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edwinadaily · 11 months

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COSMOPOLITAN UK | A few weeks ago, Charithra Chandran was having a dinner party with some of her oldest friends. A few of them work in advertising and marketing, another is a doctor, one is a lawyer. None work in ‘the industry’. ‘Have I changed?’ Chandran asked them, as plates were cleared and wine glasses topped up. Their answer was unanimous. ‘No way.’ ‘In fact,’ one joked, ‘it’s actually sad how little character development there’s been.’ They all laughed. ‘Sometimes dickish things come out of your mouth like, “I’ve got a fitting with Dior next week!” Look, your life might have changed, but you certainly haven’t.’

Their words reassured Chandran of something she already knew. In just two life-changing years, she had gone from being a philosophy, politics and economics graduate preparing to start a job in management consultancy, to playing a lead in one of the biggest TV shows of the past decade. In the year since she appeared in Bridgerton’s second series, caught in a love triangle with Jonathan Bailey’s Anthony Bridgerton and Simone Ashley’s Kate Sharma, her trajectory has shown no signs of slowing down. This year, she stars in a handful of films including Good Intentions, a short with Micheal Ward (who you’ll know from the Oscar-nominated Empire Of Light), as well as playing the lead in teen rom-com How To Date Billy Walsh. And just a few weeks ago, she was in India with Ashley for the Dior pre-fall show (hence the fitting), which she describes as ‘special and incredible’. But while 26-year-old Chandran may be sitting front row, booking lead roles and appearing on magazine covers, she still feels like that same wide-eyed graduate, the one with no idea what would come next.

‘My life just feels so... normal?’ says Chandran, over a builder’s tea in one of her favourite central London cafes, her hair slicked back in a silk headscarf. 'That is the number one thing that has left me feeling sane. I worry that if my personal life was fully in this world, these crazy experiences would start to feel normal. I need to be surrounded by people not involved in the craziness.'

Most of her friends – like the ones at the dinner party – are from school and university, and the industry friendships she has tend to be with older women, including her Bridgerton cast mates Golda Rosheuvel (Queen Charlotte) and Shelley Conn, who played her mother in the series. ‘We hang out all the time. We go see shows; we grab tea or dinner. Golda’s so cool, sometimes I wonder why she wants to hang out with me. Shelley is literally like my older sister; I’m super close with her family. They both give me advice constantly about how to hold yourself in the industry. They provide perspective as well; they’ve been in it for so long, and they’re both women of colour; they remind me how far we’ve come and how far we have to go. Everything that I go through, they’ve been through it tenfold. I really rely on their counsel.’

The road to Bridgerton

Chandran auditioned for the show in 2020 before the first series had aired. At the time, her career as an actor was precarious. She’d loved performing for as long as she could remember (‘I was that annoying kid who always wanted to be the centre of attention’), acting throughout school and university, even performing in the West End with youth theatre companies, but she’d never really considered it as a viable career. ‘I never even talked about wanting to act because I felt embarrassed. Saying you wanted to be a professional actor felt like saying you wanted to be prime minister or an astronaut.’ Her reasons were twofold. The first was a lack of South Asian representation on screen and stage, – ‘For a long time I didn’t really have any inspiration to look towards,’ she says – and the second was familial expectation. ‘I’m the literal opposite of a nepo baby. My parents are doctors; we didn’t know any actors or journalists. Anyone who’s not a medic was foreign territory for us.’

Though her parents hoped Chandran would follow them into the profession, she credits their progressive attitudes with giving her the courage to follow her dreams. ‘They always expected academic excellence, but they gave me so much freedom and trust. I don’t know if that was an active choice or [if] it was because they were immigrants, junior doctors and single parents who didn’t have time to be focused on me 24/7. Either way, they really let me be me.’

Being herself meant giving acting a serious shot before starting the management consultancy job. She deferred the start date for a year and, in between working as a tutor and running a food bank, spent time crafting a CV and a showreel to try to get professional representation. Her graft paid off, and she signed to an agent who began to get her auditions for film and TV roles. Her first was a Bollywood dancer in the star-studded Marvel film Eternals, which Chandran landed after finding an advert on Instagram, helmed by the likes of Angelina Jolie, Richard Madden and Salma Hayek. On set, it was Kumail Nanjiani who really stood out for Chandran. ‘Being on a proper movie set with this fellow brown actor looking buff felt amazing. He treated us with so much kindness and grace.’

Shortly after, Chandran landed a role in Amazon Prime’s Alex Rider series, and then came her even bigger break: Bridgerton. The process was turbulent. The world had gone into lockdown and after a handful of virtual auditions for Ashley’s role (Kate), Chandran was told she looked too young for the part. Months later, out of the blue, she was approached again, and by that point, season one was already out and the show was a breakout hit that became the most-viewed English-language series onNetflix at the time. ‘While they continued looking for Kate, they had me on the back burner. I’d got a part in another show, so I was like, you know, okay, I love the sound of Bridgerton, butI have [other] work so, whatever. And then season one came out and I was like, “Oh, man! It’s such a good show. I would have loved to get that!”’ This time, the team wanted her to audition for the role of Kate’s younger sister, Edwina Sharma. ‘I desperately wanted to be in the show, but I didn’t want to do it solely for that – which is such an ego trip! I only had one credit at the time. But I was fully being like, “Okay, tell me more about the role...’ So I read for it, and then I didn’t hear about anything for months. I was like, “Okay, well, clearly it’s over!”’

Then, one afternoon, while helping out in her mum’s allotment, she received a call asking her to audition with Bailey and Ashley. ‘I didn’t even realise I was still in the running. But the chemistry read was so special. I remember they looked so beautiful on Zoom. The lighting was amazing, and I was in my dingy dining room in the dark. I thought, “Okay, I need to step up my game.”’ Clearly she was already bringing her A-game because she landed the part.

Surviving the spotlight

Bridgerton has a habit of launching the stellar careers of its leads. Almost overnight, season one’s Phoebe Dynevor and Regé-Jean Page went from emerging actors to household names. ‘So many of the cast members who’d been through it were like, Charithra, get a therapist because this is crazy,’ she remembers. She took their advice, and while therapy has been invaluable, nothing could truly prepare her for such a life-altering experience. She cites events in particular as ‘anxiety-inducing’, explaining, ‘There’s an impostor syndrome there. I leave and I want to cry every time!’ It sounds intense, and the internet’s opinions only exacerbated it. ‘I think when anyone is first exposed to this [fame] on the level that I was, they read the comments, they google themselves. And when you read the really aggressive ones – I know this sounds dramatic – but you feel really vulnerable. I’m a normal person – I’m taking the bus, I’m taking the Tube. You’re thinking all it takes is one person being slightly too deranged and trying to hunt you down... It took me like a solid four months to [get] through that.’

When it comes to social media generally, and whether she feels any pressure with what she posts and the persona she presents, Chandran is typically low-key. ‘I’m not famous enough for people to care about me enough to feel that now! I’m not thinking to myself at any point, “I wonder how the public will receive it.” Maybe I should! But even if – fingers crossed – I continue to do really cool things, and I do get more famous, I’m a very open person. I’m not trying to hide anything. I’m very active on social media and I share loads of parts of my life. But that’s what I’d be doing anyway, even if I wasn’t doing this. I don’t do things differently because I have a platform.’

One thing she is clear on: she doesn’t read negative comments any more and focuses her attention on what a powerful impact the series has had, particularly for young women of colour. ‘I get so much energy and enrichment when I meet someone who’s watched it and tells me how much seeing Simone and me on the show means to them.’ She adds, ‘She is so beautiful. We both went through a baptism of fire together, so we really bonded for life over this very seismic experience that we had. We’re connected by something so big.’

Chandran is clearly proud of the show, however not all responses to Bridgerton have been positive. While the Shonda Rhimes Regency-era romance has largely been praised for the diversity of its stars, some critics have questioned the casting, suggesting it’s tokenistic and that the characters of colour aren’t afforded sufficient context or cultural recognition and could just as easily have been played by a white actor. ‘It’s not a perfect show,’ says Chandran. ‘No one’s out here saying this is a perfect representation of anything. If we were to do it again, I’m sure we’d make certain different decisions, but it’s a damn good try. And it’s a really bold try. Let’s enjoy the fact that we have this and continue striving for more.’

Chandran says some of the commentary that bothered her the most were ‘the comments that said I only got to where I am because I’m Eurocentric or I’m white-passing. That really bugged me because all my life I’ve had to face prejudice for not being those things. I have a quintessentially Tamil face, not even Indian, people can place me as a Tamil. You open books, you go to a temple, you see the pictures and paintings; they look like this. So it’s like, bro, I didn’t go through prejudice and discrimination for you to now belittle my identity. When the show was coming out, that’s all I could focus on.’

From Regency to romance

As she gears up for the release of her next project, How To Date Billy Walsh, this time around, her feeling is one of excitement. She plays Amelia, a precocious teenager who, much like her Bridgerton character, finds herself caught up in an unlikely love triangle with her best friend Archie (played by Heartstopper’s Sebastian Croft) and an elusive new student (Cobra Kai’s Tanner Buchanan). The film brims with all the fun, campness and nostalgia of a classic romcom. ‘We wanted to make something that was really timeless,’ says Chandran. ‘My cousins who are 12 and 13 are still watching Clueless, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. We wanted to do something fun and heart-warming that harked back to the 90s.’

While classic teen romances are praised for their charm, they’re less celebrated for their diversity. As a woman of colour, did it feel like a big deal to be at the helm of a high school romcom? ‘I think it’s so interesting because what I really loved and appreciated was how not a big deal it felt, and I think that’s a real testament to all the people that have come before me, all the directors, producers, actors who have paved the way. I love representing my culture, and I love playing characters who are culturally specific to me,’ she says, ‘but on the flipside, I also enjoy playing a normal person where the story isn’t just about her being Indian. That is what I want for my career as well. I want to do things about race that start important conversations, and things about love and friendship. I don't want to be a one-trick pony.' When choosing roles, she says her approach is simply to find characters who feel truthful. 'The times I've said no are if it perpetuates bad or lazy stereotypes, if it's a character I've already seen before.'

As a romantic lead, her performance is effortless. Amelia is a plucky teenager who reels through the full spectrum of emotions when she develops a crush on the titular character, faces off against bullies and navigates some complicated feelings towards her best friend. Her portrayal of a girl caught in the full throes of an all-consuming crush is vibrant and hilarious, but she also imbues Amelia with a real sense of vulnerability.

Chandran shares some of Amelia's confidence and her thirst for new experiences, but her own memories of dating as a teenager were quite different. rowing up in Oxford, she went to an all-girls school. Most weekends involved house parties with boys from the neighbouring schools, where she would be the only one to get, ‘no attention from the guys,’ she remembers. ‘I thought, "Maybe they’re just not attracted to brown girls." I’m curvy; Indian women tend to have curves and fat in different places. All my friends were white and skinny. It was confusing, but I never took it personally. I used to wonder, is it because they see a brown girl and think, “Oh, she probably can't drink, she’s probably really prudish” – what assumptions were they making just from the colour of my skin?’

While she was at university, one of the boys who had been on the same teen house-party circuit messaged her on Facebook. 'This is a guy I’d seen every weekend for almost two years. He said I was cute and asked me how we knew each other. What’s mad is that I didn’t go to uni and have some glow-up. I looked exactly the same at 19 as I had at 15.’ She believes his sudden interest reflected a broader cultural shift towards diversity. ‘By that time, there were more Black and brown women in magazines and in lead roles on TV. I realised, "Oh, I'm trendy. So now you see there’s an attractiveness there. Because I objectively know I don't look different." That kind of shit happened quite a few times.’

Needless to say, Chandan ghosted the message. ‘I’m not a trend,' she says with a playful eye-roll. In life after Bridgerton, she admits dating can be difficult to navigate. She doesn’t use apps because ‘even before the show, people would see me on Instagram or google me. Which we all do, it's fine... but it started to get weird. So it is harder to meet people, but I don't think I'm famous or successful enough to ever have to worry that someone’s dating me for clout’. Plus, she knows what's important in a potential partner. ‘If I think about what kind of person I want to date, the number one thing I'll say is that they need to be a feminist. I'm a feminist, I'm an advocate for women. I went to a girls school, my family is a matriarchy.’

Dating aside, the fact that Chandran’s life hasn’t changed all that much is a testament to her ability to keep both feet on the ground. There’s also perhaps the knowledge that, should she ever find herself changed by fame, her best friends will absolutely be there to bring her back to reality at the next dinner party. ‘They're the most important people to me’ she says. ‘I love to be surrounded by women. I love the men in my life, but I just prefer women. Women made me feel safe, they make me feel heard.'

#charithra chandran #charithrachandranedit #cchandranedit #bridgerton cast #bridgertoncastedit #interview

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god-whispers · 9 months

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jul 22

week in review - headlines

"behold, I come; in the scroll of the book it is written of me." psa 40:7

‘Reduce Population’: Kamala Harris Verbal Slip-Up Corrected By White House Vice President Kamala Harris mistakenly (?) suggested that one of the goals of investing in clean energy is population reduction.

Are You Willing To Starve For The Greater Good? Central planners are pulling double shifts. Contriving plans and proposals to control what you consume, how you travel and cook, where your money is spent, and much, much more.

Globalists Suggest “Finance Shock” And Climate Controls To Launch Their Great Reset Central banks and international banks are now suddenly more concerned with carbon taxation and global warming than they seem to be concerned with stagflation and economic collapse. Likely because this was the goal all along and economic collapse is part of the plan.

America’s Religious Landscape in the midst of a Continuing Exodus, Devotion of True Believers Remains High And of those regular church attendees 82% say they are optimistic about the future of their congregation, and 89% say they are proud to be associated with their church.

She’s 47, anorexic and wants help dying. Canada will soon allow it. An expansion of the criteria for medically assisted death that comes into force in March 2024 will allow Canadians like Pauli, whose sole underlying condition is mental illness, to choose medically assisted death.

Court hears another case that wants to censor 10 Commandments “The Supreme Court already settled this debate. Displays that are part of the history and tradition of America, like the Ten Commandments, are presumed to be constitutional,” said Lea Patterson, counsel at First Liberty.

Pure Evil. Latest Disney Production Is Cartoon About a Girl Who Inherits a Ritualistic Killing, Blood Drinking Cult from her Father Praise Petey is set to premiere July 21st at 10pm ET/PT on Freeform with the first two episodes. Then, two episodes will drop weekly following the premiere, and will be available on Hulu the next day.

Hong Kong Warns Of Japanese Seafood Ban If Fukushima Dumps Nuke Water Into Ocean Last week, the UN nuclear watchdog gave Japan the “greenlight” to dump ‘treated’ radioactive water from the crippled Fukushima plant into the ocean. The plan upset China, the biggest buyer of its seafood exports, and has since sparked concerns in Hong Kong.

Climate engineering is a real and present threat to humanity For geoengineering expert Dane Wigington, climate engineering is the greatest and most immediate threat against humanity.

BREAKING: Government Reports prove Pfizer & Moderna purposely manufactured Deadly Batches of the Covid-19 Vaccines An investigation of official U.S. Government data, provided by the Centers for Disease Control, has revealed that extremely high numbers of adverse reactions and deaths have been reported against specific lot numbers of the Covid-19 vaccines numerous times.

The Chinese Communist Party is rewriting the Bible …A possible sneak preview of what a Bible with socialist characteristics might look like appeared in a Chinese university textbook in 2020. The rewritten Gospel of John excerpt ends, not with mercy, but with Jesus himself stoning the adulterous woman to death.

13 Nations agree to engineer global FAMINE by destroying agriculture, saying that producing food is BAD for the planet We are now being told that producing food is bad for the planet. To “save” the planet, globalists insist, farms must be shut down across the globe.

Store Food While You Still Can, Because 2.4 Billion People Already Do Not Have Enough Food As This New Global Famine Accelerates Global food supplies just keep getting even tighter, and global hunger has risen to extremely alarming levels. People on the other side of the world are literally starving to death as I write this article, but most of us in the western world simply do not care about the millions that are deeply suffering because the mainstream media hardly ever talks about what is happening. But the truth is that we are feeling the impact of this global food crisis too.

Here Come The Grasshoppers… It was just a matter of time before the grasshoppers joined the party. In 2023, global crops have been devastated by plague after plague. Farmers in the U.S. and elsewhere have had to deal with seemingly endless drought, unprecedented heat, nightmarish flooding and horrifying outbreaks of disease. In fact, citrus greening disease is one of the primary reasons why the orange harvest in Florida is on

Preparing to Wage a Nuclear War? Nuclear Attack F-16 Fighters to Ukraine The United States has begun a training programme for the Ukrainian Air Force in the use of F-16 fighters. They are conventional dual-capable and nuclear fighters.

Britain on lockdown alert as new killer virus which kills 40% of victims ‘certain’ to reach UK …Crimean-Congo hemorrhagic fever (CCHF) – which kills between 10–40% of people infected – has been identified as a major threat to public health.

Global Alarm: Governments now believe there’s a link between COVID-19 Vaccines, Antibody-Dependent Enhancement & Immune System Degradation …almost two years later, the authorities have quietly decided to begin an investigation into Covid-19 vaccine induced Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome and Antibody-Dependent Enhancement after scientists around the world, including many from Harvard and Yale, were forced to admit a debilitating suite of problems have been appearing hours, days or weeks after a Covid-19 vaccine has been administered.

BEAST MODE: Colorado Begins Mark Of The Beast ‘Proving Grounds’ As Amazon One Allows Payments With Your Palm At 11 Whole Foods Locations My daughter Megan..sent me a text message with some crazy photos late last night about her incredible experience at their local Whole Foods store in Colorado. She went to check out and noticed, for the first time, that her Whole Foods was now using Amazon One for payments, and one of the options offered to her was to make a palm payment. Today it’s a payment through the front of your hand, and very soon it will be a payment through the back of your right hand or forehead. Guaranteed.

Google Is Testing An AI Tool Named ‘Genesis’ That Will Create News Stories Using Artificial Intelligence And Be Disseminated Through The Legacy Media Of course, the old joke about the legacy news media has long been that the stories are written with artificial intelligence because it’s not real news, going all the way back to the original fake news known as ‘Yellow Journalism’. But all that is about to change. The global dominators at Google are working on a new project, codenamed ‘Genesis’, that will use AI technology like ChatGPT to write news stories and articles for all the main fake news merchants. And the fact they’ve named it ‘Genesis’? Don’t get me started.

Top economist: Central bankers are planning CBDC currency implants ‘under your skin’ A central banker reportedly told economist Richard Werner there are plans to issue CBDCs that ‘look like a small grain of rice,’ to be implanted under the skin.

CDC confirms COVID Vaccination caused shocking 338x increase in Cancers & AIDS-Associated Diseases Official data made available by the U.S. Government and Centers for Disease Control strongly suggests that fully vaccinated Americans may be developing Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome or a similar disease that is decimating the innate immune system.

George Michael could 'return' to touring years after death -- as hologram... Pop legend George Michael tragically died in 2016, but his former Wham! bandmates Shirlie Kemp, Pepsi and Andrew Ridgeley like the idea of an ABBA-style hologram show

Young adult woman gets just 90 days in jail for aborting viable unborn child, burning its body A Nebraska young adult will serve just 90 days in jail for using abortion pills to abort her unborn nearly 30-week-old child... Detectives later learned the Burgesses had disposed of the baby's remains twice — before burying them a third time after burning them.

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sophieebdaily · 11 months

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Sophie Ellis-Bextor on failures, big families and love: ‘I’ve had it all taken away. It sucks. This is better’

The singer, who brought the world joy with her Kitchen Discos in lockdown, tells Ellie Harrison about the heady turn of the millennium and her dreamy new record, ‘Hana’

In 1999, Sophie Ellis-Bextor thought it was all over. Just the year before, she’d been voted one of the sexiest people in rock by Melody Maker and her indie band Theaudience had released a strong, spiky first album. But after bosses at Mercury Records rejected the demos for their second, the band were axed by the label. “I was like, ‘Wow, I’m 20 and done and dusted. I’m already a has-been,’” the singer tells me.

It was all about to change. A few months later, Ellis-Bextor was asked to sing on a house record, Spiller’s “Groovejet (If This Ain’t Love)”. She was surprised. A little insulted, even. “I was like, ‘Do they know me? This is not me,’” she says. A couple of weeks went by, and she forgot about it. Then, while tidying her flat, she found the CD on the floor. She played it again and decided to give it a shot. “Then it came out and it was extraordinary… because it all just went whoomph!” she says, grey eyes glittering and her hands flying upwards.

The musician, now 44, is reflecting on the heady turn of the millennium as she prepares to release her seventh solo album, Hana – a dreamy, candid record loosely inspired by a family trip to Japan. Her voice is husky, her skin porcelain. Sitting outside a brasserie in Chiswick, she sips on a green juice of cucumber, apple, celery and kale. It looks healthy. She’s swapped the usual sequinned gowns she wore for her live-streamed Kitchen Discos in lockdown, for something a little more comfortable but no less loud: a candyfloss-pink bomber jacket over a rainbow-striped top. “It was quite crazy,” she says of the impact of “Groovejet”. “I really would say that that song changed my life – not just because it gave me a lifeline back into what I wanted to do, but also because it introduced me to a whole different genre.”

The summer smash entered the UK charts at number one, just beating former Spice Girl Victoria Beckham on her first solo track. “It made quite a nice little story to pit us against each other in the press,” Ellis-Bextor says, “Like, ‘Will it be this unknown house track or one of the most well-known people in the country?’” She crossed paths with Posh Spice at a TV shoot shortly afterwards, and knocked on her dressing room door to say hello. “It was fine,” she says, shrugging. “I never felt that anything was actually at the root of it [our competition] – it felt very much like a press thing. I had nothing to lose, so I thought it was funny. She was probably like, this is not funny.”

In the intervening two decades, Ellis-Bextor has hardly come up for air. In 2001, she brought out her first solo album, led by the earworm hit “Murder on the Dancefloor” – blasted out at every millennial house party to this day. She released her second record Shoot from the Hip in 2003, then after her third – 2007’s Trip the Light Fantastic – she supported George Michael on tour, though the pair never met. “We did eight dates together, but it was quite clear that he was being quite private…” she says. “I got the impression that maybe, I don’t know, there’s a mood on tours, and I didn’t feel like it was the most happy tour.”

Three more albums followed in 2011, 2014 and 2016 and she competed on Strictly Come Dancing with Brendan Cole in 2013, coming fourth. In her memoir – yes, she squeezed in a book in 2021 – Ellis-Bextor wrote about how the BBC One competition was so disruptive to her marriage with The Feeling bassist Richard Jones that the pair sought counselling. She described how he “became unusually insistent on knowing where I was all the time.

“If I didn’t reply to a text, he’d spiral… He just felt as if I might slip into a new life that left our family behind,” she wrote, also questioning why the show “fetishises the ‘couples’ aspect so much”. We don’t discuss Strictly when we meet, but in the book she called her partner Cole a “perfect gentleman”.

There have been reports that Ellis-Bextor might be the UK’s 2024 Eurovision entry, but she tells me it’s not going to happen. “I saw that too,” she says of the rumours, “but no one’s actually had a chat with me about it! I love Eurovision so much – I went up to Liverpool for the build-up and I was on such a high afterwards, it was just really joyous. The sun was shining and they did a great job. But I think at this point, and with what I’m up to, it would be a massive gamble, like casino all-on-red level of gamble, and I just don’t think that’s me. I’ll always watch it, but I can’t really picture myself up there doing it.”

Ellis-Bextor also has a podcast called Spinning Plates, currently in its 10th season, in which she interviews working mums from Fearne Cotton to Myleene Klass, and a BBC Sounds show, Kitchen Disco, named after and inspired by her videos in lockdown, where every Friday night Jones would film his glitter-clad wife singing her own hits and covers under swirling lights.

The woman is unstoppable. Even on the day we meet, by mid-afternoon she’s been to her son’s school sports day, signed a big pile of records (I can see a few stray biro scribbles on her forearm), and recorded two episodes of her radio show. She puts her work ethic down to her early knockback with Theaudience. “With my first solo album, it was sometimes quite overwhelming having my diary get really busy and being swept up in it all, but the fact that I’d already been through a really crummy time with my first record deal kept me a little bit sober, in a good way,” she says. “I was a lot more grateful and I didn’t get moany about it because it was like, I’ve had it all taken away from me. It sucks. This is better. Now, I never take for granted any booking. And the older I get, the more it moves me that I am given space [in this industry] because there’s so much out there.”

Her new album, Hana, is Ellis-Bextor’s most introspective work yet. It takes a more proggy, meditative direction than her old electro bangers, but is still resolutely optimistic pop. “When I was making purely dance music, that genre deals really well with a present emotion like anger or frustration or love or lust – it’s something that’s taken over, here and now,” she says. “But you can’t really be reflective in a dance record… so this [the new album] feels quite indulgent, and I normally don’t feel like that.” The playful track “We’ve Been Watching You” imagines that aliens have been observing the human race, and decide to rescue us from Earth, a planet that Ellis-Bextor says has gone a bit “wonky” these past few years. “The world’s been in a very strange place,” she says, noting the pandemic and political chaos.

The track that scrapes closest to her heart is “Until the Wheels Fall Off”. It’s inspired by a letter that Ellis-Bextor’s late stepfather John Leach – who died of lung cancer in July 2020 – left behind for her mother. “He’d written about how they hadn’t let his diagnoses stop anything, and they’d drunk the best wines and they’d burned all the fancy candles and they’d travelled,” says Ellis-Bextor, “and he wrote, ‘And we laughed and loved until the wheels fell off, and it all flew by at lightning speed.’” Ellis-Bextor has written songs for her mother – Janet Ellis, a former Blue Peter presenter who lives 10 minutes down the road from her daughter in west London – before, but she’s not performed this one for her yet. “I’m doing a big album show at the end of June – I’ll definitely have a little peek at her face then,” she says.

Family – and a big one at that – is Ellis-Bextor’s everything (she has the word tattooed inside a red heart on her arm). Fans will have glimpsed the five sons – Sonny, 19, Kit, 14, Ray, 11, Jesse, 7, and Mickey, 4 – she shares with musician Jones wandering in and out of the frame in her Kitchen Disco videos. Ellis-Bextor met Jones when he was auditioning for her tour band in 2002. They later started dating and she was pregnant within six weeks.

Before then, she had been in an abusive relationship with an older man who was so controlling at his worst that he wouldn’t allow her to walk down the street alone or look out of the car window. Jones, by contrast, gave her the support she had been craving. “When you really love someone, you want them to flourish,” she says. “And I feel like that about Richard and I can see he feels like that about me, but I just didn’t have that to go home to then [with the ex]. It made me understand that anyone who says that they love you but also tries to clip your wings can’t really be telling the truth about loving you. It just isn’t what love looks like.” She wrote about the abusive relationship in her memoir, she says, “because at the time there was a lot of stuff that I thought was fine and it just wasn’t fine. But that’s the nice thing about being older and wiser, you can reach back to yourself in the past and be like, ‘It’s OK. I can help you articulate what you’re feeling.’”

What has it been like raising five boys, with all the conversations that may bring around toxic masculinity and consent? “I teach them both sides of the coin actually,” she says, “about wanting happiness for the other person you’re with and also not compromising your own… That goes into every dynamic, every exchange they have with other people, including in our house. That’s the thing about being in a big family, they’re automatically born into this little community. I want them to feel they can talk about their emotions as well. I just want them to be rounded people, and I don’t know if I necessarily put a big emphasis on having five boys – it’s a responsibility just raising five people. And like all modern parenting tells you to, I model failure.” She’s referring to parents being encouraged to be honest about their imperfections and bad habits. She laughs. “I go back and say, ‘Sorry, I just got that bit wrong.’ I don’t really have any problem with that.” She likes to imagine that within families, everyone gets handed their lines in the morning. “My script is quite big,” she says, “and I do a lot of talking, but then my mum did that, too.”

The early years of Ellis-Bextor’s motherhood were fraught. She suffered from pre-eclampsia (the onset of high blood pressure that can lead to complications for mother and baby) during her first two pregnancies, resulting in both Sonny and Kit being born prematurely. “When Richard and I got together and found out we were having a baby, it already felt very high drama and I was also going through some difficult issues with my previous manager,” she says. “There was just a lot of drama going on in the middle of it all. And my sister was born 10 weeks early when I was 11, so I’d already seen a happy ending, so I wasn’t too – I was probably quite naïve – but I wasn’t too worried about Sonny. It sounds absurd, I mean, when I look back and I see pictures, I’m like, oh my God, he was covered in wires, but I just didn’t really see it at the time. I just couldn’t believe that this baby was here.” She pauses as an ambulance goes by, siren blaring, and laughs at the ironic timing. “It was a bit more scary with Kit because he was really tiny and that time we thought, maybe we’ve been lucky once and we won’t be lucky again.”

Then Sonny contracted meningitis – an inflammation affecting the brain and spinal cord which can cause long-term damage or death – when he was just a few months old. “It was intense,” she says. “I woke up in the morning and I knew something was seriously wrong with him. He was the hottest thing I’d ever held, his feet were like ice and his eyes were sunk back. He was making this weird moaning noise.” The ambulance arrived in two minutes and it was soon confirmed that Sonny was suffering from meningitis. Doctors treated him in time and he made a full recovery. “They did say to us afterwards, ‘If you’d left this a couple of hours I don’t think it would have been...’” She trails off.

Sonny, now 19, will be part of Ellis-Bextor’s posse as she opens the Pyramid Stage on the Sunday of Glastonbury later this month. She’s also bringing a couple of her friends and her sister to the festival – and her brother Jackson, also a musician, will be playing in her band. “The thing that’s special about Glastonbury is that everybody brings their A-game when they go on stage,” she says, letting out a squeal. “That’s quite unique. My main objective is really just to try and take it all in, because I haven’t been on the Pyramid Stage before, but I keep picturing myself walking out and just seeing that crowd, and thinking, you all look so great!”

‘Hana’ is out now via Cooking Vinyl

Source: Independent.co.uk

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atozphantomsquadron · 1 year

Text

Prologue

“If indeed you magnify yourselves against me, and make my humiliation an argument against me, know then that God has put me in the wrong, and closed his net about me. Behold, I cry out ‘Violence!’ but I am not answered; I call aloud, but there is no justice. […] Why do you, like God, pursue me? Why are you not satisfied with my flesh? Oh that my words were written! Oh that they were inscribed in a book! Oh that with an iron pen and lead they were graven in the rock for ever! For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at last he will stand upon the earth; and after my skin has been thus destroyed, then from my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see on my side, and my eyes shall behold, and not another.” -Job 19: 5-7, 23-27

Transcriber's Foreword

While doing research for a separate work, the occasion came that I needed a copy of a Federal military budget, which was quite cooperatively supplied to me by the General Accounting Office. It was the discovery of a spare page, one that probably was not intended to be included, that led me to the book you hold in your hand now.

Let me back up a bit. In November of last year I was assigned to write an article for a prominent blog site about budget overruns in defense. My Freedom of Information Act request in hand, I contacted the GAO, and after about three weeks’ worth of bureaucratic wrangling I received the records I had been looking for: defense spending spreadsheets for the past ten years. I should point out, these were about as dry of reading as you can imagine, so night after night of poring over giant lists of expenditures for manpower, equipment, and other such expenses started to get tedious after the first few nights. It was on the fourth night that I found something interesting.

Looking like it was tacked to the back of a page by accident I found a small budget sheet which did not match the stationery of the spreadsheets. In fact, it looked like it had been stuck to the other page with strawberry jam, like someone had been eating breakfast while packing up the spreadsheets to mail and collected this sheet by mistake. (Wonderful government operation, right?) Sipping my fifth cup of coffee of the evening, I brought the extra page over to the light and found some enlightening content:

-$6,800 motor oil

-$7,350 incense

-$21,000 obstetrician

-$8,355 tuna

-$2,100 shortened uniforms

-$35,000 barrack repairs (slices, burns, bullet holes)

-APPROVED PAID 8 December 2012 CIBO #A13

Now, only one of these expenses, maybe two, seemed to belong in military budgeting. “Incense?” “Shortened uniforms?” These did not make any sense to me whatsoever. I set the page aside and finished my original defense overrun article, which never mentioned the extra sheet. I instead asked my editor what he would do if he had found it himself.

“Find out what I can,” he replied, “and write one hell of a book with the results. Who knows what’ll happen? You might take down the whole damn DoD.”

I immediately called my lawyer to attempt another FOIA request on the related materials to the sheet, including info on whatever “CIBO #A13” was. I did not get very far: my request was denied with prejudice, according to counsel, because certain aspects were deemed military secrets and thus remained classified. Everyone knows, however, that something as trivial as government disapproval is never enough to keep a good writer down.

I remembered that I was owed a favor by a former colleague who now worked in some shady office in DC (I never bothered to ask where). I asked him about CIBO #A13, which made him stammer for a long time before asking to meet me in a public park not far from my home. When I saw him, he was looking around in a panic, like people were chasing him.

“You weren’t followed, were you?”

I shook my head. “My wife might, but she won’t stick around once she realizes you aren’t an affair.”

“Oh ha ha, very funny.”

I sat down next to him on a park bench and showed him the excess page from the defense budget spreadsheets. “I just need to know what CIBO #A13 is, and why they would need things like what’s on this list.”

My friend rubbed the bridge of his nose before answering. “You do know I could get killed for telling you what I know, right?”

“Oh come on, this looks like it’s someone’s shopping list, what the hell’s so secret about it?”

He sighed deeply. “CIBO #A13 is a military unit that officially does not exist. ‘CIBO’ is an internal acronym for Central Intelligence Black Ops: A13 is this unit’s designation.”

“Have you heard of this unit?”

“It’s hard not to. They’re kind of secret celebrities, everybody within the government’s heard of them but nobody knows why they’re so well known.”

Secret celebrities? Never did a contradiction in terms pique my interest more. “What do you know about them?”

“It’s not safe to talk here. Walk this way.”

He led me down a path. I think that was when I noticed the guys around us that were staring a little too intently. We wound up in a bathroom facility, in the women’s side.

A little unsure about the situation and hoping no ladies walked in on us, I finally came to the meat of the issue. “What is unit A13?”

My friend sighed as he closed and locked the door. “It’s a supernatural unit. The government officially claims it does not exist, and maintains plausible deniability regarding its operations. It’s been involved in some major activity over the last eight years, but all of it has been kept hushed up by the government.”

Now this was getting interesting. “What major activity?”

“Remember the civil war in Africa a few years back, that kingdom that got knocked down?”

“Oh yeah, what was it called … Jerzaan, right?”

“Exactly. They were there. They were the reason the civil war started. Do you recall about four years ago, that televangelist that vanished into thin air?”

I nodded. “I thought that was awful weird, one day he was the biggest name in the country and the next nobody’s seen him.”

“This unit was involved with that. The government arranged so that his existence would completely vanish after A13 disposed of him.”

“Wait, wait, wait, disposed of? These guys are assassins?”

My friend loosened his tie. “Not exactly. Hell, it’s probably easier if I do this.”

He slapped a piece of paper in my hand, bid me goodbye, and made his way out of the restroom. I waited a couple of minutes before I left, looking at the piece of paper in my hand. All there was on it was an Arizona phone number and the name “Sharpe.”

When I got home that night, after checking my messages and sealing myself in like it was my tomb, I dialed the number. A very cheerful little girl’s voice on the other end, which I later discovered belonged to four-year-old Alanna Sharpe, happily greeted me and passed me along to her mother. This led to my first conversation with Ariel Sharpe (nee Vibria).

Ariel at first was unsure about my lines of questioning. It took a long time for me to gain her trust, to assure her that I was not trying to blackmail her or call her back into service. After about four phone conversations with her, after getting to know hers and her daughter’s voices like they were my own family, I asked if I could conduct an interview in their home.

“Why do you want to talk to me?” Her voice was very quiet and shy. At this point, the thought was never even in my head that I might be asking her to commit a Federal offense just by talking to me.

“I’ve been given knowledge of your activities, and I’m fascinated by the history of them. But mainly I want to hear about them directly from the people who lived it, the members of your unit, and thus far the only contact information I have is yours.”

She paused for a long time before responding. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to my husband? He was in the unit too, I’m sure you know.”

“Of course,” I lied. I hadn’t known that! “But I think I’d like to start with your perspective. Nobody thinks of women serving in these kinds of units, and I’d like to change that perception.”

That seemed to do it. She agreed to the interview session, on the condition that the exact location of the place we would conduct it, the Sharpe home, would remain secret. This is a trust I have maintained despite repeated requests, from my agent and publisher and even family, for the address. All I will say about the matter is that I arrived at the house two days later, my breath taken away by the majestic canyon view the house backs up to.

Ariel greeted me at my car and escorted me in. The first impression I got from the house was its candidness, it was very compact and intimately decorated. I also got the first look at Alanna, who to my surprise met me at eye level: Ariel had told me previously that her daughter was a little flier, and I saw the evidence of this in that she rarely if ever walked inside the house. Or even let her feet touch the ground.

Ariel led us into the very comfortable den of the house, where we sat on an impossibly plush sofa, my digital recorder sitting between us on a coffee table. As I played back our interview for the purposes of transcribing Ariel’s life story, I was recently struck by some of our words on the recording:

“Is this appearance comfortable for you, Mr. Martinez?”

“It’s okay, if that’s what makes you comfortable. But to tell the truth, I would much rather speak to the authentic you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I think I can handle it, if that’s all right with you.”

At this point in the recording, there is a period of loud white noise, followed by a gasp on my end of things. I thought I had been prepared for Ariel’s above-standard appearance given that I’d just been greeted by a flying toddler, but nothing prepared me for seeing the woman’s real appearance for the first time. It was a revealing experience, in that her appearance in equal parts invokes thoughts of pity and almost unwatchable beauty, like she has made the most of what technology tried to play God on her with.

This was the start of my relationship with this phantom squadron of supernaturals, otherwise designated as CIBO #A13. What you hold now in your hands is Ariel’s account of her life, leading up to that dusty June day when I came to interview this amazing woman, one who has been through so much pain and torment, yet has found so much love and peace. I have tried to refine it into what can be considered a memoir, but for the most part I have kept Ariel’s words from the interview intact. At some points, you will find footnotes in regards to things Ariel mentioned which I had to look up later, including the source of that white noise I mentioned earlier.

With the current rise of anti-supernatural sentiment in this country, fueled by paranoid speculation and fanaticism from every corner, it is my hope that by reading the words of this brave soul all sides of the issue will come together and realize that deep down, most if not all of us are truly human, truly good, and truly want to make things better for our children. Ariel and her husband have done wonders with their daughter Alanna, who is a bright, intelligent, and cheerful little girl, wings and all. Yes, I may risk imprisonment by bringing this to print, by making this story public, but it’s a necessary sacrifice in my book for the value of the truth. Much like Ariel says about her husband and daughter, her life’s story is “a precious treasure, one that betters the world because of its presence.”

#dinetah dragon #phantom squadron

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lomoshield · 2 years

Text

George conway twitter

Conway blamed now-Washington Post columnist Taylor Lorenz, whom she called “Peter Pan” for joining those who contacted her. Alec Ross, Marlon Parker, Christie George, Craig Newmark, Rebecca Hankin. Regarding her daughter, Conway found it “outrageous” that “a bunch of adults” messaged her on TikTok, where she posted videos at 15-years-old. 198 Acknowledgments Outside of Twitter, amazing support came from many. Still, no one comes close to presidential counselor Kellyanne Conway and her husband, attorney George Conway, when it comes to nabbing the coveted Most Fucked-Up Trump Admin Couple Award 2017. “Many things that I always appreciate about George is he’s brilliant and he always kept his counsel,” added Conway.Ĭonway called Twitter, where George Conway launched his criticisms of Trump, as “another woman in our life.” In her book, released on Tuesday, Kellyanne Conway wrote that her husband “was cheating by tweeting.”Ĭonway said she didn’t mind her husband turning on Trump “except it took on this whole folk hero syndrome with the mainstream media.” George Conway, a founding member of the anti-Trump PAC The Lincoln Project, is one of Trump’s most prominent conservative critics. “I think the public nature of it was so jarring to me,” she said. Former President Donald Trump issued a bizarre statement Thursday attacking conservative attorney George Conway while also taking a dig at his wife, Kellyanne Conway, in the process. Go take your shot.’”Ĭonway noted that her husband “accepted a job with Donald Trump in the administration … in the Department of Justice and he turned.” I have watched men in the Republican consultancy dismiss and denigrate and deride you for years. We’ve been married for two decades.”Ĭonway said that her husband “does not owe fealty or loyalty to Donald Trump or any political ideology.” She credited her husband by saying she “would not have been able to be Donald Trump’s campaign manager at the level I was had George not said, ‘You are taking your shot and I will help with the kids and around the house. George Conway, a Washington, D.C.-based attorney married to White House counselor Kellyanne Conway, said Sunday he would be withdrawing from the anti-Trump GOP group he helped found. “I’m very raw and open and vulnerable in this book, Sara, and the reason is I have been in the middle of incredible opportunities and also wild dramas and traumas and I’ve come out on the other side very whole, very happy and very hopeful and also with a lot of love in my heart for George,” said Conway. But he didn’t retreat from his earlier remarks, either, noting that he’d spoken with administration officials at the Justice Department who agree with his assessment of the president’s public statements about the travel ban.Appearing on The View, former Trump senior adviser Kellyanne Conway on Tuesday touted her “love” for her “brilliant” anti-Trump husband, George Conway.Ĭo-host Sara Haines asked Conway why her husband and daughter, Claudia Conway, “ on you and in such a public way.” He emphasized his support for his wife, as well as his loyalty to Trump and his policy agenda. (The Conways have four young children.) Before that, he was among the finalists to be Trump’s choice for solicitor general had he assumed the post, he’d be the one potentially defending the president’s tweets before the Supreme Court.Ī few hours later, Conway followed up on his original tweet. He withdrew his name from consideration on Friday, citing the impact on his family that taking the position would involve. Until last week, he was in the running to be Trump’s pick to lead the Justice Department’s Civil Division, one of the federal government’s top legal posts. His wife’s employment aside, Conway is no ordinary legal observer. Trump Returns to Rally Team MAGA Elaine Godfrey

#George conway twitter

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ofstarsandvibranium · 3 years

Text

Rectify: Part 1

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

As requested by anonymous: It would be awesome if you could make a tfatws Bucky fic or series where the reader is on the list for his making amends because the winter soldier did something to her or someone she loves, and once he gets close to her in some way he ends up falling for her and it’s really angsty but a happy ending !!

A/N: FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER SPOILERS AHEAD!!! also, this will be a mini series that I will HOPEFULLY be able to finish.

The list. Bucky's therapist made him make a list of amends to help him cope and process the horrors of his past. He was slowly making his way through the list.

With the case of Yori, Bucky has been a coward. He's been working his way to befriending the old man, trying to form some sort of relationship with him to eventually break the news that he's the reason why Yori no longer has a son. But he just can't seem to do it. So Yori's name remains uncrossed and he continues on with his list. The person under Yori is you: Y/N L/N.

You were ten years old when you were coming back from a sleepover to find your parents dead in your home. The police told you that you it was a robbery gone wrong and you were lucky you weren't home. But still, that left you without any parents, instead growing up with your aunt and uncle. You always felt like something was wrong pertaining to your parents' death, but you didn't know what. So you went through life just feeling without closure.

You visited your parents as much as you could. Your career in child counseling provided that you were very busy. However, the weekends were the time of seeing them and reminiscing.

That's how Bucky found you.

Around 3pm every Saturday and 12pm Sunday, you would visit your parents' graves. The time you spent there varied, but, on average, you'd stay for about an hour and a half. This was just from what Bucky gathered from watching you for a month.

It was how he found the courage to come up to you and speak with you.

He slowly approaches you, hears your music playing softly from your phone grow louder as he draws near.

Hearing the crunching of the grass, you look up to see him staring down at you, "Um...hi?"

"I'm sorry for your loss," he gestures to your parents' graves.

You give him a polite smile, "Thanks. It's been years since I lost them."

"Doesn't mean their absence still doesn't hurt," he interjects.

You nod in understanding and ask, "Did you lose someone?"

"My parents as well." he stands there for a few seconds in silence then speaks up again, "I'm James," he holds out a gloved hand and you shake it, "Y/N."

After pulling his hand back and shoving it into his pocket, an awkward silence washes over the two of you, to which to break, "So...James, do you...come here often?" then you burst into a chuckle, "I'm sorry. That sounds like a wildly inappropriate pick up line."

Bucky smiles and shakes his head, "No, no. It's fine. But to answer your question, I've, uh, recently started coming here."

"Are you parents buried here?"

"No, no. Um, I....I like to take walks in cemeteries." What the fuck, Bucky??? "I mean, 'cause, you know, it's quiet and peaceful. Barely any people here to really bother you. Just...I can clear my head." Yeah. That works. That should make sense, right?

"Oh. I suppose that's a good point. I come here pretty much every weekend just to visit my parents and I rarely see anyone. So I suppose this is a good place for you to clear your mind and enjoy the silence without the hustle and bustle."

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly. So, what do you do when you come here? Just sit in silence?"

You shrug, "Depends how I'm feeling. I'll tell them about my week, anything interesting that's going on. Sometimes I'll have a little picnic, read, journal, listen to some music."

"That sounds....really nice."

You softly smile up at him, "It is. You should try it some time."

Suddenly, your alarm started going off on your phone. You quickly picked up your device, swiping off the alarm and looked back up to Bucky, "Sorry. I have to go." you stood up, collecting your things, "It was nice to meet you, James. I'll see you around!"

You shake his hand again and head to your car. Bucky watches as you drive away and he sighs. He turns to your parents' grave and whispers, "I'm sorry."

____________

The next week, Bucky sat under a tree close to your parent's grave plot so that he could see you clearly and you him.

Right on time, you drove up, hopping out of your car with a picnic basket in hand and some other items.

Bucky sat looking down at the book in his lap, but glancing your way every so often, waiting until-

"Hey," you give a light kick to his boot and he looks up, shooting you a small grin, "Oh hi. Nice to see you again."

"Do you wanna join me?"

Bucky shakes his head, "No, it's fine. I don't want to interrupt your time-"

"It's okay, James. I don't mind. It'd be nice to have some living company for a change," you give a little giggle and he sighs.

"Well if you insist," he snaps his book shut and gets to his feet, following you to your parents' plot. You already have the picnic set up and you sit down, a look of hesitation on your face.

"Um, I kinda packed some extra food, just in case I ran into you today."

Bucky's brows shoot up in surprise, "Wow. Um, thank you. That's-That's really nice."

You hold out a tupperware of pasta salad and hand him a bottle of water. You play music on your phone while you two eat and make idle chatter.

You tell Bucky of your childhood, how your parents were abruptly taken from you, and how you grew up with your aunt and uncle. It provided some relief to him that your growing up parentless wasn't completely bad, that your aunt and uncle provided a sufficient amount of love and care to you on top of their own children.

Bucky was amazed that despite being orphaned at a young age, you were still filled with so much love, heart, and light, and that you wanted to provide as much care and compassion to troubled children. It was admirable.

A few hours past and both you and Bucky didn't realize how much the day has gone.

"Wow, I don't think I've spent this much time here in a day."

"Sorry," Bucky murmurs with a wince as he helps you to your feet.

You shook your head, "Don't be. Today was fun, James."

"Bucky."

"Hm?"

"Call me Bucky. It's a nickname."

"Bucky," you tested the name on your tongue, "It's cute."

For some reason, Bucky felt himself blushing at the compliment. So he looks down, afraid you might see his blushing cheeks and replies, "Thanks."

"Do you wanna have lunch sometime, Bucky?"

His head shoots back up and you look at him surprised, "Huh?"

You shrug, "I don't know. There's just something about you. I want to get to know you more. If that's okay."

"Um," he nervously runs his gloved hands down the side of his jeans, "Yeah. Sure."

"Great!" you take out your phone and hand it to him, "Put your number in." After he does so, you take back your phone, "So I'll call you and we can hash out the details?"

"I'll be waiting," he responds with a chuckle and a smile. He escorts you back to your car and waves as you drive away. Once you're gone, his smile drops and he murmurs, "Shit. I think I like her."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #falcon and the winter soldier #fatws #falcon and the winter soldier spoilers #fatws spoilers

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crossdreamers · 2 years

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The destructive force religious conversion therapy has on trans and queer people

Meggy-D has published a very personal thread on the use of transgender conversion therapy over at twitter. This is what she writes:

Canada just announced a ban on gay and transgender conversion therapy, and I want to take a moment to talk about my experiences with conversion therapy at Moody Bible Institute from 2009-2012 when I was a student there to help people understand how it happens.

Struggling with gender since a kid

I entered the Moody Bible Institute in 2009 on the promise that if God would heal me of my gender dysphoria, I would become a pastor or a missionary wherever he called me. I had been struggling with my gender since I was 4 years old.

I knew I wanted to be a girl as young as 4, and when I first learned about trans people I asked a parent about them. They told me, "Transsexuals are deeply unhappy people who become prostitutes, get AIDS, and die homeless." Those words became the root of my closet.

Reinforcing this root was the fact that every single example of trans people and especially trans women in media portrayed us as disgusting, unnatural, violent monsters. My closet grew deeper and darker and more entrenched.

My mental health was not good, especially during puberty. I survived two suicide attempts (age 8 and 15,) and fell into Evangelical purity culture hard because I felt disgusted with my anatomy and I was promised that pure living would heal me.

These promises came through Evangelical youth groups and books, especially material directed at young boys, and resonated with me because of the constant references to "healing, regeneration, renewal, and rebirth."

In short, I knew that I wanted to be a woman, society told me that was a bad thing, so I wanted a way out of wanting to be a woman. Evangelical purity culture promised me a way out, and I grasped onto it.

Evangelical culture

I delved further and further into Evangelical culture, memorizing large swathes of Scripture and praying fervently. I remember being very happy during these early years, but I wonder how true those recollections are.

Recently I found some of my old prayer journals, and just about every entry is lamenting that god had yet to "heal me" and continually asking for healing.

One such entry: "I don't understand. Nobody else feels this way? Nobody else just hates themselves the way I do? Everyone around me is so happy. Everyone else knows what they want. Everyone else has a plan. I just am. I hate this. I HATE THIS."

Another: " I don't even want to be happy anymore. I'll make due with content. You want to work a work in me? Do it. Do it and get it over with. I can't wait anymore. I hate this. I hate existing."

One more: "I just want to give up. I've been praying for a decade. For a decade you haven't healed me. Maybe tomorrow I'll finally have the courage and walk out the window."

So when I enrolled in Moody Bible Institute, it was the next step in my plan to be healed of my gender issues. But my mental health issues followed me, and it culminated in crippling insomnia that led to me losing 7 consecutive nights of sleep.

Introduced to “cognitive aversion therapy”

On day 8 of that insomnia episode, I had a nervous breakdown in chapel. Campus public safety took me to the hospital, and afterwards I was referred to resident life supervisors who required me to attend therapy with a Moody therapist or else face probation.

I want to add that what I now recognize as a threat wasn't presented as a threat, it was presented in the nicest, most sincere way possible. They were incredibly gentle with me at this stage, even though they were holding real academic consequences over my head.

The therapist I saw was a nouthetic counselor. Nouthetic counseling is an Evangelical model of therapy that rejects psychiatry and psychology, relying on Biblical principles in order to help their clients.

One of the hallmarks of nouthetic counseling is the belief that mental illness stems from unconfessed sin, and so for the first few weeks we discussed my habitual sins. At this time, I had almost forgotten my gender issues, having stuffed them so far deep into the closet.

I want to note that my therapist was extremely kind to me, extremely gentle. The part that is most upsetting to me now is remembering just how nice the counselor was and how I was convinced through his words and deeds that he had my best interests at heart.

So several weeks in, when we had landed on this confession, I trusted him. And I explained how long I had wanted to be a woman, my experiences stealing girls' clothing out of elementary school cubbies, my jealousy of women's friendships, etc.

He asked several probing questions, like if I had a choice between playing as a man or a woman in a video game, would I always choose the woman (the answer was yes.) He asked if I enjoyed seeing pictures of myself (I did not.)

At the end of this session, in an extremely confident and compassionate tone, he said, "Okay, well I want you to know that this is very common. Many men struggle with feeling like they should have been women, and we have a way to treat this problem."

I was ECSTATIC. I left that session thinking that I wished I had confessed those feelings decades ago. He promised me the healing I had been praying for for years. I began to think that this was God's providence, the fulfillment of my purpose at Moody.

In the next session, the therapist discussed the "causes" of what he called "Gender Identity Disorder." He said that the leading theory was that abuse, either physical, emotional, or sexual, was the primary cause. So we discussed my history of abuse.

At that time, I confessed that I had been sexually assaulted while in the hospital after one of my suicide attempts, and that it was extremely difficult to talk about. He asked me to recall the details of the encounter. I broke down and hyperventilated multiple times.

He said that during this assault, I was made to "feel like a woman" and my brain was still processing the trauma, causing gender identity disorder. Both of us conveniently ignored that the assault occurred over a decade after my first reported experience of gender incongruence.

He said we were going to "treat the problem with the root" through "cognitive aversion therapy." And by that he meant when I felt any gender dysphoria, I should recall my sexual assault in as much detail as it takes to elicit an emotional response (crying, hyperventilation)

So we practiced in his office. And I practiced in my dorm. And whenever I found myself jealous of women on campus, I would do it, sequestering myself away to train my brain against feeling those feelings.

Ex-gay activist

I was then partnered with Christopher Yuan, an adjunct faculty member at Moody who was a prominent member of the Ex-Gay community. We had weekly meetings where I would talk about my week, about how the therapy was going, and strategies for dealing with my feelings.

After a year, I convinced myself that I was cured, and was ready to get married. The therapist had told me that often, marriage signaled the final end of feelings of "same sex attraction" and gender identity disorder. So I courted a woman and got married.

I did discuss my gender issues with my ex-wife, but told her confidently that I had received treatment for it and was fully healed.

Losing faith

But the problems were not solved, and as my faith began slipping from my fingers (precipitated largely by the rise of racism, xenophobia, and the increasing post-truth culture of the Evangelical Church) I began to lose my grip on the closet as well.

It took years for me to finally come out to my ex-wife. I held on for so long because I thought I could just tough it out for the last fifty years of my life. But there came a point where, I knew that doing so would kill me in the end.

I am now working with a therapist to undue the damage done to me by my conversion therapy. They believe that intentionally triggering my PTSD in association with my gender dysphoria had deepened the traumatic bent of those memories, making them more difficult to extract from.

I know that what I experienced was a mild form of conversion therapy, I was never sent to a camp dedicated to the practice and I was never hooked up to electrodes. My therapist actually laughed at one point and said "we used to do this with electricity, but that is barbaric."

I suppose the thing I want people to learn from my experience is how NICE and KIND and WELL INTENTIONED the people involved in my therapy were. That kindness reads insidious to me now, like a smile on the face of an abuser.

Anyway, I am very glad that the bill passed in Canada and that fewer and fewer people will be subject to what I had to go through.

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtqa #lgbt+#conversion therapy #transphobia #evangelical #fundamentalism #ex-gay

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

Investigations (Part 6): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.8k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

song recommendation:

"Mommy, you're getting bigger!"

The slapping of Kai's shoes on the wood flooring, his little body rushing toward you with his arms spread wide, is enough to make you forget the emptiness you felt like an ache in your soul.

"Kai, don't say that..."

Ran chastises him, coming through the door with the Paw Patrol bag slung over his suited shoulder.

"It's fine," you reply, squatting down to hold your son close. "He's just a kid." Ran doesn't respond. He just slides the backpack off his shoulder and shuts your apartment door, sitting it on the marble counter before walking around the fixture slowly.

"Packed five changes of clothes," he begins, ticking off his fingers. "Snacks and a water bottle. Some toys. And the books you wanted."

"Thanks," you whisper, unzipping the backpack to check if he made sure the clothes were matching this time.

"Y/n..." You sigh, feeling Ran's fingers slide up your hips and rest on your small bump. "You should really reconsider this. You're going to need help with the baby, and--"

"Ran." You don't face him; you can't look at his sad eyes. They're too convincing... Too alluring. You'd separated for a reason, not because you wanted to play coy. "We need to get through counseling before I can consider anything."

"I miss you." The words are like a siren's call to your heart, and you want to turn around. You want to hold him and kiss him and... But he'd just do the same thing over and over again. His lies would become more convincing, and you'd be in dire straits, all while sleeping next to a lying manipulator.

You decide the heartbreak isn't worth it.

"I'll see you on Sunday evening." Ran gets the hint. His hands slip away from your body and he says a soft "bye, champ" to Kai before walking out of the door.

_____________________________________________________________

You remember the day Ran came to get you like it was yesterday.

Cliche, but true.

He'd stormed into the little home Taiju had allowed you to remain in, his violet eyes blazing with anger and betrayal. Taiju followed behind him, yellow eyes apologetic and maybe even a little guilty.

"I'm sorry, y/n," Taiju whispered, hanging his head. "I--"

"Pack your things." Ran grabbed you by the wrist, yanking you toward the room you'd just emerged from, but you snatched it back, snapping,

"Fuck off."

In a split second, Ran had his hand raised in the air, poised to slap the taste out of your mouth without a second thought. But he stopped himself, remembering where he was. Who he was with. And who you were.

Taiju yanked you behind him in the milliseconds between Ran raising his hand and the thought of slapping you crossing his mind, full of fury.

"You can hit me, but if you hit her..." The threat stood between the two men, holding them apart with the promise of violence beyond your rashest fears.

"I want a divorce," you croaked.

Ran's eyes softened, and his mind flitted from the "I" to the "want" to the "a" and settled on "divorce".

"Y/n, please, I--"

"I want a fucking divorce."

The drive home with Taiju was the longest drive you'd ever endured.

And then you found out... you were pregnant. The timing couldn't have been worse. You only told Taiju - mainly because he would end up being the godfather due to the circumstances - but when you asked for a divorce, you had moved out.

Ran committed to helping pay for your apartment while you looked for a job, but once you found one as an administrative assistant to someone your family knew, you rejected any and all payments. Kai was shared between the two of you without a court order (you got weekends, he got weekdays), and you'd gotten used to living on your own for the first time in over five years.

And Kai... Kai hadn't understood why Mommy wouldn't be with him Monday through Friday. But Ran tried to explain it in soft tones and gentle hand-holding, and somehow it sunk in that Mommy needed to "work" and Daddy would do most of the caretaking while you worked hard for your independence.

But as the weeks passed, signs appeared, and Ran caught on pretty quickly with his methodical calculations and scrutinizing eyes. And when he found out you were pregnant and hadn't told him?

You sat through a half-hour-long, tear-filled speech that emphasized that Ran would be a part of the child's life in any and every way possible. Through that conversation, though, you agreed to marriage counseling. So... maybe it was good that he found out the way he did.

_____________________________________________________________

"Mr. Haitani, do you want this marriage to work for you or against you?"

"What kind of question is that?" Ran scoffs, crossing his arms.

"It's the kind of question that just might save you from being divorced and alone."

You can see Ran soften, uncrossing his arms and leaning his head on his propped-up hand.

"I want it to work."

"And Mrs. Haitani? Same question." When the woman turns to you, you feel something in your own heart crack, and for a moment, you think it's the pregnancy hormones that are making you cry. But you shake your head at yourself, wiping your eyes preemptively.

"I want it to work. For us. I don't want Kai to be without a father." A pause. "And I don't want to be without my husband." You don't see how Ran reacts because you're too busy sobbing into your own hands, feeling every single emotion you've held at bay come crashing down on you. But the large couch dips, and Ran places his arm around you, enveloping you in a hug as you weep.

"Then we need to rebuild trust before we can get to true reconciliation. Can I recommend something?"

"Please," Ran replies.

"Spend this evening just being honest with each other. Nothing distracting you two, just the two of you and your truth. Mr. Haitani, you need to be open enough to be honest and give her the answers to any questions she might have. And Mrs. Haitani, you need to do the same."

_____________________________________________________________

You're sitting between Ran's legs, staring at the crackling fire while he rests his large hands on your knees.

"Ask me anything."

The floor is open. The first question that comes to mind is:

"How long have you been in gangs?"

"Since I was thirteen." Seventeen years... This is a way of life for Ran.

"You've killed a man before." A statement, not a question.

"Many. But never for fun." You turn to look at him, and Ran looks down at you, raising his brows. "Never. And very rarely these days." South.

"Did you ever think about leaving?"

"All the time. The first time was when you and I got married. Then when we had Kai... then when you found out."

"And what's stopping you?" Ran thinks long and hard.

"It wouldn't make you trust me any more than you do now." You nod, quirking your lips to the left. That is true. "But also... I want to provide for both of you. I can't leave without some consequences. And we'd never be safe. But I can provide safety for us if I'm in power."

That is also true.

"Can I ask a question?" Ran whispers.

"Of course."

"Do you really want to divorce me?" You stare at the flames again, the answer very clear for the both of you. You just have to say it out loud.

"No." Ran sighs, dropping his head on your shoulder.

"I can't be without you." You lean your head on his and close your eyes, letting his lips press against your skin. "Please, come home."

"When we finish counseling," you promise. "I'll come home."

"Can you stay with me tonight, though?" You hesitate, but Ran cups your neck in his hand, whispering "please" into your skin and you give in. What good is it to fight the thing you want? To fight the man you need?

You kiss Ran with everything that you are, turning around to embrace him gently. You run your hands through his hair, tugging the short locks slightly as he lifts you onto his lap and kisses you deeply.

"Never leave me again," Ran pants, running his hands up your back. "Please. I felt like I could barely breathe without you."

"Never break my trust again," you reply, and Ran hums softly, littering kisses all over your face. "And I won't ever leave you."

Your lovemaking is slow and thoughtful in front of the fire, Ran's hands holding your hips with feather-light touches, and swiping your hair away from your face whenever he can't see your eyes staring back at him. It's this type of sex that Ran seems to take the most pleasure in... the closeness, the sweetness, the passion... it's all wrapped up in his soul, and he's pouring it out to you without words.

"I want you to be happy here," Ran grunts, stroking your g-spot with his skilled length and kissing the swell of your breasts at the same time. "With me."

You moan, and Ran opens his mouth to speak again.

"And I want you to be safe." He pauses, swirling a nipple around with his tongue. "And warm..." Ran's hands move from your hips to your face, and he leans down to brush his nose against yours. "And mine."

"You're all that I am," you breathe, and Ran's eyes light up, remembering the part of your vows you had said on your wedding day, which were completely unscripted.

"And you are all that I will be." His reply makes you arch your back upward, and you shake as he brings you to your climax, stroking all of the right spots and tending to your every need.

"R-Ran..."

"Shhh... Kai's sleeping. Don't want to wake him, do you?" Ran teases as your body clenches around his cock. "Gotta be quiet or-- fuck, fuck... Oh, my god..." Ran shudders, cumming inside of you with stuttering hips and fingers gripping your hands in his. When you both slow your pants and come down from your highs, Ran pulls you up and onto his body, leaning back onto the soft, plush carpet - and still inside of you.

You both stare into the fire, tangled and merged with one another by a red thread.

"I can't let go of you," Ran murmurs, and you look up at him in question. A tear tracks from the corner of his eye, and you swipe at it, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"You don't have to." You lay back down on his chest, trying to remain awake and relish this time with him, but you feel yourself slipping, falling, crashing into a deep sleep, one you've needed for a long time.

#ran haitani smut #tokyorev smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani

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bumblesimagines · 3 years

Text

Green Thumb

Part 8

Request: Yes or No

Sam and y/n had more development than y/n and Wanda lmao

You crossed your arms as you entered the room, glancing at the older man. You shared a look with Sam and Wanda, taking a seat in between Sam and Vision. You licked your lips, leaning towards Sam.

"What's this about?" You asked quietly, gaze flickering to Tony who sat in a corner.

"If I had to guess.. Probably about what happened in Lagos." Sam replied, glancing at Steve and Natasha. You frowned, looking at the Secretary of State.

"The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt." He began, gaze sweeping over everyone in the room.

"You have.. Fought for us, protected us, risked your lives but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the term 'vigilantes.'"

"And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?" Natasha asked, studying the older man. You looked back at Tony Stark, making brief eye contact with him. It felt like an intervention. Or a teacher scolding their class after they made the sub cry.

"How about dangerous?" You frowned, looking forward when you heard his words.

"What would you call a group of US based enhanced individuals who routinely ignore borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, quite frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?" Mr. Secretary asked, looking over the small group in disappointed. You'd hate to admit it, but he had a point. The citizens of Sokovia were left to find new homes and the people of Lagos had to fix what had been destroyed. Mr. Secretary stepped to the side, looking at the screen. Videos began playing of all the times the Avengers caused destruction and most likely death. Wanda looked away, growing uncomfortable as the aftermath of the Lagos incident played. She already felt guilty enough about it. She had told you many times how she wished it would've gone differently. Steve noticed, frown deepening.

"That's enough." He called, watching the screen turn off.

"For the last few years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's a decision the governments of the world can no longer tolerate." Mr. Secretary told them, hands clasped behind his back. You frowned, brows furrowing slightly.

"But we have a solution." Mr. Secretary took a book from his bodyguard, stepping forward and handing it to Wanda. Wanda picked it up, looking it over.

"The Sokovia Accords.. Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries." Wanda slid the book over to Rhodes so he could take a proper look at it. You looked at Mr. Secretary as he walked around the table.

"It states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of The United Nations Panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary."

"That's such bullshit." You whispered. Mr. Secretary turned towards you, cocking a brow. Natasha let an amused smile slip while Sam covered up his snicker with a cough.

"The Avengers were created to make the world a safer place." Steve spoke up before he could address you.

"This is the middle ground." Mr. Secretary said, walking to the front again and facing everyone.

"The Accords will be ratified in a couple days." Steve turned towards Tony, earning a silent response.

"I'll leave you to discuss."

"And if we come to a decision you don't like?" Leave it to Natasha to say what was on everyones' minds. Mr. Secretary paused as he approached the door.

"Then you retire." He answered plainly. You watched him leave, picking up the cup of water infront of You You went to take a sip but it turned to ice before you could drink from it. With a small huff, you placed it down.

"That's new." Natasha called with a small smile, hoping to ease the tension in the room. You stood up, leaving the meeting room and heading to the lounge. The others followed, taking more comfortable seats on the couch. A debate quickly started between Rhodes and Sam while Steve looked through the Accords.

"Have you two thought about starting a debate club?" You asked, tapping the frozen water a few times before it finally turned back to normal water. Natasha let out a small snort, chuckling as she shook her head.

"I have an equation." Vision announced, stopping Rhodes and Sam. They turned towards him.

"In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of enhanced people has grown and during the same period, the number of world ending events has risen."

"So, it's Starks' fault?" You asked, leaning back in your seat with a tilted head. Tony scoffed from his spot on the couch, rolling his eyes.

"I'm saying, there might be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge, challenge insights conflict, and conflict... Breeds catastrophe. Oversight is not an idea that should be dismissed."

"I wish I understood half of what you said." You muttered softly, running your finger the leaf of a plant beside the seat. Natasha turned towards Tony, watching him.

"You're being uncharacteristic non-hyper verbal." Natasha pointed out softly as he looked at her with a deep sigh. Steve looked up from the Accords.

"It's cause he already made up his mind." Steve said, earning a small eye roll. Tony slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

"Actually, I'm nursing a headache." He muttered as he stood up, walking towards the coffee machine. He poured himself some coffee and grabbed a bottle of pills before sighing and placing down a device. He showed an image of a young man.

"Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. A great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor level gig for the fall. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the people in Sokovia." Tony said, obviously agitated as he looked over everyone. You wondered why he now cared for the people who were injured during attacks.

"He wanted to make a difference although we'll never know cause we dropped a building on him while kicking ass." Everyone stayed silent as he spoke. You watched him take a pill, drinking it with the coffee.

"There's no decision making here. We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, we're no better than the bad guys."

"Tony, when someone dies on your watch, you don't give up." Steve closed the Accords, looking at Tony with a frown.

"Who says we're giving up?"

"We are by not taking responsibilities for our actions. This document shifts the blame." Steve voiced his opinion, shrugging lightly.

"Steve, that is dangerously arrogant." Rhodes spoke up, shaking his head. Steve turned towards him.

"This is the United Nations we're talking about. It's not the world security counsel, it's not S.H.I.E.L.D, it's not HYDRA-"

"But it's run by people with agendas and agendas change." Steve pointed out as you rubbed your forehead, sighing softly. Both sides had good points but you sided with Steve. The team was obviously divided.

"What do you think, (Y/N)?" Vision asked, looking at you curiously. You licked your lips, gaze focusing on Tony.

"I'm curious as to why you care so much about this Charles guy. You've had, what was it? Eight years as Iron Man to care about the people who get hurt? Why now? Cause you realized one of those people could become the new you? Would you care this much about Charles if he had been a typical guy? No degree, no plans for the future, just a normal guy working a normal 9 to 5 job and just trying to make it through the week. I agree with Steve. What if something happens and they don't send us to help because it doesn't go with their agenda? People get hurt cause you've never set up a system to help after these things happen. You're a fucking billionaire, Tony. Make a company that's designed to help people get back on their feet after the Avengers bulldoze through cities." You said, legs crossing as you looked over everyone else. Steve gave a small nod, glad you were seeing his side. He checked his phone, abruptly standing and announcing he had to leave. You and the others watched him go in confusion.

"To answer your questions, I do care about normal people." Tony said, arms crossing. You let out a soft groan, leaning back in the couch.

"I'm sorry, what are you? Twelve? Didn't you turn twenty this year?" Tony cocked a brow, watching as you rolled your eyes and stood.

"Yeah, I did turn twenty. Surprised you knew considering you've never particularly liked me."

"Well, first impressions are everything and you did try impaling me with a branch."

"Maybe I should've."

"Alright, boys, let's calm down." Natasha called, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turned and walked towards the steps, heading down to your room at the facility. You entered and plopped down on the bed, running a hand through your hair. You tapped your foot on the ground, fingers going to the root bracelets in an attempt to relax. Wanda opened the door, closing it behind her and sitting beside you.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly, staring at you in concern. You weren't one to snap at others so quickly.

"There's so much going on. The Accords, my fucking powers, the sudden change in Nat and Tony, you possibly getting into trouble cause of the Lagos incident.. That could've been me." You breathed out. Wanda frowned, brows furrowing.

"No, it wouldn't have."

"I shot fire out of my hands and turned water to ice without meaning to. They're getting unpredictable." You looked at her, grip on the roots tightening. Wanda's gaze flickered to the window, making you turn. Part of the window was covered in a thin layer of ice.

"And that just proved my point."

"You're an incredible person, (N/N). Have faith in yourself. You'll gain control of them sooner or later. You have beautiful powers that could change and heal the world." Wanda pointed out gently, having you rest your head on her shoulder. She softly began to hum a lullaby. You didn't understand the words but her soft voice proved to be soothing.

"Thank you."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Why'd you call me again?" You asked, toying with the strings of your hoodie as you looked around the cafe. You had planned on taking a nap and watching a new show on Netflix but it seemed like Steve had other plans for you.

"Because I trust you and need your help." Steve replied, fixing his baseball cap as he tried avoiding eye contact with civilians.

"Really?" You asked softly. Steve nodded, offering a smile. He licked his lips, nodding to the tv. You turned, looking at the news. You really didn't have to considering what they were showing was right down the street.

"Your friend?" You looked back at Steve with a tilted head.

"We gotta find him before anyone else does." Steve said. You nodded, watching him. Steve had been desperately trying to find his friend, Bucky, since the attempt on Furys' life.

"I'll go in alone. We don't want to seem threatening or set him off by going in as a trio."

"(Y/N)? Being threatening? He can't even scare a baby!" Sam said in amusement, shooting you a playful grin.

"Right back at you, bird boy."

"I'm sorry, who here is named after the top bird of prey?" Sam asked, leaning forward slightly as Steve let out an amused sigh.

"Oh, I didn't know you were named after eagles." You responded, smiling in triumph when Sam huffed lightly.

"Come on, you two." Steve chuckled, leaving the cafe and heading down the sidewalk.

"I don't trust Stark." You told them, arms crossing. Sam glanced at you as Steve turned into an alleyway.

"Not surprised considering the little fight you two had."

"I think he had Vis keep an eye on me and Wanda. I snuck out while he was with Wanda in the kitchen." You told him, frowning.

"Firstly, I'm an adult-"

"That's questionable."

"-And secondly, he's not my dad." You took off the hoodie as Steve unlocked a car parked in the alleyway, giving Sam the duffle bag with his outfit. You looked at your phone when it buzzed, seeing texts from Clint.

Clint

Heard you had a fight with Stark

Clint

You're officially an Avenger now

You smiled softly, chuckling softly at the texts. You waited for the guys to finish changing before taking the earpiece from Steve. The apartment building had been nearby so you and Sam headed onto the roof while Steve entered.

"How well do you think this will go?" You asked Sam, looking for any sign of law enforcement.

"Wanna bet?"

"How much?" You looked at him, giving a small grin. Sam looked up at the sky for a moment, thinking it over.

"30 bucks. I bet this will go to shit and this dude will escape."

"I bet we'll get into serious shit but this dude will either come with us or get caught." You replied. Sam stuck out his hand, nodding. You shook it, chuckling softly. You turned your head, noticing movement.

"We've got company, Cap."

"They're approaching from the south." Sam added, attention focused on them. You heard Steve begin to talk to someone, watching the cars pull in and get ready. You turned your head, hearing the door to the roof open.

"Shit." You whispered, letting Sam pick you up and lift you into the air. You could hear the fight going on inside through the earpiece.

"Should we help?" You asked, glancing up at Sam.

"No clue." Sam replied, watching Bucky jump from the apartment onto the roof of another building. You noticed someone running at a high speed, jumping up onto the roof and knocking Bucky down.

"They have cat ears." You mumbled, pushing Sam's arms away.

"Deal with them." You motioned to the German police force on the roof, hoping down onto the roof. You raised your hand, a root shooting out and grabbing the strangers arm, refraining them from clawing at Bucky. Bucky turned his head, making eye contact with you. Your eyes widened when the man grabbed the root, using what felt like super strength to toss you off the roof. You quickly used a root to grab onto the side, breathing out a sigh of relief. Sam took care of a helicopter before flying by to grab you.

"Thanks." You breathed out, holding onto him as he followed the chase. Steve, Bucky, and the cat guy went into one of the tunnels. Sam flew in once there was an opening, trying to help Steve with the cat guy. You huffed when the cat guy grabbed Sam's ankle, pointing your hand at him and shooting a strong gust of air. The cat guy lost his grip monetarily but quickly grabbed on again. Bucky threw up an explosive so Sam quickly stopped, flinging the guy off him. Sam landed, walking past the rubble. You sighed, raising your hands as you and Sam were quickly surrounded by cops.

"Mom's gonna kill me." You whispered.

"That's what you're concerned about?" Sam asked, glancing at you in disbelief.

"We're getting arrested, (Y/N)!"

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lowlights · 3 years

Text

You Look Like Rain Pt.1

Pairings: Pero x Reader, Oberyn x Reader, Ezra x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: 18+ Adult situations. Varying levels of angst. Nothing explicit. Some idiots behaving badly (not our men).

I have loved this song by Morphine for almost 20 years. It is simple, sexy, and raw, and I wanted to write some ficlets from our favorite Pedro boys inspired by this song. Some reference the lyrics directly, some indirectly, and some are just inspired by how the song makes me feel. I invite you to listen and then dive in. These are the first three, I will post the second three in another post perhaps.

Part 2 HERE ft. Javi P and Frankie

Song and ficlets featuring Pero, Oberyn, and Ezra under the cut.

youtube

(Lyrics)

Pero

You’ve been traveling together in your small band for several weeks, finding strength in numbers as you move from town to town. The men were sell-swords, fabricators, and guards for hire. You and the two other women sold your homemade salves, tinctures, and other creations. Every night, you all crowded around the fire and told exaggerated tales. Well, everyone but Tovar. He always sat by the flames, silently scowling and eating. He paid no mind to anyone, so you thought, until he rescued you from drunken Edward whispering in your ear what he wanted to do to you. Before you could slap him away, the morose Spaniard had ripped him up by his collar and flung him across the forest floor. That was the night he told you his name was Pero.

Now, you sat close to each other every night while you let the fire warm you both. He gave you his bread, you always let him finish your stew. Pero still ignored the others whenever possible, but reserved every kind glance and encouraging word for you. He carried your wares into town, and never left your side. On a clear, chilly night he walked you back to your tent as always. You bid him good night, but he softly grasped your hand. “Mi corazón…” Pero pulled you close to him, and you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he said. “You taste like the sky, just as I imagined. I want to chase after your stars always.” Without taking a beat, you hold him by the hand and take him into your tent.

Oberyn

“...you clearly have no idea of what nonsense you speak, girl.” An angry voice carries across the cavernous library, the wall-to-wall books doing little to dampen the sound. Oberyn’s ears perk up, and he hears a small but firm voice. Unable to make out the words, he turns his attention back to his tomes. After several moments, he hears voices rising again and slams his hand against the book in frustration. Rising to his feet, Oberyn follows the voices around the corner and sees two men towering over you, arms waving and voices overlapping. “What is the meaning behind your shouts, maesters?” Oberyn’s voice thunders through the alcove and sends a shudder down the spines of his advisors. You cross your arms and hold eye contact with the Red Viper. “Your Highness, this ignorant girl seeks to go against my remedy for your daughter, Lady Nym,” the advisor with the long grey beard protests.

“I’m not a girl, nor am I ignorant. I have been healing since I was but a child, taught by my mother, as she was from her mother. I am here to give counsel to the younger healers, brought in by your older brother. I swear to you, Highness, this remedy is more likely to kill your daughter than save her,” you proclaim, voice never wavering. Oberyn takes a step towards you, tilting his head as he takes in every word. The other maester with the short grey hair fumes, turning fully towards you as he shouts. “You are without proper training. As a girl, you would certainly not know anything useful for us.” Oberyn takes the final step forward and separates him from you. “Here is where you are wrong, maester. We do not treat women in Dorne as lesser than. Certainly, you would not go against the wishes of your King. I wish to hear every word our new healer has to say. In the meantime, you can busy yourself by giving my daughter the proper care she deserves and hope that I forget this encounter entirely. Unless you wish to find your head on a spike,” Oberyn seethes. The maesters scurry off, and he puts his hand on the small of your back and walks with you. “Please, my dove, tell me more.”

Ezra

“Alright, alright. Quit your moaning. Last one, moonbeam. I know it has been the longest of days. Just hand me that diffuser and -” Oh Kevva. It’s slipping, Ezra thought in that split second before disaster. He tugged you away from the aurelac as quickly as he could, pulling you against his body. Then, darkness. For how long, he could not say. Awakening to floating particles in the air and a ringing in his ears, he frantically searched for you. He found you to his left, and he shouted your name over and over again as he checked you for wounds. Swiping dirt from your visor, he sees your eyes open but unfocused. Blood is streaming from a large gash on your head, covering your beautiful features and catching on your sweet lips. Lips that he kissed every night. Lips that communicated your sarcastic, smart words that challenged him and kept him in line. Lips that had whispered I love you every night for so many cycles. Ezra carried you back to your shared tent and took great care to dress your wounds and change you in to your favorite soft clothes.

That had been days ago. You were sitting upright, and would drink when a straw was placed in your mouth. When Ezra would lay you down, you would sleep. But you weren’t there. Your mind was trapped, somewhere far away. Far from your Ez. Sometimes you knew it, and couldn’t understand why the words you were thinking weren’t coming out. Ezra was kneeling next to you, hands on your knees, trying desperately to reach you. “Moonbeam, I need you to be here with me now. I know you’ve been healing. But you are wasting away before my very eyes, and I don’t know what to do until we can sling back. That’s weeks away, my moon. I miss your words so much, miss you telling me to behave. Miss you telling me how much you love me. I love you more than I can ever profess, my sweet soul. I just want to know what you have to say, about anything. You can talk about anything in creation, moonbeam. Please.” Ezra hangs his head.

Ez, I’m here. Why can’t you hear me? I love you. What’s happening to me?

Part 2?? I have ficlets with Whiskey, Frankie, and Javi ready to go =)

BIG THANKS to @shiftingsands14 and @coastielaceispunk for sharing their brilliance with me.

Tags: @littlemisspascal

#Spotify #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #ezra x you #ezra x reader #prospect #oberyn martell #oberyn x you #oberyn x reader #game of thrones #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar #the great wall #music #music inspired writing #Youtube

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chrisevansszn · 3 years

Text

Valleys and Mountains Pt 5🏔

Final Chapter

1.7k

18 and up only ‼

“I want a fucking divorce!!”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

“Why??? So, you can have your cake and eat it too? Who do you think you are??”

“I want my fucking marriage and wife back. Is that so hard? Yes, I’ve been talking to Cree but its because you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You narcissistic fucker you!”

He shakes his head.

“You know what! Your right! I have been fucking Jason to get back at you. You don’t deserve me!”

What the fuck are you thinking!

Chris swings in your direction but punches a hole through the wall. You are completely frozen in fear. He steps back and looks at his hand. There is blood coming from his knuckles. He grabs a kitchen towel, runs the kitchen sink to wet it and wraps it around his hand. He walks out of the kitchen and up the stairs without making a sound or eye contact with you.

You bent over finally catching your breath as tears run down your face. You didn’t move for about 15 minutes, stuck in that one spot. You finally looked back at the wall to see the damage. A perfect hole all the way through. You grabbed a paper towel and wiped your face as you headed to your room. You went straight to your closet to grab your suitcase to pack up some clothes. A night or two at a hotel is a must right now. There is no way you are staying here! You haphazardly throw clothes and shoes into your suitcase. You heard footsteps behind you and slowly turned around. Chris was standing there.

The silence in the room was excruciating.

“I’m going to a hotel.”

“I will go if you want me to.”

You swallowed.

“No, I don’t want to be here.”

You stood up to walk past Chris, he grabbed your arm as you walked past. You turned and looked at him.

“Y/N, I’m sorry for everything. I really am.”

You pulled your arm away and continued to your bathroom to get more stuff. Chris followed.

“Are you invited Jason to your hotel?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing! Fucking men!

“YOU HAVE A LOT OF FUCKING NERVE CHRISTOPHER! MEN WILL CHEAT AND FUCK UP THEIR MARRIAGE BUT THE MOMENT A WOMEN GETS EVEN THEY CAN’T HANDLE IT!”

“I can’t handle it! The thought makes me so fucking sick!”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your shit, and finished packing. You headed out the door with Chris on you heels. He didn’t say or do anything. He watched as you put your shit in the car and drive away. You went to an Omni hotel and booked for a couple of nights. You texted your boss saying you needed a couple of days off for personal reasons. Your hotel room was all you were going to see for the next two days.

Chris called but you let it go to voicemail, begging for forgiveness, and do go to marriage counseling. You didn’t reply back. The next two days you laid in bed, rarely ate anything, and had room service to bring you bottle after bottle. You slept and drank the days away.

Day two came and it was time for check out. You headed back home as it rained cats and dogs outside. You pulled into the driveway. Chris’ truck was parked. You took a deep breath and walked into the house. Chris was sitting at the dining room table, he looked God awful. You can tell he hasn’t been sleeping. You paused and stared at each other.

“Y/N.”

You waited.

“Yes.”

“I am so sorry about everything. Can we go to marriage counseling?”

Marriage counseling isn’t such a bad idea. This can only go two ways…the marriage heals, or the marriage ends. Do you even want to be married anymore?

“Sure. Set it up.” You walked off. You had a lot to consider, you and Chris both did dirt maybe you can really patch things up and move forward.

The day has come, your first counseling session. Chris found a young lady who was well qualified. You did the whole introduction thing. You thought maybe this would do some good but let me remind everyone of what Christopher said.

“Chris & Y/N, thank you for coming in today. This is a place where you can express exactly how you feel. Now, who wants to go first?”

“I will.”, Chris said. “I think a divorce is the best option.”

You turned your head so quickly. You couldn’t believe what this asshole just said.

“Wait Chris isn’t there another option here. I thought you wanted to save your marriage?”, the counselor said.

You didn’t say anything.

“I’ve been thinking, about everything. Both of us stepping out on our marriage, Y/N disappearing for a couple of days, and our fight.”

“I only slept with Jason to get back at you.”, you snapped.

“Don’t ever say his name in front of me again.”

“Or what? You started this whole mess!”

“Please now I need both of you to settle down. We have to have civil conversation here.”

You got up and walked off. You needed a minute. After all this man has put you though, he thinks he can initiate the divorce?? The doctors retrieve you from the hallway, and you go back inside. Chris hadn’t moved a muscle. You and Chris go back and forth, its literally the blame game.

Thank God you both took separate cars! This first session was a nightmare. What had gotten into Chris?

You made it home before Chris. He actually didn’t walk through the door until later. You sat on the couch waiting for him. A real conversation was needed.

Chris finally walked through the door.

“Chris.”

“What is it?”

“What was that shit today? You beg me to go to counseling and then you start off by saying you want a divorce? What do you want to do?”

He rolled his eyes. The fucking audacity.

“I’ve had time to think. I am sick of begging you to make this marriage work. I’ve done nothing but BEG you.”

“So, you want a divorce? Tell me now because I am not wasting my time going to counseling with you.”

He sat up and put it hands on his hips. You hated that shit.

“Yes, I want a divorce. I want to be with Cree.” He looked at the ground as he said those words.

“EXCUSE ME? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”

“You heard me.”

You completely lost it.

“FUCK YOU CHRIS! I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS!

You went and pushed him on his face!

“Y/N, don’t do that shit!”

Chris gave you a slight push to put space between you two.

“Get out now…”

“I pay the damn mortgage on this home!”

“PACK YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Chris gives you a look. He walks past you and heads to the bedroom. You leaned back against the nearest wall. You had to take some deep breaths. You walked over to the couch and sat. You could hear Chris slamming the dresser as he packed up. Not a tear fell down your face this time, you just wanted him gone.

About 10 minutes later Chris walks by with a suitcase, grabbed his keys, his wallet, and walked out the door. You grabbed your MacBook and sat back on the couch with a glass of wine and begin searching for divorce lawyers.

You didn’t want to tell anyone what was going on yet. You were too embarrassed. After searching, you found lawyer and decided to call in the morning. You didn’t get any sleep that night per the usual. You headed to work the next day and called the lawyer to set up a meeting to get the ball rolling.

A week went by and you and Chris haven’t communicated not once. Jason was texting, but you weren’t responding at all. The meeting with the lawyer was productive, she got all the paperwork together for you to get Chris to sign.

A few days later, you heard the door unlocking as you ate dinner in the kitchen while working. Chris walked in. He looked at you and you looked right back at your screen.

He walked over.

“I got the documents today from your lawyer.”

You looked up.

“Let’s talk about this.”

“There is nothing to discuss, sign the papers. If you want the house, then buy me out, if not…it goes on the market.”

You stood up to take your plate to the sink. Chris follows behind.

“I’m not ready to let you go.” He steps a little closer.

“This marriage is over.”

“Please Y/N.”

Chris leans in and kisses you softly on your lips, it caught you off guard.

“Absolutely not. Don’t ever kiss me again.”

“I’m your husband.”

“Does your new girlfriend know that you are here? I wonder how she would feel knowing you are making a move on your ex-wife?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Like I said, sign the divorce papers so I can move on.”

“Whatever. My lawyer will be in contact with yours.”

Chris walked away to the bedroom to get more clothes and such. He comes back out 20 minutes later.

“You’re already packing up shit?”

“Yes. When you sign, I’m out.”

He said something under his breath and headed out the door with his stuff. A couple of days later your lawyer called and said Chris accepted the terms.

A few weeks later you and Chris sat down with your lawyers to sign the divorce papers. As you both walked out, you noticed a young girl sitting outside the room. You finished up the conversation with your lawyer and headed out. You walked by and the young girl smirked at you. It had to be Cree. You stopped.

“Did you just smirk at me?” You wanted all the smoke.

“I’m just glad this is all finalized.”

“You must be Cree the whore. Well, best of luck to you.”

You turned to Chris.

“Did you tell Cree about you kissing me a few weeks ago when you came to get more stuff?” You faced Cree. “Don’t worry sweetie. I stopped him, but just know he was ready to risk it all.”

You turned and headed down the hall, and into your new single life!

Hope you all enjoyed this series! 💛

@whxre4cevans

@supernatural-fan151

@fallenoutofrose

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@coldmuffinpartycloud

@art-estrange

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#chris evans #chris jamal evans #cevans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #fanfiction

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

When We Were Young Part Eight

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone’s having a good week! I hope everyone’s had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies 🥰 Warnings: Some fluff; some angst. Summary: Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” You accused Sherlock as he captured one of your rooks. “I disagree. I believe I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.” You rolled your eyes openly, careful not to let your smile widen as he chuckled. “It is your turn, dove,” He added. Your eyes darted to Cornelius, whom you saw shift in his seat at the use of the pet name. He had been steadfast in his chaperoning of yourself and Sherlock whenever the detective made it a point to stop by, as he had nearly every day for the last three weeks. You were unsure if Dawson had caught wind of your other… Visitor (Sherlock wasn’t a suitor, he wasn’t courting you, surely. You refused to put too much stock in the books and flowers that he brought; even if the books were on topics that you loved; even if Mrs. Lloyd insisted that carnations stood for fascination, and small sunflowers meant adoration, and kennedias signified mental beauty, and Peruvian heliotrope were for devotion, and mossy saxifrage represented affection).

You looked down at the board. “Aren’t you always the one counseling me not to rush into my next move?” “I suppose I am,” Sherlock mused. “Then perhaps you only pointed out that it was my turn to distract me from the bigger picture.” “Do you really think that I would do something like that?” “I think that that is exactly what you would do,” You looked up at Sherlock from under your lashes, and this time, you couldn’t help but share his smile. You reached out, your fingers settling on your bishop. Sherlock made a soft sound in his throat. “Shush,” You ordered. “You’re certain?” Sherlock asked. “It’s not going to work this time, Holmes,” You insisted, moving the piece before sitting up straight. Sherlock cocked his head to the side; the movement put you in mind of a small, confused puppy. “What’s not going to work?” His tone was woven with innocence, but you knew better. This was the third game that you’d played with him that afternoon, and he’d managed to make you second-guess yourself during the last two. “You know what. Now take your turn.” You watched as he clasped his hands under his chin, resting his chin and lips against his knuckles as he surveyed the board. In his concentration, you let your eyes wander his face. He tended to get this furrow between his brow when he was thinking; now and again, his eyes would narrow, but only a touch and just for a second. You heard him push a short huff out through his nose before he hummed thoughtfully. You didn’t follow his gaze back to the board. Instead, you continued to watch him unabashedly as you asked, “What now?” Sherlock’s eyes flitted to yours, and you felt a shock of warmth spread through you. He held your gaze with such intensity that you almost missed his moving his queen and murmuring, “Checkmate.” You looked down at the board before you leaned back in your seat, groaning in frustration. “You did far better this time than last,” Sherlock said, sitting up. You could tell that he wasn’t teasing you, and you hummed. “I didn’t beat you, though.” “You will, dove. Just not today.” You raised a brow. “No time for one more?” “I’m afraid I have to meet with Lestrade in,” Sherlock reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, “Nearly half an hour.” “Ah,” You nodded, “New case?” “Yes, though from what details he told me, I’m hoping for a speedy resolution.” Your brows rose. “That sounds rather unlike you. I thought you preferred the cases that were more difficult to unpick.” “I do, but I have...Other things occupying my mind at present.” Beautifully vague; classic Sherlock. “Things regarding Enola?” You asked. He hesitated in answering before he settled on, “Some.” You stood when Sherlock did, and you cleared your throat, signalling his departure to your Uncle Cornelius. You heard him folding his paper. “I’ll be stopping by to see her tomorrow,” You added, clasping your hands, “She told me that she’d be quite occupied with Edith at the tea rooms, else, and-- and I will have to leave town at the end of this week.” Sherlock cut you a look, briefly sharp, then stunned. “This week?” He asked, frowning. “Yes.” You’d been planning on telling Sherlock at some point during his last few visits, but the two of you just seemed to get so caught up-- with conversation, or chess, or cards. “I’m afraid her mother has been quite miserable without her,” Cornelius added, rounding his armchair. You glanced at him. He knew as well as you that that was a lie; she had been irate with your departure, and only grew more and more frustrated when you’d stalled in town. She’d only allowed it for as long as she had because Cornelius had reported to her that Dawson was visiting you with some frequency. It was unlikely that he would make a trip out to see you at your home. Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one. You could see on Sherlock’s face that he didn’t buy the reason for a moment, but he gave a stiff nod, murmuring, “Of course,” before he turned to look at you. “I will do my best to see you at least once more before you leave London.” “I would like that,” You said; your heart twinged with how much you meant it. -- Enola tended to get caught up in things; you knew that about her. That was why, when you arrived at Baker Street the following day, you found her not at home. Mrs. Hudson apologized profusely, offering to let you wait in the sitting room for her. You accepted, and in solitude, you took your chance to look around. It was a cozy room. Sherlock and Enola seemed to each have their own corners: Sherlock’s was by the fireplace, beside a bookshelf; Enola’s was by the window, with a desk that was stocked with books and drawing pencils. You chuckled at the caricature of Mycroft that you’d last seen at Ferndell pinned to the wall beside the window. You ran your fingers over the back of Enola’s chair before you turned, drifting toward Sherlock’s armchair. He had a reading table beside it; there was a wooden box with a pipe engraved on it, and a stack of books. There were a few pieces of paper sticking out of the books here and there, and you could just make out Sherlock’s handwriting. You glanced toward the door, holding your breath for a moment. When you were sure that you couldn’t hear anyone coming, you picked up one, scanning the title on the spine: On the Origin of Species. Your brows rose before you reached for the one under it. It was a plain-covered book, unassuming. You hummed, curious, and set the first book aside in favor of flipping through the second. You smiled a little when you saw sketches. You knew that that was one thing that Sherlock and Enola both held a love for. As you flipped through, you recognized Ferndell; there were a few pressed flowers with their sketches, meanings, and uses jotted down besides; you snorted when you spotted a caricature of Dawson. It depicted him with rather a large head and very small, beady eyes; his coat had money bursting out of the pockets, and he was leaning heavily on a dandy’s cane. Had Sherlock given your suitor gout? It certainly looked that way. You turned the next page and then froze, your breath catching in your throat. It was… Well, it was you. Sherlock had sketched you in profile. Your eyes were downcast, your lips drawn up in a smile; there was shading around your cheeks, making it look as though you were blushing. He’d made you look so soft, so...Gentle, but somehow mischievous. Was this how he saw you? Sitting on the page beside it was a flower petal - white, pressed, but still soft. It looked familiar, but you couldn’t place it at first. You trailed your finger over it, frowning, before you realized that you had last seen it at the dinner party: your gardenia. You heard the door slam shut downstairs, and the thunder of footsteps, and you hurried to shut the notebook and set it down on the stack, replacing the other book on top of it before you hurried over to the window. You turned to see Enola burst into the room, grinning. “I’m sorry, I got caught up,” She apologized as she shrugged out of her coat. You smiled, chuckling, “It’s quite alright.” “Would you like some tea?” Enola asked, but she was already heading for the kitchen. You followed close behind, answering, “Certainly.” As the two of you settled back in the sitting room with your tea, you couldn’t stop your gaze from straying to Sherlock’s reading table now and again. Enola was sharp, you knew that; you didn’t know why you thought you were being sneaky. “He’s working on a case,” She informed you after she caught you looking for the fifth time that afternoon. You nodded a little. “Yes, he mentioned. He thought it would move along quite swiftly.” “Maybe it is. He was out all last night, and when I awoke this morning, Mrs. Hudson said that he hadn’t been in yet.” You frowned at that. “Does that happen often?” You asked. “Occasionally,” Enola shrugged, “But I don’t mind.” You smiled, then, trying to reassure yourself; you knew that she didn’t, but you couldn’t help but wonder where he was and what he was up to. “...Enola.” “Hm?” “You haven’t happened to see an odd glove around here that isn’t yours, have you?” -- Your visit with Enola ran late, as it always did. You heard the clock chime five and you frowned; you were going to be late for dinner. “I should be on my way,” You sighed softly. Enola opened her mouth to reply, but it was cut off by the thudding of footsteps coming up the stairs. There was a pause before you saw Sherlock sweep through the living room. He didn’t acknowledge either of you; you could see his shoulders hunched forward, his jaw tight with irritation. You watched as he opened his bedroom door, then flinched when it slammed shut behind him. “...And now we know how the case is going,” You muttered sarcastically. Enola wrinkled her nose as you straightened from your chair. You exchanged your goodbyes, and you were headed for the front door before you stopped yourself, glancing back toward Sherlock’s door. Enola had had no leads; there was still time to get your glove back. “Just-- I’ll be a moment,” You said. Enola arched a knowing brow before she nodded, stepping into her own room and shutting the door. You frowned a little bit. What on earth had that look been for? And why had she retreated to her bedroom? You shook the thought away as you walked over to Sherlock’s door, leaning in the doorway. You raised your hand, rapping your knuckles lightly on it twice. You heard a gruff call of, “What?” and you bit your lip. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. “What is it--” Came an additional yell, and you hurried to answer, “It’s me.” There was a pause, and you straightened up as you heard Sherlock’s footsteps approaching the door. He opened it, and you were briefly taken aback. You’d never seen the man look so...Disheveled. His curls were mussed, as if he’d been taking his hand through them; he’d removed his jacket and tie, and opened the top two buttons of his shirt; his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. You couldn’t help the way your eyes wandered his form before you met his gaze again. “I’m sorry, I-- Didn’t mean to disturb you.” “You haven’t,” Sherlock insisted, “I apologize, I didn’t realize that you were still here.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and peered into the sitting room, searching for Enola, before he looked back to you. “When does your train leave?” “Friday morning. The 10:30.” “Perhaps I’ll see you at the station.” That took you aback, and you were able to deduce a few things from it. “...I take it the case is proving a little more difficult than expected?” Sherlock pushed a heavy sigh out through his nose, leaning against the door frame as he hung his head; it more than confirmed your suspicions. “I’m sorry,” You added softly. He raised a hand, rubbing over the back of his neck. “It is nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but...I fear I may not be able to come and see you again before you leave.” You felt disappointment fill you, but you pushed it away, shielding it with a smile. “It’s alright, I understand,” You insisted, “I was glad to have your company while I was in town.” “And I, yours, love,” Sherlock murmured. Your heart soared at the words; you blinked at Sherlock a couple of times, certain that you’d imagined it. “Pardon?” You asked. Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I-- I said I was glad to have yours, too, dove.” That feeling of elation plummeted as quickly as it had swelled, your heart dropping like a kite that had lost the wind. You’d simply misheard him. You lowered your eyes, nodding. “Of course. I should be on my way. Cornelius is expecting me.” “Let me hail you a hansom--” “No!” You rushed to stop him. Sherlock looked stricken; you felt bile rise in your throat, and you hurried to cover this with another smile. “I can manage it myself. Good luck with your case, Mr. Holmes.” You hurried out of Baker Street as quickly as you could, your glove completely forgotten. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24 ; @awkward-walking-potato ; @madalore ; @alexa-lightwood-blog ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood ; @runawayolives ; @parkerismybaby ; @magicstrengthandcourage ; @shesthelastjedi ; @wolfiepirate ; @xremember-me-notx ; @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 ; @alagaesian-bookdragon ; @libbymouse ; @truthdaze ; @crispysublimecupcake ; @cavillhavoc ; @juliesland ; @lyannamartell23 ; @seeking-a-great--perhaps ; @anxiousgoldengirl ; @gooddaykate-reads ; @rn7rocks ; @remember-happy-things ; @angels-pie

#When We Were Young #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock Holmes Imagine #Sherlock Holmes Henry Cavill #Sherlock Holmes/Reader #Sherlock Holmes/You

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand (Part One)

Summary: a secret relationship was enough, being with rafael was enough. and it was. until it wasn’t (one of three parts)

Pairings: Rafael Barba x Reader, Sonny Carisi x Reader (more in next parts)

Word Count: 3,417

Song: I'm begging for you to take my hand / Wreck my plans, that's my man (willow by taylor swift)

Warnings: T, implied sex, some sexual situations (but just kissing and touching, nothing explicit), fwb relationship essentially, rafael’s commitment issues,

A/N: thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera and @qvid-pro-qvo for letting me bounce ideas off and not annoy you (hopefully) with my incessant obsession with this mini-series.

“Barba, it’s time to go home,” the illustrious A.D.A. didn’t bother to look up from your brief he was revising, the margins bloodied with red ink and edits, as you watched, pressed against his doorframe, “you can tear my work to shreds tomorrow.”

“Since when did you become my keeper?” he murmurs, his brow wrinkled much like the carpet that lined his floor —- and the rest of his office wasn’t much better — dimmed and dark much like the bags under his eyes, takeout containers from Forlini’s stacked in his trash can, printed briefs and case files stacked like a wall around the perimeter of his desk, some even stacked up on the larger conference table, a few scattered on the floor.

“Oh it was in the job description,” you step forward, picking up the files that had jumped ship, likely to escape your boss, “assistant district attorney needed to assure SVU’s lead ADA is not found buried in an avalanche of cases that decided to take their revenge.”

He snorts, still flipping pages through the memo, his tie loosened around his neck, sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms, “I didn’t know you were a comedian before law school,”

And for once you’re grateful that he doesn’t bother to look up — it means he doesn’t notice your eyes lingering on his forearms, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Barba,”

And you expect a biting response, a quick retort, but instead you get honest reply, “Well I’d like to, if you’d let me,” you blink a moment, as he glances up for a moment, his look nearly earnest, “you know you do have a habit of keeping people at arm’s length.”

“This isn’t about me,” and he smiles, looking back down at his work.

“And the deflection begins,” you huff, scowling at him, though he still paid no mind.

“Well my office doesn’t look like the aftermath of a legal aid implosion, and I’ve actually been sleeping 6 hours a night, can you say the same?”

He frowns, lips pursed, “I can take care of myself,”

“Clearly,” you crossed your arms, straightening the rug with the heel of your shoe, rounding his desk, “this case was impossible today, it will be impossible tomorrow.”

“Well maybe if I worked a little harder it wouldn’t be so impossible, maybe we’d even get a little justice,” he sighs, lips pressed to the knuckles of his fist.

You tilt your head, “You know this system is not always getting justice — sometimes it’s just about closure, and that’s all we can do sometimes.”

“I want to do more— I—” he breaks off, knuckles white against clutching his pen, “I knew the system was full of grays, I know but—”

“It’s different when it’s SVU, I know, but,” your fingers reach for his tentatively, easing the pen from his fingers, “you can only do what the system lets you — it’s not our job to legislate — it’s our jobs to advocate, to let the people’s voice be heard in court. But you can’t do that if you work yourself right into the ground.”

“I know, I just—”

“Barba, you know there’s no point of self-flagellating, no matter how tempting it might be,”

He lets out a bitter chuckle, “It’s one of my many talents,” before rubbing his hands up and down his face, as if that would erase the exhaustion pressed upon his shoulders.

“Oh I know,” you say with a sigh, “but you have other talents, don’t you?” and he finally looks up at you — most times you didn’t know what to make of his looks — sometimes it was easy — amusement when the defense counsel tripped up or frustration when the detectives kept pressing him to take the case further when it already sprung a leak — but other times it was a glimmer, a hint at something you could barely grasp onto before it disappeared between your fingers. But now, it lingered, his gaze raked over you until it left your skin blaringly raw under his steady look.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” and now, you barely remember to breathe, the air sucked from the room, instead replaced with a heat — thicker as it settles, but still he sends shivers down your spine, your eyes barely flickering over his lips.

“I do,” the words falling from your lips, a rushed, thoughtless whisper.

His eyes molten, he leans forward, he mutters your name, barely a whisper — an ask for permission, as his palm dares to rest on your cheek, carefully, as if you would recoil from his touch — but you didn’t. You leaned into his palm, basking in his affection.

His hand slips down, thumb brushing your lips and then resting on your chin, tilting it downwards, “Are you sure you want to know me this well?” he asks, as you lean forward, your backside pressed against the edge of his desk.

“I do, if you’ll let me,” his breath warms your lips, “Rafael,” you whisper right before his lips brush yours.

It’s chaste at first, tentative and gentle, but when your fingers find purchase on the back of his neck, you chase his lips. You taste coffee — bitter and rich, as rich as the passion and urgency of his kisses. Soon he’s standing, and you’re sitting at the edge of the desk, his body between your legs. His hands trail down your body, and his lips follow — pressing fervent kisses to your neck. And your hand grasps at the edge of his to keep yourself steady, the other on his shoulder, digging into his crisp button down.

“Someone could walk in,” you gasp, hissing as his teeth gently graze your neck, “Raf—”

He pauses, leaning back, “You’re right,” and you bite your lip, as he steps back, grabbing his jacket, glancing between you and the door, “it’s late, we should—”

“Right,” your face burns, you round the desk towards the door, fuck, what if he thinks this is a huge mistake? What if he doesn’t—

He grabs you by the wrist gently, smiling as he brushes past you, holding his office door open for you, “Your place or mine?”

“You have to make our case, counselors, so what are you going to do about it?” Liv crossed her arms, looking between you and Rafael.

“We need more evidence Liv, there’s no way around it,” you sigh, “we go in guns ablazing and odds are we don’t get it because a) he destroys it, or b) fruit of the poisonous tree. He’s smart and his lawyers are smart, we need this by the book.”

“I agree, we need more — have you managed to get into contact with his ex-wife?”

“Only many unreturned phone calls,” Amanda shakes her head, “I’ll try again, but she retired to Florida—”

“Do one better, fly down there and talk to her,” Rafael replied, sliding the divorce proceedings across the table, “I think she may be the key to our case, and the warrants we need.”

Rafael walks them to the elevator, chatting about the case, as you glance at the stacks of motions you needed to get through still. The door clicking shut behind him, he slides next to you, as you slink down, sighing, “Thanks for backing me up on the case,”

“Of course,” he replies, “we need more evidence — taking a half baked case against someone like Rita? It’s like begging to be ripped apart in front of an audience.”

“Well, I know you dabble in masochism,” and he shot you a glare, his thigh pressed against your own, “How long do we have before you think we’ll have a case?”

“A while — it will take them some time to get down to Florida and get something usable,” he flipped through more packets, before tossing them flippantly onto the coffee table, leaning back, his eyes flickering to the door, and he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, “which gives us more time to ourselves.”

“Rafael—” he swallowed your protests with a kiss, and it was enough for your worries to fall away — he was enough to make everything fall away for you, your eyes flickered to the door, “the door—” “I locked it,” the words reverberate against your skin, “I wouldn’t be so careless, counselor,” his use of your title sent a shiver down your spine, “now are you going to let me take you home?”

It had been a few weeks of this — sneaking kisses in between work, stolen glances across rooms, small smiles that quickly melted away under another's look, and many nights spent in the other's arms — but still you didn't know what this was.

"Let's go," you smiled, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth.

But you didn't care.

As the two of you stepped into the elevator, his hand brushed yours, because you didn't want to lose it.

"Yes sir, I understand. I'll be there," your eyes flicker up to see Rafael standing in the doorway, "okay goodbye."

"Was that McCoy—"

"Chewing me out for not attending yet another gala, unfortunately yes, and it looks like I'm being shanghaied into attending," you shake your head, groaning, "doesn't he have better things to do than force me to schmooze with the affluent and influential?"

"So close to his re-election? No," he sits down, checking his phone, "he needs to have his best and brightest there, and that's why he wants us there."

"'Us?'" the corner of his lip tilts upwards.

"You're not the only one who got an irate phone call," he locks his phone, tucking it away, "we should both leave the office early so we can arrive on time,"

You check the time, cursing, "I have to get my outfit dry cleaned, but I have to write a motion—"

"I can do it— my suit is ready and I told Liv I wouldn't pick her up until closer to the start—"

You blink, your chest squeezing, "Liv?"

He frowns, "Yeah I'm taking her tonight — as a favor — there's a case—"

You waved him off, “You don’t have to explain, it’s fine,” you grab your coat and your bag, “I should go now and drop off my clothes—”

He says your name, “You know I would want to go with you if we didn’t—”

If you didn’t work together, if your hypocrite of a boss didn’t have a chip on his shoulder for workplace relationships— “I know,” you reply, offering a small smile, if this was something more than what you knew it was— “I’ll see you tonight.”

But it wasn’t.

This was a nightmare.

Truly.

Forced to attend a gala alone with people you didn’t know very well, stuck in the corner by the bar, forced to watch the one person you wanted be with someone else. But you didn’t want to want him — you downed your drink, asking for a refill — the alcohol wasn’t the only thing bitter on your lips.

“Glad to see you could make it, counselor,” Jack McCoy greeted you with a grin, offering you his hand in a firm handshake, “you look lovely.”

“Well, my boss didn’t give me much of a choice,” you purse your lips, “something about my future at the District Attorney’s office and if I wished to have his support,”

He chuckles, ordering his drink from the bartender (“a scotch, neat”), “I sense good things in your future. You have been a great addition to SVU — you challenge the detectives to bring better cases and you’re giving Barba a run for his money.”

You spotted Rafael out of the corner of your eye, Liv on his arm, and you glanced away, sipping at your drink, tucking away your frustration behind a mask of boredom— “I suppose I am,” —albeit, maybe not fast enough.

McCoy followed your gaze. He doesn’t say anything, instead offering his hand to you, “May I have this dance?” you raised an eyebrow, leaning against the bar.

“You’re not trying to make me one of your famous work affairs, are you, Jack?” and he laughs, shaking his head, tilting his head.

“I think I know better than that, counselor,” your eyes find Rafael again — dancing with Liv, quietly talking, and you take Jack’s hand.

“I’d love to,” you follow him onto the dance floor, his hands resting respectfully above your waist just a new song began, “I should warn you I’m not the best dancer,”

“Just follow my lead,” he assured you, a smile playing on his lips, “and if you step on my feet, well I’ll have a good case for assault.”

You rolled your eyes, before pursing your lips, “What’s this about, Jack?”

“What do you mean?” it’s your turn to tilt your head, your arms resting on his shoulders, “I just wanted to say, I’ve been down that road before,” he spares a discreet glance at Rafael, “and it never ends well.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you keep your voice steady and confused, but Jack only raises an eyebrow, “There’s nothing going on—”

“A whole of lot of nothing is what I’m worried about,” He kept the friendly smile, “I’ve done this enough times to know when nothing is actually nothing — and I know the look you had wasn’t nothing—”

“Jack—”

“I’m not speaking to you as your boss, for now,” his words were careful, a sharp edge of warning that slid harmlessly across your cheek, but you knew it wouldn’t again, “but I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I don’t want to either, but I know what I’m doing,” and Jack nods.

“I know you do, and I’m not telling you how to live your life, but-- “ he shakes his head, “you deserve better than someone who hides you — take it from an old man who lost someone they loved when they were too busy hiding them.”

You frown, “I—” and you felt a tap on your shoulder, Rafael standing between you two.

“May I cut in?” he offers Jack a smile, who steps back.

“Remember what I said, counselor,” Jack shakes Rafael’s hand, keeping his eyes on you, “a bright future.”

A slow waltz begins to play, and he grins at you, “Are you going to keep me waiting?”

“What about Liv?” he jerks his head and you see her dancing with that attorney, Trevor Langan.

“She’s busy, and she’s not the one I want to dance with,” and his smile falters, raising his eyebrows, “unless you don’t want to—”

You deserve more, Jack’s words echo in your ears, and you wanted more — you wanted him, more than you wanted to admit — more than he wanted you to want him.

“Of course I do,” you take his hand, a soft smile on his lips, his palm warm against your back, pulling you close.

“You look so amazing,” he remarks, murmuring in your ear, his dulcet tones sending a shiver down your spine, “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Really?” his fingers tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

“Yes, because I couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to take off,” his voice liquid heat, and your breath stuttered in your chest — his hands on your body were no longer enough, “what do you do to me, mi amor?”

“I could say the same to you,” you mutter, as he tugs you a little closer, blurring the line between professional and personal, “Do you think it’s a good idea that we’re dancing this close?”

“What do you mean?” and you look around, scanning for any sight of Jack.

“Our jobs — people could talk,” and he just shrugs, emerald eyes shining, as his lips quirk upward, as he dips you, pulling you back up with ease — the same ease he did everything with — the same ease he always put you at.

“Then let them.”

And you bite your lip, a small smile on your lips. Maybe this was enough. You knew what you were doing. You glance at Jack, who now stands at the bar, his brow wrinkled.

Right?

“Rafael,” you can’t catch your breath with him, his lips insistent and plying, as he presses you into the soft cushions of the mattress, “we have motions in—” you gasp as he sucks your skin above your pulse, “an hour and half.”

But really you didn’t care about the motions — you didn’t care about being late —- you wanted to talk to him, about you — about the both of you — but he didn’t want to talk.

“That means we have at least half an hour,” his hands squeezed your hips, and your body responded in kind, head tilting back, exposing your neck for his lips, “that means I can do what i was planning to do more than once.”

“You’re awfully confident,” you sigh, your fingers knotted in his soft hairs at the base of his neck, and he presses a kiss right between your collarbone, his lips smiling against you.

“I have an impressive track record, no?” he grins, “I don’t recall you complaining last night,” you rolled your eyes, tugging him higher, so his hair brushed your forehead.

“You do, so much so that,” and you wonder if he can feel your heart pounding against your chest, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow, pressing a kiss to your lips, “What about?”

“What are we doing, Raf?” the words leave your mouth in a whisper — a single, gentle step onto a frozen lake, waiting for the ice to give way beneath you, “what is this to you?”

He hesitates — the first crack resonates through the still morning, “I don’t know, what is it to you? What do you want?”

I want more than just this, I want to be able to take you to galas, to kiss you outside of dark corners and corner booths— “I don’t know either—”

“Then let’s not waste time by defining it,” his hand cups your cheek — the cracks splintered under your feet, the water erupting from the fissures, “Mi amor, I’ve had relationships before, I’ve seen them fall apart, I’ve watched people who love each other hurt each other, over and over again. I don’t want to do that to you,” he sighs, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to either, but don’t you want more than this?” He holds your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the length of your cheeks.

“I just need you — no more, no less than just this,” Rafael presses a kiss to your palm, “can we keep it this way for a little longer?”

You deserve more. You want more. You need more.

He says your name again, and you offer a small smile, as you sink beneath the emerald colored water of his eyes.

“Of course, Raf.”

There’s a knock at your office, and you glance over at the call of your name, “Hey, I’m from SVU, I’m looking for Barba,” his lanky figure is standing in your doorframe, his dirty blond hair slicked back, “I’m here to pick up a—”

“A warrant?” you nod, rifling through your files, “I got it right here for you, Detective…?”

He offers a hand, “Dominick Carisi, but you can call me Sonny,” you shake his outstretched hand, “You’re Barba’s number two, right? I heard about you from the squad.”

“Not how I’d like to be remembered, but essentially yes,” you shrug, before handing him the warrant, “just make sure to keep your search restricted to the places in that warrant and catalog everything properly— we don’t need to need to deal any issues—”

“Chain of custody, yeah I know. I’m actually in law school right now,” he adds, “Fordham.”

“That’s a great school,” you raise your eyebrows, “I’m sure it’s tough balancing it with your work as a detective — I barely survived my first year and that was without a full time job.”

“Well, what can I say, I’m determined,” he nods, holding up the warrant, “it was nice meeting you, counselor.”

“You too, Detective Carisi—”

“I told ya, call me Sonny,” he smiles from the doorway, and you chuckle, a warm smile blooming on your face.

“Only if you call me by my name too, Sonny.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagines #rafael barba x you #svu #svu imagines #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi imagines #law and order svu #rafael barba fanfiction

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sxfik · 3 years

Text

push and pull (II)

part I | part II

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: It's been a week since their incident in the courtroom, a week since her best friend, and crush, had kissed her. Despite her better instincts, Sol decides that it's best to test his feelings for her. After all, he's bound to get jealous right?

or: Sol riles him up and now she has to face the consequences.

request by anon: OP you are writing a sequel of push and pull? Right? Right? 🥺 As joon whipped pointed out, this isn't over. And as a prompt/ask for part 2 or a new drabble– like can yeseul find the hickey joonhwi definitely left from the neck kisses? Okayyy byeeee

PS peace is not known to man is alsooo amaze! All your fics are amaze!

a/n: AAA yes i was always planning to do a sequel to push and pull but anon you really gave me the BEST idea! thank you so much for sending something in <3 this honestly kinda got out of hand, i was not expecting it to be this spicy (don't worry, no smut yet lmao) but i really hope you guys like this!!

It's been a week since Kang Sol decided to practice her argument as the defense counsel. A week had passed since her best friend, and crush, Han Joon Hwi, had kissed her in the sacred court of law, and for a week everything was startlingly normal. It was like everything that went on between the two happened in another dimension, when he was just as in love with her as she was for him.

After leaving her confused and dazed outside the courtroom, they had gone back to normal life, into their regular routine. They would study together in the library, work on their case for the upcoming mock trial, and work at the legal clinic. The two of them shared lunches and all their classes together, and for a moment, she almost forgot that she kissed Han Joon Hwi. But what could a girl do, swamped with cases and professors who thought it'd be best to swamp them with assignments.

So since he didn't mention anything about that day, neither did she. For the most part, she was so distracted by her classes and the anxiety that followed with being a student at Hanguk Law School that she was able to act regularly around him. But it didn't erase the memory of how he had looked at her, from across that courtroom, eyes dark and heavy. It didn't erase how warm his hands were on her, how his hands tangled in her hair as he pulled her in, how soft his lips felt against hers as he pulled her into a bruising kiss. It didn't erase how right it felt, having him press against her and it certainly didn't erase how much her feelings had grown for him.

There were moments, when their hands brushed against each other while reaching for the same book, or the way his shoulder would press against hers as they sat in the hideout, where she was sure that she would never get over him. Or the smiles he would send her, only her, across the classroom that would make a certain satisfaction spread through her like wildfire. It was like her mind and body lit up each time he looked at her with so much as an expression of happiness.

But Joon Hwi? He was completely fine. He was still right by her side, smiling and teasing, spending time with her as if they hadn't broken the cardinal rule of friendship. It bothered her, how he could act so normal around her, like nothing ever happened between the two. The anger rose as the days passed by, at how he could kiss her like that, and then pretend like it was nothing.

Kang Sol was always one for action, never one to sit back and let things happen to her. Even with the chance that she could make the situation so much worse, she plotted with Ye-seul. Her best friend had known of course, way before Sol could even understand why or what she felt for the boy that had kept her company through her lowest moments. In fact, she was the one who suggested the brilliant plan of testing his feelings, trying to see for herself if she was just hallucinating or if Joon hwi actually did feel something for her.

Her solution came in the form of a boy, Lee Min-seok. Min-seok was always a close friend of hers, one of the few students that didn’t shame her for her low scores. He knew about her crush on Han Joon Hwi, figuring it out after they got drunk together. Not that it was all that hard, considering Sol had basically wailed, asking why Joon hwi didn’t see her the way she saw him. Luckily for her, he also had someone he wanted to make jealous, a girl named Seo Ae Ri, who was in their constitutional codes lecture.

Ye-Seul, Min-Seok and her had put their heads together, planning to work together on their project for Professor Kim's class rather than working with Joon Hwi like Sol usually did. It was simple really: Sol would act nice with him, just like she did with Joon hwi and see if he would react. In case they needed extra measures, Ye-Seul would tease her, really testing him once and for all.

“You keep looking at him,” Min-Seok said to her, snapping her out of her thoughts and back to the project at hand.

“Hm?” She turned to look back to the boy sitting across from her at the tables in the main hall. She shot him an apologetic look. "Sorry, I was just-"

"I know," he smiled, before tilting his head towards a girl sitting a couple tables away from them, "I'm getting distracted too."

"This is a bad idea, isn't it?"

"Probably, but we're both desperate losers, aren't we?" he grinned, and Sol laughed, the statement way too accurate to describe the both of them.

Being friendly with Min-Seok was easy but flirting with him was much harder than she thought. Sol had worn her hair down today, in an attempt to look more like she’s on a date rather than working on a project with a friend. She dressed up slightly, upgrading from her Hanguk university sweatshirt to a regular beige sweater. Still, it was impossible for her to keep her eyes on the boy in front of her when the real guy she liked was sitting right behind him.

Min-seok would lightly touch her hand, grazing past her and she would laugh at his jokes as if they were the funniest thing she’d heard all day. She tried her best to keep her eyes off of the Joon hwi and her focus on Min-seok, both of them trying their best to appear as though they had something more than friendship. Both of them joked and worked, trying to let their gazes linger on each other rather than their crushes sitting a couple feet away from both of them. She was still laughing at his joke when she looked up and noticed the empty seat where Joon hwi once sat.

Her laughter died down slowly as Sol watched him disappear behind the marble pillars of the school, without even sparing her a glance. I guess this was for nothing... Her hands squeezed into a fist, the pain and disappointment growing in her chest. She turned back to Min-seok and smiled, trying to not let her disappointment choke her.

It was evening by the time she left the main hall, after grabbing something to eat with Ye-Seul and Bok-gi at the cafe. Even with the delicious food, her mind was still on Joon Hwi, the figure walking away from her that afternoon permanently pressed into her memory. Even though it was just a memory, it weighed down on her shoulders as if she was carrying something physically on her back.

She sighed, making her way back to the dorms, stepping out of the main hall when she felt a tug on her elbow. Before she could process what was happening, she was whisked away to the corridor between the stairwell and the main hall.

“Wha-” she attempted yelled out before a hand came to cover her mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s just me,” Joon hwi was wide eyed, as he took his hand off her mouth after she saw it was him, letting her calm down. Her heart thundered in her chest, breathing fast from the shock.

“Yah!” she hit his chest lightly, “Why would you shock me like that? I almost had a heart attack.” She tried to slow her breathing down, closing her eyes to avoid his gaze on her. Silence stretched between them and slowly, she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. His head was tilted slightly, almost like he was trying to piece her together like a puzzle.

“Who was your partner for Professor Kim’s project?” he asked, his face still deep in thought.

“Oh, just Min-Seok,” she answered, trying to keep her voice as nonchalant as possible.

“Just Min-Seok?” he questioned, narrowing his eyes on her. She squirmed slightly, her mind racing to come up with an answer that’s not you kissed me and then didn’t talk about it so I needed to test if you liked me. He took a step closer to her as she stepped back, her back hitting the wall of the corridor. His eyes were the same shade they had been in the courtroom, impossibly dark and staring into hers. It was intoxicating and she found herself unable to look away or do anything except stare back.

"You just like watching me in misery, don't you sunbae?" His voice was taunting, much deeper than usual. The air was almost suffocating with tension, with his proximity. She swallowed as she met his eyes, watching as the passion and fire in his eyes made her body overheat. “Taunting me, making me watch that guy touch you and flirt with you like he knew you,” His head dipped in then, tilting slightly as his gaze dropped to her lips.

“Like he knows how you liked to be touched,” he said, teasing as he kept the distance, his hands cupping her jaw, tracing her skin lightly in a way that made her shiver. It sent her body into overdrive, every inch of her hyper aware of Joon Hwi, his intoxicating smell enveloping her senses. “Like he knows how you like to be kissed,” he whispered, and his lips were against hers, soft yet unyielding, before she could even register it. His kiss was like fire, threatening to burn her up, but she didn’t mind. Sol would burn and burn for him, if it meant a few more moments with his lips on her.

Her hands found his shirt, tugging him closer to her as he shifted his head, pulling her in deeper. His tongue brushed against hers, driving her insane with the need for more. His kisses were addicting, pulling her in for more and more. Her hands were then in his hair, pulling him in closer against her as she kissed him with fevor, her tongue brushing against his lower lip enough to make him groan into her mouth. His body only pressed into her more, his warmth bleeding into hers. His hair was silky and soft against her fingertips, and the need and want for more, more, more, driving her.

He pulled away shortly, panting as he caught his breath. His lips were bright red from her kisses, his eyes darkened with lust and want for her. She was still pinned against the wall as he brought his fingers close to her throat, the pads of his fingers grazing the spot he once left bruising kisses on. She drew in a sharp breath, the delicate touch of his hands enough to clear her mind.

“Ah, Sol-ah, such a pity. The hickies I left have faded away,” Joon hwi smirked slightly, his voice gravelly from the kiss. God, he’s insufferable. “We can’t have that happening, can we?” he raised an eyebrow, then dipped his head closer to her throat. She tipped her head back, wanting, needing, but he paused, his warm breath against her neck, like he was waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” Sol gave in, her voice breathier than she’d care to admit, “Yes please.” He obliged, finally dipping his head fully to leave open-mouthed kisses along her throat. The feeling was torturous and delicious, his hand curving around her neck to adjust it as he pleased. His other hand found the edge of her shirt, his body pushed against her in a way that was designed to haunt her.

“Joonhwi-ah,” she moaned, her voice embarrassingly needy as his fingers grazed her waist, and then his warm hand pressed against her bare skin. His thumb grazed the edge of her bra as it rubbed soothing circles into her skin as he continued placing feverish, bruising kisses against the delicate skin of her neck. Her mind was completely blank, with only his name and pleads for more leaving her lips. It was too much and too little at the same time, the sensations clouding her mind but her body only craving more.

Slowly, he pulled away, his pupils still blown out from what they just did as he panted, trying to catch his breath. Sol was left dazed, still blinking at what had transpired between them. The air was still thick as they looked at each other, the silence enveloping the two. Sol looked at the man in front of her, but her brain was still catching up to the fact that Joon Hwi kissed me. His hair was a mess, and his lips were still red and swollen from their kisses. She was the first to crack a smile, unable to conceal her happiness at the fact that her plan worked.

“I should have done that earlier if I knew you’d kiss me like that,” she joked with him, the warmth and joy leaking out of every seam of her body. Joon Hwi narrowed his eyes at her, finally catching on to what she had pulled.

“You really riled me up on purpose?” His expression was slightly incredulous, but still adoring. His voice was still gravelly and deeper than usual, yet he was still the Joon hwi who she grew to love.

“You left me no choice! You kissed me in the courtroom and then you never addressed it,” her voice raised slightly, and he laughed in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the familiar way.

“I know, I’m sorry Sol-ah,” he looked down at the ground before looking up at her, sheepishly, “I wanted to give you time. I- i know that the last kiss came out of nowhere so I didn't want to rush you or push you too hard. I was going to talk to you about it today, and then well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” she grinned at him. They stayed like that, just for a few moments, grinning as they looked at each other. He pulled back slightly, releasing her from the wall.

“Come on, Sol-ah, I’ll walk you back to your room,” Joon hwi grinned, her hand going out to hold hers as they made their way to her dorm room and to start a new chapter together.

bonus

The next morning arrived surprisingly fast, and Sol was happier than she had ever been. After the Joon Hwi had dropped her off at her room, leaving her with another kiss that would live in her dreams forever she had crashed, blissfully sleeping despite the eventful day she had.

Sol shuffled into the small kitchen area, stretching out her arms in a yawn. She was still clad in her hanguk university sweatshirt, her hair in her signature messy bun as she walked past Ye-Seul and Joon hwi, both sitting at the table looking at their phones and having some breakfast. She greeted both of them, her voice cracking slightly from disuse as she made herself coffee, needing the bitter taste to jumpstart her system before class.

She grinned at both of them before taking a seat next to Joon hwi, the three of them blissfully enjoying their mornings. Everything went by as normal, Joon hwi looking cuter than ever, Ye-Seul still soft and beautiful as ever. Though, as she drank her coffee, she noticed her best friend squint at her slightly, the younger girl’s head tilted inquisitively. But Sol was still on the high from yesterday and seeing Joon hwi in the morning only fueled it more so she didn’t pay the look much heed.

Almost 15 minutes passed before Ye-Seul stood up, making the move to clear her plate and wash her mug. She turned and cleared her throat, looking pointedly at Sol. “Unnie, you might want to use some concealer before you go to class today," she quipped and suddenly, Joon hwi sputtered, choking on the coffee. Sol patted his back soothingly, before she turned around to Ye-Seul in confusion, but the younger girl was gone, disappearing before she could ask what she meant. Joon hwi was still laughing, while Sol was left in utter confusion.

Sol pulled out her phone, switching to her camera to look at what exactly she needed to cover. Did she have a pimple? Did she break out? But she gasped as she looked at herself in the camera, her eyes wide. Her neck, once pale and clear of any marks, were covered in dark bruises. Hickeys. They spotted all over her throat, the curve of her neck, everywhere.

“Yah, Han Joon hwi!” she turned to him, his laugh only getting louder as she berated him, “I’m going to have to wear a whole bottle of concealer to cover this up!” He grins at her in response, mischief and a certain look of pride tainting his expression and Sol doesn't know whether to kiss him or hit him over the head. But his laughter infected her, and despite all her better instincts to stay angry, she laughed along with him, knowing that she could never stay angry too long at the boy she finally had in her arms.

#law school jtbc #jtbc law school #law school #law school kdrama #law school netflix #mine #my writing #fanfiction #solhwi #kang sol a #han joon hwi #kim beom #kim bum #ryu hye young #jeon ye seul

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etirabys · 2 years

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... how far along is the chaperone fic...? im asking because of (horny) reasons...

(context: Mirror Visitor wip in which Thorn, Ophelia, and Archibald travel together after book 2, and "slutty homewrecker Archibald" ends up being the best option for couples' counseling and possibly sex delegate.)

Not far, I'm sorry to say. I have 5000 words of it's-not-really-coming-together. I'll dump 80% of what I wrote under the cut. Things that will disappoint you: (1) It does not contain porn – I did write some but was seriously unsatisfied with it so I've left it out, (2) I never get to the comedic point where Ophelia bugs Archibald about fucking her husband because they've hit the point where that's started seeming like a good idea to her.

It was at least not boring, fleeing in exile with the Pole's ex-Treasurer on a quest to kill God. After staging my own death – any number of cuckolds with a grudge taking advantage of my severation from my clan could be the prime suspect – I followed the deathly tall, limping Dragon bastard looking over my work like an auditor, and opened space for him. We traveled, mostly at the pleasure of whatever Compass Roses we discovered. In between my increasing mastery of space and his trick with the mirrors, we were perfect vanishing accomplices.

But, it seemed to me, we would not make much progress in finding Farouk's master – and I thrilled to think of such a thing – unless we added a reader. And indeed, we did not get far. We found gateways to Sidh, Cyclope, Zephyr, and the Star, and gathered clues by the bushel but not trails. "We need her," I told him. "We need to find a way to Anima." He would shake his head and tell me there were greater priorities. He alternated between making a good case and silencing me with a thunderous look. The third time I brought it up, there was distrust I recognized in it: a jealous husband.

Well, I found a way to Anima anyway, one of the weeks when we were doing our work apart. I didn't even intend to. I wasn't even sure where I was, until I saw the objects rattling at a storefront, and a man's coathem snapping at the pavement when he dropped his wallet. I stole some clothes, found a receptive-looking woman, and told her I was a tourist from Zephyr, because it was the Zephyrian accent I had gotten the best hang of. I asked where I could find museums.

And that led me straight to Ophelia. It wasn't two days' work. I felt quite pleased at what a good detective I was turning out to make, even when the only eyes I could stare out of were my own. Her museum was shut down, but it took only casual inquiries to find her family home when I introduced myself as a traveling scholar with questions about the old catalogue, and then...

Then I went back to the meeting point where Thorn expected me.

"I found a way to your wife," I said. I made sure to be sitting several meters away, with his entire body in my field of view. Thorn's face was not as expressive as his hands were sometimes, or his good leg. When he tensed to strike his knee would swing a little, readying to do the lion's share of the work. "We can be at her home within three minutes, if you pleased."

It was the hands that moved, and what a tell! The knuckles were white. He stared at me. "Did you make contact?"

"No. I think that is your honor, as her husband."

His gaze swung down. He said nothing. And then he grunted, "If it is that easy... yes. We should. Her skills as a reader would be most..." After a long pause, "Take me to her."

"When?"

"Now."

It was night-time in Anima when we went to fetch her.

I stole into her bedroom – I was used to doing such things quietly – and realized, to my surprise, that it was a shared room. A young boy slept on a bed on the left side. To the right, the little woman who had captured the heart of the oddest man of the Pole was still awake, reading by a night light. When she saw me the book jerked out of her hands in one convulsive motion onto the coverlet, and the scarf draped across her shoulder briefly lashed about like a snake. She did not make a noise, her face did not change. But her glasses changed color so quickly that in the dim light it was as if they shuttered her eyes.

I made a beckoning gesture and backed out into the hallway. With extraordinary caution she left the bed, lifting her nightgown up to avoid tripping on it, and eased out of her room.

"Is he here?" she breathed when the door closed behind her. Truly, the Treasurer had nothing to fear from me.

"Outside, in the garden," I said. "Will you come with us?"

"Yes."

I examined her face, making sure she understood what was being asked. "You will not return here, or to anywhere familiar. We are fugitives, Thorn and I. Our prey is very powerful, and makes the idea of hunting ridiculous."

"You've changed, Archibald," she said. "I haven't. Let's go."

I took opened a path to the garden and led her straight out. She was not aware I could do that – made the smallest little cry into her scarf. It gave me insight into what she would sound like in bed. I have much experience backing such mappings.

Then it was the three of us in the garden, my eyes snapping avidly between them. What a pair! Neither of them comely, and so mismatched in size. Thorn was utterly still, and crackled with tension. Ophelia was in motion with agitation – the scarf lashed around her, and she was shivering badly in the misty cold. Her nipples stood out against the worn gray fabric of her nightgown. Neither of them spoke.

After a few seconds, I took off my coat and offered it to her. Thorn gave me a glance that said he wanted to kill me. Ophelia was blind to this – she slipped into it gratefully, and in my defense, mine fit her better than his would have – I was between them in height. I said, "We make an odd trio. We must move quickly."

We returned to the Compass Rose entrance tucked on that abandoned farm several miles away, and, several minutes later, were back in our grand hideout in Zephyr.

// Scene setting – winds whipping around constantly, calmer in the towns where the inhabitants control the atmosphere; the wealthier the house, the better the control, the richer with scents. The Zephyrians are big into scents, which are blown away quickly in areas not under control.

The married couple had still not spoken a word to each other.

I have to say, I am not a cruel person. But I still relish discomfort – most of all when I can view it from faraway, and it has nothing to do with me. With those in the same room I prefer amicable relations. So this drama that crackled between them, which I knew I had not primarily instigated, was balm to me. I puttered around and made them Zephyrian persimmon tea as Ophelia warmed her hands on the fire and threw a cautious look at Thorn every now and then. Finally, she said, "Thank you for coming for me."

"It was not a favor," he said forbiddingly.

She rallied. "It was good for me. I was – under constant watch. My museum was shut down. My family was – they didn't understand much about what had happened to me."

Thorn didn't give me a glance when he said, "Do you have anything to say?"

"Anything else to say? No," she stammered, in honest puzzlement. After some thought, she fumbled in her pocket and extended his fob watch to him. "This, you can have back."

He stared at it, and after a second of silence, took it without grazing over her glove.

I opened my mouth. I shut it. I could have slipped a thought into her head, told her what he wanted – it was clear I was better at reading her husband than she – but I had used that power so infrequently in the past months that it did not occur to me until a few seconds later, when they had broken their gazes and a cold silence was between them. And since it was too late, I sipped my tea and smiled, enjoying it.

We went to bed; Thorn stormy, Ophelia bewildered, and me pleased.

The next day I prepared to visit a Zephyrian library with some records I'd requested a week ago. On hearing my errand, Ophelia said, "Oh, please, may I go with you?"

I examined her. She was not the most distinctive person, but she was easy to describe and therefore easily caught. "Not with that scarf."

"I can leave it behind."

"The glasses?"

She bit her lip. "I can't see without them. But I can reshape them?"

"That'll do. The Zephyrian style tends to the square, with thin metal frames. Are you opposed to cutting your hair?"

The biting turned into a gnaw. "No," she said in her muted voice. Her hair was very long, and tied back messily with a ribbon. "Maybe it's for the best. I don't have a comb."

"Zephyr is in no lack of combs," I said. She was still wearing her nightdress, and my coat. "Or clothes for ladies. Scissors, though, I have on hand. Face the mirror, please."

She brought her chair to face the long, old mirror propped up against the wall, which Thorn used as his entryway from the hideout to all the close locations on the Ark. I cut the long, thick waves at the nape of her neck. Freed of the weight of her hair from the neck down, it bounced up into the air. I had converted three quarters of the waterfall into a cloud when I heard a slight noise from behind me.

We both turned around. Thorn had half a step into the main hall where I was doing my work. He was staring at the mirror.

Ophelia said, nervously, "Good morning. We thought I was too recognizable – and were making some changes to my appearance."

His gaze was fixed on my hand, close to her neck. "It is a good idea," he said.

He sat down at the breakfast table and did not look away from us as I finished my work. It didn't take long. Her hair, short, was so chaotic it made any unevenness hard to see. I studied it and said, "Combs."

"Yes, I need one."

"No, not combs for brushing your hair with, although I'll get you that today from the stores. To keep your hair in place. Two large ones or four small – I think silver would look good."

"I'll leave it up to you," Ophelia said, losing interest. She carded through her hair in fascination. "I certainly won't be able to tie it."

I could feel Thorn crackling from fifteen feet away. A most monogamous man. This would have to be sorted out soon. I said, "Thorn, why don't you show your wife around the grounds and show her all the mirror passages we've put around here while I get her clothes?"

"I am willing to do that," he said, in a kind of reluctant grunt. Charming man.

I slipped a thought into Ophelia's head as I left the hall – have patience with him. I suggest speaking honestly of your feelings.

Ophelia favored the drab, so I bought her a fashionable Zephyrian lady's bright green trousers, several silky blouses, leather boots, a rust-colored dress with gold piping, and a dark rose overcoat with a tall collar that could conceal a scarf underneath it. And yes, four combs, silver studded with topaz. Thorn would bristle, unless things very well. But would he have done a better job? Did he have the same appreciation for a well dressed woman? I thought not.

But there was nothing to fear. When I came back, they were both sitting in the main hall looking at folders Thorn had put together of God's movements. Thorn had no reason to reread any of it, really, and in fact he wasn't – his eyes were fixed at the top of the page. He looked vaguely stunned. Ophelia, on the other hand, was rosy-glassed. While it was hard to tell, her hair looked more mussed than I'd last seen it. Testingly, I pulled out the combs out of their packaging and fixed her hair in place so that, from a distance, she would almost seem to have a neat bob. I put a finger on her chin to lift her face up to examine her – she looked both different, and comely. I looked at Thorn.

[have some conversation. Ophelia is phoning in it. Thorn has a 5 second lag in response]

That confirmed it. He didn't look jealous at all. He was simply staring at his wife's face, and she was looking back, a flush rising to her cheeks.

I found it hard not to smirk. The mirror tour had gone well.

Not even having to wear bright green trousers could put a dent in Ophelia's mood in the next few days. They roamed around the grounds for hours alone in the evening. I have never seen Thorn happier. His entire demeanor softened; sometimes in him I glimpsed the golden radiance of his aunt. I don't think I understood how deeply unhappy he was in the Pole – not that, I admit, I would have cared had I known, at the time. Before we had arguably saved each other's lives several times in our travels. Before I had understood that my door to something greater than even entertainment – purpose – lay through the dour, hated court accountant who had turned out to harbor ambitions deeper and more interesting than I could have ever imagined.

I was happy for them. (And that was, frankly, a new emotion for me.) And I also found their happiness boring, so I turned my attention back to the hunt – the delicate trail of hints, and the concomitant investigations we could make, and their relative priorities. To take Ophelia to Sidh so she could read the objects in the room where we knew, for sure, God had killed someone several years ago... to visit the Star and see what archives we could infiltrate... hunting an immortal was, frankly, more interesting than young love.

That is, until one afternoon, when young love dashed out of his room with his shirt half-unbuttoned, deathly pale, and sprinted into the mirror in the hall. And the other young love walked out a minute later, fully dressed, with a long cut across her cheek.

I set down my dossier, astonished. "He never," I exclaimed.

"He didn't mean to," Ophelia said, and collapsed into the chair across me. "We, um."

The silence stretched on. I rolled my eyes as I fetched disinfectant and skin-tape from the medical kit in the bathroom. "I can guess what you were doing. What's mystifying to me is why he lost control."

"Is that something he – does? Lose control?"

"Yes," I said simply, and pulled down my collar to show her a thin scar running across my upper chest. "He was very upset about it. I think it must have been the infusion of Animist power. It's known to shake things up. So does removal, you know – I didn't get my Arkadian side until I was cut from the Web." And how strange it was, that these days I was thinking of it as a blessing.

"What did you do?"

"Seduced a woman on Sidh," I confessed. "It was early on. It made him angry. Because it drew attention, you see – harmed the mission. He didn't think I took deicide seriously enough. He had a point. I haven't philandered since."

She was skeptical. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. There are real things to pursue, you see." I didn't like this thread of conversation so much. I didn't want to explain the gap between the me she'd last seen and the me of now. "What did you do?"

"Um. Push him away. Rather hard. He may have read it as being hit on the chest. He grabbed me rather suddenly and I..." She looked vexed. "He doesn't move like a normal person. It's either – he's not responsive, or he's yanking me around. I'm guessing that's not normal, anyway."

A more hopeless pair of virgins could scarcely be imagined. I said, "No, it is generally good practice not to surprise your partner in bed."

She silently applied the disinfectant and the skin-tape, which adhered neatly to her face and then took on its color. "Should I go find him?"

I reviewed Thorn as a person. "No. I think it is I who should talk to him. But let us give him half an hour to himself first."

I strolled out into the constant wind and checked mirror after mirror, lodged into the dirt or hammered to the tree. I made much use of my power – I don't like walking outside towns in Zephyr. You're liable to lean against a north wind for a dozen steps before suddenly entering a zone where the flow reverses and the south wind knocks you almost off balance.

I eventually found Thorn hunched over on a tree trunk behind a mirror at the edges of the grounds, looking as miserable as I've ever seen him. The wind howled around us; we would have to raise our voices to be heard. I sat down on the dirt next to him, unhappily aware of the effect the moist soil was having on my black velvet pants.

After a quarter-hour, I dared to put my hand on his arm. He looked at it with an expression I once would have labeled forbidding; now I recognized it as lost. I said, "She does not hold it against you, my friend. But you should come back and apologize anyway."

"You say friend," he boomed flatly. "Are there many men you call friend, when you have designs on their wives?"

"Thorn, have you known me ever to lie?"

His eyes narrowed. I could see him review the past decade of our acquaintanceship. "I have known you to mislead."

"Can you think of ways in which this sentence could be misleading? – I will never sleep with Ophelia for as long as she is your wife and you would disapprove of the notion."

He turned an astonished stare on me. "You think I would ever approve?"

I grinned and shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

After a pause, he forced out, "I underrate you. Your conduct has been impeccable since..." His eyes skittered away, thinking of that time he had caught me coming out of that Sidhean archivist's apartment. His anger, briefly, had made the air a knife to my body.

It was not an excellent transition, but I had to ask. "There is one thing I don't understand. How did she make you angry?"

A long silence. "She shoved me – here." Gestured at his sternum. "There was a time when someone did that to my mother, in bed. And she was angry, and frightened. And I have her memories."

I knew some of Farouk's favorites. All of them liked – if liking was the word for it – being a favorite; few of them, save Berenilde, loved Farouk. It would shock me if he were gentle in bed. I studied Thorn with new eyes: he was a virgin, but sex was not new to him.

"Does Ophelia know about this?"

"No."

It was then I knew that Thorn considered me a friend, although perhaps he did not use the word in his own mind. Men tend not to tell me their secrets. It means something to me, therefore, when they do.

There was little to say. I had no advice. I had gone to bed with women who had patches of memory to steer around; I did not know how to assuage the fears of a man whose partner weighed half what he did.

...

The days dragged on. I have never seen people more bottled up about each other. Things never get to that point at Farouk's court. I was fascinated. Sometimes Ophelia would stop in the middle of putting away some papers to stare at the length of Thorn sleeping on the sofa. Ophelia once came out of her room wearing the rust-and-gold dress I'd bought her when her trousers were in the wash, and Thorn dropped a dish towel. They seemed to have invented telepathy for the pure purpose of staring at each other without meeting gazes. He lingered on the curve of her neck and the taper of her calves; she on his hands and his gait. They were infectious; each made me notice the other more. I masturbated more often, and was indignant about it.

After a month of this, Thorn spoke to me at an unexpected time. We had discovered a new gateway to a minor ark, and I had taken him around so he could acquaint himself with the mirrors in major locations. It was on our way back that he said, "I was greatly wrong about something. I thought I would never approve. But if I can't, it seems to be my marital duty to step aside for someone who can."

It was a mysterious way of speaking but I remembered immediately. I did not believe immediately. "You mean..."

He looked pained when I did not fill in the blanks myself. I was too wary of offending him, of verbalizing the suggestion. "I cannot satisfy my wife. As inappropriate as I have considered you in the past - it is certain that you are skilled at such things. And we both trust you. You are the prime candidate."

"Ah," I said. I'd thought of having sex with Ophelia approximately every day since we brought her to Zephyr, but I had never found the idea less appealing than when her husband was walking beside me, radiating pain from every centimeter of his body. "I don't think she will like this idea."

"For now, it is you or nothing. She may choose nothing, but – I will make her see reason. She is very distracted. It will do her good to have her needs met." Make Ophelia see reason? The woman who had practically frog-marched me into prison to marry her to a man headed for a slow execution.

"And you, you are not distracted?"

"I can set it aside," he said. What a damn liar. I rolled my eyes.

Some more steps. A pause, to capture his reflection in a mirror behind the glass of a closed store. He had done this thirty times on this ark – in his shoes I would be afraid of losing track of the spatial organization of those portals. But Thorn never forgot anything.

He would never forget how any of this had gone down.

I said, "There is no need to let one mistake deter you. It is you that she wants."

"It's not just the claws," he said. "I'm not cut out for any of this. I don't know what to do. I'm constantly reacting to her and controlling that reaction – there's not much room left in my head. The world as a problem is not organized once I get in bed with her, it becomes a massively unconstrained optimization problem."

"Men stupider than you manage," I pointed out. "All my ancestors, you may think of them."

"I am different," he said plainly. "You know I am different."

I did know. It was hard to explain exactly what it was, but it was clear to everyone that he was not the same kind of person as me, or Ophelia, or Berenilde. It would not, in fact, surprise me if that great gulf extended to the bedroom. But, seriously, how hard could it be? All he had to do was just...

I felt a great impatiance rising up in me. "Look," I said. "I have a different suggestion."

#dashreplies #infinite monkey #the mirror visitor #the mirror visitor quartet #the missing of clairdelune #fandemonium

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