#the answer is obviously no neither respects women in that show/books but

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Unhallowed Arts

Threesome: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones x Brad Davis Rating: E Word Count: 11,077

This is a submission for Thotumn, organized by @spideysmjs!!! Today’s prompt: Threesome (but this fic also includes previous prompts: Semi-Public, Face-Sitting, and “Don’t Be Gentle”).

Summary: “What’s the compromise between abruptly shutting this down (her sex drive weeps) and getting in bed with a guy who will make the experience too emotionally intense?

'Have you ever had a threesome?’ Michelle blurts.

'…What? No.’

‘Neither have I. But I’ve been, um, wanting to try it.’

Have you? she demands of herself, wiping a damp palm on her jeans.

‘You, me, and someone else?’ Brad’s eyebrows are very high on his forehead. ‘That’s a lot of bodies, uh, coming together.’”

Brad Davis has a Mary Shelley mug. He used to drink from it—coffee he brought to work in a thermos from home, which smelled so delicious that Michelle would go out of her way to inhale it over his shoulder, pretending to let him show her something on his monitor—until the mug cracked and he switched to using it to house typical office junk. She asked him about the mug exactly once, fearing it was bait to intrigue a certain kind of person, to make him seem like a certain kind of person himself. But he surprised her. Turns out he’s not a douche (or at least not a douche who lures women in with female authors of historical significance), just a genuine Shelley fan.

He’s not many things Michelle initially assumed him to be, striking them off a mental list over the months they’ve worked together: not a guy who takes the last free seat at the table during a team meeting, not a guy who checks out his own reflection on his black phone screen, not a guy who wears sturdy hiking boots for show. When they troop out to conduct surveys on behalf of the conservation initiative they work for, Brad scrambles up the side of eroding banks and squelches into marshland until water soaks his socks and surface residue clings to his leg hair.

Brad’s not pushy, though she’s well aware that he’s been watching her as long as she’s been watching him.

Early on into them working together, she fell into his arms. Literally fell. The team encouraged Michelle to wait for the second truck, the one bringing the ladder, but she got stubborn and climbed the tree to check the bat box the old-fashioned way. Unfortunately, some of the branches were dead and hollow inside, but Brad caught her when she dropped eight feet. And then flirted with her before she could catch her breath. She had some less friendly words for him in return. The first time he surprised her was when he immediately respected her clear boundaries and backed off. They’ve learned to work easily with each other and drink together in the same booth when people from the initiative hit the bar—on evenings they don’t smell too much like they spent the day in Mother Nature’s armpit. They’re friendly, could almost be friends, except that she’s incredibly conscious of his persistent attraction to her, even if he doesn’t do anything about it because he’s not a douche. It’s a knowledge Michelle simply lives with.

But there have been an awful lot of evenings lately of smelling like whatever swamp she waded into during the day, of either going straight home to shower the stench away (thank fuck for rent with utilities included), or hunching over her laptop as she tries to get a grant application finished before a midnight submission deadline. Nobody she works with is holding their breath for the day the government decides it should just give them the money to protect local habitats without making them prove themselves over and over and compete against other worthy environmental projects for the funds. So, Michelle works, and she wades, and she loses many of the evenings she could be out getting laid.

On a regular they-better-pay-us-for-the-overtime evening and not a marshy/swampy/boggy one, she’s comfortably stretched out in a booth with Brad across the table. Two of their colleagues were here a minute ago, but they got up to… go to the bathroom? Grab another round? That’s a little hazy, but Michelle can feel something becoming clearer to her. Observing her own hand as she twirls the base of her latest empty across the tabletop, she asks a question.

“You like Mary Shelley, right?”

Brad, glassy-eyed but still trying to look professional with the way he has his hands folded on the surface in front of him, smiles at her. She can feel it.

“Yes. Her creativity was astounding. If I were in the running for the Miss Universe pageant—”

Michelle jerks her chin back and looks up to make a face at him.

“—and they asked me what historical figure I would most like to have dinner with, I would say Mary Shelley. Hands down.”

“Cool story, bro. Hey, Brad?”

“Mhmm.”

She can tell by his drifting gaze and expression of introspection that he’s planning out his pageant answers.

“Do you still want to sleep with me?”

That focuses his attention. He laughs uncomfortably.

“Why… why would you think that?”

“Oh, so, what’s your limit?” Michelle presses, slightly snide with the alcohol in her bloodstream. “You’re not interested in going past holding hands? Making out for no more than five minutes? Because you obviously want something,” she rambles on. “You look at me, I know you do.”

“This isn’t just an idle question, is it?” Brad asks.

He leans forward to look at her as carefully as his tipsiness will allow. As if he already knows the answer. Their thought patterns are very similar, she’s found. It’s why they’re effective at work and why it’s possible to fall into a discussion on books during their overlapping lunch hours. She likes him—not a lot, but enough to have started this conversation. She stares back at him.

“I wouldn’t say no to it,” he offers quietly, though the bar is crowded tonight and Michelle doubts their words are traveling beyond the booth.

Now, Brad’s looking at her in a way that makes her realize, all this time, he’s barely been looking at her. With the permission to think of her in this way, there’s a clear desire there, a gaze that slips again and again to her mouth. Huh. Ok. Maybe she didn’t completely think this whim through before sharing it with him. She can’t fuck that Brad. She’s been imagining the drinking companion, the nice forearms he reveals when he literally rolls up his sleeves in the field, the man who will always be a little on her nerves for flirting with her as he cradled her against him. Someone whose world she could casually rock with the assurance that they both have enough self-confidence to carry on afterwards without getting clingy or feeling disposed of.

What’s the compromise between abruptly shutting this down (her sex drive weeps) and getting in bed with a guy who will make the experience too emotionally intense?

“Have you ever had a threesome?” Michelle blurts.

“…What? No.”

“Neither have I. But I’ve been, um, wanting to try it.”

Have you? she demands of herself, wiping a damp palm on her jeans.

“You, me, and someone else?” Brad’s eyebrows are very high on his forehead. “That’s a lot of bodies, uh, coming together.”

“Come on, Brad—”

“‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’” he guesses.

“I was going to say, I thought you loved Frankenstein.”

She rounds her impulsive invitation off with a smile.

—

Michelle doesn’t volunteer to select the third person. When she considers which of her friends and acquaintances she’d be comfortable having sex with, well, there’s Brad. That already hasn’t gone the way she predicted. Everyone else she’s close to either feels like family, is in a monogamous relationship, or just isn’t attractive to her in that way. She consoles herself over putting the choice of their third into Brad’s hands with the thought that he seems like he’d be the most suspect person in a friend group (yes, they get along, but there’s something sleazy about the way he tries too hard), so whoever he asks can only be more tolerable than him.

“So, a buddy of mine said he’d be into it,” Brad says as she’s passing his desk one day. Michelle stops dead and he swivels in his chair, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

“You’re talking about…”

“Yeah.” He darts a look around, then hits her with a conspiratorial smile.

“Oh. Ok. Good. Turtles,” she says more loudly to cover for them. Her gaze darts to the nearest desk, but Jocelyn’s wearing headphones and bobbing her head as she populates a spreadsheet. Reassured, Michelle takes a step towards Brad and lowers her voice again. “What’s his name? How do you know him?”

“His name’s Peter. We play soccer together.”

“How the hell do you have time to participate in organized sports?”

“That’s what I do while you’re working your way through the New York Times Best Seller list,” Brad jokes.

“Fair. But who is this guy?”

“You want his résumé?”

“No, I want to know he’s not going to give me an STI or try anything freaky.”

“Freaky,” he echoes. “As opposed to threesomes, which are an incredibly common thing to do with your boyfriend.”

“Or your friend from work,” Michelle retorts, to keep things very clear. Brad appears fleetingly wounded. Too bad. He can say no any time, but it’s obvious that he’d rather see her naked in a threesome than the alternative. Which is never.

“Yeah, of course. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about Peter. He’s responsible, he’s single, he was raised by his aunt and they’re still really close. She comes to all our games.” He lets out a derisive sort of laugh and Michelle narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s sweet.”

“I guess,” he concedes.

“Why’s he single?” she asks, rapid-fire.

“I don’t know, because he wants to be?”

“‘Wants to be’ like he’s emotionally stable and waiting for the right person to come along or ‘wants to be’ like he’s a flake with commitment issues?”

Brad gives her a look like she’s overthinking this; it betrays an utter lack of comprehension of a woman’s perspective on relationships. The validity of her questions goes over his head.

“Why does it matter if he has commitment issues?”

“Relax,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not trying to date him, it just says something about his personality. I don’t want to do this with somebody selfish, because if he’s selfish in other areas, he’s probably selfish in bed.”

“He’s a good passer,” Brad says. “On the field. He always ends the season with more assists than goals.”

“That’s… not a totally useless testimonial.”

“I appreciate your approval.”

Michelle would laugh if his tone weren’t a little too earnest. The way he really wants to impress her can be grating. Well, he’ll soon have his chance to impress her in a situation where she actually wants to be impressed.

“Get back to work, slacker,” she tells him, returning to her own desk.

Fifteen minutes later, Brad texts her with three different dates to choose from. Michelle pulls up her calendar, colour-coded with deadlines and days she’ll be working out in the woods. Taking late nights and the need for long showers into account, she picks a date, then leaves her thumb hovering over ‘Send’. She puts her phone down.

This is where she could still back out. Brad’s mentioned it to his friend, but she’s under no obligation to either of them. Would it be awkward to change her mind and see Brad at work every day? Yes, though she could always say she just wasn’t that serious about it to begin with. Which she wasn’t! For someone who’s soothed by referring to her colour-coded calendar and progressing through life with each forward step carefully considered, tossing out a suggestion to have a threesome was rash.

Michelle eyes her phone.

On the other hand, Brad likes her too much to be a dick post-ménage à trois, which, as far as she can see, is sort of an ideal trait in a threesome companion. If she were going to do this. She wheels her chair back and cranes to peer across the room at him. Focused on his screen, he brushes his black hair out of his face with a quick swipe of his hand. Damn, he is nice-looking. The kind of guy Michelle would definitely approach at a bar for a one-night stand if he flashed a smile her way. If picturing him naked intrigues her, then the idea of lying down between him and another muscled body (Brad said soccer, so she’s assuming this friend has an athletic build) while the three of them wind over and under each other like a braid definitely ticks a big ‘YES’ box in her brain. Her hand shoots out for her phone. She hits ‘Send’.

Three bodies which will, in Brad’s words, be coming together. Maybe not what Mary Shelley had in mind, but anticipating this threesome does more for Michelle’s libido than an electrified jigsaw of corpses ever could.

—

It’s a different bar, and she’s in different clothes, but otherwise, it’s not a totally foreign way for Michelle and Brad to spend their Friday evening. Provided he shows up. She darted home after work and a loaded glance at Brad, showered, and starred deep into her neglected makeup bag like it was some sort of prophetic tool. Michelle, it said to her, you don’t want lipstick smeared all over your face and eyeshadow fallout stinging your eyes. Leave it at mascara and a whole whack of waterproof eyeliner. She obeyed these wise words with trembling hands, nearly prodding herself in the eye with her mascara wand because, even with a doable task to concentrate on, she was nervous.

She adjusts her short, black skirt, rocking side-to-side on the stool. For a regular date, it’s the kind of item she would borrow from a friend, but it struck Michelle as incredibly gross to wear a friend’s skirt to a threesome and then return it to them afterwards, so she bought this one online. During work hours. Feeling incredibly furtive, though everybody dabbles in online shopping during lulls in their workload. The skirt was never a normal purchase; she knew it was going to end up right here, right now, between her ass and a barstool. She gulps the end of her whiskey and goes back to cradling the beer that’s been her emotional support as she waits for the guys.

Arriving ten minutes early has felt like an age—time stretching wretchedly like those clocks in ‘The Scream’—but she finally hears a familiar voice calling her name. Flipping her hair out of the neck of her leather jacket and grabbing her support system, Michelle turns to spot Brad’s face. He smiles and waves, stepping through the crowd that’s building steadily as the after-work drinkers are exchanged for the cutting-loose-for-the-weekend drinkers. When she slips down from the stool, her skirt rides up, and the man who is usually just a co-worker allows himself to notice. His gaze on her bare legs feels good.

“Sorry we’re late,” he says, though they both know she’s early. But Michelle will take this pleasantry over an implication that she’s overeager.

Since they were at work together only a few hours ago, she skips small talk.

“Where’s your…” Friend, she’s going to say. She doesn’t need to.

Brad—tidy in a partially unbuttoned blue shirt—angles himself towards her side, making room for the woman taking the barstool she vacated, and Michelle sees a man approaching with the two of them as his clear destination. Her first sense of him is filtered through Brad. Once, through Brad’s description, twice, through Brad’s cologne. It may be coming off her friend’s skin, but the scent clings to Peter in her brain. What she’s smelling is the woods, only more expensive somehow, like a perfume company bottled the idea of glamping. Doesn’t matter that the scent doesn’t suit him at all. He walks with his head up, eyes openly excited, and it makes her think of a schoolkid progressing through a museum’s dinosaur exhibit. All he’s missing is a backpack with straps for him to clutch. Letting her gaze skim down from his face, Michelle actually can’t picture him trying to haul on a backpack; his shoulders look broad and strong, even under the incongruous red hoodie he’s wearing.

“Oh,” he says when he sees her standing next to Brad. Under any other circumstances, she’d be taken aback by his eyes scanning the full length of her body, but she’s going to fuck this stranger tonight and when he looks back up to her face, he’s grinning. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she replies, more guarded, less forward, until Brad suggests trying to find someplace to sit and Michelle’s able to check Peter out from behind as he leads them away from the bar. Nice butt.

They snag a coveted corner spot as a small group in business attire is leaving it, settling with Brad between them. Peter makes himself useful by dashing back to the bar and returning with the fingers of one hand twined between the necks of a trio of beers and the fingers of the other slightly dipping into the liquid in a pair of tumblers.

“I didn’t know what you’d like beyond what you’re already drinking,” he says, jerking his chin towards the beer Michelle finished while he was gone.

“That’s fine,” she assures him. “I don’t want to be too… I want to be aware of…”

God, trying to discuss the imminent threesome directly is making her flustered. She has a swig from the new bottle he placed in front of her. Peter leans across Brad and offers his to clink with. Where Brad’s face is aggressively handsome in the heavy line of his eyebrows and the sharp perfection of his teeth, up close, Peter’s is cute and unintimidating.

“Here’s to being a consenting participant tonight and remembering it tomorrow,” he says.

Unintimidating, but not uncompelling, especially when he tilts his head back to drink and she can watch the line of his jaw.

Michelle blushes, but knocks her bottle against his.

Two rounds deeper for them and one for her, the heat of the bar and the alcohol in her system are getting to her. She winds her way back from the washroom and shrugs out of her jacket before sitting down. Peter manages to get the end of his sentence out, but Brad doesn’t even try to respond as he takes in the low sides of her silky top. Michelle slides closer to him than she was sitting before and puts a hand on his knee as he finally turns his head and stutters out a reply to Peter. Peter looks past him and catches her eye. Her heart’s springing up and down in her chest because she realized, staring at her reflection as she washed her hands, that, if they’re going to do this, somebody’s gotta make a move. Peter, sleeves shoved up, is staring back at her like he’s been thinking the same thing. His hand smooths over Brad’s thigh.

Under the table, Brad keeps his legs still, his feet flat on the ground. His comfort in his own skin is something Michelle’s always respected. He even succeeds in raising his glass steadily to his lips and taking another drink while Peter runs his hand higher. With a little throat-clearing, Brad parts his thighs further. She doesn’t mean to be, but Michelle’s waiting for Peter to go first. They were talking about something innocuous when he said just enough to imply that he’s never been in a threesome either. Regardless, there’s a confidence in the way he touches Brad. She trails her fingers up Brad’s thigh and Peter locks eyes with her as their gazes cross watching their friend swallow.

Suddenly, the man between them is a little less present, even with the sharp breath he takes at the moment Peter tucks his hand against his crotch. Michelle rests her hand over his. She feels his skin, lets her fingers slip through his, as Brad gasps and swells beneath Peter’s palm; she can tell—they have to change the curve of their grip to accommodate the erection. Brad’s arm curls around her waist and presses her into his side as her and Peter’s hands move together, stroking through Brad’s pants, rubbing him. He glances at her, heat in his eyes, but she’s looking at Peter again by the time she leans in and kisses Brad’s throat. She draws it out into a lick at the slack way Peter’s mouth is hanging open. Hopefully, the fall of her hair is blocking the necking from the view of other patrons, but that hope is tough to keep in mind when Peter’s tongue appears to wet his lower lip. Like she’s kissing him.

There’s a squeeze between Michelle’s thighs that has her gripping Peter’s hand more firmly, urging him to jerk Brad off faster. She glances towards Peter’s lap and he lifts his hoodie with his free hand to expose the bulge in the front of his jeans. The scent of her perfume rises as sweat trickles between her breasts. They knead Brad rapidly until he chokes out a plea for them to stop, begging to take this someplace private. She grabs her jacket in one hand and links the fingers of her other through Brad’s. Tugging him to the exit, she trusts Peter to bring up the rear.

—

Making out in the back of a rideshare is bad behaviour, so Michelle takes the passenger’s seat when the car pulls up. Because she is feeling the need to go back a step from risky under-the-table handjobs and just kiss someone. And that someone is not the friend she arranged this with. She glances at the sidemirror as they’re passing under a streetlight and Peter’s staring at her. He winks. Slowly, like she’s just looking idly around as they drive, she turns to glance into the backseat. Brad has his arm stretched out along the top the seats and his fingers have dipped into the neck of Peter’s hoodie. Michelle’s pulse accelerates just imagining the warmth of that throat. Scrambling for her phone, she sends Brad a text.

Put your fingers in his mouth.

She faces forward again for about a block, prolonging her outward nonchalance even as she hears a vibration, followed by Brad’s soft snort of acknowledgement as he reads her text. She glances around the edge of her seat and sees him act. His hand comes out of the sweatshirt to take Peter by the chin and turn his face towards him. Briefly, he inclines his head towards his friend, speaking too quietly for her to distinguish the words, but Michelle guesses it’s something about her watching because Peter’s gaze jumps to her as he opens his mouth and accepts two of Brad’s fingers. She can see him sucking as Brad withdraws, cheeks flushed. He looks to her—for approval, she thinks, until he holds his wet fingers up and curls them in the air in a highly suggestive motion. Oh shit. Michelle feels herself pressing down on the floor of the car like she’s in the driver’s seat with the accelerator under her foot.

They’re going to her place where: she’s on home turf, she knows it’s clean, she can go right to sleep after kicking them out. Also, the one luxury of her second-story apartment is the king-size bed her friends seriously, outrageously got on ladders to help her push through the sliding door of her balcony because that was easier than carrying it up the narrow staircase. Tonight, she plans to get some good use out of all those acres of mattress.

As with the hijinks in the car, she knows both men are watching her as she lets them into the building and then through her front door.

“Kitchen,” Michelle says, with a loose wave of her hand. “Living room, bathroom. And the bedroom’s at the end of the hall.”

Brad excuses himself to empty his bladder and/or psych himself up in the mirror above the bathroom sink and she’s wondering how to entertain his friend during these uncertain moments of transition when Peter basically lunges forward and kisses her. She moans into his mouth because it’s sudden but it’s good. His hands go right to her ass and her arms wrap around the back of his neck, holding him against her. With her heels, she has a handful of inches on him, but that doesn’t appear to make him pouty or daunted. It’s less than a minute, probably fewer than thirty seconds (understanding the flow of time is temporarily lost on Michelle), but they separate panting.

“You can tell Brad to stick his fingers in my mouth all you want,” Peter murmurs, still staring at her lips, “but I’ve got something I wanna to stick places too.”

“Understood.” She nudges her thigh into his groin.

“So, you guys aren’t waiting for me, huh?” Brad asks with a tight smile as he walks out of the bathroom to see Peter’s hands on her ass and her pressing back against him.

This is kind of the idea, all three of them experimenting with each other, but she can tell he’s annoyed that anything went on while he was out of the room. That he’s possibly jealous. Though it doesn’t feel right to move away from Peter, Michelle knows how to rectify this. She strides to Brad and puts her hands lightly on his chest before kissing him, more coyly than Peter kissed her. She lets Brad come down to her as he hunts out what he wants from the kiss. This feels nice too, though it has more of the familiarity of kissing a friend—even though they haven’t touched in this way before—than the bubbling lust that went with kissing Peter. As she continues, tracing her fingers to the center of his chest to stroke his skin and begin undoing his buttons, Peter comes up behind her and helps her out of her jacket. She hears her keys jingle in the pocket and tap against her phone. When his hands sneak through the sides of her shirt to run across the underside of her breasts, Michelle pushes Brad back, back, back, and the three of them stagger to her bedroom.

She and Brad make out in the dark for a while, and without light, the kissing get rougher, their breathing ragged. Once she has all the buttons of Brad’s shirt undone, she reaches back for Peter and he grips her hand tightly as he grinds his erection against her ass. They’re pressing snugly into her front and back when she thinks of things like being able to locate condoms and ogle muscles—both activities require some light. Michelle squeezes out from between them and turns her bedside lamp on, angling the shade so the light stays low. Turning to check on them, she sees one man standing there with his shirt open and dishevelled and the other rigid in the front of his jeans. Brad’s hard too—she felt it when she stood against him, but his erection’s not visible from where she’s standing now. It’s odd, seeing the space between their bodies and knowing she was just in it. But with Peter rubbing Brad’s dick at the bar and Brad clearly turned on by having Peter suck his fingers on the way here, they’ve been messing around too. Why should they pause to get her back in the middle? Stubborn and curious, Michelle crosses her arms where she stands and gives them an expectant look.

Peter reacts first; he grabs the back of Brad’s neck and stretches up to kiss him. The instant their mouths meet, Michelle understands the three of them have a problem. Trading off sexual favours, these guys are ok, but being on two sides of the same kiss makes them competitive. Fucking weekend athletes. Countering the dominant neck-grab, Brad bats Peter’s arm away and takes his face in his hands. It’s not sweet, it’s controlling. Peter’s next move is yanking Brad’s body against his by crumpling the open front of his shirt in his fists. Oops, well, alright, Michelle decides. Maybe it’s better to put herself back in the equation.

Because she has no intention of babying Brad through this experience, when she slips between them, she puts her back to him. Picturing his disappointed face, she raises her arms.

“Take her shirt off,” Peter interprets, tearing his hoodie over his head in a flurry that peels the t-shirt beneath halfway up his torso.

It’s evident in his method that Brad isn’t interested in being told what to do with her. He makes sure to drag his hands over her as he takes his time. Maybe he’s being a dick about it—that’s what the narrowing of Peter’s eyes tells her as he stares at Brad around Michelle’s head—but she’s enjoying this. There’s something about having spent so much time with Brad and those hands that has her pressing back against his erection. She’s witnessed him performing countless practical tasks, like driving the stakes for ‘Trail Closed’ signs deep into semi-frozen ground with a sledgehammer to protect new plant growth in the spring, knotting a rope leash around the waist of one of their colleagues as overkill when they wade into a pond to collect a sample, or just his impressive typing speed. (Not as many words per minute as she logs, but still.) He’s only quick when he pushes the material above her breasts and shifts his hands down quickly to cover, then massage them. She can almost hear him internally screaming at Peter that he beat him to this, only she doesn’t care. He’s tugging her nipples now and she shuts her eyes with a sigh.

“You like that?” he asks into her ear, which is when Peter loses patience for this display and removes her shirt the rest of the way himself.

Michelle retaliates by dropping her arms and edging his shirt up his stomach while Brad continues to caress her chest, now also kissing her shoulder. Though Peter lets her remove his t-shirt herself, she can add a willingness to get naked quick to the few things she knows about him; he seems like he’d be just as happy to whip all his clothes off at once as go through the foreplay of undressing each other. She remembers what he said to her in the kitchen. He has his own aspirations for tonight and the grin he gives her when she gets his t-shirt off makes her wonder what he wants and how soon she’ll be giving it to him. Michelle can’t feel any part of her resisting. It’s… surprisingly freeing.

Brad shuffles behind her, slipping out of his shirt, and her heart leaps as his chest presses to her back, skin to skin. Peter makes a grab for her crotch, but she lifts her eyebrows wryly and spins to face Brad instead.

“This fucking skirt,” she hears Peter mumble behind her as he slides his hands up her thighs to play with the hem.

It’s not exactly a sexual fantasy she’s fulfilling when she digs her fingers into Brad’s hair and combs it back, but it’s definitely a fantasy. He just has great hair. Sometimes, when she’s bored in a meeting, she’ll look over at him and feel this compulsion to run her fingers through it. She discovers that the strands feel soft and wonderful, so there’s one dream realized.

As she’s moving the palm of her hand down to cup his cheek, she shifts her head to the side, catching Brad’s eye and nodding back towards Peter.

“Kiss him nicely,” Michelle instructs.

Brad’s dark eyes bore into hers for a moment, then he breaks the stare and looks to Peter.

“Let’s go, Parker.”

Satisfied, she gets out of the way, circling behind Peter. While he’s partly distracted by the kiss (tamer than last time, by the looks of it), she rests her hands on his waist. Then, Michelle thinks, Screw it, and feels him up all over his chest, shoulders, and stomach, before wending her way down to his hips. His jeans are probably really putting pressure on his erection right now. She’ll help. After flicking the button open, she means to move away, but… plans change. She’s barely dipping the tips of her fingers below the waist of his jeans when Peter pulls away from Brad’s insistent mouth to mutter, “Well, that’s not fair.”

Instead of continuing, Michelle delights in retreating. Peter’s protesting noise is absorbed by his friend’s lips and she pats his ass before going to tease Brad. First, she guides the hand Peter has on Brad’s shoulder up into his hair so he can share her joy at how touchable it is. Then, she grazes her palms down his back. His friend’s body is dense with muscles, like somebody who goes to the gym a lot, where Brad’s is lean. Their work is a decent split between time indoors and outside, fairly physical, so she knows he has strong legs, good lungs, all the endurance he needs for the days they have to park far from a trailhead or navigate gullies. She forgot to ask what position they each play on their soccer team, but she’ll be concerned with another type of position for the foreseeable future.

To keep things even, Michelle unbuttons Brad’s pants. He makes a needful sound and goes momentarily loose between her body and Peter’s. This is not the reaction she expected from a man so socially comfortable, who apparently maintains a far better work/life balance (and, presumably, a steadier sex life) than she has lately. These noises, which continue as she works his zipper down against the push of his erection, expose him. He makes himself vulnerable. Something zinging through Michelle’s body compels her to take advantage.

She and Peter propel Brad’s co-operative body towards the bed. The guys land with a thump and continue kissing; Peter’s fingers form a gun as he angles Brad’s jaw, driving his tongue into his friend’s mouth. Michelle stares at them, breathing hard for having done nothing. Not breaking the kiss, Brad raises a hand to reach for her, but she’s quicker than that, dropping to her knees. She and the band of his underwear get along immediately—it’s easy to uncover his dick and the elastic cradles him instead of trying to snap back into place against his abdomen. Though the access with his pants still on isn’t amazing, she kisses his stomach, then the head of his cock. Up above, Brad moans.

With a smirk, Michelle repositions a little on her knees and grasps her friend’s thighs. He’s whimpering. He’s full-on whimpering. She leans in and licks slowly up his length. Her heels are already starting to bother her, so she reaches back and tugs them off one at a time. The next thing she means to do is gather her hair out of the way as she shallowly sucks Brad’s erection and strands swing forward, trying to tangle in his open zipper and stick to the saliva she’s coating him in, but Peter’s hand is there first. Still making out with Brad (she can hear it if she can’t see it), he encircles her hair in his grip and rests his fist lightly on her shoulder. Dammit. She’s a soft touch for his soft touch, closing her eyes to the sensation of his knuckles brushing her skin. This stranger is ruining the nice underwear she put on tonight.

“Please, Michelle, please,” Brad breaks free of Peter’s mouth to say.

He reaches out to hold her ribs, cup her breasts, but while he and his friend might share the field on Saturdays or whenever, they don’t seem to be on the same team tonight.

“Nope,” Peter informs him. “I get her next.”

“None of that possessive shit,” she warns.

“Can I please have you next?”

“You must be a real pain for your friends,” Michelle guesses sarcastically, letting him guide her over to his lap instead of Brad’s. (Who’s probably looking sour. She doesn’t know. Her eyes are glued to Peter’s.)

“No pain, I promise. I’ll be gentle.”

She rolls her eyes and settles in, straddling him.

“Oh my—” There is no ‘god’ because he kisses her before she can finish.

That’s his second annoying offense in seconds and she’s going to let him know. Really, she is. But he’s reminding her that he never let go of her hair by lifting it and slipping his hand against the nape of her neck to caress her skin. Michelle angles her hips and grinds up and down the swell in his jeans. Peter doesn’t mess around stroking her legs and hips, he just darts both hands beneath her skirt and traces the edges of her underwear where they curve around her thighs and narrow between them. She can feel him draw the fabric aside and gasps into his mouth, anticipating his fingers, when Brad tips the both of them over.

It’s disorienting, but they twist onto their sides and her friend scoots close behind her, so she decides she doesn’t mind.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Peter speaks quietly against her mouth when she thinks he’s about to kiss her again.

Michelle finds herself smiling, almost laughing, as he flips her skirt up and elects to take her underwear off. There’s only so much he can do like this, so she takes over, kicking them to the floor. That’s annoying offense number three; those underwear are sexy and she thought she’d be showing them off some before they hit the hardwood. Weirdly, Peter’s disregard only makes her smile broaden.

“Like I was trying,” she quips.

“Are we bantering,” Brad checks, “or are we fucking?”

“Dude, I am so sorry for the people you sleep with. Banter is an important part of the process,” Peter instructs.

“Fuck you, Parker.”

“And when you do, I guess I can’t expect any banter. I’ll adjust my expectations.”

“I’ll adjust your nose with my fist,” Brad responds in a playful tone. Michelle isn’t completely sold and she wavers, sandwiched between the two of them.

“Cool,” she says, “but actually, I am here to get laid.”

Two sets of male hands collide where her thighs are pressed together. She takes a deep breath at their enthusiasm, unable to tell whose fingers are skating along the skin just above her pubic hair and whose are subtly attempting to wedge between her legs.

“After you,” Brad says smoothly.

“Thanks, man.”

Her friend’s hands retreat a short distance and Peter insinuates one of his thighs between hers to create some space.

“This ok?” he checks, sweet face even sweeter horizontal.

“Be my guest,” Michelle says, copying Brad’s formality and reaching up and back to squeeze his shoulder so he realizes. She gets a kiss on her neck in response.

Peter’s fingers run slickly through her arousal. It’s a methodical mapping, feeling as though it’s meant to arouse her rather than him, but their eyes meet and he’s wearing an expression like he’s the one being fondled, though his erection cleaves to his abdomen, twitching under his clothes as he fingers her.

“You’re teasing me,” she points out, pulse jumping at her inner thigh.

“Am I not supposed to?”

Michelle tries to rock harder against the pass of his fingers and he moves them away with a grin and a chiding, “Ah!”

“Just give her what she wants,” is Brad’s disgruntled input.

She turns to watch as he sits up and undresses from the waist down. He gives her a smile like they’re on the same side, demonstrated by him advocating for her pleasure—something Michelle’s quite comfortable doing on her own. And yet, alright, her friend’s heart is in the right place, and it is difficult to monitor and decipher the fluctuating moods and responses of two other people, and his directive is obeyed. Peter’s fingers return and push through the wetness he helped generate, touching her entrance and gliding inside her, one finger, then two. Michelle groans deep in her throat because finally.

Brad lies down at her back again and, with Peter working her up, she fumbles behind her and grabs her friend’s ass to encourage him closer. She can feel him hard and hot against her, partly touching her rumpled skirt, partly her skin. He rubs against her and reaches an arm around, greedily squeezing her hip, then sweeping down to feel for her clit.

She’s sweating between their bodies, breathing hard and shuddering involuntarily when Brad gets his fingers positioned to trap her clit and begin gradually cracking her mind like peanut brittle. Where he’s painstaking, Peter’s exultant. He increases the pace of his fingers until they’re shuttling in and out of her. Michelle grips Brad’s wrist with one hand, Peter’s neck with the other, then switches, then moves both hands, grappling for some constancy that the part of her brain currently squashed beneath her need for satisfaction knows she’s not gonna get. Her hips are writhing in their hands as a clear goal fights its way through the fog of lust: unzip Peter’s jeans. It’s tricky, with the over- and underpass of arms, but she does it and he thanks her with a sloppy kiss that only seems to land on her mouth by miracle.

“Close,” she gasps.

Behind her, Brad groans and nips at the base of her neck, making her shake. He’s humping her quickly, pushing with his hips as he pulls back with his fingers on her clit. Good thing Peter hooks his fingers firmly inside her so he doesn’t get jostled off this ride. Good thing too that his curling motion strikes her so, so right. Michelle cries out and comes, his fingers still pumping ruthlessly inside her, Brad pinching her clit, and then coming himself; she feels the jet spurt up her back, probably some on her skirt too.

Which is why she did not borrow clothes for this threesome.

Peter’s expression is impish as he tries to keep coaxing her through the pleasure, but she pushes at his chest and he finally takes his hand away.

“Oh my god,” Michelle sighs, flopping back and half onto Brad.

“Go team,” her friend pants from beneath her.

“Yeah. You guys have some kinda cheer you do at your games?”

“Sometimes we bump chests,” Peter offers, hands suddenly on her boobs.

She twists, trying to see Brad’s face without lifting up. Her temple makes contact with his chin.

“Does your friend have an off switch?”

“If he did, I’d skip that and just pull the plug,” Brad says. He wraps an arm around her and she wiggles until he relaxes the hold, forcing him to make it less territorial.

“Aww,” Peter says, managing to cup her breasts in a perfunctory way, like he’s pushing them up to prevent under-boob sweat while she cools off post-orgasm, “you guys are bantering. I knew you could do it. Also,” he adds, “I don’t know if anyone happens to be keeping track, but I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten off.”

“That sucks, man.”

With effort, Michelle sits up and glares at Brad’s unconcerned face.

“Don’t be a dick,” she says.

“Yeah, Brad,” Peter joins in.

Shaking her head, she puts her back to her friend and checks Peter’s face for her go-ahead. He nods in rapid approval, so she grips the waist of his open jeans and pulls down while he lifts his ass from her bed. Fuck, the three of them never even got under the sheet. Then again, it’s easier to be mobile above it. Plus, it’s an extra layer between her expensive mattress and the fluid drying on her spine.

Because Peter doesn’t seem like the kinda guy who cares to be undressed layer by layer, Michelle doesn’t striptease herself with taking off his clothes slowly. At some point, he kicked his shoes away, meaning it’s straightforward to yank the boxers and jeans down his legs. Her intention is to remove them completely. He doesn’t seem to have a hell of a lot of regard for her intentions.

“That’s far enough, I swear,” he says, when she has his jeans around his shins. “I’m good. Nike time. Just do it.”

“Just do what exactly?” Michelle asks indulgently. She rests a hand on his naked thigh and tries not to stare openly at his dick, red as a slap.

“Anything. Whatever you want. Brad says you’re multitalented.”

Brad rolls over lazily to glare at Peter.

“What the hell, Parker? Don’t make it sound like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I talk about Michelle like that!”

“I get it,” she says, cutting him off. Please shut up, Peter, she thinks. “You talk to him about work. You appreciate me as a co-worker.”

“That’s definitely why I’ve heard so much about you,” Peter agrees provokingly. “Because he appreciates you as a co-worker.”

“You know what?” Brad bites out.

“What?”

Michelle rolls her eyes and opts to terminate this snippy little back and forth by grasping Peter’s cock and bending over to wrap her lips around the head. That shuts both of them up. Thank god, some fucking peace.

He emits a deep groan of approval and weaves his fingers into her hair, slightly bucking his hips. As she sinks to take him deeper, she hears another groan—hoarse with an entirely different emotion—coming from Brad. She doesn’t stop. If he has something to say, he can damn well use his words. Michelle clutches the inside of Peter’s muscular thigh and sucks as she starts to withdraw only to plunge him farther into her mouth. Peter’s hand finds hers and tangles their fingers together next to his hip, catching some of the sheet in his grip too. The gesture dizzies her heart.

While he’s seeing god, Brad’s apparently seeing red, because he taps, then tugs, at her shoulder, until she pulls off of Peter and shoots her friend an impatient look.

“What?”

“I’ll do that,” he says, nodding towards Peter’s straining, saliva-slicked erection.

“Somebody better fucking do it,” Peter says in the tragic tone of an established sufferer. They ignore him for the moment.

“You want to?” Michelle asks skeptically.

When Brad averts his eyes from hers, she realizes that, no, he doesn’t want to, he just doesn’t enjoy watching her blow Peter. She wavers, wondering if she should cancel tonight halfway through. Maybe that would be sacrificing what she wants for the self-esteem of these two men, but they’re just so goddamn annoying. They’re supposed to be friends and they’re acting like rivals. Michelle doesn’t owe loyalty to either of them, she’s nobody’s girlfriend, and yet she’s getting the feeling that she needs to pick a side. Even a novice like her can tell this isn’t the way a threesome’s meant to go. If they were worse at this, she might be able to walk away.

Abruptly, Brad kisses her, then nudges her gently aside as he drops to his elbows to pick up where she left off. Peter draws a fraying breath. Well, either these two aren’t combative enough to present her with an ultimatum, or they just want to get laid as badly as she does. If Brad bites Peter or some shit though, she’s throwing them both out and leaving the necessary medical care in their hands. Michelle will not be responsible for these men and their egos.

Peter tweaks her fingers, their hands still clasped. She leans in close to observe his heavy breathing and the way his hair’s sticking to his sweaty forehead.

“I still want you,” he whispers. The words are like static shock, like a finger tracing unexpectedly down her neck. “And you better be quick because I think Brad thinks he’ll get extra points for speed.”

He gasps, eyes rolling back, and Michelle instinctively cups his neck, running the pad of her thumb along his throat. She doesn’t glance over at Brad; hearing the frantic wet noises paints a sufficiently informative picture.

“You think you can concentrate while he’s doing that?”

“Totally.” Immediately, a desperate, guttural croak leaves Peter’s lips.

“You sure?”

“No, but I still want to put my tongue inside you and that should count for—uhhh!—something.”

“Such as?” she asks with a wry smile, straightening her legs out so she can remove her unspeakably defiled skirt.

“Hell if I know, my concentration was pretty shitty to begin with.”

“Center yourself,” Michelle says in the calm, instructive tone of a yoga tutorial as she levers herself over his chest and rests her ass lightly on the hard planes of his pecs.

“Brad,” Peter begs, “cut me some slack for one fucking minute, dude.”

“One minute, huh?” she teases.

“Are you doubting me?”

“Peter Parker, I don’t even know you.”

But, somehow, she’s beaming down at him as her hair falls around her shoulders. For an instant, he looks completely focused on her and not the sound of Brad switching from giving him head to pumping him in a fist (his version of slack-cutting, evidently). Peter eyes her from her face down to where her legs are spread above his body. Then back to her face.

“I’d like for you to.”

Her teasing expression softens. She parts her lips to respond and he wrenches her forward, onto a mouth that opens at once. He licks up into her, then keep his tongue tensed and prods her clit back and forth. Michelle curls into herself, thighs suddenly snug against the sides of his head, fingers locked in his hair.

This is, perhaps, the single event within the larger experience that sells her on threesomes. Peter’s mouth feels incredible on its own (like he’s fusing the peanut brittle shards of her mind back together again and going too far, melting them into goo), but the intermittent moaning that leaves it due to Brad’s contribution down below means Michelle’s riding something that licks, sucks, and vibrates. She’s a mess. Tilted forward, she’s nearly crying out to plant her hands on the bed and just grind across Peter’s tongue, but the hand not hold hers has her hip in a formidable hold and she can’t reach far enough to be comfortable. Each time she thinks to force her eyes open and check his face to make sure he’s enjoying this as much as she is (and still breathing), Peter’s eyelids are flickering as he absorbs the combined pleasure of taking from Brad and giving to Michelle. She’s shaking and trying not to get too rough with him, smoothing a hand over the hair she’s been practically pulling out at the roots. Peter counters with a quick smack to her ass before seizing her hip again. Fine, she won’t be nice.

Michelle shifts and rolls her clit against the tip of his nose. It positions her entrance above his wide-open mouth and he slides his tongue thickly back inside her. The sound of him tongue-fucking her is graphic. He loses his rhythm and gets even more aggressive with his mouth—she figures he’s close to release. Peter groans and arches his neck and chin up when he finishes, so she lifts swiftly away, hating to do it, aching and slippery.

She throws herself off of him, collapsing back onto her elbows with her thighs quivering. Dazedly, she observes Brad hurrying from the room with his lips clamped together (not a swallower then—the things she’s learning about her friend tonight). Peter’s lying there, spent. With her emotions high, their tableau causes her to despair. It’s over. It’s all over. One of them’s too wiped to carry on, the other’s just finished giving oral and won’t want to return just to bring her to orgasm. Michelle lets her head hang back and swipes two fingers over her clit, catching it and adding pressure on the upstroke.

Peter rolls over like he’s risen from the dead.

“You don’t—” she begins, but then he’s there, between her quaking knees, suctioning his mouth to her and using his tongue to fiddle around with her clit. His arms are limp and heavy as they hold her thighs down and open. Any energy he has is converted into strokes and twirls, from there into her overwhelmed sobs. Brad walks back in to Michelle yelling, “Peter, fuck!” as she climaxes with her head thrown back and his pressed insistently into her groin by her stiff hand. When Brad comes to sit on the bed, Peter’s leg kicks out and catches him right in the stomach. The kick drives him off the mattress and onto the floor with a thud.

Michelle scrambles away from Peter, to the edge of the bed, as Brad stands and starts putting his clothes on, his back to her.

“Are you going?”

She sees Brad’s shoulders rise and fall as he sighs, but he doesn’t answer her. Once he’s dressed from the waist down, he lifts his shirt from the floor with a swish and slips his arms in as he walks back out of the room. Uh oh. Michelle glances to Peter who appears maddeningly unsurprised. She yanks at the bedsheet until he moves off of it, but touches her wrist as she wraps it hastily around herself to chase after their friend.

“I’m sorry if I wrecked this for you,” he says.

“No.” She shakes her head. “He wanted tonight to be something it was never going to be and I thought, when he invited you, that he could handle it, but… I gotta go talk to him.”

“I think I’m already lucky he didn’t jump up and break my nose, so I better stay here.”

“Alright.”

Michelle almost stumbles trying to keep the end of the sheet off the floor, but she gets to Brad while he’s still buttoning his shirt, patting his pockets to check for wallet, phone, keys, maybe the little Swiss Army knife he carries because it always comes in handy eventually.

“Brad,” she says, cautious in cotton and bare feet.

He cuts a look at her with his dark eyes.

“Better not,” he suggests.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Do you need me to stay?”

She hesitates, leaning away from him slightly at the question.

“Well, it was supposed to be—”

“No,” he interrupts. “Do you need me to stay?”

His eyebrow twitches with everything he’s suppressing: hurt, hope, jealousy. Brad’s smart, he knows the answer, but he still ventures forward with grave determination, the way he’d lead a group of their colleagues down a forest deer path that may or may not be crossed with poison ivy. But Michelle is not something for him to sweep clear and overcome.

“We can only be friends, Brad,” she tells him, straight and honest. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy doing this with you…”

He grins ironically, giving her a glimpse of his bright, perfect teeth.

“Please. You two were shutting me out before Parker booted me in the stomach.”

She doesn’t really have a defense for that. They might have touched Brad, grabbed him, licked and kissed him, but none of that compared to how she felt whenever Peter took her hand. She’s actually a little scared to walk back into her bedroom and face that.

“He didn’t mean to,” Michelle asserts awkwardly. Brad lifts his eyebrows. “Probably,” she qualifies. He nods tiredly.

“If he tells you I was a dick to him after our next game…”

“What makes you think I’ll still be in contact with him then?” Brad gives her a look and she frowns, chastened. “I’ll believe him,” she says instead, “and I won’t blame you.”

“This sucks,” he admits, smiling tightly at the floor.

“Can I get you a glass of water for the road? Transit fare?”

“I’d actually rather get out of here and begin the process of trying to forget what Peter’s dick looks like close up as soon as possible.”

She says nothing to champion the dick in question. That would be cruel.

“This was… something I hope we can laugh about someday,” Brad says, and quickly kisses her cheek.

“I’ll—” they say together.

“—text you tomorrow.”

“—see you on Monday,” Michelle says. “Oh. Uh…”

“Space,” he says, understanding.

“Probably good for right now.”

“Yeah.”

When he leaves, she locks the door and bangs her forehead against it. Fuck. She’s going to have to get a new job, isn’t she? Walking in to spot his heartbroken face every day is more than she wants to deal with. Their initiative has a bigger office downtown, not the outpost-like space they work out of. She can apply there. Probably should’ve ages ago, when she started outgrowing the place she’s at. She’ll miss traipsing around outside the city, having to check her legs for ticks, her hair for spiders, and her arms for dead-branch-inflicted scratches deep enough to require infection-preventative measures, but she can buy some fucking plants. Start a garden in her windowsill. Hike on the weekends. Regain some of that thankless grant application time by devoting it to projects more clout will actually allow her to push forward. Be the chooser instead of the beggar.

Michelle laughs at herself, faintly tipsy and two orgasms deep, standing alone in her entryway in a poor man’s frat party toga.

She gets herself the glass of water she offered Brad. She pees with her goddamn adult white sheet scrunched up in her lap like a bride’s dress on her wedding day. She strides back to the bedroom and drops the sheet at the door.

“Hello,” Peter says, perking up.

“Hello yourself.” The man is stark naked and unashamed. “You’ve been, what, chilling?”

“I also eavesdropped.”

“You’re a loser.”

“I’m the loser you haven’t kicked out of your apartment,” he points out. His gaze slips naturally to her chest as she climbs onto the bed on her knees and takes a seat beside his prone body.

“Why is that?”

She asks rhetorically, but Peter either doesn’t pick up on that or ignores it. She kinda likes that about him. Where Brad tries so hard with her, Peter leaves her room to try a little too.

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately, that is possible.”

“Unfortunately? Give me back those orgasms I gave you then,” he demands.

“Orgasm,” Michelle corrects, emphasizing the singular. “The first one was assisted. You can’t take full credit.”

“Bullshit.”

She shakes her head but Peter grabs the back of her knee, pulling her forward, stretching her out, until she’s on her back, laughing, and he’s hovering over her, inches from a kiss that she really, really wants to receive. Strange.

“Is not,” she tells him flatly.

“Then I’m earning that plural.”

“Oh yeah?”

Instead of kissing her or lowering himself down onto her or otherwise touching her in any way at all, Peter leaves. Michelle sits up and looks after him, baffled.

“Where are your washcloths?” he shouts from the bathroom 30 seconds later. A laugh bursts out of her.

“Tall cabinet next to the shower!”

She listens to him running water in the sink. Laughs again when he returns at a run.

“Flip over!” Peter says wildly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Come on, while it’s still hot. It’ll feel nicer.”

Michelle rolls her eyes and maneuvers onto her stomach. He washes her back with the warm cloth. He washes her back. She folds her arms under her head and pillows her cheek on them, candidly observing him. In a practical sense, Peter’s wiping away what Brad left behind, and buying himself time to get hard again, she’s certain. But it doesn’t all feel like practicality. Not when every pass of the cloth is so careful, or when Peter makes another sprinted trip to the bathroom to heat it up for her, or when he’s lying down alongside her by the end, beginning to lightly kiss her clean skin.

“I don’t understand you,” she hears herself confess.

“I’m an enigma,” he agrees. Michelle snorts.

“I do like you though.”

“Called it.”

He chucks the damp, cooling washcloth over the side of her bed and she glares at him.

“This room has wood floors. Which I pay for. As a feature of this apartment.”

“It’s not on the floor, it’s on my jeans.”

“So, it’s soaking into your jeans right now? That’s convenient for you.”

“Is it?” Peter asks vaguely. His hand is rubbing back and forth very low on her back.

“I’m assuming you’re not planning to get back into wet jeans tonight and make your way home.”

“I would if you asked me to,” he swears, giving her puppy-dog eyes.

“Are you forcing me to say this out loud?”

A winning smile. She sighs in exasperation and turns onto her side, propping her head up with her hand.

“Peter, would you like to stay over?”

“Do you want that?”

“You’re a pain,” she says for the second time. Peter continues smiling, waiting. Michelle takes a deep breath and keeps her eyes on his, not letting her gaze drift around the apartment that is nice but lonely, tranquil but lifeless. It has life with this surprising person in it. “I want that.”

He shuffles close to her with a grin.

“I want that,” he says, brushing his lips across hers.

“Mmm,” Michelle agrees. Her eyelids fall. She parts her lips for his tongue. His hand fits into the curve of her waist and slips over to touch her back. His thickening erection nudges her mons, then her abdomen as he swells against her. Her moan skips and drags and Peter clutches at her more purposefully, tipping her onto her back.

“Condom,” she remembers, and points him to the box tucked out of sight. Discrete for the fact that she bought it for use in a threesome with a work friend and a total stranger.

Peter holds up her copy of Frankenstein, resting beneath the box.

“You a fan?” he asks, returning it to its place and tearing open the wrapper on the condom.

“I’ve read it twice, but I think I prefer Dracula.”

“Aw, I’m a wolfman guy,” Peter offers. He puts the condom on like it’s a sock or a baseball cap; there’s definite familiarity there. And Michelle doesn’t care. “Dracula and Frankenstein’s monster are creepy, sure, but the wolfman is two different people: the regular guy and then this creature in the shadows during the full moon. I don’t know, I think there’s something really cool about that. You ever watch the old Lon Chaney movies?”

Ok, she more than likes him. She likes him quite a lot. Smiling, Michelle shakes her head.

“Well,” he says, but he stops talking then. There’s a depth to the look in his eyes as he gazes at her. She lets him in and stands as horizontal witness to his existence in blinks and breaths and the pound of his heart she can almost feel from here.

“Why don’t you get the light?”

Click.

In the dark, it’s less of a performance, not that Peter doesn’t clearly intend to perform. Michelle’s eyes rest without the light and she breathes deeply as Peter comes over her and kisses her neck. Her eyes are still adjusting while he takes a meandering route down her chest, pressing his mouth harder against her breasts. He licks across her nipple; she scratches her nails up the back of his neck and into his hair. When she lets out the smallest huffing sound of enjoyment, he cups his hand between her thighs, skates a finger along her entrance. As if she wouldn’t be wet. As if the foreplay didn’t start the minute he walked back in with that warm cloth and draped it across her back.

“Any specific requests?” he asks, lifting his head from her chest. She can see his face now. Enough light gets in around the edges of her blinds. She runs her fingers through his loosely curling hair, then arches her body up against his.

“Don’t be gentle.”

Michelle feels the eager tremor of his hand against her inner thigh as he lines himself up and eases inside her. His breathing catches. She tilts her hips and raises her knees from the bed, urging him in, farther, all the way. Peter withdraws and she’s assuming he’ll build up to what she asked for, but he slams back in. Though she clenches her teeth around the sensation of him filling her so hard and so well, a whine escapes.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” she acknowledges, accuses, admires.

He pauses, hands planted to either side of her on the bed.

“Like I said, I’ve heard a lot about you. I’ve been waiting for this since I convinced Brad to tell me your name.”

She wants to think and hide and hold him close, but she can reflect later. He seems to agree. Peter’s thrusts are rough and rhythmic. Pounding into her like a machine one minute, he’ll be playfully grabbing her wrists and licking her neck the next. When she tightens her legs around him, he lets her change their positions, only to haul her beneath him again—on her stomach this time—as he rocks in and out and wedges his hand under her to rub her clit. They chase each other across her mattress and Michelle comes clawing at her pillow, invigorated by the certainty that this is the best time she’s ever had in bed. Peter bites her earlobe as he snatches one of her scrabbling hands and spills into the condom.

He doesn’t help her remake her bed with clean sheets because he claims to be “bad at it.” She’s debating the potential truth of that when he returns with a bowl of popcorn after leaving her alone to do it herself, joins in, and somehow puts a lavender pillowcase on inside out. Michelle sets it right with a laugh and they get back in bed together, popcorn and her laptop playing Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man between them.

She slips away to shower after Peter falls asleep with his head on her lap. When she gets back, she quietly removes the bowl and the laptop. The bed’s a king—she’s used to her space and she doesn’t need to sleep close to him—but Michelle squirms into the warmth his body radiates. He stirs enough to breathe in the scent of her hair, kiss her forehead, and thrust his hand into hers. Confused by the gesture, she frowns at his face, with its softly closed eyes.

“By the way,” Peter mumbles, shaking her hand, “nice to meet you.”

Michelle smiles and pats his arm as he drops it over her, instinctively pulling her close.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Dawn in Your Eyes Part 2

Summary: Alfie has little to no idea why Caroline ever gave him the time of day. The blind woman seemed far too sensible to even speak to him. But soon he finds himself falling helplessly in love.

Part 2: Alfie is confronted. 

Part 1

           Julia Ellner was the only family Caroline had left. Her sister and brother-in-law had been lost to consumption. The young woman was lucky enough to escape becoming sick too. Julia’s parents had left Russia before the worst of the pogroms. They’d settled in Camden Town and became prominent members of the community. When she was eighteen, Julia was married off to a wealthy investor. After he passed, she inherited his estate and made it her mission to do good.

           She could distinctly remember the day she held her niece for the first time. Her sister, Monica, was in tears as she told her what the doctor had said. The beautiful little infant with cloudy gray eyes was blind. It was frustrating to know that there was little they could do. She would face many obstacles and the family had to adjust. Teaching her braille, never letting her out of their sight, and trying to explain why she was born different.

           Then, Julia read about dogs being trained as eyes to the blind. Instantly, she knew what she wanted to do with her time and money as a widow. She gave a bit of independence to Caroline, but now she realized that independence led straight to the most dangerous Jew in Camden Town.

           “Mrs. Ellner.” Ollie’s eyes widened when he saw the older woman walking towards the doors of the bakery. “I uh, Mr. Solomons wasn’t expecting you.”        

           Julia gave him a tight smile. “I’m sure he wasn’t. But he can make time for me.” Being a woman in a man’s world wasn’t easy. But if one knew how to be assertive, it made things a little easier.

           Ollie weighed his options. His employer didn’t like unexpected meetings, but he’d most likely be upset if he found out his assistant had turned her away. “Okay, come with me.” He nodded and led her through the heavy doors.

           Alfie was elbow deep in paperwork. His bookies were being scared off the tracks and he was livid. Tommy Shelby was being a pain in the arse as was Darby Sabini. He wasn’t in the mood for any interactions, distinguished member of the community or not.

           But as far as Julia was concerned, they weren’t on Alfie’s time. So she walked into his office with just a brief knock. Ollie followed with an apologetic look written on his face. He fully expected to get the book thrown at him. Maybe literally.

           Alfie looked up from his papers and frowned. “Mrs. Ellner didn’t think you were on me agenda.”

           “Well, you should’ve been expecting me for quite some time, Mr. Solomons.” She replied and sat down before he could offer an invitation.

           “That right?” Alfie sighed and placed his pen down. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get any work done until she left. He rolled up his sleeves and leaned back in his leather chair.

           With fiery red hair that always skipped a generation in the family, clever eyes and an unbending stature, Julia was always a force to be reckoned with. When it came to her charity work, there wasn’t much to argue about. Alfie made a generous donation semi-annually and they exchanged pleasantries. But the two had their run-ins before. Mostly Alfie disrupting life in Camden. She urged him to clean up his act more than once without much result.

           “My niece is not one of your playthings.” She spoke harshly. The kindness she usually had for donors had flown out the window hours ago when she caught wind of Caroline and Alfie.

           He was too tired for this. But kicking Julia out of his office wouldn’t help his case. “I don’t-”

           She didn’t let him finish. “She is not a whore or whatever you’d like to call the women who go in and out of your flat.”

           Alfie muttered a curse under his breath. He couldn’t do anything without everyone knowing.

           “She is a good, Jewish woman from a good family.” Caroline’s aunt emphasized each word with a rap of her hand against his desk. “And I will not have the likes of you or your men sniffing around her.”

           It was partly amusing to know that there were men that walked the same planet who would never speak to Alfie the way Julia did. But that didn’t matter when Alfie held great respect for the Jewish women of Camden. Especially Julia. Women like his mother who put up with the men around them and still managed to keep a clean house, tend after the kids, go to temple, and have a hot meal on the table each night.

           And Caroline was tempting. Even the thought of her made him involuntarily wince from the ache in his chest. But Julia was right. Fucking sinner like him had no business around her.

           So Alfie simply cleared his throat and nodded. “I apologize, Mrs. Ellner, you won’t see me around her anymore.” He promised. “You can take that as my word.”

           Julia narrowed her eyes and held herself tall in her seat. “I should hope so.” Her demeanor softened ever so slightly when she discovered he wasn’t going to fight her. “You have a good heart, Alfie, but you bring nothing but violence to those around you.”

           He fidgeted with the pen sitting on his desk. He grunted in agreement but decided there was nothing else to be said on the matter.

           “I’ll leave you be.” She stood and gathered her things. “Thank you for seeing me unannounced. I hope to hear from you soon.”

           “Yeah, right.” He ran a hand over his mouth and pointed at the door. “Take a bottle ‘fore you go. As many as you want.” He offered sort of as a peace offering. Least he could do for potentially clouding up the existence of her niece.

           “I don’t drink.”

           “Yeah, neither do I.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           So, Alfie took a different route to work every morning. That meant he had to forgo his daily newspaper, snatching Ollie’s before the poor boy had a chance to look at the headline. But his boss was in a foul mood once his morning routine was adjusted. The best part of his day had been cut off cold turkey.

           It carried on for a week, Alfie’s sour demeanor only worsening. But it came to an end when he came across Caroline standing at the bakery doors come Monday.

           Pilot sat serenely by her side, basking in the bit of sun that escaped the gray clouds in the sky.

           Alfie’s gait hesitated when he saw her and the massive dog by her side. He let out a slow breath and carried on. Couldn’t be blamed if Caroline showed up at his front door, now could he?

           “Take a wrong turn, love?”

           A hint of a smile formed on Caroline’s face when she heard his voice. It had been a long week. She worried after two days of Alfie not showing up to the corner. The boy who sold newspapers to the man had told Caroline he hadn’t seen Alfie either. So at least he wasn’t walking right by her and ignoring her. But he didn’t seem like the type of person to miss even one day of work. So she was afraid something was wrong.

           “Have you’ve been taking Camden Gardens instead of Prowse to avoid me?” She ignored his initial question.

           “Well,” Alfie scratched the back of his neck and leaned on his cane. “Your aunt suggested a longer walk for me health.”

           “Ah.” Caroline nodded, her head tilting slightly. “I figured she would intervene sooner or later. She is…protective.”

           “She’s right, ain’t she?” He furrowed his brow and evaluated the distance between them. Relative to the distance they used to keep. Her arm on his, her shoulder brushing against him. “Don’t think you really get what sort of fucking person I am.”

           Her expression didn’t change. She maintained the calm look of self-assurance. “The kind of a man who would brighten the day of a blind woman? Or the kind of man who would stop to compliment someone’s dog?”

           “I-”

           “Or the kind of man who would treat that woman with more respect than anyone else has in their life. Treating her like she isn’t any different. Like she’s just a person.”

           Alfie had to take a deep breath. “Doesn’t matter, love. Things I’ve done…I’ve no fucking right to involve you in any of it.”

           “How does walking with me involve me in anything?” She retorted. “I hardly see how that’s relevant.”

           “Because you don’t…” He huffed in frustration and paced a few steps. It felt like there was a ball being bounced against a wall over and over again. His reputation was dangerous enough for the people around him. But he was so hesitant to tell Caroline to hit the bricks. “I have men who would be willing to kill you in order to get back at me. Even for something as little as giving them a fucking dirty look.” Maybe brutal honesty would drive her away.

           Caroline didn’t budge. “You wouldn’t let that happen.”

           “Well, no of course not.” He spluttered. It certainly wasn’t the reaction he was counting on. “But if there were even the chance I wouldn’t risk it. Not with you.”

           “So you would risk it with someone else.”

           “No.” He insisted. “Men like me, right, are meant to fucking be alone. Way of the world. Women like you are meant to be kept safe by someone who can keep you safe.”

           Caroline paused for a moment. Her eyes pointed in the direction of his voice but gazing a little bit over his shoulder. Pilot nudged her hand and she gently scratched behind his ears. “Women like me.” She scoffed slightly. “How many times do you think my aunt has tried to offer a dowry for me?”

           Alfie couldn’t answer.

           “But no man wants me as a wife.” Her expression hardened. “Who wants a blind girl as a wife? Someone who can’t…be a proper wife. Someone who always needs looking after. Someone who can’t…can’t even see her own husband or children.” She swallowed and fought back the tears.

           Alfie opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words.

           “When I met you, I figured you were different. People have told me what sort of man you are but those are just words. What do they know?” She sniffled and subtly dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her coat. “You talk about a man who would protect me. When you’re the only man who would even volunteer.” She tugged gently at Pilot’s lead, extending her cane outwards.

           Alfie was taken aback but the words were stuck in his throat. “Caroline-”

           “You enjoy your walk through the gardens.” She turned to leave. “Although I’ve heard that they’re not pretty this time of the year.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           About a week after Alfie single-handedly fucked up one of the best things he had going for him, he was still brooding. Well, brooding was for emotionally stunted men. Like Tommy Shelby. No, he was more…testy. Violent even. Looking for any excuse to let loose some anger he had simmering.

           But it was exhausting. And after the day ended and dusk loomed over the bakery, he had to sit with the loneliness. Never before had he been lonely. Not even when he was bleeding out in a trench, struggling to stand, left to die among the already dead. But after getting just a little taste of companionship, he was hooked. Now he felt empty without Caroline to fill his mornings.

           She was right. The gardens were bleak as the fall withered away into winter. It was a depressing walk, sometimes he simply called for a car, made an excuse that the weather was bothering his hip. Then he sulked in the back seat of the car, demanding Ishmael take the long route along Camden Gardens. But at least the wildlife and trees matched his mood. If it had been spring, he would’ve been grumpy at the weather for being so joyful.

~~~~~~~

          “Is my cousin still cranky or will he be willing to have a chat?”

           Elizabeth Solomons-Levi, despite her lack of sight, was a force to be reckoned with. Only twenty-one, she declined Alfie’s offer to find her a respectful, well off, suitable husband. Instead, she snatched up a young politician from one of London’s most affluent families. Winning him over in just one night with her wit, charm, and beauty. Richard and Alfie didn’t exactly see eye to eye. Mostly because Richard knew exactly what Alfie did for a living and disapproved. As a law-abiding man, he frowned upon his illegal activities. Alfie didn’t like him because he was born with a coin purse stuffed with a never-ending supply of money. Also, politics.

           But Richard cared a great deal for Elizabeth. Showering her with all the wealth she deserved, clearly treating her like the princess he saw her as.

           Alfie was consulting with one of his men when she walked in. Decked out in a new fur coat with a matching cloche hat and a stunning diamond necklace. Her dog, Buck, led her through the hallway, fairly familiar with the building. Although Elizabeth didn’t live too far away, albeit, in a much nicer part of London, she was often busy attending events with her husband or vacationing in the countryside at the Levi estate.

           “Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.” Alfie chose to ignore the comment about his crankiness.

           “Well, when we spoke over the phone I knew something was wrong.” She smiled and reached out a hand when Buck stopped in front of her cousin.

           Alfie offered his arm, escorting her back to his office. “Nothing wrong. Just business as usual.”

           “I may be blind, Alfred, but I’m not stupid.” She retorted.

           He chuckled. He was a teenager when Elizabeth was born and remembered how sad everyone was when they learned of her blindness. They assumed she would never have a life, never get to experience the joys ‘normal’ people did, and would be miserable. But apparently, some souls were made to thrive even with a disability. Alfie often joked that God had to make her blind; otherwise, she would be far too powerful and end up ruling the world before she was thirty.

           Elizabeth often joked about her lack of sight because she liked to hear how uncomfortable it made people. They were taken aback, scolding her, saying she ought to not make fun of her own disability. But Alfie enjoyed her humor. Especially since he knew she had been such a timid little girl, held back by her family’s fear for her future and quality of life.

           It just so happened that when Julia’s charity came to fruition, and Elizabeth received a dog free of charge because of Alfie’s donation, her personality blossomed. She finally had independence and found the woman she was meant to be. This, in turn, led to meeting her husband.

           Alfie pulled out a chair for her and told Cyril to stay behind the desk and away from the Labrador.          

           The mastiff, not as strictly trained as the guide dog, whined and pawed at Alfie, wanting to sniff Buck. But he was ignored and grumbled low as he lay down at Alfie’s feet.

           “Word is that you were seeing Julia’s niece for some time.” Elizabeth set her cane to the side and removed her hat and coat.

           “Weren’t seeing her. Just talked to her. Haven’t seen her in a while.” He muttered and crossed his arms over his chest.

           “I’ve heard she’s beautiful.”

           “Oh fucking hell, you and everyone else making shit out of nothing. Can’t I have a conversation, right, with someone without anyone fucking assuming that I’ve fallen in love with them?” He demanded.

           His cousin simply smirked. “I said nothing about love.”

           The gangster’s face scrunched up in displeasure. “Were implying it.”

           “No, I think you were.” She continued to press when he only responded with a disgruntled grunt. “What’s the matter? She’s a lovely woman, so I’ve heard. Beautiful and Jewish. Loves dogs no doubt. Being blind makes you patient too, heaven knows you’ll need someone patient.” She teased affectionately.

           “Like I said before, ain’t nothing going on.”

           Elizabeth pouted. “Why? You’ve been alone for so long, Alfie. You deserve some happiness.”

           “I’m plenty happy. Fucking happiest man on Earth.” He grumbled but it merely made his cousin laugh.

           “You’re more miserable than I’ve ever seen you. Why don’t you even consider the idea? Settling down?”

           Alfie huffed and cursed Elizabeth’s persistence. “’Cause Julia don’t want me anywhere near her. Can’t blame her. Reason I leave women ‘round here alone and they avoid me.”

           “Because you’re just an awful, horrid, hellish man with a void in place of his heart?” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

           “Well…”

           “You’re not.” She interrupted him before he could argue. “What sort of awful man would make sure his family and his community were well off? What sort of man would donate to Julia’s charity? And other charities for that matter?”

           He dragged a hand through his beard and glanced out the window that separated his office from the rest of the bakery. “None of that fucking matters, now do it? Say I were to entertain the idea, yeah? Everyone I’ve ever had a disagreement with, anyone looking for revenge, right, sees her as a target. Blind girl who’s barely seven stone soaking wet. Fucking destroy me if anything happened to her ‘cause of me.”

           Elizabeth didn’t look swayed in the slightest. “And what am I then, aye?” She challenged. “A politician’s wife, blind as well. But I trust that Richard and his men can keep me safe. As well as Buck.” She smiled and rested a hand on her beloved dog’s head. “And your men too. Do you doubt yourself as someone who can protect? Because you’ve been protecting many people for many years.”

           Alfie rolled his eyes like a child. Sometimes he hated how persuasive and articulate she could be. She was far smarter than most of the men who worked for him. “Yeah? Who?”

           “Well, me, for starters, you daft man.” She replied firmly.

           “Fucking great job I did, didn’t I? Married to a politician.”

           Elizabeth chuckled and shook her head. “I’m sure if you didn’t trust him, he would’ve disappeared before the wedding.”

           That was true but Alfie kept quiet. Those plans would still be in motion if Richard were ever to harm or abuse his cousin. “So what?”

           “So, I’m saying is if there’s a woman out there you fancy, then who’s to say you can’t protect her?”  

           “Her aunt.” He argued and stood up. “I’ve got a meeting soon, Liz, I can’t talk much longer.”

           “Alright then.” His cousin ceded and picked up her cane. She thanked Alfie as he handed over her hat and helped her into her coat. “By the way, is Caroline employed?” She wondered.

           “No, think she does some work for the charity.” He shrugged. “Julia’s afraid something would happen to her.” He told Cyril to stay in the office as he opened the door. His cousin rested her hand on his arm while they walked back into the main hallway.

           “She could liaison for Richard and the charity. He’s looking to donate money to hopefully allow Julia to expand further out into London.”

           “Well, Julia can help with that.” They stopped at the front doors.

           “I’m sure she could but it would be nice to have someone who’s a bit more like me to help.” Elizabeth adjusted the fur-lined cuffs of her coat and untucked her hair from beneath her collar. “Perhaps you can ask if she’d be interested.”

           Alfie was perplexed at her proposition. “Or you could, ain’t that far. Sure you’ve got Julia’s number.”

           “I’m a very busy woman, Alfie. You’re closer than I am and I’m sure you’d enjoy the walk over.” She smiled playfully.

           He groaned and opened the doors for her. “Go on, scram. Had enough of your scheming.”

           She laughed as she headed towards the expensive car waiting for her on Bonnie Street. “See you later, cousin.”

           “And stop fucking going ‘round wearing your diamonds!” He called after her. “Someone’s gonna mug you!”

           The driver of the car helped Elizabeth into the car, greeting her by her married name. Buck jumped into the backseat with her, curling up on the leather seat beside her and resting his head in her lap.

           She grinned and stuck her head out the window. “I’d like to see them try, Alfie.”

Masterlist

[musingsofsaturn]

Opening Up [Kristanna ‘Waitress’ AU] - Chapter Six

[Masterlist for this fic]

Fandom: Frozen/Frozen II

Ship: Anna/Kristoff

Side Pairings: Anna/Hans, Elsa/Honeymaren, Bulda/Cliff

Chapters: 10/10 [COMPLETE]

Rating: M

This Chapter’s Rating: M for sexual references

This Chapter’s Word Count: 2,400+

Summary:  Waitress and baker Anna Westergaard’s life changed forever when she discovered some startling news. Dr Kristoff Bjorgman didn’t anticipate liking his new patients quite as much as he did. For better or worse, the residents of the small town of Småby Bend were about to be changed forever.

Author’s Note: Hellooooo! This chapter was originally supposed to be smutty, but I ended up preferring it being 'implied sex' rather than 'explicit sex'. I hope you like it too!

~ Saturn

[Picture from Sally’s Baking Addiction. This chapter’s recipe is Salted Caramel Apple Pie - enjoy!]

It was only a couple of days before Anna was able to leave the house late one night. In a drunken stupor, Hans had fallen asleep well before her, and she knew that he wouldn’t have woken if she set off a siren in his ear. Now was her chance, and she wouldn’t squander it.

She’d had plenty of opportunities to rethink paying Kristoff a visit, to decide that the risk was too great, or that she loved her husband after all and couldn’t bear to go through with this betrayal. Instead, she’d worked on memorising Kristoff’s address as she pored over pie fillings and pastry, and daydreamed about what would happen when she finally got her chance to escape to him.

Despite Hans’ heavy snoring, she was careful and quiet as she opened the door and slipping outside, locking it behind her. It was the middle of the night, and Anna knew that no one was going to be around, but she kept her head low and her coat’s hood up as she walked nonetheless. If anyone saw her, she’d tell them she couldn’t sleep and had stepped out for some fresh air. No one would ever know the truth.

The streets of Småby Bend were familiar to her, and she made her way quickly to the street she’d memorised from Kristoff’s address. It wasn’t far; maybe just a ten-minute walk. She had ten minutes to stop herself. Ten minutes in which she could turn back at any time. And yet she pressed on.

She knew with absolute certainty that she knew which house number belonged to him, and yet she hesitated at the door. What if this was all just some sick joke and he’d given her the wrong address? Worse, what if it was an elaborate plan to show Hans that his distrust of her had been well-placed all these years? If Hans knew she had come here, Anna felt certain that she wouldn’t survive his wrath.

But Kristoff was so caring. He was gentle, and tender. And when he kissed her, she felt something she hadn’t experienced in years. Anna thought of Bulda’s words: ‘You deserve to feel alive.’ She quietly rapped on the door.

“Anna?” Kristoff asked as he pulled the door open.

“Yeah, it’s me. Hi.”

He smiled at her softly. “Hi. Do you- would you like-” He sighed at himself and opened the door wider as Anna giggled. “Come in.”

She stepped into the house, watching almost sheepishly as Kristoff closed the door behind her. He turned back to her, and for a moment they just watched each other in silence. Finally, Kristoff said, “I don’t know what we do now.”

A surprised bubble of laughter escaped Anna’s throat before she could register to stop it, and she was relieved to see that Kristoff was chuckling as well. “Me neither,” she admitted to him. She stepped closer, taking his hand in her own. “Let’s just start slow.”

He nodded in agreement. “Can I kiss you?”

In answer, Anna wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her and pressing her lips to his. In her head, she’d imagined it being a bit smoother than it was in reality, but Kristoff didn’t seem to mind being bashed around a bit as he returned her kiss eagerly.

Anna threaded her fingers through the shorter strands of hair at Kristoff’s neck, and he groaned against her at the sensation. She felt his hands on her back, softly running up her spine in a way that made her shiver and sigh.

She pulled away to catch her breath, and Kristoff pressed a couple of sloppy kisses to her neck. Her head fell back as she enjoyed the feeling of knowing that all his attention was on her. Hans hadn’t shown her this much affection since he lost his job, and she hadn’t realised how much she missed this feeling until now.

Eagerly, her hands slid to his hips, dipping under his t-shirt to touch the toned flesh that lay underneath. A surge of pride shot through her when she felt him shudder at her touch, and she tugged at the shirt until he took the hint and ceased his attentions on her neck to step back and raise his arms. She pulled it over his shirt, recovering as smoothly as she could when it caught on his chin, and briefly wondered whether it would be polite to fold it slightly and put it on the nearby table. Luckily, she didn’t have the chance to embarrass herself by doing so, as Kristoff took it from her hands and tossed it to the floor behind them.

Anna took a moment to appreciate his strong arms, his muscular torso, and the light tan that graced his skin. He had a layer of fine hair on his chest, which was soft beneath her fingers as her hands moved to his chest just as she leaned in to place a series of kisses along his collarbone.

He reached for her, grasping at her firmly as he lifted her into the air. Startled, Anna reacted by wrapping her legs around his waist and clinging on to her shoulders for dear life. She laughed into his neck at her own reaction, and she felt him chuckling into her hair as he moved to press her back against the nearest wall.

As his body pressed against hers, Anna felt a pang of fear at the back of her mind. She felt suddenly vulnerable, trapped. This feeling of being under Kristoff’s control was bringing up memories of Hans belittling, bullying, and beating her without mercy. She tried to shake it off, to remember that was Kristoff, and she was safe with him.

Sensing that something had changed, Kristoff paused. “Anna, are you alright?”

In over a decade-long relationship, Hans hadn’t asked her that question once. Not as she had become quiet and reserved, not when she stiffened at his touch, not when her eyes were puffy and her nose was red and her cheeks were still damp with tears. Even when she had been so obviously not alright, he didn’t check on her in the way Kristoff just had, and all Kristoff had to go off was a dampening to her enthusiasm.

And that made all the difference to Anna. She felt seen, respected, and safe for the first time in years. If she hadn’t already made up her mind, that moment of gentle concern for her would have solidified her decision.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m better than alright.”

“You’re sure? We can stop whenever, hell, feel free to just slap me across the face if I go too far-”

She silenced his nervous chattering with a kiss that was heavy with desire. She grinded her hips against him, smiling when he groaned slightly and she felt just how much he wanted her. The sound awakened something in her. She felt confident, and sexy, and she was determined that he would know it.

Her breath ghosted across his ear as she whispered hotly, “Let’s move this to the bedroom.”

Given the pace at which he carried her there, Kristoff was all too happy to oblige.

 ~

 The weeks that followed fell into a routine that was far from perfect, but one Anna was happy to stick to.

In the mornings, she’d arrive at the café early, and set to work on the pies for that day. Her flavour inspirations had turned her to sweet combinations. The Snøffnug Café’s customers came to expect that there would always be a perfectly formed fruit pie served with heavy cream, or a salted caramel or peanut butter tart with a dollop of whipped cream on the top, or a rich chocolatey dessert drizzled with a fudge sauce that melted in the mouth.

Most afternoons, Anna would see Honeymaren seated in her usual seat, asking for coffee refills as often as she could just to give Elsa an excuse to talk with her. Elsa had always had niche interests; the woman could talk about architecture, the American revolution, and astrology for hours. On more than one occasion, Anna saw Honeymaren reading a book on any of these topics and more, and Anna was delighted to see someone making such an effort to engage in her friend’s interests and really get to know her.

Since that first day when Honeymaren arrived, Elsa had mellowed considerably, and anyone could see the attraction and affection that existed between the two women. They were taking it slow, so were reluctant to call each other their ‘girlfriend’ yet, but Anna knew that it was only a matter of time.

She would smile to herself whenever Bulda made a quick-witted comment to Cliff, knowing now the flirtation that lay behind it, and the reason she was never scolded too harshly. On her way out of the café when it was time for closing, she would notice every time Bulda and Cliff made an excuse to stay behind, and would shoot both of them a knowing look as she left to give them privacy. Bulda had separated from her husband for good when she’d come home to find that his lack of discretion had surpassed all expectations and he’d taken Gerda to bed right when his wife’s shift ended. Anna didn’t understand why Bulda and Cliff didn’t just openly admit to being together, but she supposed that the excitement of having a secret was too good for them to give up just yet.

Anna saved money wherever she could. When Hans asked how much she’d earned in tips that day, she always gave an answer that was about five dollars short. That way, when he counted the money she gave him after work, he was blissfully unaware of some missing money. Anna had taken to hiding it wherever she could – taped under drawers, stuffed in the cushions on the sofa, tucked into a box of laundry detergent. She was careful, and organised, and she was only around twenty dollars short of her entry fee for the Arendelle Pie Contest, with over two weeks until the deadline for entries. She knew she was going to make it.

Hans hadn’t raised a hand to her in over five months. Anna knew that it was terrible that it had happened with such frequency before then, that her husband could even consider hurting her, but she couldn’t help but feel grateful to him for refraining from it. The beautiful little bump (which was now rather visible, though she still had two months until her due date), had the effect of making Hans gentler, less reactive. He didn’t care if he hurt Anna, that much was true. But it seemed that he cared if he hurt baby, and that had granted Anna a calm reprieve.

As often as once a week, Hans’ drinking would cause him to pass out, sprawled sloppily over their bed, or the sofa, and once, the kitchen floor. And when that happened, Anna would leave the house in the dead of night, softly knock on Kristoff’s door, and experience pleasure like she’d never felt before.

In the months since their first night together, Anna had mapped every inch of Kristoff’s body. She had counted all his freckles, could draw the outline of a birthmark on his hip from memory, and had delighted in discovering what he called a ‘regrettable’ heart tattoo in a rather tender spot. And he knew her body just as intimately; Anna thought there wasn’t a place on her that hadn’t been explored by his hands or his mouth.

She had pulled a symphony of sounds from him, and knew exactly how to touch him when she wanted to hear her favourites. As she grew in confidence with him, she grew in volume, and learned that all it took was a skilled set of hands to have her keening and moaning without a care of who could hear. And Kristoff was all too willing to coax out sounds from her that she hadn’t known she could even produce.

Anna grew to recognise the smell of his skin, and delighted when it lingered in her hair or clothes hours after she left. She was lucky that Hans was too much of a drunken fool to notice how his wife had begun to take on the sweet, musky scent of another man, one who was far more adept at pleasing and satisfying her every desire.

Afterwards, when they lay together in Kristoff’s bed, breathless, and sweaty, and sated for the time being, Anna thought that the sensation of being held and having someone whisper sweet nothings and idle chatter in her ears was better than anything else. There was a sweet comfort and familiarity in having Kristoff’s strong arms wrapped around her, his hands resting lightly on her belly. There in the afterglow, they would discuss everything from their childhoods, to their life’s ambitions, to what superpower they’d have if they had to choose just one.

Customers had taken to pointing out how well pregnancy suited her – “You’ve really got that glow!” one old lady had cooed at her. Anna was happy to smile and thank them, say how excited she was to meet her baby, or how she felt like she could pop at any moment. But on the inside, she knew that baby was only half the cause of her glow, and the other factor was the delicious secret she shared with Småby Bend’s most handsome doctor.

Yes, Anna was glowing. And for the first time in forever, she felt genuinely content. It was like she’d been underwater for years, and suddenly she’d come to the surface and could finally breathe.

Truly, she was happy, but her new routine would come to a crashing halt down one humdrum Thursday afternoon.

The bell above the door jingled as it opened, and Hans strode towards Anna at the counter with a face of thunder. He grabbed her arm, digging his fingers into the flesh through her dress sleeve. The café fell silent as he all but dragged her to the door, ignoring her startled protestations of, “Hans, my shift isn’t over.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he told her as he slammed the door behind them. “We’re going home. Now.”

He didn’t let go of her for the entire walk back, and Anna could feel the fury coming off him as he fumbled and dropped the keys at their front door. Finally, he got it open, and he roughly shoved her inside.

“You pathetic fucking bitch.” Anna was shaking as he towered over her, his voice full of venom as he told her, “You had better have a good explanation for what I found out today.”

Next Chapter

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on TRH Book 1 Chapter 14

• Funny how the TRH team so desperately needed to spend close to half the book on mindless nonsense with Drake's family...and just a single chapter on the MC's entire first trimester. Via a 6 minute long time jump. Truly funny.

• So now that we're back in Cordonia, the pregnancy is underway, and we're finally getting into the meat of past intrigue, most of the fandom has this for a reaction:

It's a legitimate reaction, the story is moving forward...but the denim-clad, whiskey-guzzling problem that is the root of this whole mess - and the reason why the Walker Ranch portion took so long the way no other place in the series ever has...that problem still exists. It exists in a large, insidious way, and even while we're rejoicing the return to intrigue we might not always notice how even that is rife with issues. But more on that later.

• If you want avoid seeing these posts on your dash, these are the tags to blacklist: #trh quick thoughts, #trh qts, #trh qt reblogs, and #long post.

• Screenshots:

Hana: @aestheticsayeed (photoshoot) and the Abhirio YouTube channel.

Maxwell: @itsbrindleybinch and the rash rec YouTube channel

Drake: @thefirstcourtesan

Liam: @callmetippytumbles (photoshoot), the SavageLordBarlow YouTube channel, and me.

• Title: The Announcement

Alternative Title: Let's Cram One of The Most Important Part Of The Book Into A 6 Minute Montage!

Alternative to Alternative Title: What We Really Wanted to Title This Book - The Royal Yeehaw.

• I'm hoping that with each chapter where you're shown a scan or something that's considered a milestone in pregnancy, I can come out with a corresponding tiny story of my own! Let's see if that works out.

• So...I had my first actual ultrasound at 7 weeks (first time we heard a heartbeat) but the real fun one was the 12 week scan! By then you can see hands and legs (the ultrasound pic the writers chose for this chapter was...eh), and the kids can definitely feel them (not see - yet)...and they're going to use those limbs like nobody's business starting from then 😂

My 12 week scan took around 45 minutes to happen coz Baby V was jumping and kicking all over the place (not that I could actually feel any of it yet lol), and the poor doc wasn't getting clear enough images of her as a result 😅 When we finally saw her she was in all her energy-fueled glory, kicking up a storm (she's a cat-loving kindergartner now and she still kicks exactly like that 😅😅)

My mum had come down to visit and for some good ol' TLC, so she accompanied me inside the room. To date she insists she saw V wave at her 😁

• Back to the story - Madeleine has booked a press conference without our approval (still sucks at her job, I see) and we're left hoping to make lemonade out of those lemons she's thrown our way.

• We can choose to either be excited about announcing it, or worrying about putting the news out too early in case something happens in the first trimester. With the last option, the answers vary depending on who you married and therefore what your title is. If you are Queen, Liam reminds you that a public and accelerated timetable is a part of the price of royal life (still not a good enough excuse for Madeleine to fix this press-con without our approval). If you are Duchess, either Maxwell (or Hana in Maxwell's playthrough) tell us it's too early to start worrying. Bottomline is the MC is persuaded to view this as a good opportunity to celebrate.

• We are give three options for venue, suggested by Liam, Drake and Hana respectively - Hana suggests the royal ballroom since it's where the most important announcements are done, Drake suggests the less-stuffy palace grounds and Liam (of course, since that garden was his mother's pet project!) suggests the gardens. You then get to choose how you want to make an entrance:

(The screenshots are from the following:

1st row - @itsbrindleybinch Maxwell playthrough

2nd row - Mine

3rd row - The SavageLordBarlow YouTube channel, Liam playthrough. Their Liam is called "Dennis")

• Madeleine balks at the idea of a royal event turning into a rock concert, as if one of the most iconic images of Buckingham Palace in the 21st century wasn't Brian May of Queen rocking it out on his homemade guitar on the rooftop.

• Arrangements done, now it's time for THE DRESS. We have a wine-red chiffon ensemble with pearls on the neckline and a jeweled belt. It's called "Apple of My Eye", because presumably no one does apple analogies to symbolize fertility quite like Cordonia does.

• In addition to being Duchess, if you are Queen, you have the additional option of choosing a tiara. We were last able to do this during the ball in the TRR Book 3 finale, before we were honoured with the Champion of the Realm title. This is something you can only access if you are Queen.

• We reach the venue we have chosen, with the entrance we have chosen, and we can either choose to announce formally, or yell it from the top of our lungs. Nobody cares coz they're too happy there's an apple pie baking in that oven ��

• Among the press we see the usual people: Ana, Donnie, Samir aaaaaand Brad from PM/Smoothie Star Thad from Platinum. He expects pregnant women to have baby bumps from the moment of conception.

• What's he going to be called this time? Chad? 😂

• For a dude who is mostly a spy-journo, he's doing a terribly poor job of hiding it. He doesn't do his research on pregnancy timelines, immediately jumps up to ask a question when the topic turns to that of the alliances with Auvernal and Monterisso, and gets caught pretty easily. He's probably also the dude who was upto something on our honeymoon, taking pictures of us and gathering information on our whereabouts. Whichever country got him on board for this, really needs to rethink their hiring process.

• Donnie has the one brain cell existing among the press and uses it to ask us why we're announcing so early. You can either choose to claim that you wanted the Cordonian people to know asap, or be honest if you didn't want this to happen (to which Madeleine gives you an "apologetic shrug"). The third option has the MC claiming she wants to shed a light on, and be honest about, the entire experience of pregnancy, even if it does result in a miscarriage - which Samir notes as being a noble endeavor.

• With regards to the alliances, we don't give a clear answer yet, but we do hint at what we're looking for when we finally take that call (strength, understanding, advantage for Cordonia). The LI also gets to briefly highlight their sentiments at this point, and show different reactions - Liam has tears in his eyes, Drake can't stop grinning, Hana squeezes her wife's hand and Maxwell screams WE'RE HAVING A BABYYY.

• Additionally, if you're married to an LI other than Liam, the press asks him what will happen if he decides to have children somewhere down the line. He maintains that the MC's child will have the first right to the throne, even over his future children - effectively writing his own bloodline out of that throne if he isn't married yet. Which...well, we knew this was coming. We knew they weren't going to change this. It's disappointing, but not surprising, that they chose this route.

• Once the press meet is over, we get felicitations from different guests, mostly from the Council:

- Duke Landon of Portavira: Compliments the couple by calling them 'glowing' and wishes them well. Penelope plans to design something for the child, and Kiara promises to talk her out of placing too many dog motifs.

- Duke Godfrey of Karlington/Krona: Gives the couple a formal paying-of-respects, and hopes for more dignified attire for the heir (shut up Godfrey Not Gao, I had to waltz in a MINI-DRESS at your goddamn home 🤬).

- Queen Mother Regina: This varies between the Liam playthrough and other playthroughs, obviously, because in the Liam one she is his stepmother and obviously there is that closeness. In all the others, she is warm and friendly, congratulates the happy couple, insists they call her Regina rather than "Your Majesty" (there is a brief moment where married!Maxwell is confused about whether to call her "Your Majesty" or "Your Grace") and assures them that she will always be ready to provide for the "kingdom's heir". Liam's interactions require a more personal touch, so he hugs Regina before the MC can opt to, and she calls their child her grandchild as well. Liam and Regina moments are rare to come by, so I'm happy whenever I get to see them. I also haven't seen her since the book has begun, so I'm chuffed that she's there (pls don't make her knowingly part of the plot pls pls).

- Lord Barthelemy of Ramsford: Has to make everything about him wherever he goes! His felicitations to us lasts all of ten seconds while his attention towards Donnie and Samir takes up all of his time. He manages to score an interview with both of them. The most interesting part isn't that, though. It's the comment he makes about Regina as she leaves: "she always was a generous one..." - now what's THAT supposed to mean?

• Hakim is neither on the Council, nor is he shown here. I'd like to believe Kiara's family have distanced themselves from the group because the MC doesn't deserve the honour of their presence, but we know it's more likely coz the writers would much rather write Kiara and her family out of the story. Which is a pity because they're the most amazing family Cordonia has.

• Madeleine now comes forward, suggesting to us to follow the tradition of getting a royal announcement of their pregnancy done. This is done in a fashion similar to our Engagement Photoshoot, but with our own choice of clothes and less variations overall.

- Our attire is pretty much anything we'd like to pick out from the closet, as long as it's been already paid for. The LIs on the other hand have three different options for their outfits:

Liam gets his outfit from the TRR3 finale, his Costume Gala outfit and his official outfit. Oddly his outfits have titles like the MC's does.

Hana gets her Costume Gala flower dress, her plain black dress and her usual pink one.

Maxwell gets his Costume Gala squid outfit, his black suit and his usual Gucci shirt.

Drake gets his Costume Gala blue brocade, his official grey suit and his usual denim.

- What I can't understand is why her muted black dress is always touted as the formal garb for Hana, when they could easily allow her to wear that gorgeous black traditional outfit of hers. That could have been an option for this shoot. But no, they decided to arbitrarily code that one and block access to it if you didn't pay, even though Lorelai had apologized to Hana and therefore her outfit should have been coming back to her!

- I've said it before and I'll say it again: the decision to pay wall that entire outfit, considering it was taken away from her in an act of abuse and intimidation - and it should have been by all accounts returned to her when Lorelai apologized whether we paid for that scene or not - is sickening. Shame on you PB.

- Once we are ready with our outfits, we meet Ana in the throne room, and she's busy preparing an announcement sign to place in front of the couple. We take a couple minutes to admire the sign, then proceed to posing for Ana. If you took the engagement photoshoot in Book 2 or 3, it's referenced at the beginning. Each couple's scene here is unique:

(Screenshots: Hana's from the Abhirio YouTube channel, Maxwell's from the rash rec YouTube channel, Drake's from @thefirstcourtesan and Liam's from mine).

Liam

Ana begins by suggesting the couple take their places in their thrones, looking at each other. Though the photo is great - glamourous and dignified - Liam and the MC aren't quite feeling the shot. The MC isn't fond of the idea of sitting so far away from Liam, and Liam agrees, telling Ana that he finds the pose too stiff - and that above being King and Queen of the country they are also a couple deeply in love, and their child is not simply an heir but a sign of their love for each other. So the ensuing picture is warm and filled with joy.

Once Ana leaves, Liam tells the MC about how his own parents did exactly such a photoshoot when they were expecting him, and how much more he understands them - now that he is going to be a father.

Hana

There is a warmth and a sweetness to the first shot itself - a simple one that has them simply looking into each other's eyes - that Ana tells them she knows their child will be brought up in a loving home.

For the second shot, Hana asks the MC whether she'd rather have a shot alone, and offers to move out. Possibly because the MC - married to Hana or not - constantly makes everything revolve around her and constantly pushes Hana and her issues to the background like they're not important. I'm sure Hana got that impression from you somewhere, MC.

The MC, however, is surprised by this and insists she be part of the picture. She can choose to either say that this baby belongs to both of them or that without her it wouldn't be a good picture. The MC who is married to her insists she understand her value in their relationship (yeah it took you three and a half books to realize that LMAO), and that Hana belongs with her. She should never think of herself as belonging to the sidelines again, ever (maybe you should work harder on convincing her, MC, because everything you've done until now was mostly all about you and very little about Hana).

The dialogue after Ana leaves is sweet and romantic, with the MC telling Hana her hair smells of roses and Hana and the MC clinking imaginary champagne glasses, before Hana stops her in mock-surprise and promises a real (non-alcoholic) drink back in Valtoria.

Maxwell

Ana finishes the sign and gets ready for the shoot. Maxwell holds a formal pose on his knees that places more attention on the MC, adopting a severe, sombre expression. This surprises Ana, but the MC clearly knows what's up and wants him to relax. To help him, the MC distracts him (pretend you're Bertrand/imagine me naked) and that mental exercise energizes him enough so he can do this shoot in a more relaxed manner.

Once Ana packs up, Maxwell and the MC stay behind to talk, chatting about the excitement level in the kingdom and (optionally) how that excitement can't match their own (Maxwell speaks of constantly having adrenaline at this point). They jokingly speculate on the unsolicited advice they will get, and Maxwell cracks a joke about how as Bertrand's brother he was brought up on a diet of unsolicited advice. Relaxed and happy, the couple return home.

Drake

The couple see the sign Ana made, and like it because it's dignified but not too much. To which Ana responds that she didn't want to presume too much about their tastes. The shoot begins with the MC trying to think of all the pregnancy announcements she has ever seen (including one where a man yells into a breast pump like it's a telephone) and worries and becomes nervous over how to do this - and Drake calms her down by telling her a simple pose would do the trick, and most of all, to "focus on us". This calms the MC down, and she nails the simple pose alongside Drake.

The ensuing conversation between the two expands on what Drake said, where they refer to themselves as a good balance between dignified and "regular". There's a clear indication of how far they have come from that first photoshoot in this scene.

Aaaaaand...CLICK!

(Screenshots: @callmetippytumbles for Liam, @aestheticsayeed for Hana, the rash rec YouTube channel for Maxwell and @thefirstcourtesan for Drake)

• This scene is good in two routes, and not so great in two.

• The MC and her spouse go back to Valtoria, where the MC takes rest and the LI takes care of her. She can give in to her cravings (huge turkey leg, cheetah cakes, omelettes or fancy unpronounceable food), but a few weeks later she experiences a lot of nausea, to the point where she might (optionally) tell the LI that it's the worst thing they've ever done (completely normal, I assure you. A pregnant woman's hormones are unpredictable af). Both corgis (if you've bought them) help her and do their fair share of doting on her, and the LI in their own way tries to help.

• Based on who you haven't married, you get various scenes of your friends helping out:

- Liam: offers all kinds of help but the suggestion that stands out is a chicken soup recipe that belonged to his mother.

- Hana: makes a playlist of all kinds of music tracks to get mother and baby through the first trimester, including the TRH Lullaby tune which is now canonically Hana's composition. She's chosen artists from all over the world, and recorded a few of her own tracks in cases where she isn't satisfied. She also has a second trimester playlist coming up!

- Maxwell: aka the man who wrote a story about the MC but put HIS face in the cover, offers to let the MC vicariously live through him by giving her a voucher (the Maxwell Vicarious Vivacity Simulator 3000) that ensures that whenever she craves to do or have something not allowed for her, Maxwell does it on her behalf. The LI jokes about how that's a lot of power to give a person.

- Drake: Asks after the MC's welfare, and is given a choice of two things to do - either he can bring her ice-cream, or tell her the story of how the boys created their barbershop quartet so many years ago. He's perhaps the only LI who is given options for pampering the MC as a friend.

- Madeleine: The only person outside of our LIs (and later Olivia) who has an extra scene prior to the MC's ultrasound scan, is Madeleine. She gives the MC a Cordonian Ruby, explaining that it helps with nausea and that Liam's mother would swear by it. She looks concerned...and her words to the MC about making sure she takes care of herself, almost sound a bit of a warning.

Given what we find out later on in the chapter, both this sequence and the sequence where Bartie Sr comments on Regina have been placed there for a reason. Madeleine definitely knows something and there's a possibility she will have a flashback scene of her own.

If you bought the red pandas in Book 3, they will be clamouring around Madeleine for the apples as well.

• I have to laugh at how completely written out of the larger story Kiara and her family are. Even Penelope who is a non-entity and who only had something of value to give to the story when she was being a lying backstabbing snake, somehow manages to have a father in the Council and a promise of a future storyline. After all that the TRR team put Kiara through, I wouldn't even say Kiara deserves a better story. No, what I'd say is she (and Hana, definitely Hana) deserve better writers.

• I mean, you can call it a coincidence anymore, the fact that the women that the story gives the most material and most attention to, are the white women.

• This thread of sequences comes full-circle with a scene where the MC and LI sit by the lake, and where they're both shown finally coming to terms with the MC's nausea and using the tart apples as a way to make things better for the MC. There's a sweet scene in there where the LI kisses both mother and baby.

• We're finally ready to meet Dr Ramirez, and to get an ultrasound done. Olivia and her new...chauffeur, Roy, will be serving as security detail for this occasion. Wonder when we'll find out what Roy is helping her with.

• She gives you a dagger...which we might maybe end up threatening to use the next chapter? I'm guessing Olivia already has an inkling of something going down at the doctor's, since she indicates that we will know when we'll need to use it.

• Depending on whether or not you revealed the pregnancy to her last chapter, her dialogue changes. She makes a mention of it if you have. She's genuinely happy about the pregnancy, and wanted to wish the MC in person.

• Both Liam and Olivia wait outside while the MC and LI have their time with Dr Ramirez, if you're married to one of the other LIs.

• Dr Ramirez mentions that "the first few months have been treating you well"...which indicates that the MC is at least 12 weeks along (10 according to the calculations of certain countries, that count from conception onwards. Dr Ramirez also confirms this during the scan), since that's when you do the nuchal translucency scan. It usually takes place at the end of your first trimester. Which means we've effectively covered the MC's entire first three months in the span of 1/4th of a chapter, actually (considering the entire montage is approx just over 6 minutes).

• Dr Ramirez then lets slip a little factoid about Liam's mother, which baffles the couple because Liam himself never had any knowledge of this. She speaks of Eleanor's fondness for apple tea during her pregnancy and how much trouble she had with her nausea.

• Cordonian Rubies and apple tea have both been mentioned on the TRH loading page.

• If Liam isn't your LI, you call him and Olivia back to the room and ask him about this new development, and he confirms that Dr Ramirez was never mentioned in the official records, as well as the fact that she had a relatively easy pregnancy with Liam (if your LI is Liam, though, Olivia returns to the room on her own, stating that the doctor mentioned something about tea to one of the interns). But the conversation takes Olivia back to a very vague memory, and of course she needs us to go back and make sense of it. Which leads us to our first Olivia flashback!

- I have a feeling Olivia's childhood gown might be the groundwork for maybe a Theodosia outfit in TRM? Just a small guess. IDK.

- Olivia gives us a timeline for this particular incident - it was a few months after they left the Walker Ranch. As we recall, Eleanor was showing some early signs of not feeling too well, and had arguments with Constantine at the time. So if Eleanor was already pregnant by that time, she was clearly close to finishing/past her first trimester by this point.

- The setting of the scene is a mock-battle between Olivia (who plays a knight) and Drake (who plays a dragon, and they use TCaTF Dom's dragon sprite to establish how Olivia imagines him in this game). Some Dom-Drake parallels going on there.

- No matter what you choose, Olivia wins. She can either destroy the ice blast or deflect it with a fan, defeat + kill the dragon or feed him meat so he will forever be beholden to her. Either way, the options work out for her.

- At this point, possibly because nothing has really happened to Drake yet, Olivia and Drake share a pretty decent rapport. They're not thick as thieves or anything (and Olivia confirms that they were "barely" friends and turned to each other as playmates only when Liam wasn't around, if you choose to ask), but they tolerated each other enough to have fun playing while Liam is away.

- During this time, conveniently, Liam is having "lessons". Nice job writing Liam out of his own story yet again, PB (I'll explain this later). The scene is clearly centered on Olivia, with some focus on Drake via the mystery of Jackson's talk with Eleanor.

- Liam is with his mother, worried about how sick she is and wanting her company since he gets so little of it these days. And it is likely not too long before he loses her forever. My heart breaks in advance for the little guy.

-

Loads to unpack here!

* The first time I read this scene, it gave me serious Adriana-Leon vibes. It still does. Adriana has that scene where she wants to be open about her affair with Leon, and Leon declines. There's a familiarity between the two - notice how they address each other on a first name basis even though she is a queen and this was likely a time when titles and station were even more important. There is a familiarity in the way he insists on her time while Constantine is away, and despite the fact that Liam hasn't been able to spend much time with her.

* True, that familiarity is something that could also exist between close friends, the "sneaking around" could be Jackson trying to keep his BFF's secret from the king of the country. But you can't deny the Adriana-Leon parallels there.

* There is a possibility that someone else could be the father. One possibility that comes to mind for me is Bastien, mostly because his fondness for Eleanor and disdain for Regina don't exactly add up if he wasn't King Guard until Jackson died, and clearly didn't seem to have much of a relationship with the royal family otherwise that we know of. But it could work with his storyline: he gets Eleanor pregnant, she dies shortly after, Jackson takes the fall for keeping her secret and his family doesn't get the compensation they deserve, Bastien helps the children and maintains a close relationship with Drake partly because he feels responsible for Jackson's death, and he atones by following every order of Constantine's, including one that harms the foreign commoner woman that Liam was about to choose.

* Buuuut. The fact that Bastien has pretty much disappeared and is hardly even mentioned, makes this even less of a possibility, because buildup is important.

* In Jackson's case I guess the thing that doesn't entirely add up is how close Jackson and Bianca are spoken of as being. We never actually see them as a couple, but Drake gives us plenty of stories about them and their love for each other - to the point where Drake tells his dad he wants to find a girl to love as much as his father loves his mother...and Jackson unironically agrees. It's a small detail, but I think it's something that may indicate Jackson is a red herring as well.

* In conclusion, I don't know 😂

* "It's likely just hyperemesis gravidarum" 🤦🏽‍♀🤦🏽‍♀. Just? Juuuuust? That's...a serious condition. It's not just extreme vomitting or morning sickness (though that is awful too) - oftentimes it means you can't even hold fluid down, it means dehydration, it means a loss of electrolytes and even nutrient deficiency...to the point where you might even need to be hospitalized (Kate Middleton, Duchess of Cambridge, had this condition with all three of her pregnancies and was hospitalized in 2012 when she was pregnant with Prince George). I'm guessing Jackson doesn't know what the fuck those words even mean if that's his reaction!

* What should Eleanor and Jackson be prepared for?

* What are these two fearing besides Constantine discovering about this child?

* Do they know Godfrey and Bartie Sr have something or the other planned? I mean if Madeleine knew about the pregnancy there is clearly a chance she heard it from one of them. Were those two guys their main concern, and why they went alone to talk? Eleanor doesn't seem to have much trust in the Great Houses the way Constantine does, and seeing Bertrand's flashback scenes she'd be right to worry.

* How long after this did Eleanor die? Because yes there is a possibility that her second child may exist, but that depends on when the plot to poison her succeeded. And if she was far along enough to carry the child to term, or even give birth prematurely, how is it that not even the children in the palace had a clue? (the adults I can see as covering this up but it's possible to have SOME hint from the kids!). So I'm having a tough time with the idea that she managed to give birth before dying, or even that she managed to survive - unless someone was out there acting like Monte Cristo and giving her something that appeared to have the same symptoms as poison but was actually some lifesaving elixir idek. This team is capable of anything. They've retconned a zillion things so far so I wouldn't put it past them to completely retcon this as well.

- The kids have a chance of being caught by Jackson, if Olivia doesn't manage to find a good hiding place and hides behind Drake instead. But if you do succeed in hiding, we get to see Eleanor promise to spend more time with him, which Liam accepts with the grace he is usually known for.

-

@thefirstcourtesan has spoken before about the Nevrakis family's views on openly showing your pain in public, citing Diavolos' dialogues, but it also reminds me of that scene where we can defend Olivia against Lucretia, stating to her that having allies and friends to fall back on is not weakness, but common sense. The fact that little Olivia views crying as the worst thing that she could be doing, and the shock the adult Olivia shows at the MC's matter-of-fact statement on the value of support - as if such a thing had never even occurred to her - says plenty about the impact of those initial five years being the Nevrakis heir.

* What amazes me just as much, is how quickly Liam understands what is going on in Olivia's head, and how quickly he makes the situation safe for her before Drake can say anything. He's young, but perceptive enough to know not only that Olivia doesn't want to be seen crying, but also what she'd be most comfortable using as a cover for her tears. Those wounds are still fresh for Olivia at this point, making it even harder for her to stand back and rationalize - which is why it's a relief when Liam offers her an out.

* I honestly fail to understand people who claim he never cared for Olivia. It was clear from the get-go how much he valued her, he's vouched for her when very few would, he's shown concern for her multiple times - and I find it so weird that he's perceived as not concerned for her only because he doesn't return her feelings, whereas Drake can suspect a traumatized woman and never feel any remorse after she tells them the truth, and somehow that's okay (oh...I forgot. This is the Almighty St Drake we're talking about. Of course he can get away with anything).

• Is it just me or are the only scenes where the children are given extra focus and care...are the ones belonging to Drake and Olivia? The first scene, though advertised as Liam's, was really more of a group childhood scene - it was less about Liam himself and more about introducing the childhood gang. Maxwell's scene basically wrote him out so Bertrand could take centerstage! In contrast, Olivia's gives us important facts about Liam's family but focuses heavily on her grief and loss after her parents' death, and Drake's is not only intensely personal to him but also is the only childhood scene so far with variations if he is married to the MC. I shudder to think of what they will give to Hana in the name of a childhood scene, if she ever manages to get one that is.

• I honestly hope Jackson isn't the father of this child - even though there are enough hints to suggest it as a possibility (or to establish that he is a red herring). If that does transpire...then the story that should be about Liam, his mother, his family, will revolve even more around Drake. It will be about his angst. His feelings of betrayal and sadness at what his father did. His heartbreak at his hero having feet of clay.

How do I know this? Well, look at the sheer volume of things Drake has told us about Jackson over the course of these four books. Especially in playthroughs where he is getting married, you get stories upon stories upon stories about the man, one after the other. I had to wait till TRH to get even half that much information about Liam's own mother!!!

Enough. I've already seen this man eat up space that should have gone to Liam for his story, and make it all about himself (the assassination attempt, for example). At least let this one thing be just Liam's to grieve, not Drake's to take over and to make it all about him and his feelings. I've already seen him do this for every LI - the truth of Hana's return had to come from him, we spent most of Shanghai cajoling him into fixing his relationship with Maxwell instead of learning more about Hana, the entire Beaumont story was swallowed whole just to accommodate more story for his sister.

Of course, if Bastien is a possibility, the same problem would still arise because the writers were somehow desparate to make him close to Drake, than to Liam who would have been one of his wards to do security for.

• Olivia, Liam, the MC (+ LI in other playthroughs) discuss what the discussion between Eleanor and Jackson could mean. If the MC doesn't figure out that Eleanor was pregnant, Liam does - having read up on Hyperemesis Gravidarum (at least in my playthrough).

• Olivia's choice of words about Constantine is interesting - "Constantine never caught whoever killed Queen Eleanor"...which, well, most of us have an idea that Constantine might have done some covering up with regards to Eleanor's pregnancy and death - but does Olivia suspect this too? The wording makes me feel like she has some idea.

• Anyway, it's time for our scan! Dr Ramirez speaks of this as the 10 week mark (over here in India it's referred to as the 12 week mark - so we wouldn't say 1 week when we find out, we'd say 4). I was initially surprised the MC didn't opt for the 7-8 week scan, but I've been told in some places it's common to start with the nuchal translucency scan (which is this one).

• It's a lovely scene overall in terms of how the LIs react to the experience - each option (both to the initial image of the child on the screen, and to the photograph later) comes with varied dialogue depending on the LI. They're all happy, emotional, and in some cases (like Maxwell's) it's sinking in that there's an actual baby coming out from all of this.

• Around this time, the foetus also has hands and legs and you can see them kicking around like nobody's business coz "o wow, what's this" is probably what they're experiencing at this point 😅

• The dude from the press conference tries really hard to pretend he is an intern and not a dude we met in a press conference - but his acting skills are about as good as his knowledge of pregnancy in general.

• I have a feeling that if we don't catch him next chapter, Liam and Olivia will, and we may get some answers at least on the score of all the paparazzi related suspicious stuff that's been happening - therefore leading us to a hint about one of the places we are "allying" with?

• I also have a feeling that both places - Auvernal and Monterisso - will be established as suspicious eventually, for varying reasons. Right now we're getting signs via Olivia that the Auvernese are planning something big, but I doubt Monterisso is going to be left behind in all this. Perhaps the journalist might offer some hints/leave behind some clues as to where he was from...and it might warrant a visit to that place just to investigate? I'd see Monterisso as more likely, if that is the case. Because I do believe the team will have us visit this place just once at least. I may be wrong, but let's see.

• General Thoughts:

- Sigh. We knew this would happen, wouldn't we. The team would spend nine whole chapters on largely irrelevant shit that could have been cut out and pared down to maybe 4 chapters max (but 2 chapters would have been perfect. After all, Hana's Shanghai segment was only two chapters, and we spent one of them trying to make Drake behave less like an angry toddler. It's only fair that Drake gets as little space, yknow), but now we're at the point where we're rushing through the first trimester alone.

- The announcement shoot scene was nice...but again extremely uneven across playthroughs. Both Liam and Drake's scenes were written largely as callbacks to their engagement shoots. In Liam's engagement shoot there was a pressure to represent both decorum and warmth - but in this shoot they explain to Ana that they clearly lean more to the side of warmth, and want to show that side of themselves. In Drake's engagement shoot, Drake is the one who is nervous and trying to fit in, with the MC helping him loosen up and be his natural self, while in the baby shoot he fulfils that role for her by stating to her that they could be having fancy trimmings but simple in their way of delivering the news. Do Maxwell and Hana get this kind of effort in their scenes? No. Not at all.

- Maxwell's engagement photoshoot scene was about the couple getting used to their relationship, and remembering what made their love blossom (pun fully intended). By the logic of the other two scenes, this one should have explored in some way how they've grown as a couple, but it doesn't. They didn't even bother to put half the effort into this scene that they did in the other two.

- Hana's engagement shoot initially explored her fears of turning into her parents, that she is not taking the MC's opinion into account. The MC gets to reassure her then. Unfortunately, they dropped that arc completely after that scene. So I can get an idea of why this particular scene is different, but I hate that they chose to drop such a compelling story for Hana and I would have honestly loved to see a parallel to that.

- The fact that the MC could tell Hana that she should never be in the sidelines is kinda sweet, granted, but actions speak louder than words, and most of the MC's actions re: Hana so far have been the exact opposite of what she's saying there.

- The team should have at least nailed this one scene for everyone, if not anything else - since this had the biggest variations. Yet they couldn't be bothered to do a good job of all of them?? Only two???

- Come to think of it, if the plot actually culminates in the presence of this extra child, there is one scene in Book 3 that could hint at it. The film that Liam takes the MC to watch at Castelserraillian, revolves around a couple named Lionel and Ramona (geddit?? Liam and Riley!) and their romance amidst a plot from a half-brother to usurp the throne (the name given in the movie is Percival, which coincidentally is Maxwell's middle name).

- The intrigue is nice, it does its job of raising more questions while offering a few answers, but I find it ironic that even in a plot that's about Liam's family, Liam himself seems unimportant and his feelings unexplored. You'd think that with an experience like that, where we've just heard about his mother not being able to spend a lot of time with him (perhaps months before her death)...you'd think that would elicit more of a reaction than "okay cool let's investigate". I know for a fact that if it were Drake there would be a whole extra set dialogues unlocked in the romantic route. I know that, because that's exactly what happened at Walker Ranch. Again, no other character who had a childhood flashback scene so far, got any opportunities to weigh in on how they felt after the narration was done.

- Other people's feelings and experiences taking precedence over Liam's own, in scenes/events that should be about him, is nothing new. In Book 2, we get to know about an assassination attempt on Liam...but that story revolves around Drake's pain and Drake's sacrifice. We never get to know how Liam felt about this, ever. In Book 3, when we should have been learning more about his mother, she's mentioned only a handful times instead. Again in Book 3, Liam sees his own father die, but his feelings are largely brushed aside to make space for more Drake hypocrisy (like his behaviour towards Kiara in Lythikos) and Drake observations (like the chat about Liam's hurt feelings in his playthrough, which only Drake is allowed to talk about).

- And this is the root of the current problem really. That they need to involve and include Drake and his family in everything that they can possibly involve him in (I mean, the only childhood scene he is out of, is the Beaumont Brothers one, and even then the brother that gets all the focus is the one that is marrying Drake's sister). That they probably might write the story in such a way that it's skewed in Drake's favour, will explore Drake's issues the most, before they even bother to explore anyone else's. Even now that we're out of the Walker Ranch storyline, the writing still shows a possibility that Drake's feelings (whether Jackson is the father of Eleanor's second child or not) may be explored more - just by virtue of there being way more material about Jackson than there ever was on Eleanor. Both Liam and Drake look up to Eleanor and Jackson respectively, but just by what I've read so far I already have an idea whose truth may hit harder.

- I still can't get over the fact that the writers have coded Hana's traditional black outfit in the way that they have...so that now, even if you did buy it, it's nowhere to be seen. The plain black dress is pretty but I can't stand to even look at it now.

- Perhaps the reason why Lorelai is being depicted negatively in this series, is not really her treatment of Hana (that should have been reason enough IMO) - since this very team has proved already that they don't exactly care that Hana was abused in that home and had her forgive the likes of Lorelai and Xinghai instead. There's a possibility that they're pushing for a more negative portrayal because she has some involvement or other in all this, and that is how they may create a Hana flashback scene as well. Though I'm not convinced they will place even half the effort on such a scene as they have on Olivia's scene this week.

- If that is the way the story is going, perhaps the larger theme of family then will involve the LIs seeing the family members they so respected, with actual feet of clay that will be hard for them to handle emotionally. Besides intrigue, it will also be a lesson to those very LIs to not repeat the mistakes their families made.

- I find the scene post press conference interesting, since there are tiny hints there that I feel we shouldn't be ignoring. The convenient placement of Godfrey, Regina and Bartie Sr, Bartie Sr's side-comment on Regina who is after all from the Krona duchy and who is related to Godfrey by marriage, Madeleine's offering of apples and her cryptic message to the MC to take care of herself...all of that adds up to something.

- Too bad only white people are allowed to take centerstage in this story.

• Anyway, that's for now from me. Until Saturday, guys!

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 55 Xs1)

"Helluva Night"

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

@mythsloveworld

@kellyimagines

@queenieofthesouth

@crystalbaby12

After Luna changes, Ashley and her head over to The Amory to rehearse.

It's an open square stage. Like a four way runway. They do a run through, each positioned at an opposite corner. Starting by walking away from each other so that by time they meet, perfectly timed, they can toss their mic to the other as they walk by. It takes a couple runs to nail it. Not the toss but musical timing. They don't stop until it's perfect. Both girls maniacs when it comes to detail. Feeling confident in their flow and timing together, they cut out just after midnight.

Luna, Ashley and her band head to this neat little place called Up-Down to unwind with drinks and bar food. They hang out for a bit. Going over the show, bullshitting and playing pinball. Luna Snaps Colson while at the bar. Laughing, buzzed and full they wrap it up. Luna and Ashley have an interview in the morning.

Before going to sleep the two girls go over any last minute details of their performance. They're sitting on Luna's bed, sharing a joint also.

"Dude." A giggly Luna grabs Ashley's knee. "We're gonna do a fucking show together."

Of all their years, besides karaoke, they've never been on stage together.

"I know!!!" Ashley excitedly shakes her whole crossed legged body on the bed. "We're gonna fucking kill it!!" She exclaims to Luna's laughter.

--------------------------------------------------

Once Colson and Casie are home, he checks flight schedules real quick.

She's watching TV while he makes them dinner and a few phone calls. One to Emma, that goes according to plan. Then another.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" He asks.

After dinner, Colson gets Casie ready for bed. She has school tomorrow. They read 3 of her favorite books and he sings What I Got. It's their goodnight song. Tucking her in, he tells her that Mommy will pick her up from school but he'll see her the next day. Asking why, she's satisfied with his explanation. He tucks in with a tight squeeze, an I love you and a kiss.

Going into his room to collect himself, he lights a joint and checks his phone. Finding a Snap from Luna.

Opening it, he's pleased with his earlier decision. Snapping her back, he finishes the joint before climbing into bed. Trying not to miss her.

--------------------------------------------------

Ashley wakes up before Luna. As always. Learning over the years, she enjoys the half hour to herself that it usually takes to get her friend out of bed. She finally rises Luna with coffee, who immediately rolls a joint. They have a system.

Ashley showers first, while Luna sits with her, the joint and coffee. Holding it for Ashley to hit when she pops out her wet head.

Luna rolls another. Finishing in the shower, Ashley does the same for her.

Out of the shower, looking for clothes, Luna finally checks her phone. There's a Snap from Colson, amongst other things. But first, Colson.

"Oh my Fuck. He's fucking handsome." Even looking tired, he makes her body flush and pussy swell. Her heart misses him."

"Hey! You wearing this?" Ashley asks, pulling Luna out of her phone. Distracted she sets it down.

"Uhhhh... Nah. Go ahead." Luna says. She pulls on ripped black skinies, a sequin black tank and a long sleeve sheer white shirt. She puts on a deep purple lip before slipping on her white Chucks.

Luna stands up, just as Ashley asks "Ready?"

"Yup." Luna nods, grabbing her bag.

And awaaaaay they go......

--------------------------------------------

Luna and Ashley arrive at the station on time, which is amazing for them. Ashley's team is close behind. Luna likes them individually but finds an entourage annoying. Plus, she's not used to Ashley being as famous as she is now. To Luna, they're still just two kids running around, hanging out.

Luna and Ashley sit bullshitting in the back room. There's really no way to prepare for an interview, there's always room to go off track. They both know this and each other well enough to let it organically flow.

They look up as the door opens. Expecting to go on. They're not.

It's Dom and Colson.

Dom grabs Ashley, splattering her surprised, happy face with kisses.

Luna exclaims "Holy FUCK!!" Tears welling in her eyes as she jumps onto Colson.

Kissing him like he's her dying breath.

"What the fuck are you doing here!?" She asks in awe while still kissing him all over.

"We've come to watch the Nightmare!" Dom exclaims, pulling his mouth off of Ashley's. She pulls him back in.

Still in his arms, Luna looks at Colson smiling. "Really?" She asks. "What about Case?"

"Yeah, Em's gonna grab her from school and I'll pick her up tomorrow." He reassures her to another passionate kiss. They missed each other.

An intern walks into the two couples making out. "Oh!" She says before turning around.

Breaking away from Colson she calls "No, no, no..." Before kissing him once more and sliding off his body. "We're ready." She says.

The boys kiss the girls good luck before they head into the studio.

--------------------------------------------

"So we've got Halsey here. She's doing a free concert tonight at The Armory. We've also got That Brooklyn... Uh, I don't know if I can say this on air... Can I just call you That Brooklyn Babe?" Steve, one of the radio hosts asks.

"Absolutely Not." Luna answers quickly without hesitation. "Stick to simply Brooklyn if you're worried." She tells him.

"Ok... Ok.." Steve agrees.

"You can tell she's from NY!!" The co-host Dave chimes in. Luna gives him a side eye with raised eyebrows.

"Where the FUCK does Ash have me??" She thinks.

Steve starts up again "So you guys are here because you have a record together, Nightmare. It's #1 on The Pop charts. I think it's even #12 on The Alternative..." He looks around checking his notes. "Yep. Yep. #12.... You ladies must be incredibly proud. In all my years, I don't think I've ever heard a song as cutting or direct. I have to tell you. As a man, the song is a bundle of emotions. I literally go from fearing you, to wanting to change the world for you to feeling stupid for feeling like I have to save you."

Ashley and Luna speak at the same time.

Luna stating a solid "Good."

While Ashley offers up at sweet "Awww... Thank you."

Both girls give each other a cocked smile and amused side eye. Ashley plays the game. Luna not so much.

Laughing, Ashley leans in. "That's the idea. For you to see us as equals. Not ones who need to be saved and definitely not feared, although a little fear is good." She cocks her lip and winks at Steve.

"One's who deserve choices and options." Luna chimes in. "This isn't about us playing on the same baseball field. We're equal as human beings but in two different leagues because we are different. Men require different things than women and vice versa. This is about RESPECTING each other and what the other needs and is entitled to. Constitutionally. At least up until less then a month ago."

Luna's not afraid to drop political bombs. It's a lot of the reason why she doesn't do promos. There's no bullshitting with her when a real conversation is at hand.

"You have that song Bad Things with MGK right, Brook.. Brooklyn, is it?" Dave cuts in, stumbling over her name.

Luna knows his tactic but the thought of Colson softens her.

"Yes... I think we're at #5. He's actually about to drop an album on July 5th, Hotel Diablo. It's sick." She squeezes in the plug. "He's actually on the Nightmare record. Him and his band are who recorded with us. We'll be on SNL with them next Saturday." Luna lets out to Ashley's shock. You can't deny, Luna gives a good plug.

"Really?" Asks Steve. He goes on. "So you have this" He uses finger quotes. "'Girl Power' song with this 'Girl Power' video backed by an all male band?" He tilts his head as he asks.

"Yup." Luna's lips pop. "Strong women back men everyday. Why the fuck can't strong men back women?"

"Ohhhhh!!!" There's a howl to the F word. Her important point being lost.

"He's here, isn't he?" Dan asks. "With your boyfriend, Yung Blud?" He turns to Ashley.

"Yeah." She states not thinking anything of it.

"Can we bring 'em in?" Steve looks around, more asking the studio then the women.

"Uhhhh... Yeah... I guess..." Ashley says, unsure looking at Luna's 'What The Fuck???'

A few moments later a giddy Dom and unsure Colson head into the studio. Sitting next to each other, between their girlfriends, they slide their headphones on.

"Hey guys!!" Dan shouts.

"What's up!" Dom shouts back to Colson's "Sup."

Colson and Luna exchange an easy look of understanding. Neither of them is about this life.

"So, we've got 4 of the biggest pop stars right now, in our studio. We have Halsey and her boyfriend Yung Blud. And Machine Gun Kelly and his girlfriend.... We're gonna try it, we'll see if we get bleeped... That Brooklyn Bitch. Now you all are DOMINATING the charts right now. We've got at least 5 Top 40 hits between you guys and most are collaborations."

He's met to their "Yeahs."

He continues "So, tell me. You're all obviously friends and... partners. Is there any competition? Like, Halsey and Brooklyn, are you afraid your boyfriends will knock you out of #1?"

Luna and Ashley look at each other. Ashley speaks first.

"Nooooo.... Like you said, we're all friends. If I Think I'm Okay knocks us out, that's fine. What's most important to Lu.." She corrects herself. "Brooklyn and I is the message. Speaking out for those who can't. Bringing a voice to those who don't in Alabama and across the world. As much as you want to deny it, they're taking our rights away."

"Now nobodies trying to take..." Dave interrupts Ashley but Colson interrupts him.

"But they are, Dude. The fact that a woman who may conceive during a rape can be sentenced longer then the piece of shit who violates her is disgusting." He states firmly.

Luna's heart pounds and swells with pride. "This amazing MOTHERFUCKER."

"It's about lovin each other and lettin each live." Dom steps in. "There's many people's in this world who aren't treated fairly. Nightmare focuses on one specific section. In a smart, blunt way. You can't help but hear it. And if it wasn't true, it wouldn't resonate and it wouldn't be #1." He sits back in his chair.

Luna leans up. "Like Dom was saying, we have a voice. We're going to use it. Anyone out there, please write into AL's local legislature if you want. Support your local ACLU, look into Yellowhammer.com and listen. Always listen. And after you listen, if you have something to say, speak. Please don't be afraid to speak. Silence is any nastiness's dearest ally."

"Are we gonna get ANYTHING juicy from you guys??" Steve asks.

This pisses Luna off.

"What did you expect? You invited two strong women with a politically charged song onto your show?" She asks with her hands up.

"Just.. Just tell me.. Do you all hang out?" Steve asks pathetically, looking for any detail of their lives.

The four of them look at each other and erupt into laugher.

"Yeah, Man." Colson says.

"Of course we hang out, we're best mates!" Dom chimes in.

"Yeah, we all live together too..." Ashley adds.

"Unh-hunh, in beautiful polygamy glory in the Hollywood Hills." Luna finishes.

The four of them erupt into laughter again to the host's dismay.

Luna controls herself. "No, seriously. We all get along really well. Halsey and I have been bestfriends forever. Nightmare is REALLY important. We're debuting it at The Armory tonight. We hope to see you guys there..." She looks at the others. "Hotel Diablo July 5th. Bad Things...."

Ashley pops in "11 minutes, I Think I'm Okay both streaming now. Get some... Tonight's gonna be awesome. We can't wait to see you guys there!!!"

Colson hops on too, laughing. "And Hollywood Whore!" He shouts to the others laughter.

"And don't forget Tales of the Ritalin Club!!" Luna comes back in with a snicker.

"Yes! Yes!" Laughs Dom. "And Eastside.." They continue to shamelessly plug and laugh until Steve talks over them.

"That was Yung Blud and MGK. Halsey with That Brooklyn Bitch. Their debuting their #1 hit Nightmare tonight at The Armory. If it's anything like this interview, I'm sure it will be crazy. We'll be back!"

Nightmare plays them out.

--------------------------------------------------

The four of them tumble laughing into the hallway.

"Come're!!!" Ashley calls. Gathering around a mirror she finds, they pose for cramped selfie. She posts on Instagram immediately.

Fun interview today with these crazy looooverrrrsssss 💘💘💘💘See you all @thearmory l8r. It's gna be a helluva NIGHT!! #nightmare

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Luna, Colson, Dom and Ashley roam DownTown Minneapolis. It's early enough on a Monday for Ashley and Colson to not be recognized.

They have lunch and do some shopping. Luna picking up a beautiful, turquoise cuff. Before long Ashley needs to head to the venue. Luna's not far behind here.

The boys will meet them there later.

--------------------------------------------------

Word Limit (1 of 2)

To be continued......

[aegon]

Do you think that there’s a connection between Jamie and Cersei being twins and having a relationship and Arya and Jon being the only ones to look alike in their family and being super close? I ship Jonerys but I feel like in the books Jon and Arya are way too close for it not to mean or add up to anything?? Martins original idea was for them to end up together too

Anon, you’re after my own heart. 

Jon x Arya parallels with Jaime x Cersei both on a relationship and an individual character level is one of my favourites to discuss and is so underappreciated. 

And I’m always here to rant about what I think Jon and Arya are all about! I have so many, many thoughts about how important their relationship is to their respective narratives. 

Buckle in, mate, I’m about to rant to hell. All my bottled up emotions over my faves, here we fucking go: 

To start off with, I 1000% think there’s an important connection between both relationships. Jaime and Jon have incredibly specific parallels, as do Arya and Cersei. Like a century ago, I talked about the idea of balance in the series and that for every action, there’s a kind of reaction, so to speak. For me, the counterbalance to Jaime x Cersei is Jon x Arya.

Jon and Jaime parallels (keeping this short as it’s been discussed by others): 

Swore vows to organisations created to protect with their lives and remain celibate. 

Lord Commanders of their respective organisations. 

Where Jaime was the youngest Kingsguard in history, Jon became one of the youngest Lord Commanders. 

Break their vows twice each (one being celibacy). 

Mother died in childbirth. 

Mained/disfigured sword hands. Jon’s hand is burnt while Jaime’s is completely removed. 

Nicknames designed to mock, re: Lord Snow / Kingslayer. 

Jon refuses Winterfell while Jaime refuses Casterly Rock. 

King foreshadowing in both their chapters. 

Arya and Cersei parallels: 

As children, both dressed in breeches and showed interest in training with swords. 

Resent the patriarchal standards set on women and vocally refuse to follow what’s expected of them. 

Identify and draw strength from the sigil of their respective houses. 

Hold to their grudges. They never forget the ones that hurt their house or their family. 

Have had their heads shaved by/for religious organisations, but where Cersei had hers forcibly removed and lost her agency, Arya gained hers by doing it willingly.

Both their ambitions are rooted in gaining a position of influence not often afforded to their gender. Arya asks if she can be a king’s conciliator, build castles and be a High Septon. While Cersei did become Queen, it was taking control over the small council and ruling in her own right that she really wanted, instead of being dictated around by men or the pretty wife birthing children. 

Daddy’s little girls that look up to their fathers and attempt to emulate them after their deaths. 

Difficulty with one sibling while being incredibly close to another.

Both are told they will marry a king, but misleadingly, not the ones in power at the time. Maggy tells Cersei she will wed the king, but this was long before Robert’s Rebellion and Aerys was in power while Rhaegar was still a prince, so the witch wouldn’t have made sense at the time. Ned tells Arya she’ll marry a king, but it’s Sansa that’s betrothed to the crown prince, so again, it shouldn’t make sense. In both cases, the choice of words is particular but telling. 

Another fascinating anti-parallel is their opposite developments in temperament. Arya and Cersei as children are incredibly similar: willful, ambitious, quick to anger. But as the series progresses, through the FM, Arya learns to be humble, to control her emotions, to be patient and listen. Cersei, however, dissolves into anger, impatience, and pride. 

These are mostly off the top of my head, but moving on to specific relationship parallels: 

Jon x Arya / Jaime x Cersei: 

Jaime and Cersei are twins, with classic Lannister features. Arya and Jon are the only children that look like Starks, and look like one another. 

Obviously, they’re incredibly close and neither ever stops thinking of the other. 

Jon and Jaime have both broken their vows for their sisters. Jaime breaks his for Cersei when he beds her and fathers her children, and Jon breaks his for Arya when he tries riding to Winterfell to save her (!!!)

This is more of an anti-parallel. Jon and Jaime both receive letters about their sister’s needing their help. Jon gets the Pink Letter of Ramsay demanding fArya’s return, and Jaime receives one from Cersei begging him to rescue her. The letter is the catalyst that drives Jon to break his vows, whereas Jaime burns the letter Cersei sends as he grows apart from her. Poetry. 

Jon and Jaime compare the women they’re attracted to with their sisters. Jon sees Arya in Ygritte and Jaime thinks of Cersei with Brienne. Oh, and Arya thinks of Jon with Gendry, oof. 

Another anti-parallel that’s less obvious: Arya thinks of Jon as being the only one that would want her after her traumatising experiences escaping King’s Landing and wouldn’t care about who she’d become now. Jaime barely makes it back to King’s Landing, back to Cersei, and she finds his disfigurement and the changes to his personality after his own traumatic experiences unappealing and starts keeping her distance. 

There might be more but admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve read Jaime and Cersei’s chapters but there we have it. 

To answer the first part of your ask - yes, there’s clearly a connection between these two relationships. I like to think of them as two sides of the same coin - but where Jaime and Cersei have all the toxicity you’ll never find with Jon and Arya. Essentially, they’re anti-parallels of each other, evidenced by Jaime and Cersei growing apart where Jon and Arya still very much love and miss each other. So where Jaime and Cersei are doomed to end tragically and aggressively, Jon and Arya’s bond is strong enough to stand the test of time and circumstance. 

Jaime x Cersei is not the relationship to aspire to, but to demonstrate what happens when the individuals and the nature of the relationship is twisted to something corrupt. Cersei and Jaime essentially see one another as an extension of themselves, whereas Jon and Arya are one another’s source of support, but still very much their own people. Healthy af, yo. 

So what does this mean for Jon and Arya? 

From a writer’s perspective, having a character constantly bring up another and how much they love them and miss them and would do anything to be with them seems to be a pretty big red flag that they will, in fact, do anything for them. 

It’s why I never understand those that say Arya and Jon’s relationship can be substituted with other characters. 

In my opinion, there’s definitely something happening in the future that needs the reader to understand how much these two mean to each other. It’ll culminate in a climax that’s basically going to drive them from that point onwards and be a turning point in their narratives. 

In Jon’s situation, we’ve seen the start of such a climax. His constant mentioning of Arya and agonising over her in ADWD comes to a head when he’s stabbed for trying to to save her. Such a moment wouldn’t have had the same impact for anyone else but Arya, because their relationship is the only one convincing enough. In the midst of knowing an army of the dead is coming and the drama with Stannis and the freefolk, Jon can’t stop thinking about Arya. We’ve literally had it hammered into our skulls that he’d do anything for her. 

Surprise, surprise - he does. 

And in that moment, as we’ve seen from the show, Jon Snow stops being Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and starts his journey towards becoming the King in the North. Because of how much he loves Arya. 

I very much believe the Battle of the Bastards will happen, but differently than in the show. The North is currently rallying behind Arya’s name and when Jon’s brought back to life, he’s still going to be out of his mind with worry for her. And he won’t have any vows holding him back from bringing her home (home being by his side because Jon calls himself Arya’s home and I just want to remind everyone of that, thanks). Fuck me, I’m excited. He’s 10000% gonna go to war for her and I am HERE FOR IT. 

In this case, Arya being Jon’s favourite person and GRRM making sure she’s brought up in almost all of his POV chapters pays off. 

For Arya, we’ve yet to see it happen, but I’m predicting that it’s the news of Jon’s death that’s going to force her to leave Braavos. We know that she gets news from the Wall from Eastwatch, and she’s struggling to truly become No One as the FM want because of how deep her connection to her family and identity runs. Jon is never far from her thoughts and plays a very important role in who Arya Stark really is. 

When disguised as Blind Beth or any of her other identities, she still thinks about Jon. When she finds a deserter of the Night’s Watch, despite the fact that she’s not supposed to be Arya anymore, she still doles out justice for breaking his vows.

So, even though she’s a thousand miles away, Jon and the Night’s Watch are still very present in her narrative.  

And we know how much Arya loves Jon. Damn, do we know. 

I do believe the news of Jon’s murder is going to spread. And when it reaches Braavos, and finally Arya, it’s going to absolutely shatter her. Arya, like Cersei, does not forgive and forget easily. She’ll never be able to return to her training after hearing about her favourite person’s death, and she’ll be on the first boat out. Probably to go enact some justice. 

The foreshadowing is present in this little nugget in AFFC, when Arya is listening to the NW deserter sing: 

He is a man of the Night's Watch, she thought, as he sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince. 

Which I think is exactly what Arya is going to try and do. She won’t, of course, lots of shit still has to happen before they reunite, but she’s definitely going to try. Fucking p o e t r y. 

But the point is, it’ll be her love for Jon that draws Arya back to her true self and sets her on course to reclaiming her identity and returning home. To make it convincing, it makes complete sense to have Arya think of Jon as the only one that ever accepted her for who she was, that loved her unconditionally, that would want her despite all the horrific acts she was forced to commit to survive. He’s the one she’ll willingly and without doubt break her vows to the FM for.  

Love is the death of duty. 

Jon and Arya’s love for each other could very well be the death of their respective duties to their organisation and vows, and be the catalyst they each need to propel their narratives towards the climax of the story, re: the War of the Dawn, and beyond. 

This is why I never understand those that think they’re interchangeable with other characters. They simply aren’t? Everything I’ve mentioned can only ever be applied to Jon and Arya. No other relationship has been so deeply developed, nor as intrinsically integrated into their POVs. Literally everything I’ve said is only applicable because they never shut up about each other. 

I don’t think this contradicts Jonerys tbh, but I think it’s an important reminder that Jon and Arya’s relationship is very much as vital to the story as Jon and Dany’s. There’s a reason I ship them as an OT3, and I’m in love with Arya and Dany’s parallels as well. Arya and Daenerys are and will always be the two most important women in Jon Snow’s life, and in turn, he’s just as important in theirs. 

I tried answering this as objectively as I could, and I hope this was what you were looking for! 

Thank you so much for a brilliant ask!! 

[hellyeahheroes]

Uncanny X-Men #11 is Outright Vile

Women in refrigerators. POCs killed for white people narratives. Anti-vaccinator and pro-suicide messages. Return of FascistCap. This book has it all. So obviously, all kinds of trigger warnings below.

I will not be posting any pages from the Uncanny X-Men #11. Not a single one. At least aside from that first page which reads like a bad joke anyway. Yes, this stuff is an actual page of this book. And I urge others to do the same and not post anything from it. When previously I would find this book to just be awful at this point it has reached levels of being openly mean-spirited and spiteful. While Matthew Rosenberg talks on his twitter how he wanted to discuss serious topics in this issue, dealing with personal experience of self-harm and suicidal thoughts, neither he nor anyone else at Marvel took care to actually warn potential readers the book flat out shows a suicide scene for shock value and I have already heard reports it has triggered people. So I urge everyone to not post these pages less we trigger more people.

Yes, the book has a character commit suicide. The story has a subplot of Cyclops searching for Blindfold, whom Rosenberg claims to be one of his favorite X-Men. And after reading this issue I have flat out said on twitter and I will say it here - could have fooled me. Scott finds her too late, as she already has slit her wrists in the bathtub. So this is what her story amounts too. She dies so that Scott Summers can feel sad. Or sadder, he wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows since page one. A character created after 90′s and not popular enough to get resurrected in the next 20 years dies so that people who come back to life more often than Jesus can pretend death in comics still has a meaning. A woman dies so that a man can feel sad. The page above is right. Every X-men story really IS the same.

This is not delivered with any respect whatsoever either. On the previous page, we had Madrox telling Scott where he can find Ruth and to leave her alone and then we get a splash of her death with coloring and art so bad you had to actually study it carefully to realize she is, in fact, not naked. As far as lack of respect goes it is out there with that godawful Heroes in Crisis cover showing dead Poison Ivy, wrists slit, ass up. 

What’s more is that at the end we have a backup story, so-called Last Blindfold Story. Which pretty much explains that she did it because she’s been tormented by visions of her own death and cannot see any possible future in which she does not get killed. And this is very obviously a clear metaphor for invasive thoughts, all the dark scenarios people tend to run in their heads about how everything is going to turn horrible, there is nothing good awaiting us in life, no hope or future, just continuous series of crushing failures, disappointments, humiliations and all-around misery so it is better if we just killed ourselves. I know that feeling, even though I am not diagnosed with anything. I will say even I had these feelings to deal with after coming today from a, particularly disastrous day at work that made me dread my future and indeed made me think of killing myself. And then I’ve read this book and do you want to know how this whole story came out to me? It told me that this voice telling me to end myself is right, that every scenario I envision not only will happen but is inevitable and it is better to just kill myself. Thankfully, being spoiled the contents beforehand made it I reacted to the pages more with anger than getting put into an even shittier mood, I certainly did not need it. 

I do beleive Matthew Rosenberg, just like Tom King on Heroes in Crisis, means well, I really do. I do believe each of them is trying to tell a personal story. But we really need to sit down and talk about how the mainstream comics portray and handle topics like anxiety depression, other kinds of mental illness and disorders, self-harm or suicide because for every book that deals with it with respect like recent Unstoppable Wasp or Mister Miracle, and you notice these are always niche titles, we have a high-profile book that completely botches it for shock value and preserving the status quo. Rosenberg might be working through some personal issues but he does so in a way that doesn’t seem to realize the damage he is doing all around.

Speaking of shock value this issue also casually kills of Loa, one of Marvel’s very few Pacific Islander characters. Worse that scene, in the end, serves nothing, it is there to shock you and does not add up anything. You cannot even say that it was done to push Blindfold to her suicide or to show the situation really is that serious. It amounts to nothing in Ruth’s storyline and the latter is being hammered down through the entire issue anyway, this is completely redundant death done only to get people talking. How am I supposed to believe that X-Men writers and editorial really, as they claim to, care for these characters when they write something that treats them as disposable. Similarly, aging of Velocidad done from overuse of his powers is there only to nod Wolverine more into getting back into the game, something that so many other elements, including his conversation with Blindfold, already accomplish, making it redundant. What does that leave us with, however? Two POC characters killed or alerted beyond saving to show how serious the situation is and two teenage girls killed to make things look bad and grim for our manly heroes? For a franchise that prides itself for being a metaphor for minorities, X-Men sure treat women and minorities as nothing but props for stories about white guys.

When we are at treating other characters as props I cannot help but mention that Captain America, Black Widow, and Winter Soldier show up here to protect a mutant-hating rally from any mutants who would want to start a riot. And even though they tell you they want to protect both sides Cap sure didn’t step in when the mob tried to kill Cyclops for speaking his mind but stepped in only when he started fighting back. He had no real answer to Summers accusing him of protecting fascists either. I do wonder what do Mark Waid and Ta-Nehishi Coates think of their efforts to fix Captain America after Secret Empire being flushed down the drain for the sake of an outdated message of mutant isolationism. They did the same with Phil Urich, making him a coward who refuses to do his job out of fear of public opinion. And topped on some old-fashioned ageism by having Chamber, a Gen X character, go and tell Scott, a Baby Boomer, to give up...while Millenials are sacrificed to prop said Baby boomer’s story. And I don’t care Jordan D. White is ranting on twitter with Marvel sliding timescale O5 are now “true” Millennials, nobody cared for this thing in a long, long time and he comes off as bitter old man trying to pretend he is still young.

Speaking of the said rally we need to address the problem of the whole mutant vaccine plotline. And is it me or does the whole thing comes off as anti-vaccinators propaganda, with evil bigots trying to practice eugenics by forcing mandatory vaccines on kids that somehow work on something genetic? Is this really the way you want to use the mutant metaphor? To equate your heroes with a bunch of idiots who don’t want to vaccinate their kids for stupid and often bigoted reasons like assinine belief vaccines cause autism and they’d rather their kid died than be autistic? Is this really a message you want to be sending? Maybe next X-men will start wearing MAGA hats, proclaim Earth flat and draw comparisons to “blue lives” defenders?

It is not that the story is dark. I like dark stories. I love them even I’d say. But there is a difference between being dark and being pointlessly grimdark for the sake of it. One of the reasons why I read superhero comics and why I am a fan of Earn Your Happy Ending narratives is that I find inspirations in seeing superheroes being knocked down and still raising, still pressing forward until they win against all the odds and prove that yes, there is a reason to fight another day. But so far Uncanny X-Men made it abundantly clear this will not be another day in which I or my generation are welcome. I have no doubt X-Men will win in the end. but it will not be X-men with Blindfold and it will not be X-Men with Loa and it will be not X-Men with Velocidad. It will not be X-Men with any of the characters I care about at all. It will be X-Men that made it clear not only am I not welcome here, the book actively things the world will be a better place if I and my entire generation were gone so that it can relive good old days alone.

But hey, it had two guys beating up mooks on a splash page so it CLEARLY means the franchise is on the right trac /sarcasm.

- Admin

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 2

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 4000

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, some smut mentioned, language

A/N:  This story is going to be Trope central so buckle in babes.

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Unpacking was quick, and quiet. Though with Sam silences weren’t particularly unsettling. There were hundreds of occasions where it was just the two of you left alone with a bottle of whiskey and a mountain of lore to sift through. You never felt like you had to make small talk to fill in the gaps, you never really felt like there were any gaps and when the chats did come up they flowed naturally and without expectation. Being with Sam was just comfortable, he was easy to exist beside. Which made him easy to fall for, easy to love.

Dean was always open about his designs toward you. More often than not you figured he was being facetious, but he hit on you frequently enough that it was obvious he’d go for it if only you’d ask.  Sam on the other hand was always respectful, even when he had full opportunity not to be. Last year he’d found a particularly exciting tidbit of information that apparently couldn’t wait to be shared. So he walked into your room without knocking, when you’d just stepped out of the shower- hair wrapped in a towel and nothing else. You screamed at him in surprise, hitting the floor behind the bed to hide your bare ass. It took only a split second to register and he turned away just as quickly, face red as a tomato as he covered his eyes, calling: “Sorry! I should have knocked! Sorry!” He left and never brought it up again. But for the rest of the day he couldn’t look you in the eye without red creeping into his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but grin a little. From then on out he made doubly sure that he knocked before entering whatever room you were lodged in. If he didn’t hear a response he’d just wait, patiently, and knock again.

Though you’d never barged in on him, you were guilty of sneaking peeks at him where you could. You liked watching him, he was strong, and tall, and elegant. It wasn’t as if watching him hang his giant shirts was anything particularly invigorating. Still you enjoyed the view. His shoulder to waist ratio alone was enough to drive you crazy. And you’d seen him without a shirt on, you knew what was hidden under layers of canvas, plaid and cotton. A golden expanse of taut rolling muscle, all firm and warm and inviting. You were practically dripping at the thought of running your fingers through the soft hair on his chest.

Sam turned his head in your direction and you snapped your eyes back to your bag as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire world. Oh shoes, fucking fascinating. Socks, amazing. Underwear, such nice material! You’d deny it if you were asked, but you packed your nicest panties. Not that you had much in the way of lingerie, but like everyone you had the ones you wore on your period, the ones you wore any random day, and then you had the nice ones. The ones you wore when you wanted to feel sexier, the ones you wore when you were trying to get lucky or show off a little.

He could have sworn he’d caught you looking at him, but brushed it off as wishful thinking. Taking your preoccupation as a moment for himself to gaze at you and appreciate the curve of your ass when you bent at the hips to carelessly shove your bag under the bed. Strong thighs and shapely legs, the kind he’d like more if they were draped over his shoulders.

Dropping into the bed with a sigh you rolled to your back allowing yourself to sink into the bed that was almost too soft, too fluffy, too comfortable. It was a complete change from the norm, where you weren’t sure if the sheets were actually washed, and the bed was so hard the floor was a more comfortable option. But you were not one to complain about the tiny offerings of luxury your life occasionally offered. Wiggling your hips you settled in with a pleasured groan and let your eyes fall shut, only for a moment, to appreciate the most comfortable bed you’d ever get the chance to sleep in.

Sam watched you enjoy yourself with a grin. When the soft moan escaped your throat he found himself trying not to think about the sounds you make as your fingers gripped the blankets or nails raked red welts down his back. Or your teeth sinking into a pillow to stifle the pornographic cries that would fall from your lips. The way your hips would move and roll in tandem with his until all you could do was hold on as he fucked you into that bed and fell apart beneath him. He would make you forget how to speak, the only thing you’d be able to scream would be his name and a flurry of barely intelligible curse words in desperation. “Sam..! Uuuhhn-fuck, Sam!”

“Sam!” You shouted as you smacked him in the arm jerking his attention back to Earth as he turned to look at you, upright on your knees still in the bed. Surprise and embarrassment written on his face, cheeks flushed pink. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Hmm? What? Uh-yeah.. Of course.” He scoffed and stumbled through his words as he sank into the edge of the bed beside you, crumpling the large plaid shirt in his hands into a ball in his lap to hide his frustration. Cocking your brow in amused confusion at his uncharacteristic fluster you handed him a nicely laminated printed card.

“What were you thinking about?” You quizzed. There was no price too high that you would pay to sneak a peek into his head. It wasn’t terribly often that you’d catch Sam spacing out, he was always pointed and focused. Even if you couldn’t tell exactly what was rolling around in his mind you could guess, and 90% of the time it had something to do with whatever crisis was being dealt with at the time. On occasion though you’d see him like he just was, obviously off in la-la-land somewhere, and those were the times you wanted desperately to know what he was thinking.

“Nothing.” He defended a little too quickly as he snatched the card from your hand ready to change the subject to literally anything else. There was no force on this Earth that would get him to admit the perverse things he thought about you- let alone to your face. The idea of how your expression would change to uncomfortable disgust at the notion made him cringe. He was looking at the card but couldn’t tell you what a single word said. “What did you say?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention!” You affirmed your accusation poking your index finger into his rib. Tapping the card in his hand you continued. “Firstly, I don’t know how to tell you this, because I don’t want to break your heart or anything but- no wi-fi. Secondly, look at this itinerary! You don’t actually expect me to do this tonight do you?”

No wi-fi would be a problem, that meant limited research. It was to be expected though, the place was set so remotely he didn’t think there would be much signal of any kind, so he didn’t show up naked entirely. He brought his Dad’s journal, and a few other books, and he’d had quite the collection scanned and loaded on his computer. Hopefully whatever it was they ran into would be somewhere in the materials he brought. If not, you’d be taking a trip to the city for internet access. Skimming over the card to follow what you meant he let out a snicker.

“This is what you’re worried about?” Sam asked flatly as he held the card up. You gave an exaggerated shrug, not sure what was so unclear about what you were saying. “A cooking class? Really Y/n?”

“What, Sam? I don’t cook! I can burn water.” You stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t true necessarily, you’d never burnt water, but you’d also never successfully cooked anything in the way it was actually supposed to be cooked. It wasn’t like it was your fault! Everything you ate was microwavable. Besides the fact that you hadn’t grown up around a functioning kitchen. Frankly cooking was the least of your worries. You were basically a human garbage disposal anyway. As long as it was cooked all the way through, and at least mildly edible you were good. Carbs were carbs. Calories were calories. No one was expecting you to be a gourmet chef when you were regularly covered in monster viscera.

Sam gave a soft laugh shaking his head and turning to look at you as he nudged you with his shoulder giving you a sweet smile. Those dimples. God, you could have drowned in them.

“Y/n, I have the utmost faith in you. You can attend this stupid cooking class and you’ll kick it in the ass.”

“You’re sweet. But you’ve never tasted my cooking.”

“Hey, no matter how terrible it turns out, I promise I will lie and say it is delicious.” Sam reassured you with a grin. You smiled back in mock offense and shoved his shoulder as you plucked the card from his hands, and stood.

“Wow, Sam. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.” He snarked watching you start to pace, your eyes glued to the text.

“I mean look at this crap- is this really what normal couples do for fun?” You paused dropping your hands to your sides. He only answered with a shrug, neither of you exactly had much to compare with. You turned your attention back to the card and continued. “Wine tasting.”

“What’s wrong with Wine tasting?”

“Who drinks wine? Rich people, Depressed Mom’s and Lonely Single Women- that’s who.”

“I like wine.” He defended. Your face twisted in skepticism.

“I have never seen you with a glass of wine before. Whiskey, Bourbon and Scotch- sure. But Wine? C’mon Sam.” You didn’t wait for him to answer as you continued to the next item.  “Dancing on Thursday. Do you dance, Sam? Because I don’t dance.”

“Now- that’s not entirely true.” He interjected with a suggestive grin. He’d seen you dance before, a few times. Usually after a few shots, and with some lucky local you’d pick up for the night. Sober you may not dance, but drunk you certainly knew how to move those hips. Heat crept into your cheeks and you moved on, not even wanting to dignify his comment with a response.

“Friday night Movie night. They have a movie night.”

“Hey, I’m not exactly excited either, but it can’t be all that bad.” Sam offered. Half trying to convince himself. From the flat side-eye he earned it was apparent there was no thrill to be had on your part.

“I mean you’d think there’d be stuff on here like hiking, or yoga, or a couples spa.” You huffed and dropped the card on the table beside the bed. “Can we just… go wander around and scope the place out instead?” You asked, you could think of a thousand things you’d rather be doing than attending some stupid cooking class. Just about anything sounded like a less painful option. You’d rather be bound and gagged by something trying to eat you than have to figure out what the fuck a Souffle is.

“I’m sure we’ll be back from checking out the property in plenty of time. If there’s anyone else staying here they’ll probably be there, it’ll be a good chance to talk to some of the others here. See if they’ve heard anything.” Sam reasoned, always logical, and usually right to your displeasure. With a groan you let your chin tilt back and your shoulders slump, a little light bulb going off in your head. Rolling your head up to a tilt you gave him a flirtatious smile. He opened his mouth to speak and you placed your index finger over his lips. They were soft, and warm, and you wondered if he tasted as sweet as his cotton-candy pink mouth looked.

The glimmer in your eyes shifted changing in an instant from your usual sweet and sour demeanor to looking at him through curling lashes sultry and tempting. You hand fell from his lips to curl a long chestnut brown strand of his hair around your finger.

“What if, instead, we skipped it.” Your tone painting a vivid picture. With your cocked brow and devious smile there was no mistaking what you were suggesting. “Said we just couldn’t make it down, because we were... Busy.”

You were supposed to be newlyweds after all, and what was more convincing of a happy, healthy, lovey-dovey relationship than blowing off some bullshit class because you were too busy fucking all night?

Sam swallowed the tension in his throat, if that were an actual option on the table there would have been no need to convince him. Nevertheless he was more than willing to go along with your game, if that’s where you were taking it, two could play. His large hands settled on your hips, warm and heavy, creating gooseflesh through the thin cotton layer of t-shirt. You wanted his hands on you forever. Wanted to burn his fingerprints into your skin like a tattoo. He pulled you in, between his thighs and close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, his cologne filling your senses. The corner of his lips curling into a smile as he peered at you with those kaleidoscope eyes making you weak in the knees.

“You make a very compelling argument.” His voice smooth like scotch and just as intoxicating. Taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger made your heart skip a beat, or just dead stop. You couldn’t tell, your eyes falling to his lips, nervous anticipation shooting like an electric current through your veins. The slow drag of his thumb over your lower lip made heat pool low in your belly and your breath catch in your throat. He edged closer to you close enough to feel the heat of his breath caress your face. “But we’re still going.”

Then he smiled at you, a shit-eating grin and stood up to finish doing whatever the hell he was doing. His hands dropped away from you leaving you standing there breathless and trying to recollect your wits. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head in frustration. Folding your arms over your chest you plopped on the bed with a pout, and crossed your legs tightly trying to ease the pressure that had built.

“That was a nice moment Sam. That was a nice moment, and you ruined it. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” You snarked, and by the grin still plastered on his face- he was.

Standing at the top of the long gravel drive you held a map open in front of you, Sam right behind you and able to see clear over your head without issue. Little red dots stippled the map and at the very center of them sat the Inn. Reaching a long arm around you he pointed at one of the markers.

“Alright, so that’s where the last vic was found.”

“Correction- that’s where parts of the last vic were found.” You interjected, his lips pressed into an unamused line as he looked around the property, extending an arm to the left of the driveway and into the thick of the woods.

“Right, parts. Whatever, that’s about a mile that way…”

“Every bit of remains they’ve found have been at least a mile from here. They’re not exactly grouped in one area either. Look at this, they’ve been found just about everywhere. This is a really wide net we’re trying to cast here Sam.” You expressed at the spattering of red dots all over the place. Some further out, some closer in, and everywhere.

“Right, so we go to the freshest spot and hope we get lucky.”

“Great plan and all, except the remains at that location were two months old when they were found. I sincerely doubt that whatever’s out there is going to be there still. Especially with Police in and out of there for the last couple weeks.” You said. Sam paused hazel eyes scanning the treeline as he absorbed the information you were giving him with a nod.

“Guess we’re just gonna have to pick a direction.”

“Okay.” You agreed, folding up the map and stuffing it into the pocket on the inside of your coat, cinching the button at your waist. “Which way you wanna gamble on?”

“Hold on- let me see that map again.” He asked, absentmindedly. You sucked your teeth digging back into your coat to retrieve it. “Isn’t there a lake around here?”

“Yeah, not just one though, there’s several in the surrounding three miles.” You answered unfolding the paper again, and handing it to him to study.

Looking down the winding gravel road and into the mist that seemed to breathe between a trees a chill slid up your spine. You always got antsy before hunts. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t matter what you faced or how many times, it always gave you the jitters. Even after all these years you still got scared. You would never admit it of course, and you’d mastered the poker face to keep it under wraps. But there was honestly no way for you to truly prepare yourself for whatever was out there, not when a single slip up could mean the end. Each new hunt, even with a foe you were familiar with was still jarring and nerve-wracking. It would always be until you either died or didn’t hunt anymore.

“Going for a hike?” The woman’s voice from behind you made you jump nearly out of your skin with a gasp. Hand on your chest you turned around wide eyed to see Esmeralda standing there with perfect black curls surrounding her perfectly cut face, cascading down her perfectly petite shoulders. She wasn’t asking you of course, her eyes fixed on Sam who folded up the map and tucked it in his back pocket as he turned his head to face her.

“Uh, yeah. Thinking about it.” He answered, she gave him a smile, a perfect smile, with straight white teeth and full pouty lips. She was so pretty you kind of hated her for it. Like, damn lady, we get it, you won the genetic jackpot, you don’t have to rub it in by existing and breathing air.

“Well there are a few trails if you follow the drive down to the main road. Though some of them can be a little hard to navigate if you don’t know where you’re going.”  Esmeralda explained. God, even her voice was perfect and sexy. You could have groaned, or rolled your eyes- you didn’t because you didn’t make a habit of being rude, not that it would have mattered anyway. She wasn’t paying attention to you in the slightest, you could have been a sentient tree and it wouldn’t have made a lick of difference. No, instead she was focused completely on Sam, placing a delicate little hand over his bicep as she pointed around the property. Because groping him was obviously necessary for giving directions. Her fingers were so long and elegant and slender you imagined they’d snap like toothpicks with the proper amount of pressure. “If you’re looking to sight-see, the paths to the North West behind the Inn take you further up the Mountain with plenty of breathtaking views.”

“Actually we’re thinking about checking out some of the lakes.” Sam replied. She smiled at him as if it was the most novel idea she’d ever heard while giving his arm as squeeze.

We get it! He’s jacked. Back off lady. You thought, gnawing on the inside of your lip, just waiting for the whole conversation to be over already. Would it be appropriate to bust up the party a little? You were, after all, supposed to be his wife for all she knew. But you didn’t want to come off as possessive, or jealous. Even though you were and it was absolutely killing you! You resolved to just crossing an arm over your chest and chewing on your thumbnail as if it were going to help you keep your composure in some way.

“To the West is Spider Lake, it’s further into the woods and up the mountain, Spider Creek feeds into it, it’s lovely up there. And to the South East about a mile and a half is Lake Kulla Kulla. It’s a wonderful spot for fishing I hear- if that’s something you enjoy..”

“Thanks, Esmeralda.” Sam replied.

“You’re most welcome Mr. Wesson. Do be careful not to stray too far from the paths, people get lost in these woods easily.” She cautioned. Her voice oozed over ‘Mr. Wesson’ as if she could have sex with the words. Her hand was still glued to his arm like a fucking magnet.“Oh and you will be back in time for tonight's activity won’t you? I’d hate for you to miss out on all of the fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, we plan on being there.” Sam assured with a smile as he stepped back detaching from her grasp and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your arms fell around his waist instantly as you leaned into him.

“We are just so excited.” You lied enthusiastically as you brought your right hand to his chest resting over his heart, making sure the little rock on your finger was near impossible to miss. Her icy green eyes cut to you with a look of pure distaste. You recoiled stunned and more than a little put off- if looks could kill. It was brief, nothing more than a flicker before she gave another radiant smile, but you caught it.

“Wonderful, we’ll see you when you return. Enjoy your hike.” Esmeralda said before heading back to the Inn. Sam turned his attention back to the map but you watched her sashay until she disappeared inside.

“The fuck was her problem?” You scoffed Sam turned his eyes to you curiously with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“You didn’t see that?” You asked jutting your thumb behind you.

“See what?”

“You didn’t see the look she gave me?”

“No?”

“Well she looked at me like I spat on her, or pushed her Grandma down the stairs for funsies…” Or like she was pissed that the hulking Adonis in front of her was spoken for. Not that it seemed to matter to her much. Sam chuckled in response, studying your body language as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chewing on your fingernail in nervous frustration, eyes like daggers on the front door of the Inn. If he didn’t know any better he might have mistaken that look on your face for jealousy. But you were always a little on edge before a hunt- you’d never admit it, but he knew.

You were pretty good at covering, but he’d known you too long not to pick up on the buzzing nervous energy coming off of you in waves. It never ceased to amuse him though. You were fearless, if there was ever hesitation about going into a situation you wouldn’t wait for a game of rock-paper-scissors, you’d just go in. He figured you did it because you either liked embarrassing them a little that you’d go in before either of them, or out of the need to show yourself that you weren’t afraid. Either way your courage in the face of your own palpable anxiety was endearing, and something he admired about you.

“What do you think- start with Spider Lake?” He asked. You answered with an agreeable shrug.

“Monster’s gotta have a watering hole right?”

Tags:

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[reignmyworld]

My soul belongs to you Part 5 - Roman Reigns x Reader

Note: Please note that this story takes place in a Greek Mythology respectively Greek Underworld AU, also in modern times (hard to explain, see for yourselves :D). So please bear with me if I mess up with the accuracy somewhere. :-)

Summary: You are a barista at Starbucks, having noticed that there is a customer visiting that coffee shop on a regular basis, but although you have seen him several times already, all you know is his name: Roman. One day your life takes a turn for the worst when you receive a fatal call, telling you that your sister is fighting for her life. You are willing to give your own life in exchange for hers, you are willing to give everything to save her. Little do you know that someone was listening to you, someone was willing to save your sister’s soul and take yours instead. And you soon have to figure out that there is more to this world than you would have ever believed.

Warnings: none

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Reader

In order to read the other parts, please enter “My soul belongs to you” in the search on my blog. You should find them then without further problems. :-)

Tag List: @queenofthearchitect @trixdeee @calwitch @alexisbagans143 @the-queens-reign @mermaid-at-heart @taryndibiase @taryn-dibiase @kingslayers-reign @scuzmunkie @happelu970 @vebner37 @sausagefest1996 @yndaree @i-prefer-queen @nikora3010 @aria725 @ersotoruiz @ashhdaniellee95 @roman-hetfield @lustyromantic @i-dont-care-i-ship-it-69 @easyobsession @calicina @neganlangdon

You carefully moved to your door, listening closely there to make sure that no one was in front of it, before you slowly turned the key, opening the door and peeking outside. The floor was completely empty just as you had hoped and before you could change your opinion, you were slipping outside of the room, making your way through the palace. You were moving as carefully and quietly as you could and you prayed that you wouldn’t run into Roman once again, not willing to even think of him by his real persona. You had no idea where you had to go, had no idea, where the exit was, but eventually after a little eternity you found it. At least you thought that it was, however, when you were opening the double door, you found yourself on a patio and your breath automatically hitched. 

The view in front of you was absolutely breathtaking. Whatever you had expected, it definitely wasn’t that. Whenever you had read about the underworld or hell, you imagined it to be a deadly and horrific place by the descriptions you were given. You thought, that you would hear screams of pain, that you would see suffering, that everything was either pitch black, dark and gruesome or that there would be fire, an unbearable hotness and endless suffering. But what you actually saw? It couldn’t be further from what you had imagined or what those books made you believe. You were staring down at an endless landscape, the grass as green as you had never seen it before, countless roses in front of you with a sky, that couldn’t be more blue. You didn’t really trust your eyes, thinking that all of this must be a beautiful illusion. 

You slowly made your way down, heading down the stairs until you reached the beautiful garden, smelling the typical smell of the roses and all of the other beautiful flowers surrounding you. You carefully touched them, noticing that they were as real as they could be. You wandered around, taking in the beautiful sight in front of you before you left the garden and apparently the borders of the palace, wandering outside of them. The whole landscape portrayed sheer beauty; there were flowers, trees, little houses with people in and in front of them. As you looked closer you realized that they were not of flesh and blood, that you could see through them if you looked closely. Those must have been the souls, that came here to continue their lives in the underworld. If you were honest to yourself, it looked more like a paradise than the cruel hell you always expected when the word "underworld" came to your mind. 

You were so trapped in its beauty that you didn't realize how someone was moving closer to you until you felt a soft tugging at your hand. When you looked down a little girl, approximately eight years old, smiled up at you, asking: "Are you new here? I'm Lizzy." You had to smile as well as you answered: "Yes I'm new here. I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Lizzy." 

"Nice to meet you, too. You aren't dead, are you?" You gulped hard as you realized that she obviously was, before you shook your head, saying: "No I am not. Well at least I hope so.“ You looked down at your body, noticing that you still were made of flesh and blood, answering almost too quiet for your own ears: „At least I hope that I’m not. I don’t know.“ You didn’t want to even think of it, didn’t want to accept that fate.  

"But why are you here then?" 

"My sister was close to dying and I have traded my soul for hers without knowing it." She looked at you with big eyes before she nodded in understanding, a huge smile on her face as she said: "Oh I see. But you are going to love it here Y/N. Everyone around here is really nice and there is nothing to worry about. You just shouldn't wander alone to certain parts of the underworld since that's where the bad people have to stay." 

"The bad people?" 

"Yes, people that did hurt others, people that killed others. Just like the man, that is responsible that my family and I are here." 

"You mean...?" 

"He came into our house one night in order to rob us. Daddy tried to stop him and so did Mommy but they couldn't. He basically sent us here. I don't know what had happened to him but I had seen him when he was taken to one of the places, I'm not supposed to go." 

"I'm so sorry.", you said, your heart heavy for that little girl in front of you. "Oh don't be. We have a beautiful after life here. There's no pain, no sorrow and we are together. Daddy always says that Hades is a great guy and that we have to be grateful for all that he is doing for us down here. You know giving up his chance to be with the other gods and goddesses  and instead making sure that we are safe down here, that everything is going according to the rules. And he is right. When we came here, I was terribly afraid but Hades made sure that I felt comfortable as he was showing me the underworld, showing me that it was a beautiful place, that I could live here and be together with my family for all eternity. Has he shown you around as well?", Lizzy asked, a huge grin on her face. You shook your head as you mumbled: "No. To be honest, we are not really on good terms currently." 

"Don't tell me that he hadn't been nice to you? If you want me to, I can talk to him.“, she wanted to know, her tiny face angry, causing you to laugh out loud. "Let's just say that he hadn't really prepared me for the fact that I had to come with him, that I had to live down here and it caught me off guard.", you said amused, having to admit that you found that little girl adorable. Once again she nodded her head as if she was understanding it completely, replying: "You are really going to love it here. It's a beautiful place and Hades is really nice when he doesn't hate you." 

Before you could answer you heard a woman call for Lizzy in the distance. "That's my mum. I have to to go. See you later Y/N.", she squealed before she ran towards her mother. "See you later Lizzy", you exclaimed before you continued with your initial way, wandering around, Lizzy's words spinning around your mind. You didn't really pay attention to where you were going, didn't really notice that the beautiful landscape vanished until you found yourself in a dead forest, that was surrounded by fog, the trees surrounding you looking creepier and spookier than you could have imagined. 

You had no idea where you were. The air around you was becoming colder, there were lamentation, that seemed to come from all around you. You had no idea how to get back to the palace and the noises you were hearing kind of snowed you, drawing you nearer although you didn't feel like going there. You wanted to turn back, wanted to return to the safety of the palace and its surrounding gardens but you couldn't. Your feet dragged you to a different destination, following the painful voices and screeches, that you were hearing. You could feel shivers running down your spine as you were walking through the forest, having the feeling as if thousands of invisible eyes were following you. 

You had no idea what you should do, you didn't even dare to scream for help as the scenery once again changed. You had stepped out of the forest, not knowing how long you had been wandering through it already and your breath instantly hitched. The part of the underworld you had seen first reminded you of a paradise. It was beautiful, it was full of light, everything was blooming, but this here... It was the exact opposite. It looked like the pits of hell you had always imagined. There were neither flowers nor trees, everything was dark and black. The air was hot, you could barely breathe. And those terrible voices, that were drawing you closer, although everything in you screamed that you should turn around and run away the fastest that you could, you couldn’t escape them. 

Instead you were walking closer to where they came from like you were a puppet on a string. "Help me", one voice in particular screeched as you were following it. The closer you got the more people you saw, all of them seemed to be in different stages of agony, men and women quite alike. You wanted to help, felt bad for them, but at the same time it smelled like a trap, it felt as if something was off. You knew, that you shouldn't go further and yet you did. "Come here, help me", you heard that particular voice once again. 

As soon as you were close enough a hand was grabbing your wrist, holding it tight. "Now you belong to us", you heard a creepy voice, the hand grabbing you was more skeleton like than human. You tried to free yourself, tried to get away, but you couldn't as you were drawn closer and closer to that dark pit, that smelled as if thousands of corpses were rotting in there. Fear threatened to overwhelm you as you tried to break free, as you tried to get away from it. "Let go of me". your voice was barely more than a whisper, your wrist burning like fire. You had no idea where you were, had no idea how you came here but you knew for sure, that you wouldn't be able to break free, that whatever this thing down there was, it was dragging you in.

Suddenly that grip around your wrist was gone, a shrill scream could be heard, that made you cover your ears without thinking about it twice. As you looked next to you, you saw Roman standing there, his face furious as he tossed whatever had been grabbing you, back to where it came from. He turned to you, his voice angrier than it should be as he wanted to know: "What the hell are you doing out here?" You were still shaking as you snapped back: "What? I thought I was a guest and not a hostage... Which would mean that I am free to run around." You could watch as he calmed down, his voice rather concerned now as he answered: "Yes and I meant it like that. Sure, you are free to wander around, but there was a reason why I wanted to show you the underworld first. Certain places down here can be dangerous and I meant to stick to my promise that nothing will happen to you." 

You wanted to scold him, wanted to tell him off, but you realized how massively unfair that would have been, hence why you took a deep breath instead, saying: "I'm sorry. I mean for running around here, for behaving like I have done. The whole thing. It was just too much to handle I guess." He gave you one of his irresistible smiles as he answered: "No offense taken. I can absolutely understand that this must be overwhelming. And I'm really sorry, that I had to take you down here like that. I guess I just thought I would scare you less that way. I guess I have been terribly wrong." 

"Yeah you could have prepared me a little bit better I would say.", you said, a tiny smile on your face, adding shortly after: "Does the offer of showing me the underworld still stand?" 

"Absolutely", he answered amused before he gestured you to follow him, leading you back through that creepy forest. You watched him from the side as you wanted to know: "So is one of those superpowers a god possesses to know where all people are throughout every single second?" You could hear his deep chuckle as he answered: "I'm afraid we are not as cool as that. The truth is, that we have something like employees, people and spirits, that are making sure, that everything is going according to plan, informing us if things are slightly off." You nodded your head, asking: "So one of those spirits found me?" 

"No, it was your little friend telling me where you went as I was searching for you." You had to think about it for a few moments, before a smile appeared on your face, wanting to know: "Lizzy?" 

"Lizzy", he confirmed amused. You stayed silent for a few moments before you said, your voice sadder than before: "She and her family had been killed, haven't they?" 

"Yes they had. Rather brutally to be honest. I know, that it's actually nothing I should talk about but her father had to watch her mother being raped and killed like he had to watch Lizzy getting killed before that scum of society slit his throat.“, Roman answered with you hissing outraged: "I hope that their murderer rots in hell." 

"He does. And he almost dragged you in." 

"That creature, that was holding my wrist…?“ 

"Was their murderer, yes. He probably somehow knew that you made Lizzy's acquaintance, getting a certain kick of bewitching you. That was the second time I've tossed him in there personally and if he asks for it, I will do so a third and a fourth." You wanted to say something else, wanted to ask him how he can handle his life down here, but instead Roman let you know: "I guess I should tell you a few things about this whole place here first. The underworld is a realm, that is only visible for the dead, made solely for them. No living could ever find it and if they do for whatever reasons, Cerberus is there to hold them back." 

"But I'm here.", you said before you added: "Does this mean that I am dead?" You feared his answer, but you simply had to know. „No, you are very much alive.", he smiled at you, saying: "Although I have to stick to the rules down here, I nevertheless make them. I can alter them to a certain degree but I can't apply them to some people and not to others. Since you traded your soul for your sister's, I brought you here as one, meaning your body and your soul are still connected. You're as alive as I am. Sometimes exceptions have to be made." You didn't ask what he meant as you listened closely what he was telling you. "When I brought you here, I basically skipped a part. Cerberus protecting the gates of the underworld was not the real entrance. I didn't want to scare you, so I haven't started at the very entrance but we can go there if you want to. Before you can enter the underworld, you are greeted by spirits, that are supposed to scare every living away, that should find the entrance to the underworld. If you come that far you will meet grief, anxiety, diseases, old age, fear, agony, death and sleep. Besides that, there are many beasts like centaurs, gorgons, the Lernaean Hydra or Harpies guiding the entrance. Souls, that are on their way to the underworld, will be brought to Cerberus by my loyal Ferryman Charon, who brings them either over the river Acheron or the river Styx." 

While he was talking, Roman led you back to the beautiful landscapes you had been coming from and you listened closely, comparing everything he was telling you with the knowledge you thought you had gathered from your books. "Is it true, that the underworld is surrounded by six rivers?", you wanted to know with Roman chuckling as he answered: "I see you have really studied that book. But no, there are only five main rivers. You have Styx, the river of hatred, circling the underworld seven times. There's Acheron, the river of pain, Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, Phlegethon, the river of fire and Cocytus, the river of wailing. Whatever you are doing, don't go into them, don't drink from them… Acheron makes you feel pain, Lethe makes you forget everything. They stick by their name.“ 

You nodded your head, wanting to know: "Once a soul passes Cerberus, what then? Is it allowed to wander free?" Roman shook his head as he continued: "No. Since you were fainting, you unfortunately couldn't see what was happening then. Come on, follow me." You didn't dare to ask where you were going but just minutes later you saw Cerberus' back in front of a massive gate while a lot of souls passed through it. 

"Have they...? I mean...", you started with Roman nodding as if he knew what you wanted to ask: „Yes, all of them have recently died. I know that there is a lot of different religions out there but no matter what people believe, there is only one underworld. Everyone that dies, ends up here, no matter your culture, country, religion. Those souls coming down here... They have died of war, old age, suicide, homicide, accidents... They are all coming down here in this one place. Come on.", you felt his hand on your back as he was guiding you closer, so you could see what was going on. 

He didn't let go of you probably fearing that you might faint again. You couldn't turn your eyes away as you noticed that the souls were heading towards three people, that sent out an aura of authority. "Are those the judges?", you whispered as Roman nodded his head, explaining: "Yes as soon as the souls arrive here they are at the mercy of Minos, Rhadamanthus and Aeacus, which decide the fate of the souls, sending them to one of technically three bigger areas down here in the underworld.“ Before he could continue, you wanted to know: "Do you have any say in this?" 

"Of course, I do. But I'm trusting them and their judgement. There was never a case where I had to interfere, where I had to make their decision obsolete, although I'm basically looking at every choice they are making.“

"Isn't that a lot of work?", you asked skeptical, causing him to chuckle as he answered: "Yes it is, but since it is my only purpose in life and the underworld doesn't run itself, it is okay." You were curious, wanted to know what was with Persephone but you didn't dare to ask. Somehow you didn't really want to make her acquaintance although it was you that had mentioned her a couple of days ago."What happens to them now?", you asked with Roman explaining: "As already mentioned, the judges choose now where the souls are sent to. It is taken into account how they have behaved while they were alive, what kind of people they were, how they treated others, how they treated animals etc. Wealth and money doesn't count down here, it is your character and your treatment of others as well as how much good you had done, that decides where you are sent to. If they choose a soul for Elysium, it has to drink from Lethe first, so it forgets anything of its former life and can live a restful and stress-free afterlife." 

"Why don't you leave them their memories?", you wanted to know. Roman gave you a sad smile, replying: "Because it would hurt them too much. They should be able to live a peaceful life here and don't need to be reminded of their past lives or the way they died." 

"But maybe they want to remember. Maybe they don't want to forget the people close to them, the people they loved, the life they have left?", you mentioned, thinking about your own past, that seemed to be so long ago. Roman must have heard the sadness in your voice as he answered: "Don't worry Y/N. It's not like that. Take a look at Lizzy. Once a soul's family member, friend, wife or husband, you name it... Once they arrive here said soul will remember them, will remember the beautiful life they had shared. It is basically just a limited time, that they would forget about that to lessen their pain. It is my duty to make sure that they will recognize and remember each other once they meet again." Your heart immediately went light when you heard those words. That indeed sounded like paradise to you. "That sounds beautiful", you smiled with Roman returning it as he stated: "It is. Inside of Elysium there is the Isles of the Blessed. It would be too complicated to explain it now in detail but under certain circumstances you are granted access to the Isles of the Blessed, that grants unending bliss. There's another area, that consists of the Mourning Fields and the Fields of Punishment. The Mourning Fields are inhabited by those souls, that wasted their lives on unrequited love. I know, that it sounds harsh but those souls going there are not bad. They even have been granted access to the Elysium but for whatever reason, that only they know, they decided that they didn't want to drink from Lethe, that they didn't want to forget their past life but they would rather spend their eternity mourning what they had lost. This Field just like the Field of Punishment is located close to the forest we had passed before. The Field of Punishment is full of those souls, that had committed crimes, that were mostly bad during their lifetime. Those souls aren't forgetting their old lives either as they shall remember what they are getting punished for. It's a task I don't exactly love but it is my job to decide on their punishment, just as I can grant them absolution when I'm of the opinion that they fully regret, what they had done. In that case I can send them to Elysium after all if they paid their dues. The place, I have found you before, is the worst form of the Field of Punishment." 

You shivered once again as you whispered: "That was Tartarus, wasn't it?" Roman nodded his head and without thinking about it twice he was pulling you closer, whispering: "Tartarus is the most terrible place in the whole underworld. It's not really belonging here but it's rather a place far beneath the underworld. It is dark through and through, the fiery water of Phlegethon is running down there. Being in Tartarus equals pure terror and horrific pain. Only the worst souls like the murderer of Lizzy's family end up down there. Sometimes they try to find their way out, sometimes they make it to the surface, but as soon as they reach it, I'm tossing them back in right away. I'm just so sorry that he got his hand on you." You were gulping hard as you rubbed over your wrist. 

You didn't want to think about it so you asked: "What's the third place?" Roman studied your face for some more moments but whatever he wanted to say, he decided against it, as he answered instead: "Those are the Fields of Asphodel, basically that area, where people head to, that wanted to remember their past, and people that were not good enough for Elysium, as stupid as this sounds. It is the area surrounding the palace." You thought about it before you wanted to know: "So this means that Lizzy and her family were not good enough for Elysium?" Roman had to smile as he realized how shocked you sounded. "No, this just means that a soul down here has a saying in where it wants to be. The judges make their choice but that doesn't mean, that a soul doesn't have a free will. If a soul is allowed to enter Elysium but wants to stay in the Fields of Asphodel, it is free to do so. If a soul is sent to the Fields of Punishment, it has no other choice than to go there. People, that have been good in their lifetime, can decide here as well." 

This statement somehow really calmed you down.  Before you could say anything else there was an uproar in front of the judges as some souls didn't seem to be happy with where the judges were sending them. "Seems as if there is work to do. How about you head back to the palace while I take care of this matter? I will catch up with you once I am done here and will answer every possible question you have then.", Roman's deep voice asked, locking eyes with you. You scolded yourself as you had the feeling of drowning in them, trying to keep a clear thought as you answered: "Okay. I'm trying not to get lost again." You heard his heartfelt laugh as he replied: "I really hope so." With that he turned around, heading for the gate while you were staring after him. You still couldn't process any of that but he was right with one thing. When he was around you, you felt safe. 

[wumpusandzandii]

Dissonance: Part One

Human!AU TMNT One Shot for Raph x Stacey

TW: content involving abuse and physical harm

Yawning, Stacey shuffled towards the kitchen in the lair, in search of the caffeine she required to start her day. Pulling her hands out of her hoodie pocket, she rubbed her eyes as she entered, the smell of coffee greeting her. The boys had naturally already been up and through the kitchen, years of their training routine getting them up and moving early. Not surprisingly, Donatello was still in the kitchen sitting at an end of the table, cradling his head in one hand over an open book and steaming mug. Their eyes met for a brief moment before nodding to acknowledge each other, neither of them suited for the early bird lifestyle.

After pouring herself a mug and adding liberal amounts of creamer, she made her way to the table, sitting down adjacent to him and peeking over at the book. “What’s your morning content today, hmm? Nuclear physics? How to hack into the international space station?”

Sipping his coffee black, Donnie shook his head before yawning himself. “Abductive Cognition: The Epistemological and Eco-Cognitive Dimensions of Hypothetical Reasoning.”

Blinking heavily, she tried to process and make sense of the title before giving up and taking a slug of coffee. “I think I’m just gonna stick to Terry Pratchett and motorcycle manuals, if that’s okay,” she finally said with a half smile. She idly wondered what it must be like for Donnie to be so intelligent, and surrounded by such… normal people. It had to be frustrating.

Looking up from the tome with a soft smile, he nodded. “Both are good choices, actually. The Discworld novels were particularly well written, with a unique sense of humor. You can never go wrong with manuals, either. Never hurts to know too much.”

“I dunno,” she chuckled over the rim of her mug. “The title of that one hurt my brain.”

“I’m not sure of how much I’m even retaining this early,” he acknowledged, pushing it away from himself. Raising an eyebrow, he looked at her more intently. “Speaking of motorcycles and hurt, how is that cut?”

Pulling up her sleeve, she let him examine the healing cut on her forearm. It hadn’t been serious; she had been helping Jax by getting an engine into a bike, and scraped it open on a metal bracket. She had cleaned it up and gone about her day, but within a few days it was obvious she hadn’t cleaned it well enough. Donnie had seen it and insisted it was infected, and helped her to save the trip to urgent care by taking care of it himself. “Hasn’t shown any signs of infection after the round of antibiotics you gave me, just healing shut.”

Still insisting on inspecting it fully himself, he held her arm and gently turned it before releasing it carefully. “Looks good. You took all of them, right?”

“Of course,” she scoffed, shaking her head in friendly disbelief. “You were very clear about the risks of stopping antibiotics early and how that’s encouraged antibiotic resistant strains of infections.”

“It's likely to cause an epidemic at some point,” he said, adding onto his previous statement. “It's not taken seriously enough.”

She nodded in agreement, and sat back in her chair. Shuffling her mug in a circle, her eyebrows furrowed together as a silence settled between them. “Can they have any side effects, though?” She asked finally, picking up her phone and looking at the calendar for the millionth time that morning.

“Of course, there are few medications that don't, but yours was a simple round of penicillin. It can cause gastric upset, headaches, yeast infections or thrush, most commonly.” Setting his mug down, he rested his elbows on the table, folding his hands together. “Do you think you've had any? Any headaches and gastric upset should've passed with completing the medication. The others can persist, but I'm afraid I don't have anything on hand for those.”

“No,” she answered quickly, turning bright red at the aspect of discussing yeast infections with a man that was effectively her brother-in-law. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, but she forced herself to continue logically. “No, nothing like that. Unless… can a yeast infection make you late?”

“Late?” Donnie looked confused, glancing at his bare wrist before looking at the wall clock. Looking back at her, she could tell he was no more enlightened as his head tilted to the side.

Sighing and accepting the second hot flush across her cheeks, she had to look down, away from his inquisitive eyes. Picking at a small flake of red polish on one of her thumbs, she swallowed hard. “Late cycle… period.”

There was a weighted pause, and she didn't have to look up as she heard understanding finally dawn on the lanky man. For someone so intelligent, the obvious escaped him from time to time, especially with women, but that was understandable. While they had been raised to utterly respect women, their father would accept no less, they had not had a female influence in their family. It was some shock to her to find out she was the first real stable female in their family circle, though Donnie had recently been seeing Lily, and it was especially so to her considering she hadn't had siblings growing up. It was a weird dynamic, but they were all figuring it out… albeit slowly. It did, however, lead to inevitably awkward moments, that moment topping the list.

“Uh, no,” he answered finally, clearing his throat a few times. “It wouldn't delay your cycle, as far as I'm aware? Hang on… I don't have my holo band or my phone, may I use yours?”

Keeping her face angled down a bit, she unlocked her phone screen and slid it to Donnie, who scooped it up deftly and began typing immediately. Watching his face intently out of her peripheral vision, she turned and faced him directly when his face went white as a sheet. “What? What is it?”

“It wasn’t rifampin though…” he muttered, scrolling through the screen as quickly as he read.

“Donnie, that doesn’t make sense, but you’re kinda freaking me out…” Stacey said, doing her best to remain calm. Donnie freaked out over things they didn’t even understand sometimes, it could be something little. It didn’t look little, but a girl had to hope.

“It’s too early for this.” Setting the phone down, he took off his glasses and covered his face with both hands before rubbing it brusquely. “When I checked your dosage, it didn’t list any drug interactions. That said, there is a widely debated scientific possibility that antibiotics can interfere with low dose birth control.”

“Wait, what?” The kitchen seemed to stop in time, every small noise amplified to excruciating volume as she let his words sink in. Surely she had heard him wrong. That was all. She had misunderstood. Trying to swallow a lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away, she clenched her hands together in her lap. “Debated science? Interfere with birth control how?”

“How could I miss that?” Donatello’s head dropped to the table, on top of his folded arms. When no other answer issued forth from him, she prompted him by firmly saying his name. “It’s only been proven with rifampin, but it is possible that antibiotics make birth control… less effective. And I assume you take it?”

“I do!” she answered, her volume and pitch surprising her. Closing her eyes and making an attempt at taking a cleansing breath, she wiped her sweating palms against her pants. The kitchen that had just before seemed fixed in time, now spun around her. “So I could be late because… because I could… could be…”

“Pregnant,” he completed the sentence she seemed unable to utter. “I don’t know how I missed it, Stacey, I’m so sorry…”

“But you never miss anything,” she rasped hoarsely. Picking up her phone with shaking hands, she struggled to open up her calendar again. “It’s just a mistake, right? You read wrong… or-or I put the date in wrong…”

“Contrary to popular belief, I am in fact, fallible. Regrettably. It’s a slim chance, but it’s a chance, and I missed it. I missed it.” His voice was small and wavering, and she knew that he was telling the truth. She was never late, always the same day in the cycle, and time had gotten past her before she realized it was three days past.

“Please tell me you have a test in that big medicine stash of yours.” She knew the answer once he lifted his head from the table, forlorn. He didn’t have to say he didn’t, it was written plainly all over his face. Something in her barely controlled facade finally snapped, and she found herself standing bolt upright, chair clattering away behind her. “How can you not have one?!”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re all men here!” he answered, obviously frazzled by the way his voice raised. “It hadn’t exactly come up, I’m not even a doctor, let alone an OB/GYN!”

“Well, it’s come up now, hasn’t it?!” Panic was beginning to set in. How could she be pregnant? She couldn’t be. Maybe it was just something weird with her system that month. She needed a test to be sure, and the last thing in the world she wanted was Raph finding out before she knew for certain. One thing at a time. One thing at a time. “You don't tell him yet, you hear me?”

Her comment obviously didn't need clarification. “I'm not telling him anything! Do I look like a masochist to you?”

“Telling who, what?”

Stacey actually jumped from the startle, bracing herself with one hand on the table as she turned to look at Raph. Of course he'd show up right then, that was just her luck that morning. His scarred eyebrows were furrowed together, amber eyes moving back and forth between the two of them. “Jesus, babe. I swear to god, you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days with that ninja shit.”

“Leo,” Donatello quickly answered, most likely a little too quickly.

It didn't take a lot of deduction for her to notice that Raph wasn't exactly buying into whatever weirdness was going on in the kitchen, so she moved towards him and kissed his cheek. “Telling Leo that we were thinking of going on a double date with Donnie and Lily to go see a movie, and it'll probably mess with patrols.”

Raph’s scowl only lessened slightly. “We are?”

“Maybe? We need to check show times, schedules. You know,” Donnie picked up on her thread, adding on but clearing his throat nervously. He was wilting like a string bean exposed to too much steam.

“Don't ya think you oughta be training with the rest of us instead of plannin’ your social schedule? Ol’ fearless sent me lookin’ for ya, and there'll be hell to pay right now if we don't get back.” Raph kept his eyes fixed a little too keenly on his younger brother for Stacey’s liking, but she leaned in for a brief hug and got a kiss atop her head, nonetheless.

“I gotta grab my stuff and head out to work,” she said, doing her best to make the exchange as normal as possible. Nothing to worry about yet, one thing at a time. Pressing onto her tiptoes, she gave Raph a quick kiss.

He kissed her back, but stopped her from moving away by putting his forefinger under her chin and directing her gaze up to meet his. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered, trying not to feel sick with how honest the lie sounded. Brushing her hand against the stubble along his jaw, she gave him a small smile and tried to come up with an excuse that was a little closer to the truth. Lying to him was quite possibly the worst thing she could think of doing, let alone starting her entire day with it. “I’m just running late.”

Donnie choked on coffee behind her, and it took every fiber of her being not to turn and glare at him. Raph was continued being suspicious, scowling over her shoulder at him. It was probably more effective than her glare would’ve been, anyway. With a slow blink, he redirected his attention back down to her, concern replacing the hard lines around his eyes. “You be safe, okay?”

“Always, babe.” With one more brief kiss, she moved around the bulk of his form to exit the kitchen, shooting Donnie a glare once she was behind him, anyway.

“You comin’ or do I have to drag you?” Raph threatened, and his shoulders widened with a dominating posture as he folded his arms.

“I’m coming,” she heard Donnie sigh in return, his chair skidding back. “I’m going to need more than coffee to make it through today.”

***

Stacey paced the short length of the small, dim bathroom at the bike shop. It was the longest three minutes of her life, and there wasn’t enough room to contain her building anxiety. She had stopped at the local drugstore on her way to work, buying a pregnancy test and forcing herself to at least wait until she was at work to take it, not simply using the public one at the store. Her stomach was climbing into her throat with each passing second, and she found herself nervously trying to pop joints that had already been popped, or were too tense to. Glancing at her phone, she checked her timer. Only 30 seconds left.

Resolve breaking, she turned to the counter around the sink and stared at the test. No. No no no. The time was barely up, and already she could see two pink lines. Grabbing the leaflet from the box, she triple checked to make sure that it meant pregnant, even though she damn well knew it was. Turning the flashlight on her phone, she examined it more carefully, scrutinizing the slightly fainter second line. The extra light only made the line more evident. “Fuck,” she cursed, turning her face towards the ceiling, only to cover it with both hands. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

A light knock on the door startled her, and she tried to blink the blurry tears out of her eyes. “Y’all right in there, girl?” came Jax’s voice from the other side. She knew he meant well, he’d been looking after her well-being for a better part of a decade. To her,  in that moment, it was just one more lie she had to say to someone she cared about, and it was almost more than she could handle.

“Yeah,” she replied, her stomach twisting into a tighter knot. “Just uh… girl stuff. I’ll be out to inventory check the shipment in a few.”

“You take yer time,” he answered good naturedly, making her feel all that much worse for lying to him. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Hearing his boots thump against the hard floor as he walked off, she dropped the lid of the toilet down and plopped herself on top of it, burying her face in her hands. She tried to ignore the fact that she was allowing herself to panic because the other emotions drowning her mind were too complicated to process. Being “raised” by Eli and Heather had completely set her off the idea of having kids when she was much younger. It wasn’t exactly a warm, nurturing environment, and she didn’t have siblings or any cousins that she was actually aware of. It was possible they were out there, but her parents didn’t have a particularly good track record of keeping up good relations with others. All they cared about was themselves. She had the blessing of being raised predominantly by her maternal grandfather for the first nine years of her life, but he passed away and the only people left to take her were her parents. Heather would’ve been happy enough to pass her off to a foster home, her only real concerns stemming around where her pipe or next fix might be. Eli wouldn’t have it, for whatever reason. Controlling her and keeping her prisoner to his abuse was far more important.

Mothers left an acidic taste in her mouth. Mothers were absent. Mothers sat by and watched fathers yell and belittle, doing nothing to stop the mental abuse. Mothers went in the other room to high when fathers pulled off their belt and started lashing children, not even coming out to intervene when the belt turned to fists and the fists turned to boots. Mothers lit up their own cigarette when fathers burned the skin of their own, ignoring the cries of pain or too drugged up to care. Mothers didn’t go to the hospital when their daughter was beaten almost to death. Mothers weren’t in the courtroom when their daughter was emancipated at fifteen, they were never there with hugs or apologies. Mothers died in squalid apartments, leaving an angry and bitter man in their wake, without a word as to why. Why?

It took Stacey a long moment to realize the tears that wet her face and ran down her forearms. Pulling a long stretch of paper towel off the roll, she did her best to clean herself up, just like she had always done. Sniffing after blowing her nose, she blinked at the tile on the floor. She had no reference as to what a “good mother” was, not truly. The lack of that influence was something of a silent bond between Raph and herself. It rarely came up, and the conversation was always brief when it did. Mothers were a source of pain to them both.

The fear crippling her had nothing to do with her love for him. He understood her better than anyone ever had, and she him. She would follow him to the ends of the earth and back. But how could she expose him to that? How could she bring that horrible, negative influence into his life? How could she go from being the person she was in his life, his partner, his second half… to that? Wounding him all over, worse than any punk in an alley could? It wasn’t that she doubted him at all. Sure, he doubted himself, but he was one of the most solid people she had ever met, with one of the strongest moral compasses and fiercely loyal to a fault. The entire lot of Hamato men were practically too good to be true, from her perspective. That’s what troubled her, she couldn’t ruin that. How could she just utterly fail him and a child?

At the same time, there was a large portion of her that wanted to hope, that wanted to believe. Maybe she could be different, maybe she could have a “slice of the good life” that had always seemed out of her reach. For brief moments, she thought she could see them, a happy little family. But doubt inevitably creeped back in and ruined it. Knowing his loyalty, he’d support her in whatever she chose, but she honestly had no idea as to what he would really want. They both seemed to avoid the subject as much as they avoided the subject of mothers. In hindsight, it wasn’t the healthiest way for them to handle it, but it hadn’t been an issue up until that point.

In any case, she couldn’t stay locked in the bathroom all day, so she picked herself up, wiping at her face as she looked into the mirror. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know who she was looking at, and it scared her. She felt like a scared little girl, hiding in the bathroom, hoping dad would pass out drunk so she could get some sleep. With a heavy sigh she felt to her core, she ran her fingers through her hair before pulling it up into a messy bun. She scrubbed her face with cool water and dried it as best she could with the paper towels.

Staring at the test still sitting on the counter, she picked it up and rolled it up into a paper towel, moving to toss it into the trash bin. Her hand stalled over it, something in her not letting her be that dismissive of something so possibly life changing. Tightening the wrap around it, she stuffed it down into the bottom of her purse instead. Squaring her shoulders, she whisked out of the bathroom, falling to her old habit of painting murder-death-kill on her face rather than outwardly show any weakness.

***

Pivoting his bare foot against the mat, Raphael angled his body away from his opponent. No weapons, no gear, just two men sparring. He was grateful that he thought to pull his hair back first and tie his age-worn bandana over the top. It was damp with sweat kept out of his eyes, Donatello kept him moving, and he was thoroughly enjoying the change of pace. They circled each other slowly, waiting on the other to make the first move to continuing the fight. Sparring with Donnie tested him, it forced him to slow down and think. His taller, leaner brother was beyond intelligent enough to recognize that in a match of pure strength, he was outmatched. With that knowledge, he tended to get clever, finding ways around it, and it was good for Raph to have the experience, even if most guys just charged in fists first, as he preferred.

“Mikey and Leo left for a run,” Donnie said calmly, continuing the slow circular pace. He too, was sweating, and Raph was happy to see it. They were putting each other out.

“Yeah, so?” He narrowed his eyes at his younger brother with a wry smirk, wondering what he was at, trying to distract him from. Donnie’s normal tells didn’t appear in his expression however, and he simply shrugged in response. Lifting an eyebrow, he looked on inquisitively.

“We could probably knock off,” Donnie answered, his use of slang showing fatigue, though it wasn’t directly obvious whether it was mental or physical, or maybe both. “They won’t be back for a while, we’ve been training for sufficient time that dad isn’t likely to question it.”

Raph’s second eyebrow lifted to meet the other in surprise, though they continued their slow circling of each other. There were enough years of training between the two of them to expect the other of taking advantage of a vulnerable moment to put their guard down quite that quickly. “Whatcha’ talkin’ about, Don? Quittin’?”

Finally Donnie did stop, standing up straight and rolling his shoulders. “Not quitting, just calling it good enough. I’m just not feeling it this morning.”

Following his lead, Raph stopped as well, his eyes fixed as he cracked his neck. “This got somethin’ to do with whatever that weirdness was in the kitchen?”

“No,” his voice sounded a little harried, and he audibly cleared his throat. “No, I just-”

Before he could finish his sentence, one of Donnie’s alarms went off at his computer table. Not an emergency alarm, but one that Raph hadn’t heard before. He looked at his brother for the briefest of moments before they both ran out of the training area and over to the cluster of screens. Most of them were still off or on a screen saver, but one off to the left was on, black and white surveillance video of a sidewalk scene running at current time. As Donnie slid into his chair and started typing, Raph scowled at the monitor as it switched to a different camera, people walking down a sidewalk.

“What is it? Why’s it important?” he asked, having the vague sense of being familiar with the background in the scene, but the angle was different and there wasn’t particularly good definition on the camera. “I don’t see anythin’ alarm worthy.”

“It’s my facial recognition program,” Donnie said quietly, running his hands through his hair, obviously agitated. “I have it set with multiple guidelines and parameters to search constantly through various wireless security cameras in specific zones, generally within a range of-”

“Donnie!” Raph snapped as the camera view changed again. “Get to the point!” He was visually focused on the feed, trying to determine what, or likely who, it was following from what he had started to over-explain.

Donnie sighed heavily and fidgeted in his chair. “I have cameras set up to look for certain people in certain areas. That’s… that’s one of Stacey’s alarms. It’s picked up Elijah Matthews within a 10 block radius of her work… and currently the triangulation shows him headed her way.”

The room seemed to stretch into a tunnel, and even though his brother was right next to him, he seemed far enough away that his voice started to fade. Grabbing the edge of the monitor and oblivious to any complaint Donnie may have had, he looked closer, willing his brother to be wrong, just for once in his damn life to be wrong… but he wasn’t. Knowing what he was looking for made it easier to find what the computer had, and the face of the man… person, he didn’t deserve to be called a man… appeared in the small crowd. His gait wasn’t smooth, though he couldn’t tell if it was from a physical issue or the bastard being drunk again. It wasn’t until cracks started from the corner of the monitor and split across the screen in obscuring splashes of color that he realized he was clenching every muscle in his upper body in silent fury.

Raph had told him to stay away or he would fucking destroy him.

Payday had come.

[geeky-roleplayer]

An Eternal Thing

A self indulgent Edmund Pevensie X Oc.

I'm in the midst of rereading the books so I apologize if it doesn't make much sense when compared with the source material..

---

The sprawling halls of Cair paravel were clamoring  with mirth as the guest of the night flitted about.  Eccentric ball gowns skimmed the marbled floors, and the echoing steps of hooved creatures resonated with the music.  Couples swayed about in a daze; drunk on the ambience of the ballroom. This was often the case, at celebratory events such as these.  This event happened to be the anniversary of the end of the eternal winter. It is true that many years had already passed, but the castle on the oceanside clung to the memories of the four siblings who helped free Narnia from the Witch’s frigid grasp.  

One by one those siblings made an appearance. Peter the Magnificent, the eldest of the four who was known for his iron hand and decisive blows.  Armies quaked beneath his feet, and his people bowed at his side with deep-rooted respect. Susan the Gentle, a woman who could make men swoon, and her heart kinder still.  Her aim was deadly, and yet her hand was extended with the gentleness of mercy. The next of Kin of course, is Edmund the Just. History would never forget his betrayals, and neither would he.  The King was a master of the sword and of a silver tongue. None would ever wish to challenge him in a battle of wits or blade; for he would call them out for their wrong doings as he tried to make up for his own.

Finally there was Lucy the Valiant, a girl of legend, a daughter of Eve, and for all intents and purposes, the true savior of Narnia.  She was the last in the line of siblings, and the most legendary. Her open heart and brave mind was what pulled the creatures of the country from their frozen wasteland.  Her resolve and will was enough to melt the snow, and to welcome Aslan back into the lives of all. She was a miracle some would say, and her acts of courage would be shared through the generations, long past her life.

The third sibling was balancing delicately on the arm of his throne chair.  His feet swayed, and his raven hair fell into his eyes dangerously. He couldn’t quite make out those who entered and left the room, but he would prefer not to speak to them anyway.  He was listening, with a tilted head, for anything amiss. Edmund would let his siblings enjoy one night, as he kept vigilance with the guards. A group of noble women passed by, and he offered them a smile.  It didn’t take much for them to erupt within a fit of giggles. Their delicate hands brushing through their hair, or covering their painted lips. He regarded their laced skirts and corsets for only a moment before looking away.   

“Come on Ed,”

He didn’t jump at the familiar voice, Peter was stumbling about, obviously not worried about keeping up appearances. He’d heard his brother coming from halfway across the room, even if he couldn’t find him amongst the crowd.   “Any of those women would love to have you as a suitor, or a dalliance.” His voice was still firm, but as he climbed the stairs to stand beside his sibling, Edmund could smell the liquor on his breath.  He wrinkled his nose.

“They’d be much happier with you, I’m sure.”  

“You’re right.”  

Edmund swung his head around at that, and fixed his brother with a hard stare. “You don’t have to be an arse Peter.” As he spoke, he jerked his thumb in the direction of the ladies who were now clinging to every word that was falling from Lucy’s lips. He could only assume the stories his little sister was telling.  “You can have them, I’m not looking for a..a plaything.”

Peter’s brows furrowed, and for a moment Edmund thought he had overstepped, but the older man simply shrugged. “They don’t have to be all fun and games, there could be someone worth keeping in that lot, if you took the time to look.”   Edmund rolled his eyes.

“You’re awfully sentimental tonight, brother.”

“I’m drunk.”  Peter responded with an exhale.

They both unwinded with a laugh, and Peter gave his brother a playful nudge to the shoulder. “I’m only teasing you, they aren’t your type anyway.”  

The Just hummed,  and his eyes traveled upwards, as he studied the large pillars which held up the delicate, arching, ceiling. “Oh, and what’s my type?”

“She is.”

His dark gaze  snapped away from above, and fell to follow Peter’s pointed finger.

Edmund couldn’t help his sharp intake of breath, and how he bit the inside of his cheek.

The Lady of the Forest  was not known for her social appearances, and yet there she was, as radiant as ever.  Her long black hair was left loose, shifting against her back, and flowers clung to the strands as if she was a garden in full bloom.  He eyed her own dress, with green silks and olive ribbons. It was loose, and the straps fell to hang from her shoulders. He knew he’d never catch her wearing a grand outfit, all fluff and extravagance like their other guest, but he preferred it that way.   

“I didn’t notice her arrival?” He stated, his words hanging in air like a question.

Peter grunted, and turned about so that he could fall back into the seat of his own throne. Others danced by them in a whirl, and they both watched them with soft amusement.

“She didn’t wish to be announced, she isn’t much for small talk.”

That was the truth, she was a woman of conviction and far off thoughts.  She loved to talk of their world, and of his old one. She seemed to hold all the answers, and if she didn’t know, then she would make it her mission to learn.   

“Does that mean I shouldn’t go say hello?”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re the only one who can get a word out of her.”

That was also true, the Lady and the Magnificent had a rocky relationship, and often kept each other at arm's length.  However, they both knew the importance of the other, and did their best to work together without stepping on the other’s feet.  As a result of this, it was often Edmund’s job to be the mediator, while his sisters let him scramble. They were often the diplomats, so they enjoyed watching him squirm.

He pushed himself to his feet, and gazes turned to watch him for a moment, nobles hungry to see what he would do. The animals and creatures, the actual citizen’s of Narnia, tensed. As if they were awaiting his word, or an order.  Gradually they all returned to their previous conversations when he didn’t stir further.

He sighed.  “Wish me luck?”

Peter dismissed the request with a wave of his hand, and instead offered his  sibling a smile.

“You don’t need it.”

Edmund pushed through the crowd, and to his relief only a few from his neighboring countries stopped him along the way. It was always work, and it was almost never ending, but it was his other sister who came to his rescue this time.  As Susan came to his side, he offered her a look of relief as she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Gentlemen, I do believe my brother has some place to be, but please, if the matters are urgent you may discuss them with me.”  

Before they could protest, Susan bumped Edmund with her hip and sent him on his way.  He picked up his pace until he reached the open doors of the balcony. He hesitated, and instead waited a moment before interrupting her solitude.  She was leaning against the railing, and the wind brought her hair up to dance along the edges of her face. She seemed so serene in that moment, her body slacked as she watched the waves crash into the rocks below.  

The formalities were long behind them.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

She startled at his sudden appearance, but as she gazed over her shoulder there was nothing but warmth in her green eyes.  “I would like nothing more.”

He stepped farther out into the open, and stopped at her side. “It’s nice to see you again Noel,” he offered as her attention  returned to the water, but she smiled all the same.

“Likewise, your Majesty.”

She knew he hated being called that, and he knew that she hated smalltalk.

“Would it be wrong of me to admit I didn’t think you would show?” At the time he couldn’t bring himself not to extend an invitation.

She laughed, and he felt his heart lift with the sound. “No, for a moment I considered staying home, but there was something here I wanted to see.”

He found himself arching an eyebrow in question. Surely it couldn’t be the ocean below she was watching so intently. The beach was open for any, and it was even more marvelous to look at during the day.  “Something?”

“Someone.”   She corrected herself promptly, and planted her heel firmly on the ground so she could turn to him.  Her arms were crossed, and the emerald jewelry that hung from her neck glinted in the light. “If you don’t mind me being so bold in saying so.”

“Gracious no,  I'd prefer it.”

She took a step closer then, and he didn’t shy away.  Her sweet aroma of summer lilacs snagged at his senses, and he resisted the urge to close that gap between them, as he has already done numerous times before.  

“Then dare I say it was you, my King, that I came to see?”

He watched her earthly eyes, and the haunting mischief that reflected in them.   

“Do you dare?”

“I do.”

A chill crept up his spine, at the thought of kissing her there, hungrily and out of depth.  Where people could see, and murmur, and repulse. She was no noble, and he was no man that had the pleasure of running away with her.   She caught onto his hesitancy, and offered him another smile.

One that told him that it was okay, she could wait.  They could wait.

“Love is a fragile thing.” He murmured, sadly, watching her expression soften as they both turned back to the dark waves, and the sky above.

“Edmund?” She inquired softly after a few moments, and he hummed, as her hand intertwined with his for a painfully fleeting moment.

“Love is an eternal thing.”

[natasha-cole]

What Happens in Vegas Part 8

Rob Benedict x Reader

Chapter Summary: The Seattle convention rolls around, and Reader and Rob never considered that they’d find themselves stuck rooming together. Maybe they can make the most of it.

Word Count: 3506

Warnings: swearing, mild angst, drinking

Notes: Thought I’d lighten the mood a bit.

Catch Up: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

Rob’s POV

Rob made a point of steering clear of Y/N for the week. He knew that she was irritated with him enough as it was, it was probably best not to make things worse. Regardless, her showing up at the Louden Swain show had gone over well. People were talking, that was certain. Some were still questioning the entire thing, but others were standing up for them and their marriage. They must have been better actors than Rob thought, because a lot of what was being said was how affectionate and in love they seemed to be at the show. Well, it was a lot easier for Rob really as he didn’t find it difficult to pretend to like Y/N. She on the other hand, had been convincing despite the fact that she despised him.

He was waiting for her in the lobby of the hotel in Seattle. She had been on a different flight than him, but he figured it would look good if they at least checked in together to make it at least look like they were checking into the same room.

She had already been short with him when he texted her to check where she was and he hated that he bothered her so much. Yes, the situation was a shitty one, and he knew that all he could do at this point was try his hardest to make her happy. A happy fake wife would make or break the next six months.

When he saw her come through the main doors, he stood up to greet her; smiling as he watched her walk toward him. She however, did not look anywhere near thrilled to see him. She held a permanent frown as she reached him, which only caused Rob’s usual good mood to fade rather quickly.

“You could at least pretend to be happy to see your husband,” he whispered as he led her toward the front desk.

“Why should I? There’s no fans at this hotel,” she pointed out.

Rob glanced around, realizing that she was right. But it still wouldn’t hurt to act as if they liked each other in any public setting. He decided against even mentioning it.

“Hey,” Rob said as he greeted the receptionist, “we’re checking in.”

“Separately,” Y/N added as she focused on her phone, ignoring Rob.

“Yes, separately. Mine should be under... McCrotch,” he began, now feeling regretful that he decided that they should check in together. “Pat McCrotch.”

“Ew,” Y/N cried out, looking up from her phone as she overheard the name that Rob sometimes used at hotels.

“It’s an alias,” he breathed out in frustration.

“God, I hope so,” she replied, still with that look of disgust on her face. “No way I’m going to be Mrs. McCrotch from here on out.”

“You said you weren’t changing your name anyway, honey.”

“You’re such a child,” she responded as she rolled her eyes. She went back to her phone and Rob made a mental note to not let Rich choose his aliases for him anymore. They seemed less funny when he had a fake wife judging him now.

“Okay, I have a single room, king size bed for you and a… Mrs. McCrotch.” The woman said, trying to keep a straight face.

“E-excuse me?” Rob stuttered. “Say what now?”

“Is this your wife?” She asked as she nodded toward Y/N.

“Uh, yes. But we should have separate rooms.” He took note of her judgey stare. “It’s a little complicated.”

“Yes, hello,” Y/N cut in, looking a bit frantic. “Please tell me that I have my own room. Y/N Y/L/N. Which is my real name by the way… because I’m not a child.”

The woman began to type, frowning after some time of staring at the screen.

“Nope, sorry. Nothing under that name.”

“This is a mistake,” Y/N replied.

“Well, you say you’re married. Whoever booked the rooms booked one room for… Mr. McCrotch and his wife, so…”

“Okay,” Y/N said, now looking very flustered. “Fine, I’ll just book my own damn room.”

“I’m sorry, there are no other rooms available.”

“Really? Because you didn’t do the typey thingy on your computer. How do you know?”

“Because it’s a busy weekend and I know that we are fully booked.”

“Fine,” she replied through gritted teeth. She turned and elbowed Rob, obviously upset. “Will you just check us in? I’ll figure this out later.”

Rob watched her as she gathered her bags and walked off in a huff, leaving him to deal with this new mess for now.

“I was trying to,” he mumbled in return when she was out of earshot.

He looked at the woman who was helping them and noticed the concern in her expression.

“We’re newlyweds,” he said with a smile, as if that was supposed to make all of this look normal.

Y/N spent a good amount of time making phone calls to straighten out this mess while Rob kicked back on the bed and mindlessly flipped through channels on the TV. She sounded even more frustrated and Rob wanted to avoid dealing with that at all costs.

She finally hung up and faced him angrily.

“So, apparently the fact that this is all just a joke never did reach the Creation team,” she explained. “As far as they know, this is legit, which is why they booked us a room together when they realized we got married.”

“Well, it is legit,” he mumbled in return.

“I mean, they don’t know that it was an accident.”

“Probably best to keep it that way.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Still, I can’t stay in the same room as you all weekend.”

“I’m a pretty decent roommate.”

“I’m sure one of the girls will let me stay with them,” she replied as she started to text away to anyone she could think of.

Rob continued to stare at the TV, not really bothered by the fact that they were in a new mess. He had no desire to try to fix anything; there was nothing to fix really. He listened to her beg whoever was on the phone with her at any given moment, laughing to himself at the way she seemed to be shot down each time. He was mostly offended. What was so wrong with the two of them having to share a room for one weekend? He already told her that he was an okay roommate. He could be respectful and he understood boundaries. Besides, rooming together could help a lot with their little ploy to convince people that they were happy.

Her attempts at finding new arrangements for the room situation fell short, just as he knew they would. He knew his friends well enough to know that they were going to make this as difficult for the two of them as they could. Y/N tossed her phone onto the bed and sighed, looking at Rob with more frustration present on her face.

“No one will let me room with them,” she pouted.

“Really? Even though they know the situation?”

“They’re all saying the same thing. We did this, so we need to handle it together.”

“That sucks.”

“You’ve got to ask one of the guys if you can stay with them.”

“Do you really think they’ll let me?” He asked, raising a brow. “They’re all getting a kick out of this. Besides, everyone has that bet going on. I’m pretty sure a lot of them are just waiting for us to fail. Sooner rather than later. What better way to ensure that than to make me room with my wife that hates me?”

“I don’t hate you,” she replied quietly as she sat on the edge of the bed. “I just- hate the situation and maybe I’m just not happy with you.”

“You act like this is all my fault.”

“I would not be in this situation if it weren’t for you. I don’t do things like this. You on the other hand, you seem like the type of guy who gets his kicks out of marrying women.”

“That’s not fair,” Rob replied angrily. She was saying anything she could to get a rise out of him and it was working. Yes, the situation sucked, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. “As I recall, Ruth said you were the one who suggested getting married in the first place. So maybe it’s your fault. Maybe you took advantage of the fact that I was wasted for your own benefit.”

“How does this benefit me?” She asked with a laugh.

“I don’t know; but when we get divorced, you’re not taking anything of mine.”

“Shut up,” she spat. “You’re the worst.”

“Well, you’re certainly not a joy to be around yourself,” he replied flatly.

“Do you ever just shut up?” She snapped.

Rob did just that, knowing that he was probably pushing more than he should. They were both irritated and tired; and if he learned anything from his last marriage, it was that he needed to shut up when he was told to, especially when he was trying to keep Y/N from divorcing him before their set time. She could easily end this and he would end up looking like an even bigger jerk than her.

They sat in silence for a while; neither of them wanting to say more of what was really on their minds. Rob knew that if he had to deal with this for much longer, he’d very quickly get over the fact that he still had a bit of a crush on her. Maybe he’d get to a point where he no longer wanted to try to stay with her when things died down a bit. Now, he was doing the math in his mind, frowning when he realized that they had only been married a little over a week and six months was starting to look like an eternity.

“I’m going out,” she announced as she stood up and headed for the door suddenly.

“Where are you going?”

“I need a drink.”

“Did I marry an alcoholic?” He joked. “Never mind, I know the answer to that.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Oh, that’s not childish.”

“I can’t do this,” she said. “From now on, I’m making sure that they don’t make the mistake of getting us a room together just because we’re married.”

“Aw, come on honey, don’t leave” he smirked in return. “It’s our first fight.”

“You’re an asshole,” she called out as she opened the door.

“And you’re a terrible wife,” he shouted after her.

“Good,” she replied as she let the door slam closed behind her.

Reader’s POV

Any sort of adoration that you might have been feeling toward Rob in any given moment all but washed away as you stormed out of the room and found your way to the nearest bar. You had been trying really hard to hide the fact that you still found him attractive and almost pleasant sometimes. The worst thing you could do was possibly end up liking him in the midst of all of this. You thought you could at some point though. But his behavior right now left you feeling upset. You seriously wondered how long this could really last if he insisted on pushing your buttons.

You stuck to having one drink, just to take the edge off after that minor argument with Rob. No matter what, you were stuck with him; in every sense of the phrase. He was your husband, whether you wanted him to be or not. Either way, this marriage was real. It became even more real when you agreed to go along with it. To top things off, you now had to share a room with him for the weekend. You figured it would be best not to make matters worse by drinking too much.

You knew there was no way for this to get worse, but you decided against finding out the hard way.

After having enjoyed your one drink, you were fairly cooled off, so you headed back up to the room. Feeling sort of bad over the way you were constantly at his throat even though he was obviously going out of his way to be nice to you and actually make an attempt at making this marriage look legit, you realized that you shouldn’t be so hard on him.

He was still a nice guy. A nice guy who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with you. You knew an apology concerning your behavior lately was due, and you really hated that you knew this. It was hard enough for you to admit when you were wrong, it was even harder to think about admitting that to him.

When you got to the room, you swallowed your pride and unlocked the door, hoping that he had cooled down as well. This weekend needed to run smoothly for your own sanity, even if that meant you’d be the first one to say sorry.

Your flight had got in sort of late as it was, so you weren’t really surprised to walk into the room to find most of the lights off. Your eyes darted toward the bed and you were suddenly nervous as you realized what sharing a room with him would entail. He wasn’t there however, and you scanned the room until you found him curled up on the couch. He opened one eye to look at you.

“Could you keep it down?” He asked. “I’m trying to sleep.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you retrieved pajamas from your bag. You made your way to the bathroom to change.

“Get in the bed,” you called out to him. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“I was being a gentleman, even though I don’t think you deserve the bed.”

After changing quickly, you emerged from the bathroom and crawled into bed.

“Fine, I offered.”

He leaned up and stared at you curiously.

“Really? You’re just gonna let me sleep in the same bed as you.”

You shrugged, trying to seem unaffected by it. In reality, you felt bad for him. You didn’t like to see him curled up uncomfortably on the couch like an actual husband who had been kicked out of the bed. He hadn’t done anything wrong really, so you couldn’t make him stay there. You figured that if you could work at making the weekend go well for yourself, maybe he deserved the same thing. The two of you were under enough pressure as it was.

“It’s not like we haven’t woken up together before.”

“I guess you’re right,” he mumbled as he stood up, grabbing his pillow before making his way toward the bed. “The last time was probably as bad as it could ever get.”

You chuckled softly, watching him as he climbed into the bed next to you. Already, you felt your anxiety kick in. Why exactly? You weren’t sure. You chalked it up to nervousness over sharing a bed with someone you didn’t know.

“Besides,” you began, “I gotta save the whole ‘kicking you to the couch’ thing for when this marriage really starts to go south.”

He gave a genuine laugh in return and you turned off the lamp with a smile. You laid down and closed your eyes, now feeling oddly comfortable next to him. Of course this was never how you wanted things to be with him, but you figured you could do your part to make him feel a little more comfortable as well.

You decided against apologizing tonight. The two of you seemed as okay as you could be, so what was the point?

The next morning you woke up early and forced yourself from bed. Rob was snoring softly on his side of the bed, back turned to you. The night hadn’t been all that bad. You had slept well and you were at least grateful that he seemed to be a decent bed partner. Your biggest concern now was how things were going to run every morning. You were used to your own space; which meant you always had your own bathroom where you could shower as long as you wanted to and proceed to walk around your room in nothing but a towel. All of that was definitely out the window starting today.

You decided to shower before he woke up, hoping to avoid any moment of awkwardness that could come out of something like this.

By the time you were showered and dressed, you left the bathroom to find Rob awake. He gave you a soft smile from the bed and you instantly felt yourself blush. Most people didn’t ever see you not completely put together; and right now, he was getting a glimpse of you without makeup and having your hair done.

“I figured I’d shower early so you had time to get ready too,” you explained as you dug through your bag for your blow dryer.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

He got out of bed, letting out a dramatic groan as he stretched. He passed you on his way to the bathroom and you glanced up at him. He looked really good right now; the way his hair sat atop his head in unruly curls, the look of sleep still present on his face… why you continued to find him attractive in random moments like this confused you and sort of unsettled you.

You turned from him just as he closed the door behind him and you let out a deep breath. ‘Pull yourself together,’ you thought to yourself. ‘You definitely don’t need to be attracted to your husband.’

You were in the middle of running a brush through your hair when he walked out of the bathroom after a quick shower. Your eyes found him as you heard the door open and you paused as he emerged, wearing nothing but a towel as he began to fumble through his bag. You couldn't stop yourself from staring. You sat there, trying to not make it obvious as you took in the sight. He was fit for an older man. You noticed your heart rate speed up as you stared at his muscular back, those toned arms, every inch of his body still damp from the shower he had just taken.

“Does this bother you?” he asked when he noticed you staring.

“I've seen you naked,” you replied quickly, now wishing you hadn't said that when the image of him naked and stumbling around your room in Vegas popped into your head.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “We've seen a lot of each other.”

“I've also had sex with you,” you blurted out. Again, why were you saying this?

“Well, if there's one thing I vaguely remember about that night, it's that,” he said with a laugh.

“Me too,” you replied nervously. Why it was so nerve wracking to talk about this stuff with someone that you had in fact been with, you couldn’t understand.

“Hey, look at that. We both sort of remember something at least.”

“I was very drunk though.”

“So was I.”

“But I do remember that,” you said softly as you looked away from him. “Somewhat.”

“I like to think that entire night wasn't all bad.”

“It wasn't,” you replied. “from what I do remember, we had fun at least.”

“Yeah, we did,” he smiled.

He waited for a moment, still smiling at you and you returned your attention to him. He was still standing there in his towel, holding his clothes in one hand. You noticed him smirk at you and you wondered if you had been staring again. You didn’t want to seem obvious, but he was distracting and you were certain that he knew it.

“Well, now that things are sufficiently awkward, maybe we should get to work at some point,” you said finally.

“Just let me get dressed. We'll go together.”

He returned to the bathroom and you let out another deep breath. You had forgotten how attractive he was and you knew that this weekend wasn’t going to be easy for you if this was how every morning was going to go. You just had to remind yourself that you weren’t doing this because you might still be attracted to the man; none of that mattered now that you were in this mess. Going along with the marriage was strictly meant to save your careers and reputations.

You felt sort of bad as you thought about it. If the two of you hadn’t accidentally gotten married, you could have possibly dated the guy. It wasn’t meant to be in the long run. There was no way that a fake marriage could ever turn into something real, not when you were both still angry with each other and not when you were jumping blindly into something this serious with someone you didn’t know.

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[glendavidgold-blog]

Hemlock

I neither spell-checked nor edited this.  Apologies. It’s hard for me to even re-read this, and I wrote it.

One of the lessons of William Shirer’s The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich is that Hitler couldn’t have happened anywhere or any time else.  He was a unique plague that destroyed one particular culture by exploiting all of the weaknesses it had swept under the rug while otherwise feeling it was the most educated, most enlightened democracy possible. The people with some power over their lives felt too comfortable to confront the problems that were already obvious. Hitler in a way was a karmic answer to hubris. I’m not sure Shirer says this directly (it’s been 30 years since I’ve read the book) but every era gets the villain it deserves. 

This is what currently scares me about Trump. It is almost diabolical, almost Shakespearean how perfectly he has slipped through every alleged check and balance. He is the product of every problem America has pretended doesn’t exist – dynastic wealth, the mafia, corruption, sexism,  unchecked capitalism, etc – and he has consolidated power by exploiting racism, hostility, fear, income inequality and holes in the system that turned out to rely on office holders having a conscience.

In 1933, shortly after Hitler took power – six weeks, in fact – my grandfather wrote a prescient account of what that monster would do next. It was accurate, if not bold enough in its predictions (but how could he, an 18 year old, predict the holocaust?). I have always wondered what I would do in his position, if I would notice what he had noticed, and the answer is no, I have tried to hold onto optimism when that is now clearly no longer useful.

When I was in high school, I was taught in Ancient History that the fall of Athens as a seat of democracy was symbolized by the moment Socrates was forced to drink hemlock. Socrates was executed for the time of inculcating youth with dangerous ideas, but also the death was symbolic, one that should have been avoided, would have been in another time and place.  I’m not sure that’s a popular idea now, and even my teacher said it was a problematic moment to choose. Instead, it was a moment among many other moments where someone outside of the system could point to it and say that a functioning agora would not have allowed it to happen. 

This, unfortunately, resonates with me now. The confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court might just have been our hemlock moment. It’s hard to tell for sure (it was hard for Athens to tell, too) but the fact is, a legislative body in charge of making laws has just thrown all evidence to the wind – evidence not just of sexual assault but of serious financial crimes -- in the excitement of causing the ascendency of a terrible man.

I don’t think there’s a single reason this happened and that too frightens me, because it’s overdetermined. The senate decided that they only needed to give brief intellectual cover for their reasons to embrace him, and their base agreed: make him a judge for life. What he serves as an avatar of is so many things: misogyny, angering the left, bringing on the Apocalypse (more about this later), ignoring the will of the majority of people, but mostly this: he is a promise that if you are on the side of Republicans, they will never hold you accountable.  That is powerful magic for people who feel like victims.  That is powerful magic for people who like the idea of being washed clean of their sins without having to do any work for it.

So now Trump controls the entire government, and that has happened with blinding speed.  There is a mid term election coming.  I am going to do everything in my power to make my vote count.  I’m going to encourage everyone to vote, as I believe that a majority of people in America believe in the American ideal rather than the fascism that we’re descending into.  There is a strong possibility, given the polls, that we will take back the House, which is something, and we might make the Senate difficult for them, too.  This will ease things, a little, while we protest and protest and stay alert until 2020, when we can throw the rest of the criminals out. 

But. 

I have a small glimmer, a nugget of worry that started when the truth about Kavanaugh came out, and he was confirmed anyway.  The way I put it then was that we are living through one of those times so well described in McCay’s Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds, a 19th century treatise on times in human history where huge crowds of people have seemingly gone insane. He cites the now-familiar Tulipmania, as well as other financial manias, witch hunts, that kind of thing. I was feeling that the Republican party had locked arms and were launching their own political Jonestown, guaranteeing a kind of suicide when Democrats started filling the offices. 

I’m no longer so sure. One of the other things that fueled Trump’s rise, beyond all the specific American institutions that failed us, is that he knows how to channel the masses’ anger in a way that I have no experience with and no empathy for.  It’s working for them. It’s exciting to the politicians, too.  I see Trump is doing it again now, calling the left criminals who can’t be governed. He says the left is looking for violence.  The left knows this is ridiculous. Democrats are wishy-washy, the party that steps out of the shower to pee. To paraphrase Ted Mooney, The right wants to win –we want to be loved. 

But there is an old, familiar trick that’s political in nature – accuse the other side of what you’re doing. And right now we are at a place where one of three things is going on. First, and most optimistic, is that the leaders have overplayed their hands. They literally have no idea how angry and how determined women and minorities and those of us who happen to like progressive values are. When they say, as Mitch McConnell did of the sexual assault victims who protested, “I want to thank these clowns for all the help they provided,” he means it. He’s in his own bubble.  Republicans have never seen an angry liberal who knows how to fight back politically.   So maybe it’s that, and maybe when there’s a blue wave, they’re going to be genuinely shocked.  After all, Romney believed Fox News about Obama in the face of facts, and he got his ass handed to him in the election.   

The next possibility is that even they don’t know what’s going to happen next.  They got lucky and they’ll feel emboldened, and they’re just going to go one evil step at a time.  So far everything has worked for them, but there’s no real plan, just the erotic pleasure of power. 

Possibility number three is much worse.  Something we have told ourselves – I have told myself – is that the Republicans are just too arrogant to actually be efficient in making fascism work.  I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been wrong about that. 

The voting experience has already been rigged in ways we know about – gerrymandering, throwing possible Democrats off the voter rolls, killing access to the polls, the lack of paper ballots that may or may not mean there’s computer hacking that changes vote totals.  (And I have to say that final thing might be paranoia, that people know it CAN be done but no one seems to be saying it HAS been done.  Still, the lack of controls over it isn’t just maddening, puzzling or worrying – they only reason to have an open door like that is to invite a malevolent force.)  We know we have to struggle against that.  We know that even with all that stuff in place, there are so many of us that we should win.

But I worry that they’re so confident because they do have a plan.  I have a worry that there’s something the new Supreme Court can do between now and Election Day that fucks us.  Specifically I worry that there’s something Trump does that fucks us and it’s illegal and that the Supreme Court, in an emergency session, upholds it.  Maybe that’s wrong. Maybe that’s just out of the realm of possibility.  Maybe we’ll get to vote. 

What if voting doesn’t work? What if, the day after the election, it’s fishy? Or more than that – obviously it’s been rigged?  The Democrats lose and there are red flags everywhere? Or, what if the Republicans don’t accept the results? Does refusing to validate the election sound beyond possibility? 

Ask Roy Moore if he’s conceded yet. 

You say: if that happens, we’ll take to the streets.  True. I too will take to the streets. What will that do?  We occupy, say, the Senate offices, and then…oh, we’ve seen this already, just a week ago, with Kavanaugh.  The Senate now knows it can ignore angry constituents and seemingly get away with it.  It doesn’t have to actually respect facts or reports or decency or shame or even accept that the other side has any legitimacy. They no longer listen to us.

Let’s say that the rigged results just go forward.  There’s no way that everyone is going to believe they’re rigged.  There will be counterprotests.  There will be media coverage about how it’s just so gosh darned uncertain, and both sides will be shown on the news to show how fair they are.

But let’s agree about this: if the midterms don’t produce a Blue Wave, and if that’s because the results were fishy, we will have marches like you’ve never seen.  There will be the largest force in American history taking to the streets to protest.  We will not be polite. 

That’s as far as any of us have taken it, I think.  Because we think that the people, united, will never be defeated. It sounds right. But this is where it gets bad for me, because I very much suspect that people on the other side have taken it a little further than that.

How would we organize? On our phones?  On Facebook?  On twitter? You’ve got to be kidding.  Our phones are what surveil us. 

You know how the Nazis knew where the Jews were when they came to a new town?  IBM punch cards.  IBM took Nazi money because it was money and they thought that since they also did good for the war effort, it balanced out.  Do you believe that the current barons of tech are more altruistic or moral or ethical than IBM was?  But still that’s not a perfect comparison – what IBM did was actually rather small. Each punchcard had something like 8 pieces of information on it.  You know how much more information your phone and facebook and twitter has about you? 

Your phone isn’t going to work.  Not for you, at least.  For them, yes. 

Further, if protests get real, the reaction isn’t going to be the current leaders throwing up their hands and saying “Y’know what, you have a point” and then doing the right thing. They’ll fucking fight back, and fight dirty.  Your local police who, no matter what that locale is, have a problem with white supremac and, are fully militarized now.  This isn’t going to be like the 1960s.  It’s going to be much worse.  And the military has been rehearsing for suppressing rebellions.  Just ask Flint.  Just ask St Lous.

But, you say, there would have to be due process to –

Really?  Take a moment.  Think about that.

But the horrific possibility of camps to –

Right.  Camps.  Take another moment. 

We don’t advocate violence here in the left.  And let’s be honest – by “left” I mean about 70% of the country.  But we also haven’t gamed out what happens when we’re up against people who aim to win at all costs.  I’m still not doing it. My brain can’t take it further than that.

I hope I’m wrong about all this.  I hope that we aren’t going that far.  But, to return to Shirer, it would make some sense if it does, as the problems with the police and the military and privacy and tech have all been apparent for some time and we’ve done nothing about them because we – meaning the people who have some power over our lives -- felt comfortable.  There’s this kind of karmic justice in that a society that doesn’t deal with its shit gets destroyed by its shit.

On that note, I have been curious for a while about how it is that anyone who has a conscience supports Trump.  To give him any legitimacy means sacrificing your own morals and ethics.  He’s amazingly precise in how he causes every individual in his sway to abandon his or her own positive qualities. I’ve joked that everyone in his circle looks like a Dick Tracy villain, but maybe that’s not an accident. Maybe there’s something that curdles your soul by standing so close to his evil.  (Benjamin Wittes, a writer I like but find problematic, was once friends with Kavanaugh – and defended him at first, until his performance on the Senate floor.  He says that this person isn’t the man he knew.  So say many other legal scholars who once knew him.  Something has changed in him.  It’s weird.)

I was trying to qualify how Trump’s worldview is attractive, and it occurred to me that every word out of Trump’s mouth, every deed, is exactly the opposite of Jesus’s. It’s uncanny. If only there were a word for someone who was the antithesis of Christ. 

Hmm. I guess there is a word. 

I don’t believe he’s the anti-Christ. He’s not that important. But he’s AN anti-Christ.  As a secular Jew I’ve read the Book of Revelation as a metaphor, a warning for how, eventually, someone motivated enough can make you abandon your values unless you’re self-aware enough.  We have long made the mistake of believing the anti-Christ would be slick and undeniable and crafty, but only recently have I realized that no, of course he wouldn’t be.  The truly evil thing about the anti-Christ wouldn’t be that he tricked you.  It would be that he let you be your true self, and your true self was awful.  He only gave you permission to behave as you really wanted to, and that is how you fell. 

There is not much that give me hope here.  Not anything, in fact.  I’m not drinking these days, which could be a mistake.  For a while I was drinking two or three glasses of wine a night and my physician said ‘well, that’s a reasonable response.’  Instead, I’m paying a lot of attention and it’s the anti-Christ thing that has me most on alert.  This is where the essay gets depressing (no, really, sorry about that – the part above is just a warm up).  

The Constitution, like the Bible, tried to anticipate many possible futures, and tried to provide a framework for how to deal with them.  I strongly believe that most of us have moral backbones and many of us wish our neighbors well. But why isn’t this happening now?  We turn to strongmen in times of famine rather than plenty, and ironically we are living in a world of plenty.  It’s being hoarded by the rich, of course, but the resources are there to make most people’s lives decent.  We tend to share in times of prosperity but that’s not happening now.

I have said this in prior essays, but it’s pretty much got to be the endpoint of any essay someone writes now that speculates about the future.  I believe that we as a species recognize, in a way that is baked into our genetic code as mammals, that the future is no longer a renewable resource. I think that climate change is so obvious now and happening so fast, with so little possibility of relief, that we know the jig is up.  We have ruined the weather.

But I can’t even process what that means. There is no way, genuinely, for the human mind to hold onto the probability that in our lifetimes, not that far way, we will have made the surface of the earth unable to support life.  It’s happening so fast.  Beyond all the dramatic stuff – the hurricanes, the floods, the droughts, the fires – I have been traveling around the country this summer and everywhere I see that the sky is wrong.  There’s something off about the clouds, the circulation of air.  People comment on it.  Something is shutting down. Something is making us all uneasy.  You see it.

There are two ways to deal with this fear.  One is to deal with it directly.  Make plans, confront how awful it is, see what’s possible, admit to our coming losses. Treat the future the way we did the development of penicillin or the A-Bomb.  I was just thinking this: the crazy thing is that the only way to combat the fall that’s coming is to be the best possible version of yourself you can be. That doesn’t mean the nicest.  It means being as powerful as you can.  Which is terrifying and difficult and a little amorphous. It’s not about being loved, but about finding your moral core and sticking to it.

We heard just today that we have the scientific knowhow and the ability to start remediating the destruction that’s on its way.  What they say is we lack “the political will” to do it.  What that means is that instead of dealing with it directly, we are trading on fear.   Fear is right now bigger than love.  Fear is motivating voters because it’s a good thing to sell on the marketplace.  Deny what’s happening, pretend it isn’t, sell fear instead.  Clamp down. The world wants a bad daddy, and here is a whole bunch of them to choose.

That’s what we’re doing. The second choice.  Denying that we had problems, kicking the can down the road, is how we ended up here. If we do it again now we will be destroyed. That’s not a hope or a fear – it’s just the way it’s going to work. I wish I had better news, but I don’t.

I keep saying this thing to myself that I don’t entirely understand. It’s that fighting begins with the right to see what’s actually before your very eyes.

The only thing I can say is that despair is not an option, but a luxury, and you can’t afford it now. Go and fight. They’re going to.  

[southernfxckinghero-blog]

Tutor.

Pairing | Bruce Banner x F!Reader

Word Count | 1,569 words

Warnings | Maybe language

Summary | Before Bruce ever became the Hulk, he was in college. The reader and Bruce meet one another in a class and when it's clear that she's having trouble, he comes to the rescue.

Note | Sorry for the long absence, I've been trying to take in the beautiful hellscape that is Infinity War. Remember that requests are open, and enjoy the story!

As much as [Y/N] loved her family, specifically her parents and aunt, she could have cursed them for convincing her to take a course on molecular physics. Not only did she not enjoy the subject at all, but she also had no business taking such a difficult course. Getting into college was a miracle - well, not really a miracle, [Y/N] was ranked twenty-third out of fifty-one at her high school graduation - and yet they had convinced her to do something far above her comfort and intelligence zones.

Now [Y/N] sat in a class with her hand sore from scribbling everything the professor, Dr. Thompson, was saying. None of it made a lick of sense, but she prayed that when she studied them later that she might be able to decipher what was going on. The lecture, while it made no sense, also managed to bore [Y/N] almost into a slumber. The young man a few metal chairs away kept glancing over with mild concern - it was obvious that she had no idea what was happening - but she had yet to notice him.

Once the lecture was finally over two hours later, [Y/N] left the bland white room and began her way to the ladies dorm with a yawn. It was barely two in the afternoon and she felt like she needed three years worth of sleep. The young man from before followed her out of the class quietly, hoping to catch up with her and offer his help - he had a brilliant mind, so his professors had all told him. "Uh, excuse me," his timid voice called out once he felt confident enough, "we're in the same molecular physics class, and I was wondering if you, uh, needed help with any of it?" It was a rushed question, almost showing just how nervous he was.

Curious, [Y/N] turned around to find the slightly taller young man standing awkwardly as he patiently awaited an answer. His hands clutched a stack of heavy books to his chest as his glasses slid a bit down his nose, his brunet hair a mess of curls, and his smile almost forced; she thought he was cute, but also appreciated the offer. "I would really appreciate it, actually," [Y/N] answered after a moment of agonizing silence, "my folks pushed me into the class even though I don't know what's going on, or want to be there." She smiled, offering some explanation as to why she looked like a lost puppy - apparently it was obvious, otherwise he wouldn't be offering her help. Along with his awkward composure, she noticed the untucked purple shirt and one size too large kaki pants that he wore; he looked sloppy, but that meant nothing about his personality or intellect.

With a much less forced smile and a silent sigh of relief, the young man visibly relaxed. "I can meet with you on Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons, along with Sunday. My schedule is full during the rest of the week," he offered in a conversational manner, "as a matter of fact, I happen to, uh, be free right now. Would you like to join me in the cafe?" A light blush covered the young man's cheeks, his fingers picking nervously at the face of his books. There were four books, all of them to do with a type of science. It was mildly intimidating for [Y/N] since she could hardly understand the science she was currently enrolled in.

The offer the seemingly nameless young man put out was quite kind, and while [Y/N] was hopelessly tired, she nodded her head in agreement. "I would love that," she grinned and began walking toward the cafe, "my name is [Y/N], by the way. [Y/N] [L/N]." Her eyes glanced at the sloppily dressed young man, hoping he would catch on and reply with his own name.

The young man's eyes widened and he almost came to a full stop, another blush dusting his cheeks in a light pink. "Right, uh, I'm so sorry," he apologized with an embarrassed stutter, "I'm Bruce. Bruce Banner, actually, but most people just call me Bruce because it's my first name." His voice trailed off when he realized he was babbling on about something so trivial. Like before, his nails picked at the books he held - a nervous habit.

Silence fell upon the pair as they continued to the cafe, thick and unnerving. Neither dared to break it for no particular reason, though [Y/N] hummed a familiar tune to herself. "An old Irish song, so my mother once told me," she murmured as they entered the cafe, "I never did understand the lyrics, but the rhythm always did stick with me." She added needlessly, approaching the register as Bruce nodded along. Her eyes scanned the board before she offered her favorite flavor of coffee and a little croissant to go with it, her hand instinctively going for her wallet.

Bruce handed a ten to the cashier before ordering his own beverage and food - a coffee with cinnamon and a small ham sandwich, an odd combo. "I was raised to always pay if out with a lady," he explained as the two went to sit, noticing the shocked expression [Y/N] briefly had, "Now, about the, uh, the course.. If you would, explain what you need help with." His books hit the booth beside him with a hard thud, gaining a few looks from other students.

Gratefully smiling, [Y/N] laid her own books beside her quietly. "I appreciate it, Bruce. None of my ex boyfriends had the decency to even hold the door open, so it means a lot," after realizing how awkward the statement had been, [Y/N]'s face danced with a red flush of embarrassment, "anyways, I don't really understand anything with the course. I mean, I've never been very good at any type of science." The waiter brought the couple their orders, giving the two an almost knowing smile.

Obviously confused at the look the waiter gave the two, Bruce sipped his piping hot coffee with a blissful smile. "Well we're going to have some work to do then," he chuckled slightly, a soft little laugh that made [Y/N] grin to herself, "and I doubt we'll get everything covered in just one day, so here's my number." He scribbled numbers down on a napkin, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they slipped. His hand brushed against her own as he handed her the napkin - both people flushed.

The rest of the day was filled with confusing sciences, molecular physics and more, and plenty of laughs. It was only when the day had reached darkness that the two decided - albeit hesitantly - that it was time to head to their respective dorms. Bruce offered to walk with [Y/N] to the women's dorm, which she gratefully accepted. Never did she expect to meet someone as smart as Bruce and actually get along with them, especially someone as adorably dorky as Bruce. "Although it was mostly studying, today was wonderful," she gushed quietly as they walked side by side, occasionally brushing against one another, "I hope that we'll get to hang out some more. For teaching purposes, of course." It was clear that feelings were beginning to develop, though [Y/N] still feared they would be one sided. This fear was set at ease when Bruce stopped and grabbed her hands shyly, gazing into her eyes with a soft smile.

To be fair, Bruce had stopped because they neared the entrance to the women's dorm - but when he realized that he had been right about [Y/N] flirting with him, he took the opportunity to set up a proper date. "Maybe not entirely teaching purposes," he suggested before leaning only slightly closer, "maybe this time we can go on a proper date.. if that's what you want, of course. I, uh, I wouldn't ever force anything-!" His words were cut short by [Y/N] pressing a feather light kiss to his cheek, her hands squeezing his reassuringly.

A fierce blushed covered both people's cheeks as they held one another, silently pondering to themselves what to do next. "I would love to go on a proper date with you, you big nerd," she playfully teased, "all you have to do is call upon me." She reached into her pocket with one hand before returning it to Bruce's hand, sliding a crumpled piece of paper into it. He smiled the most genuine smile she thought she'd ever see.

Without much thought, Bruce pressed his forehead against [Y/N]'s forehead, though he made no move to kiss her. "I have never met a woman like you - confident yet shy, quirky, intelligent, adorable," the shyness in his tone returned, "would you mind if I, uh, if I kissed you? I don't want to make you uncom-!" Again Bruce was interrupted by [Y/N]'s lips, but this time they pressed sweetly against his own. She was warm and soft and everything he had never knew he wanted, but now desperately craved.

Pulling away with half lidded eyes and a small giggle, [Y/N] gave Bruce a small wave goodbye and headed into the dorm - butterflies in her stomach. Bruce remained outside to think about how nothing would've changed had he not taken a chance, and he promised to always take chances that were worth it from then on. How was he supposed to know years later that he would create the Hulk?

[janiedean]

Hi! I came across your blog reading some metas about Jaime and Brienne and I really like the way you write and explain things!! I totally agree with you regarding what you say about JB relationship but I asked myself, as a women first of all, how can you manage a relationship with a men like Jaime? How can you handle the fact that he had 3 kids from his own sister? How could Brienne in a possible future?! XD I'd love to hear your opinion, as well as other's if someone wants to follow the topic!

hi! :D

okay so, I replied to someone who asked how brienne might have felt about the whole incest thing/if she knew here, tldr the answer was that she’s known about it since she met him and since she was going to die for him at the end of affc when stoneheart told her to either kill him or get hanged I’m pretty sure it’s not a thing that changes her opinion of jaime at the point where we are in the series, which is a thing, but in order:

how can you manage a relationship with guy like jaime: well, fact is, I think you’re pinpointing the wrong issue, because the issue seems to be that he had three kids from his sister. but, facts are the following.

a) brienne’s known that since they met because he admitted to pushing bran out of the window when he caught him and cersei to cat when she got him drunk in affc and brienne was present, and at that point she certainly didn’t like him. also, he admitted it to her more than once already, in the harrenhaal bathhouse too, so I mean, she must have taken that into account and she still spends affc obviously being so in love with him it’s not even funny and she still was gonna get hanged for him at the end so I’m pretty sure that in the case they got romantic that wouldn’t be the main issue;

b) ‘he has three kids with his sister’ is actually not the crux of it or at least not entirely, because first of all it’s two and not three rn ;), and he actually has no emotional bonding with neither of them because cersei shot down any chance he might have had to. and like, they’ll most likely be all dead before the books are over (I AM DEVASTATED OVER IT MYRCELLA AND TOMMEN DESERVE BETTER) or at most myrcella has a shot at living but if she does she’s most likely gonna stay in dorne so I mean, even if that was the point, she doesn’t actually have to raise them and he doesn’t come with three children he had from cersei, what he comes with is more, trauma related to the fact that he had three children in the context of a relationship that was manipulative at best and abusive at worst (and the two things don’t cancel each other out actually) which he was not allowed to be close to, which as much as people like to handwave... some men actually do suffer for not being able to father their children and it’s obvious he hates it, but he distanced himself emotionally from all of that mess on purpose and if you look how it goes when he tries to be decent to tommen in affc... haha. like, the fact that cersei is his sister just makes it more fucked up but if they weren’t related and it was just someone who had three children with another woman, the problem still would have been that not being able to father them fucked him up further, not that he had them in the first place;

c) also, as stated brienne admittedly right now can’t care less about either thing also because she’s not working on the premise that she has a chance in hell with him anyway, so if she found out she did, I doubt she’d care about that specifically because she’s fallen for him as things are regardless of the incest or the children or him pushing bran out of the window and so on, so the point isn’t whether she can handle the fact that he had three kids from his sister - she can, and other factors trumped that;

so, back to your first question, ‘how can she manage a relationship with a man like him’ isn’t actually how can she manage a rship with a guy who had three children with his sister, because as stated she judged him for it in the beginning and now doesn’t anymore. but the question is rather, will she manage a romantic relationship with a guy who comes from 20+ years of being traumatized all over the place in a bunch of different ways, because we have a) tywin’s abusive parenting [which counts for jaime too, the post I linked gives a thorough rundown] which has also possibly fucked up the only healthy relationship he had with a sibling [tyrion], b) the fact that being in a rship with cersei since he can remember/the fact that she fucked up his sense of identity or at least tried to has given him a skewed view of a lot of things and a fairly unhealthy sex life up until he was in his thirties, c) untreated ptsd thanks to aerys which again is bad enough that he’s been dissociating at will since he was like fifteen and he’s been ignoring up to now, d) the aforementioned trauma related to not being able to raise his own kids, e) hasn’t had any experience whatsoever in like, courting someone or being with people who aren’t related to him in a somewhat healthy way significatively. now obviously if they both live and hook up the books are never going to go over that because I doubt grrm would have time for that and it’s not what the story is about but in an hypothetical future, those would all be issues because as much as jaime is managing all of that shit remarkably well (well enough that 80% of this fandom sleeps on it and thinks he has no issues whatsoever) the moment he has to stop and make a life with someone that shit’s gonna catch up to him;

at which it looks dire, except that on the upside we have the following things to take into account:

a) as stated, jaime’s managed up until now more or less and honestly someone who managed to, like, develop his own personality while growing up with cersei telling him they were the same person and not realizing he was doing it (whenever he says ‘if I was a woman I’d be cersei’ I laugh because jaime NO you’re completely opposite people and he doesn’t even realize it at that point) is made of really strong stuff so he’s most likely gonna get over it/function/get over it enough to get a new start given that he has decent support as well;

b) if you don’t count the above (which admittedly weights a lot, but is not all there is to his personality), jaime’s actually what I’d call a damn good prospect, especially for brienne, because 1) he doesn’t give a fuck about what other people think in general, 2) he doesn’t give a fuck about looks, 3) he respects people for who they are/their skills, 4) has actually one of the straightest moral compasses around when he’s not trying to be his sister or doing things he regrets doing while he’s doing them (spoiler: YES WE KNOW THE THINGS I LOVE, HE SAID WITH LOATHING, the first genius that brings that up has discovered hot water and we know, let’s move on), 5) actually thinks with his own head or he wouldn’t have gotten that distraught over the shit aerys did, 6) not counting cersei and his father and people he’s related to, he’s a pretty damn good judge of character, 7) specifically related to brienne, wants the same things she wants and like, he almost died to save her life/sent her on the knightly quest with the magic amazing valyrian steel sword so... to her, he’s the guy who for once didn’t let her be her own knight in shining armor and actually risked his life for her and saw that she was serious/took her seriously/respects her for what she is and validated her in her life choices, which is about everything she wanted in a man before. never mind that she also obviously likes him aesthetically (half a corpse and half a god, amrite?) and as far as he’s concerned as stated he doesn’t give a fuck for looks and he hasn’t stopped thinking about her astonishing pretty amazing beautiful eyes since his first asos chapter SO;

c) also, it’s one of jaime’s main tropes/things that he has going on with himself but tldr this guy thrives on doing things for love of whichever person - whether bad or good - and like... obv. they’re a courtly trope deconstruction and so on, but the thing is that if this idiot loves you or is in love with you, he’ll go to any length for you, which is not a necessarily good thing (because with cersei or his father and so on it didn’t help him see the situation clearly, but with tyrion well HEY at least they had a healthy rship until tywin used it to fuck tyrion up.....) and it’s not fair if the other person uses it to their advantage *cough* cersei *cough* and also he admittedly doesn’t have the easiest personality to deal with...

d) ... except that brienne’s already handled him/his shining personality well enough since they met and they’re actually complementary in that sense because where he behaves like the singer in an 80s hair metal power ballad and would basically do anything for required affections and would go overboard for it as long as the other person cares about him (which is why cersei cheating on him was that devastating, and finding out she cares more about herself than anyone else was), she has a self-esteem in that sense that’s at about anctartica-level temperatures and she thinks no one can ever see her as a viable match/a potential partner never mind a romantic partner (in affc she never considers that he might want her back) because she’s internalized all her life that she’s not desirable and what she has to offer is not what men would want, but on the other side (even if the show likes to forget it a lot of time) she’s still an extremely patient and kind person who doesn’t like bullshit but has a lot of time for people she cares about and who likes to remind people about doing the honorable/right thing all the time and couldn’t take advantage of anyone if she tried, which makes them absolutely good matches for each other because she likes him for who he is and not for what she thinks he should be or because she thinks he’s like her or because he’s an extension of her/her just male *cough* and she can handle whatever he throws at her (she’s done that already), and at the same time she’d get a guy who respects her for who she is and wouldn’t want her to change for appearances. on the other side, he’d get to be with someone who cares for him, not for what he represents, who has the exact right type of personality to handle his shit, who’d get most of it (because 1) they’re both knights/want the same things in the chivalry sense, 2) if as I think she’s gonna kill stoneheart for him she’ll have her own aerys experience same as he had, 3) the both of them doing that job means they would relate on that), with whom he wouldn’t have to hide his affections/their relationship and who definitely wouldn’t forbid him to father his own damned kids should they have them;

e) ah, and they’re also sexually compatible af and you’re not taking that hc away from me. ;)

so, tldr: she could because she loves him and she does it enough that if she can die for him I think everything else can be worked on, and they’re perfectly good matches for each other which means they’d have a fairly good chance of outlasting the difficulties that would most likely arise the moment they settle down and proceed make out for the next five years, thanks for coming to my ted talk ;)

[onthebridle]

Eight Questions With.. Graham Pavey

A quick blink and the Summer has passed us by. The heat continues further into the autumnal months than ever before but whilst we roast in the afternoon sunshine, there is still the icy crisp blast on your senses first thing in the morning. The shiver, the stiffness in your ears, the tingle in your fingertips. It’s September and winter is creeping down from the North meaning that all roads in France are now leading to the biggest race of them all; the Qatar Prix De L’Arc De Triomphe.

It is our right to enjoy the sunshine whilst we have it, some crave and worship it whilst others choose to swerve, dodge and avoid it as best they can. The nights will soon begin to draw in and we will be plunged into the darkness that the artful dodgers mentioned above will take pleasure in welcoming in. One nation is tied closer to the sun more than most and in the Land Of The Rising Sun there are two horses that are looking to rise to the occasion in Paris in October and complete a feat that would bring joy to both the cravers of the sun and the welcoming winter folk.

As is courtesy in Japan, I bow to welcome in Graham Pavey  (@LongBallToNoOne) to Eight Questions With and I also bow to his knowledge and expertise on Japanese Racing and thank him for his time and effort. So without further ado, this is Eight Questions With.. Graham Pavey!

AH (Andrew Humphrey) - How did you end up making your way to Japan? 

GP (Graham Pavey) - My father had an association with Japan from the early 1970s and I was a regular visitor from quite an early age. I didn't start living here till 1999 however when my wife Keiko and I decided to bring our (then) two young children over from Australia to live in Japan for "a couple of years". We are still here 21 years later.

AH - What makes Japanese racing so special to you and the nation? 

GP - Fans here love and idolize the horses, the jockeys are heroes, they follow the breeding side closely and they are extremely passionate about the dramatic theatre produced on race day. The JRA (Japan Racing Association) over decades have created an exciting, ultra competitive pattern of racing and have marketed racing cleverly (with very little or no push on the betting side) to maintain excitement for existing fans as well as attracting hordes of fresh young fans each year, particularly 20-35yo women. The combination of exciting, high speed, competitive world class racing combined with these extremely passionate, respectful and knowledgeable fans is what makes JRA racing special.

AH - For those of us not involved with Japanese Racing, can you explain the race calendar to get to this point for the horses due to run in France?

GP - DEEP BOND (DB) and CHRONO GENESIS (CG) are JRA horses so I will talk about the federal government overseen JRA calendar that races on weekends (as opposed to the local council NAR circuit who race daily all over Japan on Dirt). There are 24 JRA Group 1 races throughout the year,  two of which are raced on Dirt. The main Group 1 racing seasons are the spring - early summer and then again autumn - early winter conducted at racecourses in the most populous areas of Tokyo, Osaka and Nagoya. Racing continues throughout summer however moves to northern racecourses to avoid the heat and humidity. There aren’t any Group 1 races at all between the G1 Takarazuka Kinen run in late June through to early October when the G1 Sprinters Stakes kicks off the autumn Group 1 season.

CG won the June 27 G1 2200m Takarazuka Kinen and DB ran 2nd in the May 2 G1 3200m Tenno Sho, neither has raced since. Both spent the summer spelling and pre-training up north in the cooler climate of Hokkaido. If the pair weren’t racing  the 2021 Arc then, typically, they would be setting up for key Group 1 races in Japan in October-November -December. Races such as the  2000m (1m2f) Tenno Sho, 2400m (1m4f) Japan Cup, 2500m (1m4.5f) Arima Kinen. The latter two have purses equal to The Arc (or greater than depending on the exchange rate!).

AH - What can you tell us about Deep Bond, what should we expect in the Foy and the Arc after? 

GP - DEEP BOND is a two time Group 2 winner and Group 1 placed in Japan. He is a big strong good looking horse that races best around 500kg in body weight. DB is a very tough dogged stayer that can run along on or just off the pace then sustain a long sustained spurt to grind down his rivals. He was unplaced behind JRA Triple Crown hero Contrail four times as a 3yo last year however wasn’t too far behind him in the Japan Derby and Japan St Leger. 

As a 4yo this year, he has won a Group 2 over 3000m in March then finished 2nd in the Group 1 3200m Tenno Sho on May 2nd. 

If the Foy or The Arc become tough staying tests then his chances should improve, he lacks a turn of foot to sprint quickly off a slow pace however. I would like to see him running on the speed, hitting the line well and finishing in the top 5 or 6 in the Prix Foy to be considered any chance at all in The Arc.

AH - Chrono Genesis will be familiar to many for finishing 2nd to Mishriff in Meydan and winning next time out, how are the feelings behind her chances? 

GP - CHRONO GENESIS (CG) career is 15: 8-3-3 and over €9M earnings with four Group 1 wins so obviously shows she is a very high class and consistent mare. She thoroughly deserves her shot at The Arc before she has to retire at the end of the year. 

CG is very athletic and has gears, she ran her last 3F in a sizzling 32.8 when just beaten by Almond Eye in the G1 2000m Tenno Sho last October where she displayed most of her gears. She has also proven that she can stay by winning the G1 2500m Arima Kinen in December last year as well as the 2nd to Mishriff in the G1 2410m Dubai Sheema Classic in March. 

On the Dubai run Jockey regular Yuichi Kitamura commented “When they picked up at the third bend, she was able to keep up but just after that she couldn’t respond immediately and she tired in the end. She wasn’t able to show her signature closing speed in the stretch." CG was flat compared to her usual self when asked to extend in the straight. She was just beaten by a tough race fit horse in Mishriff who went on to win a Group 1 in the UK recently and Loves Only You who ran 3rd in Dubai won a Hong Kong Group 1 at her next start. 

This international formline looks solid enough and CG and her team would have learned a lot from the Dubai trip, her first race overseas, and should have been able to tinker and tweak things to make her more competitive in The Arc, hopefully she doesn’t tire as in Dubai and can show her signature closing speed this time and be right in the finish. 

I don’t know the form of the Euro / UK horses much at all so can’t honestly tip for or against either JRA horse in The Arc however do feel CHRONO GENESIS is the best of the two Japanese horses and better equipped than many of the JRA horses that have ran in The Arc.

AH - Both Japanese horses look likely to have European based riders, is there a reason/why we aren't seeing C. Lemaire make the trip on horses he knows well? 

GP - Oisin Murphy (CG) and Cristian Demuro (DB) are outstanding jockeys to have on your horses in The Arc at ParisLongchamp, the connections of both horses were astute in booking them early. 

Murphy and Demuro have ridden a lot in Japan and have a strong association with the connections of the two horses. I don’t know the exact reason why Christophe Lemaire isn’t riding, possibly the COVID situation and the associated quarantine requirements meant that he would miss too much of the JRA season however we would have to ask Christophe to get the definitive answer!

AH - Can you put into words what it would mean for the Japanese racing community to have an Arc winner?

GP - Firstly, I do think the media love to overplay it a lot on Japan’s desire to win The Arc. 

We aren’t kept awake each and every night here for weeks or months worrying about how Japan can somehow win The Arc, we only miss sleep for a night or two in reality (!)……. then it is back to sleepless nights worrying about how to or who will win the Japan Derby, Arima Kinen, Japan Cup, Tenno Sho and Yasuda Kinen!

It would be fantastic for the aforementioned fans that make racing in Japan so special to see CHRONO GENESIS, DEEP BOND or even Japan bred SNOWFALL win the 2021 Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe as it is considered by most here to be the greatest horse race in the world.

Japanese bred horses regularly win races all around the world including prestigious classic races in Europe and the UK, they have proven they have the class to win the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe. Finally achieving it would be met with huge excitement, pride and celebration for sure.

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A huge thanks again to Graham who can be found on Twitter as @LongBallToNoOne for the detail in his answers and the time taken to put them together!

Back again soon with another Eight Questions With...

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Images: France Galop, APRH, Sky Sports, Graham Pavey.