#and has only done a handful of short european flights

[maryse127]

Applied for a summer school in Kyoto!

#holy fuck what have i done #girl who has never been on a solo trip #and has only done a handful of short european flights #now intends to go to japan for 5 weeks on her own #well i am going to berlin on my own in may but like #by train #to germany #our neighbours #where they speak german #which i can understand #and speak enough to order food #where thanks to the eu i dont need passport control or different money or have extra phone/internet costs

[thinkwosolife23]

The Set-up, Leah Williamson

In Y/N's POV:

"You expect me to do what!"

Okay, let's rewind a bit.

I'm Y/N Steinfeld. Yes, it just so happens that my older sister is Hailee Steinfeld. And, it also just so happens that i'm a singer, just like her.

I never did the acting like Hailee has, my main focus has always been my music. I've always done really well with my music. So at the end of this year, I start my very first World Tour. After 5 number 1 singles and a number 1 album, it made sense for a World Tour to be my next step.

However, unbeknown to me, my agent had other plans.

And this is where it all begins.

Somehow, i've ended up on a plane, with my sister and agent, flying from America to England.

2 weeks ago:

The phone call:

Me and Hailee were currently sat in our shared studio; just messing around with different tracks, when my phone rang.

"Hello?" I said when I answered the phone.

"Hi Y/N, it'a Nick." My agent answers.

"Oh, is everything okay?"

"Yes. Well, sort of." He sounded hesitant, almost nervous.

Hailee glanced at me with a questioning look, to which I just shrugged my shoulders at. I was as confused as she was.

"Y/N, I need you to hear me fully out on this okay." He continued.

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" I could feel myself getting more fustrated at his ominious answers.

"So, as you know, we need to get as much publicity around you as we can before your tour."

"Yeah? Can you just get to the point Nick!"

"Right. Yeah, sure. Me and another agent have been in contact over the past couple of weeks regarding your publicty and we've come up with a plan to heavily boost your publicity." Nick told me, still hesitant to finish.

"And what is this plan?" By this point, my patience running thin. Hailee always knew when I was getting fustrated at something, and gently took ahold of my hand, trying to calm me down.

"Long story short, we are basically planning to stage a relationship. However, it is required of you to be in England for this, so your going to have to fly out."

"You expect me to do what?"

"Y/N, your tour is in jepardy if your don't do this." His voice becoming firmer as he spoke.

"What! So your telling me, that if I don't do this stupid publicity stunt, that I won't be able to go on MY tour. Do you know how fucked up that is?" Anger and fustration now, completely getting the best of me.

"Your flight is booked for 2 weeks from today. You and Leah will be expected in a meeting the day after you land." He answered, not even acknowledging my arguement.

"Leah? Who's Leah?"

"Leah Williamson. She has just captained the England Women's Team to winning the European Championship. Obviously, winning the Euros has brought a lot of attention to her name. Hense, why she is the option we have goe with."

"Right, so, an arrogant, cocky footballer. How lovely."

To say that I was angry would be an understatement. My hands running through my hair in fustration as Hailee pulled my phone from my hold.

"Nick, it's Hailee. I think it's best if you finish this conversation another time. You've clearly upset her, so I would leave her alone for now."

I couldn't hear Nick's response to Hailee. But after a couple of minutes the phone call ended.

Hailee placed herself down, next to me, wrapping her arms around me. Tears now flooding down my face in fustration and realisation of having to leave my country, let alone home, for someone I don't even know.

"Sis, look at me. Whatever it is, we'll get through it." She told me, grabbing my chin to look at her.

"He's making me go to England for some stupid footballer."

"Wait, woah. Calm down, he's making you do what?"

"I've got to go to England. They want to stage a relationship between me and this Leah, to basically bring more attention to me for my tour. But he told me, that if I don't do it, my tour could be cancelled." I told her, through stuttered breaths.

"Right, okay. So, this Leah girl, she hot or no?"

"Hailee, you can't say that." I said, laughing slightly at her outburst.

"Why not? Only the best for my sister. And I made you smile."

Back to now.

Me and Hailee have just arrived, with Nick, for the meeting with Leah and her agent.

We were there before them, so we were already sat and waiting by the time they got there.

Oh Shit. That's Leah.

She fucking gorgeous.

Fuck Me.

Right Y/N, get yourself out of them thoughts. Your not actually supposed to fancy her.

"Hey, i'm Leah." She said, as she got to me, holding her hand out for me to shake.

"I'm Y/N." I took her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze before quickly smiling at her and gently letting her hand go.

Her hands. God, there so soft.

After all the introductions, and everyone meeting each other. All 5 of us sat back down at the table.

We had to listen to our agents bang on about how this plan was supposed to work and what me and Leah had to do to make it believable. They spoke for a good half an hour. I hope they don't expect me to remember all of that.

Leah was sat opposite me. She kept pulling faces and rolling her eyes when either one of the agents were talking. making sure only I saw her doing it, it made me smile back at her before putting my head down so I didn't laugh out loud.

"Right, I think that's everything. We'll leave you two to get to know each other." Nick said, which pulled me out of my thoughts.

Nick, Hailee and Leah's agent all left the table, heading towards another room, leaving me and Leah alone in ther room.

"So…" I said, kind of akwardly. Not really knowing what to say.

"I've followed you for ages, y'know." Leah told me, after another couple minutes of silence.

"You have?"

"Yeah, I love your music. My teammates do too, but they always complain that I play your songs a slight bit too much, before and after matches."

"Your making me feel bad now." I told her, feeling kind of guilty.

"Why? What did I do?"

"No, no. You didn't do anything. I just, when I got told about all of this and you, I didn't really know who you were. Football has never really been my thing."

"Well, at least you say football and not stupid soccer. And hold up, your telling me that you've never watched or been to a football match." Leah said shocked, jokingly clutching her chest.

"No."

"Well, that's definatly gonna have to change. You'll have to come and watch me play."

"You want me to come and watch one of your games."

"Yeah, course."

Her hand reached out for mine, across the table, mine going straight into hers as if it was normal. It felt comfortable, almost natural for us.

"You know, I don't want this whole thing to be all contract and serious. I want us to be comfortable with each other and for us to be able to have fun. The least I want is a friend by the time it's all over."

Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought it would be.

INSTAGRAM

y/n.steinfeld added to story

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc #leah williamson #arsenal women #awfc #lionesses #engwnt #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x you

[dairy-farmer]

Bruce runs a bnb and Tim’s his middle schooler ‘son’ who, some guests swear, they can hear him fucking most nights.

Just standard them being a little too close for a father and son, a little too affectionate, etc, but it’s just a quirk of the place, no one stays longer enough to think it’s anything more than a very close father and son even if things can be a little… uncomfortable at times. There’s an energy between then, Bruce’s hands on Tim’s hip, the small of his back, asking him to try something Alfred, the cook and cleaner, baked for that day and holding it to his lips, pressingly his fingers into his mouth, onto his tongue, and Tim taking it all and dragging his lips along it as Bruce pulls away. Also they kiss on the lips rather than cheek?

yesssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!! bruce, by the time that he reaches adulthood, has lost 99% of the wayne fortune because of financial mismanagement at the company. all that's left after all the debts and unpaid taxes are done is his family home. granted, wayne manor is very nice but it sits on more than a hundred acres of land and property taxes are a thing. so bruce has nowhere near enough money to be able to keep his family home.

it's all he has left and so...wayne manor becomes wayne bed and breakfast. the manor has a gothic charm and previously there had been a lot of interest by film crews to see the inside. the distance from gotham city makes the bed and breakfast a bit of an out of the way option but most guests choose it because of the quiet away-from-the-city vibe and also for the nature and beautifully maintained garden (not to mention the incredible food).

during the height of tourism season they make more than enough to cover their taxes and expenses for the whole year. it's in the off season that they only see the occasional guest. mostly out of town families looking at gotham colleges, people who got stranded by their flights (they get a quite a few guests when mr. freeze causes a freak snowstorm), people who just moved to gotham and are waiting for the moving trucks to arrive, and people on those 'morbid curiosities' tour of gotham. just people who stay for a night, maybe two.

after a few years people apparently forget about 'wayne manor' and how much wealth the wayne family had because just a few short years later all anyone thinks of when they hear 'wayne' is the bed and breakfast just outside the city.

the only ones who see how 'bruce wayne' is doing are his guests who check in. they leave talking about how spacious the rooms are, how clean the linens were, how expensive and rich the decor was.

sometimes they mention their host mr. wayne, the one man staff he employs, and if it's the off season they might mention mr. wayne's cute middle school son little timmy.

that last one always has people making awkward chuckles and avoiding eye contact.

timmy is a short kid in a private school uniform. a skirt and a sweater vest. he's almost always working on homework at one of the dining hall tables and he has pink little cheeks that puff up when his dad pinches and ruffles his hair.

it's cute, sweet even. the two are clearly close. mr. wayne makes no mention of a wife or mother and no one is quite rude enough to ask about it.

so them only having each other means the closeness makes sense. the way mr. wayne holds him, cups his little hips. the way when some of the guests go downstairs for complimentary tea, coffee, juice, and pastries they'll see mr. wayne pressing buttery cookies to his son's lips. a few guests once see mr. wayne press a quick kiss to his son's lips but dismiss it because well aren't some europeans like that and mr. wayne definitely has a lot of photos of him in europe as a young man and child.

a handful of guests are nightowls and are up late, reading by the fireplace in their rooms. the pamphlets for the 'spook tour' of gotham says wayne manor is rumored to be haunted. a few guests don't believe that and try to ignore the creaks of the house and the distant sound of a young voice...moaning. the only child for miles is mr. wayne's son who lives in the bed and breakfast with him and....well...clearly they must be hearing things.

those that aren't in denial, usually young teenagers with their families, insist that mr. wayne is fucking his son but their parents tell them to shush and watch their mouths. that mr. wayne is a nice inn owner and is letting them stay in their very nice rooms at a very fair price and if they don't stop talking like that they'll end up in one of the many rat infested hotels of gotham.

one guest wanders into breakfast early and sees little timmy wayne staring up at his father with big eyes and suckling on his finger with whipped cream running down his chin.

wayne bed and breakfast is a nice place to stay. the food is good, the service is amazing, the ambiance is unbeatable. aside from a few hiccups a few...weird interactions between wayne and his child, it's a good place to stay the night. 4.9 stars.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #brutim

[slifarianhawk]

Chapter 42: Respects

I was crying. The face that Chris had made while I was being pulled away by Albert had broken my heart. I was told by my father to protect Chris, and while this would protect him for now, what are the long-term effects? It was moments like this when I wished I had a vice to cling to.

Albert drank and used to smoke when he was in the army. As soon as I found out, though, I helped him quit. Never did like the smell of tobacco burning. It reminded me of when my parents fought.

I shook my head while I was having a surgical shoe placed on my left foot. We were in the medical wing of Albert's Eastern European base. It was small and formerly a Veltro base. The doctor was nice but had a thick Russian accent.

"I am sorry, lady boss, but you have, without a doubt, fractured your fourth metatarsal on your left foot. Given your superior healing capability, I would say it still would take at least four weeks to heal." The doctor said as he closed the straps to the ugly shoe to my foot.

"And you are sure of this doctor? What about the children? Are they alright?" I asked a worried look on my face.

"You worry a bit too much about children. Your state is perfectly fine. As long as you don't take a fall down a forty-foot staircase, I am pretty sure you will be fine. Take a look at the latest ultrasound I just took." The doctor says, pulling up a picture on his monitor.

"What am I looking at, doc?" I asked, staring at the screen.

"Your virus is causing a special muscle around the children thicker than the average womb. It's like you are wearing a stabproof vest over a set of Kevlar clothing." He said, easing my worries.

"Thanks, doctor, but I should head to the airstrip now. I'm sure my husband is waiting." I said, standing up off the medical bed.

"Da, don't be a stranger. Do come to visit with younglings after they are born." The doctor said as I limped away.

As I was in the hallway, I saw Albert walking towards me. He zipped over to me and lifted me into his arms, bridal style as usual. I chuckled. I'm sure he loved holding me this way.

"I have fractured my foot, Wesk," I admitted shamefully only to have him kiss my forehead as we zipped through the base to the airfield.

"We are not made of diamonds and jade dearheart," Albert said, "we are still flesh and bone, as much as I hate to admit it."

I nuzzled into his chest as we arrived at the plane. The flight to Edonia would be short, but I knew I was going to sleep through it. What I knew was coming was something I had been waiting for a long time. A chance to meet my darling baby boy.

Reina Mueller was a dear friend of mine who helped me with hiding from Umbrella. Her dad had done it for years, so she picked up a few tricks. She was my midwife for my son's pregnancy. She taught me how to play a little bit of the piano, and I taught her how to cook some of my favorite meals. If it weren't for the fact I was with Albert and I loved him with all my heart, I would have stayed hidden.

"What are you thinking about my lotus?"  Albert asked as he stroked the small bump slowly growing beneath our hands.

"Of Reina Albert, she was a good friend. I'm sure Jake was raised well, and my contact has been training him to protect himself. I hope that my contact will recognize me. It has been a long time since I last saw him." I said, closing my eyes.

"I must admit I wish you had told me sooner about our children. I knew when you had disappeared, it was to hide from Spencer. I could have helped you, and we might have been able to see them." He said, stroking my hair.

"I know, the first time I was Sergei's thumb the entire time. He said he would keep the child safe, and little did I know that Spencer had recruited him a few years prior. When I managed to escape his grasp, I landed at a local orphanage. I hid the remaining two weeks of my pregnancy there. I met two wanna-be parents who were unable to conceive. The orphanage director said that I should give my baby to them instead of leaving it there. I agreed they took me to their small house in a tiny village in the Russian badlands. I didn't ask much about them. I knew the more I knew, the higher the chances Spencer would find Alistar. I left shortly after she was born. Gods, it took me so much not to get attached. It took me four days to recover and disappear. During those days, I fed her and helped change her." I heard Albert Shhh me as tears fell onto his lap.

"Breathe, my dear lotus, we will at least be meeting our son soon. Spencer and Sergei no longer stand in our way." Wesker said, stroking my hair.

He was right, and that thought made me smile. All we had to worry about currently was our vow renewal and meeting our son and Alex. However, she could wait. We've put off our happiness for so long. Things are finally coming to fruition.

I breathed slowly, my eyes still closed but a smile on my lips. I place a hand on my tummy, giving the little ones some attention. With a light snore, I faded into black.

When I awoke, I was in the back seat of a black Mercedes. Albert was at the wheel. I let out a soft moan and stretched my back. I noticed Albert looking at me through the rearview mirror.

"How long was I out for love?" I asked, sitting up.

"Four hours and thirty-seven minutes, to be exact. I changed you into funeral attire. We are going to be late, but we were never going to be part of the service, were we." Albert asked as I looked at the simple black dress that accented my belly.

"No, we were going to meet my contact after the wake," I said, pulling out my phone.

"We are here, dearheart. Let's wait in the tree line... there is no one here except a couple of gentlemen and a priest." He said, putting the car in park.

"And one of them is my contact." I sigh. How were we that late? Or did Reina keep hiding after I left?

"Should I step out?" Albert asked about to open his car door.

"No, I will. It's my contact who has been training our son for the past two years. I think you should follow me still, just in case." I said, stepping out of the car.

Albert followed me quickly out of the car and towards the few people in the cemetery. I stood just at the edge of the tree line. The priest was an elderly man and stood next to a tall brunette man who had a U.S.S. standard pistol on his hip. His hand was on a young man's shoulder. The kid looked like Albert just with bright red hair. It reminded me of my mother's hair.

"HEY!!! WHO'S OVER THERE!" The young man said.

I grimaced and walked forward with a limp, "I AM A FRIEND OF REINA MUELLER I WAS TOLD HER FUNERAL WAS TODAY!"

"YEAH, WELL, THIS IS A PRIVATE EVENT!! SO GET LOST!!" The kid yelled out.

"Let's just go dearheart, it's clear we are not wanted here," Albert said, placing his hand on my shoulder.

I placed my hand on his face and stroked his cheek, "Just wait one second."

"If you truly are a friend of Ms. Mueller, then tell me what time does the Phoenix rise?" HUNK said, staring deep into my eyes.

The code phrase we had set up years ago. So it was clear he did remember me. He started to walk towards me, pulling out his pistol. The father looked horrified.

"The Phoenix herself rises at seven hundred forty-eight hours and falls when the light burns out of her heart. Who greets and bids farewell to the Phoenix when she falls and returns?" I asked, walking forward with my hands up and motioning for Albert to stay back for the moment.

As I walked forward Agent HUNK spoke, "The Grim Reaper himself greets the Phoenix upon her death arms open, welcome to see his long-forgotten friend and they bid each other goodbye once the fire in her heart is reignited granting her life anew. What treasure did the Phoenix last give the Reaper when they parted?"

We stopped in front of each other, I beckoned Albert forward, and HUNK motioned for Jake to come to him.

"The Phoenix left her chick with The Reaper for she knew her path was perilous and The Reaper her teacher had never let her down," I said, smiling as the Reaper hugged me.

"It has been a long time since we last spoke face-to-face, Tabitha," HUNK said as Jake and Albert arrived.

"You know this lady teach?" Jake asked, carefully eyeing me up and down.

"Yes, I was the one who invited her. Remember how I told you I had a job regarding keeping you and your mother safe." HUNK said, releasing the hug and putting away his pistol.

"Yea and what does that have to do with two random ass people showing up to my mom's funeral," Jake asked looking at me and Albert with a glare, "Why did you invite them, teach?"

"I was the one who paid Mr. Death here to watch over you and Reina," I said pulling out my PDA and handing it to Jake with my financials on screen, "These are my financials following July of ninety-eight six years after you were born. I set up an account to send your mother around two thousand five hundred US dollars every month."

"She told me a long time ago that we had a benefactor from the US. Someone who she was close to for quite a long time. But that doesn't prove that she meant anything to you." Jake snapped, and I noticed Albert's hands tightened.

"My treasure, grab my purse from the car. I need my wallet." I turned towards Wesker, and he nodded, walking off.

"Of course, dearheart, but be careful." He said, walking over to the car.

"What calling off your guard dog? That seems like a dumb move, lady. Especially in these parts, the gangs would tear a rich lady like you up and spit you out in the gutter." Jake said a nasty smirk on his face.

"That's enough, Jake!" HUNK snapped, "Ms. Redfield was my best student when I was employed as a trainer by Umbrella. She probably could kick your ass well up and down this cemetery if she saw fit."

"At ease, Grim, it's not like I couldn't, but I won't. I would not do that to Reina's kid. Not to mention, I'm nine weeks along with triplets. At my age, I have to be extra careful, I already broke my foot in an attempt to escape a B.O.W. I'm not testing my luck anymore this week." I said, Jake, staring in disbelief.

"Damn teach! How old are you?" Jake asked, scrolling through the PDA, "Wait a minute, why are there pictures of me in the photo library? Just who are you?".

"Here you are, dearheart," Albert said, jogging up behind me at a normal human pace and handing me my purse.

"Thank you, love," I said, opening the purse and wallet.

"I asked, who the hell are you?" Jake said, almost getting in my face.

I pulled out my favorite picture, one I knew there were only two copies of. It was of me, Jake, and Reina in the delivery room just after his birth. I placed it in front of his face and softened my voice.

"My name is Tabitha Elise Redfield. This is my husband Albert. Our actual last name is of no consequence. However, this photo is. This photo was taken on June twenty-first nineteen ninety-two. I had just given birth to a male with red hair and beautiful blue eyes. My best friend, who I came to Edonia to find, was beside me in this photo. I was just handed my baby when the doctors took this picture." I said, holding back tears.

"That's the picture Ma had on her nightstand. She always told me that this was her luckiest day. That she would one day tell me about the lady in this picture. When she was on her deathbed, she asked me to bring this picture to her. Said that it was time I knew the truth. I was gone not even thirty minutes. By the time I got back, she was crashing. They wouldn’t let me be by her side." Jake started crying, taking the photo from my hands.

"It's alright, kido. Let it out. You can trust her. It's him I am weary of." HUNK said, pointing at Wesk.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it, Mr. Death? I assure you I'm only here to support my Tabitha." Albert said, holding my stomach, "as well as keeping her and our little ones safe."

"I am sorry to pry, but can we return to Ms. Mueller's funeral? I'm sure you lovely folk can talk after I finish her burial rights." The priest said, walking up behind Jake and HUNK.

"Oh, sorry, Father, I didn't mean to intrude." I quickly apologized as did Albert.

"Then let's head back to the grave site. As long as Mr. Mueller allows it to stay." The father said, walking back.

"Yeah, they can come, but if I find out you're lying to me about who you are, I will not be friendly," Jake said, walking back.

I followed them, but Wesk went back to the car. I could tell Jake was getting under his skin. They were very much alike, temperament-wise, at least. It made me chuckle.

I wasn't going to demand Jake to come live with me and Albert. That wouldn't be right. Reina raised him. I knew I had no claims to call him son. I was just an egg donor. The same could be said about Albert being the sperm donor.

I thought back to my two childhood friends. Jake, who had died of gang violence in Raccoon City when I was fourteen. Reina, who was now beneath my feet from lymphoma. I had a perfectly resin-encased Ice Follies Daffodil in my purse, the same type we had buried with our friend back in seventy-five.

When the priest stopped his prayers, he asked if I had anything to say. I thought for a moment and nodded. HUNK placed his hand on my shoulder. I looked at him and looked at the freshly dug grave.

"Reina, I'm sorry. I honestly don't have much to say. I was a failure of a friend to you. After you moved out of Raccoon to Edonia. It was only by chance I found you again. I stayed with you in hiding for roughly seven months. Those were some of my favorite days. When your son was born, it was the happiest I've ever seen you. You had always wanted to be a mom since we were kids. I knew I had made the right choice when I saw how you held him." I said to the casket.

Jake stared my way with a confused look on his face. He stared at me and then at the picture, then back at me. I saw the gears in his head slowly starting to click into place.

I sighed and lightly kicked my bad foot, "That day while one of my saddest was also one of my happiest. I was able to make my best friend's dream a reality. When we looked at each other and laughed, we both knew then, didn't we? What do you have to name him? Did we not? A name that shared equal meaning to us, Jacob. The name of our friend who brought us all together and held us together like fucking glue. We both know he was in the delivery room that night, keeping an eye on our dumbasses. Reina, just as you promised me that day. I promise the same to you now here and on your grave. I will watch over your son and make sure to do my best to guide him like you did for me. I have something for you, ya know. A daffodil preserved in resin. It's just like the fresh ones we gave Jacob when he passed. You both loved the daffodilys that grew at school."

I pulled out the flower and placed it on the casket. Jake went wide-eyed but smiled and opened the top of the bare casket. I smiled and took one last look at Reina. She looked tired but at peace. A small smile on her lips. Her flowing ginger locks were brushed back and washed. I place the bloom in her cold, fragile hands. Jake closed the casket and I knew the last little bit I had to say.

"Reina, I promise I'll keep him on a path you would be proud of. He is the most sacred bond we have. May you find your way to your eternal spring filled with dillys, and shadows guide you, goodbye." I slightly bow.

HUNK nodded and I saw Jake with tears in his eyes. He was trying to hide it with his arm but it was obvious. When she was lowered into the grave I let my emotions show and cried. The last bit of my contacts dissolved as I wept my tears. I reached into my purse as the rain started to fall. Placing on my new corrective shades I look up to the sky.

"Heaven weeps as a new angel crosses through those golden gates." The Father said pulling out a rickety old umbrella.

Wesker walked up behind me holding a sturdy black umbrella as it began to pour, "Lotus, come wait in the car. We don't want to risk you catching a cold with the little ones still growing. I'll help bury her. That way I can at least pay my respects to Ms. Reina."

"There is no need for that. You four go to Mr. Mueller's home and have a meal. Reina was a member of my flock. I shall see that her grave is fully tended to before the rain stops." The father said reluctantly smiling.

"You both follow me and teach. We will take you guys back to mine and my mother's place, however, once we are there we need to have something settled." Jake said handing me back my picture.

"Are you sure you want to go down this path kid? Where we three are from there is no turning back." HUNK said staring at Jake.

"I sure teach and I think Mom didn't want me to hate my biological mother and father. At least that is the vibe I'm reading. Isn't that right mother, father?" Jake said scratching the back of his neck.

"It would be better if we discussed this at a secure place, but yes you are right. In both senses." I said.

"Then let us take my Mercedes. That way we can avoid this rain." Albert said pulling out his keys.

"Mercedes? Are you guys loaded?" Jake asked a bit annoyed.

"Off the records Yes but it's hard to be rich legally when technically we both have died," I said laughing as we started walking towards the car.

HUNK and Albert laughed while Jake looked confused.

"What does that mean?" He asked trying to catch up.

This was going to be a hard discussion.

Hey everyone slifarianhawk here and welcome to 2024. Yep already off to a good start. A chapter on the second day of the year. That's a first for me. Well, I hope everyone enjoyed their New Years. The next chapter will be a good one. My name is Slifarianhawk and I'm not so far away.

#albert wesker x reader #albert wesker #resident evil #wesker #wesker x reader #wesker x oc #albert wesker x oc #re wesker #resident evil wesker #resident evil albert wesker #resident evil jake

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 9 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: I really really struggled with this chapter. I have a love/hate relationship with writing vacations and for some reason even the bedroom content was a battle. So I really hope you enjoy it because this one took some work to get everything to come together. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Next up: days 2-? of vacation. 

Warnings: oral sex

Word Count: 3,301

~~~~~~~

Dating Cale honestly felt like the most natural thing in the world. Some days, he’d meet you for lunch between clients after finishing a workout, others he’d come over for dinner or to watch a movie. Everything just fit and immediately felt like this was how things had always been. You sometimes forgot that you’d been together less than a month.

Two weeks after Cale had surprised you with dinner, your phone buzzed with a text containing the dates for your trip to Iceland. From that moment forward, you felt like you had stepped into a whirlwind. Suddenly your life was full of things like requesting time off work, googling what an appropriate wardrobe would be, shopping for the things you needed but didn’t have. Then there was the packing, trying to fit a week and a half worth of clothes into a single suitcase and your usual carry on, making sure you didn’t forget the plug adapter for your phone or worse your passport. 

They weren’t bad things, but they were out of the ordinary and you were looking forward to just being on vacation with Cale, the stress that came with vacationing put behind you. 

As Cale loaded your bags into his parent’s car on a Tuesday in mid-June, you finally felt your excitement kick in. Laura and Gary were dropping the two of you at the airport so that you didn’t have to worry about parking, and as Gary drove Laura rambled on about how pleased she was that the two of you were taking this trip together and how she was certain it was exactly what the two of you needed. When Cale mouthed that she ‘didn’t know the half of it’, it took everything in you not to bust out laughing. 

Assuring Laura that you would take plenty of pictures, you hugged both her and Gary before heading with Cale through the airport. After going through security, checking your luggage, and finding the proper gate, you settled into Cale’s side to wait for your flight to board. Cale had gotten an evening flight, allowing you to sleep the eight hours it took to fly across the continent. You were grateful for it now but you were certain you would be even more grateful when you landed, knowing that with the time difference you would spend 8 hours on a plane but arrive 14 hours after you had left. 

Sleeping on the flight, your head resting on Cale’s shoulder, made time move quickly and before you knew it you were fastening your seatbelt for the landing at Keflavik Airport. 

“We’re here.” You whispered excitedly, curious as to what was awaiting you when you stepped outside of the airport. 

“Someone’s excited,” Cale said, a soft grin on his face as he grabbed your carryon for you as the two of you navigated through the airport. Collecting your luggage, you followed Cale over to a rental car desk and watched as he chatted with an agent. He signed a few papers and handed over his credit card, and soon he was handed keys, the two of you making your way out to a lot to pick up your vehicle for the trip. 

“Ten days vacation with my boyfriend...you could say I’m a little excited.” You mused, stretching to kiss him after loading your bags into the trunk of the SUV. It was just after 10 am and the weather outside was brisk but comfortable. Cale kissed you back before pulling a map from his carryon bag. 

“Ready to be my navigator?” He questioned, closing the trunk before moving to the passenger side, opening your door. “We’ve got an hour drive into Reykjavik and then I was thinking food…?” Cale suggested. A late breakfast/early lunch sounded wonderful and you quickly agreed, sliding into the vehicle. It took Cale a few minutes to get comfortable behind the wheel in a new country, but once he did, he dropped his hand to the center console, allowing you to lace your fingers in his as you watched the countryside pass by. It was a quiet drive, comfortable, the two of you just enjoying each other’s presence. 

When you finally reached the capital city Cale found a public parking lot and the two of you ventured out on foot in search of food. Cale had clearly done his research because he led you toward the waterfront, straight to a tiny little food stand. Ordering you each a hot dog, Cale explained that it was Iceland’s national food and therefore seemed the natural choice for your first meal in the country. 

“You sure just one is gonna be enough for you?” You joked, knowing that his athlete’s stomach burned through calories faster than you could ever dream. 

“If I’m still hungry I’ll go back for another.” Cale simply shrugged and as the two of you settled into a picnic table with your food, you just shook your head, smiling over at him. Cale did indeed go back for another and you failed to bite back the laughter when he glared at you just a little. 

“I’d rather not see what you’re like when hangry so please, eat as much as you need to.” You giggled, looking around as you waited for him to finish. This was the biggest city in the entire country but yet it didn’t feel stressful or crowded like you’d experienced in other cities. Instead, it was a place you very much wanted to spend time exploring, enjoying the chance to witness just a taste of daily life here. 

When Cale finished, you disposed of your trash before heading back out onto the street. Leaning against his side, you looked up at him for direction, not sure what the plan was for the day. 

“Want to just walk around the city?” Cale inquired. Looking at him it was clear that he didn’t really have a plan and you twisted, planting your hands on his chest as you peered up at him. 

“And here I thought you planned this trip.” You teased. It wasn’t that you opposed his idea, you just had to give him a little bit of a hard time just because you could. 

“I did plan this trip.” Cale murmured. “I planned this trip to have the flexibility for us to go where we wanted to go and see what we wanted to see without having to worry about following a strict schedule. I’ve got a rough outline...or did you not look at the map?” He teased right back. As his hand drifted down to your lower back he dropped his head to kiss you. You were still getting used to this whole being able to kiss him in public thing, but you liked it. “I wasn’t sure how tired we’d be...so I figured we’d just start local, check into the hotel, and play it by ear from there. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You smiled, pecking his lips once more before settling back onto your feet. “So which way Mr. Makar?” 

With your hands entwined, you walked through the city of Reykjavik, taking in all of the sights it had to offer. At the Hallgrímskirkja church, you marveled at the height of the ceiling while Cale joked that it was like staring at a graph in math class all over again. Smacking him gently, you insisted on taking your first selfie, laughing at each other as you did. Already, your brain was cataloging that there would be two distinct folders of photos on your phone, one you could show the parents and one you could not. 

As you passed the statue of Leif Eríkson, you rambled on to Cale about how historians had new leads on where Vinland actually was located and how the Vikings had clearly discovered North America long before many of the other European explorers had. 

“Someone has been watching documentaries lately.” Cale smiled, his grin fond. “History was always one of your favorite classes wasn’t it?” You nodded in agreement and noted that Cale seemed unbothered by you playing mini historian. The fact that he remembered what your favorite classes were in school kind of surprised you. But this was one of the many reasons why this trip was such a good thing, you were getting to reacquaint yourselves with each other and learn things you didn’t know before. 

Soon, you walked through what seemed to be a shopping district. It was quaint and quiet and reminded you more of a small suburb than a big city. The buildings were all small and cute and there was graffiti art all over the place. When you reached Tjörnin Pond, you pulled Cale to sit on a bench for a few minutes, more wanting to just sit and take things in than actually needing to rest. 

“This place is gorgeous.” You breathed, your linked hands resting on Cale’s thigh. “Thank you for bringing me.” 

“Thank you for coming,” Cale replied, his lips pressing against the top of your head. Sitting for a few more minutes, you headed off again, continuing along until you reached the harbor. There you saw the Harpa concert hall, a modern glass building whose panes of multicolored glass shone brightly under the midday sun, and the Sun Voyager sculpture which resembled a Viking ship floating on water.  

Having essentially circled back to where you had started, the two of you made the decision to head back to the car. You’d killed enough time wandering around that you could check into the hotel and so you headed that way. 

You hated to admit it but Cale might have been right. The moment you settled into the car, you felt yourself immediately start to doze off. You knew logically that you shouldn’t be tired, but yet that was exactly what you felt. You didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep in the short drive over to the hotel until Cale was unbuckling you. 

“Hey sleepy.” He whispered. “I already checked in and took our bags up. You wanna go up and take a nap?” Cale’s question was answered only by a look of exhaustion on your face. It didn’t take long to reach your room and once you had, you flopped down on the bed, sighing softly at its comfort. Cale’s hands slipped your shoes off your feet and he chuckled, the weight of his gaze causing you to shift. 

“Don’t even say it.” You mumbled. 

“I didn’t say anything.” Cale defended. “Are we calling it a day though and just getting an early start tomorrow?” He asked. Though you wanted to keep going, you didn’t think your body agreed and so you sighed shrugging. 

“Yeah...I think so.” You pouted. The pout was pulled from your lips though when Cale stretched, the bottom of his shirt riding up to reveal the fine happy trail that started just below his belly button and disappeared under the waistband of his grey sweats. It was amazing how easily even a peek at your boyfriend’s body made everything better. 

“What do you want for dinner? I’ll run out and bring food back.” Cale insisted, his fingers running through his somewhat sweaty hair. 

“I’d say surprise me but I’m not sure that’s such a great idea in a foreign country.” You joked. “I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.” You whined. Or if you were hungry you just didn’t know what sounded good. 

“Women…” Cale mumbled teasingly under his breath. “I’m going to see if I can track down a couple salads. Will that work?” Your stomach growled at his suggestion and you both took that as your body’s agreement. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.” Cale stated, leaning down to kiss you before slipping from the hotel room. 

As your head fell back against the pillows, you knew you could easily just go right back to sleep. At the same time though, you couldn’t help but feel gross from the travel and from spending the afternoon walking around. So you forced yourself up and into the small bathroom to wash off. 

By the time you finished and had slipped into pajamas, Cale had returned with food. Though you weren’t super hungry, you forced yourself to eat before finally crawling into bed. 

You weren’t sure what time you fell asleep, though you knew it had to be ungodly early. When you awoke, it was to the feeling of Cale’s arms tightening around your body, his voice low and smooth in your ear. 

“Will you stop the tossing and turning...it’s too freaking early.” Letting out a hum of confusion, you twisted in his arms, your head landing against his shoulder. “It’s 3 am...and I’m awake because you can’t stay still…” Cale grumbled. “I know I said we’d get an early start but I didn’t mean this early.” He added. “So can you please tell your body to knock it off.” 

“Sorry.” You whispered, forcing yourself to go rigid against him. Apparently, your body had had enough sleep already and decided that any extra sleep would not be the peaceful kind. Cale’s fingers slid up your back and he let out a grunt of frustration when his touch only caused you to stiffen further. 

“Sweetheart...would you relax?” He murmured. 

“I’m trying.” You mumbled back, turning back over to face away from Cale with a sigh. You wanted to sleep, you did, but now that you were half awake, your brain was filled with anxious thoughts and silly worries. It had been less than five minutes since he woke you when you felt Cale’s lips on your shoulder and once again his arms tightened around you. 

“Let me help…” He murmured, his fingers shifting to brush against your stomach. 

“Cale I…” Whatever complaint was on the tip of your tongue was silenced when Cale rolled you underneath his body, his mouth seeking yours. His kiss was lazy and soft and he didn’t fully pull away until your body had turned to jello. 

“Do you trust me?” Cale questioned softly. You could only nod because of course you trusted him. You trusted him more than anyone else you’d ever been with. “Then let me help you relax so we can both sleep.” He pressed, one hand sliding down to rest against your hip. 

It was his blue eyes that revealed what he was planning on doing and you caught his cheek in your palm before he could start sliding down the bed. 

“Cale...you don’t…” 

“Sweetheart...if you think I haven’t thought about what it would be like to bury my face in your sweet pussy a million times in the last few months you’re insane. I want to...will you let me?” 

Nerves ran through your body at the thought of trying this for the first time with Cale. What if you didn’t like it? You’d failed to remind him that he wasn’t the only one inexperienced in this area, so it would be a blow to his ego for sure if this went badly. Suddenly, the image of Cale licking your fluids from his fingers popped into your head chased by the fantasy of his head between your thighs. All you had to do was agree for that fantasy to become a reality. Before you could even verbalize your assent, Cale had started sliding down the bed, dragging the blankets with him. 

“If I do something you don’t like just tell me.” He breathed, his fingers tugging your shorts and panties off of your body quickly. 

Nude from the waist down, Cale trailed his mouth across your stomach as he settled himself between your parted thighs. Then he jumped down to your left knee, nipping his way up your inner thigh before repeating the process with the other. 

He was both teasing you and giving you the chance to stop him if you needed to but now that he was there, you wanted nothing more than to see just what kind of damage he could do. 

“Cale, please…” You gasped, needing so much more than what he was giving you. 

“That’s my girl,” Cale mumbled, his eyes twinkling as he looked up at you. “I want to hear you, sweetheart.” The feeling of his breath blowing hot over your core made you shiver and your back bowed off of the bed toward him. Pinning your hips down under the weight of his forearm, Cale kissed your stomach one more time before sliding down, his tongue licking broadly through your folds. 

Squirming under him, your brain attempted to process whether that was a good or a bad sensation. It settled for the word different as you felt waves of heat roll through you when Cale’s mouth latched onto your clit, sucking gently. 

“That…more of that.” You pleaded. Following your direction, Cale focused in on your clit, sucking it between his lips again. Slowly things started to go hazy as he pressed soft kisses and little licks to your heated flesh before returning to the suction. There was no rush to his actions, and you reached down, your fingers tugging at his hair as he lapped lazily at your core. 

A grunt spilled from Cale’s mouth in response to your tug and the vibration rippled through your body, sending sparks across your skin. Sliding his other arm around your hip, Cale drew your leg over his shoulder. The change in angle must have allowed Cale better access because you felt his tongue press inside of you, your hips attempting to jolt out of his grasp at the feeling. 

The feeling of his tongue fucking inside of you made you whimper and when Cale pulled back to breathe, you could feel the growing confidence rolling off of him. 

“You doing okay?” He questioned softly, waiting for your answer as he pressed gentle kisses to your thigh again. 

“More Cale please…” You whined. Smirking Cale sucked at your clit harder than he had before. 

“More of this…” He questioned quickly before sliding his tongue back inside of you, flicking at your slick internal walls. “Or more of that.” He asked, pulling back once more to breathe. Your chest was heaving, your breath hitching with the feelings Cale’s mouth on you created. 

“Both...god both Cale…” You pleaded. 

“Okay...just relax and let go for me okay sweet girl…” Cale resumed his easy pace, switching between sucking your clit and pressing his tongue inside you. As your body responded to his actions, he adjusted speeding up and slowing down until you were crying out his name, your body shaking with the strength of your orgasm. 

Coming down, you shoved at Cale’s head as he licked over you slowly and carefully, cleaning you up. When he finally crawled up the bed, the grin on his face was a mile wide and his thumb brushed against your cheek. 

“Was that okay?” He asked, nerves showing only in his gaze. 

“If I didn’t know that was your first time...I wouldn’t believe it.” You said, voice slightly hoarse. Cale’s cheeks flushed even deeper and you leaned up to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

“It’ll be better next time,” Cale promised, laying flat on his back again, pulling you into his side. Snuggling against him, you certainly felt calmer than before, a yawn spilling from your throat. As you drifted back to sleep you heard Cale whisper ‘thank you’ in your ear and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered at being able to give Cale an experience he’d never had before. 

Everything with him was new and different and you couldn’t ask for anything more. Just like this was only the start of your relationship, it was only the start of your vacation and you could only see both getting better with each and every day. 

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #cale makar smut #nws #lemon #038

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

I Loved Him... Once - CH 1

Title: I Loved Him... Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.

     In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3 Link 

Masterlist

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

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

Chapter 1

Spencer: 

     “What we have done for ourselves alone, dies with us. What we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.” - Albert Pike

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

     “Fourteen days, fourteen days, fourteen glorious days!” 

     Spencer barely looked up from the book he was reading, sat at his desk, leaning back in his desk chair as Derek Morgan sashayed across the bullpen and perched himself on the corner smiling down at him.

     He opted to ignore the over the top, ray of sunshine, mood Derek was in, and flipped the page of his book. Derek was not giving in, he was not going to be ignored when he was in such a good mood, so he swiftly swooped his hand and stole Spencer's book, eliciting a whine of protest as he sat forward and reached for it. Though he didn't make any more effort than that, he knew very well there was no way he would be able to get the book back from Derek through force.

     “Come on, Morgan, give it back.”

     Derek laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as he kept playing keep away with Spencer, “You really want it back that bad?”

     “Yes, actually, it was just starting to get good!” He made another jolt forward to reach for the book but it was in vain. Spencer’s brain might be fast, but Derek Morgan's reflexes were always faster.

     “Really, kid, you're reading…” He turned the book over and eyed the title with a raised brow, “‘The Art of War’. You planning on taking someone down, Reid?” Spencer just eyed him as he closed the book and tucked it under his crossed arms, knowing full well that the genius would remember not only the page number he had been on before Derek closed the book, but the exact word he had read last. “Now, like I said before, we have fourteen, I repeat, fourteen glorious days of vacation starting right now. And you're telling me that your only plans are to sit here at your desk, at work, and continue reading ‘The Art of War’ instead of going out and doing something, anything, other than that?”

     “It never hurts to educate yourself, Morgan, and yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you,” he replied, a little short, then tried once more to swipe unsuccessfully for his book, “now give me back my book.”

     “Good god, man, live a little, you're killing me.” Derek stood and moved the book even further out of Spencer's reach, so he just huffed and sat back in his chair again. “You don't have any plans? No dates? No trips to exotic lands to meet fine exotic ladies?”

     “When have you ever known me to ever have plans? Or dates for that matter. It's not like girls are exactly lining up to date the lanky, boy genius.”

     “Oh you're much more than that, pretty boy, you know that.” Morgan perched himself on the side of his desk again.

     “Not to mention the fact that seeing this in a bathing suit on a beach full of, more than likely, gorgeous people, is not something that is on anyone's bucket list, I'm positive of that. I'm so white I'd probably end up blinding half the beach with my legs alone.”

     Derek was laughing, near tears at this point, “Oh, come on kid, it can't be that bad.”

     “Oh, it is,” Spencer was slightly laughing at this point too, “I went to a pool party once in university and I was asked to put my shirt back on because the light was reflecting off my skin and ‘hurting people's eyes’... Derek, it was ten at night. My skin was reflecting the pool lights so severely it was hurting people.”

     Derek barked out a laugh so hard he nearly fell off the table and Spencer couldn't help but join him. “So you just need a little bit of sun, cancel out some of the white. Why not come with me to Barbados? Little sand, little sun, and a whole lotta’ fun.” He shot a quick wink at Spencer who just scoffed and looked away. “Give me two days with you on the beach and I guarantee I could get you a couple shades darker, at least.”

     “Oh, yes,” he nodded, smirking, “as well as skin cancer.”

     “I promise I won't let you get skin cancer, but that being said, once we get you all sunkissed and confident, I can't promise I'll be able to keep all those fine ladies off of you.”

     “You're not making this sound any better. Skin cancer, STD’s, and multitudes of random women hanging off of me, no thank you.”

     “Well, if you don't want to be swarmed by the fine exotic women,” he paused, smirking down at a waiting Spencer, “I'm sure I can help you land some handsome exotic men, then. I'm not here to judge. More women for me.”

     Spencer reached to the side and grabbed the small pile of papers that were sitting there, and swiftly smacked Derek on the arm with them, “Get off my desk.”

     “That doesn't sound like a denial,” he ducked as he was swatted at again, “come with me and I promise you'll have a good time.”

     “Go!”

     Derek chuckled once more, before ducking under his own desk to grab his bag, then turned back to toss the book back to Spencer who barely caught it, “My flight doesn't leave till tomorrow night, think about it!”

     “I don't need to, I'm not going!”

     “Think about it!”

     “What's the point anyways!?” He called as Derek was almost out of ear shot, but he continued anyways, “When has vacation ever worked out for us? I'd buy a ticket and pay for a room, and realistically we'll probably end up right back here in two days, four tops!”

     Derek was gone by this point, not having heard most of what he had said, more than likely already knowing that this was probably their reality, but not wanting to have to accept it. Though his complaints didn't fall on deaf ears.

     “Oh, now you've gone and jinxed it. Just know that if our vacation gets cancelled due to a case, I am definitely coming after you first, Reid.” 

     He gazed up at Emily over the edge of his book, having indeed remembered the exact word he had left off on when it was stolen from him, and gave her a playful smirk. “I am only stating statistics. If you factor in every vacation we have had since we started here at the BAU, the odds that we will have a full, uninterrupted ‘fourteen glorious days’ as Morgan put it, are less than ten percent. Eight point five-six-three-two percent to be exact.”

     “God I hate you sometimes,” though she laughed as she said it, “so you really don't have any plans?”

     “I never said I didn't have any plans,” he sighed and closed his book on his desk, resigned to not getting any reading done until everyone was gone, “just because I don't have plans involving a hot beach or women, doesn't mean I don't have plans.”

     “Oh!” She perked up and moved closer, intrigued. “So what kinds of fun are you up to then?”

     “Oh, loads!” He shifted in his chair, moving to lean towards her with his elbows on his desk. “I'm signed up for a lecture series that starts tomorrow, but the one I'm most excited for is a lecture called ‘Synthetic Metals: A Novel Role For Organic Polymers’ presented by Dr. Alan G. MacDiarmid. It's a Nobel lecture all about possible engineering applications for, and the inner workings of, organic and conductive polymers. It sounds completely fascinating! I was also thinking of taking a trip to Colonial Williamsburg. I mean, how amazing would it be to walk the same streets as Thomas Jefferson, or eat in the same place as George Washington! I was also thinking of visiting the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. They have over twenty- two thousand works on display that are largely focused on modern and contemporary art, especially with a focus on European art after the nineteen hundreds. They are also having a workshop there next week focusing on-”

     “Woah, woah, take a breath,” she laughed a bit, then asked with a hint of concern, “aren't you doing anything that doesn't involve… learning? Like, no info intake, no lecture series, no workshops, just relaxing? Letting your brain just take a break?”

     Spencer pouted his bottom lip in thought then looked back up to Emily, “No? Why would I want to waste two weeks doing nothing when I could spend them increasing my knowledge?”

     “Wouldn't you want to sit back and…” She stared confusedly at an equally confused Spencer, then just shook her head with another laugh, “Nevermind, look who I’m talking to. Of course you would think that spending two weeks learning would be an ideal vacation. To each their own I guess, right.”

     He just nodded, picking his book up again as she moved away from his desk.

     “Well, have fun with your jam packed knowledge filled two weeks, see you in fourteen days.”

     “Or in two to four days. Don't forget the eight point five-six-three-two percent chance that I will see you before-”

     “Blah, blah, blah!” She covered her ears as she walked away from him, “Can't hear you, already on vacation!”

     “Very mature,” though he was smiling, “have fun with your mother.”

     She threw a quick wave at him then disappeared. When she was finally gone, he sat back in his chair with a content sigh. Now that Emily was gone, it was just himself, Rossi, and Hotch who were left in the office, and he knew there was a very low chance that either of them would interrupt him to inquire about his vacation plans. He was finally able to finish his book in peace before catching the last train home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Knock, knock.” 

     Aaron looked up from where he had been bent over the front of his desk, the pile of papers he had been sorting through covering every inch of it, and towards the door. “David, come in.”

     The man did, eyeing the mess, but merely stood in the middle of the room and tucked his hands into the pockets of his very expensive suit. “Always one of the last to leave, huh?”

     “Has everyone gone?” Aaron asked without looking up this time.

     “Everyone except the usual suspect.”

     “Reid.” Aaron sighed. ‘Not last to leave,’ he thought. Spencer always seemed to still be there, even in the late late hours of the night. After a case, before vacation, even sometimes during vacation. Aaron always felt bad for the man, worried that he was lonely, though nowadays he could relate. 

     “I overheard him talking with Emily and Derek before they left. His most exciting plans seem to have something to do with a Nobel lecture series,” Rossi moved closer, taking up the chair in front of Aaron’s desk, “that kid needs to learn how to slow down and relax, I'm worried he might burn out someday if he doesn't. He should go out, have some fun from time to time.”

     “Well I'm not much better,” Aaron turned, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, now facing David, “my plans for the next two weeks pretty much consist of staying home, catching up on more paperwork, and if I can swing it with Haley, taking Jack for a few days. If I play my cards right, the park will be the most exciting adventure of my vacation. I'm not exactly going out to paint the town red either.”

     “Yeah, you two are wild,” he drawled with a smirk, “you know, maybe a date would do the kid well. Loosen him up a bit.”

     Aaron eyed him warily with a tilt of his head, seeing right through his attempted ruse, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

     “Perhaps, while you both have the time off, you and Spencer could plan something together.” Aaron closed his eyes with a sigh and shifted, opened his mouth to say something in protest, but David beat him to it, hands up to stop him. “I'm just saying, you're the only two people on the team that aren't out of town for the next two weeks. I’ll be in Italy visiting family, JJ is taking her family camping, Prentis is visiting her mom, Garcia is, quote, ‘on a shopping tour of all the best malls in the northern hemisphere’, and Morgan is hitting the beach in Barbados. That leaves you and Reid. So all I'm saying is that maybe you can stop fantasizing about the kid and actually do something about your infatuation.”  

     Aaron just gaped at his friend, shocked, speechless for the first time in as long as he can remember. “I… how…” Was the only thing he was able to manage to stutter out.

     David just smiled up at him mischievously and stated, “I'm a profiler, Aaron, and a damn good one. I've seen the way you look at Spencer, the way you stick close to him, and it's very obvious you care about him. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, yet ironically the only one to not have figured it out yet is the only actual certified genius.”

     Aaron still didn't know what to say. He had never told anyone about how he felt about Spencer. It was hardly appropriate for him to attempt to pursue the man considering he was his superior, not to mention older than him. Something that had plagued him since the very day he met the cute, quirky doctor on his first day with the BAU. 

     “I can tell you're over-thinking, Aaron.” Rossi speaking brought him out of his small internal panic and he looked down at him. “What is it? That you're his boss? Strauss?”

     He shifted, crossing his arms impossibly closer to his chest. No point in denying it now. “A bit of both, I guess. Not to mention the age difference between us.”

     “First off, I wouldn't worry about Strauss. If anything were to happen between you and Spencer, as long as you navigate the correct channels and immediately disclose your relationship, sign the proper papers, then there is nothing Strauss can do against either of you or your jobs. As for you being his superior, I wouldn't even give that a second thought. No one on our team would think anything of it, no one would ever even entertain the thought that you took advantage, and neither would Spencer.” David then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. “And the age gap, who cares. Love, is love, is love. Take it while you've got it and don't ever let it go. Age is but a number and love knows no bounds.”

     “Very profound of you, David.” He couldn't help but let a small chuckle slip.

     “What can I say, I am the embodiment of love.”

     “Right, and is that why you've been married three times and are on wife number four?”

     They both laughed, hearty and full, and for the first time since they started talking, Aaron found himself feeling a lot lighter. It was nice to finally have someone who knew his secret feelings for the young genius, and be able to actually have someone to talk to and confide in about it. 

     Rossi's phone ringing broke the moment though, and he reached into his pocket, just looking at the screen and not answering. “Well, my ride to the airport is here. I will see you in two weeks, do not call me.”

     Aaron let loose one last light chuckle, moving along with Dave to see him out. With a smile and a pat on the back as they reached the door he said, “I'll try not to, enjoy your time in Italy.”

     “Oh I intend to,” he opened the door, then turned back at the last minute, “but do me a favor will ya. Don't call me, but do call Spencer.”

     Aaron just smiled, gave Dave a small push out the door, and answered, “Good bye, David.”

     Once he was out the door and down the stairs, Aaron closed the door and took a step to the side to watch him cross the bullpen. He gave a quick goodbye to Spencer as he passed, and then he was gone. Then his eyes wandered over to the last person left besides himself, still sitting alone at his desk, leaned back reading his book. He sighed, watching Spencer for a moment longer before thinking to himself, maybe David was right. Why should he worry about all that other nonsense? Besides, he would never know if Spencer felt the same unless he asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Aaron finally finished organizing the paperwork explosion on his desk, filing away what was finished and adding the rest to his bag, then was finally able to head out. 

     It had been a good two hours since Rossi had left his office, leaving Aaron with all kinds of things to think about, and the man that those thoughts were all about was still sitting in the same spot he had been in since vacation officially began. Though now, Spencer was already halfway through his second book. 

     As he passed him, the younger man not even so much as lifting his eyes from his book, he said a quiet, “Have a good vacation, Reid.”

     “You too, Hotch,” he answered back, and Aaron just about kept walking, but stopped himself at the last minute and turned back.

     They were currently alone, no one else around but him and Spencer, so now was just as good a time as any. “Reid…”

     At the questioning tone to his name, Spencer looked up at Hotch who was now standing right in front of him, “Yeah?”

     “I… I was…'' Spencer was still looking up at him with concerned eyes, a furrowed brow, and if Aaron was being honest, a super cute frown. Now, what Aaron wanted to say was ‘Spencer, I know that you and I are the only two who will be remaining in town for the duration of our vacation time, and I was wondering perhaps, if you would like to take advantage of the fact and allow me to take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’ But what he actually managed to come out with instead, was a sad and defeated, “I… I just wanted to wish you well. I hope you have a good fourteen days, and I heard you will be attending a lecture series, I hope it's informative.”

     “Right…” Hotch couldn't be certain, but he was sure that Spencer almost looked… disappointed? “An-anything else?”

     “... No, I don't believe so.” And before he could stumble his way through any more embarrassing sentences he quickly said, “Good night,” and left before Spencer could even return the sentiment. Leaving him staring, still confused and a little down, after a fast walking Aaron, not having the courage to even look back as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Derek woke for the first time well rested and relaxed. No case to solve, no unsub on his mind, no high speed chase down unfamiliar roads, and no showdown with a psychopath in some dark abandoned warehouse. It was just him, the sun, the sand, and two weeks of relaxing and sleeping late, eating more than he probably should and shoving as much fun into two weeks as was completely possible.

     Now, those were Derek's original plans. The plans he made before he left Quantico, Virginia for the beaches in Barbados. For the all night parties, the beautiful ladies, and the all inclusive never ending free drinks. And yet, here he found himself, within arm's reach of all those things, and not doing a single one of them. 

     Instead, Derek walked down the beach and found an empty lounge chair tucked under a very colourful umbrella. A sprite and lime with ice in hand, he stood and looked out at the calming ebb and flow of the ocean, letting the soft crashing of the waves take over and clear his mind completely. It was nice, the best he'd felt in a long, long time. 

     A volleyball skid to a halt at his feet, covering his toes in warm sand, caught his attention and he turned to face the small group of women off to his side. He kicked the ball back over to them, each one of them very obviously interested in getting to know Derek, even if it were just for one night. But to his own surprise, he found himself flashing a smile and a wave in decline of their invitation to come play, and instead took up his seat in the covered lounge chair. 

     He took a second to breathe in the fresh air, took a sip of his drink, then reached down to the small bag he had tucked under the chair, rifling through until he found what he was looking for. He settled back in the chair, not able to help the smile that spread across his face as he read the title of the book in his hands, 'The Art of War', and settled back to read it with a quietly muttered, "Damn you, Spencer Reid."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there is chapter 1, chapter 2 to come soon! I’m super excited about this guys XD

And if anyone wants to be tagged for future updates please let me know <3

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #Spencer x aaron #spencer reid x aaron hotchner #reid x hotch #hotchner x reid #spencer/aaron #spencer reid/aaron hotchner #reid/hotch #emily prentiss #jj #Jennifer Jareau #david rossi #derek morgan #Penelope Garcia #smut #fluff #angst #pining #slow burn #canon typical #part one #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #heid #heid fic #spencer reid x aaron hotchner fic #spencer x reid fic

[jovialyouthmusic]

Double Trouble

Bastien’s foster parents come to meet the twins, and he receives a gift that brings back painful memories...

Word count 2774

A/N You may need a tissue at hand for this one, Bastien is reduced to tears himself. There are a few Greek words here, but I’ve tried to make them obvious or translated immediately afterwards. My favourite was the word for grandmother, which is pronounced ‘ya ya’. You may notice I’ve chickened out from writing a chapter devoted to their wedding - at least for now...

5 Parents, old and new...

‘They’re here – the guards at the gate just rang through’ Bastien announced. Sophia cast an eye around the apartment to check all was spick and span.

‘Does it look right?’ she queried. ‘If it’s too tidy it will look like we’re not taking enough time with the twins, but if it’s untidy it looks like we can’t cope.’ Bastien walked over to her and kissed her forehead.

‘Don’t worry, theà mou’ he soothed ‘Althea will understand. She’s fostered plenty of babies as well as older children. She knows a little disorder isn’t a bad sign’

‘Did you ever get drafted in to looking after any younger ones?’ she asked.

‘One or two, but she never left me alone with them. Being totally responsible for small babies is a task for an adult.’ He went to the door just as a wail started up on the baby monitor. Sophia grimaced.

‘They certainly have a good sense of timing’ she said ‘I’ll go and see who it is and what they need.’

‘I’ll go down and greet our visitors. Don’t be worried about feeding them, they wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but if you want to stay private, stay in the nursery and I’ll check with you.’ He kissed her again and went to greet his foster parents, there to see the twins for the first time.

They lived only a few hours drive away in Greece but said they’d wait until the couple had settled into parenthood. Sophia’s parents had booked their flight from the Channel Islands and would be there the next month. If it hadn’t been for various video calls, her mother might well have demanded that she and Bob move lock stock and barrel to Cordonia, but Sophia had told them they weren’t sure they would be staying in the tiny European country for good. She had received a job offer from Edinburgh and had deferred it until the twins were older, and there was a lot of support at the Palace. They didn’t have to worry about cooking, laundry or cleaning, and Hana had volunteered to help too. She had experience with Savannah’s children, and would most likely go on to help the Queen when she gave birth to the heir.

She went into the nursery to discover that Theo needed a nappy change, and she was in time to get that done before his wailing woke his sister, who was a determined and deep sleeper. Changing him was an easy task compared to his sisters indignation at being messed around.

As she worked, she remembered that the last time she’d seen her own parents was at their wedding. It was a small affair, and her mind went further back to when they’d discussed getting married, some time after Bastien had proposed. They were taking a break at the villa in Greece that Costa and Althea owned, this time entirely on their own. They lay out in the sun after a swim in the clear blue sea.

‘Mum asked me when we’re getting married.’ Sophia said, reaching for a cool drink.

‘Then we should probably set a date’ Bastien replied. ‘That is, if you think we should do it’

‘It’s odd’ she said ‘I like the idea, but we’ve made our commitment to each other already. I don’t need a ceremony to know we intend to be together for the rest of our lives’

‘But perhaps other people have to acknowledge it’ Bastien pointed out ‘Plus it’s better legally, if anything should happen to one of us’

‘I could never understand my friends who started planning their weddings when they were teens’ she had said. ‘My best friend had a scrapbook and she’d collect pictures of dresses, think about venues and colour schemes and so on. I don’t think she cared who she married, and she expected it to happen before she was twenty’

‘How did that turn out?’

‘She did actually find a really nice guy to marry, but she was the original Bridezilla. He got fed up with her tantrums and stood her up at the altar – or in her case, at the beach. In Jamaica. He’d never even got on the plane to go there. Her family and friends had a wonderful holiday, but she spent the whole time crying and cursing him until one of the waiters caught her eye’ Bastien sucked his breath in between his teeth.

‘Did that put you off, theà mou?’

‘Just a little. But my wedding day wasn’t the apex of my expectations. I wanted to find someone to share my life with – and I have’

‘So what do you think we should do? What do you want?’

‘I don’t want a big wedding. A registry office would do – and a minimum of guests. In fact, just you, me and a witness would be enough. But my mother would never forgive me’

‘May I make a suggestion, then?’

‘’Of course, Bas. Fire away’

‘Why don’t we get married in Guernsey? That would please Edith, and it would keep the guest list down. We could always have a reception back here after a short honeymoon’

‘That might work. Wouldn’t Costa and Althea want to come to the wedding though?’

‘Hmmm. They’d understand if I told them we’d want to keep it small’

‘We, Bas? Are you happy with that?’

‘I think the same as you. It’s a formality – a legal piece of paper. It doesn’t compare to what we already have together. I’m happy to do whatever you want’

‘Well aren’t we a pair’ she had laughed ‘The reluctant bride and groom’

‘But enthusiastic lovers’ he joked, and swooped down on her, kissing her and picking her up to carry her inside.

So it was that they travelled to the tiny island where they had a small ceremony at the registry office with a reception at a four star hotel, arranged by her father. Some of his work colleagues attended as many of them had been impromptu Uncles when she was growing up, and a few of her school friends went too. Drake went as Bastien’s best man and representative of the Crown, being the third party in King Brad’s Cordonian marriage. It had been decided that he and Lucy would not attend, to keep the wedding low key. They had a short honeymoon on one of the smaller islands, and on their return King Brad had insisted on a lavish reception party in the Palace Ballroom. He had flown the happy couple back for the occasion in the Royal jet along with Bob and Edith.

After that, they had briefly discussed having children and decided to try as soon as they could, due to their age. Bastien had visited a sperm bank when he had a vasectomy on joining the Guard, and they were advised to try using that whilst waiting for his medical procedure to heal and his count to go up. Despite being told it would most likely take a few tries, the very first treatment worked, and Sophia had to defer taking up a job offer at Edinburgh University.

As she buttoned up Theo’s romper suit she heard the apartment door close and there was the babble of conversation in the main room.

‘You don’t look hungry, little man’ she cooed to the baby ‘Come and meet your pappous and giagià’ She picked him up, peeking into Beatrice’s cot, but she slept soundly. She resolved to come back for her, to keep the twins in synch with their naps. She had barely entered the lounge before Althea had plucked Theo from her arms with cries of delight.

‘Oh, mikros’ little one she gushed ‘I giagiá sou eínai edó’ your grandmother is here ‘Aren’t you such a delicious creature, I could eat you all up’ She turned to her husband ‘See how he looks like his father’ Costa nodded gravely, pursing his lips.

‘He does’ he said shortly, leaning over to appraise the baby. He looked up at Sophia.

‘And here is his mitera’ he smiled, and walked over to kiss her cheek. Althea only had eyes for Theo, rocking him and speaking in rapid Greek. Theo was mesmerised and gazed at her, entranced. ‘You look well, Sophia’ he said ‘I hope our Antras is looking after you and his mikra’

‘He’s very attentive. It’s good to see you, Costa. I hope the journey was okay’

‘It was very quiet – when Althea fell asleep’ he said, dropping his voice to a stage whisper.

‘You think I don’t hear you, old man?’ Althea cried ‘You’re lucky I’m holding our foster grandson. And where is his sister?’

‘I’ll get her’ Sophia said.

‘Let me come with you.’ Costa offered, and she led the way.

‘I’m sorry you can’t stay with us’ Sophia said as they went. ‘As you see, our spare room is occupied.’

‘Don’t worry my dear’ Costa boomed in his deep voice. ‘I know better than anyone how tiring Althea is to have around. We won’t stay long, we have friends to visit in the Capitol.’ As they entered the nursery Beatrice was stirring. Costa made a cooing noise as soon as he saw her.

‘Oh mikros – little princess.’ he clucked ‘Here, come to Pappous.’ and leaned over the cot, tenderly picking her up. Sophia held her breath, not knowing how she would react. She made little squeaking noises as she woke, her eyes opening to an unfamiliar face. She squinted and opened her mouth to protest but the sound of his voice lulled her as he crooned to her. He turned to Sophia.

‘They are both so dark.’ he said, referring to the shock of black hair that both children sported. ‘Your lovely blonde hair has not come through.’

‘It’s only natural.’ she smiled ‘We knew they would probably take after Bastien.’ They returned to the lounge, where Althea declared she would have to split in two in order to make the most of the babies. Costa stood facing her, and they rocked and sang to them together, doing a little dance. Bastien looked over at Sophia, whose face had lit up with joy to see the charming interaction. Theo gazed at his entertainers with fascination while Beatrice made odd little expressions and noises, waving her little starfish fingers randomly.

‘This one is musical, see?’ Althea said ‘She has a sense of rhythm. She will be a great singer or a concert pianist, just you see.’ Costa laughed.

‘Theodore is quiet and stoic like his father. Perhaps he too will be Captain of the Guard’

‘It’s a dangerous job, Pateràs. I wouldn’t wish it on him.’ Bastien commented. At that moment Beatrice decided she’d had enough of being joggled about and started to grizzle.

‘Your little princess needs her materà.’ Costa said, handing her over carefully. She made a face as if she was searching for a nipple.

‘Do you mind…?’ Sophia asked.

‘Go right ahead, I may never have fed one myself, but I would have if I could.’ Althea replied, so Sophia settled down to nurse. Theo remained in Althea’s arms, sucking his fingers and gazing back at her. ‘You need your strength, Sophia, so I brought some food for you.’ Althea sat close to her. ‘I know the palace kitchens cook for you, but I don’t think they make proper Greek food. It’s like medicine – my pastitsio will cure anything, and my moussaka would satisfy a giant.’ She nodded toward Bastien’s broad frame ‘Even our àntras there. How do you think he grew to be such a mountain of a man?’ Bastien rolled his eyes.

‘I think we might have to get a freezer of our own to store all the food Althea brought for us.’ he said drily. She turned toward him.

‘Look in the cooler bag – there’s Greek salad and dolmades and olives, and bread I baked this morning.’ Bastien shook his head, smiling.

‘You shouldn’t have, Althea’ he laughed ‘But it’s very welcome’

Before too long the dining table was set with a Greek feast, and Costa sat with Beatrice resting on his chest, making little circles on her back to bring up any wind, and Bastien had given him a napkin in case of accidents. Sophia sat nursing Theo, and Althea hovered over her with a plate full of finger food.

‘Eat, eat’ Althea urged her ‘The babies will grow fast. Start getting bigger clothes for them, you will see’ Soon it was Bastien holding Beatrice to wind her while Sophia sat at the table to eat, and Althea fussed with plates and food as if she was the host, not her foster son and partner.

At last they had done justice to the food, and Costa was the one to wash the plates while Althea played with Theo.

‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ she said suddenly, addressing Bastien. ‘I brought you something.’

‘Althea…’ he protested, but she had already handed the baby to Sophia and was rummaging in a bag. She brought out a small package and handed it over. Bastien took it curiously, and carefully unwrapped it. It was a small piece of fabric – a flowered pattern with a satin edge. He stared at it for a moment, and Sophia was shocked to see his eyes watering, hand resting on his cheek in shock.

‘Materà.’ he said, choking with emotion, struggling to keep his composure ‘I didn’t know you still had this.’ Althea went to him and put her hand on his arm. He grabbed it and kissed her fingers, tears running down his cheeks.

‘We found it when we cleared out some old boxes. I knew you’d want it.’ Her usual brusque tone was soft and tender.

‘I thought – I thought it was lost’ Bastien choked. Sophia was baffled, and she suddenly found Costa at her elbow, patting her arm. She put her hand on his, looking up in query. He spoke quietly as Bastien covered his face, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

‘It’s from a dress that his mother wore.’ he said in a low tone. ‘He kept it under his pillow until it got lost – we’re not sure exactly when. It’s the only thing that belonged to her that he had.’ Sophia already knew that Bastien had been fostered when his mother had become a drug addict and died tragically when he was a teenager.

Bastien got to his feet and shakily left the room. Costa went on to tell her that Althea had made the keepsake for him and quietly left it in his room when he was a surly and unruly teenager. They had noticed an improvement in his behaviour soon after, even though he had never acknowledged her kind action.

‘Go, he needs you.’ Althea said softly ‘The twins will be fine with us.’ Sophia handed Beatrice to her and got to her feet to follow him to the bedroom, where he sat holding the piece of fabric, tears still silently flowing down his cheeks. She sat next to him and handed him a tissue. He slowly calmed and mopped his eyes, taking a shaky breath.

‘I hated her when I was younger.’ he said hoarsely ‘But later on I realised it was a sickness that changed her, bad people who made her make the wrong choices. She never meant to hurt me.’ He turned the fabric over in his hands. ‘I wish every day she’d been stronger, been around to meet you. Now I feel as if she’s here.’ She took his hand and squeezed it.

‘She’d have been proud of you, I’m sure. I’m only just starting to understand what it’s like being a mother. I know if anyone tried to hurt our babies, I’d go out of my mind.’ He nodded.

‘Not everyone can cope with being a parent, even with the best intentions.’

‘You never had any doubt about whether you’d be a good father?’ she asked gently.

‘Of course I did, but I had Costa and Jackson to emulate’ He blew his nose. ‘And you had good examples, so I never had any doubt about you.’  

‘Althea should have been more sensitive.’ Bastien smiled weakly, his eyes red but dry.

‘It’s okay Sophia, it needed to be done. They’re here to look after the twins while I process it’ He took her hand and squeezed it ‘and while you support me. It was a good time to do it’ He got up and held out his hand. ‘Speaking of which, we should get back before they need a nappy change’

‘Something tells me that wouldn’t phase either of them’ she smiled, and rose to embrace him and kiss his cheek.

@sirbeepsalot @katedrakeohd @fluffyfirewhiskey @kingliam2019 @rainbowsinthestorm @camillemontespan @texaskitten30 @bascmve01 @nomadics-stuff​

​

#trr bastien #bastien lykel #Bastien x OC #sophia x bastien #bastien x sophia #double trouble

[flowerbeom]

Double Pepperoni | LJB

Part of The Pleasure Chest | A GOT7 Cringe Collaboration

Lim Jaebeom x Female!Reader Genre: College AU, Crackhead Comedy Smut Rating: Mature. So very mature. Warnings: Bad puns, Swearing & Explicit smut scenes. Word Count: 4k

Concept:  to: [email protected] hey cass, its me. your best friend. or what’s left of her. remember that kinda hot but kinda gross pizza delivery guy? the one with the nose ring and always smelt of cheetos? yeh, he’s looking less gross these days. what?! don’t judge me. desperate times call for desperate measures. it has been 154 days since i’ve had sex. shit’s dire here man.

A/N: If you lean into how bad this is purposefully meant to be, you’ll really enjoy it. 

All GIF credits for this series go to @defsenses.

Day 97 

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass!  yes my phone is still broken, and i have no idea when im going to get a new one cause im broke from visiting you in another goddamn country - so just suck it up and reply to my emails like the good best friend you are.  fuck i miss you already! why the hell did you have to be smart and shit and get into that international program and go to college in Seoul of all places!  do you know how far away that is?! 16 hours cassandra! 16 fucking hours on a plane with no leg room, subpar food and a middle aged balding man snoring next to you the entire time so you get no sleep on a 16 hour flight AWAY FROM YOUR BEST FRIEND.  it was really good to see you though, can you thank mrs kim again for me - you really struck gold with that housing sitch you got - especially your roommate! that fine ass college freshman you DID NOT allow me to fuck!  yeh yeh whatever, i get it - how the hell are you meant to look mrs kim in the eye again when your childhood best friend who you talked up to be an angel fucked her only son on the fold out couch. yes i get it, stop rolling your eyes at me.  either way, its still the dry season down here. miss you, love you. bye. 

It’s funny how jet lag after coming home from a holiday feels almost identical to a hangover; it’s a painful reminder that something that was quite enjoyable is over. The headache feels almost the same, along with the cotton mouth, hunger, dehydration and utter disappointment and resentful emptiness that the fun you were having is completely done - but only one makes you hurl your guts out at the smell of orange juice. Condolences to those who are unlucky enough to hurl in both instances. 

Either way, that’s where you found yourself - Thursday night, half unpacked suitcase lay in the middle of your living room, eyes bloodshot and staring blankly at the television; an all consuming headache pounding between your temples. Lucky for you, you knew a sure fire way to get rid of it without painkillers. Insert Mr. Pene Falso. No literally, insert it. You didn’t call your vibrator Fake Penis in Spanish not to insert it. And in case anyone hasn’t caught on yet, an orgasm legitimately helps get rid of a headache. Try it next time. 

As ever, positioning is important - preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down to your ankles, one leg completely fished out. Sideways lean, cushion under one elbow, completely bare leg propped up onto the couch; allow for maximum spread when those pre-orgasm hip rolls start. Set Mr. Pene Falso on one, there is no need to go hard straight away - ease into the session, let the endorphins build. You have been deprived of a real penis for a while, so you know you’re eager; but a little self control will yield the most delicious of results. 

You will run the long race to Destination Stimulation and you will bite that bottom lip as your eyes roll back into their sockets as your long awaited, slow built, easy increase of settings on Mr. Pene Falso brings home the most delectable of orgams. It will not be a dry night, no sir. So lower that beautiful vibrating, bright pink silicone wand onto your clit-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

Who the fuck..? Your eyes snapped to the front door, your hand clenched around your vibrator just millimetres away from your clit. A small loosening of your grip dropped the angle and the tip of your vibrator dipped against your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. A gravely moan escaped you; your focus immediately brought back to the task at hand. Literally. 

Ignore it, it’s probably no one important. That’s what you told yourself, shaking your head and leaning back against the couch once again. You licked your bottom lip at the enticing notion of self-induced euphoria. Spreading your legs further than before, you corrected your grip and pushed Mr. Pene Falso into you. Your head dropped back involuntarily, your teeth marked your bottom lip and those pre-orgasm hip rolls started slowly. It felt devine, finally some release; a little bit of pleasu--

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Who the fuck?!” 

“Pal’s Pizza!” 

Tossing Mr. Pene Falso aside, you yanked on your sweatpants, wiped the one bead of sweat off your brow and stampeded to your door. 

“You got the wrong house, buddy!” Ripping it open, your rage was greeted with a face you had not seen in a long time. Your eyes blew wide, as the eyes of the man before you narrowed; complimenting the smirk etching across his face. The ever familiar smell of cheetos, weed and pepperoni of years passed filled your nostrils and nostalgia wasn’t a word you wanted to use in that instance, but repressed memories were being dug up nevertheless. 

A few moments of stone-cold silence passed before a subtle hum started to invade your auditory peripherals. Leaving your eye-line, Mr. Pal’s Pizza leaned sideways, throwing his smirk into the apartment behind you and directly onto the bright pink silicone wand still vibrating on your couch. All colour drained from your obviously stiffened face. 

He scoffed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time. Mind if I join you instead?” 

Day 106

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass did you know that there’s a woman in Georgia, who due to a rare disorder, experiences hundreds of orgasms a day? she’s just persistently aroused and will climax any time, anywhere - even in the most obscure of places. whereas I cannot even have one, in my own goddamn apartment.  because you will never guess who delivered a pizza to the wrong house last week. Crusty Jae. Yyu heard me. Fucking Lim Jaebeom from high school! Who by the way, still looks like a tryhard 2006 Skaterboi with his stupidly baggy jeans, Stussy t-shirt and bad haircut - or lack thereof who fucking knows.  AND he still smells like damp. No no, he doesn’t smell damp. He smells like damp. Like the idea of damp. but istg i could still cut myself on that jawline of his. and come to think of it, I haven’t had pizza in ages.  miss you. love you, bye. 

Day 114 

“Seriously dude, you need to stop ‘delivering pizza to the wrong house’. It’s getting pathetic.” You feigned irritation despite taking the box out of Jaebeom’s outstretched hand.

“Bruh, I am not. The guy’s next door never answered. So you--” He shook back his overgrown fringe and shifted all his weight back, angling his pelvis towards you. His eyes traipsed up and down your frame, saliva clearly pooling under his tongue. “-- get a free pizza delivered by this handsome mug.” 

You didn’t even try to bury the scoff that escaped you as Jaebeom dug two thumbs into his chest; a pungent smugness wafting from his stained Pal’s Pizza t-shirt. You practically laughed in his face. Yet he didn’t waver. 

“You’re still the same overconfident creep from highschool, Jae.” Jaebeom faked offense, a hand slapped on his heart - leaving a faint damp hand print. 

“And I still managed to nab all the ladies.” Sliding his tongue over his top teeth, he winked and you almost gagged. The fact that Crusty Jae, the school’s resident stoner, managed to have the highest body count by graduation is something that still baffled you. Something must have been seriously wrong with the girls who let that inside them. There were rumours of course, but you weren’t willing to explore any of them to prove if fact or not. 

Lifting the lid, you inhaled a glorious whiff of mozzarella and pepperoni but caught Jaebeom scratching his head from the corner of your eye; little flecks of dead skin floated to the ground and you couldn’t help but focus on the flakes of what looked like parmesan on the top of your pizza. Horror ensued, visible in the quiver in your voice. 

“You.. you don’t make the pizzas do you?” 

Jaebeom smirked, and ran a clammy hand through his greasy hair. 

“Nuh babe, I just deliver them.” He punctuated his statement with a wink and pucker of his lips. You were not comforted and turned away before he could see the grimace on your face. You dropped the pizza box onto your couch and fished a twenty-dollar-bill from your wallet and returned to the door to slap it into Jaebeom’s hand. 

“Nuh baby, it’s free.” He insisted with a stupid slanted grin. You shook your head, pushing the money harder into his hand and away from your door. 

“Keep the change.”

“Damn, thanks for the tip.” He smiled softly. Maybe he isn’t so much of a creep anymore. 

“Want a taste of mine?” 

You couldn’t have slammed the door in his face any harder.  

Day 129 

European. What about Lebanese? Kirby? No, too short. Continental? Way too long. But then again Kirby cucumbers have girth, and it’s not all about length. It’s how you use it. Would you go raw? Or would you wrap it? How sturdy are Kirby cucumbers? You’d obviously have to wash it first. Oh shit, could they poison you if it smooshes up while inside you? No, well you eat them so they can’t be too dangerous. How much lubrication would you need? 

“Little to none if you’re warmed up enough.” 

Cutting off your mental ramblings and ripping you back into reality, your head snapped towards the voice. Jaebeom’s voice. Of course it had to be Jaebeom. Why is he suddenly everywhere? 

“Excuse me, what?!” 

“Lubrication. You wouldn’t need any if you’re warmed up. Cucumbers just slide right in.” He said with total confidence as if speaking from absolute experience. If anything, the pompous smile was enough to tell you what he was saying was true. You tried to swallow and gasp at the same time, causing you to start choking in the grocery store. 

“Wh-wait-what, I was saying all of that out loud?!” You prayed it didn’t say all of it out loud. 

Are you really that delirious from lack of sex that your pathetically curious and completely comedic wonderings about cucumbers as dildos was said out loud in the grocery store?! Have you become that incapable of controlling yourself that you can’t even keep being a horny bitch on the inside?! Must you zone out in full stereo?! 

Jaebeom giggled. 

“Maybe. I heard from about ‘What about Lebanese?’.”

You froze, the hand gripping your shopping basket growing dangerously limp.

“So pretty much all of it.” Jaebeom laughed again and reached across you to pick up the thickest Kirby cucumber from the pile and dropped it into your basket. 

“Think of me.”

“What!?” 

His smirk thawed you completely, leaving you standing in a lukewarm puddle of distaste. “Later babe.” 

Seriously, you needed to find every girl who fucked him in highschool and just ask them “WHY?!” 

Day 147

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass he ran out of battery I have no spares I live in a wasteland of despair miss you love you bye

Day 165

ring-ring-ring

“Pal’s Pizza, can I take your order?” 

“Hey Jae, it’s me. The usual please.” 

“Stuffed Crust?” 

“No thanks.” 

“No probs. How about I stuff you?”

“Bye.” 

“See you in twenty minutes!” 

Day 167 

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass I think I’m living in a permanent fever dream today in my tech drawing class my professor told me if I lick the tip I’ll get better results so I asked him, if i let him lick my tip would I get extra credit? HE MEANT MY PENCIL CASSANDRA, HE MEANT TO LICK THE TIP OF MY PENCIL SO I GET THICKER LINES what the fuck is wrong with me?!  oh I know.  it has been 167 days since I’ve had sex ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN DAYS and Mr Pene Falso still does not have new batteries.  miss you love you bye

Day 175

You had never felt more accomplished in your life. In one hand rested your brand new phone, shiny and in-built with all the things to keep your easily distracted brain entertained. No longer did you have to make calls from the decrepit pay phone outside your apartment building. No longer did you have to sit on buses and pretend to like reading. No, you were reunited with the technology of your generation and you were ecstatic. Full time college and part time employment didn’t always meet the needs of your demanding lifestyle, but you saved enough to finally get a brand new phone.

And in the other hand lay two beautiful AA batteries. You know perfectly well what they were for. You were equally as ecstatic. But for some reason there was one person you wanted to talk to about it. 

Your fingers dialed the number almost on their own; muscle memory taking over. It rang six times. 

“Hello?”

“CASS!” So excited to hear your best friend’s voice you tripped on the corner of your rug; your body colliding with the couch. 

“Holy shit, you finally got a phone. Took you long enough.” 

“Shut up, I’ve been busy.” Rubbing the part of your shoulder that managed to miss abundant cushioning on the couch and hit the tiny piece of wooden framework beneath it all. 

“Sure. Busy trying to get yourself off every chance you get.” 

The fingers trying to unscrew the bottom of your vibrator halted; your bottom lip folded between your teeth - a pout formed in your silence. 

“I--” Lost for words you resumed unscrewing the cap, placing one battery into each slot. 

“You’re probably gonna go masturbate after you get off this call.” 

The last battery dropped in with a clang, albeit muffled by Cass’s muffled laughter. 

“You know I’m messing with you right?”

“..Yes.” 

“Good. So how’s Crusty Jae?” She continued to laugh as you groaned.

“Dude, can you please explain how he managed to pull so much in high school?! Please! Am I the only one who doesn’t get it?!” Suddenly incredibly frustrated, you screwed on the vibrator cap with so much gusto that your grip accidentally turned it on; the abrupt buzzing ripping out a quiet yelp. 

“You know his nickname used to be Double Pepperoni.” You scoffed so hard, you felt it in your ribs. “Nuh apparently he was packing.”

“What? Like what, like he always had slices stuffed in his pockets?”

“No, like p-a-c-k-i-n-g.” 

“I highly doubt that flat-ass McGee is huge.” You smirked while Cass tried to stop herself from choking on laughter. “And even if he was, dude, I still don’t understand how that seemingly unhygienic mess can score so much.” 

“Bro, I don’t know either. But from all the girls I’ve ever talked to about him, they all say that whatever he did to seduce them or whatever - their reactions were purely carnal.” You made a pathetic noise, like a dying car horn to highlight your skepticism. “Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap. Fuck him once, have a great time but then refuse to ever bring it up again. Except to me.. Cause after all, it was Crusty Jae.. But that’s beside the point.”

“They’d just ‘snap’?” 

“Yup. Like a fresh green bean.”

“Weird metaphor.” 

“But you got it.”

“Sadly. I’m going to go now.” 

“Happy Orgasm!” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Miss you.”

“Love you.”

“Bye!” 

From putting down one electronic device to picking up the other, you settled into the couch cushions with Mr Pene Falso in hand - recharged and ready to go. Yes, you were obviously going to prove your best friend painfully correct by getting off as soon as you hung up that call, but honestly - fuck it. You deserved it. 

Remember, preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down your ankles, one leg completely bare. Hair pulled up into an overeager and messy as ever bun. Sideways lean. Mr Pene Falso, setting one. 

It’s not meant to be pretty, the faces you pull while masturbating. And the sounds one makes, equally as carnal. But who the fuck cares. You’re doing this for you. And as those pre-orgasm hip rolls get more and more intense as your clit is vibrated right down to Destination Stimulation, you moan in pleasure for you know you are finally getting what you’ve wanted for so lon-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Hey it’s me!” Your head snapped so fast to the door it cracked every bone in your neck. 

“Jae!?” 

“Yeh, can I come in please?”

“Oh come on, what the fuck!?” Fury swallowed you whole, Mr Pene Falso slamming into the ground in a fit of rage. “What do you fucking want, Jaebeom?!” 

“Please, I need--” Jerking your pants back on, you charged at the door; ripping it open. 

“Need what?!”

“-- to use your bathroom.” Sheepish eyes met your own; blown wide and shaking. Jaebeom stood before you, pizza delivery bag hung loosely in his hand; completely soaked from head to toe. 

“Sorry, it’s fucking pouring outside and I delivered next door and I just want to dry off a little, that cool?” 

His usually loose shirt clung to his body, every inch of his torso outlined. His hair, normally shaggy and overgrown, was completely pushed back off his face; slick and saturated to show every carved line of his face. Was his eyes always this piercing? Or was it only because it was in context with the rest of his beautiful face? 

“So..?” Jaebeom reeled you back from your slow descent and you shook it off violently. 

“Uhh yeh, that-that way.” Throwing a thumb over your shoulder to show him the way, Jaebeom slinked past you; a marginal waft of damp weed followed behind. 

What has gotten into you? This is Crusty Jae we’re talking about here. You are not meant to find him attractive. Nothing about him is meant to be attractive. But there you were - standing in your hallway, dumbfounded as you watched Jaebeom take off his shirt and wring it into your sink. You tried to tear your eyes away from how broad his shoulders were, or how all the muscles around his waist tensed as he squeezed all the water out of his shirt. You couldn’t even fight off the shiver that crawled down your spine when you watched his triceps flex when he pushed his hair off his face. You swallowed hard when that shiver landed right between your legs. 

“Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap.” 

He didn’t see you come up behind him but he felt the hand you placed in the middle of his back. Turning to face you, his eyes were as dark as yours were crazed.  

“Sup.” His cheeto breath didn’t deter you.  

“You’re a pal, right?” You swore you couldn’t sound any more desperate. 

“Says so on my shirt.” You couldn’t quite figure out if it was Chipotle or Flamin’ Hot cheetos. But it wasn’t the time or the place. You had needs. 

“Be a pal then.” Jaebeom quirked a lewd and curious brow. “Get me off.” 

The speed of which he had his hands under your arms and lifting you onto the benchtop was frighteningly fast. Your shirt was pulled hastily over your head and thrown aside, your pants were torn down your legs equally as fast. You had no time to question, no time to doubt - not when Jaebeom’s mouth was on yours, his tongue rolling over your teeth as if searching for hidden cheetos in your cheeks. But with the way his thumb circled over your clit through your underwear, you weren’t going to complain. Go on, fish for those cheetos baby. 

Through wet and messy kisses, your hands tracked down his chest; stopping at his belt buckle. Of course, you thought, it was one of those snap closure canvas belts - ridiculously too long and matched his ridiculously baggy jeans. Nevertheless, you snapped open the buckle, fished it out of the loops and his pants fell instantly to the ground. 

Jaebeom broke away from your mouth, leaning back to make room for his hands to pull off your underwear; just to have his lips crash back into yours the moment the lace garment hit the floor. 

“Conmg-do. Cone--. Con-” You mumbled against his mouth. Strong hands pushed against his chest; disappointed eyes flashed for a moment, before turning devious at the sight of your naked breasts. 

“Condom.” He nodded and you swung around to grab one from the medicine cabinet. Rounding back to face him, you saw his underwear was on the ground, his very erect penis greeting you fully. Double Pepperoni…  

He ripped the wrapper open with his teeth, slid the condom expertly onto his length and caged you against the mirror in one fluid movement. He waited, paused for effect if you will and you weren’t having any of it. One hand scratched into his hair, the other pulled on the chain around his neck.

“Oh, you want me to stuff you do you?” Said with total hubris. 

“Like cheesy crust.” Who have you become?! 

Jabeom’s heavy hands found themselves on your hips, pulling you down onto his dick. He filled you wholly, deliciously; throbbing against your walls so achingly good that you didn’t even care that you could feel crumbs of garlic bread that did not belong to you in your mouth. 

He pounded you roughly; each thrust making you bounce on your porcelain sink. His hair, still wet, dripped onto your shoulder and down your back as his teeth marked your neck. Your bathroom began to fill with lewd and erotic noises, squelches and squeaks of wet flesh against wet flesh and some against hard surfaces. 

Jaebeom snapped his hips harder and harder into you, moans tumbled from your mouth as the orgasm you have craved for finally rounded the horizon. He was merciless, relentless, completely determined to drive you home. 

You yanked harder on the fist full of hair in your hand, ripping a loud and gravely groan from Jaebeom. Not one to be upstaged, Jaebeom shoved his hand into your hair, tangling his fingers into your bun and pulling down to expose more of your neck to him. His pace had not slowed down at all. 

He marked your neck, sucking and biting on your flesh so gloriously that you began to mewl - high pitched and needy, and it’s what sent Jaebeom over the edge. His hips snapped harder, forcing his dick deep into you; hitting spots you had forgotten about completely. 

Different colours were flashing behind your eyelids and you were close, so close. 

And as Jaebeom neared climax, he tore his hand out of your hair. Though in his earlier fervour, got so much of it tangled around his fingers and stuck under his ring, that your whole body was torn sideways and off the bench. 

Landing on the floor, shocked eyes watched Jaebeom ejaculate all over your sink as your own orgasm retreated away; shrivelling up into dust and blown away in the wind - his hand still stuck in your hair. How the fuck, wasn’t he wearing a condom, you thought, only for you to reach down and find it stuck inside your vagina, half hanging out. There was literally nowhere lower you could go. This, this is rock bottom. 

“Haha, holy fuck. Sorry babe.” Jaebeom leaned down and carefully untangled his fingers out of your hair. Towels were passed around for hygiene purposes and you almost vomited when you saw cheeto crumbs wedged between Jaebeom’s butt-cheeks. 

You weren’t really sure what happened after. You think Jaebeom said something crass. Or maybe he said thank you. In a crass way. Either way, he eventually left and the two hour shower you took still didn’t make you feel clean. Especially not after finding a half-dried pearl of cum on your toothbrush. 

But there was one thing you knew for sure. You totally snapped. 

Day 0

📧 to: [email protected] hey cass in the interest of our friendship and for the purposes of full transparency it has been 1 day since ive had sex and we will never speak of it again

#got7 #got7creators #ksmutclub #got7 smut #lim jaebeom #jaebeom #jaebum #jaebeom imagine #jaebeom story #jaebeom smut #got7 story #got7 imagine #got7 fanfiction #rating: mature #🌙 #double peperoni #the pleasure chest

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 7, Number 8

Big Thief

Our August collection of short reviews contains more big names than usual with singles from Big Thief and Dry Cleaning, a digital compilation from Thou, live music from Obits and a side project from members of the Bats and the Clean. Never fear, there are obscurities as well, including an improv guitar player even Bill Meyer had hardly heard of, a Norwegian emo artist in love with Texas and a death metal outfit verging into psychedelia. Our writers, this time including Tim Clarke, Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Ian Mathers, Chris Liberato and Jonathan Shaw, like what they like, big or small, hyped or unknown. We hope you’ll like some of it, too.   

Marc Barreca — The Sleeper Awakes (Scissor Tail)

The Sleeper Wakes by Marc Barreca

Odd connections abound here. One might not expect the usually acoustic-oriented Scissor Tail Recordings to make a vinyl reissue of an electronic ambient music cassette from 1986, any more than one would expect its maker to currently earn his crust as a bankruptcy judge. So, let’s just shed those expectations and get to listening. Unlike so many lower profile electronic recordings from the 1980s, which seemed targeted for a space next to the cash register of a new age bookstore, this album offers a profusion of mysteries that compound the closer you listen to them. It’s not at all obvious what sounds Barreca fed into his Akai sampler. Japanese folk music? Church chimes? A log drum jam? Tugboat engines? One hears hints of such sounds, but they’ve been warped and dredged in a thin coat of murk, so that the predominant experience is one of feeling like you’re dreaming, even if your eyes are wide open.

Bill Meyer

Big Thief — “Little Things” / “Sparrow” (4AD)

Little Things/Sparrow by Big Thief

Who knows how much more music Big Thief might have released in the last 18 months if the pandemic hadn’t tripped them up? Given the creative momentum generated by 2019’s UFOF and Two Hands, it’s fair to assume the band have plenty of music waiting in the wings. “Little Things” and “Sparrow” arrive with no sign of a new album on the horizon, so are probably being released to promote Big Thief’s upcoming US and European tour. Both songs clock in at around five minutes and handle musical repetition in different satisfying ways. Reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everything,” but hyped up on caffeine, “Little Things” feels like an exciting new direction for the band. It cycles through its whirlpooling, modulated acoustic guitar over and over, the frantic little sequence of chords never changing; the interest comes from the ways in which the rest of the instruments bob and weave in the ever-shifting, psychedelic mix. “Sparrow” is a more traditional Big Thief song, sparse and sad. Its melancholic sway is enlivened by some beautiful wavering vocal harmonies as Adrianne Lenker paints a picture of a Garden of Eden populated by sparrows, owls and eagles, culminating in Adam blaming Eve for humankind’s fall from grace.

Tim Clarke

Simão Costa — Beat Without Byte: (Un)Learning Machine (Cipsela)

Beat With Out Byte by Simão Costa

Piano preparation often makes use of modest resources — bolts and combs, strings or maybe just a raincoat tossed into the instrument’s innards. By contrast, Simão Costa’s set-up looks like took all of the entries in a robotics assembly competition and set them to work agitating a snarl of cables that met the pirated telecommunication requirements for an especially crowded favela. But whether it’s twitching motors or Costa’s own hands doing the work, the sounds that come out of his sound remarkably rich and cohesive. He stirs drifting hums, metallic sonorities, and stomping rhythms into a bracingly immediate sonic onslaught.

Bill Meyer

Cots — Disturbing Body (Boiled)

Disturbing Body by Cots

Disturbing Body is the low-key debut album by Montreal-based musician Steph Yates, who enlisted Sandro Perri to produce. Where the songs are pared back to mostly just vocals and peppy major-seventh chords on nylon-string guitar — such as “Bitter Part of the Fruit” and “Midnight at the Station” — comparisons with bossa-nova classics such as “The Girl From Ipanema” inevitably arise. Where the tempo is slower, the chord voicings are less sun-dappled, and Perri’s arrangements call upon a wider palette of instrumental colors, the songs venture into more interesting terrain, calling to mind a less haunted Broadcast. There’s an eerie sway to the opening title track, backed by rich piano chords and clattering cymbal textures. Fender Rhodes and the light clack of a rhythm track give “Inertia of a Dream” an uneasy momentum. And forlorn trumpet, percussion and piano situate “Last Sip” at closing time in a forgotten jazz club. There’s something evasive yet subtly intoxicating at work here, the album’s ten songs breezing past in half an hour, leaving plenty of unanswered questions in their wake.

Tim Clarke

Dry Cleaning — “Bug Eggs” / “Tony Speaks!” (4AD)

Bug Eggs/Tony Speaks! by Dry Cleaning

A few months on from the release of their excellent debut album, New Long Leg, Dry Cleaning have put out two more songs from the same sessions, which are featured as bonus tracks on the Japanese edition. For a band whose unique appeal is mostly attributed to Florence Shaw’s surreal lyrics and deadpan delivery, it’s heartening to hear further evidence that it’s the complete cocktail of musical ingredients — Shaw plus Tom Dowse’s inventive guitar, Lewis Maynard’s satisfyingly thick bass, and Nick Buxton’s driving drums — that alchemizes into their winning sound. The verse guitar chords of “Bug Eggs” are naggingly similar to New Long Leg’s “More Big Birds,” while the instrumental chorus has a yearning feel akin to album highlight “Her Hippo.” Maynard’s bass tone on “Tony Speaks!” is absolutely filthy, swallowing up most of the mix until Dowse’s guitar bares its teeth in a swarm of squalling wah-wah, while Shaw’s lyrics muse upon the decline of heavy industry, the environment, and crisps.

Tim Clarke

Flight Mode — TX, ’98 (Sound As Language)

TX, '98 by Flight Mode

In 1998, well before he started Little Hands of Asphalt, Sjur Lyseid spent a year in Texas at the height of the emo wave, skateboarding and going to house shows and listening to the Get Up Kids. TX, ’98 is the Norwegian’s tribute to that coming of age experience, the giddy euphorias of mid-teenage freedom filtered through bittersweet subsequent experience. “Sixteen” is the banger, all crunchy, twitchy exhilarating guitars and vulnerable pop tunefulness, its clangor breaking for wistful reminiscence, but “Fossil Fuel” waxes lyrical, its guitar riffs splintering into radiant shards, its lyrics capturing those youthful years when anything seems possible and also, somehow, the later recognition that perhaps it isn’t. It’s an interesting tension between the now-is-everything hedonism of adolescence and the rueful remembering of adulthood, encapsulate in a chorus that goes, “Well wait and see if there’s no more history/and just defend the present tense.”

Jennifer Kelly

Drew Gardner— S-T (Eiderdown Records)

S/T by Drew Gardner

Drew Gardner has been popping up all over lately, on Elkhorn’s snowed in acoustic jam Storm Sessions and the electrified follow-up Sun Cycle and as one of Jeffrey Alexander’s Heavy Lidders. Here, it’s just him and his guitar plus a like-minded rhythm section (that’s Ryan Jewell on drums and Garcia Peoples’ Andy Cush on bass), spinning off dreamy, folk-into-interstellar-journeys like “Calyx” and “Kelp Highway.” Gardner puts some muscle into some of his grooves, running close to Chris Forsyth’s wide-angle electric boogie in “Bird Food.” “The Road to Eastern Garden,” though, is pure limpid transcendence, Buddhist monastery bells jangling as Gardner’s warm, inquiring melodic line intersects with rubbery bends on bass. Give this one a little time to sit, but don’t miss it.

Jennifer Kelly

Hearth — Melt (Clean Feed)

Melt by Hearth

This pan-European quartet’s name suggests domesticity, but the fact that none of its members lives in the country of their birth probably says more about the breadth of their music. The closest geographic point of reference for the sounds that pianist Kaja Draksler, trumpeter Susana Santos Silva, and saxophonists Ada Rave and Mette Rasmussen’s make together would be Chicago’s south side. Their dynamic blend of angular structures, extended instrumental techniques, and obscurely theatrical enactments brings to mind the Art Ensemble of Chicago, even though the sounds on this concert-length recording rarely echo the AEC’s. But it is similarly charged with mystery and collective identity.

Bill Meyer

Klaus Lang / Konus Quartett — Drei Allmenden (Cubus)

Drei Allmenden (translation: Three Commons) treats the act of commission as an opportunity to create common cause. For composer and keyboardist Klaus Lang, this is a chance to push back against a long trend of separation and stratification, with musicians bound to realize the composer’s whim, no matter the cost. Invoking works from the 16th century, he penned something simple, flexible and open to embellishment. Then he pitched in with Konus Quartett, a Swiss saxophone ensemble, to get the job done. The three-part piece, which lasts 43 sublime minutes, amply rewards the submersion of ego. Lang’s slowly morphing harmonium drones and Konus’ long reed tones sound like one instrument, enriched by tendrils of sound that rise up and then sink back into the music’s body.

Bill Meyer

Lynch, Moore, Riley — Secant / Tangent (dx/dy)

Secant | Tangent by Sue Lynch, N.O. Moore, Crystabel Riley

Electric guitarist N.O. Moore is barely known in these parts. I’ve only heard him on one album with Eddie Prévost a couple years back, and the other two musicians, not at all. But on the strength of this robust performance, which was recorded at London’s Icklectick venue, it would be a loss to keep it that way. They combine acoustic sounds with electronics, courtesy of guitar effects and amplification, in an exceedingly natural fashion. Each musician also gets into the other’s business in ways that correspond to the one spicy suggestion made by one cook that elevates another��s dish to the next level. Susan Lynch’s clarinet and flute compliment Moore’s radiophonic/feedback sounds like two flashes of lightning illuminating the same dark cloud, and her vigorously pecking saxophone attack mixes with Crystabel’s cascading beats like idiosyncratically tuned drums. This is one of the first albums to be released on Moore’s dx/dy label; keep your eye out for more.

Bill Meyer

Maco Sica / Hamid Drake Tatsu Aoki & Thymme Jones—Ourania (Feeding Tube)

OURANIA by Mako Sica / Hamid Drake featuring Tatsu Aoki & Thymme Jones

Ourania is named for the muse associated with astronomy in Greek mythology, and the album has an aim for the stars quality. In 2020, Chicago’s Mako Sica lost not only the chance to play concerts, but one third of its number. Core members Brent Fuscaldo (electric bass, voice, harmonica, percussion) and Przemyslaw Krys Drazek (electric trumpet, electric guitar, mandolin) could have just hunkered down with their respective TV sets. Instead, they booked themselves three other musicians who make rising above circumstances a core practice. The duo convened at Electrical Audio with Hamid Drake (drums, percussion, Tatsu Aoki (upright bass, shamisen), and Thymme Jones (piano, organ, balloon, trumpet, voice, recorder, percussion), rolled tape for a couple hours, and walked out with this album. The 85 minute-long recording (edited to about half that length on vinyl, but the LP comes with a download card) exudes a vibe of calm, even beatitude, with twin trumpets and Fuscaldo’s echo-laden, nearly word-free vocals weaving though a sequence of patient grooves like migrational birds on the glide.

Bill Meyer

Mar Caribe — Hymn of the Mar Caribe (Mar Caribe)

Hymn of the Mar Caribe b/w Rondo for Unemployment by mar caribe

Some musicians burn to make something new; others generate attention-getting sounds designed to maximize the potential of their other earning activities; and others, well, they just want you to sway along with their version of the good sounds. Mar Caribe falls into that last category. This Chicago-based instrumental ensemble has spent most of the last decade maintaining a robust performance schedule, and it would seem that recording is pretty much an afterthought; a photo of the test pressing for this 7” was posted in May 2019, but the release show didn’t happen until August 2021. Sure, COVID can be blamed for part of the delay, but one suspects that mostly, these guys just want to play, and they didn’t bother to stuff the singles in the sleeves until they knew when they’d next be leaning over a merch table. The titular suspends anthemic brass and pedal steel over a swinging double bass cadence, and if there was a moment during the night when the band invited the audience to pledge allegiance to their favorite drink, this is what they’d be playing while they asked. Guitars lead on the flip side, whose busy twists and turns belie the implied laziness of the title, “Rondo For Unemployment.”

Bill Meyer

Mint Julep — In a Deep and Dreamless Sleep (Western Vinyl)

In A Deep And Dreamless Sleep by Mint Julep

These songs traverse a hazy, dreamlike space, diffusing dance beats, dream-y vocals and synth pulses into inchoate sensation that nonetheless retains enough rhythmic propulsion to keep your heart rate up. “A Rising Sun” filters jangly guitar and bass through a sizzle of static, letting tambourine thump gently somewhere off camera, as voices soothe and reassure. “Mirage” pounds a four-on-the-floor, but quietly, angelically, like a disco visited through astral projection or maybe a really rave-y iteration of heaven. There’s an ominous undercurrent to “Longshore Drift,” in its growly, sub-bass-y hum, but glittering bits of synth sprinkle over like fairy dust. This is indefinitely gorgeous stuff, ethereal but surprisingly energizing. Dance or drift, take your pick.

Jennifer Kelly

Monocot — Directions We Know (Feeding Tube)

Direction We Know by Monocot

Directions We Know is an LP of free-form freak-outs generated by an instrumental duo that includes one musician who you might expect to perpetuate such a ruckus, and one that you might not. The more likely character is drummer Jayson Gerycz, who may be known for keeping time with the Cloud Nothings, but has shown a willingness to wax colorizing in the company of Anthony Pasquarosa, Jen Powers and Matthew Rolin. The happy surprise is Rosali Middleman, whose singer-songwriter efforts have kept her guitar playing firmly in service of her songs. She doesn’t exactly abandon lyricism in Monocot, but the tunes serve as launching ramps for exuberant lunges into the realm of voltage-saturated sound. On “Ruby Throated,” the first of the record’s four extended jams, Middleman lofts rippling peals over a near-boil of  drums and churning loops. By the time you get to “Multidimensional Solutions,” the last and longest track, her wah-wah-dipped streams of sound have taken on a blackened quality, as though her overheating tubes have burned every note.

Bill Meyer

Obits — Die at the Zoo (Outer Battery)

Die At The Zoo by Obits

Few aughts rock bands held more promise than Obits. The four-piece headed by Hot Snakes’ Rick Froberg and Edsel’s Sohrab Habibion emerged in 2005 with a stinging, stripped-back, blues-touched sound. Froberg’s feral snarl rode a surfy, twitchy amplified onslaught, that was, by 2012 a finely tuned machine. I caught one of the live shows following Moody, Standard and Poor at small club in Northampton the same year this was recorded (so small that I was sitting on a couch next to Froberg, oblivious, for 20 minutes before the show), and what struck me was how well the band played together. The records sound chaotic, and that was certainly there in performance, but the cuts and stops were perfect, the surfy instrumental breaks (“New August”) absolutely in tune. At the time this set was recorded in the Brisbane punk landmark known as the Zoo, the band was near the peak of its considerable powers—and regrettably near the end of its run. Die at the Zoo is reasonably well recorded, rough enough to capture the band’s raucous energy, skilled enough so you can understand the words and hear all the parts. It hits all the highlights, blistering early cuts like “Widow of My Dreams,” and “Pine On,” the blues cover “Milk Cow Blues,” and later, slightly more melodic ragers like “Everything Looks Better in the Morning” and “You Gotta Lose.” The guitar work is particularly sharp throughout, its straight-on chug breaking into fiery blues licks and surfy whammy explosions. It’s a poignant reminder of a time when American rock bands played ferocious shows halfway across the world (or anywhere) as a matter of course and a fitting eulogy for Obits.

Jennifer Kelly

A Place To Bury Strangers — Hologram (Dedstrange)

Hologram EP by A Place To Bury Strangers

A Place To Bury Strangers returns with a new rhythm section and renewed focus on the elements that made its version of revivalism the loudest if not brashest of the New York aughties. Sarah and John Fedowitz on drums and bass join Oliver Ackerman on the five track EP Hologram which is the most concise and vital APTBS release for a while. For all the criticism of copyism thrown at the band since their early days, APTBS has always been as much about Ackerman’s production skills and feel for texture as musical originality and the songs on Hologram sound fantastic at volume. Beneath the sonic onslaught of fuzz and reverb, not a brick is misplaced in this intricately constructed sonic wall. True “I Might Have” is pure Jesus & Mary Chain and “In My Hive” a Wax Trax take on Spector but Hologram is an endorphin rush of guitar driven noise bound to make one forget the world, if only for a while.

Andrew Forell

Praises — EP4 (Hand Drawn Dracula)

Jesse Crowe’s work as Praises has been ongoing since 2014, but has shifted in tone, instrumentation and emphasis since then. While the first two EPs have more of a full, rock band feel, the third one and 2018’s full-length In This Year: Ten of Swords took things in a more electronic, sometimes industrial direction. It was an even better fit for the rest, probing creativity evident in Praises’ work, and 3/4s of the new EP4 are in a pleasingly similar vein. The echoing, ringing denunciations of “We Let Go” and “A World on Fire” are fine examples of Praises’ existing strengths, but the opening “Apples for My Love” is immediately captivating in a very different way. Gauzy and rapturous, it’s a reverie that keeps the satisfying textural detail of the other songs but turns them to different ends. It’s not something that was missing from Crowe’s work before — again, the other tracks here are also very good — but a reminder that what Praises has shown before is not the extent of what they can do.

Ian Mathers

The Sundae Painters — The First SP Single (Leather Jacket)

“This is a supergroup, is it not?” someone asked the Sundae Painters bassist Paul Kean on social media last year, to which he responded, “Some may choose that title. We prefer superglue.” Kaye Woodward, his wife and longtime bandmate in both The Bats and Minisnap, takes the lead vocal on “Thin Air,” one of the pair of A-sides found on their new band’s debut seven-inch. From the outset, Kean’s unmistakable bass playing and Hamish Kilgour’s (The Clean/Mad Scene) drumming lock into a psychedelic march, with the other instruments weaving like kites above, vying for position on the same breeze. “You fight your way down/You fight your way up/You wait for the dust to settle,” Woodward sings. A few gentle strums cut their way through the parade, and a guitar calls out gull-like from above, before everything trails off as if something potent has just kicked in. On the flip side, “Aversion” has an old friend-like familiarity to it, soundwise (if not lengthwise) sitting somewhere between VU’s “The Gift” and “Sister Ray.” Things begin a little stand-offish, though, like you’ve interrupted a guitar pontificating to a rapt audience — it turns its head to look you over, falling momentarily silent, before picking right back up where it left off. Kilgour’s spoken vocals join the conversation, as the song builds towards a groovy kind of fever pitch. “You look a little stoned,” he says, before responding to his own observation. “Well me I’m a little bit groggy/But it ain’t too foggy/I can see some way of getting out of here.” By this point, both guitars (played by Woodward and Tall Dwarfs’ Alec Bathgate) are full-on screeching and howling, and as the song sputters to a sudden finish, our man’s left waiting for someone to buy him “a ride out the gate.”

Chris Liberato    

Thou — Hightower (Self-released)

Hightower by Thou

Hightower is the latest in a string of digital compilations from Thou, most of which collect songs that have been previously released on small-batch splits, 7” records and other hyper-obscure media that briefly circulated through the metal underground. You might be tempted to pronounce that a cynical cash-grab, but Thou has posted Hightower (along with previous compilations, like Algiers, Oakland and Blessings of the Highest Order, a killer collection of Nirvana covers) on their official Bandcamp page as a name-yo’-price download. Thanks, band. Beyond convenience, Hightower has an additional, if a sort of inside-baseball, attraction. The band has re-recorded a few of its older songs with its latest, three-guitar line-up. Longtime listeners will recognize “Smoke Pigs” and “Fucking Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean,” which already sounded terrifyingly massive back in 2008 and 2007, respectively. The expanded instrumentation, new arrangements and better production give the songs even more power and depth, all the way down to the bottom of the effing ocean. Yikes. And there are a few additional touches, like K.C. Stafford’s clean vocals on “Fucking Chained…,” which provide an effective complement to Bryan Funck’s inimitably scabrous howl. Rarely has being pummeled and feeling bummed out been so vivifying.

Jonathan Shaw

Tropical Fuck Storm — Deep States (Joyful Noise)

Deep States by Tropical Fuck Storm

Fueled by exasperation as much as anger, the new album by Melbourne’s Tropical Fuck Storm rounds on the myriad ways in which the world has become a “Bumma Sanger” as leader Gareth Liddiard puts it on the eponymous song about COVID lockdown. A roiling meld of psychedelic garage garnished with elements of hip hop and electronic noise it’s close in method and mood if not sound to another Australian provocateur JG Thirwell whose Foetus project girded maximalist surfaces with rigid discipline. If the Tropical Fuck Storm sought to mirror current conditions, they succeed but lack of clarity in both production and intent makes Deep States a frustrating experience. Backing vocals from Fiona Kitschin (bass), Erica Dunn (keys and guitar) and Lauren Hammel (drums) leaven Liddiard’s blokey pronouncements and there are some good sounds and biting words but the band’s determination to overelaborate and underdevelop musical ideas makes this album seem like a lost opportunity.

Andrew Forell

Marta Warelis / Carlos “Zingaro” / Helena Espvall /Marcelo dos Reis — Turquoise Dream (JACC)

Turquoise Dream by Marta Warelis, Carlos "Zíngaro", Helena Espvall, Marcelo dos Reis

Turquoise Dream documents an example of an encounter that is a mainstay of avant-garde jazz festivals, in which out of towners mix it up locals that they may or may not know. This particular concert, which took place at the Jazz ao Centro Festival in 2019, is one such encounter that deserves to live past the night when it transpired. It featured three stringed instrument players who live in Portugal and a Polish pianist who is based in Holland. But they don’t sound like strangers at all. Violinist Zingaro, cellist Espvall, and guitarist dos Reis blend like flashes of sunlight reflecting off of waves, adding up to a sound that is bright and ever-changing. Warelis, who is equally resourceful with her head under the lid of her piano as she is at the keyboard, adding fleet but substantial responses to her hosts’ quicksilver interactions. The result is music that is resolutely abstract but closely engaged.

Bill Meyer

Wharflurch — Psychedelic Realms ov Hell (Gurgling Gore)

PSYCHEDELIC REALMS OV HELL by Wharflurch

Wharflurch is just plain fun to say — but there are at least two ways in which the name also makes sense for the band that has chosen it: it has a bilious, nauseous quality that matches the vibe of the pustulent death metal you’ll hear on Psychedelic Realms ov Hell; and if you separate the words, you can conjure a sodden, rotten wooden structure, swaying vertiginously over a marshy expanse of water, which is filled with alligators and decaying organic material. Imagine that sway, and that stink, and then imagine yourself collapsing into the viscous fluid, soon to be gator chow. Sounds like Florida, and that’s exactly from whence Wharflurch has emerged. Which also makes sense. Is Wharflurch’s music “psychedelic”? Depends on what you hear in that word. If you want to see hippies dancing ecstatically on a verdant, sun-drenched stretch of Golden Gate Park, then no. But if you have spent any time in the warped, dementedly distorted spaces that psychedelics can open (less happily perhaps, but very powerfully), then yes. Wharflurch likes to accent its meaty riffs and muscular thumps with weird flutters and electronic effects that frequently have a gastric, flatulent quality to them. The saturated and sickly pinks and greens on the album art do a pretty good job of capturing the music’s tones. So do the song titles: “Stoned Ape Apocalypse,” “Bog Body Boletus,” “Phantasmagorical Fumes.” Still game? I’m sorry. But I’ll also be standing right there next to you, on that wobbly, lurching wharf, watching the gators swim near.

Jonathan Shaw

Whisper Room — Lunokhod (Midira Records)

Lunokhod by Whisper Room

That the title of Whisper Room’s fifth album is taken from Soviet lunar rovers makes a certain sense, given how potentially frustrating it might have been for the trio to be working at such a distance. Generally their other records are recorded live, in one room, seeing Aidan Baker (guitar), Jakob Thiesen (drums) and Neil Wiernik (bass) exploring simultaneously, hitting whatever junctions of psychedelic/shoegazing/motorik sound come to them. With Baker in Berlin and travel understandably limiited, this time they recorded their parts separately, layering them together (and bringing in sound designer Scott Deathe to add the kind of pedal processing their sound engineer normally does live). The result certainly sounds as collaborative as ever, seven seamless tracks making up nearly an hour that makes the journey from the friendly, clattering percussion of “Lunokhod01” to the centrifugal ambience of “Lunokhod07” feel perfectly natural. Even though it explores just as much inner and outer space as Whisper Room ever have, there’s something very approachable about Lunokhod that makes it one of their best.

Ian Mathers

#dust #dustedmagazine #big thief #tim clarke #Simão Costa #bill meyer #dry cleaning #flight mode #jennifer kelly #drew gardner #klaus lang #konus quartett #mako sico #hamid drake #mar caribe #mint julep #monocot #praises #ian mathers #the sundae painters #chris liberato #thou #jonathan shaw #marta warelis #carlos zingaro #helena espvall #marcelo dos reis #wharfluch #cots #marc berreca

[opiatemasses]

The Truth Behind the Exploitation of Pacific Island Rugby

Anyone who follows international rugby will know of the Pacific Islands and the excitement they bring to the game. The Pacific Islands comprise Fiji, Samoa and Tonga. Rugby is the national sport and heart of the islands’ communities, produce some of the world most talented athletes. More than a quarter of the players in the global game come from the Islands, and yet they have a combined population of only 1.5 million people (less than the population of West Yorkshire).

This clip is a personal favourite of mine, illustrating some amazing skill, I could watch this all day.

This shows the other side of the Pacific Island players, the sheer brute force they possess.

And yet the Islands are being exploited in direct contradiction to World Rugby’s values. I’d like you to keep these values in mind as we explore these issues.

Power Imbalance

This inequality underpins the other issues. The Pacific Islands along with tier two and three nations have limited influence over decisions made for the global game.

There are 10 nations in tier one, each receiving three votes making up 60% of the World Rugby Council. In contrast, tier two and three comprise 120 nations and are allocated nine votes between them, and make up 20% of the Council. The other 20% is made up by regions, representatives of the continents.

How can the global game grow and develop when decision-making is skewed in the interests of tier one nations, at the expense of the other 120 nations?

 A system where votes are shared more evenly would be more representative of the global game. In an interview, Ben Gosper (CEO of World Rugby) shut the proposition of Pacific Island nations achieving a three-vote status down swiftly; laughing he said - “I can’t see this happening while I am here”.

This dismissive attitude isn’t in the best interests of the global game and needs to change for the game to move forward and to give these nations a chance to thrive.

This table illustrates how votes are allocated. Notably Japan have recently gained two-vote status, representing an improvement in their ability as they challenge the tier one nations (who can forget that South Africa game). However, it has coincided with an increase in the amount of Pacific Island players in their team with 10 of their 30-man squad at RWC2019 being of Pacific Island heritage including captain and Japanese rugby hero, Michael Leach. World Rugby are rewarding Japan for ‘poaching’ these players.

Importing Pacific Island Players – Eligibility Rules

Pacific Island players have to move abroad to earn a living, not only at club level but often to play for a different nation with no return to their home nation because of the “one nation for life rule”.

Over 600 players with Pacific Island heritage play in the European leagues and more in the Super League, including some of the world’s best like Billy Vunipola and Ardie Savea. This is because there are no pathways for young talents in the islands, with limited funding and no professional teams. The financial draw is huge as players are expected to pay back into their Islands economy and help their family and village, so much so that overseas rugby players contribute about 20% of national GDP to the Islands. This is more than tourism, hospitality and agriculture combined contribute to the UK’s GDP.  

Is it ethical to be taking these players - some as young as 13 - having them sign contracts and move to another county with massively different cultures? (which could have negative effects on players wellbeing). With players moving at such a young age they are eligible to play for the nation they now reside. This is understandable as other nations pay considerably more. An England player is paid £25,000 per international match, whilst a Tongan player earns £80.

This causes problems for the Pacific Island teams. Not only do they lose the majority of their best players but even when tier one nations discard them they are unable to return to play. A prime example of this is Charles Piatau. He has Tongan heritage but played for New Zealand 17 times, however is now surplus to requirements. He has stated “I’d love nothing more than to be able to represent Tonga.” A player such as him beneficial for Tonga’s development.  

Image from Charles Piatau’s Twitter (@CPiutau)

There is an obvious fix to this situation.  This would be to amend the eligibility laws, which would allow players to return to their heritage nation after a sufficient ‘cool-off period’ (for example, two years), where they haven’t played for their tier one nation.

This potential solution is currently blocked by World Rugby and its Council. Ben Gosper claimed that the Council, rejected the idea. Why? One possible explanation is because the Council is made up of 60% tier one nations and allowing tier two nations to grow in ability is not in their best interest. This brings us back to protectionism and clear disregard of their own values of ‘respect and integrity’.

Unevenly distributed funds

The issue here is the share of revenue from international fixtures. Currently the home nation takes all of the revenue from tickets and match day earnings, which is ordinarily payed back with a reverse fixture. However, the Pacific Island teams have drawn sell-out crowds against the home nations 12 times and had the favour returned only twice in the past 10 years. This would bring more exposure to rugby on the islands, but is not viable. In 2016 Samoa hosted New Zealand and made a loss of $1 million; because the host nation has to pay for the flights of the visiting nation and Samoa’s stadia are too small and tickets are priced at $4 each to ensure locals can watch, and therefore cannot support the inherent costs.

If we take a look at England vs Fiji in 2016, the game sold out. There was a total of £34 million earned from the game, each England player received £22,000 whilst each Fijian player was paid £400. The rest was kept by the RFU and nothing was given to Fiji’s union. Fijian rugby gained nothing from this game in terms of development or growth, barring some exposure to high level rugby for their team and supporters.

I suggest profit sharing, where Pacific Island teams play tier one nations but take home a share of the profits they help generate. If a model was put in place to share the profits 80/20, losing this 20% wouldn’t have a significant effect on tier one nations but would have a hugely positive effect for the Pacific Islands, who could grow the game in their region become a stronger team and a greater competitor.

Corruption within the islands

These issues are all important, however the corruption, poor governance and leadership within the islands must be addressed before anything meaningful can change.

Due to the lack of external funding and income from home games, Pacific Island rugby relies on their government and public funding for up to 60% of their finances. This means that politics and politicians retain a tight hold on the sport.

In preparation for the 2011 RWC the Samoan public raised 6 million Samoan Tala (£1.8 million), to pay for the players wages, accommodation and equipment. However, the players were the lowest paid at the tournament (£1000 a week), their accommodation was poor. Captain Seilala Mapusua reported they turned up to training to find there were no balls.

Where did this money go? An independent audit of their finances found that it went missing at the hands of the Board members who took the money for themselves. Even more astonishing is that the Prime Minister of the country is one of the Board members (for more information read here or  watch here).

Arguably more shocking is the governance of the Fiji Union where the President is Frank Bainimarama, who is also the Prime Minister and the Chairman of the Union is Francis Kean, Frank’s brother-in-law. This displays a corrupt path to power which more often than not leads to the wrong people running an organisation.

They were both involved in the coup of the Fijian government in 2000 and 2006. Francis Kean was also convicted of man slaughter in 2006 and served one week in jail before his bother-in-law released him, yet he remained the Chairman of Fiji Rugby and was even nominated for promotion to the World Rugby Executive Committee in early 2020. This nomination was withdrawn only after protests from players and fans, and he was stood down less than a month after his nomination, not on grounds of being a convicted killer but on homophobic allegations. World Rugby claimed they were unaware of his background. For more information on this click here

Image from Netani Talei’s Twitter (@NetaniTaleiE)

This governance leads to further issues for the players as many of them are scared to speak up and express their concerns; as C (former Fiji captain) said in an interview “Frank can make you fucking disappear”.

Politics runs deep in Fiji rugby, as Ben Ryan who led Fiji 7s team to an Olympic gold medal in 2016 said he would have the military come to the gym telling him what players to select and to not pick players because their parents weren’t supporting Franks political party.

Image from Ben Ryan’s Instagram (benryan7s)

These issues of governance need resolving, but if reform can’t come from within the Islands it must come from World Rugby. I suggest a programme from World Rugby to appoint specialist and leaders to the Pacific to, in the short-term aid in running their Unions and checking the finances but in the long run to train the next generation of leaders for the Union and set-in place the standards of governance that must be met, in order for them to start making progress on and off the field.  

What needs to be done?

There are 5 key actions:

We need to change the way we view these nations and give them a hand up to help them develop in the long-term instead of handouts to keep them afloat in the short-term.

World Rugby need to take responsibility for the governance of these nations.

World Rugby need to change their voting system and stop the blatant protectionism of tier one nations.

Pacific Island teams need to receive a fair share of revenue they help to generate.

A simple change to the eligibility laws, to give players freedom to play for their heritage nation.

Ask yourself, if you consider the RFU and WR values to be legitimate and worthy, why are they not being upheld in relation to the Pacific Islands?

Leave a comment below with your thoughts on this issue. I’d love to hear them.

What can you do to help?

Please share this blog post and help to spread awareness. 

Support Pacific Island Rugby Welfare– they are a charity that do great work in supporting Pacific Island rugby players and their families and are really the front line in battling these injustices.

Make sure to support their posts and petitions and stay up-to date on this issue by following them on twitter - @pacificwelfare.

Support them with whatever you can through Patreon.

I would also highly recommend you watch the documentary ‘Oceans Apart’ on Amazon Prime if you wish to educate yourself further on these issues. (Watch here).

There are links throughout the blog to articles which expand further on what we have covered here, so please read them and educate yourself further.

Remember to leave a comment and let me know your opinions on this issue.

N0802218

References

Kihl, L., Skinner, J., & Engelberg, T. (2016). Corruption in sport: understanding the complexity of corruption. European Sport Management Quarterly, 17(1), 1-5.

McDonald, B. (2014). Developing ‘Home-Grown’ Talent: Pacific Island Rugby Labour and the Victorian Rugby Union. The International Journal Of The History Of Sport, 31(11), 1332-1344.

Naha, S., & Hassan, D. (2017). Introduction: ethical concerns in sport governance. Sport In Society, 21(5), 721-723.

[polar-stars]

Greetings @wishingforatypewriter ! If I’m not mistaken...today’s your birthday right? At least you told the Birthday Bot in the SoRina discord server that it’s the 15th of February and today is the 15th of February! 

So, I drew you a little something for this occasion 🎉 You’re without a doubt one of my favorite writers within the SNS-community and I really enjoy your work and also connect some really fond & strong memories to a few particular ones. (Remember “Cherry Red and Green with Envy”? Yeah, I read that in a lovely summer night in Italy, on a balcony. And gosh, the sheer joy I felt that day. I send the thing to my best friend instantly and kept gushing about the work through multiple audios shdfhf And well, that’s just one examplel) Generally speaking, it’s always interesting to hear your headcanons or learn more about your characters!

By all means, if you ever publish that novel you occasionally mentioned...Please tell us the title of it. I will order it all the way from the US, shipping costs be damned!

Furthermore, I’m not the only one who drew you something. @takoyakitenchou also has a treat ready for you! She also brought up the idea to collaborate on a small fic as well & what it would be about. I’m going to post the first part of it right here and she will be posting the 2nd part a little later. 

All in all, I hope you’re going to have a really good day ahead of you ☺️ And now, after all of my rambling (I just had to get some stuff out shdh), here’s Pt. 1 of the tenchou & Lea adventures, a little fictional verse where there’s no pandemic and only good vibes:

誕生日おめでとう (part 1) 

in which tenchou has no regard for time zones but birthdays must still be celebrated

8:00 PM EST, February 13th (2 AM CET, February 14th) If the takoyaki store manager had had enough brain cells to promote Germany to the forefront of her nonexistent timezone awareness, she most likely would not have called Lea at two in the morning central European time. Lea picked up with a weary “Hallo?” and was all the more confused as she got an English reply back. She reached out a hand to the nightstand and the lamp that could be activated with just a touch, hoping that the light would bring more clarity to her tired mind. But instead, she just blinded herself. Completely oblivious to Lea’s predicament, the tenchou said cheerfully, “I got you a plane ticket.”

“Sorry?” “A plane ticket,” she repeated as if she were talking about the weather. “From Brandenburg Airport to JFK. It leaves in two hours. Unless I did the math wrong, you’ll be in New York by nine in the morning eastern on… the 14th. I hope.”  “Was zum Teufel?” Lea choked out. The tenchou paused for a split second. “Is this not a good time for you? I can call you back.” “Reina, it is two in the morning over here.” “I think you’ll live,” she replied, and Lea could clearly visualize the offhand wave on the other end of the line. “Three coffees should do the trick. You might wanna start packing, though.” Lea sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. It seemed she wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon. “You know how deranged you sound right now?” “I know, it’s crazy! I live in California but we’re meeting in New York.” Lea briefly debated telling the tenchou that her present location was not, in fact, the point, but she did not currently have the mental capacity to do so. She settled with a long sigh. “What’s this for?” A moment and a half later, the tenchou said, “You know whose birthday is coming up on the 15th?” “Yeah, of course.” “Do I need to explain further?” “Ohhh,” Lea said, finally understanding. “See you soon.” Reina grinned. “I sent the plane and hotel info via Discord. Have a safe flight.” Then she hung up. It was going to be an interesting weekend.

9:30 AM EST, February 14th By the time Lea arrived at JFK’s international terminal, Reina was waiting with a triumphant, very poorly spaced welcome to fuckin ny scrawled on a massive sign. It was pretty obvious that the tenchou was still slightly out of it from jello shots with her Juilliard homies the night prior, but there was business to be tended to. “What are we doing?” Lea asked as the tenchou took her carry-on. “I was thinking we’d collaborate on a gift.” “Art? Or… a fic?” “Either. Both. What if I started a takoyaki store in NYC and gave her exclusive access?” “That seems nice,” Lea said agreeably, noting not for the first time that the store manager was probably missing a few brain cells. “But maybe not a good idea.” “Oh, you’re right. I’d have to get a building and everything.” Reina gave a lopsided smile. “Maybe we’ll do that next year. So… art and a fic it is, then.”

10:00 AM EST, February 14th “You need a coffee,” Lea decided once they were sitting at a local cafe. “Let me buy,” Reina said quickly. “It’s the least I can do after dragging you here from Germany. What do you want?” Fair enough. Lea nodded as a sign of gratitude and replied, “Latte macchiato, please.” Five minutes later, Reina brought eleven coffees to the table. Lea gawked at the tenchou. “Are you…” she trailed off. “Insane? No. Caffeine dependent? Very.” She passed Lea the latte and organized the ten iced coffees in two neat rows in front of them. “I’ve been trying to lower my consumption this week. Normally I’d get a dozen double espressos, so this is actually pretty major progress for me.” “Subtracting two cups doesn’t seem like progress,” Lea said dryly. “These are all americanos,” Reina explained defensively, like that solved everything. Lea gave a doubtful eyebrow raise. “Oh? How many espresso shots in each?” Resenting the fact that she’d hit home so accurately, Reina muttered, “Three.” Lea decided not to press the matter further — the tenchou was pissy enough as is — and instead watched with mild concern as the tenchou proceeded to chug the first five coffees without so much as a breath in between. “Now that I’m partially functional, you wanna get started?” Reina asked. “You and I can both do an art piece and we’ll collaborate on a fic together.” “Hmhm.” Lea reflected on the offer in her head. For a short moment she considered asking if she could take just about 10 writing courses beforehand, half-joking and half-serious. But she decided against it. With a brief look at the clock and the knowledge that it once took her an entire year to update a two-part fanfiction, she knew that if they needed it done by tomorrow they’d have to get started soon. “Interesting idea,” she therefore said. “But what would the fic be about? I have the writing pace of a turtle, so it might be better if we come up with something real quick.” Reina finished her sixth cup of coffee before raising an eyebrow at Lea. “By the way, when are you gonna update—” “Not even God knows when I will update anything,” Lea sighed. “But I’ll give Tuesday or Wednesday a try. Right now, I have to focus on the collab instead. So, do you have any ideas already?” “So… Tuesday as in this coming Tuesday? Or next year Tuesday?” Lea politely declined to comment. “I wrote part of the fic while I was in line for the coffees,” Reina said, pulling out her laptop. “Want me to share a Google Doc or—” “Google Doc,” Lea cut in. She had heard many times of the tenchou’s wackass habit of writing all her fics in direct messages with fellow writers and then copy pasting them onto whatever platform was most accessible at the time. “Discord is more convenient,” Reina deadpanned, her mouth on the rim of her seventh americano. “But alright. Google Docs it is.”

#I hope you'll like it ;v;

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Chess Not Checkers

Summary: King Liam and Queen Kendall finally have a meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella to discuss the betrothal treaty.

A/N: The final part of this Fracture trilogy, and probably my favorite one to write. Who knows what the writers have planned for Auvernal’s hostile takeover of Cordonia, but I’m not letting that shit fly not another damn second. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!

Catch Up Here

Tags: @senseofduties @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @badchoicesposts @drakewalker04 @canknot @sirbeepsalot @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @eadanga @the-unconquered-queen @flyawayboo @aestheticartwriting @ao719 @zaffrenotes @kingliam2019 @aworldoffandoms 

~v~

“Do not wear a blue tie!” Liam hears his wife yell from their walk-in closet.

Liam drops the tie in his hand and steps away from it, suddenly suspicious. “Why not? Is something wrong with them?

Moments pass and Kendall walks back into their bedroom, slipping on a pair of heels. “Nothing is wrong with your ties. But the color blue brings out your eyes, and we aren’t going for a warm and friendly aura. Wear red. You’ll look bold and commanding.”

Today is the day for their meeting with Bradshaw and Isabella. For the past week, he, Kendall and their group of close friends have been talking and going over plans to get Eleanor out of her betrothal to Bradshaw and Isabella’s son. While Olivia wanted to ambush them and have them killed as soon as they stepped foot in Cordonia, Kendall wanted to be as quick and civil as possible. While she isn’t above starting an international war, she doesn’t want that to be her first option.

Liam decided to step back on this and let Kendall take the lead when it came to dealing with Auvernal. He’s willing to intervene if the need arose, but for now, he is perfectly content with just silently supporting his queen. She has a solid plan of attack, and he’s excited to see everything play out.

“Red it is.”

Kendall finishes putting on her lipstick and drops the tube onto her nightstand, as Liam puts on a deep red tie. He slips on his jacket to complete the look, checking the pockets a few times, and the couple walks out of their private quarters, headed to Liam’s study, a guard a few steps behind, watching from a safe distance. Kendall demanded that they get better security, so they are currently in the process of testing out a few ex-military men and women.

Bastien greets them at the door to the study with a quick bow. “Your Majesties.”

“Hello Bastien. I take it our guests have settled in?” Liam asks.

“Yes, they’ve been in here for about 10 minutes.”

“And they haven’t caused any trouble right?”

Bastien shrugs. “They’re about as well behaved as we can expect them to be. No red flags, sir.”

“Very well.” Liam squeezes his wife’s hand, and she squeezes back. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Bastien steps aside and lets them in. Bradshaw and Isabella are there, Isabella checking her nails, a bored expression on her face, Bradshaw standing at the bar cart, sipping on a glass of scotch. Liam bites down on his tongue in order to prevent himself from berating Bradshaw and calling him a tacky piece of shit for taking it upon himself to get a drink.

Kendall squeezes his hand once more before dropping it. “Bradshaw, Isabella! How was your flight here?”

“Nice. Thanks for sending your jet to get us.”

“No problem.”

“I will say your security detail is extremely...thorough,” Bradshaw continues. “They took all of my wife’s jewelry, all of our electronics. I couldn’t even keep my lucky handkerchief.”

“It’s a new security protocol,” Liam says. “This palace has been through...trying times recently, so we decided to take the necessary precautions. Surely you two understand.”

“Of course!” Isabella says brightly, trying to keep things as light as possible. She looks Kendall up and down, silently appraising the new mother. Kendall looks good, with her dewy skin, long brown hair drawn into a low ponytail and simple black dress. “Kendall, you look amazing! I could barely get out of bed for the first month after having my twins and I looked like a whale, but you’re glowing.”

“Thank you, Queen Isabella.”

“Yeah, you’d think after such a...traumatic birthing experience, you’d be lying low,” Bradshaw adds. “You must be made of steel.”

If the mention of her labor brought up any sort of emotion, Kendall refuses to show it. Liam studies her, and she remains absolutely calm, as if she didn’t hear Bradshaw at all.

“I’m from New York,” Kendall says with a shrug. “We’re tough people. Resilient.”

“I can see.”

“Why don’t we all have a seat?” Liam suggests. “There’s a lot that we have to talk about.”

“First and foremost, congrats on the little bundle of joy!” Isabella says excitedly. “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” Liam confirms. “Named Eleanor after my late mother.” Isabella coos.

“A little princess! A future queen.” Bradshaw nods approvingly. “Congratulations.”

“Where is the princess?” Isabella asks. “We’d love to officially meet her.”

“She’s with her grandmother right now,” Kendall says. “And she’s only two weeks old, so she’s not accepting visitors at the moment.”

Isabella falters a bit but she quickly recovers. Kendall can tell she wasn’t expecting that as a response. “Very well. I guess we’ll have to meet her at another time.”

“When the rest of the world meets her at her anointing ceremony,” Kendall says, her tone short. “And not a moment sooner.”

“Now, now, Queen Kendall, simmer down,” Bradshaw starts. “You’re mighty tense for someone who’s practically family at this point.”

Kendall reels back, mostly in shock that Bradshaw had the audacity to get so familiar with her. Who the fuck does he think he is?

“The condescending orders may work for you and your marriage, King Bradshaw, but please never again make the foolish mistake of telling my wife what to do, especially in our home,” Liam warns, his jaw getting tense. “And thank you for bringing up this marriage alliance, because it’s the perfect segue.”

“When should we make the announcement?” Isabella asks. “I was thinking we could host a small gathering first, just so the kids get acquainted with each other first. I’m sure Isaac and Lyra will absolutely adore Eleanor.”

“That won’t be happening,” Kendall says with a shake of her head. “But speaking of Isaac and Lyra, I found out some wonderful information not too long ago.” Kendall sits back in her seat, beaming. “You two are married in name only.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me loud and clear, and it’s a pretty straightforward concept to grasp. Bradshaw needed a wife, Isabella was a gold digger and just cunning enough to get what she wanted. Match made in Hell if you ask me. You guys both have people on the side, and you live separate lives.”

Bradshaw is visibly flustered, but after a few tense seconds, he chuckles. “With all due respect, our marriage is none of your concern. And that had nothing to do with our children.”

“Oh, but it is and it does,” Kendall says. “Bradshaw, you don’t appreciate the art of storytelling. I’m building to my point. You guys are married on paper only. Which is fine, live how you want to live. But on my maternity leave, I’ve been doing a lot of reading. And I’ve been particularly fond of Auvernese history and inheritance laws.”

“What about it?”

“Six hundred years ago, your ancestor, King Marshall, married a woman named Catherine. He was still the Crown Prince at the time, they were young and in love. Sounds simple enough, but Catherine had been previously married, and that marriage produced a son, Harold. This was quite a scandal, for multiple reasons. But Marshall and Catherine wanted to be married. Marshall’s parents were against it, no way the heir could marry a divorcee, with a child. But Marshall persisted. After a long standoff, the then king Erik relented, but on one condition. He put it in writing that under no circumstances could a non-blood relative receive land or titles through royalty, and heirs were only legitimate if they were conceived within the marriage. The monarchy was to flow solely through the bloodline, come Hell or high water. Marshall accepted, and the amendment was added to your country’s Constitution, a document that can only be added to, never taken away from. It’s a harsh, strict law, and many people have fought it, but your country’s Supreme Court has never overturned it, nor has the European Court of Human Rights. Anyway, Marshall married Catherine, and they lived happily ever after, having 3 children of their own.”

“Now that I’m done with my history lesson, I’m sure you’re wondering what my point is,” Kendall continues. Her eyes flicker over to Isabella, who’s glaring daggers at her. “You want to tell him, or should I?”

Bradshaw looks between the two women, “Tell me what?”

“That your treaty mandates that the Crown Prince or Princess of Cordonia, child to King Liam and Queen Kendall, is to marry Prince Isaac, or Princess Lyra of Aurvernal, child of King Bradshaw and Queen Isabella, thereby uniting the two countries. Those are the exact words, your words. But Bradshaw, the problem with that is, you don’t have any children.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bradshaw, don’t listen to a word this woman says,” Isabella orders.

Kendall rolls her eyes at the demand. “Bella over here, was very reckless and wasn’t cautious of her ovulation cycle or taking precautions, because she didn’t get pregnant with your children. The twins belong to someone else. I did a little digging, and voila!” Kendall moves her arms dramatically, the boisterous New Yorker coming out. “I found the truth.”

The silence in the office is so thick, it threatens to stifle everyone.

“I don’t believe you,” Bradshaw says.

“I don’t care. Notice how your wife hasn’t jumped in to defend herself or deny my allegations.”

Bradshaw turns to Isabella, his glare so cold, it could’ve frozen her on the spot. “She’s lying, right?” She doesn’t say anything in response and he bangs his fist on the table in front of him, making her jump. “RIGHT?!”

“Bradshaw, I’m sorry. They’re still yours in–”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you!” It’s one thing to cheat. Bradshaw doesn’t care about that. But his wife’s recklessness could crumble the monarchy.

“She could’ve gotten away with it, because those children are a spitting image of their mother, it’s almost scary. No one would bat an eyelash or ask questions.” Kendall thinks back to the spy mission Olivia completed last week, a trip to the hospital the twins were born at. This information came about after she knocked out a few guards and scoured the family’s medical records records. “But it’s simple biology. A woman with type A blood, and a man with type AB blood cannot produce two children with type O. Now, as for the true, biological father, that is something I don’t know, but Isabella is currently sleeping with her personal bodyguard so it may be him.”

Liam waits on bated breath as he watches the exchange. Bradshaw’s face is beet red, and Liam is on guard, defensive just in case the other king decides to do something stupid. 

“So you see, Eleanor isn’t going to be marrying your son, ever. Or your daughter.”

Bradshaw dismisses Kendall’s words with a hand wave. He’s not letting go so easily. “I signed their birth certificate, I am their father. Your husband signed a treaty, whether you like it or not. And the fact that you just admitted to breaking countless laws with your little espionage scheme is grounds enough to get you into a lot of trouble.”

“Prove it,” Kendall challenges. “Prove that I had someone access those records, and that I’ve been collecting intel. I’m already done so you didn’t catch me red handed, and there’s no proof of my admission. The two of you were thoroughly searched and stripped of any cell phones, recorders, and cameras. Our guards have 24/7 security footage in this office, so on the off chance you were able to get in here with any of the aforementioned items, you would’ve been caught planting them before this meeting began. And besides, you push this issue any further, I will demand a paternity test on the world stage, and then all eyes will be on us. You’d rather die than publicly admit your wife cheated on you and someone else fathered those children.”

“I’ll have children with Bradshaw, easily,” Isabella says quickly. “Problem solved.”

Kendall grimaces sarcastically. “You specifically named Isaac and Lyra in the treaty. Had you not done that, your plan could’ve worked. Nice try though, and kudos for the quick thinking.”

Bradshaw glares at Kendall and then stands. Clenching his fist, he tries to breathe, to calm down. “You insolent, little girl. You think because you’ve read a few history books that you’re so smart and you can play politics? You think you can blackmail or extort me?” He scoffs before turning to Liam. “I know she gets your dick wet every once in a while, but you’re letting your commoner wife dictate you and shape international diplomacy?”

Liam’s nostrils flare but before he can reach across the table to attack Bradshaw, Kendall’s places a comforting hand on his shoulder, signaling for him to remain seated. There’s no need for violence when they clearly have the upper hand.

“I don’t think I’m smart. My bachelors degree from Brown in Policy Analysis and my Master’s from Columbia speak volumes all by themselves. There’s no need for vulgarity and petty insults because you aren’t intelligent or mature enough to comport yourself professionally.”

“I figured you wouldn’t back down after the whole paternity fiasco, and that’s fine.” Kendall shrugs with nonchalance. “We can involve the United Nations and the International Law Commission, and have them review that treaty if that’s what you want. But when I get in front of an audience and turn on the waterworks, crying about how my unborn daughter and I nearly died in the middle of a hostage situation, and instead of helping though you had the means to do so, you strong-armed my husband into signing a sham treaty, I don’t think that’ll go over too well for you.”

“It’s politics,” Bradshaw snarls. “You got bested.”

“No, it was a shitty coercion attempt. And a direct violation of Article 51 of the Vienna Convention Treaty, something your ancestors signed.”

“You don’t want to go down this road with me, with Auvernal,” Bradshaw continues, his eyes getting black as coal. “We want to be adults about this alliance, but please don’t force my hand. We can either be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy.”

“You’ve been not-so-subtly hinting at war or a hostile occupation of Cordonia for over a year, and we’re not afraid of it. Like I’ve told my husband, I am not afraid of war. In this case, I’d welcome it gladly..”

“Ooh, such big fighting words.”

“Bradshaw, stop it!” Isabella hisses. He was always one for threats and brute force, when it wasn’t necessary.

“Shut up, you traitorous whore.” Bradshaw keeps his eyes on Kendall. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Well, the choice is yours. Excuse me, the choice belongs to the monarch. I keep forgetting who is who, considering your husband lets you wear the pants in this relationship.”

Liam sighs. Bradshaw wants to get a rise out of him for some reason, and it’s almost amusing. 

He gets out of his seat and starts walking around the office. His movements are poised and he glides across the room, until he’s standing where Bradshaw is. “Unlike you, Bradshaw, I actually respect my wife. She’s strong and intelligent, and she has my full support in whatever we do. Your attempts to belittle her for being my queen consort are weak and baseless. And because she doesn’t want me to react, I won’t.” 

“Of course not.” Bradshaw smirks. “Oh, King Liam the Gentle Hearted. You’ve always been the weakling, the coward. Too afraid to actually do something, opting to always play it safe. Tell me, how’s that working out for you? For your people? All the bombings and assassination attempts? How’d that work out for your precious daddy, Constan–”

Bradshaw can’t finish the question because in a flash, Liam pulls a dagger out of his suit pocket and trains it at Bradshaw’s throat, the tip of the blade just barely touching his Adam’s apple.

“Ohmygod!” The words fly out of Isabella’s mouth so fast, she stumbles over them. Liam motions for her to stay calm and seated.

“What was that?” Liam asks. “Please continue to speak on my late father, I dare you. Go on, I want to hear what you were about to say about him.” Bradshaw stays silent, his eyes trained on the dagger. “Eyes on me, Bradshaw.” Liam hits Bradshaw under the chin, forcing the other man to look him in the eye.

“I am so sick and tired of people mistaking my kindness for weakness. I try to be a good leader. Thoughtful and compassionate. I just don’t want my people to fear me, to cower in my presence. It’s so easy to rule like you do, through fear and intimidation. That’s the true cowardice. And yes, I am a kind man, but don’t ever in your poor excuse for a life attempt to write me off as weak or cowardice. The Queen was correct, you do not scare us in the slightest. You’re nothing more than a little man with a Napoleon complex and a need to overcompensate for your own shortcomings, with a wife who honestly couldn't care less if you live or die. Your country is broke and falling apart at the seams because all of your resources go to an oversized military and flashy attractions, so you bulldoze your way into other territories to offset the damage, but hear me well when I say Cordonia will not be one of them.”

Kendall’s breath hitches in her throat at the unexpected action. Liam pulling a dagger - no doubt a gift from Olivia - on Bradshaw wasn’t part of their plan. But she wants to see where this goes, what his next move is. She’s known Liam to get upset before, but this is something new, this tense, tight-lidded rage. Where Bradshaw is one to puff out his chest, yell, and make threats in order to cause confusion and chaos, Liam moves like a ninja, swift, direct, and lethal.

“You want a war? We can go, in an instant. This country may be small and peaceful, but we descend from strong leaders and brave warriors. And be advised, that I’ve been through a lot this past year, and I have a lot of rage inside of me. Keep poking the bear, Bradshaw, and I will not stop until I personally kill you with my bare hands. I will not rest until I witness the life leave your eyes, and your country is nothing more than ashes and rubble. Just say the word, and it’ll be a done deal.”

“Don’t forget, darling,” Kendall stands to join her husband, but she keeps a watchful eye on Isabella. But the woman is practically frozen in fear, not an imminent threat in the slightest, “that if we go to war, it won’t be just Cordonia and Auvernal. It’ll be Auvernal and the small countries that they’ve seized against Cordonia and her allies. Greece, Italy, Spain, the United Kingdom, Australia, and my home country, the United States.”

“Oh right! Silly me, how could I forget? Thanks for the reminder, my love. So Bradshaw, Isabella, how about we forget the whole alliance and treaty fiasco, right here, right now. Or we can go to war.” Liam shrugs and presses the blade deeper, still careful not to break the skin. “Or how about I end this right now, slit your throat, and let you die a slow death, bleeding from your jugular and choking on your own blood. I don’t want to do that, because it’ll stain my very expensive floors, but I will. The choice is yours.”

“We withdraw!” Isabella exclaims, finally standing. “We’ll forget the whole thing, we’ll call it all off! Just put the weapon down, please!”

“Isabella, didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

Liam tsks. “Listen to your wife, Bradshaw.”

“Bradshaw, are you truly prepared to die here?” Isabella asks. “Is all of this worth it? Put your foolish pride aside for once in your damn life! It’s over.”

Bradshaw looks Liam in the eye, knowing that the other king isn’t bluffing. Slowly, he raises his hands in the air. “We concede.”

“Good. That wasn’t so hard was it?” Liam lowers his dagger and Bradshaw releases a sigh of relief. “But just one more thing.”

“What?”

Liam extends his arm, the dagger slashing out and quickly plunging into Bradshaw’s side. Shouting in pain, Bradshaw falls to his knees. “I may not kill you for your disrespect towards my wife, holding her life over my head, and threatening war against me, but I can’t let you leave unscathed. But fear not, it’s a minor wound and I didn’t hit any arteries, because unlike you, I’m a skilled fighter and I know what I’m doing.”

Isabella jumps out of her seat, and rushes to Bradshaw's side, pressing into the wound to stop the bleeding.

Kendall takes in the scene. She didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the pathetic man-child writhing in pain on the floor, or his wife for that matter. Had Liam killed him where he stood, she probably would have have batted a mascara-covered eyelash. “Bastien!”

At the urgent calling of his name, the King’s guard enters the office. His eyes immediately fall onto Liam and Kendall, before taking in Bradshaw and Isabella. “Is everything alright in here, Your Majesties?”

“Excellent!” Kendall exclaims. “We’re actually done here, so if you could see to it that Bradshaw gets that nasty wound patched up and send the happy couple on their way, that’d be great.”

Bastien nods. “Of course.”

“Thank you. Bradshaw, Isabella, it was a pleasure having this meeting with you, and our attorneys will be in contact soon.” Kendall reaches for Liam’s hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready.”

~v~

Liam’s feet dig into the soft carpeted floor of his bedroom as he walks into the en-suite. His eyes immediately land on his wife, who’s in their marble tub, covered in bubbles, sipping out of a bottle of Dom Perignon.

“Slow down, Speed Racer,” he teases.

“Eleanor doesn’t need to get fed for a few more hours, and I think I deserve this champagne.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I just don’t want you to get a headache.”

“I’ll drink a few glasses of water before I go to sleep.” Kendall holds the bottle out to Liam, offering him some, but he declines. So she just sits it on the floor. “Is Nori asleep?”

“She is. I swear, she’s the most alert and stubborn newborn on earth. She did not go down easily.”

“You’re already being bested by our daughter?”

“I know you two have been conspiring against me while she was still in the womb.” Liam smiles softly. “But I am still the champion, she eventually settled.”

“Good.”

“Enjoying your bath?”

“Yes. Can I sleep in here tonight?”

Liam chuckles. “Your skin will get incredibly dry and wrinkly.”

“I’m sure that’s nothing a few spa treatments and some heavy duty shea butter can’t fix.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Kendall answers with a dramatic sigh. The day was long and she’s been running on pure adrenaline, it’s easy to forget she did push out a human just two short weeks ago, under very extreme circumstances. “And sore. I never want to wear heels again.”

Liam crouches down, getting on his knees at the edge of the tub. Reaching in he grabs one of Kendall’s feet and pulls it out of the water. Carefully he presses his thumb into the arch.

“Mhmm. I always forget that you moonlight as a masseuse.”

“Only for you.”

“It better be,” Kendall shoots back with a smirk.

“After the day we’ve had, I say you’ve more than earned a foot massage.”

“Ugh.” Kendall slips further into the tub before resurfacing. “I cannot stand those smug, overbearing assholes. Thank God we’re done with them.”

“Do you really think we’ve seen the last of them?”

“You probably pissed Bradshaw off when you stabbed him,” Kendall says pointedly, the mischievous look on her face betraying the seriousness in her tone. “But I do. They’re underhanded and sneaky, the threat of us exposing them publicly and involving superpower countries is enough to stave them off. But like we both said, war is on the table if push comes to shove.”

“Can I just say that you were absolutely amazing today.” Liam can’t get rid of the goofy grin on his face if he tries. He’s in awe of his wife, of her wit and strength.

Liam switches feet and she sighs in content. “Yes, please sing my praises.”

“I cannot believe how courageous you were, how absolutely brilliant. I’ve never seen anyone able to stand up to Bradshaw the way you did.”

“The same could be said for you. You were ready to kill him then and there. By the way, I was not anticipating that at all, but you had them scared shitless.

“The only reason I was able to do that is because I knew I had you in my corner the entire time.”

“I’ll always be in your corner, Liam.”

“I know, and I need to trust that. But all praise aside, I should have never put you in this position to begin with you. You should be spending this time relaxing and being with our baby, not getting involved in dirty politics.”

“Stop it!” Kendall wrangles her foot out of Liam’s grasps, and hits him in the chest with it. Liam looks down at the sudsy print on his chest incredulously. 

“Did you really just hit me with your foot?”

“Yes!” He’s going down that slippery slope of insecurity and self loathing. “I’m the Queen, I know my job will never be done. This past week has been stressful, yes, but it has not taken away from my maternity leave or my time with Eleanor. I can multitask, you know.”

“I know, I just wish you didn’t have to be burdened with the weight of the crown at a time like this.”

“Stop apologizing,” Kendall orders. “I’ve forgiven you and it’s all in the past now. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

The corner of Liam’s mouth quirks up, a hint of a smirk on his face. He loves his wife’s commanding side. He leans over the tub so he’s hovering above her. “As you command, my queen.”

“The Queen also commands a kiss.”

“That can be arranged.” Liam surges forward, one hand reaching out to cup his wife’s cheek, the other getting tangled in her now damp hair and captures her lips in a kiss.

Kendall hums in satisfaction and sits up to deepen the kiss. Water sloshes out the side of the tub, soaking Liam’s pajama bottoms, but neither of them care. Her hands travel to his back, pulling him closer.

Too soon for either of their liking, Liam breaks the kiss with a groan. “4 more weeks. That is a depressingly long time from now.”

“Do you have the willpower?”

“I don’t know, but let’s not test it and disobey doctor’s orders.” Liam kisses the tip of her nose. “As soon as you’re cleared, I’m taking you to Valtoria, and we’re going to spend a few days in the small cottage you had built on the property. And I’m not letting you come up for air.”

A chill runs down the length of her spine. “Mhmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, Rys.”

“Oh, it’s not a threat, it’s a promise.” Liam reaches back into the tub and pulls the drain. He grabs a large towel and unfolds it. “Now come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Liam helps his wife out of the tub and drapes the towel across her shoulders. She shivers dramatically, her teeth clicking together for added effect. He knows she’s putting on a show, but he curls her into his side, which is what she wanted.

After changing into the closest pair of pajamas she can find—really just a pair of Liam’s sweats and an old Knicks t-shirt—and peaking into the bassinet at their bedside, Kendall finally collapses onto their bed. Liam joins her, loosely slinging his arm around her midsection. The smell of whatever fruity bubble bath she was just using invades his senses, but he welcomes the scent, his eyes closing instinctively. Kendall smells like home to him.

Kendall turns around in order to look at her husband’s face. For the first time in a long time, he looks peaceful. The outcome of the day instantly took 5 years off of his appearance, and she’s glad. She hates that he carries so much stress with him at all times. 

“Hey Liam,” she whispers, poking his arm.

“What is it?” He asks, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I love you.”

That gets a smile out of him. His grip on her tightens slightly. “I love you more.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus another infinity, for good measure,” Liam shoots back.

“One of these days, I’m going to win.”

“But not today. Now get some sleep.”

Kendall gets closer to Liam, until she’s practically on top of him. His heartbeat is slow and steady underneath her head, and the rhythmic thump slowly pulls her into unconsciousness.

Today was a victory. Sure the kingdom of Cordonia had other things to face, but Kendall takes comfort in knowing that she’ll face them with Liam, as a team. The two of them together are unstoppable.

Today was officially the start of their happily ever after.

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #the royal heir #the royal romance #king liam #king liam x mc

[sassysnowperson]

I really want to know about First Date to Book Signing with a Smidge of Kidnapping and/or I Do Crime Now

~

This is an ask from @tobermoriansass - noted in case tumblr is still messing up the way asks are formatted.

~

I will happily yell about BOTH!

First Date to Book Signing with a Smidge of Kidnapping

This was my favorite title, so I'm chuffed you asked about it. So! Forever ago I wrote a fluffy little Luke/Bodhi story where Luke was a very famous astronaut and Bodhi was a washed out Astronaut Candidate. They hooked up, once, and then when Luke became and astronaut and Bodhi didn't, Bodhi kinda sorta ran away forever.

Oops.

It worked out, they reunited when Luke write a bestselling “My Life as an Astronaut” sort of thing. It was a cute little fic and, miracle of miracles, short. But short and I don't always get along, so I outlined and noodled with a sequel, pretty much shooting for goofy rom-com vibe with my love of space and flying shot through it: 

Luke and Bodhi go on a nice date where they are awkward dorks but eventually realize they have grown up and are probably more compatible now. No more running away after sex, we promise.

They have sex 

That night, Bodhi gets pulled onto an emergency flight and Luke gets pissy because they *just said* they weren't going to run away after sex anymore. 

Bodhi is like, okay, fine, put your pants on and lets go. 

They are halfway to the airport before Bodhi realizes he never actually told Luke he was getting pulled into an emergency flight, and Luke realizes he is being a little bit kidnapped for an International Adventure. 

They have a very nice date, which is only slightly marred by Bodhi’s occasional panic that he has kidnapped NASA’s rising star.

Epilogue happens at Luke’s European Tour book signing - Bodhi is in town and crashes the party to tease Luke. In the spirit of things, he buys a copy of the book and takes it for Luke to sign. Luke scribbles something quickly and hands it back to Bodhi, blushing furiously. Bodhi is expecting something very raunchy and instead he opens the book to find: 

Bodhi, there is a moment, before the launch, that is full of fear and breathtaking possibility. You are waiting for something to go wrong but certain that if it goes right you are going to have an experience so extraordinary it will define your life

...Here's to our launch

 -Luke Lars

I haven’t managed to get the thing written, but I still love that line.

I Do Crime Now

Sooo, you know that whole thing where the sequel trilogy gave their Latino star a history of drug smuggling? (the longest, most drawn out sigh) 

Well, I took one look at that and went "Oh, he was undercover." 

So, this is the fic where I play with that. 

Poe is on Kijimi because their kids are being stolen by the First Order - but of course, its not the nice upper class families' kids that are getting stolen, but the families that are too poor or too criminal to get the wider galaxy to take them seriously. 

So Poe has to integrate with Kijimi's underbelly to find out what's happening to the kids. He uses the very real excuse of his desertion and subsequent bounty to justify his turn to the underworld. He gets to chew through the emotions of suddenly not having the respect of the universe, and while he's utterly sure he's doing the right thing, he's also dealing with the dark morality of doing something he hates for a greater good. 

In the middle of all this, in walks Luke Skywalker, totally unaware that his sister has put Poe undercover on Kijimi, and genuinely thinks that Poe is a Lost Soul that has Thrown His Life Away. 

Kinda. Turns out, at least as far as Luke is concerned, Poe is a terrible liar.

"You think I don't know that the main industry on Kijimi is spice running?" Luke said, his voice a low rumble. 

Poe stuck his chin out, quirked his rogue's smile, and said, "I didn't think you were stupid, but there are some things you don't say in crowded bars." 

"Does your father know—" 

"Seriously, Luke?" Poe cut him off. "You're trying to bring my dad into this? Don't be that guy." 

"You are drug running and you expect me to not mention your father?" 

"I am an adult," Poe snapped in response, which he recognized as the words came out was probably the worst thing he could have said at the moment. 

"You're—" 

"Your best friend did the same job," Poe hissed, in a desperate attempt to pivot the conversation. 

"If you're trying to use Han Solo's career as an example—" Luke stopped, his eyes flicking over Poe. 

Poe had to fight the urge to flinch, as Luke's eyes lingered on Poe's hands, firmly in his pockets, then up to the hunch of his shoulders. 

"You're lying," Luke said, leaning back a little, and raising an eyebrow. 

Poe forced himself to relax, and then realized that was the most suspicious thing he could have possibly done in the moment. He was normally a much better spy than this. Luke was just very good at catching him off his guard. 

"What are you really doing here, Poe?" Luke asked again, his voice a little softer.

I’ve actually got about 12k of this one written - it’s got a better shot than most of seeing the light of day, eventually :D

#ask games #wip ask game #I Do Crime Now #NASA!Verse #Bodhi/Luke #Luke/Poe #yes the I Do Crime Now fic does turn into a horribly ill-advised affair #I got to chew through some delicious angst of Luke being an outer rim kid himself #and watching Poe fight for the world Luke abandoned #and being Filled with Feelings about it #tobermoriansass

[transrightsjimin]

wrote a whole rant abt the mess of privatized mail in my country but ill save it for after ive gone to the store

long story short, please be nicer to mail and parcel deliverers!!

even if they fucking throw your package on the roof or bury it in their garden or leave a note for picking up a parcel despite you being home when they came by, just please think and realize that this shit happens bc a lot of deliverers work for minimum wage (or less when they are disabled and/or immigrant workers), who consistently need to work faster, keep getting introduced to new standardized systems tht are introduced bc of budget cuts nd mechanization of mail sorting and based on american street planning tht doesnt apply well here, get pressured into taking on extra routes, often struggle w mental health issues nd a lot have either two jobs or live on welfare. nd both mail and parcel deliverers need to have delivered everything in time before reaching the retailer, despite so many factors like different closing times for shops so ppl then rush and write these notes in advance just to make it in time, getting fragile packages that are NOT fit for trucks in which you cant secure boxes well or can put safely in a bike bag (e.g. an old colleague of mine had a broken alcohol bottle(??) in her mail bag nd wine drenched all the mail), residents abruptly starting a whole rant to you, demanding to deliver mail or packages you don't have w you or thinking you're a different kind if deliverer, people thinking you know every resident personally by name despite working in a different place w 1000-1500 different addresses per day, all on your own crappy bike (when mail, which i deliver) or truck that has a card minoritoring your every move (with parcels, like w my dad). nd then we get blamed for shit like, not having a parcel or important letter that the machines fucked up on as we don't have it, or we rish stuff and make mistakes and workers deal w mental illness nd physical health issues and do weird stuff at the job and are portrayed as some kind if evil profession for it. like i shit you not, i had to hear these rants abt postal workers even from others at a workers' union protest despite them knowing i am a mail worker.

please just remember that mail and parcel personnel does not do this vital but underpaid job w a high time pressure and is physical straining, to pull mean tricks on customers or some shit. deliverers make mistakes bc the mail sorting is mechanized but not optimized, and there is this huge working load. i think my frustration w the disrespect to mail workers finally snapped recently, when someone (as usual) pulled the mail out my hands through the other side of the door mailbox (which always scares me a bit like wtf r u doing!) within 0.5 seconds and yanking on it so hard tht my hand slammed against the sharp mailbox corners nd cut my hand open. like it might be such a small thing and i know some residents even consider this helping nd dont do it out of rush, but im TIRED. please dont blame us when so much of the mail processing isnt even fucking done by humans nd we can in fact, not pay perfect attention to every address or name on every letter or box when we have to deliver to thousands on a day. my dad delivers parcels for a different main company and there isn't even any order in the boxes that are put in his truck, by even more overworked and underpaid eastern european immigrant workers, nd he needs to find and sort through them all nd deliver for 50 hours a week w the most bizarre tasks like dragging 80 kilo packages up several flights and deliver over 500 packages in one day. ive had a colleague who had a schedule of 20 hours if mail delivery per week bit was in reality scheduled for around 43 hours, which only counts the routes she walked and not all the work or time in between where she had to travel to further away routes or carry and sort bags at the mail collection garage thing. she was so overworked that she had to keep writing notes in advance, just so she could drop off packages in time at the retailer. she worked such long hours that she couldnt make it to meetings of a postal workers' union, which also unfortunately is a union tht doesnt actually do much for workers nd rather lures in members w discounts for products nd membership but for the rest fully cooperates w the company.

like urgh i know i still went on a rant today but please be more fucking considerate and patient and dont let your leftist beliefs stop once you are on the receiving end of the service of a mail worker. like if we get retail customers are shitty to shop employees, we should get this too.

#rambles

[scripttorture]

Hi, how are you? I hope you're having a great day. If it's not too much to ask, I read the articles you linked about child soldiers, and they were very helpful, but not exactly what I'm looking for.. Do you happen to have links of first account stories or diaries of child soldiers? Two lead characters in my wip have been child soldiers in multiple wars in their country. (The setting is light fantasy, think non-European medieval times) (Child soldiers ask/1)

(Childsoldiers ask/2) Theyserved their country, and outside of war time, they received militaryeducation but were under significantly less pressure and stress, sowhile they never felt patriotic toward their country, they didn’tfind a reason to leave yet. That is until they turned 15-16 and wereforced to fight in the front field, where they saw the brutality oftheir own country by themselves, they tried to escape right then andthere, – (Child soldiers ask/3)–but were Captured by the enemy and spent a few weeks doing forcedlabor in an enclosed camp, before they were sold into slavery andbecame house slaves for a nobleman of their country’s enemies. Theymake friends with a slave there, who with a story of his own, hastried multiple times to escape but was always captured, punished(whipped), and forced to work right away. (Child soldiers ask/4)Theyfinally escape when the nobleman’s child bride kills him on the veryfirst night and joins them in a long escape out of the country,before they were rescued by the other slave’s friends. The storydoesn’t go too far in terms of time span, they don’t finish a year inslavery and then after that they help out (but don’t participate inbattle) in another war, before the story ends, maybe another 6months. (Child soldiers ask/6)Sowhile I have the elements of their rehabilitation into the peacefulcivilian life completed, I’d like more in-depth information about howthey would personally feel in that situation. The girl feels a lot ofshame for leaving her country, but has no wishes to return until theyfix the system, while the boy absolutely hates it and – (Childsoldiers ask/7)–onlyfeels resentment for it because of the abuse he suffered, but that’sonly after they learn what normal children their age should be doingand how they’re treated. Symptoms of anxiety and PTSD are prominentin their lives, but should I add more? And would the abuse the boysuffered from be counted as torture? I know this is long so thanks inadvance for your patience :) (Child soldiers ask/8)

-

I don’t think you will find the kind of in-depth first hand accounts you’re looking for without paying for them. That said there are books by former child soldiers that might fit.

 I’m not aware of any diaries, most of these books were written years or decades after the fighting stopped. On a basic level I’m not sure many children that young keep a regular diary and many adult diarists have found it impossible to keep one going through a war.

 This is a research book based on interviews with child soldiers that I’m ordering (M Wessel’s Child Soldiers: From Violence to Protection). This one is a first hand account, I Beah A Long Way Gone. There’s also E Jal’s War Child: A Child Soldier’s Story. Girl Soldier co authored by G Akallo and F J H McDonnell might also be useful, it draws heavily on Akallo’s experience as a child soldier. Child Soldier by C Keitetsi may also be useful.

 I have not read any of these first hand accounts. I find it… telling that all of the detailed first hand accounts I can find in English are by Africans. The difficulty finding accounts from European and Asian child soldiers may reflect a bias in the publishing industry, or simply one in the search engine I’m using.

 Searching for the Khmer Rogue, recent conflicts in the Balkans and memoirs from Poland during world war two will probably all bring up more memoirs from child soldiers. However those available for free may be shorter and vaguer, while more detailed memoirs may be untranslated.

 You can also find accounts by using Amnesty International’s search function. There are 171 results relating to child soldiers. I have not read all of them and Amnesty’s interviews tend to be on the short side but these do contain useful first hand accounts.

 In terms of whether the characters ‘count’ as survivors- I think it’s important to remember that we’re talking about a purely legal distinction and I think you could argue the case either way.

 The UN declaration against torture says that to be torture something must cause severe pain or suffering. But it explicitly says that need not be physical. Something that is intended to cause mental distress (desecration of corpses or religious sites, forcing Hindus to eat beef or Muslims to eat pork, etc) can be defined as torture.

 I think that the systematic exploitation and bullying of a child by armed forces could count under modern law.

 However there’s no indication in this that these soldiers have been ordered to bully this child or that they’re doing it for one of the four very well defined motivations the UN declaration outlines.

 But the argument about whether it meets the strict legal definition seems like a distraction from the real question here which seems to be: ‘how traumatising is this scenario? Is the symptom level appropriate?’

 I think it could be however it’s unclear to me whether the characters are both suffering from PTSD and anxiety or whether one has PTSD and the other anxiety.

 I don’t think it’s a good idea to give all the survivors in your story the same symptoms. There is variety in survivors in real life. If you’re writing multiple survivors in the same story then it’s important to try and reflect that variety.

 Two symptoms seems like a perfectly reasonable level for the girl to me. It could also work for the boy. But personally if I was writing this scenario and trying to put forward the idea that the boy has lived through more I would give him more symptoms as well. If you are trying to establish something as ‘worse’ in the narrative then you should be prepared to back that up with consequences for the characters.

 The slave character, who has been tortured and forced to work for a relatively long time, should definitely have more then two symptoms. I think something more in the range of 3-5 would be appropriate.

 I get the impression from the other asks you’ve sent that you tend to consistently underestimate symptoms.

 Try not to look at symptoms as flaws or limiting factors on your characters. They are not things that you have to struggle to reduce.

 Try instead to think of them as opportunities for you, the author.

 Disability and mental illness should not be an insurmountable barrier to the plot. Because it is not an insurmountable barrier in most people’s lives.

 These things do create difficulties and problems, often problems that are socially constructed. But people who live with disabilities and mental illness find ways around these problems every day. This necessary creative thinking is an addition to any story.

 If your character is in a wheelchair and the important plot device is up a flight of stairs then that shouldn’t mean the character can’t succeed. Instead it means they need a different, less obvious, way to get what they need.

 And the solution you choose tells readers more about the character. They might build a device that lets them glide right to the top or plant explosives around the foundations and bring the tower down or hire someone to carry them up. Each of those solutions tells you something about the character as a person.

 Symptoms are like that. They are narrative opportunities.

 Think about why you’ve chosen PTSD and anxiety. Think about which character they work best with. Think about what those symptoms add.

 And consider the other common symptoms and the common memory problems your characters could have. Use them to create varied survivors with different responses.

 I worry any time I see an author say their character ‘only feels’ a particular emotion. Because this is never true for people. And while authors often mean ‘this character feels that particular emotion a lot’ sometimes they mean it literally.

 A well-written character is not one emotional note, whether they’re a survivor or not.

 Resentment towards the adults who exploited and hurt him isn’t unreasonable. Shame about the atrocities she was forced to participated in isn’t unusual.

 Think about how to build on these starting points.

 If the girl feels ashamed about what she did how does she feel about the people she left behind? Does she think they’re immoral or does she feel sympathy for them and the way they’ve been manipulated?

 Does the boy primarily resent the people or what happened to him? Does he associate everyone from his country with what he endured? If so does he view the country that enslaved him differently? Does he see the girl he’s escape with as an exception or does his view of his country effect how he sees her?

 Even if these emotions are experienced more often these characters should feel more then one thing. Think about what might prompt other feelings.

 If the girl is trapped in a depressive spiral what could pull her out of it for a while? Anger or defensiveness on behalf of her friend? An odd incident that prompts a laugh? Awe or pride at the realisation of how much she’s already done? Because by escaping an active army and enslavement in a foreign country she has already achieved much more then most.

 Similarly what could puncture the boy’s rage? What would shock him? What would make him cry?

 Is he holding on to anger because he’s afraid of what he might be or feel without it?

 A lot of this boils down to standard writing advice for any character: they should feel like complete people.

 That doesn’t mean they can’t be flawed, or wrong or missing something important in their lives. It means that they need to feel ‘real’; as if they have dreams and fears and personalities that are possible.

 Writing survivors is more complicated but that doesn’t mean the usual approaches to character creation don’t apply. Personal history or traumatic events shouldn’t replace a character’s personality, wants or worries.

 And that can be hard to write. Because you’ve got to do all the same work you would for a non-traumatised character, then add another layer of work on top of that.

 In fact it’s more then that, because you have to merge all these things and make it look seamless, effortless for the reader.

 I emphasised a lot of the planning and thinking part of character creation here. And that is important.

 But if you’re struggling with your confidence or character creation generally there is no substitute for practice.

 Give yourself permission to experiment, to learn, to get things wrong. This is part of everyone’s writing process.

 So yes, think, plan, search for opportunities with things like symptoms. But also practice. Write short scenes or stories. Write multiple versions of the same scene. Try out writing the same character with different symptoms to figure out which you like best.

 I hope that helps. :)

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

#park-chimchim #writing advice #tw torture #tw child abuse #tw child soldiers #tw slavery #writing victims #writing survivors #mental health #rehabilitating child soldiers #child soldiers #survivor accounts #diverse responses are not only realistic #they make a fictional world seem more real

[grimelords]

Hello I finished my July playlist a week ago but when I went to post it tumblr was down, and then I just plumb forgot! Anyway, here it is - properly sequenced this time for a very special listening experience that seamlessly delivers you from disco heaven to black metal hell and everything in between. Also I’m thinking of making these playlists a tinyletter that people can subscribe to that comes out on an actual schedule, rather than me posting them at a random time weeks after they’re finished. Is that something you’d be interested in? Who knows. Check back next month! Anyway, here goes:

listen here

Stay Away From Me - The Sylvers: You know when you’re listening to a song and the sample is super hot but the rest is just ok, so you think to yourself well why don’t I just listen to the original instead? That’s what happened to me with Final Form by Sampa The Great. That song is good but it’s also kind of not doing enough to convince me not to just listen to this super hit by The Sylvers instead. A fun thing with this song is to try to count how many instruments you can hear because it is surprisingly densely arranged for some reason. There’s a xylophone back there going off if you listen.

Sizzlin’ Hot - Paradise: The same thing happened with this song and Sizzlin’ by Daphni. I think they were going for an Armand Van Helden style distillation of the pure essence of the song, sampling the hookiest part and speeding it up and thickening up all the percussion and all that, which can work amazingly but for me it just made me want to hear the original and so I have been all month. What’s so good about being alive now is that in most cases it’s just as easy to access music from 2019 as it is to access music from 1981 where an original copy is apparently going for $1000 on discogs. Every day I thank god for inventing mp3s and putting them on the ark.

Manaos (Canzone) - Fabio Frizzi and Crossbow: I forget how I came across this, I was going through random Fabio Frizzi soundtracks for some reason. I just love the concept of a disco song about escaping from vicious assailants. Funkily singing ‘God help us, if they catch us we all are gonna die.’ as spears fly past you.

Holding On - Julio Bashmore: I think this is one of my favourite pieces of sampling ever. The way the vocals in the background are cut they don’t even sound like vocals. They just a strange contextless textural sound that works so well before eventually revealing itself as vocals in the run before the drop. It’s just so good.

Weight Watchers - Parallel Dance Ensemble: First of all I love this disgusting bass sound. It sounds like two different indistinct bass lines playing at the same time and they both drowned. I’m also mounting a change.org petition to bring back this kind of extremely naff Tone Loc flow, it rocks.

Dance - ESG: I found this incredible band while I was looking for the rapper ESG and I’m so glad I did. Their song UFO is one of those songs that’s been sampled so many times you think of it as more of a sound effect than a song, like it comes preloaded on a drum machine everyone has or something, but it’s also a good template for ESG’s sound. Every ESG song I’ve heard so far goes like this: a straightforward beat that doesn’t change for the whole song, a functional bassline that doesn’t change for the whole song, and good old fashioned simple lyrics about dancing and having a good time that sound more like schoolyard clapping games than anything. It doesn’t sound like much but over the course of an album it adds up to this incredible sort of hypnotic post-punk funk that I cannot get enough of. It sounds like kids who have 1 idea making a whole album out of it because that’s exactly what it is and it’s great!

Crave You - Flight Facilities: I love how elementally simple this song is. The vocals are hypnotising enough so everything else just quietly supports it. The only part that stands out is the thick bass synth halfway through which makes the short sax solo at the and all the sweeter, a tiny little cherry on top.

You - Delta 5: Get a load of this band bio: “Initially inspired by the success of local heroes The Mekons and Gang Of Four, Leeds, England’s Delta 5 later emerged as one of the key figures of the feminist new wave. Formed in 1979 by vocalist/guitarist Julz Sale, fretless bassist Ros Allen and bassist Bethan Peters.” Just going to gloss over them having TWO bass players before they even have a drummer?? Absolutely amazing. I love this song because it’s such a specific, targeted fury. Imagine being the loser at your girlfriend’s gig when she launched into this one for the first time. ‘who’s got homebrew with lots of sediment?’ oh fuck that’s me ‘who took me to the Windham for a big night out?’ oh fuck that’s me ‘I found out about you’ oh FUCK

Siren - Gong Gong Gong: I love the way the bass works in this, just looping and layering different variations of this noisy, stationary riff on top of itself - steadfastly staying in the exact same place the whole song and growing in power the whole time as it sits in its stubbornness.

Changes - Antonio Williams and Kerry McCoy: This came up on my Discover Weekly and I completely fell in love with it, then I realised it’s Antwan and Kerry McCoy from Deafheaven which is extremely intriguing collaboration and fell in love even more. The vocals are so good. The pure broken-hearted anguish, and the super blunt delivery that progresses to straight up yelling by the end of it combined with the Radio Dept type instrumentation is just so powerful. This feels like it’s a song that could really be a life-changing piece of catharsis for everyone in a 5k radius done live.

Fuck A War - Geto Boys: Absolutely in love with the conceit of this song: rapping a whole song down the line to the army drafter. The incredible part being of course that Bushwick Bill would be able to dodge any draft easily, being as he was both a dwarf and blind in one eye.

God Make Me Funky - The Headhunters: I found a lot of great songs going through the samples list for We Can’t Be Stopped by Geto Boys and this is one of them. I have so much love for any song that takes its time like this: nearly two minutes to set the scene and somehow taking deadly seriously the very funny lyrical idea of desperately praying to god to PLEASE make you funky.  The way this song escalates is also amazing, moving from a hot groove that sits in place to a full-on saxophone meltdown that feels like god placing his finger on your forehead and saying ‘so you want to be funky, do you?’ in a scary voice.

Use Me - Bill Withers: Fortunately and unfortunately, because of how this song was in Anchorman and because I’ve seen Anchorman one million times I can’t listen to it without hearing the noise Ron Burgundy makes when he sees Veronica in the first few seconds. Anyway, this song is so horny. The part where he has to explain to his bro how good this shit is? Doing all kinds of weird dom shit like ‘getting him in a crowd of high class people and then acting real rude to him?’ Weird. And the escalation into the claps at BABY! is amazing, he’s just going off powered by horniness and god bless him for it.

America! I’m For The Birds - Nicolas Jaar: Unbelievably, the deluxe edition of Sirens is possibly superior to the original. It’s a whole new tracklist, new songs interspersed throughout rather than the usual ‘three new songs at the end’ and it really gives it a whole new feel. This song is my favourite of the new ones and it’s a song I had in my head for a solid week. A perfect song to sing to yourself because the lyrics are so indistinct that you just end up mumbling pleasantly exactly like he is.

Cable Guy - Tierra Whack: I’m finally catching up on Tierra Whack and everyone’s right: she rocks. The sheer restraint in these songs is amazing, they just get in and out with only the good parts and no bullshit. It reminds me a lot of To The Innocent by Thingy which is one of my favourite albums for the same reason - the economy of the songwriting just serves to amplify the feeling of it. They both have this total irreverence in the lyricism where the songs are kind of about nothing but they’re so short and heartfelt that you dig for the feeling underneath it.

No Drug Like Me - Carly Rae Jepsen: I’ve previously written that what I love the most about the Carly Rae Jepsen is how horny it is and I’d like to double down on that sentiment here. I love how slow this song is, it’s the perfect tempo between danceable and ‘fucking’.

Con Calma (Remix) - Daddy Yankee, Katy Perry and Snow: I’ve been on a european holiday for most of this month and I would like to report that across Spain, Portugal, Czech Republic, France and Germany this is the absolute song of the summer. It is completely inescapable and personally I can’t get enough. Informer is one of the greatest and strangest one hit wonders of all time (it’s also canada’s highest selling reggae song of all time and Snow is thusly named because he’s white) and I’m psyched to hear it reworked by Daddy Yankee like this. Katy Perry being on the crossover attempt remix isn’t a good sign for her new album but she kills it so maybe that’s all that matters.

Chase The Devil - Max Romeo and The Upsetters: Here’s the other half of my short lived dub phase from the end of last month. This is a good example also of how completely beguiling lyrics can still be so effective. I have no idea what he means by putting on an iron shirt but it rhymes and he’s saying it with conviction so I’m nodding!

Glass - Bat For Lashes: The new Bat For Lashes songs have got me revisiting Two Suns which is an all time great five star album and this is my favourite song from it. Maybe the most powerful opening track of all time, it does as much worldbuilding as most fantasy novels do in 1000 pages. In fact almost every line in this is a viable fantasy novel title. A Thousand Crystal Towers. The Hand Of The Watchmen. A Knight In Crystal Armour. A Cape Of Rainbow. The way she sings ‘to be made of glass’ is.. incredible. I love Natasha Khan and I cannot wait to see what she does next.

Unsquare Dance - Paddy Milner: In searching spotify for other interpretations of Unsquare Dance after getting obsessed with it last month I came across this absolutely bonkers version. It’s maniacal, it feels like you would be physically and mentally drained by the end playing it because I am just listening to it. Need a little lie down.

Gimme Some Skin, My Friend - The Andrews Sisters: My girlfriend has turned me onto The Andrews Sisters lesser known hits recently and this is the best one: a song from when high fives were a novelty that those wacky blacks over in Harlem town were inventing. Extremely odd but an undeniable banger. The thing about The Andrews Sisters is one of them was an absolute force of nature as a performer and the other two were complete wet blankets and it’s kind of funny they were together as a group for their whole career because anyone with eyes can see where the real star is. The way she sings ‘baby’ at 1:25, and that whole run really, is absolutely amazing and so much better than this extremely dumb song deserves.

Kids On The Run - The Tallest Man On Earth: The piano sound alone in this is just so beautiful. This song could be about anything at all and it would still make me cry, and luckily for me: it basically is!

King Of Spain - The Tallest Man On Earth: Good song I had in my head the whole time I was in Spain. It’s incredible that his voice is so good. It feels like if it was even the tiniest bit different, slightly rougher or tinnier he would be completely hilariously unlistenable but instead he’s amazing. Plus the fact that he leans into it with the purposefully lo-fi trebly production is just so confident you can’t help but love it.

Romeo And Juliet - The Indigo Girls: A great cover I wasn’t aware of before that I heard in this great documentary Wildwood I was watching https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOWxnh012J0. The way she absolutely flies off the handle and nearly tears the song down around her near the last chorus is pure power and I love people who can do that in an acoustic song without it feeling overblown, just getting totally swept up in it and taking everyone along with you.

On The Bus Mall - The Decemberists: Definitely the number one song about gay teenage prostitutes who love each other and are optimistic against the odds.  

White Fire - Angel Olsen: This song feels like a piece of dark magic. It feels like a 4am moment of clarity, speaking everything true in a five minute monotone and then instantly falling back to sleep with only a dim memory in the morning.  

Glass Eyes -JW Ridley: JW Ridley is a genius and I cannot wait to see what he does with an album. Every song he puts out seems to be better than his last. The central melody in this is just beautiful, and the whole thing has so much space in it it feels so much longer than 3 minutes. It’s like a song you can live in.

Nullarbor - Floodlights: I love how rough this song is, and driving across australia because you’ve got nothing else going on and want to rattle your own cage is a Huge mood.

Made Too Pretty (Audiotree Live Version) - As Cities Burn: I’m so glad As Cities Burn are back, because it means they get to do good shit like this Audiotree session where they absolutely killed it.

Dirty Hearts - Dallas Crane: I think I’ve put this on a playlist before for exactly the same reason: it’s a song I wake up with in my head fairly often for some reason and it’s a very fun slice of pub rock that doesn’t overstay it’s welcome.

Ruin This Smile - The Number 12 Looks Like You: Did you know The Number 12 Looks Like You have reformed after 10 years away and haven’t missed a step at all?? I’m salivating. This song is as good as anything they’ve put out before, and feels like it fits somewhere between Mongrel and Worse Than Alone which is fantastic news for me who always loved those a lot more than their earlier more explicitly grindcore stuff.

Nutrient Painting - Yellow Eyes: A special thanks to my friend and yours Powerburial for linking this song on his twitter. There’s something about the guitars in this song, in almost every riff, where it sounds like they’re playing backwards somehow. Like the structure of the melodies is backwards. It doesn’t make sense but that’s what it sounds like to me and it’s very disconcerting.

Jejune Stars - Bright Eyes: I think this an underrated Conor Oberst era, when he became a sort of buddhist for a while and wasn’t sad anymore but just observed earth from outer space instead. I also love the instrumentation of this song, Bright Eyes and blast beats a match made in heaven. Also the strange sample about pom’granite at the end is one of my favourite things ever. A very strange album to retire the Bright Eyes name on but a very good one too.

At The Bar - Dirty Three: When I was overseas I was thinking about cultural music, and Australia’s place in the world and things like that. I ended up thinking about Dirty Three who I think along with The Drones make the most distinctly Australian sounding music to me. Just the vastness they manage to conjure from such straightforward barebones instrumentation is incredible.

listen here

#Playlists