ago, when she was about six, he said Chelsea had skipped into a ceremony at the governor’s office with a briefcase, which he was obliged to open in front of everyone. He showed me a photograph of little Chelsea doubled over in laughter as Clinton squeamishly displayed a boa constrictor inside. His daughter was cheerful and courteous, he said, but she was mischievous, too. May 1996

-  His voice surprised me again on Sunday, July 7. He had just finished testifying by videotape for one of the Whitewater criminal trials, in which Ken Starr’s deputy prosecutors were trying to tar him with far-fetched charges against Arkansas bankers. The president was tired, and really needed to spend time with Chelsea. So we must cancel our session tonight. He vowed to catch up soon. Of course, I replied. His staff always handled such logistics, but for some reason he delivered this notice himself. July 1996

-   Clinton told stories about Chelsea on our way down the hall. He and Hillary had just returned from her ballet recital. “She’s not an ideal body for a ballerina,” he reflected. “Far from it.” Chelsea was bigger than most of the other girls, who were flat-chested and tiny. She had big bones. Her feet had bled after practice ever since she was a little girl. Nevertheless, she pursued ballet above other arts or sports for which she was more naturally suited. “I’ve always admired that,” he said. “I’ve wondered whether I could ever stick with something for its own sake.” He was inclined to obsess about competitive standing and talent, he said, whereas Chelsea, though smartly aware of her limits, loved everything about ballet including the hard work. August 1996

-  Then he lingered on Chelsea’s seventeenth birthday. Because Hillary had been late to dinner at Washington’s Bombay Club, Clinton found himself the delighted sole host to a dozen high school girls in raucous discussions of love and the world. [...] The president glided into stories wholly off my list. Chelsea’s Sidwell Friends School had welcomed seniors to make two-minute spontaneous remarks at a gathering of fathers. On a theme of candid revelation, one girl told the assembly why she and her dad communicated by letter in the same house. Chelsea almost knocked Clinton over, he said, with raw eloquence cutting through the inhibitions of youth and the public eye. She confessed setting her heart all year on tryouts for a part in The Nutcracker, which she did not get. Life’s first major disappointment, as she called it, left her depressed and sleepless, consumed by failure. She could think of nothing but wasted sacrifice. Both parents talked with her late many nights, but she was inconsolable until she woke up fitfully to a letter only an hour old, headed “3am” on her father’s White House stationery. It said he could not sleep, either, being upset because she was upset. He loved her, was proud of her, and believed one day she would find new value in her years of ballet. Somehow these words dispelled a cloud of absorption, she told Sidwell. She still read the note every day. As for his work, she admired what he did in the face of so much invective, but it had not always been so. In preschool, she had cringed as the other children stood proudly to declare their parents’ jobs—doctor, fireman, teacher. Not even she had a clue about governor, and so Chelsea in turn said her mom was a lawyer and her dad cooked the French fries at McDonald’s. She became an instant hit, with by far the coolest dad, but of course the grownups made her promise not to tell lies. Apologizing later to the class, she thought her father just talked on the phone and made speeches, which got the kids briefly excited again because they thought she said he made peaches. February 1997

[reddeadinmybed]

Protective (F)

The whole camp was quiet as it was early in the morning. My morning sickness was just getting worse and worse as my pregnancy continues on, and I was only in my fifth week.

I have yet to tell Javier that I was pregnant. I could never quite find the time to tell him, he was always busy with missions and trying to save other people’s asses instead of having a break.

Today though, I feel was the day. Javier had just come back from a night mission with Arthur. Arthur was already back at the camp, asleep in his own tent. That means that Javier is back and I can finally tell him.

I stepped out of the tent, the confined space making my morning sickness feel worse. I don’t know why pregnancy causes people to feel sick, honestly it was stupid. And I was so hormonal, Mary-Beth thought I was hormonal because of my period. I guess soon she’ll find out why I’m really up and down with my emotions.

Mary-Beth has always wanted a kid. When Abigail gave birth to little Jack, she became clucky. Mary-Beth fantasised that she would find a guy (she always said she wanted a veteran) and he would sweep her off her feet and marry her. Then they’d have cute kids and live happily ever after. It was sweet but in my honest opinion, she has been reading too many books.

Most veterans have lost limbs or have become mentally scarred. I don’t think they’d want to marry or have kids anytime soon. But if that’s what Mary-Beth wants, no one can stop her.

In my honest opinion, I think her and Arthur would be great together. They’re both softies and I can tell Arthur would be a great father. A bit clueless but great nonetheless. The two of them together, that kid would have the greatest parents.

Which is exactly what I hope happens with Javier and I. I want the best for my child but I fear Javier would never retire of this life, and it would be selfish of me to ask him to. I know this life isn’t ideal for a child to grow up in, but I love the life too. The thrill of moving to new places, meeting new people, it makes me feel excited.

Maybe our kid will love this life and continue down Javier’s track. Or maybe our kid will become a doctor or a lawyer and be completely opposite of Javier and I. Either way, I know both Javier and myself will love this child dearly.

Speaking of Javier, I see him walking towards our tent. Javier has a smile on his face as he saw me waiting for him.

“Mi amor, were you waiting for me?” He questioned, his grin growing larger by the second.

“Of course I was waiting for you, I missed you.” I pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, hugging him tenderly. Hugging Javier was amazing, my build fitting perfectly with Javier’s strong yet slim body.

I loved Javier more than anything. There’s nothing that would ever become in between my love for him, except maybe the baby. But even then, I will still love Javier so much.

“I missed you too.” Javier leaned forward, our mouths connected in a gentle yet loving kiss. Instead of a peck, Javier kept going, humming in contentment. Javier’s arms wrapped around my waist and I just knew he felt the beginning of my baby belly. It was small but it was coming, I had a feeling this baby was going to be a big one.

“Mi amor, you didn’t eat a whole pot of stew when I was gone did you?” He winked at me and I scoffed, slapping him on the chest.

“No, I didn’t thank you. I actually need to tell you something.” I said in between kisses. He pulled away, looking at me inquisitively. I gave him a nervous grin in return.

“What is it mi amor? Are you in trouble? Do I need to teach someone a lesson? You know I won’t hesitate, not after last time –”

“Javier, honey, please listen.” I giggled.

He stopped talking and looked at me, a small grin on his cute lips. He looked absolutely adorable with his small grin and I just wanted to grab his cheeks and squeeze them, or even kiss them.

How did I get so lucky with Javier? What did I do to deserve this chance of a family with him?

“Ok, so you know how we’ve talked about having little Javier and little Y/N’s around?” I asked.

Javier nodded.

“Well, that’s finally going to happen because...I’m pregnant.” I finally let it out, releasing a sigh of relief while I was at it.

Javier remained silent for a few seconds, processing the words that no doubt shocked him to his core. He looked so cute with a confused expression on his face.

“Disculpe mi amor, did you just say that you were pregnant?” His grin grew larger and larger until he had a large smile on his face.

“I did Javier, I’m pregnant and we’re gonna be parents,” I confirmed for him.

Javier wasted no time pulling me in for a hug. He hugged me so tight that I thought I’d die of a lack of oxygen. Javier pulled back and kissed me, passionately.

He pulled back and cupped my face saying, “thank you so much mi amor,” over and over.

I grinned, tears pouring down my face. He generally looked so happy and I couldn’t be more proud to be that person that has made him so happy.

“You’re welcome baby, you’re so welcome.” He hugged me once again, this time more gentle than the last.

“Everyone, I’m going to be a papà!” Cheers resonated from the camp and I felt a pang of happiness surge through me, giving me energy.

This could quite possibly be the best day of my life.

“Absolutely not, you cannot go there, I will not allow it.” Dutch waved his hands around, making his point of me not being able to go to Valentine final.

“But Dutch it’s only for –”

“No Miss Y/L/N and that’s final. We can’t risk you losing the baby, think of Javier please!” He exclaimed whilst breathing heavily.

I looked down, my disappointed face evident.

“I just really wanted to get something for Javier, his birthday is soon.” I said, more quietly this time.

Dutch sighed.

“Then get Miss Grimshaw or even Karen to get you something. From this day on, you’re banned from leaving this camp.” Dutch retreated back to his tent, not wanting to hear anything else from me.

I sighed, tears falling down my cheek.

Why am I not allowed to do anything? Since when was this camp a prison? We claimed to be free and we claimed we can do anything we want but why am I an exemption? Why am I being treated this way?

I walked back towards my tent, dragging my feet along the way.

“Everything okay Miss Y/L/N?” Arthur asked, grabbing my arm, rubbing his hand up and down. I looked up at him, attempting a smile but tears were still streaming down my face.

“Yes, everything’s fine Arthur. I’m just upset that I can’t go to Valentine today.” I explained and Arthur gave a small reassuring smile.

“Everyone just wants the best for you, alright? We’re being protective because we don’t want anything to happen to you.” I nodded in understanding.

When Arthur puts it like that, it makes more sense. Anything could happen at any point and they just want to make sure that I’m safe and so is my child. I understand now.

“Thank you Arthur, you’ve really helped me see it in a different way.” He nodded and said his goodbyes, walking off, once again leaving me alone.

Yes the gang is protective, and yes I feel bound but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’d rather be protected and have people surround me, not letting me leaving rather than having no one to protect me and no one to guide me.

I walked back to mine and Javier’s tent, stepping in and lying down next to a sleeping Javier. Javier wrapped his arms around me, embracing not only me but our yet to be born child.

Javier is going to being the best father I know. I’m so glad that I get to spend my life with him and I’m so glad I have a camp that cares for its members.

Thanks for the reads

- REDDEADINMYBED

[camillemontespan]

unfiltered [drake walker interview/his POV]

@jovialyouthmusic​ @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore​ @pug-bitch​ @sirbeepsalot​ @emichelle​ @dcbbw​ @katedrakeohd​ @burnsoslow​ @ibldw-main​ @moonlightgem7​ @gardeningourmet​ @saivilo​ @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld​ @pedudley​ @notoriouscs​ @mskaneko​ @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat​ @sawyer0akleyscowboyhat​

                  ***************************************************

In total honesty, I said that I would never be interviewed by Duke Magazine again. A few months ago, I was interviewed by one of the their journalists who proceeded to insult me, make derogatory comments about my wife and generally just made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.

I walked out of the interview.

Bad idea? Probably. The following article was negative. But after speaking to my wife, who encouraged me to ride through it, I felt proud that I stood up for my family.

I swore I wouldn't appear in a page of Duke Magazine again. So what changed?

The editor, who I actually respect, contacted me to ask if I wanted to write my own piece. 'Write about you,' Matthew said. 'Write honestly. Show yourself to the world as you want to be seen.'

So here we go. I'm sat in my study, my daughter Lily is playing on the floor as she keeps me company, and I have an empty word document on my laptop ready to be written.

This is me. Unfiltered, unedited, me.

The Restraining Order

I guess I should start by writing about the restraining order I obtained against the paparazzi. This is, to date, the most controversial thing I have done during my occupation as the Duke of Valtoria.

I can't believe it's even seen as controversial so I'm going to explain why I did it. Maybe then the critics can finally agree that I did the right thing.

Everyone knows I'm a family man. I want to keep my wife and children safe and this was under threat one year ago.

Camille was being stalked on a daily basis. Photographers would chase after her on the street and surround her car, which understandably terrified her. Camille always tries to put a brave face on things but I often saw the exhausted look on her face. I would offer to do something but she would shrug and say, 'This comes with the territory of being a Duke and Duchess.'

I went along with that until one day, a photographer took a picture of my five year old in the school playground and that was it for me.

To actively stalk a five year old child - hell, any child - is disgusting.

We always said we would raise our kids to have normal upbringings. Yes, they experience privilege on another level but we make sure that Lily is brought up to see everyone as equals. We want her to have a normal childhood.

When her face was plastered on the front page of the Cordonian Herald, she looked at it and asked, 'Daddy, why am I on the newspaper?'

Damn right I called the newspaper and demanded that circulation of that issue stop. They laughed and said there was no point, it was already out. So, I went one better and contacted the best lawyer in Cordonia.

There was outrage. The paparazzi argued that as we are public figures, we should expect to be photographed.

Two words for that: fuck you.

We may be public figures but we did not sign up to be stalked. My daughters did not come into this world asking for that kind of attention. We are the best Duke and Duchess we can be, in regards to charities and making a difference. We work fucking hard. Despite that, we are not duty bound to let photographers take our pictures, especially when its through the railings of my daughter's school playground. I refuse to even entertain the idea that Lily should be forced to have her picture taken because of who her parents are. She's a kid.

I've had criticism from people who ask why we still take part in magazine interviews yet have a restraining order against the paparazzi. I can see why it can be misleading but genuinely, we only take part in interviews if we have something to promote, like my mental health charity Mind Over Matter. My children will never grace the pages of Duke, Trend, Vogue or any other magazine because that's not the life I want for them. Simple.

Does it seem like I'm ranting to you? Sorry. This subject just gets me really riled up. I would delete everything I have just written but as I said at the start, this is me unedited and unfiltered. If you don't want to read anymore, by all means, turn the page.

I never said I was polite.

Ugh okay, sorry again. My wife would say that this was me being sassy. Mr Sassy Pants. That's one nickname she calls me. Along with Marshmallow.. We'll unpack all that later.

Camille

I get a shit ton of questions about my wife. I get it, she’s gorgeous, who wouldn’t want to know about her, right? 

We’ve had our fair share of tabloid articles hinting at our ‘marriage being on the rocks’ or ‘trouble in paradise.’ Listen, don’t believe everything you read (apart from this piece obviously). 

Camille and I have had our challenges in the past but what married couple hasn’t? Through it all, we’re a team. We’re Drake and Camille.

Asking her to marry me remains the best decision I ever made. In the Drake Walker Hall of Fame, that will go down in history. I proposed with my grandmother’s ring which is this beautiful blue square topaz. Grammy always told me to keep it for the right girl. ‘The right girl,’ she would tell me, ‘is the one who makes you forget all of those girls that came before her. She will light up your life and make you see how amazing life would be by her side.’ 

She was so fucking right.

Apologies if you think I swear too much by the way. I’m trying to kerb it - I really am, my daughters are like sponges and repeat everything we say. I have a swear jar and more euro than I’d like to admit goes into it..

I asked Camille to marry me because she made me feel all of those things. I used to be the loner at court; the nobody. I stayed in the shadows and hated my life. All I wanted was for someone to see me. The real Drake Walker. I wanted someone to look at me and want to get to know me. 

Camille is the only woman who has done this.

I’m so proud of her. I think that’s a big deal, you know? You gotta feel proud of your partner. The way she learned about the nobility and Cordonia in such a short time is incredible. Looking at her now, when she’s so practiced at her speeches and so good with meeting the public, you wouldn’t think she was born a commoner. She has transcended all expectations. 

I’m also proud of her as a mom. She’s such a good mom! Camille has always wanted a family and seeing her with our girls makes me heart feel full. I watch her play with them, help Lily with homework and read them stories and I just count my lucky stars. I don’t know what I did in a previous life to have this amazing partner but I won’t question it. As I said, I just count my lucky stars.

Lily and Luna

My girls. They may have both inherited their mother’s looks but damn it, they got my smirk. 

Lily is five. She is the most colourful character and she’s mine. She is so girly. She often plays dress up and we watch her totter around the house in Camille’s high heels while carrying Camille’s handbag, shouting that she is going out for brunch. She is always laughing and she is a perfectionist; I’ve never met a kid her age who stays inside the lines when colouring in. 

She is loving, so loving. When we told her she was going to have a little sister, at first she wasn’t happy. Ohh boy. I think she was scared she would lose us as parents to this new human and I made it my mission to help her see that having a sister wasn’t going to take us away from her. I told her that they could be a little team. Afterwards, Lily sat up beside Camille and rested her head on the baby bump, waiting for kicks. When the baby kicked, Lily was delighted. That’s the thing - you got to talk to your kids like they’re people. Don’t treat them like they won’t understand. I sat her down and talked to her about something serious and she listened and understood. 

Now, she dotes on her baby sister. She always asks if she’s had enough milk. She will sit Luna on her lap while they watch Peppa Pig. Seeing her flourish in this role has been a joy to watch. I just hope that when they’re older they’ll keep being friends. I don’t think I could handle teenage screaming and doors slamming. Shudder. That’s something for Future Drake to worry about. Heh, sorry man.

Luna is one. She’s incredibly quiet, which at first was alarming as we were so used to Lily screaming non-stop as a baby, but when we thought about it, we were like: Having a quiet baby is the fucking best! 

She is so observant, constantly looking around with her big brown eyes. I always wish I could see what’s going on inside her head. What are you thinking about, baby girl?

Family Man

Duke may be my official title and job but really, husband and father is the role I love and put above everything else. I guess it’s still a novelty to me? I never imagined myself ever having a family of my own. I assumed I would die alone. I’m Chandler Bing from Friends: ‘I’M GONNA DIE ALONE!’ 

But I didn’t, clearly. So I think that constantly trying to keep my girls happy is just me loving our little unit. I never saw myself getting married and having babies, so I just stay in the moment, enjoying it. 

I take them on camping trips. I taught Lily how to make s’mores which she declared to be the best food she has ever tasted. I taught Camille how to pitch a tent (she’s a city girl, I had to keep reminding myself that). We’re yet to go camping with Luna but I figure wait a few years until it’s just easy. Baby steps.

One of my favourite things to do is take part in Lily’s tea parties. She puts a pink plastic tiara on my head and I sit down on the floor with my knees pulled up to my chest at her tiny tea table. If we’re pushing the boat out, we have actual chocolate milk in the tea cups.   Lily is a hostess like her mom. This is just training for when she holds dinner parties when she’s older and I hope I still get an invite. 

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a marshmallow when it comes to my family. I know I come across a little grumpy to some people, but seriously, get to know me and I’m a bit of a softie. I love a dad joke (‘I must ask you a question but I shall shave it for later!’) and I do enjoy a romcom sometimes but Jesus, don’t tell Camille or she will constantly be forcing me to watch How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days. 

I’m the classic example of don’t judge a book by its cover. That’s the reason why I’m writing this piece. 

Mind Over Matter

Mind Over Matter started as my mental health campaign which aimed to promote men’s mental health. I wanted to tackle toxic masculinity and I became the figurehead of the campaign. I suffered from depression growing up, as a consequence of my father dying and both my mom and sister leaving without warning. I felt worthless. 

I even felt worthless when I became a Duke. Even though I was married to the most incredible woman and I had this new job, I felt like I didn’t deserve any of it. I doubted myself all the time. I constantly worried I was going to be found out. 

I drank to numb the crippling anxiety. 

Camille stuck with me throughout. She tried so hard to show that I was loved and that I was worthy of this life. 

Eventually, I got help for my drinking. I go to AA meetings once a week in a bid to keep on the straight and narrow. My family keeps me motivated. But I realised that if, this guy with an amazing family and job, could feel worthless, how many more guys are out there who feel the same?

So I started MOM to make a difference. Me, my fellow nobles and men from all over Cordonia meet once a month to take part in outdoor activities like hiking, abseiling, kayaking etc. While we do all this stuff, we talk openly. We talk about our fears and our worries then we get ready to abseil down a cliff. It forces you to place your initial fears in a box, unpack it then jump off the edge.  It’s mind over matter. That’s the whole point.  

We Vlog our activities so anyone can watch what we’re doing and donate to mental health organisations. Now, MOM is a registered charity too, which is crazy, so all proceeds go on to make it a bigger thing. I want it to be the main mental health charity for Cordonia.

Did I ever imagine its success? No. But I’m so fucking proud of what MOM - what I, actually- have accomplished. 

Friends

Magazines like to say that me and King Liam are no longer friends. Bullshit. We are. We just aren’t seen together as much because we’ve both got our own things going on. He’s the fucking King. I’m sorry but if I’m constantly wondering why he’s too busy to respond to my text message, then I need to get a grip. But I don’t do that because I’m his friend and we understand that no matter how much distance we have, everything will be exactly as it was when we next see each other.

I’m really good friends with Liam’s older brother, Leo. You wouldn’t think we would be because we’re so different but he’s a good guy. He’s fun and he has been a huge supporter of Mind Over Matter. Outdoor activities are already his jam so the fact that one of his friends was trying to make a difference made him really get behind it. Hiking with Leo cemented our friendship. 

Leo goes out with Olivia Nevrakis. She is my kid’s godmother and despite how it looks on my Instagram, Olivia and I do get on! Best way to describe it is we have that kind of friendship where you act like you really want to stab each other but if one of you killed someone, the other would be there with a shovel saying, ‘Right, where do you want the body?’

Not that Olivia or I have ever killed someone. I mean, I know I haven’t but Olivia is known to love her daggers so I wouldn’t put it past her. LOVE YOU, LIV!

Future Plans

I’m content with having two children for now but hey, maybe in the future.. Never say never. 

I plan on taking my girls to Texas to see my mom for Christmas. We usually spend all summer in Texas but this year, I’m hoping for an American Christmas. It’s just not the same in Cordonia. We’ve got our little traditions here but it would be nice to make some new ones with my mom. 

Camille is going to be promoting a rehabilitation centre for addicts in the city centre next month and I will be supporting her the whole time. I’m her biggest cheerleader and she’s mine. This won’t be any different. 

I’m excited. I have never felt so content before. A lot can happen in five years. Here’s to the next five. I’ll raise a glass of whiskey to future moments and welcome them with open arms. 

This was me, unedited, unfiltered. I hope I didn’t bore you to tears or make you realise that I’m an asshole who swears too much. Sorry about that. I’ll pop a euro in the swear for ya. But by writing this piece, I hope I’ve shed light on who I actually am, not what some journalist with an agenda thinks of me. I’m not the best guy in the world and I will never claim to be. But I’m human and everyone has their own flaws. The best we can do is just work on them and be proud of who we are, no matter what. 

Got to submit this now. Lily’s getting restless which means endless episodes of Peppa Pig now. You know what? This makes me happy.

[pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc]

Helpless - Jimmy Darling

pairing: jimmy darling x reader

warnings: major spoilers for freak show, amputation

———————————————————————

“I got a deal for you, kid.” The seven words that changed my life permanently.

You see, I’ve been a freak ever since birth. I was born with a rare condition called ectrodactyly, which meant that my normal five fingers were conjoined into two fingers and a thumb on each hand.

Unfortunately, being a ‘freak’ meant many things:

That I would never be accepted into society.

That I would be considered an oddity, an exhibit, something to gawk and laugh at.

And that I’ll never find love.

I never thought much about these things, accepting that they were just part of my life, until I met Jimmy Darling.

I wandered into sunny Jupiter one day and happened upon a small freak show, made up of many acts. One of those acts happened to be none other than Lobster Boy, son of Neptune, god of the sea. I saw him and thought, I’ve found it, I’ve finally found it.

I know, love at first sight, it’s a cliche. And the fact that we’re both freaks with the same condition is doubly cliche, but we had something special.

We formed a beautiful bond, both of us secretly wishing it would develop into something more. In time, I joined the show, combining my act with Jimmy’s as “The Glamourous Lobster Twins”. We started to do everything together, go everywhere together. Hell, we were practically Bette and Dot, joined at the hip.

He even took me to his secret “Tupperware Parties”, where he worked his second gig. Naturally, being a good friend and all, I wasn’t happy about his method of bringing in the bucks, but I had to support him regardless.

One day, the police showed up to camp, not to anyone’s surprise, seeing how often they showed up. They came to arrest Jimmy and I for the murder’s of the housewives from the Tupperware Party. Of course, I had no idea they had been killed, and I knew it wasn’t me or Jimmy, seeing as we left at the same time. But I knew I had to act fast, so I confessed.

“Officer, please keep Jimmy out of this. It was me, I killed those women.” I lied, holding my hands out to the man.

“Y/N, no, what are you doing?” Jimmy protested, pulling me back by my shoulder.

“Shhh, Jimmy, I’m keeping you safe. You need to be at home with all of your family right now, and I’m making sure of it.” I shushed him, cupping his cheek gently.

“But you’re my family, darlin’. Wherever you are is where I feel safe. I can’t see you go.” He cried out when the officer began handcuffing me.

“See you soon, Jimmy Darling.” He held my hand as the police walked me to the car. Little did I know, that would be the last time I’d ever be able to do that.

“What if I told you there was a way you could get out of here and see the freak show again?” Richard said through the bars of my cell.

“Oh please, Mr. Spencer, I’d do anything!” I exclaimed.

“You see, I know someone who works in a certain line of business that would pay handsomely to see you,” he paused, noting the confused expression on my face. “He deals in oddities, freaks, if you will. He makes money by showing the preserved remains of them to paying customers in a museum, and he has been dying to get his mitts on those mitts,” Richard gestured down to my hands.

“H-he wants my hands?” I questioned, more to myself than anyone else.

“Even just one of the conjoined fingers would do. That is, if you’re willing.” He suggested.

“I don’t know, is there anything else I could do to get out of here?” I asked hopefully.

“I don’t think so, hon, he seems pretty firm in what he wants, I don’t know if I could sway him.” Richard said.

“I’d have to think about it.” I said, deep in thought.

“The way I see it, you don’t have much time for thinkin’. You either do this, and get a good lawyer to defend you, or rot in here until a public defense gets your case. And trust me, that’ll do you more bad than good.” He paced outside of my cell.

I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to think. Would I really be willing to stoop as low as selling one of my own appendages to have a shot at getting out of here?

“You know, saying no is a hell of a lot better of an answer than silence. That’ll do you good in court, kid. Good luck.” He began to leave.

“Mr Spencer, wait!” I yelled, getting his attention. “I’ll do it, but just the one finger, right?”

“Of course.” Richard grinned devilishly. “Drink this.” He handed me a small bottle which I downed in a shot. Not even a minute later, I was retching up what was left of yesterday’s lunch into the grimy toilet bowl.

I was quickly escorted out of the jailhouse and into an ambulance, Mr Spencer in tow. They hooked me up to something, making me feel woozy and lightheaded.

“Just rest, Y/N, your procedure will be over in no time.” Was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.

I woke up, a searing pain in my head and both wrists. I groaned and tried to sit up, but my head was gently pushed back down.

“Wha-” I opened my eyes, seeing a blurred version of Jimmy. “Jimmy, where am I? Why does everything hurt?” I croaked out.

“You’re back at the freak show, darlin’.” Jimmy said, smiling weakly. “You- uh- you went to jail to save the rest of us, remember?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” My face screwed up in confusion when I saw tears streak down his face. “Jimmy, baby, why are you crying?”

His eyes looked everywhere except back into mine before they settled on my midsection. I looked down at myself, searching for any noticeable difference, when I noticed my arms were strapped down to the bed.

“What the-” my arms ached as I raised them up to see what was wrong.

My jaw dropped.

Richard had lied.

He didn’t take one of my fingers, he took both of my hands.

A strangled cry ripped from my throat as I stared at the bloody bandaged-up stumps where my hands should have been. The tears poured relentlessly down my cheeks, leaving clean streaks behind them.

“H-he lied, Jimmy! He p-promised he would g-get me out of there! He took m-my h-hands!” I sobbed.

“Oh Y/N, come here, doll.” He muttered, laying down on the bed next to me, laying his head on my chest and wrapping his arms around me. My arms were still strapped to the bed so I couldn’t hug him back, but i nuzzled my face into his neck.

“What am I gonna do? I can’t do anything anymore. I’m so stupid, it’s pathetic.” I sniffled, leaning my head back on the pillow and staring at the top of the tent.

“Hey, look at me.” Jimmy said sternly, gently grasping my jaw and turning my head to face him. “You, are not stupid. Spencer’s a con artist, he tricks people, that’s what he does. If I were in your situation, I would’ve made the same choice, too. I don’t blame you for it. No one does, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Jimmy. What did I ever do to deserve you?” I sniffed, blinking the tears from my eyes. I wanted to reach out to him, but I couldn’t move my arms.

“Here,” He reached over, unbuckling the straps that constrained me. I tried to stretch out my limbs, but a sharp, shooting pain pulsed through them, making my breath hitch. “Don’t move, darlin’. Just stay put for a bit. Let me make you feel good.”

His voice carried no venom or pity, as I feared it might. I didn’t want him to spend time with me only because I was helpless, but I now knew he wouldn’t.

He gingerly crawled onto the bed, straddling my waist. He placed his hands on my cheeks, lips gliding down to meet mine. I moaned into his mouth as his tongue tangled with mine. How did I ever think I would survive in prison without him?

I moved to wrap my hands around his neck as I normally would, but my arms ached and stung. I groaned again, this time not in pleasure, and Jimmy could tell.

“Did I hurt you, baby? I’m so sorry- we should stop, i shouldn’t have done that-”

“Jimmy, it’s okay. It was my fault, don’t blame yourself. I really liked it, actually.” My cheeks tinged pink. “Can we keep going?”

He nodded sweetly, resuming his careful ministrations. He didn’t make me beg, or tease me like he normally would, no. This was a whole new side of him, and I embraced it wholeheartedly.

———————————————————————

if there was a way i could avoid writing endings that would make me immensely happy

let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for my fics! also let me know if you want to be removed lmao

TAGLIST: @felloff-the-moon @dylisbae @gracebtw @imma-witch-bitch @exvanpeters @heavymetalover @totally-true @magicaljellydonut @cobainlover @polarluxray @fuckmedobrik

[lonelypond]

Casual Lunacy, Ch. 52

Love Live, NicoMaki, 5k, 52/?

Summary: We meet some new people and Nico finally escapes her co-stars.

AfterShocks, Part 2

The door opened; Hanayo looked up. She’d gotten bored looking at the utilitarian walls, completely surreal after being in the middle of a reality that was cracking open and trying to grab her. But Hanayo needed a distraction so she didn’t just dwell on how Rin looked as Maki dragged her off, both werewolves burned and bleeding. So here it was, two new problems to deal with: a dark skinned woman, tan hair in an Afro, soft grey suit, followed by another woman, black hair in a severe bun, black pinstripe suit that seemed more suited to a Wall Street office than a police station. The first smiled, and her British accent made the the entire evening even more unreal, “Good evening, Ms. Koizumi. I’m Special Agent Davies and this is my partner, Marshal Tam.”

Hanayo tensed, she’d asked for her phone call, planning to call the Nishikinos, but received no response. And now, these two, obviously not Northwestern police officers apppeared.

“We have a few questions about your evening.” Agent Davies pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table. Marshal Tam stood at ease by the door, one thumb casually hooked in her vest pocket, an odd gesture for someone so permanent pressed. “We’ve already reviewed the information you’ve given the FCC.” Davies smiled, “That’s actually the reason why we’re here now.”

Tam quirked an eyebrow, “This is when you might want to mention how very classified all this is.”

“Oh right. Silly me,” Davies’ grin got broader, “The Marshal is what you Americans call the ‘bad cop.”” A cough, “EVERYTHING you’ve discovered since you started working with” a quick glance at the file, “Kira, Todo, and Yuki is so top secret Netflix writers wish there were conspiracy theories about it they could steal.”

“Your analogies are fascinating, Mel.” Tam drawled.

“Should I have said Dr. Who?” Davies half turned.

“Always timely.” A flicked finger salute.

“Excuse me. Can I have my phone call now.” Hanayo was tired and sore and not in an indulgent mood. Wasn’t she on the right side of this?

“No.” Two voices, too quickly.

“You have very few rights here.” Tam stated.

“I was trying to stop them.” Hanayo couldn’t believe this.

Davies’ tone was almost sympathetic, “There is an unprecedented and pretty complete cockup here and you are right in the center. Whatever your initial intentions, you are now part of the problem.”

Hanayo lost her last shred of lingering optimism as she looked up into Tam’s unemotional, dark eyes and wondered how long this night was going to be.

####################################

The door opened in the small, mirrored room; Anju stared, wondering who was coming through. Erena, tall, hands in the pockets of her borrowed NU Police sweatshirt.

“Hey.” Erena waved, dark hair falling forward as she stooped a little. “Did they feed you? Mind if I sit?”

“Yeah…” Anju pushed her chair a little out from the wall, “Go ahead.”

Erena pulled a chair out from the table, “Did you tell them what happened?”

Anju crossed her arms over her chest, “I didn’t make any sense.” Her mouth tightened, “But it just seemed like I was confirming things for them. They didn’t pressure me.” She stared straight at Erena, eyes cloudy, “I think they actually believed me.”

Erena shrugged, “After the rest of this night, I believe you too.”

“Believe what?”

Erena considered, steepling her fingers together, trying to find appropriate words, “That you’re the woman I wanted to get to know, but not the woman I’ve been working with since Halloween.”

“What about the…”

“Magic?” Erena rubbed the bridge of her nose, “I have a feeling THEY will be telling us more about that.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t talked to any actual police; aren’t allowed to call a lawyer. We are obviously an above people’s paygrade problem.”

Anju scooted her chair a little closer to the table, “Then why did you talk to them?”

Erena leaned back, scuffed boots crossed at the ankles. “This is way outside of what I ever intended to do. Those weren’t special effects.” She raised a leg, pointing above her knee, where a rip was scorched in her black jeans, “Every substance had heat and weight and properties. Maybe we broke something.” Legs back to stretched out, eyes staring at the ceiling. “If we did, they might know how to fix it.”

#############################################

It wasn’t exactly frantic pounding, Dr. Nishikino thought as her very solid front door shuddered, more like very determined. She’d changed into comfortable clothes, not intending to sleep until they’d managed to get Hanayo out of police custody. Both werewolves were cleaning up, Maki in the master bath, Rin in the largest guest room. As she headed for the door, Dr. Nishikino heard a howl, then a thump. She opened the door, Nico stepped inside, said “Where’s Maki?” and got tackled by a soaking wet wolf, snuffling all over Nico’s body. Nico fell with a grunt, but immediately wrapped her arms around Maki, hugging the werewolf so tightly Maki whined a little. Dr. Nishikino stepped around to close the door and went back to the kitchen, where she was making a pot of coffee and warming cookies.

“What happened to you, pretty girl?” Nico let tender fingers lightly trail over the burned fur surrounding Maki’s mouth.

Maki responded with growling, whimpering, and a triumphant howl, which Rin echoed from upstairs, sounding weaker than usual.

“So the bad guys didn’t win. Good.” Nico hugged tighter.

Maki howled proudly.

Nico lying on the floor, arms around the werewolf on top of her, chuckled, as Maki’s amethyst eyes glowed at her. “Yes, Nico is very impressed. Nico will be even more impressed when Maki TALKS and tells her the whole story.”

“Kayo-chin’s stoooopid boss ripped apart everything, burned Maki, stabbed me, made Kayo-chin disappear, cloned herself, then got dragged down a hole by a pit monster.” Rin appeared at the top of the stairs, towelling off her hair, dressed in a pair of sweats and a long sleeve t-shirt. They fit so she must keep clothes here too, Nico realized. Nico also realized that proximity to werewolf fresh out of the bath had soaked through her coat to her clothes.

“Nico needs to change.” Nico let Maki go, sitting up. Maki sprinted eagerly up the stairs, turning at the halfway point to stick her tongue out at Nico.

Rin hipchecked her bff, “Don’t forget about Kayo-chin.”

Maki snorted.

Nico laughed. Cute werewolves being safe and silly was exactly what she needed right now.

#######################################

Casey Alvarez sighed, glancing at her phone again. Tsubasa was waiting. Everyone else had gone off to change or finish shutting things down for the evening, but Tsubasa had lingered.

“Nico’s not pressing charges, but there are a couple of people who want to talk to you tonight.” Alvarez’s expression was wry, “Things always go better if you walk in voluntarily.”

Tsubasa grunted, “Is that your professional, off duty cop, friend of Nico advice?”

“Nope.” Alvarez hardened her stance and her voice, “That would have been don’t rig dangerous traps in set pieces your co workers have to use.”

“Yeah.” Tsubasa kicked at something. “That’s a point.”

“I don’t know exactly what’s happening” Alvarez rubbed her temples, “Which I always hate. But I talked to somebody at the FCC who talked to somebody somewhere I can’t even know the name of who just texted me that I should escort you to the Campus Police, if you’re still here…”

Tsubasa sniggered, ignoring the opening Alvarez might have left her. “Am I getting shipped to Roswell?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Alvarez’s voice was flat.

“Can I file a missing persons report on myself in advance?” Tsubasa’s voice was taunting, her green eyes sparkling at Alvarez.

“Whatever, chica.” Alvarez’s easy dismissal of her tease just amused Tsubasa. “Your friends are there.”

“Yeah.” Tsubasa picked up her coat, “Do you have to cuff me?”

“Nope. Just have to walk my wife to our car, if you don’t mind.”

“Nope.” Tsubasa wrapped a scarf around her neck, “Let’s get this over with.”

##########################################

Davies pushed the transcript toward Hanayo. “So you’re certain it was a different Anju?

“Yes.”

“And the werewolves can confirm this?”

The question was dropped in so casually Hanayo was almost caught, but the habit of more than half a lifetime kept Rin’s secret safe.

Davies leaned forward, “We know about your fiancée. And the Nishikino girl.”

Hanayo remained silent.

“Our branch of the Marshals has been tracking werewolf family lines for centuries.” Tam added, “Like every other American citizen, they have rights, and we can only intervene if they break the law or present a deadly threat.”

Hanayo shrugged with disinterest, picked up a pen and started reading through her typed statement.

“The best way to protect her is from the inside.” Tam continued.

Hanayo frowned, upper lip hinting scowl, “What do you mean?”

Tam answered bluntly, “You’ve been very impressive, picking up the science so rapidly.”

Davies chuckled, “And you can obviously keep a secret.”

“And you seem to have a good working relationship with…”

“That’s not true,” Now Hanayo could start to let some of the anxiety fuel anger. They obviously wanted something from her.

“Whether or not there was friction, the four of you were effective. You basically created and survived your own boot camp. We need women like you in the program.”

“What program?” . “Think of this as a job interview.” The Agent and the Marshall had dropped the topic of werewolves; Hanayo wouldn’t be bringing it up.

###############################################

Nico had been shoved into Maki’s room by the very insistent werewolf. Maki dripping on her tights, Nico pulled out a few things to change into, then started undressing. Before she could even get out of her skirt, Maki was there, naked, skin cold and damp, with very very human hands, ignoring the usual progression of zippers and other fasteners to rip through fabric to get to Nico. Active as she was, Maki was still chilled and trembling, so Nico guided them both to the bed, raising Maki’s blanket over their shoulders. Once there was a warming cocoon, Nico grabbed one of Maki’s hands.

“Slow down, pretty girl. Nico wants to know what happened.” Nico could see healing cuts, scrapes, and burns all over Maki. What had the werewolf gotten into, a firefight? Were there bullet wounds or something? What exactly had Rin said? Hanayo’s bosses. As the impatient redhead whimpered, Nico ran her hands over Maki’s skin, feeling for open wounds. “Who did this?”

Maki shook her head, pushing into Nico’s shoulder, whining plaintively. Nico wondered if something had happened to Maki’s voice. A growling kiss disrupted her thoughts.

Nico responded, but then she wrapped both arms around Maki again and dropped them both back to the bed, “Maki, what happened? Who did all this? Nozomi said Erena..”

A huge inhale by Maki and Nico’s mouth was full of wet, red hair with metallic smoke taste as Maki flopped into her girlfriend’s side. Her arrival must have interrupted Maki before shampooing, Nico guessed. Now to get some kind of verbal response before Maki stressed back into wolf form.

“Were you in a fire?” Nico wondered.

Whine. Nope not fire.

“Help Nico out here, pretty girl.” Knowing how sensitive Maki was to moods, Nico took care to just enjoy the feel of being close to Maki, not letting worry or impatience interfere with the tactile pleasures of warm, cozy lover. “Talk to me.”

Maki just snuggled closer. Nico could feel her warming up, which was good. A knock on the door; no response from Maki, so Nico answered, “Come in.”

Maki’s mother stuck her head in, staring at her daughter for a moment, then meeting Nico’s glance, “Maki’s father is here so we’re going to take Rin to the police station and meet with the lawyer. She hasn’t been able to talk to Hanayo yet, but is going through some kind of Non Disclosure Agreement before Hanayo signs it.”

Maki whiffled, moving even closer to Nico, who could feel the fur against her torso as Maki shifted, changing. Then Maki howled a chiding series of notes at her mother.

Nico glanced down at the russet and cream head now blowing warm, drooling breaths across her chin and wondered how much of a crisis just asking Dr. Nishikino what was going on would cause.

“Ummmm…” it didn’t help if Nico ouldn’t figure out the right question.The shaggy foreleg angled across her diaphragm had her trapped under the covers, which was fine, because Nico needed more clothes before being seen by anybody not Maki.

“Maki was frantic when she arrived, and her wounds were pretty bad.” Dr. Nishikino volunteered information as Nico struggled to phrase a question, “Serious healing takes up a lot of energy. My daughter is much less verbal when she’s exhausted.”

Maki howled at her mother, an annoyed note.

“Sorry. Maki communicates quite clearly, but when tired she tends not to use words.” Dr. Nishikino sounded amused, “Does that answer meet with your approval?”

Maki’s more agreeable howl was quieter than the others had been. Nico could feel the werewolf starting to relax, her breaths slowing. “I’ll take care of things here.” Nico whispered, not wanting to stir up Maki.

A wry smile crossed Dr. Nishikino’s face. Maki had made it quite clear who she intended to be comforted by, “Raid the refrigerator for anything you want, Nico. I hear you had a crazy night yourself.”

Nico was stroking gently Maki’s fur, cheek resting against Maki’s head, only half paying attention to the conversation, “Nico will turn into a great story sometime.”

“I look forward to hearing it. I’ll text you when we know more about Hanayo.” Dr. Nishikino closed the door.

“Thanks.”

####################################

Hanayo was standing, wanting her phone, knowing Rin was there with Maki’s Dad but not able to see her yet. The Nishikinos had gotten in touch with Abril Cohen, a lawyer who actually had the clearances required to negotiate with Agent Davies and Marshall Tam so Hanayo had opted to take a brief break from legal speak as some details were worked out based on the list she’d given Cohen.

The door opened and Erena and the other Anju walked in, Erena striding confidently up to Hanayo, Anju more tentative.

“Koizumi.” Erena extended her hand. Hanayo’s dubious expression didn’t discourage Erena, who refused to pull back, “Look, I’m sorry this happened, Koizumi. I had no idea what she was planning. It was supposed to be data collection. I should have recognized that everything was getting out of control.”

“Tsubasa.” Hanayo nearly spat. Anju glanced confused from one to the other.

Erena raised both her hands in a sign of surrender, “The werewolf hunt thing was completely on her. I say live and let live and I told her that.”

Anju sat down, remembering the evening’s scenes, the two what she thought were dogs, were they werewolves?!?!?...what else was actually real in this world. Erena immediately noticed her discomfort and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Anju?”

“What’s her deal anyway?” Hanayo knew it was a different woman, but it was hard not to seethe with resentment.

“The other Anju put her in some kind of suspended animation during Pumpkin Prom. I guess she had the ability to make herself look our age and hypnotized Anju into telling her enough details for a start. Magical identity theft.” Erena’s voice warmed with an atypical flare of annoyance. “After that was when we stopped talking about how to measure paranormal activity theoretically and began to build tools.” Erena squeezed Anju’s shoulder, “I’d started designing a few after our Ghostbusters conversation.

Anju smiled, “I started designing better hazard suits. With a little style.”

Watching them flirt, a frowning Hanayo became decisive. “I want to see Rin.” She said as if convincing herself, moving to the door and banging. After several minutes, Marshall Tam stepped in.

“I want to see Rin.” Hanayo repeated.

“You’ll have to wait…” Tam started.

Hanayo’s eyes were feverish and she left barely any space for comprehension between her rushed words. “Bring Rin in here now or you can fight Maki’s lawyer after you put me in whatever deep pit you want because if I don’t see Rin in two minutes, I am never ever helping you.”

There was a staring match. Anju and Erena watched curiously, Erena surprised by a Hanayo she thought mild’s fight. Tam turned on her heel without a word. Hanayo kept an eye on the clock and then 97 seconds after Tam left, Rin bounded in, grabbing Hanayo in a hug that lifted her off the floor. “Kayo-chin!”

Mel Davies frowned at her partner as they stood outside the door listening to Rin shout happily. Three years together dealing with Quantum Extra Consciousness hotspots all over the world had not endeared her to Tam’s not rare enough flashes of eccentricity.

Davies cleared her throat, “So you’re going to play this one by something other than the established protocols?”

Tam shrugged, “In love with a werewolf or a dryad or a …” A wink, “We’ve all been there.”

Davies paced. This whole situation was going to rewrite the manual, which would probably be her next tiresome task, “You have never been funny.”

“I have never tried.” Tam leaned against the wall, watching Davies fidget.

“You realize we’re probably going to get a werewolf added to this bloody team.” Davies recognized that smile. It was Tam’s “I’ve won at chess” smile.

“Oops.” said the Cheshire Marshal.

#######################################

Umi and Honoka exchanged a glance. Kotori was in their walk in closet, removing clothes from hangers and either tossing them in a pile or putting them on a different hanger and then moving them to another part of the closet.

Umi spoke first, “Kotori? Can we assist you in any way.”

Kotori shook her head, ducking it, and making a small, unhappy noise. Two sets of eyebrows shot up, this was serious. Honoka made broad gestures, encouraging Umi to follow her out of their bedroom. Umi finally nodded agreement, but touched Kotori’s shoulder before leaving, “We will return shortly.”

Kotori ‘dropped’ a hanger on the floor, nearly knicking Umi’s toes. Umi skipped back, not taking her eyes off Kotori until she had to negotiate the stairs because Honoka had started dragging her down them.

“Umi Umi Umi, what are we going to do? Kotori’s so mad…”

Umi was puzzled. “But who is she mad at? I got her favorite cheesecake after you texted me. Did you do something”

“Umi…” Honoka winced and Umi felt a little guilty for her doubt.

And then Honoka went into a blaze of motion, orange hair flopping over her bright blue eyes as she shook her hands in front of her, “It was so crazy, Umi. Nico got locked in a coffin, half the cast got dragged into a room with Nico’s cute cop friend, and Kashima and Eli and Deidre and Ami didn’t get out of costume until like 15 minutes ago. And I think Kashima tore off some buttons. And Anju never showed up. And Erena left and…”

Umi grabbed Honoka’s hands, holding them tightly until her extremely excitable girlfriend slowed to silence.

“Who is Kotori upset at?” Umi needed specifics, not a flood of speculation.

Honoka eyebrows furrowed as she tried to work it out, “Mostly Anju I think. I tried to help, but there’s a lot of work.” Honoka flopped on the couch, “You actually have to know where everything goes.”

Umi sighed, “That is to be expected. There are more than thirty people in the cast and most have multiple costume changes. Poor Kotori.” Umi glanced upstairs.

“I think the director fired people.” Honoka scratched her head, “Maybe. Or they were getting arrested. Or Nico was hitting them.”

“What?” Umi’s attention immediately shifted back to Honoka.

“Well, Nico hit Kashima. But it wasn’t a big deal.” Honoka paused again. “But Officer...Alvarez was talking with a real serious face to Professor Asuka and walking one of the stagehands out, Tsubasa, I think.”

That would make sense, Umi realized. Maki’s friends had been worried about Tsubasa’s interest in Nico.

“How can we help Kotori?” Umi sat next to Honoka, hands clasped.

Honoka thought for a moment. “Hang costumes tomorrow if Anju doesn’t show. Too many actors leave ‘em lying around.”

“Perfect.” Umi grasped Honoka’s closest hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it softly, “We will assist Kotori by taking over the more onerous tasks.” Umi considered. “Or I will.”

“What about me? I can help.” Honoka chirped, happy Umi agreed with her idea.

“We will ask the Professor if there is a job more suited to your talents.”

“Ooh, good idea.” Honoka mimicked a hand over hand action, “I could open the curtains.”

“I believe that’s automated, Honoka.”

“Oh…” Disappointed, Honoka dropped her head on Umi’s shoulder, “What do we do now?”

“Wait until Kotori wants her cheesecake.”

“Yeah.”

###################################

Rin was back to fidgeting with the Doctors Nishikino in the hall; Hanayo was leaning forward at the table, watching intently; Erena was relaxed, leaning back; Anju was slumping in her chair, exhausted; Abril Cohen was ticking off points with a pen, with Marshal Tam opposite her and Agent Davies observing from a corner seat.

“So this is where we are: you, an intergovernmental task force, are going to sponsor these three plus Tsubasa Kira…”

“I am not signing anything or going anywhere without Rin.” Hanayo insisted stubbornly.

“There isn’t a provision for that.” Tam said simply.

“If I’m a government employee and get transferred, can I take my wife?” Hanayo pressed.

Davies glanced at Tam, who made a grimace, “You don’t have a wife.”

“I will.” Hanayo crossed her arms.

“We could send you to prison. Or just walk you out of here handcuffed between us, Ms. Koizumi.” Davies pointed out.

“For helping you find out about this?” Hanayo’s voice was shrill, but with outrage not fear.

“Yes.” Tam snarled.

Hanayo paled, but didn’t waver, “Rin comes with me. If you want us to recreate what they…” Hanayo glared at Erena and Anju, “were doing and restart the Princeton Engineering Anomalies program…” here Hanayo hesitated, still wary about sharing Rin’s secret, “werewolf senses will help.”

Erena shifted, “She’s probably right. I wonder what all that felt like for…” Erena hesitated, wondering if the room also knew about the redhead, “Hanayo’s fiancée. It would be a useful perspective.”

Although Anju was still wary of Hanayo, she decided to join the consensus, “Koizumi’s fiancée is probably more useful than I am right now.” That admission surprised Hanayo and Erena leaned forward in support as Anju continued to speak, “I understand I’m the only link to this other…”

“Pocket of Quantum Extra Consciousness…” Davies offered.

“You really need a better vocabulary for this.” Erena

Davies and Tam shared a look, then the Marshal spoke. “We don’t disagree.”

“It’ll be part of your job.” Davies stated, then muttered, “if I have any say.”

Anju repeated her statement when the room went quiet, “I understand I’m the only link, but I don’t have any of her practical knowledge.”

“But you can learn.” Erena’s response was quick.

“And…” Anju’s head fell, and she shivered a little, “I want to, so I can...so I can...understand what she did to me. And the werewolf could accelerate our discovery process.”

Davies had her phone out and was typing quickly, “What about Tsubasa? There was a lot of mutual animosity mentioned by both parties during their interviews.”

“Take her out in handcuffs.” Hanayo mumbled. Tam almost let herself seem amused, Davies’ nod was a confirmation of her point.

“I’ll talk to her.” Erena turned to Hanayo, “She’s not really a terrible person.”

“Hmmmpphhh…” Hanayo began to smolder, fingers tapping an angry rhythm. Abril Cohen decided to intervene.

“So my client is not committing to anything unless you agree to also transfer her wife to Princeton University, with status equal to the other parties to this arrangement. Is that correct, Hanayo?”

Hanayo nodded, maintaining eye contact with Tam.

“Do you want me to talk to Tsubasa?” Davies slid her phone into her pocket.

“Yes.” Tam answered, standing, “Come with me, Koizumi, and see if your future wife agrees to this.”

#################################

This was not one of Tsubasa’s better nights. When Nico’s girlfriend had landed on top of her, snarling, starting to shift like the characters in Ginger Snaps, Tsubasa had a new, visceral understanding of fear. But then the werewolf had stopped, more concerned with saving Nico than eviscerating Tsubasa. Which was unexpected and confusing and did ABSOLUTELY nothing to cut the complete terror at the thought of being that close to the woman again. Tsubasa fell into a chair, head in her hands, trying to remember how all of this had started. Too many late nights, too many energy drinks, too much Lovecraft, too much imagination, and then the tantalizing thought of knowing things no one else did. But that had all fled with the weight of claws against her throat and very human rage in unnatural green eyes. And with Nico locked in a coffin…

Door banged open, Agent Davies walked in, brows lowered over tiger’s eye irises. “Hello again, Ms. Kira.”

“Can I go home yet?” If you don’t ask you don’t get, Tsubasa told herself.

“No. But nice try.” Davies pulled out a chair, leaned forward, elbows on the table, “How do you feel about werewolves?”

“Terrified.” Tsubasa raised her head, “Why?”

“Want one for a co worker?”

Tsubasa’s expression straddled curious and aggravation. “Is it the one that wanted to gut me?”

“No.”

“Will agreeing get me out of here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Tsubasa dropped her head back into her hands.

“It’s Koizumi’s fiancée.” Davies had her phone out again, checking her notes.

“Oh, that’s why Hanayo was so fond of me…”

“Well spotted.”

“Is she going to gut me?”

“The fiancée?”

“Koizumi.”

“She has, in practice, agreed not to by expressing a willingness, though reluctant, to work with you as long as we agree to her conditions.”

“The werewolf.”

“Yes.”

Tsubasa thought for a moment, then repeated “Okay.” Leaning forward, nose over Davies’s phone, “Co-worker?”

Davies grinned and pulled her phone back. “Longer story. What do you think of New Jersey?”

##############################################

Tam had led them to a room with a couch so Hanayo sat down and leaned against Rin, not saying anything for several minutes. Rin, after her initial sniff through Kayo-chin’s hair, picking up exhaustion, worry, frustration, just enjoyed the sensation of being close to each other. Eventually, they ended up lying side by side, Rin realizing how tired she was but too curious about what Hanayo was holding back to actually drift off.

“I’m glad you’re safe, Rin.” Hanayo whispered.

“Me too.” Rin’s voice boomed, “That was too scary.”

“Too scary?” Hanayo smelled furtive, like she had when she was keeping her job from Rin.

“Only when you told Maki to drag me off.” Rin sat up, proud, leaning back onto her arms. “I can handle anything. Kayo-chin doesn’t have to worry when I’m there.”

“I know.” Hanayo smiled, turning on her side to watch Rin, “I always feel safe with you.”

Rin knew Hanayo so well she didn’t need her nose to tell her that her mate was about to tell her something she was afraid Rin would be upset about.

“Just tell me, Kayo-chin.” Hanayo flopped over, face in her arms, while Rin nudged her, “I know you're nervous. It'll be okay.”

“Marry me.” Hanayo squeaked.

“I already said yes, did you forget? Did something fall on your head?” Rin started sniffing through Hanayo’s hair again, wondering if she’d missed an injury.

“No,” Hanayo giggled, Rin’s quick movements were tickling her. “How’d you like to be a tiger?”

Rin sat back, her face serious, “That’d be cool but people would be scared if I turned into a tiger. Now they think I’m a dog and everybody loves dogs.”

Hanayo laughed, falling into Rin, “I love you.” Then she took both of Rin’s hands, violet eyes determined as she looked over the glasses that had slid down her nose, “We’re getting married Saturday, Rin, and moving to Princeton.”

“You want to be a tiger?” Rin asked, not sure what this was about.

Hanayo forced herself not to glance away. Rin’s eyes were as honest and accepting as always so Hanayo let herself be brave and spoke the truth. “I want to know more about everything that happened tonight. I have an opportunity to do that. And I want you there with me.”

Rin thought quickly. She shouldn’t be surprised. When things caught Hanayo’s attention, she dove right in. At least this time she’d learned enough that she was willing to take Rin with her when the stuff was scary. There was only one answer.

“All right, Kayo-chin. If you go, I go.” Rin bumped forward, glomping onto Hanayo, “I love you.”

Hanayo felt every burden she’d been feeling ease as Rin embraced her, “I love you too.”

A/N: Wow, this chapter.

Hi.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Lavender Blue

Summary: After Kyle Garza’s untimely death, Petra comes to the police station to offer her condolences.

Rating: T -  Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Graphic depictions of murder and mentions of suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

Words: 1392

Notes: Here I am again. Perhaps this will indeed turn out to be a weekily thing. For now, however, enjoy!

As soon as the sun came up following the premature death of Kyle Garza, Petra walks into the police station holding a bouquet of wild flowers, wearing a royal blue dress and an unfinished jet necklace, calm and collected as she always is.

The first person she meets is Officer Shaw, whom she greets with sensible graveness.

“Good morning, officer.” She says, with a toothless smile. “Would you mind telling me where Imogen Wescott is?”

“Good morning, Petra.” The man frowns in confusion. “May I ask why do you want to speak with Ms Wescott?”

“Oh, we met yesterday, before the party… I heard her friend had suffered an accident on the radio, I thought it would be appreciated if I came and show my sympathy.” She motions for the flowers she carried. “I suppose a little comfort food would be nicer, but I have no access to an oven.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture anyways.” He smiles, kindly. “Ms Wescott is just finishing her deposition. You’re welcome to wait.”

She smiles widely at him, plucks a small branch of lavender out of her bouquet and leaves at his desk. “Thanks, Parker.”

Then, Petra walks over to the bench by the chief’s door and waits. Not for long, though, as Imogen soon emerges from the room, a blanket covering her shoulders and ruined party dress.

Her hair was ragged, and her eyes were so bloodshot, it seemed she cried the entire night.

Petra stands up and says, “Oh, Imogen!” Followed by a tight hug. The brunette girl hides her face on her shoulders and sobs softly. “I’m sorry.”

A long moment later she pulls away, smiling a little through her tears. “Thank you, Petra. I really needed that.”

“It’s alright, Imogen. Here, I brought you some flowers.” The blonde handed the bouquet. “How are you faring?”

Imogen looks down at the floor, hands knotted on the hem of her dress. “I just… I don’t understand how this could have happened. They are saying it was suicide! Or that he fell down because he was drunk! Kyle was the brightest person I know, and he drunk two, three beers tops!”

“You never know what really inhabits the hearts of people, I suppose.” Petra says and leads Imogen to a seat, placing the girl’s hands on her lap. “I don’t know in what you believe in, but I believe there is something grander than ourselves, that there is a realm beyond our own. I believe Kyle found peace.”

The girl’s lips quiver and hugs her friend once again. “Thank you, Petra.”

Before any of them could talk any longer, they hear an angry voice coming from the desk at the entrance of the station.

“What do you mean the chief will not see me?!” An angry, bearded man shouts at Parker.

The police officer tried to calm him by saying, “Easy, Ned. The chief is not trying to avoid you. He’s just busy with the inquiry. How ‘bout I make you an appointment for after lunch?”

Ned scoffs. “Right, so he can reschedule it five times and then cancel on me again? I’m sick of being jerked around! It’s all happening again and not one of you idiots is doing anything!”

“Hey!” Petra shouts back. “A little respect, please. These people just lost someone dear to them.”

Suddenly, a cool voice of a woman ripples through the small station. “I think that is quite enough. I’ll thank you if you stop upsetting my daughter. She’s been through enough for one day.”

Petra glances at Imogen, who seems to curl in on herself, staring down at the toes of her shoes. She stays on that position until the woman beckons her daughter, who meekly nods and follows.

Before she leaves, however, Imogen turns back and says, “Thanks, Petra. I… Good-bye.”

After the Wescotts leave, Ned soon follows, and Parker walks closer to the out-of-towner.

“I’m sorry if you got caught on the middle of that.” The policeman said. “You alright?”

“I’m okay, I’ll just need more incense than I expected.” She said, looking dirty at the door. “It’s not only the dead who need clarity and tranquillity in this town.”

Parker chuckles, beside himself. “Ned is a good man, he just isn’t taking the death of his wife very well. As for the Wescotts… Astrid is a realtor, and Vincent is some big-shot lawyer.”

The blonde cartomancer seemed to want to say something, but a flash of emotion passes through her face and she reconsiders.

“Parker,” She leans into his desk, her skirt going up two or three fingers, “Do you know what lavender blooms stand for?”

“No.” He responds, confounded by the direction she took their conversation.

“The name literally means ‘to cleanse’ in Latin. Both on a bodily sense and on a more spiritual meaning. Curiously enough, some people also believe it indicates a sign to remain silent, to bury their knowledge deep inside their souls.” She comments, off-handedly. “Yet, those two things often seem so at odds with each other, don’t you think? Can you truly be pure if you know something that could save someone, and yet you keep silent? That you can do something, and yet you do nothing?

“In any case,” She continues after a moment of silence. “Perhaps I should go back to my camping site. I’m setting up shop today.”

Finding it to be a much more palatable subject for him, he asks, “Oh, and what do you sell?”

She smiles and shows him the gem she wore on her neck. “All sorts of things, creams, ointments, herbs, mementos from faraway lands and my artisanship. I polish the stones on my jewellery myself.”

“May I see it?” He asks, and she nods, unfastening the necklace. “It is very beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She grins, bashful, and puts the necklace back. “Well, I should be going. Thank you, Parker.”

She starts to leave, but the man places a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, wait. I’m getting off soon, would you like a ride?”

“Oh, no.” She dismissed the idea. “I drove here. I wouldn’t mind if you stopped by my stand later today.”

“I would like that.” He smiles back.

“Then I’ll see you later.” She waves and leaves the station.

Late that night, Ned was eating day-old pizza, drinking from a can of beer and staring at his crime board.

It was what he did every night ever since his wife dead body washed ashore years ago.

What was unusual in that particular night, however, was the sound of a knocking on his front door. No one, aside from the pizza deliveryman, came to his house in months, much less nearing midnight.

Rightfully frightened, he picked up his shotgun and shouts: “Go away!”

The knock persisted, in spite of Ned’s demand.

“I said to go away!” He shouts once more, and the knocking seemed to stop, the silence reigned supreme once more at the house.

He, then, lowers his guard, but still did not let go of his weapon.

Then, suddenly, a bang was heard and the door was knocked off its hinges. On the step, only a dark figure stood.

“Good evening, Edward Mallory.” They said, emotionlessly. “You have something that belongs to me.”

“You!” He shouts. “Leave! Leave now, or else I’ll shoot!”

They chuckle in derision. A glint shines on their eye and Ned is thrown across the room by a bodiless force.

“I said, you have something of mine.” They say, their rage barely contained, seeping into their voice. “Where is it?”

His voice was constrained by the energy. “I… I… don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“I…!” They seemed angry, but then they look on his wrist. “Oh, there it is. My charm bracelet.”

They take the magical object away.

“If only you did not get on the way…” They lamented, coldly. “Perhaps then you would not have to die.”

They take a dagger from their bag and impale him with it. His eyes widen, feeling the coldness of death taking over his body.

When Ned passes, the force keeping him stuck to the wall fades, and his corpse slides to the floor. The intruder takes off the dagger from his insides, clean it with the hem of their clothes and places it back on the bag.

With that, they leave, no one ever even noticing their presence on the run-down house.

[newsnigeria]

Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/americans-encouraged-hate/

The One People Americans Are Encouraged to Hate

by Yvonne Lorenzo for Ooduarere via The Saker Blog

How would you react if you read the following statements and found that they were spoken by government employees who are part of the American Deep State and have a great deal of power over the nation and you? Wouldn’t the prejudice appall and disgust you?

“I do always hate the Israelis,” Lisa Page, a senior FBI lawyer on the Israel probe, testified to Congress in July 2018. “It is my opinion that with respect to Western ideals and who it is and what it is we stand for as Americans, Israel poses the most dangerous threat to that way of life.” As he opened the FBI’s probe of the Trump campaign’s ties to Israel in July 2016, FBI agent Peter Strzok texted Page: “fuck the cheating motherfucking Israelis… Bastards. I hate them… I think they’re probably the worst. Fucking conniving cheating savages.” Speaking to NBC News in May 2017, former director of national intelligence James Clapper explained why US officials saw interactions between the Trump camp and Israeli nationals as a cause for alarm: “The Israelis,” Clapper said, “almost genetically driven to co-opt, penetrate, gain favor, whatever, which is a typical Israeli technique. So we were concerned.”

Of course, readers of Ooduarere know that the officials quoted never actually made those remarks about the Israelis; nor did they express their hatred of Germans, Saudi Arabians, Turks, French, Libyan, Congolese, Somalians, Germans, Italians, British, Canadians, Greeks, or even Chinese. No; the actual nation and people named were the Russians. Here is the link to the original excellent piece published in The Nation. Yet it seems perhaps not with a touch of irony the speakers were engaging in projection and discussing themselves, the so-called America elites.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember how I found ooduarere and The Saker, originally not on this official site of his but at Blogspot blog. Yet as an American slowly waking up to the terrible truths of the corruption and destructive actions engaged by the American government and its “Deep State” from reading LewRockwell.com (where I later became a contributor to Lew’s site via this link) and supporting Ron Paul, I was horrified to discover that American “fair play” was only an illusion. Nevertheless, I am astonished by the hatred that I quoted. In this time of extraordinary oppression against any individual who dares challenge certain dogmas, that is to say if anyone is White and a true follower of the Way of Jesus Christ especially, for example, as The Saker himself wrote recently on the whole homosexual brouhaha here, then the full force of the establishment, the powers that be, will be brought to bear—your employment, perhaps your life would be at risk. Not that Lisa Page or Peter Strozk would ever dare to criticize Israel, or look into the mirror and see themselves as they truly are, but if they did, they’d probably be taken to a CIA black site and waterboarded for their troubles.

A few years ago, I was truly haunted by a photograph posted on the Saker’s site of a beautiful young woman and her infant child; I can’t recall the link yet I believe the post was by a Saker contributor. The two were murdered by shelling from the Neo-Nazi Ukrainians. I wonder why Putin in his interview with Oliver Stone didn’t, in his usual calm yet convincing manner, discuss the terrible loss of life and the tens of thousands of refugees, the human suffering caused by the American Empire, for after all Victoria Nuland admitted that billions were poured into Ukraine in support of “regime change.” Nevertheless, what astonishes me is the complete lack of empathy, in fact the evident enjoyment in wreaking havoc and death around the world on the part of America’s political class especially.

Meanwhile, back in America, America itself is breaking apart at the seams. How can one maintain an empire when the empire itself is built on sand? As Boyd D. Cathey noted in his piece “Is It Time for America to Break Apart?”:

“There are then, palpably, two Americas. They still use the same language, but they are increasingly incapable of communicating with each other. Almost weekly words and terms are redefined beyond comprehension, and those ‘devil terms’ have become the modern equivalents of linguistic hydrogen bombs deployed by the progressivists. They illustrate what political theorist Paul Gottfried has called a ‘post-Marxist’ praxis that has actually moved beyond the assaults of cultural Marxism towards a new and imposed template.

“No dissent from this template is permitted in our society. If it demands you call black, white; then you must comply, or suffer the consequences. If your eyes tell you one thing, but the collective media and elites tell you something else, ‘who you gonna believe, them or your lying eyes’?”

I shared the Nation piece, since the news of the statements by the corrupt Page and Strozk were new to me, with The Saker and SmoothieX12, Andrei Martyanov who posted about it on his blog. I think this insight Martyanov offers is important but not the full picture.

He writes, “It is always funny to read about ‘values’ and ‘ideals’–if that ‘way of life’ continues, the end-result will be precisely [the] total elimination of everything of true value [the] combined West ever produced with the US Constitution being shredded to pieces. Ah, wait, I forgot–these are the thoughts of people who are directly involved in [a] criminal coup attempt, which by definition is anti-constitutional and violates this very same ‘way of life’ these people allegedly try to protect. One has to have, of course, [an] appreciation of their fever-pitch hatred of Russians and, what matters here, this is not private, [not] an exception that is, attitude. It is not a secret that [a] very large strata of US policy-makers is afflicted by Russophobia. A large part of this Russophobia, apart from being racial–you know, dirty Slavs and all that jazz–is very much a suppressed complex of inferiority. Throughout all 20th and 21st century not only Russia presented itself as an inconvenient impediment to America-the-savior-of-humanity narrative, but Russia remains the only nation which can remove the United States from the map and can conventionally defeat any combination of forces the United States can assemble. This simple fact makes many in US ‘elite’, which is largely ignorant on the issues of real war, very uncomfortable.”

In due time, I hope to have soon a conversation to be published with The Saker on the topic of Christianity in general and Orthodox Christianity in particular; while SmoothieX12’s secular commentary and observations are entirely correct, I truly believe something far more sinister is taking place. On display in these Russophobic statements is a malevolence, not just willful blindness, fear or arrogance. Is this an Adobe Photoshopped manipulated image or truly the real face and eyes of Peter Strozk taken during his Congressional testimony? What do believers see when they look at this?

Peter Strozk

Philip Giraldi wrote about Jeffrey Epstein and his connections to the rich and powerful “elites” and likely intelligence agencies here at Unz.com and also here on the Strategic Culture website. Aside from the intelligence angle, Vanity Fair discusses the people Epstein “collected” in this article:

“Epstein remained a fixture in elite circles even after he was a registered sex offender. A few years ago, for example, he was a guest at a dinner in Palo Alto hosted by LinkedIn cofounder Reid Hoffman for the MIT neuroscientist Ed Boyden. At the dinner, Elon Musk introduced Epstein to Mark Zuckerberg. (‘Mark met Epstein in passing one time at a dinner honoring scientists that was not organized by Epstein,’ Zuckerberg spokesman Ben LaBol told me. ‘Mark did not communicate with Epstein again following the dinner.’)…

“One source who’s done business with Epstein told me that Epstein’s 21,000-square-foot townhouse on East 71st Street welcomed a steady stream of the Davos crowd in the past decade. The source said Bill Gates, Larry Summers, and Steve Bannon visited the house, which has been called one of the largest private residences in Manhattan. ‘Jeffrey collected people. That’s what he did,’ the source said. Gates and Summers did not respond to requests for comment.”

The site Vigilant Citizen, run by anonymous individuals who investigate the occult hallmarks of the Western ���elites,” discussed Epstein on this post via this link and noted his connections to the rich and powerful along with occult symbolism on structures on his island:

The fact that a “temple” was built on an island known for extreme depravity is disturbing. However, when one fully understands the mindset of the occult elite, it makes perfect sense. It is all about symbolism and ritual.

For instance, the “temple” has a striking resemblance with Hammam Yalbugha – a Mamluk-era public bath located in Syria.

Why did Epstein model his “temple” on this specific building? Because of the symbolism attached to it. Indeed, the hammam is a classic example of architecture from the Mamluk era. In Arabic, the word “mamluk” literally means “property” and is used to designate slaves.

During the Mamluk era, children were captured by the ruling class to become slaves. Boys were usually trained to become soldiers while girls were groomed to become the personal concubines of their masters. Considering the fact that Epstein island was used to import child sex slaves for the elite, the symbolism is perfectly fitting.

In order to give the “temple” an unmistakeable occult dimension, the building was adorned with golden statues representing gods (Neptune) and owl-like birds. The building is also surrounded by maze-like patterns, similar to those found in Islamic architecture.

To get a better feel of Epstein island, I suggest you view this drone footage which provides great shots of some truly bizarre elements.

Epstein Island Temple

Hammam Yalbugha Aleppo, Syria

In my opinion, something far worse is going on than fear and self-loathing within the souls of the rich and powerful who rule the Western world, not merely decadence. Global Western “elites” are malevolent sociopaths (although I suspect several of the individuals in the Russian “Fifth column” Saker writes about are as well); while America is disintegrating around them, these elites still can cause great mischief. Reader of my words who are Americans must do all they can to resist and challenge these monsters in power; for monsters they are. Yes, they are presumed innocent until proven guilty but the fact remains the armies they control have killed and maimed millions of innocents throughout the world, including children. That I as a believer I think there is something evil behind them and within them is not provable by the scientific method perhaps; but I trust that my concerns are valid. If the reader of my words is a believer, please pray.

Yvonne Lorenzo [send her mail] makes her home in New England in a house full to bursting with books, including works on classical Greece and by Mises, Murray Rothbard, Tom Woods, Joseph Sobran, and Lew Rockwell. Her interests include gardening, mythology, ancient history, The Electric Universe, and classical music, especially the compositions of Handel, Mozart, Bach, Haydn, Tchaikovsky, Mahler, and the Bel Canto repertoire. She is the author Son of Thunder and The Cloak of Freya.