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nedlittle · 2 years

Note

as someone who only just finished gideon the ninth last sunday & finally understands the hype & hasn't finished the other books, PLEASE release the 11 pages of notes

your wish is my command, here are my notes verbatim typed from my tiny notebook (typos notwithstanding. i fixed those so i don't look stupid)

ACT I

P. 29 - before the duel, Harrow presents herself “emptied like a quiver” prefiguring the necromancer/cavalier dynamic and the fact that they will grow to need each other. The king & lionheart of it all…

P. 54 - Gideon tells Harrow: “Your heart is a party for ten thousand nails.” and I SCREAMED

P. 73: [paragraph describing Ianthe and Coronabeth in luxurious detail] “The boy just looked like a bit of a dick.” lesbianism

P. 76 - “He didn’t look healthy; he looked like a collection of lemons in a sack.” Why is this so evocative

SO funny that Harrow is like Griddle. You hog you need to do this correctly. Wear the damn face paint. And then it’s just a weird Ninth House thing. I love space Catholicism these bitches so deranged

Cannot read the “I pray the tomb stays locked forever. I pray the rock is never rolled away” prayer without it being to the tune of ‘No Children’

ACT II

P. 110 - “Coronabeth Tridentarius, Princess of Ida, took her hand and roguishly kissed the backs of Gideon’s knuckles.” I know there’s a whole essay on chivalry and gender on Tor but I guess I just want to say that there’s a really interesting subversion of the medieval lady/champion dynamic going on. Coronabeth kisses Gideon’s knuckles. Dulcinea has Gideon physically show off but Gideon, bound by her promise to Harrow, cannot talk and thus any typical structures for wooing are inverted. By her silence she is rendered as cool and unbreachable as a maiden in a tower

Something something Gideon’s physical body and her personhood always being someone else’s property.

All of Jeannemary’s dialogue with Magnus being parenthesized and in a smaller type is such a fun little touch

P. 125-6 - “[...] but she had fed her entire life into the meat grinder of hope.” Fuck me!

P. 128 - “She had never seen Harrowhark Nonagesimus’s naked face.” Harrow having to perform being Reverend Daughter not only her role but the entire house in the shape of a girl

[Angela Carter voice] a girl who is both death and the maiden

P. 151 - “You could have died today.” "you could finish me right now, if you liked. You might even win."......hot.

Every single one of Gideon’s silly nicknames for Harrow is perfect.

P. 152 - “She smiled again–slower than before, just as terrible, just as strange.” Okay Galadriel

P. 161 has the first time Gideon calls Harrow by her first name. By the end of the act it will be three times. Harrow has yet to say hers.

“P. 163 - “You can control my body. You can read my thoughts.” I believe this is what the kids call foreshadowing for book 2

Also on that page: “But first, Griddle, I’m afraid I have to pass out.” I love her.

Verbatim annotation from p. 167: ‘SHE’S NEVER HAD A DESERT :(‘

I know that they’re not friends but [John Darnielle voice]: people say friends don’t destroy each other what do they know about friends

Ianthe’s “I don’t live alternative histories” god I am so excited for her to be awful

The dynamic kind of reminds me of Sweet Smell of Success (1957) which features a similarly nasty yet reliant dynamic but it ends Far Worse. Very much we need each other to be a cohesive whole but that doesn’t mean we have to be nice

IT WAS THEIR ANNIVERSARY!!! NO

ACT III

I will be surprised if Dulcinea survives and also does not end up being marginally evil.

Not to sound like it’s 2014 and I just discovered all-female casts but I’m really into both the 2nd and 9th being the only ones with both necro + cav being women. I know it’s a basic thing and that there isn’t

a ton about the Second House yet but having the representatives of “The Emperor’s Strength” both be girls…nice

Naberius die challenge!

P. 200 - “He wouldn’t have let anything happen to Abigail [...] She hated heights. She never would have risked falling.” I am howling like a shot wolf.

First of all, Gideon being affected by Magnus’s death because he was nice to her without any ulterior motives: OUCH. Second, “we are all the sons and daughters that the House of the Ninth possess.” The Twelfth Night of it all…the performance of it all. (“I am all the daughters of my father’s house and all the brothers too.” 2.4)

The Harrow who lives in my head has a mullet

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES WILL I EVER DESIRE YOUR JUICE

The First time Harrow calls Gideon by her name is p. 228

The choice of ‘spawned’ to refer to Harrow’s birth feels deliberate and I’m sure I’ll find out why later. Also the Scandalous Nudity being her face rather than her body when they’re both bare…it’s about living around and under the foot of someone your whole life but never being allowed to know them

P. 234 - Gideon can’t even say Harrow’s name aloud to anyone else…I wish to die! Swiftly!

P. 246 - Gideon has a hot bath for the first time (yay!) and wonders “whether water could get inside of you and make you sick.” God the Ninth House really is living in Vampire Times. Aristotle, you there?

The way all the different houses approach necromancy and the necro/cav dynamic is SO interesting! Cam’s line on p. 235 about the Eight “breed[ing] batteries” absolutely chilled me. Also the juxtaposition between the Eighth using cavaliers as an energy source vs Ianthe, absolute freak, taking a chunk out of Babs. The physical body vs the energy which propels it. Then contrasting that with pairs like Magnus & Abigail (rip) and Cam & Pal who mentally and emotionally rely on each other instead. It isn’t parasitic. KING AND LIONHEART! GO CRAZY AAH! GO STUPID AAH!

I am using all of my meager brain cells to formulate a thought about Camilla and Marta’s fight that isn’t just. wrow. women. OK. The description is short and brutal like the fight itself. The line about Cam fighting like a grease fire works so well my blood was in my EARS! When she dislocated Marta’s arm my own arm jerked back in shock. Fully almost yeeted the book

Yay for Pal also getting a hot moment. One man <3

“Harrow “rose to the occasion like an evening star”....DEATH FIRST TO VULTURES AND SCAVENGERS…I love her something awful.

My highlighter ran out on p. 275 because I highlighted basically the whole page. The girls HUG!! Gideon lifts Harrow off the ground! Unsure if I should tag myself as ‘midnight hagette’ or Harrow’s utter lesbian brain death. At “It feels like forever” I genuinely screamed into my hands. God they’re it. THEY’RE IT.

P. 284 - “Gideon wanted her longsword and she wanted Harrow.” yeah me too

P. 285 - Jeannemary: “I hated [Isaac] when we were little, he wasn’t at all what I wanted.” ough the parallels

I know that naming a character ‘Isaac’ in your space opera about traumatized Catholics is sort of like naming a character ‘sacrifice’ and yet it’s still so gut wrenching! I love and I hate when characters fall victim to the prophecies within their names

Speaking of Biblical etymology, I see you Judith Deuteros. Please decapitate a dude

I knew about the Sex Pal joke and still guffawed

CHAPTERS 26-34

The description of Isaac’s body as a “broken sieve” really upset me and also harkens back to Harrow being empty as a quiver. The necromancer’s body as something which exists to be filled by energy and power, but also something so vulnerable as to demand the physical protection and occasional energy of its cavalier

P. 292 - “When [Dulcinea] breathed it sounded like custard sloshing around an air conditioner.” Absolutely Fucking Wretched!!!

P. 294 - “Mostly cancer and just a little bit of women.” each House really is fucked up in new and exciting ways

Gideon’s nightmare of finding Jeannemary’s severed limbs in her bed really kneecaps you. It’s giving Bluebeard. It’s giving Robber Bridegroom. It’s giving cavaliers as expendable physical forms, and that kind of body horror hasn’t quite been present aside from the avulsion room which wasn’t so bad

P. 331 - “What would you do if you discovered Camilla was a murderer?” "Help her bury the body." G O D

This entire page kills me. For some reason the one year difference and the choice to say “I’ve known her as long as she’s lived” like Harrow’s life is contingent on Gideon’s. One flesh one end B I T C H ! !

Also on that page: “She nearly killed me half a dozen times growing up, but I always knew why.” ok cool!

WAS NOT READY FOR THIS REVELATION???

I have run out of insightful commentary but Harrow wanting “prey, rival, and audience all wrapped up in one.” vs Gideon being “hungry for the Reverend Daughter’s preoccupation”. Don’t you think they’re the same thing? Love and attention? They’re both watching and being watched. Portrait of a Lady on Fire shit

I think Harrow and Cam should hold hands if only because they’d both hate it

Tamsyn loves a prophetic name. I thought she’d subverted it with Protisilaus but nope. Dead all along. First to die

Ianthe’s head pun…what is wrong with her

P. 352 - genuinely don’t have anything of substance to say about the pool scene but “I am exactly two hundred sons and daughters of my House, Griddle–I am the whole generation of the Ninth.” All this PLUS Harrow piloting her parents to keep the Ninth functioning. Christ.

P. 355 - “I am tired of being two hundred corpses.” ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch

Incredibly normal that Harrow’s parents were like hello our ten-year-old war crime daughter time for our group suicide! Here, I’ll tie your noose :) normal family!

I haven’t quite the familiarity with Antigone to say there’s an Antigone parallel somewhere but hmm

Cannot talk about the rest of this scene. I can barely look at it. YOU ARE MY ONLY FRIEND! I AM UNDONE WITHOUT YOU!!

Oh to have your only friend Gideon Nav kiss you on the forehead

I love you 4’11” teenage saint war crime necrophiliac

Gideon choosing to sleep in the cavalier bed. It’s about devotion as both a contract and an active choice. ‘I Will Follow You Into the Dark’ shit. I’m sick

P. 371 - “Dead as space, though accurately, that’s been true for a very, very long time.” I know this refers to Teacher but also stars themselves transmit light for millennia after they burn out. The cosmos itself as a haunted house

Why does the Emperor have a cohort anyway? What enemies are there that an army is necessary to grind children through? I need to know more about this

Cannot articulate this but Ianthe having to be a true necromancer and eating Babs to become a lyctor IS feminist not just because it’s such an overcome male power trip moment but also because it seems that In Media we can only have female villains if they’re tormented and redeemed by the end, they aren’t allowed to be deranged little freaks like this. She’s the damn joker!

REST IN PISS BABS. Again, genuinely progressive that Ianthe eats him and absorbs his perfect cavalier training; then, when she cannot keep it up she turns into a SKIN SHIELD?? [John Darnielle voice] come unhinged! Get revenge!

You’re really eased into the body horror and then Act IV is like hey kid you’re going to experience body horrors beyond your comprehension.

CHAPTERS 35-END

Thinking about 8-year-old Palamedes writing to 15-year-old Dulcinea about how he’s determined to cure her. Also interesting to think that something so mundane as cancer still exists in this world where people are regularly getting bodied by skeletons

Oh, re: Pal, I forgot to highlight this but there’s a line a few (?) chapters back where he surveys his work and sees that it’s good which is directly from god creating the universe

P. 400 - “[Gideon’s] brain was full of sweet fuck all.” yeah girl me too

Every single man in this book has died. Feminism but also Palamedes my friend :(

“Tell Camilla–oh never mind, she knows what to do.” Doctor Who vibes (sorry) “If you see Rose, tell her…tell her…oh, she knows.”

P. 406 - “Camilla Hect off the leash was like light moving across water. She punched her knives into the Lyctor’s guard over and over and over. Cytherea met them ably, but such was Camilla’s speed and perfect hate that she could only hope to block the thunderstorm of blows; she could not even begin to push back against them.” The wording here feels so deliberately Homeric! It’s her aristeia!

It doesn’t mention this in the after matter, but I am choosing to believe Cam was named after Camilla in the Aeneid. She HAS to be!!

I understand why people scream at Marvel movies now but the more apt comparison for Gideon & her two-hander is the re-forging of Anduril. I can hear the score

P. 412 - “I need to be inside you.” NOW IS NOT THE TIME HARROW!!

P. 414 - “Did you behold me, Griddle?” she got yeeted by a vertebrae string because she was too busy beholding you, Harrow!

Rosary-whip made of knuckles. What a great time to be ex-Catholic. This is so hot of her

Camilla Hect aroace icon. Send tweet.

A climactic boss fight where all 5 characters are women…wrow

FUCK YEAH DISMEMBERMENT!!

P. 429 - “All you have to do is live.” Harrow begging Gideon to do the one thing she thought was impossible as a child

Oh these bitches in LOVE

I love “undeserved” forgiveness

[holds Harrowhark Nonagesimus] you do not have to be good you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves

I’m sorry I have zero thoughts I’m just saying ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE ROMANCE over and over and over again in my head

“First flower of my House” is the most romantic shit I’ve ever heard get it OUT of my face. That is not something you come up with on the spot…

The cruelest thing anyone has ever done to Harrow in her life is willingly die for her…

P. 436 - “They were cheek to cheek: Gideon’s arm and Harrow’s arm entwined, holding the sword aloft, letting the steel catch the light.” No THIS is the most romantic shit

Harrow/Pal lavender marriage of the century lmao

Gideon & Harrow 🤝 Gimli & Legolas

Quoting the verses of the Book of Ruth that’s commonly used at weddings

Hey at least I successfully guessed that Dulcinea would be evil & dead by the end. I love being right

IN SUMMARY: DEATH DYING SUFFERING ROMANCE PAIN

#going back through these notes and the amount of stuff i accidentally foreshadowed....#what you don't see is rebecca-dewinters and i opening each other's notes only to realize that we wrote/quoted the same thing #anyway book good i feel cuckoo bananas #the locked tomb #alittletoosaintjust #answered

26 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 3 years

Text

Errol (Naga) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Cheating, Infidelity, Break-ups, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Secretly In Love, Angst, Sex, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Dom/Sub, Ovipositor, Oviposition, Pregnancy, Babies, Eggs, Egg Laying Words: 7887

A commission for @anjhope1! After catching her fiance cheating, the reader breaks up with him and goes home miserable. The ex-fiance's brother, Errol, arrives on his brother's order to get his things from her apartment, but Errol is more interested in taking care of the reader and making sure she's okay. It leads to some confusing feelings and a confession. Please reblog leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

You’d had your suspicions for a while, but it wasn’t until you got the message on social media from a girl he’d dated and dumped who had photographic proof of it that you finally had to face the truth.

Your fiance was cheating on you.

Eric was a naga and had been with you for more than five years. He had asked you to marry him, ring and all, on New Years Eve with his family. He had made a big show of it, too. And now, you were going to have to confront him about being a cheating bastard.

The woman who had been dumped told you that he was now dating her friend, and she had gotten the room number where they were supposed to meet. You got to the hotel with your heart in your throat and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” That was definitely Eric’s voice. He had told you that his friend needed help moving and that he’d be staying over to help him. What a good friend he was.

You deepened your voice in an effort to mask it. “Room service.”

“Oh, good, I was wondering if you were ever going to come,” Eric said, and the door swung open. As soon as he saw you, the blood drained out of his already pale face.

“No, wait--”

“Hey, babe, did they bring the right wine this time?” A female voice said from inside.

You took off your ring and threw it in his face and called inside the room, “You can have the bastard.” And walked away.

“Wait, please, this isn’t what you think,” Eric said, slithering quickly down the hall to catch you. He grabbed your arm and you wrenched it violently out of his grasp.

“Babe, who’s this?” The woman said. She was human and pretty, you guessed.

“I’m his fiance,” You retorted. “Oh, sorry, ex-fiance. Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

“What the fuck, Eric?!” She shouted at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Rachel, it’s not…” He stuttered. “It isn’t…”

Rachel slapped him and pushed past you toward the elevator, not looking back.

“Babe--” He started, turning back toward you.

“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,’ you son of a bitch. Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you waste five fucking years of my life?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant to do! I want an explanation. Was the sex bad? Do you not love me anymore? Are you just the type of person who has to have a side-chick? What? What about this is good for you? What about all this made destroying our relationship worth it?”

He groaned and scratched his head with both hands. “I… It… I can be anything I want to be with those girls, you know? If I say I’m rich, then I’m rich. If I say I’m successful, then I’m successful, and they don’t know better. They don’t know I have a shitty job that I hate. They don’t know that my girlfriend makes twice as much money as me, that she’s popular with people and everyone likes her better than me, even my own fucking family. They don’t know what a fucking loser I am.”

“And that’s my fucking fault?!” You screamed at him. “You know what you could have done instead of ruining a five year relationship? Gotten fucking therapy! Or, better yet, talked to me about it! I have been nothing but supportive of you. I have encouraged you to leave your job and find a better one. I told you I would support you until you found something that made you happy. You could have gone back to school or done and apprenticeship or vocational work, whatever, and I’d have been there! You could do whatever you wanted, and I would have helped you, and you know that!”

“Right, because you so fucking perfect, huh?” He yelled back. “It’s not enough that you rub your perfect job in my face every day and go around spending whatever you want because you don’t have to worry about money, but you also have to be perfectly supportive and perfectly giving and perfectly loving, too, right? How am I supposed to feel good about myself when you’re always better than me at everything?”

“So, it’s my fault you’re cheating on me because I’m a good girlfriend? Is that what you’re saying to me? I’m too fucking nice, so you had to put your dick in random women to feel better about yourself?” You raised your hands as if surrendering and shook your head in disbelief. “You know what? Fucking forget me. Forget our relationship, forget getting married, forget you ever knew me, forget my fucking face, don’t ever come to my house, don’t ever message me again, delete my number from your phone. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist to you, because you sure as shit don’t exist to me anymore.” You turned to leave.

“What about my stuff?” He protested.

“Send your brother to come get your shit,” You said without turning. “If you set foot on my property, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. I’m not fucking around. I’m so fucking glad you never moved in when I offered. ”

“So that’s it?” He said as you waited for the elevator to come back up. “You’re not even willing to work this out? It’s just over?”

“Get fucked, Eric,” You said, stepping into the elevator. “Oh wait, you already did. Do yourself a favor and sell that ring to pay for a therapist.” And the door closed on him.

As soon as the elevator started to move, you hit the floor and sobbed. Why? Why was he like this? You thought everything was perfect up until a few months ago, and you hadn’t know he felt like this. He always seemed happy. How were you supposed to know otherwise if he never said anything?

How you got back home, you didn’t know, because you didn’t remember it. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the freezer and didn’t even bother with a glass. For about an hour, you just sat there disheveled on your couch, crying and drinking.

Sometime later, there was a sheepish knock on your door. You hoped to God that it wasn’t Eric, but when you opened the door, Errol was there. Errol, Eric, and their sister Enya, were all from the same clutch of eggs, so he looked a lot like his brother in that they all had white, black, gold scales, golden eyes, cream colored skin, and blond hair. Errol was a bit larger that Eric, and where Eric wore his hair short, Errol kept his long and braided back. You always thought that it made him look elegant, despite his size. He was still wearing his work clothes, as if he’d just come from his construction job.

You and Errol hadn’t spent much time together alone, since Eric was a little jealous of other men. He’d always been very nice to you, though, and liked you just as well as the rest of his family. He’d even given you advice a few times in the past when you and Eric were fighting.

“Can I come in?” He asked, wincing.

“Did you know?” You asked him, your throat raw and hoarse from crying.

“No, I didn’t know,” He said solemnly.

“Don’t bullshit me, Errol,” You replied harshly.

“I swear I didn’t know. I would have told you, I promise. My brother can be an asshole, but I never thought he would do something like this.” Errol grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?” You retorted, your voice shaking as the tears returned. “If you’ve come to get his stuff, just get it and leave.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about his stuff, I’m here for you,” Errol said. He held up a couple of plastic bags. “I brought take out and ice cream.”

“I’m not hungry,” You said vaguely, but you moved aside to let him in.

“I got alcohol, too,” He said as he slithered inside. “I could make you a Bailey’s float.”

You sighed and sniffled. “Okay.”

You sat at your table as he bustled around making the drink, laying your tear-flushed face on the cool surface of the wood.

“What did I do wrong?” You asked weepily with your cheek pressed against the table.

“Nothing,” Errol said as he lay the glass in front of you, moving a chair so that he could coil up next to the table. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did he do it?” You asked, sitting up and taking a watery bite of the ice cream. “Why wasn’t I enough? He said ‘girls,’ which means there’s probably more than the two I know about. How long has he been doing this? Our whole relationship?”

“When he called me to come over here and get his stuff for him, I asked. I’m not sure if he was telling me the truth, but he said it’s only been the last year.” Errol snorted derisively. “Only.”

“How many girls?” You asked.

He shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me. He kept trying to get me to side with him, but…” Errol rolled his eyes. “I’m not buying anything he says right now.”

“Did he do this to his other girlfriends?”

“Well, you were his first serious girlfriend,” Errol said. “Before you, he only dated casually, so it was never a problem. When he said he really loved you, I thought he meant it.”

“Yeah.” Your lip quivered and you stabbed the spoon into your float. “Me too.”

Errol reached out and pulled you into a tight hug, which you sank into and let loose again, soaking his shirt in tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Errol whispered into your hair.

At some point, Errol put you to bed. You were exhausted and drunk and just wanted to sleep, so he lay you down and left you to it.

When the morning came, you felt like your head had been run over with a truck. You decided to get some coffee going before taking a shower, but to your surprise, Errol was still there. He was in the kitchen on the phone, his hair out of it’s usual braid and tumbling down his shoulders.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Errol said. You immediately realized he was talking to his brother. “No, I’m not picking up your shit. I don’t care if she burns it all.” He was silent for a moment, and you could hear Eric speaking. “No… No, you’re full of shit. Do you know what a good thing you had? Do you have any idea what I would give to have what you just shit on? …fuck no, I’m not going to talk her into taking you back, are you insane?! Get over yourself… No… No, it’s not happening, you can go fuck yourself right now… Look, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.”

Errol hung up and turned, startled to realize you were standing there. “Oh, hey,” He said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” You replied honestly. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, you were in bad shape last night and I didn’t want to leave you alone. I slept on the couch, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” You said. “I was just going to make coffee.”

“Oh, I already made some,” He said, going to the coffee pot and pouring you a mugful. “I figured you could use it. I’ve got breakfast coming too, something greasy to absorb all that alcohol.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” You said, sipping the coffee. It was really good, but not your normal brand, though it tasted very familiar. Actually, now that you thought about it, you always drank the gross coffee Eric liked. This was a nice change. “I’m going to take a shower and wash last night off of me. Are you okay here?”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time,” He said, turning to pull down plates and prepare for breakfast.

You were about to turn to the bathroom but stopped. “Errol.”

He looked back up at you. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for… thanks.”

He smiled at you. “It’s no problem at all.”

You took your shower with your head pressed against the tile. Why couldn’t you just forget? Why couldn’t you put all of it out of your mind and stop thinking about it? What would it take to make the pain stop?

The water was cold by the time you got out, and when you went back into the kitchen, the food had arrived and Errol had everything set out on the table. He looked up anxiously when you came in.

“You okay?” He said, concerned. “You were in there for a worryingly long time. I was thinking about going in there if you hadn’t come out in five minutes.”

“I’m fine. Well, not fine, but you know.”

“Yeah,” He said sympathetically. “Try to eat. All you had last night were two bites of ice cream and a lot of alcohol.”

You picked up your fork and speared a sausage. “I must look horrible.”

“Nope, not possible,” He said, tucking into his own plate of food. “A person can look tired and cute at the same time, you know.”

You snorted, prodding your puffy face gently. “You’re too nice. Maybe I should have dated you instead.”

He laughed. “You know, it’s actually kinda funny, I was going to ask you out back in college before you started dating Eric.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he kind of sniped you, if I’m being honest.”

“I never knew that,” You said. “Did he know you wanted to ask me out?”

“Oh, yeah, I told him,” He said, shoveling eggs into his mouth. “I told him there was a girl at my college who always went to this one coffee shop near campus, and I told him I was going buy you your favorite coffee and cookies as an icebreaker.”

Your head rocked back. “That’s exactly what he did when he asked me out.”

Errol tsked sardonically. “Yeah. I know.”

You scoffed. “Wow, what an absolute asshole.”

Errol shrugged and smiled. “Ancient history now. Do you want some more coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” You said as he filled your cup. “This is really good, what is it?”

“Orange and almond mocha.”

You cocked your head. “Wait… isn’t that the blend I drank at the coffee shop? It used to be my favorite.”

“I know,” He said. “I ordered some. I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up. The shit that Eric drinks is revolting.”

“That’s definitely true,” You said, looking at Errol closely. “You remembered what my favorite coffee blend was from five years ago?”

Errol looked up at you. His face seemed carefully blank.

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s no big deal.” He wiped his mouth and sat back. “I should get going, I have work in a few hours. Are you going to be okay here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think I’m going to take some personal days.”

Errol nodded.”That’s a good idea. I’ll call later to check on you, okay? If you need anything, just text me.”

“Okay,” You said, feeling a little off-balance.

Errol smiled and let himself out, and you were left standing there, staring after him as an overwhelming sense of realization hit you like a freight train.

…did I date the wrong brother all this time?

Later in the day, Eric called. You almost weren’t going to pick up, but you decided to see what he had to say for himself now that the heat of the moment had passed.

“What do you want?” You said brusquely.

“Why did my brother spend the night at your house last night?” Eric said immediately.

“...excuse me?” You replied, incredulous.

“You heard me. What the fuck was he doing there?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“What do you mean, it’s not my business? He’s my brother and you’re my fiance!”

“Ex-fiance,” You corrected him. “First of all, you are the one who told him to come over in the first place. Secondly, I was not obviously doing well last night and he stayed to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid or die in my sleep of alcohol poisoning. And third, and I cannot stress this enough, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t bullshit me, you know he’s in love with you.”

Your head snapped back in agitation. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you really don’t know? Ms. Perfect doesn’t know that my asshole brother has had a crush on you for years?”

“You’re full of shit, Eric,” You retorted. “Don’t drag Errol into this.”

“Did you just decide to fuck my brother to get back at me, is that it?”

“Fuck you, Eric!” You hung up the phone and hit the floor, a wave of anguish washing you again. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to make everything worse?

The phone rang again, and it was Eric. You decided to block him and be done with it. You got a notification from Facebook, and then Twitter, and then Instagram, all from Eric. Every new notification made your anxiety rise higher and higher until you were balled up on the floor, sobbing again. In desperation, she dialed Errol’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please help,” She begged, weeping. “He won’t leave me alone. He keeps messaging me and calling me. I can’t… I can’t do it…”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Errol said. He sounded angry.

“Can you come over? Please?”

“Of course, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. I’m going to turn off my phone.”

“That’s a good idea,” He said. “If I need to, I can message you on your gaming console.”

“Okay,” You said. “Bye.”

He hung up with you and you turned your phone off, sitting on the floor of your kitchen in the blissful silence, unable to get up.

Was that true? Could it be possible that Errol had been in love with you the whole time you’d been dating Eric? He said he’d wanted to ask you out. He remembered tiny details, like what your favorite coffee had been. He made you your favorite dessert when you were miserable without even having to ask what it was. He stayed overnight to make sure you didn’t get hurt or hurt yourself. He bought breakfast and defended you. He didn’t have to do any of that. He was just your fiance’s brother. Ex-fiance.

He arrived shortly after you called him. As soon as he entered the house, before he had a chance to say anything, you reached up, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. For a second or two, there was no reaction, but then he leaned into the kiss, deepening it, savoring it, before abruptly putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“...why did you do that?” He asked you, his face grim.

“Eric told me,” You said. “He said you’ve been in love with me the entire time I was dating him. Is that true?”

Errol looked down and away. “Look--”

“You told Eric on the phone that you’d have given anything to have what he had. You meant me, right?”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Errol, look at me!” You shouted.

It seemed to take a lot of will, but Errol’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours. They were pleading with you.

“Do you love me?”

His face scrunched as if he were in pain and he swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t…

“Don’t…lie to me,” You said in a tense whisper, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do you?”

Tears began to gather in his own eyes. His response was barely audible.

“…yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since I first saw you in the coffee shop.”

You tried to press forward to kiss him again, but he held you firm, sniffing. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“But I don’t want to be used to get revenge on my brother,” He whispered back, his voice strangled and uneven. “It’s not good for you and it’s not fair to me. You know that.”

Your face crumpled. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed, unable to look at him anymore. “I just don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want him in my head.”

Finally, Errol pulled you into a hug.

“I know,” He said. His body was tense, as if he were restraining himself. “We can revisit this later. Much later.”

“When?” You asked piteously.

“Not now. Not soon. You need time to heal and I… need to think.”

“I’m sorry, Errol,” You cried into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never saw it.”

He laughed slightly. “It’s not your fault. I got really good at hiding it. And Eric always kept you at arms length from me. I think he was afraid I’d steal you away or something.”

He let you go and you stepped away, looking at the ground in shame.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was using you,” You said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He put his hand under his chin and made you look up at him, his thumb stroking your cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m relieved the secret is out now. Tiptoeing around you and Eric was exhausting. The engagement was my worst nightmare, because it meant I’d have to just suffer in silence forever.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s over for both our sakes, then,” You said, attempting to smile.

He smiled too, but it was very soft. Gentle. “I don’t… think it’s a good idea for us to hang out together much from now on, at least for a while,” He said, letting go. “But… we can text. We can call. If you need anything, I’m always here for you. That’s always been true.”

You nodded. “I know.” You sighed and took another step back. “I’m going to miss you.”

His smile widened sadly. “I’m not far, but… I know what you mean.”

With the both of you in tears, he turned, opened the door, and was gone. Thirty seconds after he left, however, you got a text.

>Are you okay?

You smiled through your tears, feeling glad and grateful that he was still communicating with you. >No. But I think I will be.

>Good.

>Are you okay? You asked in return.

>Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. This was a lot at once.

>Yeah, no kidding. I think I may see a therapist to help me out.

>That’s a really good idea. Maybe I should too.

>I think everyone should at least once.

>Yeah. Do you need anything?

>No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything, Errol.

>It’s my pleasure.

Some time passed. You and Errol talked and texted every single day. Neither of you brought up dating each other and carefully avoided affectionate language. He wanted you to heal and you wanted to give him a fair chance without the cloud of his brother hanging over you.

Talking to him was effortless, like talking to yourself. You each had your own tastes and dislikes, but you both loved a lot of the same things and had similar desires. You both loved your jobs, enjoyed the same music, gushed over books you’d read, and liked playing board games. One of your favorite things to do was watch movies remotely over Zoom. It was almost like being on a date, even if you couldn’t be together.

As hard as you tried not to, you compared everything Errol did to Eric. Even still, it was obvious that Errol had always been better suited to you than Eric ever was. It was abundantly clear that you had indeed been dating the wrong brother the entire time.

On what was supposed to be your anniversary with Eric, Errol sent you a link to play a horror game with him. Errol hated anything horror, so instead of spending the day crying and drinking and cursing Eric for being alive, you got to laugh the whole day at how loud Errol screamed when he was startled. It ended up being a wonderful day.

You did see a therapist, as did Errol, and the two of you would talk about your sessions with each other, sharing the advice the counselors had given you. He also sent you gifts through delivery, like the coffee you loved and your favorite treats. Whenever you’d had a bad day or had to deal with Eric due to post-breakup business, a treat would arrive the next day, and it always put a smile on your face.

You were worried that all the time apart might change how Errol felt, but he never wavered. You woke up every day to a text saying good morning, and went to bed after talking to him for at least an hour about your day. After a month, you realized that a day or two would go by when you wouldn’t think of Eric at all. You hadn’t thought that would be possible when you first broke up with Eric, and he did still haunt your thoughts most of the time, but the respite from the emotional distress of thinking of him, even for a short time, was wonderful.

Three months after the breakup and his confession, you, Errol, and your therapists all decided that you were ready to date again. That same day, Errol showed up on your doorstep with flowers. The sight of him was like breathing fresh air after being underwater.

“Hi,” He said, smiling brightly.

“Hi,” You replied, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. He reciprocated without hesitation.

“So…” He said, not letting go. “Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

“Yes,” You said, cuddling him closer.

He pulled back and kissed you for a very long time, tasting your lips and teasing his tongue just inside your mouth. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and just looked at your face, touching your cheeks with his fingertips. Eventually he stepped back.

“Let’s go.”

Dating him was amazing. He knew everything there was to know about you, so he took you to places you loved, to all your favorite restaurants, to concerts he knew you’d enjoy. It was like you’d been dating for years already, even though it was just a few weeks. You made out like teenagers, hot and heavy, but he was careful about being intimate too quickly, though, still fearful about being a rebound. You respected that.

You were already talking about the future, though. You both wanted to get married eventually and to be parents before you turned thirty. Before breaking up, you had been talking about having kids with Eric, which was something he had expressed interest in during the start of your relationship, but recently he had been making excuses, like he didn’t have enough in savings or he didn’t feel ready. You guessed you knew why now.

You were worried that his family would be angry with you for ending your relationship with Eric and dating Errol, but they seemed completely understanding. It was likely they were also aware that Errol had been in love with you forever, and the fact that Eric cheated on you wasn’t something they were proud of. You were still warmly invited to all the family gatherings with Errol, and while having Eric there was a little awkward, his seething anger at seeing you happy with Errol was the best revenge you could have asked for.

“They let everyone in the office have the day off. Do you want to hang out today?” You asked Errol one night after about a month and a half of dating.

“Ordinarily I’d love to, but I’m feeling kinda weird today. Squishy. I think I’m going to have my period soon.”

He wasn’t being hyperbolic; nagas with male sex organs both created the eggs and fertilized them, but they didn’t have a womb or cavity in their bodies where the eggs could incubate, which is why they needed people with uteruses to propagate the species. It took a month for the eggs to develop inside them, but after that, they could implant them into another person’s body at any time they chose. However, after a year, the eggs died naturally and were expelled from their bodies, therefore, male nagas experienced periods once a year. Eric usually went to a specialized facility where the eggs would be humanely disposed of.

“Are you sure? Isn’t it rather soon for that.”

“I went into heat last week. The eggs usually die quickly after that.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” You said. “Why did you go into heat? That typically only happens when nagas in a sexual relationship with someone, right?”

“That, and if you’re experiencing extreme sexual needs that aren’t being met.”

“Oh. Ohhh…” You hissed in a breath. “Is it because of me?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” He reassured you. “It’s my problem. I’ll take care of it.”

You were silent for a moment of deep contemplation. He seemed to sense you were thinking about something.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

“Do you think the eggs are still viable?”

It was his turn to be silent. “Um… maybe. Probably. I think it’ll be another week before I need to go in to evacuate them. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking…” You said slowly. “We both said we wanted kids. And I know we’re just starting out, and this is super sudden, and it probably doesn’t even make sense to do this now, and we haven’t even had sex yet, but… oh, god, I’m rambling…” You sighed heavily. “If you’d like, we can wait until next year when we’ve been together for longer, but… it just seems like this is a good opportunity. It… feels right, you know what I mean? If that’s what you want.”

He took another moment of silence to think really hard about what you were saying. “Are you sure about this, honey?” He asked you finally.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” You said resolutely. “I love you, and I’m in a good place, both emotionally and financially. I’m ready to be a mom. I have been for years.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt anxiously. “Is this something you want? I mean… I totally understand if it isn’t. If you want to wait, that’s fine with me. I just… I want to do this.”

His voice turned sultry. “You really want my eggs?”

You grinned and bit your lip. You’d learned through hints in conversations you had with him that he had a little bit of a breeding and pregnancy kink.

“Yeah. But we should act fast if we want them to take.”

“I’ll be right over,” He said, and the phone clicked.

You immediately went into the bathroom to get ready, feeling nervous. There was a weight of expectation on you, not just because you were talking about getting pregnant, but also because of how long Errol had wanted to be with you. You were scared that you wouldn’t live up to his expectation.

He arrived shortly after, looking excited and nervous. You pulled him into your arms and kissed him. He was shaking.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He said, touching your face reverently. “I’ve just… I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

You smiled softly at him. “Come on.” You took him by the hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. He took a deep, shaky breath and followed.

Once in the room, he pulled you in and kissed you again, deeper this time, more probing, his body pressed flush against yours.

“I’m not sure how to… begin…” He said. “I don’t know what you like and don’t like yet.”

“We can learn as we go,” You said. “We don’t have to rush.”

“Well, what do you like? Do you have any kinks I should know about?”

You laughed. “I have a few, I guess.”

“Tell me about one,” He said.

Instead of telling, you knelt down and sat on your knees with your butt resting on your feet, perched forward on your hands, and looked up at him through your lashes.

“What would you like me to do for you?” You asked, biting your lip.

His eyebrows rose and a startled smile spread across his face. “Oh,” He said. Slowly, he took off his long shirt, exposing his torso and the slit on his lower abdomen, usually closed and imperceptible from his scales, but now swollen and puckered slightly. He ran his fingers through your hair where you were crouched on the floor and came close, so that his slit was near your face.

“Touch it for me, sweetie,” He said.

Gently, you circled one finger around the slit, feeling it pulse under your touch. He exhaled sharply and his head fell back, his braid swinging. With your forefinger and middle finger, you stroked it up and down, watching it open slowly. You leaned forward and kissed it, and he spasmed, groaning.

Gradually, two dicks emerged from his slit, a long, thin one with a spear-like head, and a shorter, thick one with a bulbous head. You knew each had a different purpose. Normally, the thin one would be retracted so that nagas could just enjoy sex, but the thin one was an ovipositor. It’s what implanted the eggs. You knew not to touch it, since it secreted a numbing agent that made implanting the eggs easier.

“Now?” You asked.

“Not yet,” He said. “You’re not ready yet. Stand up.”

You obeyed, and he began to undress you. You started to help, but he said, “No, no, let me do it.”

You put your arms back down and let him peel your clothes off. And then he just looked at you.

“Stand still,” He said. “Stay quiet.”

You nodded, obeying.

“Good girl,” He whispered. “That’s my good girl.”

He started with your shoulders, letting his fingers run over your skin, down your arms, up your sides, caressing your breasts, down your belly, and reached one hand between your legs. You gasped.

“Shh,” He said. “Stay silent.”

It was a hard order to follow, as he touched your pearl and massaged it slowly, running a finger inside your slit as he did. Your breathing was uneven and you had to bite a finger, but you managed to be quiet.

“You can make all the noise you want soon,” He promised seductively. “I just want to test how good you can be for me.”

You nodded again, your body shivering at his touch.

He brought his face very close to yours, so that your lips were mere millimeters apart, but stopped short of actually kissing you. You could feel his cool breath on your neck and chest, and it made your heart race.

“You’re getting there,” He said, pushing a finger inside your entrance. You inhaled, but bit down on your cheek to stay silent.

“Good girl,” He said, pulling his finger out. "Lay face down on the bed and lift your ass up. Spread your legs open.”

You nodded again and followed his orders, doing exactly what he asked of you. He slithered up behind you and went back to touching between your legs with one hand, the other sliding up and down your spine. You felt him sink down and kiss your thighs.

“You can moan for me, darling,” He said.

You were happy to obey, and whimpered against your pillow as he licked a long stripe from behind, kneading your buttocks as he did. He moaned as he sucked on you, your legs shaking. He pressed his thumb into you as he sucked, and you thought you were going to cum. He stopped just before that happened, leaving you feeling desperate.

“Good,” He said. “You’re perfect.” He crawled over you from the back so that his face was next to yours and he kissed you. “Are you still sure about this? We can just have sex, I don’t have to breed you.”

“You want to, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about what I want right now, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes,” You simpered. “I want it. Give them to me. Please. I want them.”

He bit his lip, looked at you like you were something he wanted to eat, and grinned. “Good girl.” He went out of view then, and you felt his hands on your hips.

“Be still,” He said. “Let me in.”

You nodded, and felt the slim tube enter your body. The anesthetic began working immediately, so you only had a vague sensation of it pushing all the way in, penetrating your womb, and fixing itself there.

“Are you hurting, love?” He asked as he lay over you, putting his arm under your head so that you could lay on it and resting his body on top of you. Your hips were still in the air and your stomach wasn’t touching the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” You replied.

“Good,” He said, sounding a bit strained, his body tensing. His stuttering breath blew through your hair. “It’s starting.”

He grunted, but you couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain. His breathing was sharp and punctuated as the egg moved down through the ovipositor and into you. You could feel a small swell in your stomach, but it wasn’t painful. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and relaxed and shuddered, gasping.

“Did it hurt?” You asked.

“Not exactly,” He replied a little breathlessly. “It feels good, but it’s also a bit of work to push it out. Sorry this isn’t as sexy as you might have hoped.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” You replied, nuzzling him. “It’s like a special kind of foreplay. Besides, I’m really enjoying all the sounds that are coming out of you.”

“I can feel that,” He said, laughing. “You keep squeezing me.” He tensed again and started grunting, hugging you tightly.

“You’re doing great,” You told him.

“This is… harder than I thought it would be,” He said stiltedly. You could feel the sweat from his brow dripping on your skin.

“You can do it,” You said, kissing his arm as it gripped you and biting his thumb. “How many do you think there are?”

“I think three,” He said. He exhaled forcefully, and you felt another swell slip into you as he panted.

“One more, honey,” You said. “Deep breaths.”

He snickered, and then groaned. “Okay…” He said. He gripped you hard as the last one came and passed through. You were beginning to feel a full sensation in your belly and felt glad this was the last one.

Once it was out, the ovipositor retracted and he flopped onto the bed, gasping like a fish.

“Whoa,” He said. “Laying them in a person is way different than disposing of them.”

“How so?” You asked, moving to lie on your side so that you could touch him. He was clammy and cold.

“That felt great,” He said, looking over at you and smiling. “Like, it hurt a bit, but it felt like a small orgasm every time.”

“Probably a biological incentive to procreate,” You said, kissing his chest and neck.

He snorted. “Probably.” He looked at you with his eyes half lidded. “It’s going to be a few minutes until you get the feeling back down there. Why don’t you spend some time and play with me?”

“Is that an order?” You asked.

“Do you want me to punish you?” He asked.

“Maybe I’ll like it,” You said with a smirk.

He took you by the chin and made you look down at the second, larger cock, which was still erect and bobbing. “Touch me.”

You went down and sat astride his tail so that he could watch you take his cock in your hand, and begin to slowly pump it up and down.

“Hmm, that’s good,” He said with a satisfied sigh. “Let me know when your feeling comes back. We don’t want to waste time.”

“I will,” You said, stroking him. Your stomach felt tight, so you rubbed it as you touched him, drawing his eye. He watched you hungrily.

“I can’t believe you did that,” He said, smiling at you.

“We’re only half-way there,” You told him. “Don’t get too excited.”

He bucked his tail and nearly knocked you over onto the bed, making you shriek and laugh.

After a few minutes of teasing and touching and good-natured laughter, the feeling began to return. You started rocking on his tail to be sure, and realized that you were extremely sensitive.

“It’s back?” He asked

You nodded, pleasuring yourself against his body.

“Good. Lay down.”

You obeyed, and he moved to lay on top of you, his tail between your legs and his slit lining up with yours, kissing you deeply and rolling your nipples in his fingers. He pushed himself inside you as he kissed you, careful not to go too deep, as the ovipositor had made you a little sore. You rolled your body against his in time with his thrusts. You were so sensitive that you could already feel the crest of ecstasy beginning to wash over you.

“I love you so much,” He whispered against your skin. “I’m so happy.”

“I love you,” You replied, your hands in his hair as he moved inside you with purpose, precision. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

He stopped immediately, and you groaned shrilly, the sensation of denial sending a shiver up your back.

“Not yet,” He said, biting your lower lip. “Not until I say. Be a good girl.”

You nodded, panting and trembling, but your body was betraying you, writhing desperately against him, trying to regain the friction.

“Be still,” He said. “I’m not going to move again until you be still.”

You squealed in need, but you did your best to make your body stop clutching at him. It took a minute, but you managed to settle down.

“Good,” He said, slowly moving inside you again. “Good girl.”

“Cum inside me,” You begged. “Please.”

“I will,” He said, kissing you. “When I want to. Be patient and I’ll reward you.”

Your body was wound so tightly that you thought you were going to explode, practically vibrating underneath him. The sight of it made him grin.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said, licking your earlobe, still keeping the maddeningly slow pace. “Do you want it that bad?”

“Yes!” You groaned. “Yes, please. Errol, please.”

He thrust sharply, but not hard, and you nearly came undone. You cried out, about to snap like a string.

“Are you always going to be a good girl for me?” He whispered sinfully.

“Yes!”

“Do you promise me?”

“Yes!”

“Say it. Say ‘I promise.’”

“I promise, I promise, please!”

His thrusts became targeted again. “Beg me some more.”

“Errol, please! Please let me cum, please!” You cried. Every muscle, every nerve in your body was screaming for release.

“You can cum when I tell you to,” He said, though his movements were extremely efficient now. He was very good at drawing this out.

“I can’t take it, please!” You begged.

“One more time, say you love me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I love you! I love you so much! Please!”

From there, he wasted no time, slamming himself into you with speed. In no time at all, you were a screaming, shaking mess underneath him, thanking him over and over. The tension in his body and the sudden shout and moaning from him told you that he had reached his peak too.

“Not yet,” He gasped, rearing up. “I’m not done yet.”

He had leaned up so that he could look down at you and put his hand on your stomach, feeling the new hardness there. He kept going, pistoning against your body, snapping his hips against you, and rode the wave for a second time, all focus and concentration.

The both of you came one final time before he collapsed on the bed beside you, sucking in air as hard as you were. For a few minutes, all you could do was breathe.

After some time, he left the bed and went into the bathroom, and you heard the water in the tub running. You were barely conscious when he came back and lifted you out of the bed, taking you into the bathroom, and lay you down in the warm water of the bath. You were so tired and boneless that you could hardly raise your head, so he carefully, lovingly washed your body, paying special attention to your belly.

“Are you alive?” He asked after some time of sitting next to the tub, watching you drift in and out.

“I think so,” You replied, opening your eyes to smile sleepily at him. “Do you think they took?”

“We won’t know for a while. You should take it easy until then.” He smoothed the hair away from your face and stroked your cheek. “You’re going to have my babies,” He said, laughing a little.

“I hope so,” You said, taking his hand and kissing the palm.

“Eric is going to be pissed,” Errol said, snickering.

You snorted. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about him once today. This isn’t about him.”

Errol kissed you. “You’re right. It isn’t. It’s about us.” He lay his hand on your stomach and smiled gently. “All of us.”

Only one of the eggs took, but that was okay. Errol’s parents were overjoyed to learn they’d be getting a grandchild. Both you and Errol decided Eric could learn it on Facebook, like all the other strangers and acquaintances in your lives.

You took maternity leave so that you could pass your gestational time in relative peace. Errol fussed over you, making sure you ate properly and went with you to all your appointments. You made the decision to lay the egg at home instead of the hospital, and Errol’s sister acted as the midwife. It was the toughest work you’d ever done, and Errol was the best cheerleader you could have asked for.

Errol took paternity leave, like you had done, since he couldn’t leave the egg, anyway. He incubated the egg for the rest of the gestation period, curled up around it day and night. Errol’s son, Ewan, was born six months after being conceived, and within another year, you and Errol were married.

You often wondered if things had been different, if you had dated Errol from the beginning instead of Eric, if you’d be as overjoyed as you were at the moment. But then you figured that wondering about what ifs was a waste of time. You had a happy family to look after now, after all, and another clutch on the way. There was no time to worry about the past. The future was right in front of you.

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ojandbathrobes · 3 years

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thoughts on the closer by chappelle

I’lll preface this by saying I don’t think this was a a particularly great comedic performance out of Dave- it was alright comedically. I also don’t think he should have used the term TERF, and that he conflated gender with sex, but I understand his points. And I don’t speak for any community and only for myself.

Dave knows exactly how people would react to his special- he’s not stupid. His entire job is to understand what makes people react the way we do (such as laugh). And I agree with what he said.

The issue he has and why he has hammered it home so much- is that there are different rules for different people when it comes to comedy at the moment. Fundamentally, that you cannot make jokes involving the LGBT community if you yourself aren’t a part of it. As a comedian myself I wholeheartedly disagree. Its the same for people saying you can’t make jokes involving black people if you aren’t black. That’s not true. Neil Brennan makes jokes involving black people all the time and he’s white as snow.

Thankfully, most people understand context and that you can joke about anything provided it’s funny. And it’s okay to be offended. It’s not okay to deny a comedian subject matter.

You can make jokes about everyone else- white, black, asian, jewish, midgets, fat people, religious people and Chappelle pretty much does make jokes involving all of those. But for some reason LGBTQ people are off limits.

Dave makes jokes about jewish people with little to no backlash. His critics are silent when he makes jokes using the hard r n word to raucous applause. Clifford the big black NWORD gets huge laughs- and that’s a joke about a black man getting shot by the cops. Maybe these jokes are acceptable because every other group has been in the public eye for much longer. I don’t know.

He hammers home these jokes- about how he beats up women, got molested as a kid and liked it, how he would lead the feminist movement just to get his dick sucked. No one was bothered by these jokes and characterizations. They’re considered fair game. His work is not meant to be taken at face value. No joke is supposed to be taken at face value. He hammers home the trans jokes because the community INSISTS that they are the one type of joke he isn’t allowed to make. But that isn’t how life works.

In a past special Dave said,

“To what degree must I participate in your self-image?”

That doesn’t mean he won’t respect your self image. He said re iterated many times that he’ll respect anyone’s name and their pronouns. The issue is that you cannot FORCE anyone to treat you a certain way. You cannot FORCE tolerance on somebody. The only way you can make sure someone always treats you the way you want to be treated is to exercise power over them.

You are not the complete arbiter of all that is right or wrong because of your sexual orientation. If you could get people to always respect you or react the way you want them to - well everyone would laugh at every single thing that comes out of my mouth. I’m happy to accept anybody and everybody. But stop forcing me. The woke olympics gets exhausting. Equality is not about destroying a foe that needs vanquishing. It is about everybody agreeing to be on the same page.

Dave also has an issue with the disparity between black justice in this country and the rapid strides of the LGBTQ movement. I agree with him. I sincerely believe the LGBTQ community would not have achieved the success it had the majority of the movement been non white. They have gotten most of the objectives they were fighting for, outside of eliminating widespread personal prejudice. Black people have been tormented by the dominant culture and by the government for four hundred years with little redress done to their community.

The claim has been made that this implies black LGBTQ people don’t exist- but anyone who watched the special knows that Dave mentions them several times- referencing a white gay dude calling the cops on him, and how a black gay dude would not have. He references black gay dudes hanging out with a white trans person - and how that trans person will never know what it’s like to be a double minority. He demonstrates that white gay people are a minority until they need to be white again. The criticism against him here as well as the criticism of Chappelle as a whole has mostly come from a white mode of thinking. We really do have a different way of thinking, reading, writing, and speaking for the most part.

And that is the linear, completely logical (at the cost of all else) way of thinking that picks about small details without their greater context and point being taken into consideration, and believes the words you say are always exactly what you mean. This mode of thinking places everything at face value. This thinking style does not mesh well with comedy, as comedy is about taking that mode of thinking and flipping it on its head.

He constantly used the African American rhetorical technique of “signifyin” which again is hard for the white audience to understand. Signifyin takes many forms but the basic premise is this:

It explores the difference between words and their literal meaning against what you mean to convey through context or shared knowledge. In simple terms it’s like roasting someone to show friendship, or in even simpler terms calling someone “bad” to mean good. He calls himself “transphobic comedian Dave Chappelle”- now through context we obviously know that Dave doesn’t believe he is transphobic. He uses that to poke fun at the people who inevitably called him that after the special dropped.

The concept flies over many people’s heads. It’s why white racists have sometimes enjoyed his work. He uses these tactics because ultimately he is a trickster. The trickster is not inherently good or bad. He is just searching for deeper meaning through the exploitation of language and through the feelings of the audience in search of truth about the human condition.

This is why he says things that offend when taken at face value. If you’re not offended by Clifford the big black NWORD, but you are offended by calling trans pussy “beyond pussy”, what are your feelings based in? I understand that joke being able to hurt a trans persons feelings or why his claim that he is a TERF would also hurt. But he speaks truth. Trans women have a fundamentally different experience than cis women. That doesn’t mean they can’t be women and be allied with them.

A trans woman did NOT grow up with a period. Did not experience female puberty and the sexualization by others until their transition. That’s a different experience. And that’s OKAY. But it is not the same experience. He is exposing that. He DOES NOT have a problem with them. He has a problem with people trying to control his speech. Some say that still- he’s behind the times. The majority of audiences he speaks to don’t think that. As long as the audience is there- he isn’t behind the times.

To tell the trickster that he isn’t allowed to use certain tricks is the worst decision to make. He will always do the opposite of what you tell him to. If not for the simple reason of finding out what the opposite even is.

“To take a man’s livelihood is akin to killing him.”

To take the tricksters ability to trick is to kill him.

The underlying point of the whole thing was never hatred. Or division. Rather, unity. He always builds this unity in a backhanded way. His jokes are not out of hate, but acceptance.

Dave obviously cares about the trans people he meets. he doesn’t want them to hurt. If you are hurt by words it’s because you allow them to hurt you. (see last special “Sticks and Stones”) He wants the opposite. Everyone else likes being in the jokes. They laugh. To laugh is to take the venom out of the bite of pain. He says things that sound painful at face value- in the hopes they will laugh. He is inviting this community to laugh with use- and in doing so, overcome their pain.

The greatest use of signifyin.

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

You and Me...

Chapter 3

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chatper Warnings***

Word Coung: 2464

Pairing: Jensen Ackles X Reader, Jared x reader, OFC Steve x Reader, OFC Justin x Reader. Misha x Reader, Jensen x Jared, Jensen x Misha

A/N: When I originally wrote this chapter I didn’t even know who Steve Carlson was, so the Steve in this story isn’t him lol. Oddly enough I wrote this before I even really knew he was making an album lol. Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. After this chapter things tend to start to pick up a little.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

Last night was a bad night for you. You were crushed that Jensen thought you were just some slut that likes to flirt with every married man that came through the studio because not a word of that was true. The way he was looking at you when he said it. There was no emotion in his eyes whatsoever. Just coldness. He looked at you like you were just another gold-digging whore. You don’t know why his opinion of you crushed you so badly, but it did.

It’s not like it was unusual in the industry that you were working in. Groupies came all the time to hang out and see if they could land themselves an upcoming artist that has potential, then ride that ride all the way down to music row. Steve did try and keep them at bay because he couldn't stand that part of the industry. It didn’t stop them from coming, but at least he did try.

You were no groupie, you worked your ass off to get to where you were in your job. You did it yourself through straight hard work and talent. You had no favors, no handouts, nothing. Everything you had, everything you accomplished, it was all you.

Women are looked down on in most businesses, but in the entertainment industry, that reputation of whore seems to resound past any talent a woman might have. It wasn't usual for men to come in, and treat you the way Jensen had yesterday, but when he did it, it really hurt.

The way he jerked the coffee out of your hand, not even looking at you. Like you were nothing, trash, someone that wasn't worthy to be in his presents.

That cut you deep.

Why did you care so much what this snob thought about you? You didn't like the way his opinion of you made you feel. The way it seemed to etch itself into you, and take root there. You whipped away a stray tear that was making its way down your face.

Most of the night you dreamed of Demon Dean. Because that's who he looked like yesterday when he demanded Steve make you bring him his coffee.

The nightmares were vivid, more vivid than you’d ever experienced in your life.

You used to like Demon Dean. You found it to be an interesting take on Dean's character. Now though. It gave you chills. You didn't know how you were going to face Jensen today. Still, you weren't going to let it cost you your job. You’d worked too hard, and come too far to let one man’s opinion of you destroy everything you had worked to build for yourself.

So you text Steve back for the thousandth time just this morning telling him that you were fine and would see him in a little while. Justin and Steve knew you pretty well, and they could tell how Jensen's opinion of you had affected you. You had never walked out on a job before like that. Steve knew you weren’t just not feeling well and needed to go home. He knew Jensen had gotten to you.

You just wish you knew why it affected you so much. You never cared what people thought about you before. It didn't make sense.

You jump in the shower quickly. Not feeling real into dressing up today, which there was no dress code at your job anyway, you throw on an old black and white Slipknot band shirt Justin had bought you years ago for a dirty Santa gift at work. It was comfortable, so, therefore, it was your favorite. A black pair of skinny ripped jeans, and a pair of black and white converse. You threw your hair into a messy bun and a light dusting of makeup. Today, that was just as good as it was going to get.

You just didn't feel pretty this morning. So you didn't see any need in trying. Yesterday you did the work, and it did not go well. Business suit, perfect hair, makeup. Still, you were just a whore that liked to flirt with married men and needed to get Jensen his coffee.

As soon as you walked into the recording room this morning Justin and Steve were on their feet giving you a hug.

"Don't pay attention to that overpaid, spoiled fuck Y/N," Justin said, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug.

"Yeah, Jen's back today. She can pack him his damn coffee, and I hope she spits in it," Steve said through gritted teeth.

They were a little overprotective of you, so this reaction didn't surprise you. They had become like family to you over the years. They treated you like a little sister, and they had no problem going to war for you if they had to.

You look through the glass in front of you and see Jennifer sitting up everything for the day. She was young, probably 19 or 20, you didn't really ever ask. She was pretty though. Long blonde hair. Skinnier than you were, even though you weren't really all that heavy. Blue eyes.

She would probably make it far in the entertainment industry one day on her looks alone. She was dressed in her usual casual skinny jeans and tank top. You smirk at the fact that Jensen was probably gonna eat her alive today since he obviously had a problem with women. She looked a little to you like a gold-digging groupie the more you thought about it. She was a working mom though, and you respected her for that. It was hard to be a young mom, much less a working young mom.

"Has Jensen arrived yet?" you turn to Steve and ask, dreading the moment he walked into the studio already.

Also, you were inwardly regretting your outfit choice. You weren't sure who would be under attack more, Jennifer, or you.

"No, he's running a little late. Jared will be here again today, along with Misha Collins. He's in town for some type of charity function, and Jensen invited him to come to watch a little today," Steve said, turning to his buzzing phone, and walking out of the recording room.

You turned about to say that you hoped Misha wasn't as big of an ass hole as Jensen when you saw the group of actors walk into the studio. “Well crap, here it goes.”

"Misha, this is Y/N, and Justin, that girl in there putting out drinks is Jennifer," Steve said, and you all shook Misha's hand. He greeted everyone warmly and seemed to be a genuinely friendly guy. Jensen was looking at you with a look of distaste on his face, but there was a look in his eyes that you didn't recognize, something you hadn't seen yesterday, even if he was staring at you and snarling at you in a cocky smirk.

"What is this?" he asked gesturing up, and down your small frame. He was a giant compared to you. "Casual Tuesday? You are aware that it's not Friday yet right?" he blows off in a cocky tone.

Misha and Jared turn to stare at him, but you say nothing. Taking a deep calming breath you turn around and start logging into the equipment. Misha came and took a seat by you, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. You smile at him and watch as Jennifer enters the room. “Showtime,” you think to yourself, but boy did you get the shock, and disappointment of your life.

"Well, well, I don't believe we met yesterday. What's your name beautiful?" Jensen said, turning to Jennifer.

You felt your stomach lurch, and you fraught to hold onto your breakfast. You got up and excused yourself to the bathroom. Steve and Justin watched you like you might snap at any minute.

Well, he wants to be a jackass then two can play at this game. You were in control of today's recording session, and today wasn't going to be an easy one, for Jensen anyway. You, on the other hand, were going to enjoy this.

You walked out of the bathroom after composing your emotions and ran headlong into the large frame that was Jared. He grabbed your shoulders to steady you and keep you from falling back on your ass.

"Sorry," he said in a rush.

"It's okay," you retorted, turning a little red. Could you just not do anything right today?

"I wanted to talk to you before we got started today. I want to apologize for the way Jensen is acting toward you. I've never seen him act quite like this toward anyone. He's going a divorce. It was just finalized yesterday. He's under a lot of stress," you held your hand up to stop Jared's retort of excuses he was trying to make for his friend's attitude.

"I'm sure he will be able to blow off a little steam with Jennifer on the break. Maybe if he gets one off he won't be such a dick. Now If you'll excuse me I've got work to do," you say, pushing past Jared before he could say anything and stepping back toward the recording room.

Neither of you saw Jensen leaning against the door in the hallway. He’d heard every word that Jared had said to you, and he was livid.

"What the fuck Jar?" Jensen said, making his presence known to his friend. Jared swore under his breath, turning to face a red face; and obviously pissed Jensen.

"I could ask you the same question," Jared said, rounding on his friend. "What you do have against Y/N? She's done nothing to you, and you act like such an ass towards her every time you open your mouth?!"

Jensen stood there with his head cocked to the side. He had been acting like a dick, he was well aware of it. Still, he couldn't help it. Whether she was doing it on purpose or not she was driving him crazy, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. She was beautiful, but that wasn't it. It was something he felt deep down in his gut every time she looked at him. It scared him a little. He thought Danneel was the love of his life, he shouldn’t be feeling this way this early after a divorce. Maybe Y/N was right, maybe he did just need to get one off...

"Do you hate her or something?" Jared said, looking at his friend's dead-looking eyes with concern. Ever since Danneel had left him it was like Jensen had just shut down emotionally. He hated it. Hated seeing his friend like this.

"No, I don't hate her Jared," Jensen said, rubbing his hand through his hair, and turning to walk back into the recording room. Not wanting to have this conversation.

"Well, you got a real fucked up way of showing it, man," Jared said as Jensen closed the door.

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

Three hours later Jensen was about six mess ups into the same song he'd sang one thousand times. Mostly because every time you heard a note slightly off you would turn the mike on, and yell, "That's wrong, do it again".

By now his face was red and he was getting pissed. You couldn’t help yourself though, you found it deeply satisfying. Every time you made him start over Jared and Misha would laugh hysterically behind you. Both of them thought that Jensen was getting exactly what he deserved. Jensen had obviously met his match.

"This whole house had got to be shaken.'."

"Wrong. Do it again."

"This whole house had got to be shaken.'."

"Wrong. Do it again."

"This whole house had got to be shaken’."

"Wrong. Do it again."

"This whole house had got to be shaken'."

"Wrong. Do it again."

This time Jensen had all he could take.

"What is your fucking problem you bitch," he yelled into the microphone, and the whole room fell silent as the two of you stared at each other. Jensen was on his feet breathing heavily. His voice was slightly hoarse from trying to hit the same note over and over again. Still, he was slightly off every time, and you had every intention to make him do it until he got it right. The miss was so subtle that you would have to be listening to really hear it, most people wouldn’t have even caught it, and that's what made it fun for you. You were gonna make this ass hole lose his shit. Just like he was trying to do you. You were going to beat him in his own game.

You reached over and turned the speaker back on, staring at him, not even blinking. Everyone in the room was holding their breath.

"You keep hitting the wrong note. You are gonna do it until you get it right. Now... Again..."

You stare at him coldly, and he looked at you like if you were a man he'd hit you. Misha started to snicker under his breath behind you, leaning over he whispered to Jared, "I like this one."

You try to hide the smirk that threatens to play at your lips.

Jensen put his guitar back on his shoulder and began to strum the chorus again. Looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face this time, which confused you a little. Was he enjoying this? Damn that man was gorgeous. Too bad he was a dick.

"This whole house had got to be shaken',"

That time he hit it. He even realized when he hit it. The look of shock sat on everyone in the room's face. He finished out the chorus and you came back on the mic.

He was standing there staring at you. A hard, yet mischievous look on his face. Something in his eyes lighting up for the first time since you met him.

"That's a wrap," you say over the spacker, turning to Justin and Steve who were both grinning at you too.

"Shut it down. That's enough for today," with that, you grabbed your stuff, hugged Misha who was laughing uncontrollably at the look on Jensen's face as you hugged Jared too; then left for the day more than a little proud of yourself.

This man, he does something to you. Something you don't quite understand. He pulls a side of you out that you never knew was there, but you kinda like it. If you were being honest. You had forgotten what it felt like to stand up against something on your own two feet.

Ever since you moved back to Austin after the death of both your parents, you had lost your fight somehow, and you hadn’t even realized it. Jensen seemed to be pulling that fight out of you, even if he didn’t mean to do it, or realize that he was doing it.

You needed this challenge, and you sure as fuck weren’ going to let him win.

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primeemeraldheiress · 4 years

Note

In a world where Bruce never finds and takes-in female Jason, how would they still fall in love? 💕

I wrote this instead of prepping for cross-examination and it’s all your fault.

The Longest Road

——————————

Batman returns from the Alley, where he’d been paying his respects to his parents, to find all four tires missing from the Batmobile. He stares. The sheer audacity. Incredulous laughter bubbles up and spills from his throat.

He should… he should hunt the theif down. He should get them back. Tires for that tank are custom. Expensive. Lucius is going to kill him for losing them but to hell with it. If someone can make it past all his security and steal not one but all four of his tires in the twenty minutes he’d been gone… they fucking deserved them.

A tire iron catches his eye nearby, abandoned. He’d make sure it went with them when Alfred brings a new set. And if he refuses to look Alfred in the eye as he puts them on, that’s his business.

If the size of the fingerprints on the tire iron make him start patrolling the Alley, no one says anything.

———-

Jay Todd becomes a legend practically overnight. No one who looks at the tires can mistake their origin. To think that some scrub street brat from the alley had the balls to steal from the Batman…

She fences them easily.

A little too easily, truth be told. She starts getting scouted and it spooks the hell out of her. What the hell do these people fucking want?!

“You have talent.” The Penguin smirks as he hands her a Shirly Temple. “I’d hate to see it go to waste.”

She politely smiles as she slips away, anxiety making her heartbeat sound like drums in her ears.

“You got balls.” Black Mask leers, running a hand across her shoulder. “I could use a pretty thing like you.”

She almost hadn’t made it out of that one.

“You got style.” Catwoman smirks. “But I’m not the mentor type. You’re gonna have to choose, kid. They’re gonna keep coming for you. And they’re going to stop being so polite.”

This was polite?

She just wanted to live. She hadn’t wanted attention, only to eat.

If she had to choose… did she have to choose one of the crazy-ass rogues? Desperation drives her into the Red Lion, the front for the Sullivan family. Irish mafia and the assassin hand of the Falcones.

“Ho-ly shite.”

A voice calls as she enters and the dull roar of conversation slowly dies as everyone turns to stare. She knows she doesn’t look like much, in her filthy clothes, drenched by the rain. She knows she isn’t much. But she’s desperate.

“Isn’t that the Todd girl all the rogues are fighting over right now?” Someone else asks.

Shit. What is she even doing here? She shouldn’t be here. Jay turns to flee but a hand settles on her shoulder. She flinches.

“Hey now, none of that.” The voice is warm. Welcoming. “Don’t go back out there. It’s pissing down. Come in and have a seat.”

Jay looks up into the face of Niamh Sullivan’s face, the matriarch of the family. She has the feeling that no one says no to Niamh Sullivan. In moments she finds herself next to the fire with a bowl of soup and a chunk of bread and a pair of green eyes resting heavily on hers.

“I’m betting,” Niamh states, “You didn’t come here for a pint.”

Slowly, Jay shakes her head.

“Tell me, pet.”

She does.

That night, she’s tucked into a bed, after a hot bath, with a full belly.

Her new life is an exercise in contradiction but one she finds she doesn’t mind. It’s Catholic school and evening prayers. It’s target practice, business, and business.

Jay Sullivan thrives.

During training one day, she gets separated from her family. Gets caught. Get’s hurt badly. She can’t move as the Joker stands over her with a crowbar and a wicked smile on his face. She doesn’t get it. She’s not a mask. She doesn’t have anything he wants. He’s just being a cruel bastard.

The beating is agony. She thinks she’s going to die, in that tiny warehouse. On that shitty pier. And she can’t help but be a little grateful because she got a few more years than she expected. Because she got to experience a loving family and the warmth of a real home.

She hopes that they find her body. That they know what happened to her and don’t think that she just ran away — ungrateful for everything they did for her.

The crack of a gun comes out of nowhere and the blood sprays over her face. A perfect shot right through rogue’s throat. Niamh, Liam, and Ronan storm into the warehouse, the noise of gunshots deafening in the small space but the most beautiful sound in the world.

She’s never felt so safe, as Niamh empties a magazine into the clown’s head, before she’s bundled up in the arms of her family and taken home.

True family will kill for you.

Along with a few of her cousins, she’s in Ireland when the Holiday Killer wipes out the active members of the family. When she returns, she swears vengeance and actively works to find and destroy enemies of the family. The main branch in Ireland send her help, full of grief and anger at the loss of their blood.

As the Falcone family is wiped out, Sullivan rises and she easily steps up, taking the spot now vacant.

It’s war in the mafia families as Jay tries to root out who killed her adoptive family. With each step forward, she wipes out or incorporates another branch. Consolidates more power. She’s just as ruthless in the boardroom, wielding the companies she’s taken over, as she is in the streets.

Whispers name her the Morrigan.

Roman Sionis wants her dead.

Harvey Dent thinks she’s amusing.

Cobblepot is unconcerned, sure that is safe in his ice palace.

The Batman is taking notice.

With her new power, she tries to do some good. She remembers her childhood. Her time on the street. She sets up shelters. Starts programs. Buys up property in the Alley for low-income housing that’s actually habitable.

Jay Sullivan begins to get invitations to fancy events. She’d been a few times, on the arms of the Falcone brothers when they wanted a pretty face to show off and a bodyguard no one would expect, but she hadn’t moved in the type of circles to get them herself.

She’s never met Bruce Wayne before.

But now, with the rise of her companies and her power in Gotham, it was inevitable.

She wasn’t impressed.

At first.

———-

It was supposed to be information gathering. That’s all.

But Bruce finds himself drawn to her. Despite because of her reputation for ruthlessness and her bloodsoaked nickname. Dick teases him about his penchant for attraction to dangerous women.

There’s something about her. About her presence. He can’t help but be attracted.

He can tell she doesn’t think much of him and that’s to be expected. Brucie does exactly what he’s meant to do.

Then, she starts to challenge him. She challenges WE’s social work and policies. Challenges their charity branch. Openly. In front of everyone. And doesn’t back down when he tries to play the airheaded CEO.

When he takes her to dinner and drops the persona she only arches a brow. He hates that he loves it. He asks her to be his companion to the annual Wayne Gala and she accepts.

Somehow, he is not surprised when, after the gala, he finds her stretched out on the hood of the Batmobile.

“You know, I stole the tires off this thing once.”

He chokes and she pulls him into a kiss by his tie. She tastes like his champagne.

#Emerald Blurb #Emerald Headcanon #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Female Jason Todd #BruJay #AU #Different Origin #Mafia AU #Joker Dies

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nny11writes · 4 years

Note

Can I get a uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhh, Number 29 Jelous Kiss on a Glitra with extra clingyness?

UGH, I re-wrote this and I’m still not 100% thrilled, but it’s good enough. My overachieving ass needs to stop lol! Any who, Catra is Jealous and does something about it! (technically part of the “Green Isn’t Your Color” au/story)

Sometimes it’s hard to feel like she’s enough for Glimmer. She’s course and short and crass, and you can’t even get a good fuck out of her at the end of the day. Catra’s used to feeling like an outsider and a fool, she’s used to being a second class citizen always forgotten and left behind. The idea that Glimmer, normal, beautiful Glimmer, actually likes her despite all that?

That sounds like bullshit spun by Scorpia or Bow to make her feel better, when she knows they’re just pitying her and tired of dealing with her anxious, depressed ass.

Fair. So is Catra.

But here’s the thing, Glimmer isn’t. After making things crystal clear at Scorpia’s end of summer party, Catra had fully expected a few months of bliss and then a lifetime of regretting whatever behavior was sure to drive her off eventually. That...wasn’t what happened. Glimmer kept asking her out, kept seeing her, calling and texting and sending her stupid memes at 2AM. Rolling into Catra’s job on Valentine’s Day with a small box of chocolates, a flower, and a staunch warning to not make herself sick from eating all the chocolate at once. Their first anniversary came and went, and while Catra was wondering when the other shoe would drop Glimmer asked if they could move in together.

She knew they’d have to talk about it soon. The way Catra was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But until then, she was going to be an insecure little bitch about it all.

Catra isn’t opposed to PDA, she enjoys most varieties of it in fact. Especially when it let’s everyone else know to fuck off regarding Glimmer. Her hands are soft and a little pudgy, and they are perfect for holding and squeezing even if they get sweaty against her palms. She needs the little assurance squeezes, and the fingers playing with hers. Cuddling and snuggling? Oh hell yeah. Glimmer had laughed about her girlfriend being a lap cat, but only in private where Catra could pretend to be upset and bite at her gently. Hugging? Fuck yeah. Ideal hug time, several hours! Kissing, actually okay for the most part, as long as there wasn’t tongue.

Her whole body seized up at that. Fucking gross, why did anyone enjoy that? Squirmy wet, weird tasting muscle flesh. Yuck.

But kissing, like, kissing kissing? Catra was a fucking fool for that! A peck to the cheek, nose, forehead, lips, and it turned out she could be both a solid and a liquid. It was wild. Intense. Deeply, hauntingly beautiful. And Glimmer? Glimmer was very free with her kisses in public once Catra okayed it. She rarely if ever initiated it, too paranoid that Glimmer would somehow take it out of context and be hurt if Catra didn’t want to go further.

Which was why Glimmer was shooting her several concerned looks as they walked hand in hand through the mall. Because Catra would not stop flopping all over her, and had been given several quick kisses. She didn’t want to worry her, but if that guy who was clearly following them after hitting on Glimmer at the cinnamon roll stand was going to act entitled, Catra was going to make a point.

Just...she didn’t want to worry Glimmer. Most women would not take, “Hey that guy is following you.” well and she is not going to ruin their day out being an idiot. She needed a game plan, she needed fucko boy to leave them alone, and if getting a little more clingy with her girlfriend was the cure? Well, what a treat.

So Catra held on tighter, remembering that fateful night at the party she slipped her hand in Glimmer’s back pocket and got front row tickets to watching her purple eyes dilate. Tail around her amazing, fucking kill me now how did I get this lucky hips. Snuggling up hard at the food court to the point that Glimmer had complained that she couldn’t eat. Catra was prepared to do just about anything to get Stupid McStupidFace to stop looking at Glimmer.

Like she got it, okay? Fuck, she was lucky and had a beautiful and, dare she say it, sexy girlfriend.

Glimmer could probably bench press her, even if only once. Glimmer had thighs blessed by Thor himself. Glimmer had a cute nose, and kind eyes, and a sparkling laugh, and even the way she growled was adorable. She understood if people were looking, Catra was looking too. But being this creepy? Gross!

“You okay? You’ve been a little…” Glimmer paused, her free hand waving vaguely as Catra did her level best to not hiss at the asshole in a reflection and then have to explain herself.

Her whole defense was to whine like a child and burrow in closer under Glimmer’s chin with a soft chirp. Still, she knew her ears were twisted hard to listen to the competition and her tail was a bastard hell bent on ruining her whole life. She could feel her nails burrow into Glimmer’s shirt a little as she pulled back, the guy was finally walking towards them and Catra was gonna kill him if he came over here and opened his stupid mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” Was not what Catra meant to say, in fact it wasn’t even close to what she’d meant to say. When Glimmer blinked in shock, Catra rubbed their cheeks together, giving only the smallest little lick on instinct to her girlfriend’s temple. Her whole body was hard wired to betray her apparently.

“I might die if you don’t,” Glimmer said breathless.

So Catra kissed her, a proper kiss, as if she was some old timey soldier going off to war and unsure if she’d return. They parted only long enough for Catra to switch her hold and kiss Glimmer again, this time with a dip for fucking emphasis because no one was going to win Glimmer’s heart when Catra had finally gotten a glimpse at it.

“No seriously,” Glimmer said in between the next few desperate kisses, “this isn’t really like you? Not to be rude? Not that you can’t?? I’m not complaining!”She didn’t look, SHE DIDN’T, but her stupid fucking ears twitched and one rotated to listen as the douche bag walked away. It was enough for Glimmer to smirk at her. “Oh, didn’t like my not so secret admirer huh?”

She knew?! Of course she knew! For one moment Catra felt like a colossal idiot, heart hammering as a flash of pure rage went through her. Then it was gone leaving that same hollow feeling, the sickly leftovers of jealousy still smoldering in her gut.

Glimmer leaned up to kiss her, hands carding through her mane, one scratching just behind her ear and holy FUCK. She was purring, it was mortifying, but Glimmer was still kissing and scratching and shaking as she tried to hold her weight more on the leg not jammed between Catra’s in some last valiant effort to be chivalrous. Stupid, sweet Glimmer.

She pulled them upright and grumbled into her neck, still wrapped around Glimmer tight.

“Hey, seriously, are you okay with all this? I, uh, I’m having a blast. Ugh! I’m, this is, that is to say,” Glimmer sighed, kissed her on her nose, and tried again, “I love dicking with assholes too, and I’m enjoying all this attention. But I’m not enjoying that you’re feeling bad.”

Oof.

“ ‘m just being stupid,” Catra mumbled, hoping Glimmer wouldn’t hear her and let it go.

“Hey, no! Talk shit about my girlfriend again and I’ll punch you.”

Catra clung a little tighter.

“Catra, he’s not even my type. Does he have a dick? Yes. Newsflash dummy, I’ve got a spare at home and if the choice is you or some random dude with too much hair gel and not enough brain to recognize a couple? It’s gonna be you.”

It was sweet. It was too sweet. Catra didn’t deserve that did she? Holy shit, she never failed to be totally gobsmacked when Glimmer chose her and it felt like she was going to float right off the ground. The two stood there for a while, rocking back and forth on occasion as they just held onto their hug.

“Hey,” Glimmer whispered, heart hammering under Catra’s ear, “he just went into laser tag. Wanna kick his ass?”

Catra kissed her, let it linger, and answered, “Let’s destroy him.”

“Fucking sweet!” Glimmer cheered, teleporting them over.

#spop #glimmer #catra #glitra #prompt game #mini fic game #fic game #ask game #two idiots in love #standing 5 mm apart b/c they're super gay #Catra is so unwell guys OT3 Glimmer/Catra/Therapy #until them have some low grade #cw: self loathing #cw: negative self talk #jealousy #green isn't your color #spin off #looking it's the jealousy story how could I not connect them!?#therodrigator6

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whimsicalsesquipedalian · 3 years

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Modern-day witch.

In Salem there were witches. Or there were women who old, bitter men said were witches. We all know they weren’t witches. Not really. Witches aren’t real. Well, at least not the kind the fairy tales tell you about. But there was something. Something about those women. Something that said “I don’t fit”, “I’m different”, something that said: “my deviancy is worth killing me over.”

Gretel didn’t believe in witches. ‘Patriarchal bullshit designed to police womens’ behaviour’, is what she told her father as they watched a Netflix special on the trials, ‘just another way the male agenda enacts violence on womens’ bodies and identities.’ Her father remains silent, probably wanting to avoid an accusation of complacency or even compliance with the patriarchal machine. Her brother isn’t in the room. Her “mother” is away on a business trip. She misses these times when it’s just them, her and her father. No annoying younger brother with his neanderthal behaviours. No bitch in heels and lipstick pretending to be her mother. Just them. Sometimes, she thinks, this is the only part of my life that isn’t just bullshit. ‘I think I would have been killed for being a witch,’ she says, long after the television has gone silent. Her father simply hums. ‘The men back then would have been way too intimidated by a woman like me.’ Her father stares, taking in his daughter. She narrows her eyes, turns down her lips, rolls back her shoulders and puffs out her chest. A less than convincing picture of the “deviant woman” when the canvas is a nineteen-year-old girl who’s never left her hometown. Her father nods, ‘I suppose you would.’

Six months later Gretel sits alone in the dark on a street corner in a city all too large and all too loud, and a perfect fucking example of why the capitalist regime should be torn down by a new and glorious revolution. The marxist group at the local community college ran a seminar on the dangers of capitalism last week. It’s the first time since she arrived here that something in this city hasn’t felt like complete bullshit. ‘We at the Marxist Alternative don’t cater to the capitalist pigs draining you of all individuality or expression,’ she was too caught up in the moment to notice the inherent irony in the statement, ‘the wealthy conservative scum are the true bane of our society. Eat the rich and destroy their legacies.’ She nodded along, caught in the fervour, already seeing a face in her mind.

She had left home. That bitch in heels and lipstick ran her out. She doesn’t need a trail of breadcrumbs to return; she knows the way. That doesn’t mean she will. Not when it’s all bullshit. Not when no-one understands her. Not when the father that should have loved her more than anything chose the bitch in heels and lipstick over her. Over her plain face, her bad hair, her short, uneven nails. Why couldn’t he see that she was the only authentic thing in the white-picket life he had built for himself? It’s cold on the street corner. The owners returned to the place she was squatting in. Policemen, cold blue light, and a station that smelled of piss, all because she had decided to take something back from the Wall Street bastards who took something from her first. A court date on Monday feels like a fucking hatecrime, she thinks. All cops are bastards, or whatever the saying is.

‘Can I help you, baby?’

The woman stands there, under the streetlamp, looking down at Gretel. The wild afro around her head glows like a halo, and frames a dark-skinned face with eyes the colour of coal. Tension runs down Gretel’s spine. Immediately replaced by shame crawling in her gut at her initial reaction. Immediately replaced by the projection of a false sense of comfort so as to appear that she is not one of the racist dicks Twitter seems so keen on calling out lately. ‘I need somewhere to sleep, do you know if there are any shelters nearby?’ She keeps her voice light and her expression blank. It’s only polite, she figures. ‘No baby, no shelters around here.’ The woman looks sorry, looks sympathetic, looks almost pitiful. ‘You got any friends or family? I can call you a cab.’ Gretel shakes her head. There is something authentic about the street corner she has found herself on. Something the bitch in heels and lipstick could never understand. She wasn’t going to compromise that by going home now. ‘I don’t normally do this, but I’ve got a spare mattress. You can come home with me, if you need to.’ The woman looks kind and the night looks dark. It’s still cold. Gretel follows her. I would have followed home a white woman, she thinks.

‘Come in, make yourself at home.’

Dirty floors, mould on the walls, and a dampness in the air that seems to draw the light and warmth right out of the room.

‘I know it’s not much, but I hope it’s alright for tonight.’

Low ceiling, concrete walls, bars on the only window and a stain on the floor that could easily be blood.

‘I’ll heat some food up for you. Skinny white girl like you, you could use a proper meal.’

No light comes on in the fridge. The food looks more than a few days old. The woman’s hands move over the container and suddenly it’s not so certain what Gretel is being served.

‘Put your stuff anywhere, baby. It doesn’t bother me.’

Piles of clutter and mess. Bags of clothes that are far too small for the woman at the kitchen bench. Backpacks and shoes that look as though they once belonged to young children. Another stain on the floor. The smell of rot.

‘Mattress is behind that curtain. Not much privacy in a one room.’

The room is too small. A bed in one corner, a kitchen in another. No bathroom she can see, and a table worn with use. A shower curtain draws over one corner. A mattress that would look at home in a dumpster lies behind it. More stains, more stink. The curtain rustles.

‘Don’t mind the smell. Landlord found rats in the building. Exterminator came, but I think some got stuck in the walls. Hard to have an appetite when the place smells like death.’

The smell hits her harder now. Not just rot, but rotting flesh. An almost sickly sweetness to it, like pus or dead flowers. It fills her nostrils and makes her head spin. The floor is still stained brown.

‘You don’t mind if I lock the door do you? We get some interesting folks in this neighbourhood. I’d rather be safe.’

The lock clicks behind her. The room is suddenly stifling. The food sits on the table, but it smells like everything else in this place. Death in every bite. Her stomach turns.

‘So you haven’t got anyone then, baby? No-one waiting for you to come home? Young girl like you, you shouldn’t be all by yourself. Not in these parts.’

The words send shivers down her spine. The questions a red flag warning her to hold her secrets close. The door is still locked. The food is still warm. The air is still acrid. The woman is still staring. ‘I shouldn’t be here,’ she stutters. ‘I’ll just find a shelter,’ the words hang empty in the stale air. ‘It’s really not worth causing you all this trouble...’ The excuses fly past her lips as she edges towards the door. Her phone is in one hand and her bag in the other. There’s a baseball bat by the door, she realises. ‘Are you sure, baby? I really don’t mind.’ The woman takes a step forward and Gretel runs.

‘Hello. Yes, police. I’d like to report an attempted abduction. I got away but it looks like the woman has done this before. Yeah. Blood on the floor. Clothes in bags. Shoes for like 10 different kids. The whole place smelt like there was something dead there. Yeah, I have the address. Please, she just grabbed me off the street. Wanted to know if anyone would come looking for me. I think she tried to drug me. Everything happened so fast...’

It is on the news two weeks later. A black woman in her early forties, shot by police officers when they entered her home on belief of suspicious activity. No one is sure if they had a warrant. No one was wearing body cameras. Apparently she was aggressive. Pulled a weapon. The officer in question had no choice. Six shots for one woman. At five foot two and 160 pounds it must have been some weapon she was carrying. Gretel watches it all play out from the couch of the friend she’s crashing with, counting down the minutes before she has to go start her court mandated community service. 30 hours. It speaks to how broken the fucking justice system is, she thinks.

Twitter and a multitude of news channels host a trial for the woman, post-mortem. Alternating constantly between prosecution and defense; the masses providing a widespread jury incapable of forming consensus. The prosecution opens: ‘The woman was a suspected kidnapper, possibly a child molester. There had been evidence to suggest she was at least a drug user. Weed under a mattress. You know the type.’ The defense rebuts: ‘The woman volunteered for her church’s thrift store, the clothes and shoes were donations that needed to be sorted. She suffered from a chronic condition, the drugs were prescribed to help her manage the pain. The supposed weapon the police keep talking about was a baseball bat she reached for when the door was broken down. She thought it was a home invasion.’ The masses lay their verdict; a hung jury. ‘Blue lives matter.’ ‘Justice for Lucretia Jones.’ ‘He was just doing his job.’ ‘Defund the police.’ The trial is complete and the sentence is hollow. No matter which way the decision falls the witch already lays dead. Burned before trial. Killed without mercy. The cycle continues, it is just the victims that change. Gretel turns off the news and keeps on living. ‘I’m a modern day witch,’ she says, as she drops more tinder onto the pyre.

#writing #my writing #hansel and gretel #fairy tale retelling #going to start posting my weekly writing tasks #just to track my progress

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ladyhistorypod · 3 years

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Episode 15: Boss B!tches

Sources:

Elleanor Eldridge

Smithsonian Library Blog

Memoirs of Elleanor Eldridge (Smithsonian Libraries)

Women Extra and Ordinary: Elleanor Eldridge

Documenting the American South

Rhode Island Historical Society

Stages of Freedom

Further Learning: Stages of Freedom on Zora Neale Hurston

Madam CJ Walker

National Women’s History Museum

Philanthropy Round Table

Guinness Book of World Records

History Channel

Preserving Black History

Mary Ellen Pleasant

New York Times

CNBC

Black Past

Black Economics

Biography

Attributions: Katy Kirby, Live a-humble, Cash Register, San Francisco bound

Click below for a transcript of the episode!

Archival Audio: I can make my own living just as well as he can make his. He ought to be glad I'm working. Just because he can't stand competition he wants me to quit. My work isn't important enough. I'm only a woman but he, the man, is boss. He'd like me to be a slave to the house. Look at this mess.

Haley: Starting a business now is increasingly just slowly getting harder and harder because… and I'm doing this because I want to start an Etsy, because money and graduating in a pandemic sucks. Like Etsy has ridiculous fee prices.

Lexi: Yes.

Haley: Like just uploading a picture is like twenty cents and I realize this for like all these other accounts there are just so many different fees. But then when I was talking to like my dad and the older generation family members, they’re like “start a business, have an idea, and like create something” and I’m like do you guys not understand how difficult that is? Like I don’t–

Lexi: Well you need money to make ideas.

Alana: Yeah.

Lexi: I have plenty of business-worthy ideas and I always like sit at the dinner table and joke that someone should give me like X. amount of dollars because I've researched how much my new idea is going to cost but no one ever takes me seriously and they're like “what is this your thirty fifth business idea this year” but like… compostable dog toys? Fantastic idea.

Haley: Oh, I love that idea.

Lexi: All it would take me is a grand to get that off the ground so if anyone wants to invest. But guess what? I don't have a grand.

Haley: Well I’m using my savings account for this.

Lexi: Oof.

Haley: I have invested like a grand or so and I’ve taken way longer– I've been thinking about this like for the whole pandemic like since May. And with moving that was kind of like a shit show obviously like school comes first, but I'm at the point where now I'm just like making stuff and I have to do another order for shipping like candle materials? It's a hundred dollars for shipping. Yeah. I like making stuff. I’m a crafty bitch.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Alana: Hello and welcome to the Lady History; the good, the bad, and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. In the Zoom meeting today as always is Lexi. Lexi, which of your business ideas do you think is the most sustainable?

Lexi: My most sustainable business idea is to 3d print dog toys out of corn. That if the dog buries them in the yard or destroys them and you need to get rid of them, they are compostable. Because one of the biggest struggles about being a pet owner is that, at least for my bird a lot of the toys are very made of natural materials and so I don't feel bad throwing out the broken pieces, but dog toys are made of not good stuff.

Alana: And it's the other constant in my life, Haley. Haley, what would you do with a million dollars?

Haley: I would have a dog. Dogs don't cost a million dollars, but like…

Lexi: You could spoil a dog.

Haley: Yeah.

Alana: And I'm Alana and I can't eat the rich because pig isn't kosher.

Lexi: In terms of women starting businesses, I was thinking if Lady History doesn't work out, if we never make real money our business plan can be–

Alana: How dare you, we have made six dollars.

Lexi: Okay. But like, if we need real money and all museums stop existing because of the rona we can open a bake shop called Sprinklebear McPuss-n-Boots’ Bakery.

Haley: I love it. I'm down. You know that's like always been my dream is to have a bakery but part of the bakery…

Lexi: I believe there's a place near me I think you would really like. You probably couldn't eat anything there– well maybe you could eat like the savory stuff. But it's called Sweet Memories and the first floor is a tiny little restaurant that serves soup and gourmet grilled cheese and has baked goods but the upstairs is a little craft store where they sell locally made, handmade stuff and that is kind of how I envision Sprinklebear McPuss-n-Boots’ Bakery.

Haley: So that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be a chef growing up and I would, that's how I like bake all my cookies and everything, all egg substitutes. I just hate it when people try to make like restaurants so freakin elaborate, like where they have– and I'm not talking diners, diners are perfection like the gross greasy diner? Give that to me.

Lexi: Mm. That’s the good stuff

Haley: I don't want to go to a cafe where like the list of crap you can get is longer than like my shoe size… I have small feet. Okay fine, I have very small feet so like let me rephrase that.

Lexi: Longer than Robert’s shoe size.

Alana, laughing: Ayyyyy.

Haley: Ayyyy.

Lexi: That was a dick joke. I’m sorry.

Haley: Longer than my wand. My bakery has to have a good menu that's like very limited. So again, soups. I love soups and sandwiches, like you have your grilled cheese–

Lexi: I mean it’s literally gourmet grilled cheese and like three kinds of soups.

Haley: Like you always have like the tomato, you always have broccoli cheddar, and you always have chili and like one seasonal.

Lexi: I had a pumpkin wild mushroom seasonal soup that was to die for.

Haley: Amazing, that sounds so great. And then for the bakery stuff, it's stuff that like you can eat right there– like a croissant would be excellent. Cookies would be excellent, but also just like you could special order like a pie or cake.

Lexi: Yes!

Haley: And then one part of it is like a library type situation. Not necessarily bookstore, but just like all my books. I have over two hundred books of course I could spare a few books. So you could sit there, read, do a chit chat.

Alana: It's like those books at Gelman that are like you can't take them out but you can read them there. On reserve or whatever it’s called.

Haley: Yes. And then lastly, have stuff like packaged because like hostess gifts. I am the queen of bringing a hostess gift. There have been moments where I forgot it and that's why I've made up with it of just being really elaborate. So if like you need a serving dish for the cookies you're going to buy from my place? Of course I have some ivory porcelain cooking dish– like serving dishes. You want like a Haley inspired Dutch oven? you damn Skippy you're gonna have it in three colors.

Lexi: So I guess the final verdict is Sprinklebear McPuss-n-Boots Bake Shop will be an egg-free, small menu, gift shop, library, eatery experience.

Haley: Absolutely.

Lexi: For my business woman I am covering yet another lady from the Women Extra and Ordinary project that I did with the Smithsonian Libraries. I feel like this is going to get real old real fast, how many of these women I'm covering, but you know what I already did the research. So today I'm gonna talk about Elleanor Eldridge, who lived in Rhode Island and was born approximately in March 1785. Her father, Robin Eldridge, was a formerly enslaved person who fought in the American Revolution in exchange for his freedom. Her mother, Hannah Prophet, was a Native American who died when Elleanor was ten years old. Elleanor was one of nine siblings. After her mother's death, an aunt suggested Elleanor never get married, and Elleanor began working as a servant. While working, Elleanor became skilled in weaving, spinning, paper and soap making, wallpapering, cheesemaking and dairy working. And to keep her living costs down, she exchanged housework for boarding so that she wouldn't have to pay rent. And through her skills and smart planning, she was able to expand her money making ventures, performing various tasks to earn money. Elleanor was naturally gifted as a businesswoman, and when she succeeded in saving up a large sum of money she began investing in property, which is a pretty good business move. She was also able to take out a mortgage to further her investments. And this was an extremely unique position for a woman of color living in Rhode Island at the time that she lived. So she took advantage of her own savvy and did something really unique and awesome. She built a home on the property she bought with a space that she could rent out. So like think modern duplex but this is the early 1800s and your landlord living next door is a badass businesswoman. So I wouldn't mind her as my landlord. But Elleanor's aunt was right to advise Elleanor to never get married because at the time women could not own property in their own name if they were married. So married women could only hold property in shared ownership with their husbands or after their husband's death, so Elleanor was smart to not get married because it would have meant that her husband would control the property that she had acquired through their own hard work, so by staying single she kept her business interests in her own name which is really good. When Elleanor fell ill in her forties, she went to stay with her family to recover from her sickness. And after becoming well, she had to travel to assist another ill relative who was suffering from cholera. And because many people in her hometown thought she was gone for a really long time, they believed that she died, and a disagreement surrounding the loan that she taken out– the mortgage– led to Elleanor having her property holdings wrongfully taken from her. And she decided to take legal action in 1837. She became the first Black woman in America to plead her case in court and despite overwhelming evidence–

Alana: I look pretty good for a dead bitch.

Lexi: Despite overwhelming evidence, including three male witnesses, a corrupt sheriff testified against her and his testimony was enough for the judge to rule against her. And after spending years working and growing her business, Elleanor lost everything. But Elleanor did not give up. A strong-willed woman, she pursued a settlement out of court which allowed her to repurchase her property, but she was still short on funds to pay the fee that she needed to pay to recover the property. So she had a big brain plan, like the big brain businesswoman she was, to help her cause. Elleanor, who was illiterate, enlisted the help of a ghostwriter; abolitionist Frances Harriet Whipple Green, and Green transcribed Elleanor's life story into a memoir, and the sales of the memoir helped Elleanor repurchase her lost property. And you can read the book by accessing a digital scan on the Smithsonian library website if you are so inclined to read it. The terminology is a little dated and it's a little hard to read if you speak modern English, but if you're curious for a firsthand account… Because even though it was physically written by Francis, it was told by Elleanor, so it's a really unique story. And the book is in the public domain but if you're so inclined that you're just like this is really cool you can actually purchase a physical copy and have it if you would like to. Elleanor’s memoirs include this quote which I really think sums up her whole situation quite well so I'm just going to read it in her words– “No MAN would have been treated so; and if A WHITE WOMAN had been the subject of such wrongs, the whole town—nay, the whole country, would have been indignant; and the actors would have been held up to the contempt they deserve! Newspaper editors would have copied, and commented on it, till every spirit of honor, of justice and of chivalry, would have been roused.” So I think that says a lot about the situation that she was in and how she felt about it and how precarious the whole thing was the fact that if it had happened to a guy, or even to a white woman, it would have not gone down the same way it did. So at the time of her death, Elleanor had recovered most of what she lost and regained most of her property and money, and her story is regarded by scholars today as an important unique account of the story of a Black woman in early America pursuing her own career. In a time when many Black stories were lost, Elleanor's was saved and today she can continue to tell her story through her book. When not close for COVID-19, the Rhode Island Historical Society has a walking tour. It’s about Elleanor and other Black Rhode Islanders from early America, so it stops at a couple locations in the city to share their stories. And the Historical Society also presents a one woman reenactment of Elleanor's trial called “No Man Ever Would Have Been Treated So: The Trials of Elleanor Eldridge” which can be booked as an educational event for groups and clubs. It's pretty cool. And the actress who does it seems really cool so Google it. One of the links actually in the tumblr sources that I am sharing is a video where the actress talks about her experience and a couple other things related to womanhood, so if you're curious about that kind of stuff go watch it.

Alana: I hate that you’ve now done two Rhode Island ladies, and I've been to Rhode Island and telling me about all these cool things to do in Rhode Island and I didn't do any of them because I was like eleven and–

Lexi: You'll go to Rhode Island again.

Alana: Lady History field trip to go see that play.

Lexi: Hey, maybe she could do the play and then we could do a live episode about other famous Rhode Island ladies.

Haley: That would be fantastic.

Alana: Manifest it. Say it on the pod, make it happen.

Lexi: Live show at the Rhode Island Historical Society about Rhode Island ladies.

[Archival Audio of a hymnal]

Haley: My fabulous gal today is Madam CJ Walker, or, by Guinness Book of World Records, the first female self made millionaire in America. And before we get to that point, this history book starts at her childhood. Born on a plantation in Delta, Louisiana, Sarah Breedlove was one of six children to Owen and Minerva Anderson Breedlove. I love the name Minerva. Owen and Minerva Anderson Breedlove, “former slaves-turned sharecroppers.” And that was a quote, and I don’t like that that’s how it’s phrased. Like “former slaves-turned sharecroppers” is exactly what happened, my problem is like in the sentence I kept reading it it's like “oh but they’re sharecroppers now” not like–

Lexi: It's like still bad.

Haley: Yeah it's still bad and this is because–

Alana: It's not even bad to less bad, it's bad the different bad.

Haley: Yeah. It hits differently. And this is all post Civil War. I even put in my notes like this quote is weird. Unfortunately, her parents died when she was seven and Madam CJ moved in with her sister who worked in the cotton fields. And at age fourteen she married Moses McWilliams, and this is partly to get away from her abusive brother in law.Because already we're off to a rocky start if like your footnote is to get away from an abusive person. Maybe there was love. I couldn't find much about Moses. Again, life was just not on Madam CJ’s side, and her husband died in 1887. And she had to raise their two year old daughter Leila, known as A’Leila. She moved to St Louis with the hope of a better life and not just like living in poverty getting out of that poverty situation because… like yeah absolutely. She wanted– and she was very adamant on making a better life for herself and her daughter and knowing that she could do it as a woman, not just like having that widow title slapped on her. Because we know– even now still, if you’re a widow that's kind of like your identity, your personality. It's like “oh… your partner died.” And kind of the same with men like raising children and that's not what we want. So in St Louis, her four brothers were barbers and she worked both as a laundress and a cook. She also joined the African Methodist Episcopal Church where she met Black men and women who were both educated and successful. And this is kind of like an inspirational moment for her. This was a pivotal moment that she, in my research, just kept going back to. She went through a bit more of a life struggle with a failed marriage and just more financial ups and downs which would make anyone physically and mentally strained. However, in 1904, she began using African American businesswoman Annie Turbo Malone’s “The Great Wonderful Hair Grower” because she was starting to see like scalp problems where… concluded into like hair loss, and I’ll explain more of that because I had to do some more research myself. She also joined Malone's team of Black women sales agents, and this is where she starts to become one of those successful independent people she'd previously admired. And I believe this is around the time Leila actually went to like university, so that was a big yay. I also would like to pause, like I said, to do some research about hair care products because all hair is different. And these products especially that Madam CJ later invents were for Black women who lost their hair to scalp disorders or most likely a form of alopecia, like relatively common and Madam CJ had it too. That is not to say that hair loss just comes in scalp disorders, like I get hair loss when I use certain rubber bands because I have really thick coily hair that will break off at the end. Apparently my hair type is prone to like stress falling out. After some time in the business field, and I believe this was just like about a year, she moved to Denver where she married quote “ad man” Charles Joseph Walker. Hence the new name of Madam CJ Walker. and this is important in the business sense of her life because she started out with a dollar twenty five, and yes this was way way back ago, but in the sense of building like a business that was launching her career to be a self made millionaire that's a little bit of dough. And she was able to launch “Madam Walker’s Wonderful Hair Grower” which her husband, the ad man, helped advertise and getting like mail order business started because remember, we did not have the lovely internet. So that was a huge chunk of the business to get like revenue, get the word out there and such. And she knew that there was a market here, because one she was in that market and she just previously worked in that market so she could easily tap into it. And as a Black woman, she knew how to essentially not only market, but just be like “here's how you use it.” So unfortunately this marriage ended in a divorce, and she later moved to Indianapolis. And in 1910, she built a factory for her company, now named Walker Manufacturing Company. And this transformation made it possible for her to become an advocate for Black women especially in the economic independence realm, with Walker Manufacturing Company she could branch out and do a lot more. And she opened up a training program called the Walker System, and basically this huge network of licensed sales agents blossomed. And this led back into her core ideals of giving back and being very generous because she believed that she had generous opportunities given to her, so now she needed to give back. And she remembered what it was like to be that person on the poverty line being inspired by these wealthy, educated, successful people. She ended up employing forty thousand Black women and men in the United States, Central America, and the Caribbean. I couldn't find out if this was specifically one part of her business or like the whole network or other endeavors because she also had a cosmetics branch called the National Negro Cosmetics Manufactuers Association that she also started. Regardless, forty thousand people worked many different spans of land is a lot. And her worth in all senses of the word just kept growing and growing. Financially, in the last year of her life she reached that one million dollar mark with her sales exceeding five hundred thousand dollars and some reports saying that at her death, the value of her remaining estate was more like six hundred thousand, which is about eight million today. Just like, what Alana asked, what would I do with a million and maybe a house… like now thinking of it. Because one of her things she spent her money on was a mansion named Villa Lewaro which was a five point five acre plot in Irvington, New York. And I think I might have to do like a drive by field trip. I know where Irvington, New York is and by looking up the street name when I was like googling all this, I think I know exactly where it is. This was also for Madam CJ to be closer to her daughter at this point. And at the end of this like all, happy and sad, Madam CJ continued her avid philanthropy until her death from kidney failure by bequeathing two thirds of her net profits to charities and thousands of dollars to different schools and individuals. There is a Netflix special that’s out. I have not watched it yet. I thought it was still in production. Lexi was the kind beautiful soul to send me an email. Lexi, have you watched it and can you give us a review?

Lexi: I watched it. Since I didn't dive as deep into research on her as you did, I'm not sure how accurate it is because there were you know little stories you didn't cover… Because this is like it's not just one movie it's like a multi part series, so I guess my curiosity maybe after you watch it you can tell us how accurate it was. But from an entertainment standpoint it was really good.

Haley: This is going to be like once I'm done with like writing my thesis and everything–

Lexi: Treat yo self.

Haley: –and be like this is amazing.

Lexi: Yeah, it was like… In terms of entertainment value it was a really amazing woman focused story which I appreciate.

Haley: I've seen the previews, I knew it was coming out and I really thought I was still in production or was like postponed because La Rona. Those looked fabulous.

[Archival Audio of a song about San Francisco]

Alana: So I initially found out about my lady from Drunk History, which is classic me. It’s one of my favorite shows. I have said on this podcast before that I was devastated when it was canceled. I'm still devastated. I don't think I'll ever be over that loss in my life. But then in researching this lady I found out that very little of the Drunk History story is accurate and so that broke my heart. And I'm glad I followed up with some research and wasn't just like using Drunk History as a source because I don't think that's a good idea. Okay, so, Mary Ellen Pleasant was born no one really knows when so I can't tell you her star sign, but in 1814ish. One of my sources said August 19, 1814, which would make her a Leo and I definitely can see her as a fire sign. She wrote three autobiographies, and every single one gives a different birth date and even year. And also no one even really knows where she was born it's possible she was born free in Philadelphia or into slavery in Georgia, who knows? Only Mary Ellen, and she's dead. She spent her early life in Nantucket, Massachusetts where she was indentured to a family of abolitionists. Insert lady doing equations meme. The… I… What? I don't understand how abolitionists owned slaves. Like Alexander Hamilton owned slaves. What's his name? His lover? I haven’t watched Hamilton in so long.

Lexi: Oh, John Laurens.

Alana: Also owned slaves.

Lexi: Yes. But they were like “slavery bad, but we own slaves.”

Alana: I forgot where I was. Oh, I was at my insert lady doing equations meme because abolitionists who own people make me confused. Eventually she was married to a man named James Henry Smith who was either white or biracial or mixed race. And he was an abolitionist as well but also a plantation owner. That's one of those things that I am a big ole question mark. So the two of them as a couple gave a lot of money to the abolitionist movement because they had a lot of money from owning a plantation that I think meant they also owned people, which I am so confused. But James Smith died in the early 1840s and left her a lot of money, some of which she invested and some of which she kept giving away to the cause. The cause of abolition. She got remarried to John Pleasant and they moved to San Francisco to avoid slavers, so formerly a local lady for Haley, even though she doesn’t live in San Francisco anymore. I'm not sure what happened to him. He is never mentioned again besides she moved with him to San Francisco. Mary Ellen became business partners with a man named Thomas Bell. It's possible they were romantically involved but Mary Ellen like found a wife for him, so I don't think so. But anyway they amassed thirty million dollars.

Haley: Throuple?

Alana: Throuple, maybe, I don’t know. Together they amassed thirty million dollars in back then money which is almost a billion dollars today. In the 1890 census, she listed her profession as capitalist which is like so on the nose and I love it. She owned laundries and restaurants and dairies and all these other things. She even owned a Wells Fargo. And she hired Black people, especially Black people who had escaped slavery, to work in them, which gave them opportunities that they probably wouldn't have had otherwise. And this is where she gets the nickname– she starts to get the nickname the Mother of Civil Rights in California. She was a light skinned Black woman, so she could have been white passing, and she did until a census taken after she had gotten kind of successful and amassed all this wealth, she wrote in that she was Black instead of white. She also, furthering her title of Mother of Civil Rights in California, she sued a cable car company for not allowing Black people on at all, setting the stage for Rosa Parks to be even allowed on the bus in the first place to refuse to give up her seat. She won several other lawsuits regarding racial discrimination in the 1860s and 70s and she starts getting notorious among white people. Obviously, because powerful Black women make white people uncomfortable. That’s just a fact. And so many people started calling her Mammy Pleasant which she hated so much because they were like using it derogatorily. Apparently a pastor in Sacramento wrote her a letter addressed to Mammy Pleasant asking for something and she wrote back to him on the same piece of paper because she didn't want to waste her own on him. Big Dick Energy.

Haley: That’s a power move. That’s a power move right there. That’s like saying “best regards” on an email.

Alana: Yeah. Jumping back in time a little bit, in 1859 the abolitionist John Brown led a raid on Harpers Ferry. This is a pretty famous event, he got caught and he was hanged and they found a note in his pocket that basically said here's what I gave you thirty thousand dollars to do– regards to the raid– and it signed, but there's a case of mistaken identity, so no one actually knows who did it. Except, on her deathbed, Mary Ellen confessed to it being her. She pulled the whole “tell Cersei. I want her to know it was me.” And her gravestone reads “friend of John Brown” because she was. After Thomas Bell died, his widow sued Mary Ellen and she lost almost everything. So there was some falling out there that's something happened. It's also possible she studied voodoo like the actual voodoo like the Haitian voodoo, not like the garbage touristy shit, from Marie Laveau herself, who I’m hoping maybe we’ll cover at some point. I think Marie Laveau was really cool. But that's one of those things that like she said and can't really be corroborated even against Mary Ellen’s own stories. I think it's possible that that's just like something she said to scare the white people even further. There's a park in San Francisco named after her. Haley did you ever go?

Haley: I feel like I do, in the sense I know the plot of land, or like general area. Is it in Golden Gate? Because Golden Gate Park has like a bunch of little pockets.

Alana: No, it's on the corner– it's on the corners of some streets. Anyway there's a park in San Francisco and she haunts it and she has been known to–

Haley: I wish I’d known that. I really… I would have gone.

Alana: I know. Yeah, she throws eucalyptus nuts at people, supposedly. I think that’s cool. That’s what I would do. And she used her position to make a better life for herself and better the lives of others and used her capabilities… And she had… She was such a smart woman, and so capable, and so manipulative but in a good way. She knew what people were thinking and could use that to her advantage, and not just to her own advantage, to the advantage of the people in her community who she really helped. And the best quote from her is “I'd rather be a corpse than a coward” and that's what makes me think she is a fire sign.

Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review, or tell your friends, and if you don't like the show, keep it to yourself.

Alana: Our logo is by Alexia Ibarra you can find her on Twitter and Instagram at LexiBDraws. Our theme music is by me, GarageBand, and Amelia Earhart. Lexi is doing the editing. You will not see us, and we will not see you, but you will hear us, next time, on Lady History.

[OUTRO MUSIC]

Haley: Next week on Lady History, we’re diving into some misconceptions. Retelling the stories that should have been told the first time.

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mystech-master · 4 years

Note

Annon-Guy: So, are there certain type of characters you hate or at least don't like? You made it pretty clear that your not very fond of Platinum the Trinity (or Luna at least). P.S. You said you didn't like Platinum for being hostile toward Ragna, but how come your not hostile toward other characters who treat him badly like Hakumen, Tsubaki, Hazama, Naoto (during CF) and Terumi.

Like in terms of Blazblue or overall?

I am not a fan of tsundere characters, they are annoying, not cute, and need to learn how to function around people or at least take what they can dish out.

I guess I’m also not a fan of the “strong woman existing just to make guys piss their pants”, you know like Erza Scarlet from Fairy Tail. Mostly because I feel like this is only funny like a long time ago where this kind of situation would seem impossible, but nowadays where I feel like strong and capable women should be allowed and seen as normal it shouldn’t be made a big deal of. ‘, just not one of those “YAS QUEEN STEP ON ME!” kind of guys who like this dominatrix style thing where the guy is terrified of the woman. It’s just reverse sexism if it was a guy doing it to a girl it wouldn't be as funny let me tell you.

BUT, on the topic of Blazblue:

I hate Platinum being a little shit for Ragna because at least the others have SOME reason like him being a criminal or the dark one or an enemy/obstacle to hate him. Platinum just hates him because Jubei told them he mouthed off to him and Platinum, being Jubei’s ultimate fan, sees this as BLASPHEMOUS, and then proceeds to make his life more miserable more than it already is.

Hazama and Terumi are the antagonists, them being assholes is expected, that is why I give them and Relius passes for being horrible because they are the VILLAINS!

A while ago I said that Hakumen didn't care about Ragna, someone said I was wrong, I rescind that. He does care. But it is in that dumb anime way where when Ragna is in earshot/conscious Hakumen is all Dark One, you will fall by my hand before your evil kills us all” as if Ragna is aware of the Black Beast, which he wasn’t for a while, or is a villain on par with Terumi, but when Ragna is near death or conscious, THEN he acts all remorseful. Now if we had proof that Hakumen had tried everything and did everything he could to save Ragna/prevent the Beast from taking over and was openly remorseful about it, and/or at least said that he acted like this because trying to get Ragna to understand would be too painful, then YES, I would give Hakumen a pass. But it just sounds like the Power of Order or whatever is telling him to do this was like “Ragna is evil and will destroy the world, no ifs, ands, or buts about it” and Hakume/Jinw as like “Okay lol” without even TRYING to save him or find another way.

Tsubaki.....is a difficult thing.

Okay for me, here are my thoughts on her. If you just look at her in a bubble with Noel, Makoto, and the Imperator, she is fine. A woman fighting between her friends and her loyalty to her organization she was raised to worship is good.

But the FUCKING MILLISECOND she is near the brothers I want to strangle her.

Even after she joins the good guys she is all on killing Ragna, even though Noel SHOULD be saying something to stop her (Oh wait, Noel seems to just cease to exist when this int comes up between the two!), and NO, it isn’t for him being a criminal at this point, and even then the game only cared about him being a criminal in of itself, not the crime committed (that is murdering a bunch of people0 and even then the crime seems to be more “Destroying Librarium Branched” rather than “Mass Murder of Innocent people, who at the time we’re lead to believe are asshole Librarium zealots”. Now she becomes discount Hakumen speaking about how Ragna is the Dark One, and all of her “Justice” talks makes it sound like she’s trying to sound like one of the older and wiser members of the cats like Jubei or Hakumen, but to me, it just sounds pretentious. And in terms of Jin, the guy is an asshole but only acts kind to her, and thus it is completely okay to call Noel “trash” and treat her like it because Tsubaki wants his dick and that makes it a-okay.

As for Naoto, he has two scenes with Ragna, one where they just argue because neither wants to explain anything where Naoto says he’s looking for Celica and are just being punks (like that stupid BBTAG scene in Ep Blazblue with Ragna and Kanji for the “manliness tournament”) and after that, it is even more “I don’t gotta tell you nuttin’ PUNK!” because they argue over their sister’s sharing the same name and not willing to talk at all just because “LoL, both of the MCs are PUNKS!” and then he saves Ragna from Black Beast corruption before fucking off back home. This is just shitty writing.

I like BBTAG 2.0′s ending where the two end up as friendly rivals after Suano’o’s defeat, the insults there seem more like friendly jabs rather than them being punks.

#blazblue #bbtag #ragna the bloodedge #platinum the trinity #hakumen #tsubaki yayoi #hazama #hazama (blazblue)#yuuki terumi

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years

Text

It’s Complicated Chapter 8: Reorientation

Source: @yunafire

Chapters 1-5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Read on AO3

It was late when Mike Dodds showed up at Forlini’s. By then, Fin and Carisi had already left and Amanda was getting ready to head home herself, but she stayed to have a last drink, not wanting to leave just as Dodds arrived. He worked too hard, and he had a thing about not getting too social with the detectives, trying to maintain an appropriate distance since he was their Sergeant. Amanda thought that was crap; Olivia socialized with them, after all, so she bought him a shot of tequila to go with his beer.

The conversation was typical Friday night, several-drinks-in fare, and it was exactly what Dodds needed to clear work from his head. Especially with these women, who flirted tipsily with him and were primed to laugh at his jokes. Amanda did excuse herself after she finished her last drink, though, leaving Frankie and Mike at the table.

“You want another one?”

“I don’t know, Mike, I’m kinda lit already.” Frankie made a face.

“C’mon. I just got here.”

“Oh, what the hell. I’ll just switch to beer. I’m buying.”

When she returned with their drinks, she looked just a bit too long out the window. Dodds was not only a trained detective, he was also naturally intuitive. The look on her face didn’t escape him.

“What was that?” He asked, clinking his beer glass with hers.

“What was what?”

“That look. You see someone out on the street?”

“Mike. Clock out already. You are done Sergeant-ing for the day.”

Dodds laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrogate you. But I actually have been meaning to check in with you. About Canady, and everything that happened. How you doin’ with all that?”

Frankie’s eyes took on a speculative look. “I think I’m OK. My life is back to normal, and I haven’t had a prison dream in a while. And I didn’t realize until he was dead how often I was worrying about Alan finding me. So, you know… I think I’m good.”

“Glad to hear it. Sorry I had to be the one to arrest you.”

“Stop apologizing for that. It was your job, and you couldn’t have been nicer about it. Anyway, I’m pretty sure there are women who dream about you handcuffing them, Sergeant.”

Dodds’ face twisted into a wry grin of sorts. “Well, I’m afraid they’re gonna have to go on dreaming.”

Frankie tried to keep her face impassive. “Oh? Rather handcuff men, would you?”

“Not into handcuffing at all, to tell you the truth, but yeah. If there’s handcuffing to be done, I’d prefer it be male.”

Frankie smiled and clinked her glass with his. “Gotcha.”

“You surprised?”

She shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it. OK, that’s a lie, I noticed you’re pretty, um…” she waved her hand up and down to indicate him. “What’s the professional way to say ‘sexy’? So I might be just a little disappointed. But I can’t say I blame you. I like dick, too.”

Dodds almost spit out his beer at that.

“Oh, shit. I must be drunker than I thought. Sorry about that, Mike. Sometimes my mouth tries to kill me.”

He swallowed and laughed. “No, don’t be sorry, that may be the best response I’ve ever gotten after coming out to a woman.”

“So, obvious next question. Are you dating anyone?”

“Not currently, no. Which explains why I’m sitting here with you at ten O’clock on a Friday night.”

“Wow. That hurt.”

“No – that came out wrong. I just meant-“

Frankie laughed and put a hand on Mike’s arm. “I’m just giving you shit. I’m the wrong flavor. I get it.”

“But you are Barba’s flavor, and I gotta ask about that. I thought the two of you had a thing going.”

“For a grand total of one minute.”

“Bullshit. I see the way you look at eachother. And don’t even try to tell me all that yelling isn’t foreplay.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sergeant. I mean, yeah, he’s attractive enough, but we have a fundamental… difference of… opinion…”

Frankie’s voice trailed off and she gazed, eyes unfocused, at the tablecloth.

“About?”

Her mind had suddenly been pulled back to Rafe’s hand injury. She wasn’t going to share her suspicion with Dodds, but she was just drunk enough to take the opportunity to unburden herself a bit. “Well, it’s…” She looked up at him and leaned in. “Can I talk to you about something sort of personal? Confidentially?”

“The doctor is in. Did you want to lie down on the couch, or…?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Everybody’s a comedian. So the thing is, Barba thinks I did something to get Juwon Jefferson – you remember, the tweaker kid? Barba thinks I got him to say Alan was the Pattern 20 rapist and that he killed himself.”

“What, Barba thinks you killed Canady?”

“No, he says he believes me about that, but he thinks it’s awfully convenient that Jefferson suddenly started cooperating.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘And”? Barba thinks I tampered with a witness.”

“He thinks Jefferson lied?”

“I don’t know, exactly. But he thinks whatever he said, I put him up to it.”

“Did you?”

“No!”

“Then who gives a fuck what Barba thinks?”

“I do. That’s the problem. I… Mike, I could really care for him. In fact, in vino veritas, I do really care for him. But I can’t have him thinking I did something like that.”

“Something like what? Frankie, seriously, let’s say you did – I don’t know – bribe Jefferson, or threaten him with something if he didn’t come clean. Hell, let’s even say you got him to lie. As long as you didn’t kill Canady – and you didn’t - so what?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Dead serious.”

“It would be OK with you if I bribed a witness to lie for me.”

“In this case? Yes.”

Frankie gaped at him, incredulous.

“Oh, grow the hell up, Doc. I might not even be all that upset if you were the one who offed the guy. You’re from Texas, right? What is it they say, ‘He needed killin’?”

“You are honestly telling me…”

“Look, I don’t know, all right? I’m feeling that tequila, maybe in the cold light of day I would have a problem with you actually killing the guy. It would depend on the circumstances. But as it stands, he did himself to frame you, and if Jefferson hadn’t backed you, it would’ve worked. That, I definitely would have a problem with.”

“Shit, Dodds. That’s basically what Barba said.”

“Then Barba’s right.”

“Listen, you gotta keep this between us, OK? Don’t say anything about… how I feel about Barba.”

“I won’t.”

“In fact, you gotta give me some collateral. Tell me something you don’t want anyone in the squad to know so I can blackmail you.”

“What was that phrase from the Cold War? ‘Mutually assured destruction?’”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think I’ve had that much to drink.”

“Then let me tell you something about you that you don’t want anyone in the squad to know. I’ve been sitting here multitasking, assimilating the idea of you being gay. Suddenly your reluctance to socialize with us makes a little more sense.”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s Carisi, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, Frankie, you could destroy me with that.”

“Of course I couldn’t. Number one, I’m assuming you’ve never said or done anything about it.”

“Of course not! He’s my subordinate and he’s straight as an arrow.”

“And number two, I’d never say a word. Unless…” She gave him a wildly overdone evil leer with a mustache twirl.

“You’re diabolical.”

“I’m not, actually, but please don’t say anything to Barba.”

“I won’t, but you should. He’s into you.”

“A lot you know. Right this minute, he’s ‘into’ the Chinese restaurant across the street with a blonde.”

“I knew you were looking at something out there!”

“Yeah, bully for me. Next, I’ll be driving by his house at night, just hoping to get a glimpse of him, like a bad country song.”

“You could do that. Or just fucking talk to the man. I’m telling you, Frankie, you are the one making problems for the two of you. You need to lighten up and see the world for what it is.”

“Shit, you’re practically quoting him.”

“Then maybe you should listen. Because I know he’s waiting for you to make a move.”

“He’s waiting with a blonde, Mike.”

“So? You’re here with me.”

“I think the blonde shares our preferences.”

“Again, so?”

“So I’m assuming he will be sharing leftovers with her in the morning.”

“Jeez, Frankie, how old are you? So he fucks her. So what?”

“So I’m the jealous type. That would be a problem for me.”

“Oh, come on. Say I take you back to my place and fuck you stupid. All weekend, even. Is that going to change the way you feel about Barba?”

“Depends. Are there handcuffs?”

Mike laughed loudly. “I think in your profession, they call that ‘deflecting.’ Which means I win. It’s the twenty-first century and we’re grown-ass adults, Frankie. Let the blonde handcuff Barba all she wants. That isn’t gonna change the way he feels about you, and you shouldn’t let it change the way you feel about him.”

Frankie leaned back and shook her head. “I’ll think about it,” she said, frowning.

“Do that.”

She brought her eyes back to Dodds and leaned in again. “And you think about Carisi being straight. You may find he’s straight as a rainbow.”

“Shut up.”

“Yep. I’ve seen some things. And I can even find out for you, if you want.”

“He’d still be my subordinate.”

“I don’t want to know the details, Dodds,” Frankie winked.

“I meant that I’m his Sergeant.”

“I know what you meant,” she laughed. “And I’m going to find out how he rolls. Carefully, discreetly, and without even a hint of your name. I’ll let you know.”

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

“Hey, Snot-rocket!”

“You’re the snot-rocket, Snot-rocket. How’s it going?”

“It’s good. Got a bit of a squall comin’ through right now, which is messin’ with my plans for today, but life on a ranch, right?”

“Right. So… how’s the hand?” Frankie waited to see what Rafe would do with that question.

As expected, his response was, “What hand?”

“I heard you had a couple of broken fingers, or sprained, or something. Twisted them working on a fence?”

“Oh, that. That was a while ago, and it was nothin’. They’re fine.”

“What happened, exactly?”

“Like you said, I twisted ‘em. Workin’ on a fence.”

“We have different definitions of the word, ‘exactly,’ Rafe.”

“What are you, interrogatin’ me? Am I under arrest?”

“Hmmmm. Defensive reaction.”

“Frankie, what are you gettin’ at? I hurt my fingers. BFD.”

“Well, it is a big fucking deal if you’re lying to me because you hurt them beating up Juwon Jefferson to get him to talk to the cops.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line.

“Amanda tell you that?”

“No, you just did. What the fuck, Rafe? That’s witness tampering. It’s illegal. Stone could use it to re-file the charges!”

“He ain’t gonna do nothin’ if you don’t tell him. Drop it, Frankie. I mean it. It’s over. You coulda been convicted of murder, and I wasn’t gonna let that sumbitch do you like that. That’s all I got to say about that.”

“Rafe…”

“That’s all I got to say. How’s Amanda doin’?”

Nothing Frankie could say would get any more information out of her stubborn brother.

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

Olivia was very surprised to see Frankie at her apartment door on a Saturday afternoon, but Porter wasn’t. They’d been texting, and he hadn’t been able to put Frankie off. The most she would agree to was to wait until Noah’s naptime before coming over. She was clearly upset.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Thanks, Liv, I’d love some.”

Porter sat down on a chair across from the couch where Frankie sat. “All right, so what’s the emergency?”

“You avoided me after I got out of Riker’s. I thought it was weird that I couldn’t get you to agree to a time to get together and talk about what happened with Alan, after all we’d been through.”

“And the fact that I was busy means I was avoiding you?”

“You were waiting for the bruises to heal.”

Olivia handed Frankie a mug of coffee and sat next to her, an expectant look on her face as she looked at Porter.

“You knew.”

Olivia sighed. “I knew Dean was in a fight the night Jefferson was brought in, and that he asked me not to mention it to anyone at NYPD. But that’s all I knew.”

“Because you purposely didn’t ask any questions.”

“Best I could do. And, if you want my advice, I’d recommend you don’t ask any questions, either.”

“So it’s true. You-“

“Don’t say anything else, Frankie.” Porter advised, leaning forward toward her. “Just drop it, have some coffee. We can talk all you want about Canady. Let’s just not worry about Jefferson.”

Frankie drank deeply and thoughtfully. Barba’s coffee was infinitely better than Liv’s.

“Am I that much of a child?” She asked.

Liv took that one. “Frankie, you know me. You know how I do things. Would you call me a child?”

“Of course not.”

“Then neither are you. Now. Would you call me… oh, I don’t know. Crooked? A rogue cop?”

“Of course not. You’re one of the most righteous cops I know.”

“Then listen to me. I was one of the arresting officers in your case. It was bad. It was very bad. Based on everything I’ve seen, I was scared for you. So when I got the call about Jefferson, and he started to talk, I was relieved as hell. And when Dean showed up with bruises that night, I didn’t ask any questions. He’s an FBI agent. He gets beat up. I have no idea what happened to him, and neither do you.”

“What if Stone finds out?”

“Finds out what? Finds out Dean’s an FBI agent who sometimes gets in fights on the job? He already knows.”

“You know what I mean, Liv.”

“I know you’re drawing conclusions. I know you have no idea what did or didn’t happen while you were in Riker’s. And I know you should be grateful as all hell you’re not there now, and you should never think about it again. That’s what I know.”

Frankie sighed and took another long drink of dreadful coffee.

“You want to talk about something else?” Porter asked. “Because we have some news.”

Benson and Porter’s engagement was the only topic of conversation for the rest of Frankie’s visit.

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

“Hey, Sonny, I need to ask your opinion on something.”

“Shoot, Doc.”

Sonny was sitting at his desk, searching online for a site on the dark web that had just turned up in a case. Frankie sat on the edge of the desk nearby. No one else happened to be in the squad room at the moment.

“I have this cop friend. He’s gay and he’s thinking about coming out to his team. He wants to know what I think, and I haven’t been part of the NYPD for long enough to have a good sense of how that would go. You’ve been around NYPD for a while, worked in some different houses, what would you tell him?”

“Depends on his unit.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Like, if he works Gangs, he should move to the back of the closet and hide behind the winter coats. But some units are friendlier than that. Where’s he work?”

“Until he comes out, I’d prefer not to say. I trust you, I just don’t have his permission, you know?”

“Got it. Well, since you’re that discreet, let me tell you somethin’.” Sonny looked around to ensure their privacy. “SVU’s about the most LGBTQ-friendly unit there is in the NYPD, right? And even here, I publicly only date girls.”

“So you’re saying you’re bi, but you wouldn’t come out, even here.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’.”

“Well, thanks for the insight. And the confidence. It’s not misplaced.”

“I know. And I’m out to Amanda, too, just so you know.”

“OK.” Frankie said, then pretended to be struck by a thought. “So listen, that being the case… I heard something. I need to thread the needle a little bit here, but… Someone, a guy, told me that they’re interested in you, and he wanted to know if you were straight. But he’s not out here, either.”

“Someone in SVU? A guy? Is interested in me?”

“I didn’t say he was in SVU,” Frankie said, noticing that Carisi’s eyes instantly went to Dodds’ desk. “But he’s… around, and you know him. I told him I didn’t know where you stood, but I’d find out. I don’t know how to do this… I wouldn’t out you to him, even with your permission. It’s a rule I have. But could I tell him he could trust you not to shoot him if he made his interest known? Would that be OK?”

Sonny’s brow furrowed. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course. And if you never mention it again, neither will I.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Sonny worked for a while longer. “Hey, this guy… What’s he like?”

“Tens across the board.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

“OK. You can tell him I won’t shoot him. The rest is up to him.”

“Consider it done.”

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

Frankie needed advice. Well, that wasn’t exactly accurate. She’d received quite a bit of advice on how to view what Porter and Rafe had done, all of it decidedly uniform. But she was having a tough time accepting it. She needed to talk to someone about it, and she didn’t know who to turn to. She respected and trusted the opinions she’d heard; it wasn’t that. The problem was, she needed to talk to someone whom she knew had unimpeachable principles of right and wrong. Actually, she would have loved to hear Peter Stone’s thoughts, but she would always be scared shitless of him. Also, she preferred to stay out of prison. Nikki? No, she knew Nikki would say what everyone else said.

And then she thought of George Huang.

“Frankie! What a nice surprise! Or is it? You’re not calling to curse me for letting you get involved with SVU, are you?”

Frankie laughed. She loved George. Even the relaxing sound of his voice made her feel better. “I’m not, but you could’ve warned me about Barba.”

“Ooh. Sorry about that. I guess I should’ve seen a little potential conflict there. You remind me of each other. Then again, maybe he’s good for you. He’s the only person I can think of who could say ‘no’ to you and make it stick. I’m guessing you find that as attractive as you do annoying.”

“Get out of my head, Professor. I’m not your student anymore.”

“Listen, I was very sorry to hear about what you went through. With Canady.”

”Thanks, George. And thanks for your emails. I appreciate it.”

“How are you doing now?”

“Surprisingly well, actually. It will probably turn out to be good for me, professionally, to have had that experience. You know, maybe in ten, twenty years.”

Huang laughed softly. “I’m glad to hear you’re OK. I was worried.”

“Well, when I say I’m OK, that’s a bit relative. There is something I need to work through.”

“That’s what you said in your text. Your fifty minutes starts now. I’m expensive, make them count.”

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

Carmen had been here before. Janice Edwards was not the first woman who “just happened to stop by hoping to catch Mr. Barba” when he was in court, and ended up pumping Carmen for information about him. She was, however, the first one who came bearing expensive coffee not for Mr. Barba, but for Carmen. Carmen hoped Ms. Edwards was a bit less obvious with judges. Ms. Edwards was perfectly aware that Mr. Barba had a hearing this afternoon; Carmen had heard him tell her about it not two hours before. Consummate professional that she was, Carmen sipped her coffee and smiled, despite the fact that she really wished Ms. Edwards was sitting in the chair next to her desk, rather than on her desk, leaning in as though they were the closest of friends.

“I happened to see he had lunch with Bess Quinn yesterday. Do they have a case together?”

“Not currently, no.”

“Oh? What was the lunch about, then?”

This was not Carmen’s debut performance on this particular stage. “I’m not sure. This suit is just beautiful.”

“Really? When did she call to schedule it?”

“I’m not sure who scheduled it. He just asked me to put it on his calendar. Is this Alexander McQueen?”

Carmen thought she’d successfully answered all Ms. Edwards questions without actually saying anything when she started to talk about her suit. Five minutes later, however, she found herself fielding more questions, this time about what Mr. Barba had done this past weekend. That was interesting, given that Carmen had made reservations for him and Ms. Edwards at Xiāngliào on Friday night. But since Carmen knew nothing about what Mr. Barba had done over the weekend, she simply said so.

“You know, between us girls, I think he’s seeing someone. Is he seeing someone?”

“Not that I’m aware, Ms. Edwards.”

“Oh, you know you can call me Janice. And you can tell me. He’s not back with Bess Quinn, is he?”

“I couldn’t say.” She also wouldn’t say that Mr. Barba – well, Carmen on Mr. Barba’s behalf - had sent Ms. Quinn flowers after their lunch, or that he had tickets to see an opera in French with Adrien St. George the next night. Carmen could understand Ms. Edwards’ curiosity. Even for Mr. Barba, that was a lot of… socializing.

Carmen had to keep doing her job, even with Joyce Edwards in residence on her desk. Excusing herself, she answered Mr. Barba’s private line and was annoyed – but undetectably so – to see Ms. Edwards leaning in to try to hear.

“I’ll give him the message,” Carmen said, purposely not using the caller’s name or writing anything down for Ms. Edwards to read. She wouldn’t forget to tell Mr. Barba that Dr. Rojas wanted to speak to him. In fact, she’d been watching the two of them, and Carmen had some theories of her own about Mr. Barba’s social schedule.

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

Frankie and Mike Dodds found themselves on the courthouse elevator together the following day.

“Hey, Mike, that thing we talked about last Friday?”

“What thing?”

“I said I was going to get some information for you about that detective we talked about.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah. I made a discreet inquiry.”

“And?”

“I am authorized to tell you that they will not shoot you if you make yourself known to them.”

“I have no idea what the hell that means.”

“It means you should pursue that line of investigation.”

“No shit.”

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #rafael barba #raul esparza #mike dodds #sonny carisi #amanda rollins #law & order SVU Agent Dean Porter #olivia benson #george huang

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lazzyoh · 4 years

Text

Act; HL!Joker x Reader

Request; Heya! Could you maybe do a one- or two-shot about how the Heath Ledger Joker of TDK and the Reader meet? Like Maybe him blowing up a Party her parents held or smth and the Reader having a Special quirk… like Illusion or something? Thank you!

Warnings: Actually no important one, might contain a little swearing and strong language… cursing even… OH! and threatening yk ;)

Side note: no genderfriendly pronouns! Female!Reader; she/her; I decided to give her the skill/quirk of faking and copying others emotions (only their facial expressions and behavoir + sensing them (I forgot to Mention that earlier))… I think it’s a pretty cool thing and abolutely makeable without the Risk of being only fictional or overpowered

Everything clear? Fine. Then let’s go get it started!

————-Part Two————-

,,No you ain't dollie, you surely ain't"

I stayed still, refused to show him more of my little speciality, he eyed me like a little boy who just found his favorite toy again, after missing it for years. ,,Tell me Pretty...", he circled me as if he'd be a lion waiting for the right moment to rip me, his prey, into pieces, his gloved fingers grabbed a strand of my (Your/Hair/Color) hair, wrapping it around his leather glove while looking me over causally, licking his scars for the sixth time now, ,,What makes you think... that I... wouldn't see through your pretty little... act?" The Joker started to snicker again, huskily this time, almost as if he screamed so much that his voice started to fade now. I ignored the fact how near he was, decided to instead, only watch him closely and try to make up what exactly he wanted from me.

❦

,,Because no one ever did." I answered sober and honest. He just started to laugh loudly and held himself up with his hands on his knees. ,,Oh, you're a funny little thing!" He brandished his pointer-finger wildly in front of my nose, ,,You know.. other women only cry and beg when confronted with me... but you.. you are NOTHING like that... ha! You're... you're self-confident... brave... and... and .. fearless... so much that you even try playing me a fool! oH... and you did all that WELL, I almost believed you!" And once again the green haired started circling me, his fingers lightly stroke over my naked shoulders as he passed them. ,,But..." He stopped right behind me, his heavy breathing hitting the back of my ear, ,,... do you wanna know...", I resisted the urge to shudder as his cold gloved hands grabbed my shoulders firmly from behind, ,,... how I noticed..?"

🃏

,,How...?" My answer wasn't more than a whiffing, too distracted by his hands holding onto my shoulder firmly and the way he pressed his chest against my back to whisper in my ear to pay Attention to the actual Situation I was in. ,,Your eyes, honey, your eyes." I slightly turned to him, meeting his intimidating gaze again ,,What do you mean by that?" My brows were forrowed while he just started to snicker again, before patting my head half-heartedly, ,,Oh love... do you know why I prefer using a knife instead of guns?" circling me again, but this time watching every single move I did and pulling a knife out of one of his many pockets, made me a little nervous but even more excited than scared. ,,Because guns are too fast?" I blindely guessed, making his once moitionless face light up within seconds, ,,Ahahahahah! YOU'RE GOOD!" He turned towards the growd pushed in the Corners of the ball room, which he only successfully ignored until now, laughing pleased and loudly, ,,Isn't she amazing?!"

❦

His Henchmen nodded to answer him, he only rolled his eyes before turning to me again. ,,Right, Princess, you're right. - They are too fast. You can't see all the Little emotions hiding in peoples eyes when killing them with a gun... but if you use a knife..." He giggled darkly while, stalking through the room, past the guests and my family, innocently playing with his knife. ,,Let me tell you Pretty..." He turned around abruptly and looked at me, brandishing the knife before himself admonishingly, ,,In the last seconds before death... People show you who they really are." He let out a spitefully chortle before, for the fifth time in a row, running his fingers through his dyed hair , ,,Eyes tell you alot my love... and yours told me how and what you really thought and felt..." He came stalked back to me, giggling maliciously and sending glares at me, that almost screamed how screwed I was now - but instead of ramming the knife into my heart or throat he only stopped and started to giggle uncontrollably, the whole room held a deadly silence within while his attack.

🃏

,,They showed me how annoyed you were, how much you wanted to be somewhere else... but the only thing I can't quite put my finger on is...." His hand softly caressed my neck while he came nearer, bending close to my ear before wrapping his fingers around my throat and applying slight pressure. My heart fluttered. ,,Why would ya want to leave a Party like this?" I looked at him embarrassed by how his moves and his closeness affected me. His fingers grabbed my chin and cheeks in a firm but still gentle way, forcing me to stare back at him. I felt dizzy, my head somewhat clouded, he hypnotized me with his eyes and voice, lulled me in with his scent. I couldn't hold myself from talking, it felt as if he'd be able to ask me anything and I wouldn't even be able to lie. ,,B..ecause I'm not willed to play the toy for my parents sake again.. I don't want to give my body to someone I don't even know." My eyes were focused on his as I whispered my answer, insecurely waiting for his answer... wanting to hear his answer... I needed to hear it.

❦

He narrowed his brows peeved, watched my face closely for a few minutes before finally lifting up his gaze and scanning the room. ,,Who?" He mumbled absent minded, and with that pulling me out of my trance, slapping me right back into reality. ,,What do you plan on doing with her, Joker?!" Both, the Joker and I, looked at the Boy that was angrily starring at the purple-wearing man, irritated and annoyed. Surely the stupid idiot wasn't only the 'Starring you naked'-Type but also the 'I'm dumb please kill me' too. Laughters bubbled out of the madman holding my face gently but tight between his gloved fingers. ,,Who are you to ask that?" The Joker seemed pretty pissed now, turning his eyes on me, ,,Ouch sweets, you never told me that you've got yourself a boyfriendy." He grinned down at me, changing his Expression into faking a sad and disappointed one before finally giggling at my "are-you-Fucking-kidding-me?" expression. ,,He's not my boyfriend!" I spat out, ,,I'd rather die than talk to him in any way!" That seemed to change the whole situation alot, firstly he looked at me flabbergasted before something in his lunatic mind seemed to switch and made him stare the idiot down with a deadly glare.

🃏

,,Pretty doesn't seem to like you much my friend..." His gloved hands gave my face free again, now he moved away, stalking towards the idiot who's most likely soon to be death. ,,Not a single bit... her eyes told me..." As he was the Clown prince of Crime and normally everything but calm, his voice alerted me immediately, I couldn't decide if I whether should let him go or try to hold him back. The anger that boiled in him would've stayed uncovered... and if I wouldn't posses that special little skill of mine, I wouldn't have noticed - but I did. I took a few steps towards him, but that's when he already had slammed the knife he played with before, into the, now scared, boys throat. ,,That's why you need to leave." The room was filled with short, shocked breaths, ,,J!" I yelped indignantly and reproachful, making him turn to me with an almost innocent look in his eyes, ,,What's the matter dear? You said you'd rather die than talk to him ever again..." Within a two of his large steps he stood in front of me again, ,,... but I don't want you to die Sweets - So I had to kill him.~"

❦

I shook my head at this, ,,Why would you, the Clown Prince of Crime, King of Gotham, want someone, meaningless and normal, like me to stay alive?" I asked, my voice dripping of pure sarcasm and disbelieve. He grunted amused while letting his fingers trace over my left arm as if in trance, ,,Because..." He came so close that his nose tip touched mine, ,,I kinda like you, huh... couldn't live with knowing you're dead." He murmured raspyly, making me blush due to his honest and solid stare and words. Destroying the tension within seconds - wether to save himself from emotions or simply because he's a love-numb dick, who knows that - he loudly clapped his Hands together, ,,Nevermind! Guys, we needa go, get me the... äehm.... corpse over there... and get'em in the car!" His henchmen did as they were told to, he only watched them enthusiasticly before turning to me again, ,,Oh... I nearly forgot...", he stopped and bowed slightly, offering his hand to me and grinning at me from underneath, ,,Will you do me the honor of accompanying me?"

🃏

For the first time since he and his henchmen showed up I lifted my head and allowed my eyes to scan the room, stopping at my parents that were watching me intensly. I perceived what they wanted me to do and say, they wanted me to stay so they could go on with using me - but I was done. Done with it all. And thinking about going and leaving together with the Joker seemed to be the only thing, in my whole life until now, that made sense to me. So I did it. Not bothering to give my parents a last look or goodbye I accepted Jokers hand and let myself get pulled out and into the pitch black Transporter with him. Immediantly after entering he let himself fall down on the seat, pulling me with him and with one swift move into his lap, holding me tightly by the waist in place. Barking a few commands to his henchmen he nearly forgot my existence but only until I leaned against him, feeling tired after all this chaos, drawing his attention on me with that. He gave me a smuggy smile, ,,Oh my, I see someone's tired, I ain't chu princess?~" I laughed silently, cuddling myself into his side as he lifted my legs so I could comfortably sit. ,,Sleep my dear, when you wake up you'll wake up to a new day... a new life... a new start."

He was right... and goddamn... taking J's Hand was the best thing I could ever have done.

❦ 🃏 ❦ 🃏 ❦ 🃏 ❦ 🃏 ❦ 🃏 ❦

Word Count: 1.735

#heath ledger #joker #tdk #tdk joker #request #twoshot #reader

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